#sometimes they light the mountains on fire

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

yandere!young justice x magician and sorcerer!reader

BUUUUUUUUUT,the readed is a part of the team,however,shows no interest in them,and it just there because she kinda just has to,and no matter how much they try to get her attention,she never gives them any of it.

(I love your writing btw😼)

Yandere! Young Justice x magician! Reader

The Cave was quiet, as it always was at night, the hum of machines and distant murmurs of the world outside barely touching the stillness that clung to the mountain like a second skin. In this isolated hollow, surrounded by the cool stone walls, you could hear your own thoughts—the whisper of spells, the pulse of magic, the unspoken words you chose not to say.

You never had to explain yourself here, never had to wear the mask of pleasantries or pretend you cared about anything more than the mission. The others, they didn’t understand. They couldn’t, not really. You weren’t like them, never had been. You didn’t need the comfort of their companionship. You didn’t want their attention, their curiosity, or their pity.

And yet, they tried.

Conner was always watching. A silent presence, brooding and intense, always lingering in the background, his eyes following your every movement. He never asked questions—no, that wasn’t his style. Instead, he observed, the way a predator watches its prey, calculating, waiting. He never made an effort to speak, not in the way Wally did with his incessant jokes or M'gann with her quiet warmth. Conner was patient, cold, waiting for something to crack, for something to change.

His silence was a constant reminder. He didn’t need to speak; you could feel his presence, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, always at the edge of your vision, always waiting.

It was unsettling, but you never let it show.

Wally was a different story altogether. His energy was like a crackling fire, unpredictable, always bouncing from one thing to the next. He couldn’t sit still, couldn’t leave you be. "Come on," he would say, leaning over your shoulder as you worked on a spell, his grin wide and carefree. "Show me something cool. You know you’ve got some crazy magic tricks up your sleeve."

His insistence was always accompanied by that grin of his, mischievous and bright, as though his charm could draw you out of your shell. But you never did. You never gave him the satisfaction of seeing you smile, never let him see you as more than just another teammate. It wasn’t his fault—he was just trying to make the team feel more like a family. But you didn’t care about family. You didn’t care about any of them.

“I’m busy,” you’d say, dismissing him with a flick of your hand, returning to your spell. And Wally, ever the optimist, would laugh and zip away, the sound of his footsteps echoing as he left you to your silence.

But it wasn’t enough for him, no. His persistence was a thing of legend. Sometimes you’d catch him watching you, his gaze fixed, a question burning in his eyes. "Why are you always like this?" he seemed to ask with every look. But he never voiced it. Instead, he’d turn away, hoping that somehow, eventually, you’d change your mind.

Then there was Robin. The dark and silent watcher. He knew how to stay in the shadows, how to be everywhere without being seen. His presence was like the night itself—always there, always watching, never truly gone. Robin was the most subtle of them all. He never asked outright; instead, he would drop little comments, observations that always felt like a puzzle, like he was trying to figure you out, piece by piece.

"You know, you could talk to us more," he’d say, casually leaning against the wall as he watched you work. His tone was light, almost playful, but you could sense the undercurrent of something more—something deeper. “We don’t bite, you know.”

You didn’t respond. Of course, you didn’t. The only response he got was the steady flick of your fingers over the spellbook, the quiet hum of magic filling the space between you. He didn’t try to get too close, not like Wally or M'gann, but his eyes never stopped tracking you, always measuring, always calculating. Robin was patient, the kind of person who knew that some things took time, that some people had walls that needed to be broken down slowly.

And you? You weren’t going to let him.

M'gann was the opposite. Her presence was always warm, soft, inviting. She would sit beside you, her legs tucked under her, her eyes wide with curiosity. "You know," she would say with that gentle voice of hers, "I could help you with your spells. I can be a good study partner, if you ever need one."

Her kindness wasn’t forced, never had been. It was natural for her, as natural as breathing. She wasn’t like the others who were driven by some sense of duty or curiosity. No, M'gann’s attention was genuine, a quiet offer of companionship. She was the one who tried to reach you without asking, without expecting anything in return.

But you didn’t need help. You didn’t need her to reach you. And so, you’d quietly decline, giving her nothing more than a polite smile before returning to the words in your book, the pages filled with symbols that had no need for her warmth.

And then there was Artemis. The sharp, straightforward one. She didn’t waste time on subtlety. Her approach was always direct, blunt, like a sharp blade that never hesitated. "You don’t have to be so closed off, you know," she’d say, her voice a mix of irritation and something else. It was hard to tell with Artemis—her eyes were always guarded, her emotions always hidden behind a wall of indifference. "We’re all in this together."

She had a point, of course. But you didn’t care. You didn’t care about being “in it together.” You had your own path to follow, and they weren’t a part of it. You didn’t need to explain that to her, or to anyone. So, you’d give her a nod, a brief acknowledgment that wasn’t really an acknowledgment, and move on with your work.

Kaldur was the calm one, the quiet one. His respect for you was obvious, but it never crossed the line into anything more. He would offer you a nod as he passed, his gaze soft, his presence steady like the water he controlled. He didn’t push you the way the others did. He didn’t try to break down your walls. He simply respected them, kept his distance, and allowed you to be as you were.

But even Kaldur had moments when his gaze would linger on you, just a second too long, like he was waiting for you to finally open up, to let him see more than the cold silence you kept locked behind your eyes.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough for you to feel the weight of their gaze, the quiet pressure of their attention. They thought they understood you. They thought that if they just tried enough, kept reaching out, eventually, you’d let them in.

But you wouldn’t.

In the midst of their attempts, you kept your distance, always lost in the pages of your spells, your incantations, the quiet hum of power that thrummed beneath your fingertips. They were drawn to you, like moths to a flame, their fascination burning just beneath the surface of their words, their glances, their actions.

But you would remain untouched. You would keep your secrets locked away, your magic a barrier between you and the world they wanted to draw you into.

They didn’t understand it, not really. They couldn’t. You were not like them. You didn’t need what they offered. You didn’t need to be a part of their team, their family, their world. You were the silent watcher, the one who kept their distance while they reached out, always hoping that something would change.

But it wouldn’t.

You weren’t there for them. You were there because you had a purpose, one that had nothing to do with them, nothing to do with the team, and nothing to do with any of their quiet, unspoken obsessions. You would remain distant, and they would keep trying, never understanding why you remained so cold, so unreachable.

And that, for now, was enough.

(A/n: thank you kind fellow fur🤭😽)

[ghostofnuggetspast]

An Ode to Your Orbicularis Oris

By John H. Watson

Sometimes in the evening, when you've completed your self-appointed tasks and intensely ignored mine, you seem to sit watching telly or staring at the walls. You are actually walking your Mind Palace. That is the one place I can never follow you, but I don't begrudge you your time. I use my stolen moment wisely. I slouch comfortably in my chair, sip whiskey, and sincerely adore your lips (with poetry, as is my wont).

+++

O mouth, a cave of warm wonders inside the mountain of your intellect!Your treasures are guarded by formidable entities, lush and strong, like striking serpents one moment, grand buttresses to inspiration another, and pillowy seductors the next. Which will I, your partner in Crime and shadowed slave to my own desires, experience this frost-bit eve? 

+

Perhaps the killing word, the cutting blow, the deduction flaying your prey to the hidden humiliated bone. These I have survived, laughing. No other could withstand your whip hand mouth as I do. I thrill in your ferocity and fight you with what weapons I have, but you will not drive me away. Velvet your voice for me, love, but do not lose it. 

+

We may be called forth to witness and unravel an ending. The fire of intellect lights your visage at the bloody plot where the story lies. Death has stung in this scene, and that is to be mourned. But there is more here than darkness. Yea, there is also the sparking of your machine-gun lips as they spray rapid-fire truths. Swift as electricity, you lay out the tale and the evidence plain, and we watchers are agog. I am also your crime scene.  See through my skin, love, but hold my secrets close.   

+

You are before me lying rampant on the couch. You innocently touch your fingertips to your lips, and I am cast into fascination, deep in the whirlpool of your ocean. The only direction to move is down, towards your divine mouth. In my mind's eye I cross the divide and touch your plush lips with my own trembling fingers. The only time they are not dangerous is like this, in repose. They are soft and warm, full and inviting. I long to meet them with my own. Were you to offer, could I, craven-hearted but craving, open to your will? Try. Kiss me, love, and test my limits. 

+

The miracle that is your mouth, delight of my being, is too much to dwell upon for long. I am drenched in my desire, lost at sea, and clinging to each moment I have to see and  observe your lips. 

+

Scribbled to the side: need better hiding place  -  call Ella  -  get milk, biscuits, earl grey, rice, peas, tomatoes, beans, bread, bleach, gauze, biohazard bags - so lost holy fuck

+++

Thanks to @helloliriels for a quick beta read. All weirdness is my own. @totallysilvergirl @naefelldaurk @friday411 @calaisreno

This is part of a series now. Not sure what to call it, but it's overwrought romance-laden poetry that John writes when his emotions get the better of him. He hides this notebook in the best spot he can find in the flat. So far, that's the cleaning supplies cabinet. I'm happy to take suggestions for a title. Got a few already!

[swordgrace]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: a blissful marriage to an honorable man — it is more than you could’ve asked for. with the heir on the way, you make a request of your husband.

anonymous request. unofficial sequel to wolfsblood, dragonsblood.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), overprotective cregan, reader is pretty horny for cregan (valid), pregnancy, reader is pregnant, sexual activities while pregnant, cregan is a father in his mind, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, cregan loves munching, vaginal fingering, teasing, biting, hair-pulling kink, obvious size difference + size kink, slight face-riding, lots of cregan admiring in this one-shot, very soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I love writing for Cregan so much, y’all don’t understand the depths of my adoration for him. I churned this out pretty quickly, but I loved writing it, Father Cregan is the best! I hope that you all enjoy, & thank you for your support! ❤️

𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨��𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

It was easier to breathe, you’d realized — King’s Landing had always been so stifling and pungent, the population too thick, the air acrid. Here, in the North, it was sprawling with open spaces, regions of untouched forest and unsettled countryside.

The bite of the harsh, Northern chill was not an easy adjustment to make after a lengthy life spent in Southern regions — the gnawing wind often seared your extremities, and it was not any easier on Silverwing. Fire ran through your veins, tempered by your tender heart and kindly disposition.

Your beloved husband would not have it any other way.

What had started as an unsteady, tumultuous betrothal marked by obvious bitterness from your family and wariness from his own House, had blossomed into a fruitful union. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner, and it made you realize how fortunate you were.

Snow was uncommon in most of the South, yet it remained constant in the North, mountains blanketed in endless horizons of white. It was a particularly icy day, winter winds stinging your cheeks, prickling your flesh with its pinpricks.

Mounds of pale, grayish fur swaddled your form, lined in the finest fleece, downy and plush against your skin. The trodden path to the Godswood was marked by frozen dirt, dusted over with a fresh layer of snowfall. Sprinkles of crystalline drops fell from the cloudy skies, and your breath emerged in hot wisps of air.

Lilac hues drifted toward the mountainous form of your husband, whose back was turned to you, swathed in the dappled pelt of a direwolf. Ice hung from his shoulder, a massive longsword of Valyrian Steel, an heirloom passed down through generations of House Stark.

Someday soon, it will pass to your firstborn son.

You recalled the night that you were wed, beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree. It was serene, a moonlit dusk that struck the snow with an ethereal glow, your hands bound as you recanted your vows. It had been some moons now since that day, and you had only felt joy since then.

Cregan listened to the light crunch of snow beneath your footfalls as they reverberated throughout the Godswood, the pond frozen-over with a layer of ice. Pale bark marked with a foreign face peered back at him — this was a place that he and Rickon visited many times.

Before his little brother had passed, they pretended to fight wars here, forge their weapons, sticks found from the forest floor, and envision themselves as Knights. He could still feel his brother sometimes, his presence a whisper in the blood-red leaves, somewhere within the forest’s song.

Religion was a complicated thing for you. Your mother wielded the Faith of the Seven like a crudely-worn shortsword, letting it strike to her advantage even when it was rusty, at best. You had little interest in it, and Cregan seemed to respect your growing distance from your old roots. The Old Gods were his — you had nothing.

Inklings of snow drifted from the pale skies, growing darker as evening approached. The North became unyieldingly harsh after the sun began to wane, the sting of biting wind swirling around you, seeping into your bones. You were rather cold, but persisted for Cregan.

“Ser Rodrick said that I might find you here,” Silence dissipated, filled with the sound of your voice, as soft as feathers, a soothing balm. You stepped closer, beneath the boughs of the great tree, the canopy thick with vermillion leaves. “How are you faring?”

With Winter approaching, spreading its cold, brittle tendrils across the North, Cregan’s duties had increased tenfold. Preparing his people for winter, ensuring that food was plentiful, that they were safe — it was the burden of leadership, but there was no one better suited for it in your eyes.

“Well enough,” Cregan murmured, storm-colored hues drifting over the Weirwood tree before they turned to you, completely and utterly transfixed. You stole every wisp of air from his lungs with your beauty, clad in the trappings of his people. “I apologize for running off.”

An amiable smile crossed your features as you reached for your husband, slipping a gloved palm against the crook of his arm. “You needn’t apologize, husband. You are owed your solitude, and I wouldn’t dare tell you otherwise.” You have his bicep a gentle squeeze.

Cregan’s gaze softened, sparkling with a warmth reserved only for you, his beloved. Your presence always seemed to melt away his hardened exterior, but he much preferred it that way. He stepped closer, towering above you in all of his indomitable glory, craning down to press a kiss against your brow.

The gloved leather of his hand moved to cup your abdomen, and the growing life within. The joyous news of your pregnancy had been the talk of the North, the new Lady Stark, preparing to birth an heir of Winterfell. Those thick furs you wore obscured your belly quite well.

“I should be asking you how you fare, carrying our child,” Cregan insisted, gingerly caressing around your stomach with the pride of a doting husband. “Here you are, walking all this way to the Godswood, when it is I who should be by your side.” If there was one word to describe Cregan, it was overprotective.

Gods, he was attentive — if he did leave your side, he ensured that you were well looked-after, under the watchful protection of his guardsmen. You couldn’t fault your husband for his safeguarding nature, given that it was to be your firstborn.

Sometimes he forgot that you were a dragon-rider.

“Being beneath the open sky has done me a world of good, husband,” You mused, canting your head to one side. You were not completely round and waddling just yet — halfway through, as the Maester stated. “I cannot stand to look at that dreadful cobblestone for days on-end.”

Cregan did not protest, nor invalidate your claims. He was not the one carrying a child — he did not have a right to speak on behalf of you. A shiver rolled down your spine, due to the bitter chill of the wind, coupled with the encroaching snowfall.

Instead, he reached for your jaw, cupping your face within the roughened texture of his leather-clad palm, presenting you with a kiss. It was kept brief, yet the ardor lingered, as strong as a burning flame. “You are shivering, beloved. Let us return to the Keep.” He rumbled, shielding you beneath his cloak.

A respite from the cold would be welcome. Even if you possessed the blood of the Dragon, you did not fare well in such blisteringly glacial conditions. The thick cover of your husband’s cloak brought a sense of comfort, coupled with the natural heat that radiated from him.

Snow crunched beneath his heavy footfalls, your own masked by his boots. Cregan made sure to guide you every step of the way, hovering with his impressive shadow. “I have been contemplating a name for our child.” You spoke softly, a smile toying upon your lips.

“Have you?” Cregan appeared appeased, a stoic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t know if we are to have a son or a daughter.” He remarked, letting your hand wrap around the bulk of his forearm, guiding you through the Godswood.

“Perhaps not, but I wanted you to hear,” Such ideas had been stirring around within your mind for weeks, and with Cregan so preoccupied, you hadn’t broached the topic of conversation. “Gilliane, after your mother, should we have a daughter, and … Rickon.” You hesitated. “Should we have a son.”

Cregan’s steps began to slow, and he looked upon you with such love and devotion that it was nearly overwhelming. He couldn’t have loved you anymore if he tried — and he had tried. Towering over you, he pressed a kiss against the top of your head, one that blossomed with fondness.

You gave him the greatest honor of all — that of fatherhood, and now, you had bestowed upon him sentimental names, those of his family. Love flourished within his storm-colored hues, and he seemed to soften at your words. “You would honor me beyond words, wife. Do you not wish to pay tribute to your own family?”

Placing a hand over the growing swell of your stomach, you seemed somewhat indifferent to talk of your family. Helaena and Daeron were the exceptions in this, but it did not pain you any less. “I pay tribute by carrying our child,” You replied, your smile threadbare. “That is enough.”

Solemn, Cregan simply nodded, understanding your strained relationship with the family you had left behind in King’s Landing. From what you told him and from what he discerned, you seemed much happier here, liberated and free of such poisonous clutches. “Of course.” A soft rumble reverberated throughout his chest.

Winterfell’s snow-laden gates were now within reach, as guards in Stark tabards harkened the return of its Lord and Lady. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you interact with the denizens underneath his protection — you often greeted them with smiles and laughter.

He watched you grow into your station as Lady Stark, a growth that showed such promise. You had been shy around Northerners at first, but you now walked as if you had been in Winterfell your whole life. Cregan kept you close, his stance that of a protective husband, hovering above you with his hulking stature.

The Keep was close, and you could feel the crackling warmth of the hearth lick across your skin in the forefront of your mind. Cregan was characteristically stalwart, keeping you wedged against his side, swaddled in the thick furs of the direwolf.

Once inside, you welcomed the gust of warmer air. The Keep burned many fires and braziers when winter became sharp and bitter, your cheeks stinging from the cold. “Shall we retire this evening, or are you lacking in nourishment?” Cregan inquired, knowing that your penchant for foodstuffs had increased while pregnant.

“Could something be brought to our chambers? Perhaps a stew or a broth, that sounds rather warming.” As if on-queue, your stomach lurched with inklings of famish, as if your child also demanded something to eat.

“It will be done,” With his stoic assurance, your husband bent down to press a kiss against your temple, smoothing a palm across your back. “I will join you shortly, wife.” Cregan had a tendency to walk the Keep before retiring — spare a word to the guards, those in the kitchens, and anyone underneath his care.

“Do not keep me waiting for too long.” You mused, lips curving into a warm smile that could melt even the hardiest of ice — including that of your husband. The vulnerability that seemed to come to him in your presence was a comforting thing.

With a soft huff, Cregan cupped your chin, looking upon you with tempestuous hues, as gray as a winter’s storm. “I wouldn’t dare.” He assured, presenting you with a tender kiss. Gods, you had sorely missed his mouth in many ways, and you were swift to reciprocate.

After you had become with-child, fuller and round with the heir to Winterfell, you had not engaged Cregan as much in terms of intimacy. He wanted you to relax, to not have to lift a finger. You missed your husband in more ways than one, giving way to your own basic desires and carnal instincts.

The kiss possessed a charged edge, tension looming above, the fringes of it seeping into your lips. You held onto his forearm, an audible sigh slipping past your mouth when Cregan withdrew. He could detect your yearning — the sentiment was a mutual one, but he feared hurting you, as any man would.

With a gentle hum, you allowed your husband to leave you, watching as his impressive form encapsulated all space within the corridor he walked in. You let him tend to his duties, and you made for the spiraling stairwell, making your way to your chambers without a hitch.

Thick, wooden doors gave way to the sanctuary within, the hearth being stoked and tended-to by one of the servants. “I thought you might want it warm, m’lady.” She mused, having laid out a series of new wardrobes for you across the foot of your bed.

“Thank you, Tanea.” The new gowns and dresses seemed to be made with your new specifications in-mind, accommodating for your growing belly. Part of you felt self-conscious when it came to your pregnancy — you no longer seemed to fit into your own skin.

“You must be excited, with the babe on the way,” Tanea was easy to speak with, an exuberant young woman with cherubic features. “Your Lord-Husband certainly is.” She chimed, finishing with the hearth as she moved about.

“Is he?” Cregan was sometimes difficult to read, countenance permanently etched with that stoic Northern scowl of his, but you knew how happy he was. Knowing that your servants could see it filled you with delight. “I may need your assistance, Tanea.”

“Very much so, m’lady. He speaks as if he is a father already,” She fluttered to your side, assisting you in relinquishing the weight of your fur cloak and overcoat you wore. Tanea arranged the garments back into the large, wooden wardrobe. “Do you need anything else?”

“I do not,” You smiled, moving to sit atop the fur-laden footlocker at the end of your shared bed. “You have my gratitude, Tanea.” The girl curtsied, a proper gesture, before making her way from your chambers.

Intrigued, you happened to admire the new gowns strewn across your bed, many of them styled in the Northern way of dress, save for your evening shifts. One in particular caught your eye, made of sage-hued silk, translucent and frilly, the sleeves billowing.

Pinching the fabric between your fingers, you decided on wearing it to bed, pushing yourself up right as you organized the rest elsewhere, into the space of your wardrobe. Heavy footfalls resonated outside of your door, with it creaking open to give way to Cregan.

Your mountain of a husband carried two bowls of steaming stew, placing them down along the small, rounded table. The intricate carving of a wolf rested along the table’s edge, made of wood from the Wolfswood. “Are you tired?” He inquired, removing Ice from his shoulders, scabbard and all, placing it near his bedside.

After you had become with-child, he kept it close, in case of any unsightly, dire circumstances. He would not ever allow himself to be defenseless in your presence. You had thought it to be somewhat overly cautious, but you did not dissuade him otherwise.

“Not really,” You hummed, reaching for the many pins keeping your braids in-place. You removed them one by one, placing the ruby-studded needles upon your vanity. It felt better to let your hair down, pale tresses cascading across your shoulders in soft waves. “I am perfectly awake.”

Cregan’s visage was one of clear appreciation and adoration as he stepped closer, admiring the way you looked. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He insisted, hands moving to assist you in unlacing your dress. This was a common practice with each passing night — you enjoyed it.

Warmth crept along your features as you stood still, allowing him to untie your bodice with his calloused fingers, until the garment loosened. “You are much too kind, husband.” Stepping from your gown, you were left in a white slip, one that had grown somewhat uncomfortable with its tightness.

“It is not a kindness, but the plain truth.” Cregan replied, pressing a kiss against the pale crown of your head, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “You are my beautiful wife.” He affirmed with a grunt, and moved away to change into his own smallclothes. Abandoning his leather and armor always felt unusual for him.

There was no debating your husband, whose stubbornness was sometimes renowned. Instead, you smiled, abandoning the snug, ivory fabric for your field of sage, hastily pulling it on over the swell of your stomach.

It gave you ample time to observe Cregan, whose musculature ensnared you time and time again. He was impressively thick, broad-shouldered and built like the Wall itself. Seeing him standing there in just his trousers made something hot stir between your legs.

You crept forward, shamelessly wrapping your arms around him from behind, and you could feel a tremor throughout his body when he huffed. “I have a handsome husband, a perfect husband — and that is the plain truth.” You hummed, cold cheek burying itself against the warmth of his skin.

Wordlessly, you peppered soft kisses against his spine, and to any scars and bruises that you could see. You listened to the sharp exhale from your husband, who did not protest your actions. Your lips felt like the kiss of snow, still cold from the chilly outdoors.

Cregan let you stay that way, and in-truth, he enjoyed it thoroughly. Those large, calloused hands placed themselves atop yours, lifting both to his lips as he kissed your knuckles. He let them drop, and you caressed him wherever you could. The gesture was soft, but he couldn’t deny the growing sensuality present between you both.

“For the blood of the dragon, your hands run cold, wife.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly tracing his fingers across your wrist, feeling your physique against his back, including the swell of your belly. You pressed your palms against his abdomen, able to feel the taut, subtle muscle there.

“It is a good thing that I have you to warm them,” The silky, soft resonance of your voice brought him comfort. You sounded so relaxed and blissful, feeling him sluggishly turn around within your hold. Cregan cupped your cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing across your lips. You kissed his thumb. “Kiss me.”

Cregan’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, and he instead gestured to the meal he’d brought with him. “Once you eat and have proper sustenance, I might indulge you then, beloved.” He mused, noticing the twinge of disappointment on your face.

“Might?” There was an upward inflection within your tone, as if the mere suggestion of might had offended you to some degree. Your burly husband then caged you within his embrace, palms soothingly caressing along your hips. “Must you insist on tormenting me?” You teased.

With a low grunt, Cregan reached for his tunic, eyes twinkling with mirth. “For now.” Tugging on the dark blue linen of his nightshirt, he gestured for you to eat, sitting beside you at the table. His own chair groaned in protest, and before he knew it, you were devouring your stew.

A mouthful of warm, seasoned broth filled your maw, accompanied with hearty chunks of venison and stewed vegetables. The cuisine in the North differed greatly from the South, not that you minded. You often felt more fulfilled after meals than you used to.

“Gods, that was wonderful,” You groaned, the stew satisfying your cravings. It warmed you to the bone, causing a shudder to roll down your spine as you finished, nudging the bowl aside. “I could eat several servings of that.” Your confession prompted Cregan to smirk.

“Famished, were you?” Cregan mused, watching as you moved out of your chair, cradling your stomach with one hand. He very nearly rushed to assist you, but he knew you would’ve swatted him aside.

“Quite, but I am eating for two. Your child needs it as much as I do,” You remarked, wandering toward the hearth as you extended one palm toward the fire. The comforting heat licked across your flesh, the orange light dancing over your features. “Much better.”

Cregan joined you not long after, guiding you to sit atop the large footlocker at the end of your marital bed, closest to the open flames. His rough fingertips glided over the plane of sage-hued silks, as he admired your womanly form through the fabric. “This suits you.” He rumbled, gently tugging on the silk to accentuate his point.

“Tanea had the seamstress craft me new clothing, given that I’ve grown quite a bit,” Admittedly, you felt some insecurity in your current state, afraid that your husband may not enjoy you as he once had. “I am glad that you like it, husband. I was worried that you wouldn’t.”

Perplexed, chestnut brows furrowed together, his countenance one of clear concern. Slipping an arm behind you, he calmly stroked your side, silently beseeching you to tell him of your worries. He knew what it pertained to, even if it was left unspoken. “Your worries are misplaced. I love you.” He assured.

“It isn’t just that, I — I suppose I feared that you wouldn’t still enjoy me this way. Most husbands in the capital seemed so disinterested when their wives began to show.” This wasn’t the South, and Cregan was as far from a disinterested husband as one could get. He kissed your jaw, letting you rest against him.

“You are carrying our child, the heir to Winterfell — I would continue to love you regardless of what your body might look like. Damn the Southerners,” Cregan murmured, planting a hand atop your belly. “I look at you and I see my wife — I see perfection. My heart calls your name.” For a man so rugged and rough, his words made your blood surge with exhilaration.

Joining his hand, you placed your palm atop his, the one firmly perched against your belly. If Cregan were being truthful with himself, he found you to be painfully beautiful like this, swollen with his child, knowing that he put a pup in you. Those lascivious fantasies had now become reality.

“Ñuha dōna zokla,” My sweet wolf — your High Valyrian often brought him to heel, bringing out the siren’s lull within your voice. Cregan had made a valiant effort to learn some of the language for you, but it never sounded as pleasant on his Northern tongue. “I am yours.” You beamed, lilac hues glistening with ardor.

Bringing a calloused palm to your face, he traced the fine plane of your cheekbone, reveling in the velveteen texture of your flesh. A wolf, brought to heel at his dragon’s side. Cregan studied your Valyrian features, basking in your beauty, coaxing you in for a kiss.

Your mouth was disarmingly soft, catching him off-guard, stealing away all of his coherency. He felt you turn inward, palm planting itself against the thick, corded muscle of his thigh, gripping him tightly as he deepened your kiss.

Something warm stirred within him, a longing to feel your body against his, able to detect the hitch within your breath as he drew you closer. Your wanton need radiated from you in thick, permeating waves, enough to bring him into the intricate web of your desire.

“Easy, wife.” Cregan rumbled, wanting to temper your carnality before it raged into that of a dragon’s flame. Your pleading gaze suggested otherwise, prompting him to caress along the length of your spine. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

A begrudging sigh escaped your lips as you incessantly tugged at his tunic, staring at your husband with furrowed brows. “You wouldn’t,” You uttered, tracing your fingers over his heart. “We do not have to commit the entire act. I simply want to enjoy you in other ways — I miss it.”

Subtlety wasn’t your strongest suit, and Cregan knew this. Arousal stirred within him, cock twitching at your lascivious insinuations. “Hm,” A soft growl left him, one that seemed to share your sentiments. “Is that what my lady commands of me?” He murmured, holding you close.

“She does,” You hummed, treating him to a playful smile as you reached for his chestnut tresses. One of your hands slithered beneath his tunic, feeling along the solid, thick muscle of his abdomen. He stroked at your belly, a stern hum reverberating within his throat. “Gods, I need you.” You exhaled.

With your need laid bare, Cregan heeded you with a fire swirling within his gut. His hand dipped down to the apex of your thighs, pushing beneath your silken shift until he found your cunt. Gods, you were wet already, a tantalizing thing, one that he found delight in.

“You are warm already, beloved.” Cregan’s thunderous timbre raked down your spine, effortlessly gaining your subservience with ease. You shivered, feeling his thick fingers deftly caress across your slit, teasing and toying with you, gathering your slick.

Feather-light touches would have to suffice as Cregan lazily pressed one digit against your clit. His mouth found the slender expanse of your neck, delivering hot, passionate kisses against your throat.

A simpering whine tore past your parted lips, one filled with such urgency as you shifted closer, writhing against the sensation of his hand. Any lick of friction would do, consuming your body with its amatory heat. He grunted into the hollow of your throat, kissing you wherever you could.

Your own mouth found the impressive bulk of his shoulder, seeking to bring your teeth into his flesh. A sonorous, rumbling grunt left your husband when you bit him, leaving behind the crescent marks of your teeth. If it weren’t for your pregnancy, he would’ve marked you in this way, too.

Seeking the softness of your mouth, Cregan’s mouth twitched into a threadbare smirk as he kissed you hard, letting it linger as his hand withdrew from your skirts. A groan of disappointment left you, but he intended on making up for it fully.

He moved off of the footlocker, planting a lasting kiss against your brow. Towering over you, Cregan’s shadow eclipsed most flickers of firelight, gray hues swirling with warmth as he bent the knee to you, his beloved. It was a mesmerizing sight, one that you reveled in.

His massive musculature bullied its way between your thighs, warm palms shifting to caress along your legs, from ankle to calf. He had never seen someone as resplendent as you, breathtakingly beautiful, the blood of the dragon, his wife.

Gathering your skirts within your hands, you fisted the silks, dragging them up until they pooled around your hips. Warm lips embraced the crook of your knee, peppering kisses across your leg, until he reached the velvet flesh of your inner thighs.

Your hips began to tilt forward, seeking the pleasant heat of his mouth, a heat that he gladly granted you time and time again. Cregan kissed his way to the slick warmth between your legs, a thunderous exhale escaping him, chest vibrating with a grunt.

Cregan gingerly adjusted your position, letting your legs rest against his broad shoulders, your back sloped against the furs and footboard of your bed. He pressed a kiss against your mound, nose buried near your pelvis before he made his descent.

A warm lap of his tongue dragged itself over your core, like hot embers raking across your cunt. You sighed, blissfully succumbing to wanton desire, reaching for his crown of chestnut tresses, gripping at the back of his skull. “Cregan.” You whined, head rolling forward just a bit.

Pale waves framed your face, countenance contorted into an expression of sheer and utter bliss, brows furrowing together. Your husband happily found his solace between your legs, mouth pressing hot kisses across your cunt. His hand gripped at your haunch, the other trailing against your leg.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Cregan lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into the furs at your side, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Any inkling of roughness had dissipated from him in the wake of your pregnancy, replaced with a passionate devotion, a rapture reserved only for you. His strong hands held you close, caressing you wherever he could.

You tasted sweet upon his tongue, honey-thick and a feast to sate his appetite. If he would choose his fate, it would be in between your legs, listening to the myriad of moans and throaty whimpers leave you. It was satisfying to know how much you enjoyed this; derived pleasure from it.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. Cregan’s mouth forged a blazing path from the hood of your cunt to your entrance, tongue greedy and hot, before he went back up again, seeking your sensitive pearl.

“Cregan!” Gods, he brought you such pleasure, a pleasure that seemed to seep into your very bones, sate your endless yearning, for now. Your legs curled inward, tight atop his shoulders as you rocked yourself into his mouth, doing little to suppress the volume of your moans.

He pressed closer with a wolf’s appetite, throat burning with carnal hunger as he continued to lap at your slick cunt. Your arousal felt honey-thick upon his tongue, something reserved only for him, chin glistening with your nectar. Your legs squeezed at his head, and he knew that he pleasured you well.

Molten heat churned within the pit of your stomach, a sensation that you had been longing to feel again. Cregan did not relent, yet he happened to slow just enough to savor you, dragging his tongue toward that clutch of nerves at the hood of your cunt.

As soon as he pursed his lips around your clit, you nearly forgot your own name, thoughts completely derailed, scattered into a blissful abyss. Your body reacted with shivers and tremors, hand gripping at the nape of his neck with a reckless abandon.

Your back arched slightly, collarbone glittering with perspiration through the thick, warm haze of your chambers. The hearth had brought about a feverish heat, coupled with the throes of your intimate entanglement. Cregan derived satisfaction from your pleasure, delighted to please his wife.

Pliant flesh filled his palm as he cupped your derrière, bringing you closer, letting you grind yourself against his mouth, use him and take whatever you needed. A grunt stirred within his chest, reverberating within his throat as he went about seeking your clit, suckling on the pearl of your cunt.

“Oh Gods,” You moaned, nearly clasping a hand over your mouth to hide the salaciousness of your voice. Surely, the servants had heard you by now — you would be fortunate if all of Winterfell didn’t hear you. “I — I’m close!” Rocking forward again, you let out a whimper.

With a strangled whine, you desperately chased after your release, one that you had sorely needed. Cregan’s cock twitched at the sound of your delicious moans, a shudder rolling down his spine whenever you whimpered his name. “That’s it,” He rumbled, hot breath fanning over your core. “Go on.” His encouragement was softly spoken through his Northern timbre.

He wanted to stay there, rooted between your legs, mouth consuming your cunt as if it were his last meal; a man wrought with starvation.

Cregan favored it, thoroughly reveling in the way your body reacted to him, visceral and ecstatic. He gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his chestnut locks, gripping him tight. He wanted you to have your release, built upon this pent-up feeling.

He could feel your encroaching release, feel the tension in your grasp, the way you let your hips continue to lurch forward. Without relenting, Cregan continued to suck at your clit, letting it intermingle with hot laps of his tongue, dutiful and fervent between your legs.

A comfortable silence filled the gap between you, intermingled with the sounds of your pleasured cries and Cregan’s sonorous grunts. That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth.

At last, your peak consumed you in a white-hot oblivion, and you very nearly saw the stars themselves. With a strangled gasp, your legs tightened on either side of his head, followed by a blissful rush of liquid heat. Your grip began to slack upon his tresses, chest heaving from exertion.

Cregan lingered there for a few moments more, tongue caressing your cunt, cleaning up any last drop of your nectar. His mouth glistened with it when he did inevitably withdraw, lashing across his lips before he kissed your thighs, showering you in affection.

“Do you feel better?” He mused, kissing the crook of your knee before standing to his feet. You were positively hot, feeling a feverish warmth crawl across your skin, thighs shaking in the aftermath. You hastily adjusted your slip, regarding him with a gracious expression.

“Very much,” Your confession made him smirk as he helped you into bed, abandoning his tunic at the iron-wrought foot. As he settled down, you joined him, curled within the space at his side. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

Cregan never expected you to do anything that you didn’t want to — never feel obligated, either. He would survive without a night of release. “Tomorrow, perhaps.” He murmured, moving to rest a hand against the swell of your stomach, caressing your growing bump.

“Thank you, husband — for everything.” A gentle hum left you as you placed your hand over his, allowing him to protectively cradle your stomach. You let your head rest against his shoulder, his arm holding you at his side.

A bemused huff escaped him as he peered at you with mirthful hues, gray eyes that resembled a thunderstorm. “You needn’t thank me,” He assured, briefly pressing a kiss to your temple. “You needn’t ask for it, either.” Cregan enjoyed the taste of your cunt more than anything else.

You couldn’t help but smile, sheepishly moving to press a kiss against his jaw. “I love you,” You sighed, letting your ardor for him be known as you felt your eyes grow heavy. “Tomorrow, I would like for us to see Silverwing. She grows lonely in my absence.”

Cregan knew how much the creature meant to you. He had met Silverwing before, but he dared not climb upon her back — you’d asked it of him several times before. “Of course, beloved.” He murmured, basking in the heat of the firelight.

A sharp, fluttering sensation blossomed throughout your abdomen, prompting you to gasp. It was sudden and unexpected, but not painful. It was foreign, and had been happening on rare occasions.

“What is it?” Cregan questioned, visibly concerned before you dismissed it with a bright, delighted smile. You gently guided his hand elsewhere atop your stomach, pale brows furrowing together as you searched for the source.

“There,” You mused, joyous laughter escaping you as another kick fluttered against your joined hands. “Do you feel it?” It was heartwarming to watch the happiness glisten within his eyes, the way in which he adjusted his position to truly feel. Cregan’s true smiles were a rarity, and you saw it now.

The blood of the wolf and the dragon stirred within, prompting you to smile appreciatively at your husband. This was something the both of you had made with your love, the heir to Winterfell. “They seem strong,” Cregan remarked, leaning over to plant a kiss against your brow. “Perfect, just like their mother.”

His hand never left your belly, even as he maneuvered the furs over the both of you, letting you move to lay against the warm expanse of his chest. Cregan exhaled, staring into the dying embers of the heart, tracing his digits along the swell of your stomach.

“Strong, just like their father.” You whispered, pressing a kiss against his jaw before you settled down for slumber, shielded by the protective grasp of your Lord-husband.

[borathae]

↳ Index [Day 05 - Dragon Cock]

Pairing: Soft Dom!Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: Dragon!Yoongi, Fantasy!AU, Secret Love!AU

Kinks: dragon cock, cunnilingus, magical spit, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetrative sex, he tries so hard to be gentle with her, breeding, creampie, multiple orgasms, praise, strength kink, size kink (he is a lot bigger ‘cause dragon yk), giddy aftercare

Wordcount: 5.5k

a/n: i love him i love him i love him!! he is my beloved pookie and i’ve only known him for one day! also, click this link if you wanna see his delicacies :) i’m serious, do it :)

You lived in Bailemon, which liked to consider itself a town, but it was very far from that. It was small, perhaps even small enough to be considered a village instead of a town. Not many outsiders visited Bailemon because it was far from big cities, nestled between two high mountain ranges and hidden in a dense forest. The roads were passable, but not good. People here lived from the forest and from the little mountainous farming they were able to do during the warmer months.

Your town – or village – had a village square where each second day, the farmers and merchants gathered to sell their goods. In autumn, there was a festival of fire held on the square to ward off the evil spirits of winter. Bailemon also had a place of worship, which was considered holy beyond comparison. It was said that on its grounds, evil cannot tread and in times of danger, one should run to it for shelter.

The people in your village were superstitious, they believed in ghosts, dark magic and demons. You knew their superstition to be justified. This world was dark. The nights during the cold months were too long not to bring forth evil. But you also knew that stuff like holy grounds were nothing but lies to make life in the village easier. Evil walks where it pleases, it takes what it wants and leaves no room for escape.

You lived in the village with your aging parents, taking care of them as their only surviving child. You had a brother once, but he walked into the forest one day and never returned. People say that evil spirits got him, but you know that this was a lie because you looked for him. At least you tried to because you never found him nor traces of evil spirits. You are convinced that it was simply a pack of hungry wolves which took him from your family. Or perhaps he ran away to somewhere warmer and happier. You wouldn’t blame him.

As the only living child of your parents, it became your duty to tend to them in their growing age. You earned money forging swords for the Queen’s army and went hunting whenever food ran out. You also helped the farmers shoe their horses and ox and sometimes scared villagers came to you asking for yet another lock for their front door. Your family lived well thanks to you, even if work by the forge was hard and difficult.

If you weren’t sweating by the scorching fire or hunting in the forest, you walked it in search of berries and mushrooms or to train with your sword. The reason however why you walked the woods most, was the dragon living high up in the northern mountains.

Dragons. Yes, they were as real as evil spirits and wicked demons were and your village was under the protection of one.

Dragons didn’t look as one might imagine a dragon to look like, at least not always. They could morph their enormous dragonic bodies into human-like bodies and walk among people. Their eyes, however, always remained a fiery yellow and their canine teeth were always sharp and pointy. They were also taller than normal humans and had scales down their necks and torsos. Some even had scales on their hands and sharp claws which sliced deeper than any blade ever could. In the lands of humans, dragons were considered gods.

The festival of fire was held because of the dragon living in the mountains. A brave soul is sent to his lair to ask him for his presence each year. Then once the dragon comes down from his high home, he lights the fire with his hot breath and with it, wards off the evil winter spirits. Once the fire burns bright, the villagers begin dancing around the fire in pairs, thanking the dragon for the fire and his protection while he sits on a wooden throne, overlooking the dance. He is always alone during these festivities, drinking wine and eating meat, except for when one of the many willing women – and men – try catching his attention. He never reciprocates. 

Marrying a dragon was considered a gift from the gods and not many were successful. Dragons were a distant people – perhaps that is why they became so rare these days – and scarcely engaged with humans except for when they were needed. They lived longer than any human ever would and because of their bigger bodies, many who tried to be intimate with a human, ended up hurting their beloved counterpart. So for the safety of humans, of whom the dragons were very fond, they stayed away from them.

That doesn’t stop you however from regularly walking the path to the dragon’s lair. Sword strapped to your back and with a thick dress warming your body, you walk the steep and stony path. You put your parents to sleep already and locked the cottage. The priest spoke of evil spirits dancing on the wind tonight and you didn’t want to risk anything. You knew that they were safe in your house because you placed dragon ash by each window and door. It was the only thing which truly kept evil away and it is a regular present the dragon gives you.

You take a deep breather once you reach the mountain plateau in front of his cave. Marks of his dragon body landing dig deep into the grey gravel. Small autumn flowers grow in its deep crevices. The dragon placed a pot of flowers next to the cave entrance. You have to chuckle each time you pass it because of its peculiarity. It looks so out of place and yet fits his character so well.

“Yoongi!” you call out the dragon’s name, voice echoing in the big cave. You venture deeper into the cave, leaving the cold autumn air behind. “Yoongi, are you home?”

His lair consisted of two caves. One big and deep and one smaller. The big cave was in the front, welcoming you with endless darkness as it dug deep into the mountain. It smelled ancient and wet in here and there was always a faint sound of water trickling somewhere. Yoongi can fly in it when he is in his true form and hide on the ceiling when he doesn’t want to be found. The smaller cave was where he lived however. You have to take a sharp turn to the right for it and walk through a corridor-like walkway. The ceiling shrinks in height until it was but six meters.

“Yoongi, are you in here?” you try again, entering his true lair. Your voice doesn’t echo anymore. Lantern and torches light up the walls, a fireplace warms the space, expensive rugs cover the stone ground and golden furniture fills the room. Gold, jewels and crystals are scattered all around the cave in heaps or stuffed into big treasure chests. It feels homely here and tonight it is empty.

“Where the heavens are you?” you murmur, looking around the lair. An especially golden cup calls your attention. You bend down to inspect it better, fluttering your lashes at your own distorted reflection. It brings a chuckle to your lips and you straighten up, “how silly I looked.”

You ghost your fingers over a set of earrings next. They sparkle like stars in the sky. They are so beautiful.

“Careful, they’re worth more than your entire village.”

“Oh heavens”, you startle, pulling your sword in instinct and whipping around quickly. The blade graces against your stalker’s throat without cutting them.

“Don’t strike me down just yet”, Yoongi says, lifting his hands.

“You scared me”, you say, touching his chin with the tip of your sharp sword.

The right corner of his lips curls into an amused smirk, revealing glimpses of his long fangs.

“I could tell”, he says blithely despite the sword against his throat.

You put pressure on his chin, forcing his head to tilt up and for his amused smirk to grow. His fiery eyes flicker, a deep growl rumbles in his chest. 

“I could have cut your head off”, you say. 

“And yet you didn’t.”

You flip the blade to its side, forcing him to gulp because of the sharpness against his skin.

“Careful now”, he rasps.

“Mhm”, you decide with a cock of your brow, pulling your sword back. You twirl it once then put it back into its sheath, features warming as you laugh.

His golden eyes soften and a smile curls his lips. He closes the distance, placing his big hands on your waist and bending down to kiss your lips. You rest your hands on his strong chest, getting on your tiptoes to reach him better. He breaks the kiss, rubbing his nose against yours gently. His breath smells fresh and feels warm.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“The cottage was too cold.”

He laughs, “this is the only reason?”

You snicker, dancing your hands to the nape of his strong neck to trace the scales. You shake your head, “no, I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“You did?”

“Mh-hm very much so.”

He draws a giggle to your lips. He smiles, tasting it with a tender kiss. “Come here you”, he mumbles and deepens the kiss. He lifts you off the ground for it just enough that you didn’t have to stand on your tiptoes any longer. 

You break the kiss to talk, even if he disagrees with a low growl. His golden eyes gaze longingly at your lips.

“Where were you before I called for you?”

“Deep in the caves, digging for gold.”

“I see and were-”

He interrupts you in laughed words, “will you kiss me or do I have to steal it from you?”

“No. No, I will kiss you. I got the message”, you laugh, pulling him into a deep kiss.

Yoongi purrs deeply, holding you tighter against him as his lips fall into a passionate dance with yours.  

You met Yoongi in the year your brother died. You knew him long before that, but up until then, never talked to him. You simply watched from a distance as he lit the fire and then sat on his throne overlooking the dance. You also watched him refuse countless suitors and return to his cave alone once the festival ended. Other than that, you never engaged with him. You had always found him interesting, because dragons are gods after all and he looked so very beautiful in his human form. His hair was as black as soot, his eyes as golden as flames and his scales were an iridescent of black and gold. He didn’t possess sharp claws, which made his touch so very gentle and tender and his lips were soft and pouty which made his kiss so very addicting.

You talked to Yoongi in the year your brother died. You spent too many days to count in the dense forest in search for him and it happened that one day, you got lost. You tried and tried to find your way back, but couldn’t. Night replaced the day and you already saw yourself freezing to death when he came. At first you thought him to be a bear, but then he asked you if you were lost and you knew that you were saved. You told him about why you were in the forest and he offered you comfort in your painful times of grief. He allowed you to talk about your brother as he walked you back to the village, he even allowed you to cry and assured you that your tears were not “entirely silly”. Once he led you back to your cottage, he gave you a bag of dragon ash and told you to spread it on each window and door to keep the rest of your family safe and you thanked him with promises of praying to him in the worship hall tomorrow. Back then, you thought that you were blessed and lucky to have an interaction with him, but you never could have imagined that this one time interaction became a regular thing.

Ever since that day, he began waiting for you by the forest road, offering you companionship in your search for your brother and like this, your walks in the forest became a regular thing until one day, you took his hand and he took yours, never wanting to let go again.

The people in the village didn’t know about your relationship with Yoongi. It was your wish to keep it secret because you knew that they would ruin it. They would force you to marry him, to bear his children, to become their goddess. You didn’t want this life, you wanted to take care of your parents and help the people with your smithies, not be someone to worship.

Yoongi didn’t mind that you wanted to keep him a secret. He liked it. He had many treasures taken from him because they were precious to him and if it was revealed that you were the most precious treasure of all, it would kill you and him in the process. He cannot lose you, not ever. Not when he walked the earth alone for so long, not when his fiery heart finally had someone to burn for.

Yoongi was lonely before he met you. He had other dragons to talk to, but he enjoyed the company of only a very, very few. He also had lots of suitors, which could have made the nights easier, but Yoongi wasn’t one for meaningless fucking. Yoongi craved connection above all. He craved intimacy and trust and conversation. He craved someone to care for and someone to see him as another living being not as a god. You give him all of this and more, but Yoongi knows that even if you didn’t give him any of that, he would love you. He loves you without reason after all. He loves you simply because it was right.

You break the kiss for air, vision just a little blurry as you look at him. You are eye to eye when you are in his arms, hands running along his scaly neck and strong shoulders. A black tunic sits on his torso, allowing his higher body heat to reach your palms. Even in the iciest nights he will warm you. Sometimes in winter, when your parents were already sleeping and the village was quiet, Yoongi sneaks into your cottage through the window (which is always hilarious because he is very big in comparison to the small frame) so he could warm you as you fell asleep. He is always gone the next morning, only having left behind a fresh bag of dragon ash and a few gold coins you could spent in the big city on food.

“You are so warm”, you say, making his eyes smile.

“You are such a delight.”

Your eyes race between the other’s, you and he feel breathless. Your fingers run up to his slightly pointy ears, scratching him behind them.

Yoongi purrs, tilting his head back as his lids flutter. 

“If you touch me like this…”

“I know.”

It is a silent understanding between you and him. Yoongi sighs your name and pulls you into a kiss. His fangs clash with yours before he naturally fixes his roughness, kissing you oh so tenderly. Tenderly, but also incredibly hungry. You moan, fingers twisting his black locks and legs closing around his waist. He answers you in a guttural growl, fingers grasping you harder.

This is also why you walked the difficult path. Not only did you want to see him, you wanted his body and touch. You craved it like fire craves wood to burn.

Yoongi walks to his bed with you, laying you atop the big mattress. He climbs over you, caging you under his big, strong body. You open your legs willingly, hands slipping from his hair to grasp the sheets instead. 

The kiss breaks because he broke it. His hot breath graces your skin. He cradles your cheek, thumb caressing your temple.

“My treasure, I”, he begins, fingers dimpling your soft thigh possessively, “I need you. I need you so much, I can scarcely breathe. Will you have me?”

You nod your head vigorously, stomach fluttering in what was to come. 

“I need to hear it, please.”

“I will. I will have you”, you allow him, parting your legs. 

Yoongi moans your name and kisses you, pulling you up into a sitting position to take off your sword. Your fingers are busy with his shirt, undoing the knots and bows. You break apart for just a moment, taking off your clothes. You cannot bother to be dressed. 

A moment of calm after the undressing, used to stare at each other. You are both kneeling on the bed, facing each other. He is panting, growling deeply each time he exhales like a dragon ready to spit fire. The sound makes you wetter each time he does it. His torso is muscular and his scales hug his form as if he was wearing armour. They are mostly around his chest and upper back and fade out on his lower torso. His legs and crotch are free of scales, skin golden and sun-kissed and looking so human. You touch him, tracing the scales first before making your way down to his legs. 

He lets you, eyes mesmerised by the plumpness of your breasts and the curves of your bared body. He reaches out, sending his fingers on a walk along your landscape. 

“You are so beautiful”, he speaks softly, eyes gazing at the goosebumps his touch draws to the surface. 

“You are just as beautiful”, you tell him, caressing the silken skin of his stomach.

You reach his hips. His skin is so soft there and sensitive to scratches. You give him exactly that, making his cock twitch between his thighs. 

Yoongi’s cock wasn’t human and the first time you saw it in its full size, you understood why so many dragons ended up hurting their lovers. It was the cock of a dragon, made for dragon. If he was in his true form, you are actually unable to take it because of its enormous size. If he was in his human form, it shrunk with him, but it was still insanely big in comparison to human cocks. His cock curved slightly in the shape of an S. He wasn’t smooth as humans were, instead his length had an engorged tip with a textured shaft, which stimulated even your deepest spots. When he released inside you, his base swelled up, keeping his cock lodged inside you until your quivering walls had enough of drinking his nectar. 

You were scared at first and Yoongi, feeling just a little insecure that you couldn’t like his cock, told you that you could still escape if you so wished to do. The fear in his voice drew you closer to him back then and you assured him that you could make it work because you wanted nobody else to fill you than him. He took your virginity that night and for not one second, you felt pain or discomfort, lying in his arms afterwards while his fingertips drew shapes of adoration on your skin and he whispered how much he adored you.

The memories of countless shared nights draw you closer to him and your hand to his cock, tracing his textured shaft. Despite his many pumps and crevices, his skin was soft to the touch. He was hotter than humans and it made his length feel incredible inside. It is best described as a feeling of burning from the inside in the most pleasurable of ways and once he releases inside, oh, once his hot cream fills your belly to the point of bloating, the heat is so intense that you often end up screaming in ecstasy. 

You close your fingers around his base tightly and drag them up to his tip. The pressure is enough to squeeze droplets of precum out of his slit, eliciting a deep growl from him. 

He frowns, exhaling a hot swirl of breath on your face. It wasn’t painful, simply insanely arousing. His fingers dimple your hips as he grabs you. You wobble slightly from the intense touch, hand trembling around his large cockhead.

“You are playing with fire”, he lulls, eyelids heavy in pleasure.

“I like it hot”, you taunt, twisting your fist around his tip. 

“You drive me insane”, he gets out and slaps your hand away for the sole purpose of pushing you into the sheets. He pins your hands above your head. “One day it will end in your punishment.” 

You moan, writhing under him. You wouldn’t mind being punished if it meant that you could feel his touch.

“Stay like this.” 

You whimper, nodding your head in obedience. 

“I will be gentle, I promise.” 

He lowers his lips to your neck, kissing a path down to your heat. He is hasty in his kisses, letting his impatience shine through this way. Dragons, so he told you, are a greedy people. Once they lust for something - or in his case, someone - they would do anything to claim it as quickly as possible. Stuff like taking it slow and preparing you are foreign to his people, but he does it for you. He is so good in being patient, but sometimes his greed shines through. Tonight for example when he kisses a greedy and hasty path down your body just so he could be between your legs faster. 

He places one kiss on each of your inner thighs, strong fingers gripping your flesh afterwards to pull your legs apart. His fiery eyes race over your exposed cunt, flickering hungrily.  

“You are so wet already”, he rasps. 

“I wanted you all week.” 

“I wanted you more, you have no idea.” 

Patience finally leaves him and he claims what he lusts for most, drawing a yelp of pleasure from you. You arch your back, legs shaking in his hold and fingers grasping his thick hair as he feasts on your cunt sloppily. 

Yoongi pleases you with his mouth for two reasons, he told you. The first reason is his insatiable hunger and greed. You are sweeter than anything he could ever taste and your cunt’s nectar makes his head blurry in pleasure. The second reason is the more important one. It is to make you ready for his dragonic cock. The spit of a dragon is relaxing to a human, it contains elements which not only heighten the sensitivity of their nerve endings, but which also relaxes the muscles so their holes could take a dragon’s cock easily. Yoongi confessed to you back then that the reason why so many dragons hurt their human lovers is because they don’t take time to properly relax them. They let their lust and greed control them and as a result hurt their humans.

Yoongi would never. Yoongi takes his time with you. He licks every inch of your dripping heat, buries his long tongue deep in your walls and pumps it into you until your tightened walls loosened up and you are gaping for his cock. He licks you to orgasm whenever he prepares you and you always shake in his grip, forcing his greed to grow to unbearable levels. Yoongi loves your orgasms as much as he loves gold. 

Tonight is no different, Yoongi draws an overwhelming orgasm out of you. You scream, legs trying to close on his head and weakened body helplessly shaking on the sheets. Yoongi growls into you, pushing his fingers deep into your loose cunt so he could feel your walls tremble. 

He keeps them inside you after your high ebbed down, curling them greedily while his soiled lips kiss up your body. He grabs your wrists and holds them together, big body draped over yours and fingers rubbing your sensitive insides. 

“You’re sweating”, he rasps, gazing at you obsessively.

“Please fuck me, please”, you beg, voice so close to a sob. His fingers aren’t enough. “I need your cock, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please.”

“I will be gentle, I promise”, he says, slipping his fingers from your cunt to jerk his own cock. He guides it to your gaping cunt, rubbing it through your folds. “You are so beautiful, my treasure”, he breathes, giving you all his adoration by pushing into you. 

You gasp, tensing up under him at the feeling of his engorged tip pushing past your entrance.

“Are you hurting?” he asks, moving as slowly as possible. 

You shake your head, gazing up at him droopily. 

“Tell me if it does. You are doing so well, my treasure”, he whispers, fingers rubbing your swollen clit to make the breach easier. 

“It feels so good…” 

You can feel his large tip as it digs deeper and deeper, but what truly feels like heaven are the many pumps and crevices filling you. Your entrance is on pleasurable fire, feeling every texture inch by inch. His saliva made your walls sensitive to the very end, forcing you to feel his textured cock even deep inside. He curves so perfectly that his large tip presses against you deepest pleasure spot, forcing your belly to bulge just a little because he was so, so big. 

“I’m in. Does it hurt?” he asks, keeping still for your sake. His greed tells him to take you rough. It takes everything inside him not to give into his animalistic side. 

You spill tears. 

“No. No, I’m sorry I-” he panics, but gets stopped when you rip your hands free from his grasp to cradle his face instead.

“I love you, Yoongi.” 

He shudders, melting into your hands.

“I love you too”, he gets out and twists the pillow above your head as he begins pumping his cock into you. “Does this please you?”

“A-ah”, you let out, trembling in reaction. 

“Is it too much?”

“No, please…don’t stop”, you croak, rolling your eyes back as you fall into the pleasurable fire. Your lips part, making way for the endless noises of bliss he draws out of you. It feels so good. He feels so good.

“You are so beautiful. Oh, I need you. I want you. I crave you, argh”, he growls, twisting the pillow rougher as his greedy hips pick up speed. Your moans drive him wild, the view of your glowing face has the same effect on him than the view of fresh gold does. He feels high, head pounding as he feeds his insatiable lust with each heavy, deep thrust. 

Your body is so small under him, looking so fragile and breakable and yet you take him so easily. Yoongi rips the pillow, grinding his fangs as he growls. He buries his cock deeper in your gaping walls, forcing your back to arch off the mattress and for your voice to rise in pitch. He lets his tail grow just so he could wrap it around your waist and hold you in this position while he rubbed your pulsating clit and fucked your soft cunt. 

“You’re mine. My treasure, my everything, my beloved”, he chants, deep voice contorted in pleasure.

He is still in disbelief that you can take him so easily. So small, so fragile, so soft and yet you can house him entirely. The first time he laid with you, Yoongi barely went past his first two inches, moving carefully and slowly just so he wouldn’t hurt you. He would have been fine if that was all that you could ever take, but you proved him so wrong. He can be free with you. You can fully take him and it makes you moan so blissfully that Yoongi feels high just from the sound of it.

He is so blessed to have you. His treasure, his beloved, his everything. His tail tightens around your waist possessively, angling your hips so he could go so much deeper. 

You wail his name, fingers gripping his strong arms and legs dropping as they stop working. Only his tail holds you up right now while you shake under him.

“Are you?”

“Yes”, you wail, moaning loudly afterwards.

“I need you, I fucking need you”, he spits, cursing because you anger him in pure lust, “I’m going to fill you with my seed until you’re bursting. I will paint your walls golden, you will be mine. Mine forever, urgh.” 

“Please! Please make me yours, please!” 

Yoongi lets out a dragonic growl, ripping the pillow apart and throwing his head back as your pleas break him. His big balls empty themselves in your trembling heat, giving you so much pleasure that you orgasm again with screams of his name. There is so much of his seed and it doesn’t want to stop, filling you up past your limits so it squirts out of you with each angry thrust. And Yoongi keeps going until his base swells and he genuinely cannot move his cock anymore. 

He drops his head into the crook of your neck, huffing and puffing demonically. His cock is still releasing into you, making you sob because the pressure of his engorged base and swollen tip against your overly sensitive walls makes you orgasm again. 

“Yoongi, I can’t do this. I can’t, it feels too good”, you plead, walls clenching around his swollen cock as they drink his golden seed greedily. 

“I know, my treasure, I know”, he soothes you, “I can’t stop. I’m so greedy, I can’t stop. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t do this, Yoongi. Yoongi please”, you beg, barely able to breathe. While dragon’s spit relaxes, their seed gives a human a rush of pleasure. The first time it happened, you cried because it was so overwhelming. You still need to cry often whenever he breeds you and tonight all that holds you back is the loving embrace of his tail around your waist. It feels so good but also like too much because you cannot stop orgasming.

“Not again, ah please Yoongi!!”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It’s almost over, I promise. Please hold onto me, it’s almost over”, he soothes you, massaging your engorged clit to make it easier to bear. 

Your stomach is so bloated from his seed, you are sweating so much. He can feel one more load building up. 

“I need you to breathe for me. One last time, I promise”, he lulls and rolls his hips into you. 

You writhe and scream, scratching down his neck with all your might. You don’t draw blood because his scales protect him, but he still feels it as a pleasurable tingle. 

Yoongi lifts his head to look at you. It lasts one second because then his eyes roll back as the view of your ruined, drugged body sets him off. 

“I love you”, he wails, bursting into you one last time. He makes you orgasm with him, walls tightening to the point of milking him dry. 

This is what you both needed. To be so connected. 

He drops his head back into your neck, fingers slipping from the ruined pillow to pet your head instead.

“My treasure, oh my treasure, my golden beloved”, he croaks, kissing you gently, “I’m sorry for being so greedy, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. I’m so happy”, you get out, body laying limp and ruined under him. His swollen cock is still inside you, keeping every droplet of his golden seed in you. It warms you so much, makes you feel so good.

“You are? You’re happy?” he asks.

“So happy.” You hug him with your weak arms, barely able to close them around his broad back. “I’m yours.”

He whimpers, seeking your closeness by hugging you against his chest with his strong arm and his tail. 

“Oh my most loved treasure.” He kisses a slow path up to your face, cradling your cheek with his unoccupied hand. “Will you stay the night? I promise to fly you down to the village by morning.” 

“Yes, I’d like to stay. I couldn’t possibly walk tonight. Not after how you ruined me.”

A shy giggle slips from his lips. You open your eyes, meeting his giddy gaze. His cheeks are flushed, his dark hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead. The view of him makes his cock feel so much better inside you. You are his. So entirely and willingly his. 

“I couldn’t help it. I missed you so much and, and you are so tempting. Did I hurt you?”

“No, it felt so good. You still do”, you say, clenching around his swollen cock. He shudders slightly, drawing closer to you.

“I promise my cock will soften soon, you just feel so good. I’m trying, but he wants to bask in you longer, I’m sorry.” 

“I hope he doesn’t soften soon. I don’t want this to end.” 

He blushes, but needs to seek more reassurance still.

“Please forgive me for the way I acted when I bred you. I acted like a greedy animal.” 

“Mhm, you did. Because you are a greedy animal. My greedy dragon, mine”, you say caressing his soft cheek.

He leans into your touch, eyes lowering in adoration. You giggle, scrunching your nose cutely. He smiles, brushing some messy strands of hair out of your forehead. 

“I love you, my little human.”

“And I love you, my strong dragon.”

[gremlingottoosilly]

A little cow girl hybrid with her owner farmer König

I raise the stakes!! Konig, who, as part of the contract that revolved around fighting a hybrid trafficking ring that sold demihumans as cattle, was sent to rescue some farm hybrid animals stuck in the breeding pan/inhuman farming conditions...but you, pretty rescued cow hybrid, isn't really good at living on your own after being rescued from a farm. You were either raised here and reached maturity in captivity - or you got captured so long ago, you don't even remember normal, human life. Konig can't just release you in the wild, you don't even have documents!! He knows it's fucked up, having a pretty cow hybrid in his house isn't so much different from the way you were treated at the farm, but...god, he just can't get his hands off you. He has a big property in the mountains so like it or not, you're turning into Austrian highland cow - and you like to roam around in the pasture while he is too busy on the firing range or at the house work. He doesn't really do nay farm work, he doesn't have time between the contracts - but he allows you to make a small garden, taking advice from a demihuman therapist that suggested you need some small activity to keep yourself occupied. Cow hybrids are generally light-headed and silly, so Konig knows he can't force you into doing harsher labor - although sometimes you like to cook and to wake him up with very loud cleaning sessions. But...of course, living with an adult, mature hybrid in your house is a tough challenge if you don't want to fuck said hybrid. Konig wants to fuck you, wanted you since the first time he had to bath you because you don't understand how the shower works and afraid of him just hosing you like people did at the farm - but he always forced himself to stop before he could actually force himself, always too awkward and nervous...even though he is obsessed with you, morals be fucked. And his morals do get fucked when you beg him to milk you. Pretty dumb thing, you don't understand that he won't help you for free - that once he is done drinking all the milk that summed up in your heavy, swollen tits, he will be forcing you on your back and make you moo as he bounces you on his cock. He doesn't enjoy quiet farm life as much as he thought he would, but he surely enjoys spending time with his newest pet...

[asoiaf-bambii]

𝔖outhern 𝔚ife

summary: to Cregan Stark, winter was comforting; to his southern-born wife, it was cruel. but with their child on the way, he’d shield them both from the north’s relentless cold — no matter the cost.

paring: cregan stark x southern!reader (house not specified)

The North had always been an unforgiving place. To those who called it home, it was a land of harsh beauty, where the cold was a constant companion, and survival was more than a mere skill—it was a way of life. But to outsiders, the North felt more like an eternal challenge, an unrelenting test of endurance.

For Cregan Stark, the endless white blanket of snow and the biting chill in the air had always been sources of comfort. The North was his sanctuary, a place where he felt both bound and unshakably rooted. In the winter, when the skies turned grey and the world seemed to hold its breath beneath a blanket of snow, he found a quiet peace. There was something almost sacred in the solitude of those cold days, something that echoed within the depths of his own heart.

But when he looked at you, he saw an entirely different story.

You stood near the grand hearth of Winterfell’s main hall, wrapped in furs far heavier than anything you’d ever needed in the warm, golden South. The flames cast a soft glow across your face, warming your cheeks, and for a moment, Cregan let his gaze linger, watching the subtle, delicate way your brow furrowed as you stared into the fire, seeking warmth. The South had been your world—a land of balmy breezes, of flowering gardens and warm sunshine. Winterfell, with its ancient stone walls and freezing nights, must have felt like a fortress built of ice and shadows.

His gaze softened, though his features remained as stern as ever. In you, he saw a softness, a gentleness that the North rarely harboured. It was as if the warmth of your homeland clung to you still, like a tender light that persisted against the cold. But he could see it too—the subtle, weary lines in your expression, the faint tremble in your hands when the chill crept too close.

And it was more than just you now. The child within you, the life you both awaited with an unspoken hope and an unyielding fear, made the stakes even higher. The North would be his child’s home, just as it was his. But as much as he loved his land, he knew it would be no kinder to his child than it had been to him.

As he approached, his footsteps slow and deliberate, you looked up, and a gentle smile lifted your lips. He could see the love and trust in your eyes, the quiet faith you held in him to keep you safe, even here in this unfamiliar land. He moved closer, his large frame casting a shadow over you, his rugged face softened just a touch by the flickering firelight.

“I know this place feels foreign,” he murmured, his deep voice as steady as the mountains, “but I swear to you, it will be a home for you… for both of you.” His gaze lowered to your abdomen, where his child grew beneath your heart. A sacred duty—that was how he saw it. This fragile life, a blend of him and you, a delicate piece of both your worlds brought together—it was his to protect.

You reached out, placing a hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath layers of wool and leather. “I trust you, Cregan,” you whispered. “I know the North is in your blood. And I know… our child will come to love it, too. But sometimes… sometimes, it feels like the cold is too much, like it seeps into my bones.”

Cregan felt a pang of something he rarely allowed himself to feel: helplessness. He could swing a sword against any enemy and defend his land and his people against any threat. But this? The cold was an enemy he could not strike down, a force he could not control. All he could do was keep the fires burning, wrap you in furs, pull you close to his chest, and let his warmth shield you, even if it never quite chased away the cold completely.

“Then I’ll stay close,” he replied, his voice a low rumble as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against him. His hands, large and rough from years of sword-wielding, settled gently on your back, holding you as if you were as precious and fragile as the finest glass. “And when the cold feels too strong, I’ll be here to keep it at bay. My warmth, my strength—it’s yours. Every bit of it.”

You leaned into him, letting the heat of his body seep into you. The broadness of his shoulders, the unyielding strength that he carried so effortlessly, was a balm against the chill that seemed to haunt Winterfell’s halls. As you pressed your cheek to his chest, you felt his fingers gently brush your hair, an act that was tender in a way only he could make it—subtle, almost hidden beneath his roughness.

The silence stretched between you, a silence that spoke of shared worries, unspoken hopes, and a deep, quiet love that neither of you had yet fully put into words. For a man like Cregan, love wasn’t something expressed in declarations or grand gestures. It was in the steadfastness of his gaze, the unwavering loyalty he showed, the way his arms tightened around you as if vowing never to let go.

His grey eyes, as sharp and fierce as the winter storms, softened as he looked down at you, his fingers tracing a gentle path along your back. “The North is harsh,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It can be cruel. But it can also be… protective. Strong. Like the walls of Winterfell. I know it seems bleak, but it’s a kind of strength. The kind that will protect you, that will protect… our child.”

You lifted your gaze, meeting his eyes, and saw something in his expression that stole your breath—a fierce, unbreakable promise. In that moment, you understood the North a little better. It wasn’t a place that gave its love freely; it was a land that guarded, that endured. And in Cregan’s embrace, you could feel that same strength, that same loyalty, radiating from him.

“Then I’ll learn to love it,” you replied softly, your voice steady with a resolve that matched his own. “If the North is your heart, then it is mine too. And our child will have the strength of both worlds.”

Cregan’s gaze held yours for a long, silent moment, as though committing every word, every promise, to memory. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, the scratch of his beard warm against your skin. It was a kiss that felt like a vow, a promise that no matter how cold or dark the North became, he would be there to shield you from its worst.

As the night deepened, he held you close by the fire, his presence a solid wall against the chill that surrounded you both. And for the first time, you felt a little less of the foreign cold, a little more of the warmth and strength that Cregan carried within him.

In his arms, you realised, Winterfell did not feel quite so strange or unwelcoming. It was slowly becoming a home, built not just of stone and ice, but of shared warmth, unspoken promises, and the fierce loyalty of a man whose heart beat steady and unyielding as the North itself.

[shellshocklove]

does anyone know where the love of god goes? | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU

summary: crossing the country alone as he searches for his brother, joel stumbles on a farm. winter is closing in, and against his better judgement he's convinced to stay. as the frost covers the land like a blanket, a warmth ignites in his heart for the young woman who's home he finds himself in.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so minors dni!!! canon-typical violence, age gap (reader is mid to late twenties), swearing, dead animals, joel being a sad man, masturbation, no use of y/n

a/n: i soft launched this ao3 last month and it flopped lol so i'm gonna keep my expectations low for this series. anyways this has been a story i've been thinking about since probably october. this is the first part of what i'm hoping will be 3 parts. happy reading i guess

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

The leaves rustled against Joel’s boots with every step he took. The sun had turned traitor cold, and he couldn’t feel its kiss against his cheek no more. The trees shivered above him in the wind – the only sound for miles except his heavy steps.

Did he still exist, with no one around? Joel had never minded being alone; after the breakout he’d found that he sometimes preferred it. People could be… well, when you’ve seen the worst of humanity, maybe it’s best to leave it behind.

And wasn’t he the worst of humanity? The things he’d done. The people he’d killed, and killed for. The people he’d lost.

But he had to keep going. For Tess. He promised.

Every night as he stared into the flames his thoughts would drift to her – the memories flickering in the fire. They should’ve never gone through that museum – it was supposed to have been empty – they should’ve never left Boston in the first place. Now Tess is gone because of him, him and his stupid plan to find his brother.

And for what? How is he ever gonna find Tommy?

Joel didn’t even know where he was. Nebraska? South-Dakota? Maybe he’d made it to Wyoming and just didn’t know it? Abe had told him ‘Cody Tower’, but Joel hadn’t seen anything other than mother nature for weeks.

Everything had started to look the same. Trees and more trees, a mountain in the distance, a grey and heavy sky above him. He’d been walking for forever. Slowly he moved west– or at least he thought he was. On the days where the sun hung high in the sky and wasn’t shielded behind a cloudy partition, he liked to watch it as it dipped below the earth. As the days turned shorter and shorter, the display of color had started to get more vivid. Joel would watch the light blue turn red and bloody, fiery tongues of flames licking over the horizon while the sharp edges of the mountains, and the triangular shapes of the trees faded into an intense black– like the shape of the mountain and the trees had been cut out with scissors. There wasn’t much to stay alive for anymore– but Joel lived for those few moments where nature painted with fire. Humanity might’ve gone to shit, but the cyclical regularity of mother nature gave Joel a small sense of peace.

But he missed the kiss of the sun against his cheek now. He’d moved into a large forest a few days ago. Tall trees hovered over him like giants and cast shadows down at him. It was colder here than out in the open country, but at least he’d been somewhat shaded from the rain pouring from the grey cover above his head the last few days.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The sound stopped Joel in his tracks. Muscle memory worked on its own, gripping the shotgun slung over his shoulder. He listened for the sound again, to the steady rhythm echoing through the forest.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

With slow calculated steps Joel walked in the direction of the sound with the shotgun held tightly to his chest, his finger hovered over the trigger. The chopping sound got louder as he closed in on a man. He couldn’t tell his age with the man’s back turned – but he was strong – Joel could tell from how hard the man’s axe hit the tree trunk.

Taking another silent step, Joel got in position, “How ‘bout you slowly turn around and place that axe on the ground.”

Joel’s voice was hoarse after no use, but still cold and calculated as he spoke his order. He could see he’d startled the man, probably thinking he was alone, just like Joel had thought mere minutes ago.

The man obeyed, turning around slowly. He was older than Joel, maybe mid-seventies, maybe older if the wrinkles and creases around his eyes and nose were to be believed. His hair was white as snow matching his unkempt beard. Joel caught his eye. Strong and steady, no trace of fear one would think a man would feel while having a gun pointed at them.

Joel’s grip around the gun tightened. He wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger if that’s where this was headed. The man watched him calmly before he bent his knees, throwing the axe haphazardly on the ground.

“Kick it over here,” Joel commanded again, and the man obeyed, kicking the axe clumsily towards Joel.

Slowly Joel crept closer, gun still pointed at the man. He locked the heel of his shoe against the shaft, dragging the axe behind him and out of the way.

“Hands where I can see ‘em.”

“Are you going to kill me, son?”

The man’s question puzzled Joel. He said it so calmly, like how you’d ask someone to pass the salt.

“That depends on you.” Joel’s answer pulled at the old man’s lips, a small huff of a laugh escaping them.

“Well, you’re the one with the gun. I think it depends on you.”

Joel tightened his grip on the shotgun again – he didn’t know why –to frighten the man? He didn’t seem very frightened.

“Are you alone?” Joel asked.

“Not anymore,” the man answered.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Joel gritted through his teeth, “who you travelin’ with?”

“No one,” the man’s eyes never left Joel, “I live at a farm about a mile away.”

“Take me to it.”

The man walked with a limp Joel noticed. It was barely there, you wouldn’t see it if you didn’t pay attention, but it was there. The man acted tough enough, but his body revealed his weaknesses. It would be easy to kill him, Joel thought, if it came to that.

He followed the man through the trees with his gun pointed at his back. When they reached the end of the forest a clearing revealed itself. They followed a path through a field of, tall but wilted, brown grass until they reached an overgrown gravel road with a fence running along it. Looking out in the distance, Joel could see small spots of white and black wool. The gravel moaned under their feet as they closed in on a small farm. A two-story house sat in the middle of the barnyard where it was surrounded by a barn who’d seen better days, a silo, and a smaller farmhouse – a stable – Joel noticed as they walked closer.

The man trudged up the front stairs of the main farmhouse, a hand on the handrail keeping him steady.

“Put that gun away would you, son? I don’t want you frightening my wife.” The man broke the silence between them, speaking for the first time since they left the woods.

Joel’s grip on his shotgun didn’t loosen. How could he be sure that this man’s ‘wife’ wasn’t some gang of raiders hiding behind the front door? A question he asked the man through gritted teeth when he turned around to look at Joel.

“There’s nothing of the sort around here,” the man said, “we don’t even see any infected.”

When Joel didn’t say anything, and didn’t lower the gun, the man spoke again, “Who are you?”

“Just someone passin’ through,” Joel answered, making the man chuckle.

“You’re something else, passer-througher,” the old man smiled before he turned around again and stepped inside, leaving Joel on the porch alone.

Abandoned outside he lowered his gun slightly. Inside he could hear muffled voices, a deeper one, definitely the old man, and a brighter one, a woman’s voice. He listened, trying to make out their words with no prevail. The man seemed to have spoken the truth up until now. He most definitely lived on this farm – a seemingly normal farm. This man was just someone making an honest living – even after the apocalypse.

Lowering the gun completely, Joel put the safety on before he slung it over his shoulder. Taking a hollowed step towards the front door, movement in the window to the right of him caught his eye. It was there and then it was gone – just a ruffle of blonde curtains. Then, the door opened revealing an elderly woman.

The man’s wife.

“Welcome, traveler,” she greeted, stepping aside to let Joel in.

He passed through the doorway with a “Thank you, ma’am,” never forgetting his manners even after pointing a gun at her husband.

Inside it looked like a picture taken straight out of a Homes & Gardens magazine. The house was cozy, but it was small. He’d been welcomed into what probably used to be a parlor, but now served its purpose as their living room. It was hard to get a read on the house. Not like those open-floor plan houses he’d built too many of back before the outbreak – this was old, maybe hundreds of years old. The floorboard creaked under his shoes as he walked deeper into the living room, the rest of the house locked away like a secret behind three closed doors. The man was seated in a lounge chair by the fireplace, watching Joel with an expression Joel found it hard to decipher.

“Would you like some tea?” the woman asked, “It’s peppermint from our garden.”

Joel turned his head to the woman. She must be around the same age as the old man, Joel thought. He cleared his throat before he answered with a nod, “Thank you, ma’am.”

She pointed to the sofa, urging him to sit down with a smile before she disappeared through one of the doors to what Joel thought must be the kitchen. He felt the old man watching him as he slid his backpack off his shoulders, placing it on the creaky wooden floor behind the sofa. Joel hesitated for just a second when placing the shotgun up against the back, but decided he wasn’t in any imminent danger.

Joel almost groaned as he sat down. He’d been walking for so long, slept on the hard ground for months, he’d almost forgotten what a comfortable chair was. It almost felt surreal, being invited in for tea, like the outbreak had never happened. Here, it was like the time had stood still.

“So,” the man started, “where are you heading to if you’re just ‘passin’ through’?”

Joel cleared his throat again, “I’m lookin’ for my brother,” he answered truthfully, “last I heard he was somewhere in Wyoming.”

“If you’re going to Wyoming, then what you’re doing all the way up here?” The man queried with a chuckle.

Annoyed, Joel grinded his teeth, “Not many signs in the fuckin’ woods are there?” He huffed.

“I guess not,” the man shrugged, “but you’ve made a heck of a detour… where did you come from? Texas? You sound it.”

“Boston.”

“Boston?” the man didn’t hide his surprise, breathing out chuckles in disbelief, “I’ll give it to you, that’s one long trip.”

Joel only huffed in agreement, turning his head from the man to the window overlooking the barnyard.

“Well,” the man broke the growing silence between the two men, “you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner and for the night– you look like you could need a hot meal and a warm bed.”

Joel’s instinct was to say no, but before he could the front door opened, revealing a young woman. You.

You stopped dead in your tracks as you laid your eyes on Joel, “Oh!”.

The door slammed behind you. Under your arm you were carrying a metal bucket filled with apples. You were beautiful, young, but still beautiful – Joel couldn’t deny it.

“This is…” The man paused.

“Joel.” He cleared his throat, introducing himself, “Joel Miller.”

“Mr. Miller is just passing through– he’s looking for his brother,” the old man explained to you.

You nodded at the information, sat the bucket down before you reached out a hand for Joel to take, introducing yourself. Your hand in his was warm and soft while his own dwarfed yours, rough and calloused. He couldn’t help but think about what his hands had done, the people they’d killed. He shouldn’t be tainting yours, painting them red. Joel quickly drew his hand back, balling it into a fist at his side.

Joel looked over at the old man, “Your daughter?” he asked with a tilt of his head in your direction.

“Oh, no,” the man answered with a playful smile, “You’re not the first person ‘passin’ through’ who’s shown up on our doorstep.”

The door to the kitchen opened to reveal the old woman with a teapot in her hand, and a stacked tower of teacups in the other.

“Let me help you Alma,” you said, taking the teacups from the old woman’s hand before placing them on the table; one in front of Joel, a second in front of the old man, “Here you go Arthur,” and a third next to Joel.

“Did you also want some tea, sweetie?” Alma asked you as she placed the steaming teapot on the table.

“Yes, please, but I can grab a cup myself– sit down,” you smiled and padded the old woman’s shoulder, then you grabbed the bucket of apples and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alma started pouring the tea as a silence fell over the room. A small, “Thank you, ma’am,” left Joel’s lips as she moved on to pouring tea for her husband.

“So,” the man started before taking a sip of his tea, “what do you say Mr. Miller? You staying for the night?”

That night as he laid in a real bed for the first time in months, Joel had trouble falling asleep. He wasn’t used to this. Hadn’t been used to it for a while. His belly full, soft fabric against his skin, feeling warm, and clean. The old couple had offered him one of the two bedrooms on the first floor, the two mystery doors in the living room now revealed. Laying in his new bed he tried not to think about who he was sharing a wall with.

You.

You were something else, helpful and kind. Everything Joel hadn’t seen since the outbreak. At the dinner table you’d asked him questions and listened intently – even when his answers were short and brisk. There was a glimmer in your eye, and it touched something inside him he hadn’t felt in a long time. But you were young, mid to late twenties he reckoned, maybe a little older– anyways, he shouldn’t be harboring anything for you, it wouldn’t be right. Especially now, now that he’d agreed to stay.

After the dinner plates had been cleared, Arthur had folded a big map out on the table. “Here are we now,” he’d pointed a finger at the map. Montana. Southern Montana to be precise. “I’ll give it to you Mr. Miller, if you’ve made it this far on your own you probably won’t have any trouble making your way down south to Wyoming.”

“But?” Joel watched the grimace pulling at the old man’s face.

“But,” Arthur had said, “Winter is just around the corner and… well, going back out there in the wilderness alone during our winters is a dead trap, I’ll tell you that much.”

Joel had let the man go on about the far below freezing temperatures, the heavy snow, and the tough wind, but Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew the winters up here were harsh. It wasn’t even winter yet, but every day he’d felt the temperature drop lower and lower, and the last few of nights he’d even had to get a fire going, against his better judgement.

So– the deal was: Joel would stay over the winter. Just for the winter, he’d been adamant on not staying longer. He’d get a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, and food in his belly on one condition – he’d help out on the farm.

The fire crackled loudly, red tongues licking up the chimney as Joel fed it another log. He watched as the fire caught in the new log, devouring it quickly and with no mercy. It was really starting to heat up now. A small flicker of pride sparked in Joel chest. He’d always been good at building a fire. It was one of those things, Joel had come to learn, where you needed to pay attention, to have patience.

When he was younger, he’d take Tommy out camping sometimes, just the two of them. Mostly they’d go during the summer; Tommy wasn’t a fan of sleeping outside in the cold, though cold had meant something different back then in Texas. But Joel remembered one time he’d managed to convince him to go with him. It was right after he’d gotten his driver’s license, and his parents had given him a beat-up truck for his birthday – for sharing – they’d told him, “You need to give your little brother a ride when he needs it!” Joel wasn’t exactly thrilled about his future as Tommy’s private driver, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love his brother.

A few weeks into October he’d managed to convince Tommy to go camping. They’d packed the truck with their tents, sleeping bags, and fishing equipment, before they’d gotten on the road, driving to a lake where they knew there were fish to catch. Finding a place to camp was always difficult with Tommy. They’d parked Joel’s truck at the edge of the forest before they’d followed a hiking trail. Joel was convinced they’d walked at least three quarters of the way around the lake before they found a spot good enough for Tommy.

It had to be flat, but also shielded. There couldn’t be too many rocks, but there also had to be enough rocks to build a hearth. Tommy wanted it to be private, but he also wanted it to be open enough that he could see if someone would stumble upon their camp. Joel knew not to argue with him when he got like that, opting instead for a defeated, “Whatever.”

Setting up camp went relatively easy. They’d worked together building the tents, collecting rocks for their fireplace, and even managed to find a fallen tree to use as a bench. When the night slowly started to cover them in darkness, Tommy decided to get the fire going. Joel watched him work the logs into a pile as he started on filleting the fish they’d just caught.

“You’re doin’ it wrong,” he’d told his brother, “You’re suffocatin’ it.” He’d washed his hands in the lake, ridding himself of the slimy smell of fish, before crouching down next to Tommy.

The fire was one big bowl of smoke, and Joel caught himself wondering what messages Tommy must’ve been sending to the heavens. He removed some of the heavier logs, and the fire could breathe.

“See?” he’d looked at Tommy, “It just needed air.” Joel had shifted the smaller pieces of wood around and not long after the fire was alive.

That Joel, that green boy who liked to take his little brother camping, that Joel didn’t know how much those skills would come in handy in a few years when the world would get turned upside down.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?”

Your question pulled Joel from his memories. He turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze from where you were huddled up in the corner of the couch. You looked cozy, but he knew you weren’t. The house was cold this morning, outside a thin layer of frost had stuck to the grass during the night. It was early too, the sun not having climbed high enough yet to peek over the mountains. You looked tired where you sat, clad in a wool sweater with a blanket pulled over your knees. Under the blanket Joel remembered you were still wearing your pajama pants, and in your hand you held a steaming cup of tea, peppermint, Joel knew, his own cup abandoned on the coffee table.

“What?” Joel answered, eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?” you repeated softly, like the way people tended to speak in the mornings, like they were afraid they’d wake up the world.

His calves were starting to burn from the strain of being crouched in front of the fireplace for a moment too long, and he tried his best to hide his groan, biting his teeth together as he stood to his feet, knees cracking loudly.

“Um, no,” he said, confused about your question.

“I’ll knit you a pair then,” you smiled before putting your cup down next to his.

“That’s… that ain’t necessary,” Joel hurried, but you waved him off.

“Sure it is,” you smiled again, much to Joel’s annoyance. He didn’t deserve your kindness, but you gave it away like it cost nothing. “If you’re gonna be helping Arthur out in the woods this winter, you need some mittens.”

Joel watched as you got up from your home on the couch and vanished into your bedroom. A moment later you appeared in the doorway with a basket under your arm.

“Also…” you gave him another smile as you sat back down again, placing the basket in your lap. It was close to overflowing with yarn, balls of black and white in varying sizes peeking over the top, the homespun ends fraying against the rough edges of the basket. “I’ll have something to do during the evenings,” you winked before you rummaged through the basket and fished out a measuring tape.

Joel shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched you. Mittens? Joel can’t remember if he’s ever owned a pair of mittens. Gloves, sure, but mittens?

You patted the cushion next to you, urging him to sit down, kind smile hanging off your lips like always. Sitting down, he folded his hands in his lap, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting. It wasn’t like he hadn’t sat next to you before; he’d been here a few weeks now, and he was starting to know you, but for some reason, this felt different. Maybe it was the early morning, the quiet house, or the fact that Alma and Arthur were still sleeping upstairs, but it felt like it was just the two of you, alone, and Joel didn’t know how to feel about it.

You shifted towards him, the blanket slipping slightly off the couch with your movement, in your hands you held the measuring tape while you looked at him expectantly.

When Joel didn’t move, a smile quirked at the corner of your mouth before you grabbed one of his hands resting in his lap. You uncurled his fingers slowly, one by one, making Joel hold his breath.

“I need to see how big I need to make them,” you whispered, holding his hand very gently.

Joel’s heart hammered in his chest. Your hand was warm and soft, like the last time he’d touched you as you’d introduced yourself to him. Joel didn’t dare look at your face, or he’d say something stupid, so he didn’t. He looked at your joined hands, his brain trying to remember the last time someone had held his hand as gently as you did, your thumb running over the back of it soothingly.

He can’t remember. His hands are always empty.

With your other hand, a finger curled around the measuring tape, you slipped it around his wrist before leaning closer to look at the numbers.

“Is this too tight you think, or do you want them to be looser?” You asked through your lashes, eyes sparkling in the low morning light.

Joel cleared his throat, “No, that’s fine.”

“Okay,” you nodded, slipping the measuring tape from his wrist to write down the measurement. He hadn’t noticed your notebook until now. It was a little rough around the edges from use, the spined cracked and the paper a little yellow. Placing the pen in the seam, you grabbed the measuring tape again.

Loosening your grip on his hand you placed it over the thick of your thigh. Joel drew a quick breath, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, under his hand he could feel the warmth of you through the soft flannel.

You continued taking your measurements. You didn’t say anything, so neither did Joel, but you looked up at him through your lashes sometimes, and Joel thought that maybe the most useful thing one can do with empty hands, is hold on.

The creak of the stair made Joel jump, and like he’d been burned his hand retracted on reflex, as Arthur’s heavy steps got closer.

“Morning,” Arthur greeted as he ducked his head through the door to the living room.

“Mornin’,” Joel mumbled, head lowered as he gathered his hands in his lap.

“Good morning!” you smiled, always with that kind smile, “Did you sleep well, Arthur?” you got up from your seat before grabbing your teacup to follow Arthur into the kitchen, leaving the yarn and Joel.

Taking a deep breath, Joel pinched the top of his nose. He needed to get it together. You were just being your regular kind self; your soft touch was nothing more than that. Standing to his feet, Joel grabbed his own cup, trudging into the kitchen.

In the kitchen Arthur sat in his usual spot at the dining table, the chair closest to the window. “I need to get on with this barn soon,” Joel heard him say as he sat down opposite him. “It’s gonna fall apart come spring if we get as much snow as we did last year.”

Joel tried his best not to look at you as he heard you hum. You were stood at the kitchen counter slicing the bread Alma had baked yesterday, readying breakfast. Instead, Joel opted to gaze down into his teacup, where the peppermint leaves had all gathered at the bottom.

“Um,” Joel cleared his throat, “what needs fixin’?”

“What doesn’t need fixing in that barn?” Arthur sighed, peeling his eyes from out the window to Joel.

“I can uh,” Joel eyes shifted quickly to you before he cleared his throat again, “I can take a look at it, if ya want?”

Arthur’s eyebrows met in a furrow as he looked at Joel.

“I used to be a contractor,” Joel explained with a shrug, before taking a last cold sip of his tea.

“So, you know a thing or two about buildings I reckon?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, well I used to,” Joel leaned back in his chair.

“Well, that would be very helpful Joel– I’d appreciated it!” Arthur smiled before leaning back in his chair making room for you as you started setting the table. Joel gave him a short nod in return, trying to fight the urge to look at you as you placed the food on the table.

Arthur had downplayed the state of the barn – it was a mess – it was dangerous, and had Joel told him as much. But it was nothing Joel couldn’t fix, as long as he had the right supplies, fortunately for him the forest would provide them with what they needed.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The axe dug a deep wound into the bark with every swing. Joel’s breath was heavy, and his arms ached, but it was a welcomed form of tiredness. A month into it, he was starting to get used to the work. There was something so satisfying about manual labor, of using his hands, of making something – he’d almost forgotten.

The routine of the work felt good. Waking up at dawn, then breakfast, he could use his body for something useful for the first time in twenty years and end the day with a warm meal for supper. This new temporary life was simple, but it was strangely normal.

Originally, Joel was only helping Arthur out in the woods for firewood through the winter– but now with the barn, they’d changed course. The last few days they’d started to become more selective with the trees; looking for the tallest and straightest ones that would fall safely.

A frozen sky hovered over the men as they worked. This morning when Joel had woken up, the thinnest layer of snow had fallen like powdered sugar during the night, turning the world bright with winter. Earlier in the week the frost had perched on the farm, and Joel had known winter was closing in. He’d lost count of the days and months passing while on his own, but Arthur had told him it was late October.

“It will start snowing properly soon,” Arthur said, breaking the silence between them.

Joel hummed before taking a bite of his packed lunch. They’d worked all morning – Joel felling the trees and Arthur cleaning them up and removing the branches. Now they were sat on a fresh tree stump each, their first break of the day.

“I have an old logging sled in the barn– used to be my father’s,” Arthur explained, “I think we should leave the trees here until the snow gets deep enough for the sled and have the horses pull them back to the farm.”

“Fine by me,” Joel took another bite of his lunch.

“The logs will have to dry out over the winter,” Arthur mused, “Then come spring we can start the repairs on the barn.”

Spring. If everything goes according to plan, Joel won’t be here come spring. He needed to find Tommy– he couldn’t, and he wasn’t gonna stay on the farm for any longer than necessary. He’d already decided– when the snow finally started to melt, Joel was gone.

Joel hummed, a non-committed answer. It was easier that way, to not get Arthur’s hopes up. He liked Arthur, he was a good man, a hard worker even in his old age, and silent when Joel wanted him to be. Joel liked Alma too, but her age shined through more easily than Arthur’s. Joel couldn’t help but notice her repeating herself more often and forgetting where she put things. It made life harder for you, Joel could see it. Your responsibilities were already a lot to handle as you took care of the animals mostly by yourself, but as Joel had discovered Alma starting to struggle with the housework, he’d noticed you starting to help her more often. In Joel’s mind it was unfair to you, but it wasn’t like he could blame Alma for growing older, in this world it was a feat.

Still, he’d try his best to help you when he could, like doing the dishes after dinner as you dried them off and put them away. The first few times you were both quiet, it was strangely intimate, only the sound of splashing water filling the space between you. One night he'd gotten brave, breaking the comfortable silence and asked you ‘What you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?’ You’d looked at him with big eyes, searching his own for something, but before he could figure out what it was, you’d answered him with a shrug. It was unlike you, unlike you to be this silent, but Joel didn’t push. The next night the silence persisted, and he’d thought adding ‘Sweetheart’ had been too much, but then the next night you’d sighed quietly and whispered, “I’m worried about Alma.”

Looking down at the mittens in his lap, the guilt gnawed at him. The look of worry in your eyes, Arthur’s hopeful wishes, and Alma’s aging. Joel couldn’t have anything tying him to this place. He was supposed to find his brother.

Suddenly, a black and orange butterfly landed on Joel’s knee. Joel stopped breathing, body going rigid as he tried not to move. How the hell was this butterfly still alive? It sat quiet on his knee, wings slowly retracting and widening behind it. Memories pushed its way to the forefront of Joel’s mind then.

Sarah. Another year had gone by, and the thought made his chest tighten.

“That’s quite a sight at this time of year,” he heard Arthur say, “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Y-yeah,” Joel stammered out an answer, afraid his voice would scare it away.

The longer Joel watched the butterfly he found his guilt started to slowly melt away. It’s okay, dad. It was like the rustling of the trees carried her voice with them. You’re on the right path.

“I can do that f’you want, sweetheart.”

Joel’s boots creaked under him as he walked across the barnyard. You looked up at the sound of his voice, smile blossoming across your face as you tightened your grip on the shovel.

“It’s alright,” you said with a grunt as you picked up more snow, adding it to the growing pile, “Good for me to get some physical work in.”

Joel nodded as you straightened up, hand going to your hip while the other leaned on the shovel, your heavy breath curled in small plumes out of your mouth. You took him in for a second, eyes flickering over his form before they fell on the rabbits hanging over Joel’s shoulder.

“Where’d you get those?” you asked, and Joel shrugged.

“Shot ‘em,” he said simply, “they walked right by me as I was choppin’– seemed too good to pass up.”

“Not for the rabbits,” you muttered, and Joel had to fight the urge to smile.

“You a vegetarian or somethin’?” he asked with a single raised eyebrow, and you waved him off.

“No,” you said pointedly, but a teasing lilt lingered, “Just stating a fact... we don’t eat a lot of rabbit around here, is all.”

Joel nodded slightly; it made sense. He knew there was a gun in the house, but it was a revolver– too small to do any real hunting, and Joel didn’t even know if there were bullets for it. So, Joel didn't ask further. Lucky for him, you did.

“So, you just shot those?” you asked, a frown pulling at your eyebrows, “Aren’t they fast?”

Joel made a nonchalant sort of face. “Ain’t that hard when you can aim straight.”

“Well, how do you aim straight?”

“You learn to shoot.”

You let out a small laugh, one that pulled at Joel’s lips. “And how did you go about learning that?”

Joel felt his smile drop, the leather strap of his shotgun weighing heavy on his shoulder, “Practice.”

You didn’t seem to notice the change in his demeanor as you dug the shovel into the snow, so it stood by itself like a watchman. “Can you teach me?” you asked, the snow creaking under your shoes as you took a few steps closer.

His lips pulled at the corner, “No.”

Your eyes widened with disappointment, eyebrows pulling together in a frown as you asked, “Why?”

“Nothin’ good ever comes from it,” Joel shrugged.

“Okay,” you huffed a laugh, “that’s sinister.” Then you narrowed your eyes at him, gearing up for an argument no doubt with the way you rested your hand on your hip. “What if I also wanted to go hunting?” you posed, and Joel shook his head.

“That ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

“Okay, but now you’ve brought us rabbits– and what if I end up really liking rabbit?” you bit down on your bottom lip, unconsciously showing off you own rabbit teeth.

Cute.

“Then I’ll shoot as many rabbits as you want,” Joel countered with a teasing smile before tightening his hold on the rope slung over his other shoulder (the one he’d tied the rabbits to), and walked towards the kitchen door at the back of the farmhouse.

He heard you huff in defeat behind him, your creaky steps following him up the stairs and inside. Walking into the kitchen Joel placed the rabbits on the table before he pulled at his mittens, stripped off his jacket, and hung it neatly over the back of one of the dining chairs. Grabbing one of the rabbits he brought it to the kitchen counter to start dressing it, fighting the urge to turn his head as he heard you enter the room.

“Come on, Joel,” you whined, “Why won’t you teach me?”

“Told you already,” Joel replied, “Nothin’ good comes from learnin’ to shoot things.”

Shifting the rabbit around on the counter he reached for the butcher knife in the knife block.

“You know, that’s a really stupid way of saying you don’t want to spend the time,” you told him, your voice closer now as you leaned against the kitchen counter.  

“When exactly did ya hear me sayin’ I don't wanna spend time with you?” Joel asked, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“You won’t teach me to shoot,” you teased, and Joel could hear the smile in your voice.

Joel huffed out a laugh, “Damn right I won’t.”  

He heard you let out a whiney huff, before you turned on your heel, muttering out a curse under your breath when you accidently bumped your hip into the counter and Joel couldn’t help the smile teasing at his lips. You sat down with an overdramatic sigh, and Joel still didn’t look at you – he knew he’d cave eventually if he did, say yes against his better judgement – so he kept his eyes on the knife in his hand.

“How’s Arthur?” Joel asked as he worked.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “The same I think– Alma was up there looking after him last time I checked.”

This time Joel allowed himself to look at you. You sat sideways on the wooden chair, legs crossed and tucked under your chair with your head hanging, eyes glued to your lap. Gone were the teasing, and gone were the smiles.

“He’ll be fine,” Joel said, his eyes back on the rabbit, “it’s just a cold.”

“Yeah… but he’s been getting sick a lot more often,” your voice was low, like you didn’t want them to hear you upstairs, “you can’t help but think the worst you know?”

Joel put the knife down and moved over to the sink. He quickly washed his hands before grabbing a towel to dry off, twisting it in his hands as he approached you. Placing the towel on the counter, he hesitated for a moment as he watched you, watched the way you twisted your hands in your lap with no sense of purpose or intent. It was like the worry dripped down your body. Pushing off the counter Joel knelt in front of you, a grunt escaped him as his knees clicked loudly, his balance slightly off on his haunches.

“Shit,” Joel huffed out a laugh, and you followed. Your palms landed on his knees to keep him steady, warmth spreading like jolting electricity.

“Sweetheart, I’ll tell you what–” he stopped himself when you looked at him through your lashes, trying to ignore the way your eyes focused on his mouth as he spoke. “’s just a cold, he’ll be up ‘n walkin’ tomorrow– man’s got gumption.”

“Yeah?” your eyes flickered upwards, meeting his.

Suddenly, under your gaze Joel felt brave. His hand moved on its own accord, cupping your cheek in his hand. He let his thumb ghost over your skin, still cold under his fingertips from being outside, but warming under his touch.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, you only watched him with glimmering eyes, like you were under a spell. Maybe he was too.

“Still,” you sighed, “Would be better if I could pick up more of the slack around here... Arthur does a lot, and I wish I could do more to support them.”

“Like what? You take care of the animals all by yourself– that’s more than enough.”

“Well, I could learn to shoot rabbits,” you told him, before the corners of your mouth pulled into a pleased smirk as he rolled his eyes at you.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, making a move to stand when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“I’m kidding, Joel,” you smiled, before a more serious look washed over your features. “I mean it’s… It’s gonna be empty here without you,” you said, “I’m starting to really like having you here, Joel.”

Joel turned his hand to rest the back of it on your thigh, your hand fitting in his.

“I uh,” his eyes fixated on your joined hands, then he cleared his throat, “I’ll stay as long as you need me to. I’m not leavin’ you alone, sweetheart.”

Your eyes lit up at his words, smile growing large across your face. Joel’s heart drummed in his chest as your eyes flickered down to his mouth again.

“Thank you,” you said in a low voice, and then you did something Joel thought was gonna make his heart stop beating. You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. It bloomed against his skin, and made wings flutter against the walls of his stomach.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller,” you whispered before you pulled away, looking at him with kindness in your eyes.

If only you knew, Joel thought, if only you knew the blood on his hands.

He couldn’t look at you when you looked at him like that. Like you believed your own words. So, he cleared his throat awkwardly and stood to his feet, his knees clicking as your hand slipped from his movement. He walked back to the counter, fingers grabbing the towel with no other purpose than to calm himself down.

After placing the towel back where it usually hung, he grabbed the knife again, turning his attention back to the rabbit, allowing himself to steal a few glances at you where you sat looking out the kitchen window.

“Hey, uh,” Joel broke the growing silence after a few minutes, “how ‘bout rabbit stew for lunch?”

Your head snapped to look at him as he spoke, a smile ghosting over your lips as you said, “I’ll go get some vegetables from the cellar.”

Joel wouldn’t necessarily call himself a good cook – he wouldn’t even call himself a cook in the first place. Back before the outbreak he’d been forced to learn the basics as a fresh single dad, but he’d never been able to provide Sarah with gourmet meals very often, and when Sarah had gotten older, he’d been embarrassed to say that her food was always better than his – eggshells and all. One summer he’d bought himself a nice grill– one of those way too expensive gas grills with too many fancy accessories for Joel to regularly use. He’d had a job that ended up paying well, some rich guy’s mansion that needed renovating, and decided to treat himself for once. That summer all their meals had come from that grill, well mostly, and afterwards Joel looked at himself as a pretty good griller, if nothing else.

You on the other hand, you knew what you were doing, it was clear in the effortlessly way you moved beside him as you got the vegetables ready for the stew. Joel seared the meat to the best of his abilities, making sure it was properly browned on both sides before setting it aside. After that, it was clear that you were in charge, and Joel let you boss him around and tell him what to do. It made his heart warm around the edges, watching how you put so much love and care into everything you did.

An hour later you finally sat down to eat; two hearty bowls of stew each as light snowflakes covered the world outside. You’d let the pot simmer on low over the heat as you’d wanted to bring up a bowl for Arthur and Alma later.

“So…” you started, watching as Joel dug into his bowl, “How’s the stew?”

“’s good!” Joel nodded through a mouthful, and he wasn’t lying. It was good, really good in fact.

“Yeah?” you bubbled through a smile, before you dug into your own bowl to see if he’d spoken the truth. He watched as you face brightened as you chewed, nodding your head to confirm his verdict.

“I think I really like rabbit, Joel,” you said through a teasing smile, and Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle from spilling.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, teasing smile not going anywhere, “So… when are you teaching me to shoot?”

“Shut up.”

The living room was quiet, safe for the cracking of the fire. It had almost died out when Joel had stepped out of his room. He’d been twisting and turning again, counting sheep, but nothing had been able to pull him under the blanket of sleep. He was plumb tired too, that was the worst part. The embers hummed with a low light, and with a small stick Joel had spread them out before placing a small piece of wood on top. No less than a minute later the fire fed on the log.

Taking a seat and leaning back in the lounge chair, Joel looked out the window with tired eyes. The moon looked down on him, big and bright, it shone its white light over the barnyard like a spotlight. His thoughts were clouded over as he gazed up. A billion little lights turning into bright spheres in the sky.

On nights like this, Joel felt like he was barely breathing at all.

His thoughts didn’t stray for long before they found you again. Lately, you were always on his mind. He thought about how you’d looked mere hours ago, when he’d sat in this same exact chair, only this time it was facing towards the sofa and not the window.

You’d been sat curled up in the corner, blanket thrown over your lap with a book in hand. You’d told him you’d read all the books in the house already, but it didn’t stop you from coming back to your favorites. Joel had been reading his own book, an old western he’d found in the bookshelf in the upstairs hallway a few days ago. It was entertaining, but not enough to hold his attention. He found his eyes had a mind of their own, slipping over the top to steal a peek at you as you read, feeling a smile tug at his lips at the barely there furrow of concentration between your eyebrows.

“Joel.”

Joel perked up at the whisper of his name, the memories fading like ripples in still water. He looked around the room –nothing. He sat quietly in his chair for a moment, listening, as his heartbeat quickened in his chest. It had been your voice, hadn’t it? Or was he starting to lose it? His eyes fell to the door of your bedroom. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but he could see it was slightly ajar.

“Joel.”

The voice was louder this time, almost strained, but it was yours. A thousand scenarios flashed before his eyes then at your tone. Was there someone in your room? Were you in danger? Seconds later Joel crossed the room, a mix of fear and protectiveness overcoming him.

Leaning up against your door he listened for the intruder as he readied himself. The soft crinkling of your sheets combined with your strained whimpers was all it took for him to push the door open, fearing the worst.

And…

It was empty, your room, you were alone. Joel immediately felt stupid– the only intruder here was him.

He was about to step out, embarrassed at his actions, when he heard it again, his name falling from your lips. It was all Joel needed to finally take in your body, squirming under your sheets, still asleep. The realization of what he’d just walked in on made Joel’s eyes widen.

Laying on your back, the duvet had slipped down your torso from your movements to reveal the thin t-shirt you wore to bed. Like this he could see your perked nipples through the fabric, as your chest quickly rose and fell, making Joel’s imagination start to run wild.

“Joel.”

In his pajama pants, Joel could feel his cock come alive from the soft whimper that left your lips along with his name. He couldn’t move, like some farm elf had glued his feet to the floor while he wasn’t looking. He watched as you scrunched your face together in pleasure, another whimper falling from your lips, and all the blood in Joel’s body rushed down south.

As if the soundwaves from your voice had broken against him, he took a step backwards, and then another, and another until he crossed the threshold of your door. He tried his best to be quiet, to not wake you and have you catch him in your room in the middle of the night.

The image of you squirming under your sheets, dreaming of him, didn’t leave him as he closed the door to his own room. With a sigh his head fell against the door, a strong hand gliding down his front to hover over his aching cock.

Joel Miller was no saint, but what he was doing– what he was about to do, was bad.

“Shit,” he quietly hissed, running his hand up his clothed cock. He hadn’t touched himself properly in a long time, not since he left Boston.

His cock reacted to his touch, growing harder and harder until he couldn’t take it anymore. He hooked his finger around the hem of his pajama pants, pulling them down to the thick of his thigh, freeing himself. He hissed at the cold air hitting his length, as it bopped with the movement of being freed. Bringing his hand to his mouth, Joel spat, before he wrapped his spit-soaked hand around himself.

His mind found you again as he started stroking himself, slowly at first, pumping himself with a practiced hand, squeezing himself at the base before bringing his hand up to thumb at the tip. Joel couldn’t get the way you sounded out of his mind. Couldn’t forget how you were squirming in your bed, dreaming of him. Couldn’t shake the thought of pulling those moans and whimpers from you with his hands, and his mouth, and with his cock.

“Fuck.”

Joel tried to be quiet, but he couldn’t fight the moan from slipping from his lips. Fuck, he wanted you. He wanted his hands all over you. Closing his eyes his mouth dropped open as he imagined what he was dying to do to you.

How much he’d wanted to help you out of your t-shirt, run his hands over your breasts and tease your nipples. Take his time to pull those moans and whimpers from your soft lips as he teased you with kisses down your body, down the valley of your breasts, your tummy, down to you to your–

Another low moan fell from Joel’s lips. He squeezed himself tighter as he jerked himself off, precum pearling at the tip, and slipping down his length, mixing with his spit.

The sound of the slick rhythm of his hand filled his bedroom as he increased the pace of his strokes. He had to bite down on his lip to strangle a groan when thoughts of getting between your legs, spreading them open and getting his mouth on you filled his head. He fantasized about how you’d taste falling apart on his tongue–Fuck, how you’d sound falling apart around his cock.

His eyes fell shut as he fisted himself faster. Joel could feel his orgasm quickly building, coiling tight in his tummy. With his free hand he cupped his balls, and then he couldn’t help but imagine it was you, a picture of you on your knees before him flashed behind his eyelids, your tongue lapping at his balls while your hand pumped his cock.

“Shit.”

With a strained groan, thick ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles and down his length, coating him in his release. His breath came out ragged, as he continued his strokes, milking himself of the rest of his release.

Fuck.

His cock softened in his hand as he calmed down from his high. With a quiet groan he pushed himself off the door, looking around his room for something to clean himself up with.

The guilt of what he’d done washed over him quickly, settling in his chest like a heavy weight. You were so young, and beautiful, and Joel just an old man. He shouldn’t want you like this, shouldn’t want you this much.

Climbing under the covers, Joel couldn’t shake his thoughts of you, of you dreaming about him in your bed, about your smiles, and your touch. A supercut of you rolling like a tape in his minds eye. A supercut of you bundled up under a blanket on the sofa, knitting him his mittens. Of you, your own knitted hat pulled tightly down over your ears as you stepped out into the snow to check on the animals. Of the way you’d looked at him for the first time, with the bucket of apples under your arm, and the sweet taste of them as you’d offered him one later, after dinner.

Finally, Joel could breathe.

next part -> here! i hope someone liked this? if you did a comment, reply or an ask is always welcome and they make me super happy <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[fate-magical-girls]

The Varieties of Chinese Mermaids

In the modern day, most people will think of the pearl-crying Jiaoren. However JIAOREN IS NOT THE PERFECT EQUIVALENT OF THE MERMAID in pre-modern folklore.

Chinese mermaids come in multiple types. Most of them can be found in the Chronicle of the Mountains and the Seas (Shan Hai Jing/山海經). Others can be found in the In Search of the Supernatural (Sou Shen Ji/搜神記) or Extensive Records of the Taiping Era (Taiping Guangji/太平廣記).

YUFU/MER-WIFE (魚婦): Zhuanxu was a god-emperor in legendary times, whose accomplishments included sending two of his sons to complete the separation of Heaven and Earth. When he died, fish ate his corpse, becoming half fish and half human women. They live in the Great Wilderness toward the west of China. They combine traits of humans, fish, and snakes. The Classic of Mountains and the Seas states: "There is a fish half-withered, it is Zhuanxu that died and then revived; when the winds blow northward, the sky whips up great geysers, snakes transform into fish, and those are mer-wives."

LINGYU/HILL FISH (陵魚，鯪魚): The Lingyu lived in the northern regions of China, either in the sea or mountain streams. They have human faces and limbs, but fish bodies. They are identified with Chinese giant salamanders or mud carp in the modern day. The Classic of Mountains and Seas states: "The nation of Guye is in the sea, among the Guye mountain range, surrounded by peaks to the southwest. There are great crabs are in the sea. There are Lingyu, which have human heads, feet, and hands, in the sea."

CHIRU/RED RU FISH (赤鱬): The Chiru lived in mountain in the south of China. It was red all over, had a human face, and its call sounded like that of a shelduck or mandarin duck. Eating its flesh protected people from contracting scabies. They are identified with sockeye salmon in the modern day. The Classic of Mountains and Seas states: "Three hundred miles more to the east, there is the mountain called Blue Hill...The Ying Waters emerge from here. Within are many Chiru; their forms are like fish, yet they have human faces, and their cries are like that of a shelduck. Those that eat its flesh will never have scabies."

DIREN/DI PEOPLE (氐人): The nation of the Di People was in the South of China. They were human from the waist up and fish from the waist down. They might have been a mythologization of the real Di People, who lived in western China, spread out from Shaanxi to Gansu. They joined the confederation of nomadic peoples who conquered Northern China during the Sixteen Kingdoms period. The Baima people of Gansu believe themselves to be descended from the ancient Di. The Classic of the Mountains and Seas states: "The nation of the Di People is west of the Jianmu Tree. Its inhabitants have human faces but fish bodies, with no feet."

HAI RENYU/SEA MERMAID (海人魚): The Sea Mermaid lives in the East China Sea. They tend to be around five to six shaku tall. (4'7"-5'6" or 1.4-1.68 meters.) Their upper bodies were that of humans, and they were all very beautiful. Their skins were white as jade, and their tails had no scales, but were covered in fine rainbow-colored hairs. Their hair grew long and wild like horse manes. Their private organs were much like that of humans, and they often sought humans or were sought by humans as mates in coastal communities, where they would live in a pool on their spouse's property. Sometimes they had red feelers or fins on their elbows and backs. Their bodies could not be penetrated by blades, but their fats could be harvested after death to form ever-burning candles. Han Dynasty texts state: "Merfolk have a human-like form longer than one shaku. They are not fit for consumption. Their skins are rougher than those of sharks, and cannot be penetrated by saws. They have little holes on their neck that they breathe through...Their fat is used to light lamps in royal tombs because the fire will never extinguish." Extensive Records of the Taiping Era states: "Sea Mermaids are found in the Eastern Sea. The largest ones are five or six shaku long. They are shaped like humans, with the brows and eyes, mouths and noses, hands and fingers, and heads of beautiful women, lacking in no feature. Their flesh is white as jade, and they have no scales, but thin, soft, and sleek hairs of five colors about one or two inches in length. Their private organs were no different from those of ordinary men and women. Widows and widowers from coastal communities often acquire them and raise them in pools. They mate the same way humans do, and never harm humans."

LOTING YUREN/LOTING FISH-MEN (盧亭魚人): Loting Fish-Men were found in the south of China, mostly around the Guangdong, Macau, and Hong Kong regions. They had humanoid limbs and humanoid faces with yellow hair and yellow eyes, but scaly bodies with fish tails. They lived mostly in the water, feeding on fish, but also built houses from mussel shells, and their favorite snack was chicken blood. They were a mythologization of the Tanka People, a southern Chinese pariah class who were once forced to live on their boats, as well as the Semang People. Ming Dynasty texts state: "The Jin Dynasty rebel Lu Ting was defeated and fled into the Guangdong region, where he lived a fugitive life on the water. After some generations, his descendants were unable to procure food or clothes, so they went about bare bodied and were called Loting. They would often sail out on the sea fishing for food, and they could all lie underwater for three or four days without dying, for they had already become fish." Qing Dynasty texts state: "Among the merfolk are the Loting Fish-Men, who are very numerous on Dayushan Island and the Wanshan Islands. Their adults are like humans, with male and female. Their hairs are dusky yellow and short and their eyes are also yellow, while their faces are black. Their tails are around an inch long. When they encounter humans they dive fearfully into the water. Often they would float along the waves, which would amaze people, who would they chase them. When a man who acquired one their females did the dirty with her, the fish-woman could not speak, only giggle. After a long while, she learned to wear clothes and eat grains. She was brought to Dayushan, where she went back to the water. These are the merfolk who do not harm men."

JIAOREN/SAMEBITO/SHARK-MEN (鮫人): Jiaoren are found in the South Seas. THEY ARE MER-SHARKS. THEY HAVE INKY BLACK BODIES, WILD HAIR, GLOWING GREEN EYES, AND SHARP TEETH. They are usually employed by dragon gods as weavers, capable of working tirelessly and spinning special waterproof silks. Their tears became pearls. They were first equated to Western mermaids by modern fantasy writers romanticizing the fact that they cried pearls.

WA WA YU/KIDDO FISH (娃娃魚): The Chinese Giant Salamander was often called a "mer-person" in the Ming and Qing dynasties, and described having a cry that resembled a baby's wail. To this day the colloquial name is still "Kiddo Fish".

[neteyamsilly]

i will soften every edge, hold the world to its best | 2

summary ;; Your burning determination to prove your father wrong and Jake's wish to teach you a lesson both end up in a pyrrhic victory. PART 1 | PART 3 pairings ;; dad!jake sully x reader, mom!neytiri x reader, sully family x reader genre ;; pure angst and family feels notes / explanations ;; im speechlessly overwhelmed at the sheer amount of love you guys showed me these past couple of days. like. literally never had something like this happen to me before. i got too excited to finish this chapter to give back to yall, there was an attempt to proofread but... i hope it's not too bad, please enjoy! as always, if you see any mistakes, im sorry!

The path further into the floating mountains was all the worse to navigate thanks to the lack of light, the only useful guides you had were the faintly flickering bioluminescent lights from the forest deep below. The branches twisting around each other to create a naturally built bridge from mountain to mountain benefited from this, contrasting as a clear obscured line to your eyes against the glow underneath. 

The easiest part of your journey, in hindsight, was just skipping along this line. 

You weren’t exactly happy about this.  

The more you left behind, the more you were freaked out that Neteyam or anyone else was onto your intentions already and hot on your trail right this moment. Imagining father making a beeline to you in the air with Bob, a cruel, merciless whistling arrow, made you all jittery and almost puking kind of nervous, pulling at the depths of your stomach. 

Your rationality told you that it was a half an hour walk to your spot from the tent, and Neteyam would be hurrying the more he thought he wasn’t able to catch up with you along the way, so you had around twenty minutes until the whole family was panicking and raising the clan to look for you. 

Tuk had gone missing once thanks to some hide and seek game with Lo’ak (she’d hidden so well and was waiting for her siblings to find her already, blindly sticking to the game for an entire day, not out of stubbornness but childish purity), and this was exactly what had gone down —

the resentful part of you questioned if father thinks of you highly enough to resort to that. 

If something happened to you, he would maybe urge your brothers to search for you for a while, and drop it then — leaving you to your own devices happily. 

Maybe. 

Were you even worth it in his eyes for a search party? You wondered if he cared enough that you disappeared. 

But that was a stupid, childish thought you knew you fantasized about a lot — perhaps this was why he’d called you immature. This was no mindset for a strong, independent, confident hunter. The thought father was right, even a miniscule bit was bitter on your tongue, worse than what he called black coffee. 

Disappearing so you’d find out just how much he cared was unfair to mom, for one. 

She had lost so much in such a short amount of time, the stories she sang poignantly about were hard to listen to without tearing up. Her home. The trees of voices, all the lost ancestors. Her father. Uncle Tsu’tey. Her first ikran, Seze. Loss upon loss you think there’d be nothing left to give anymore, but sky people’s fire was always hungry, always willing to waste more to grow bigger. 

You wouldn’t forgive yourself for making her cry in your pursuit to punish father. Never. 

You weren’t a child.

Just wanted to be one, sometimes.

Wanted father to babytalk you, pet your head longer than a passing touch as he walked away hurriedly to attend to other matters, make beads for your braids the way he always did from pretty stones he found on ponds, carve you little trinkets when you graciously had to give up your toys to Lo’ak and Kiri’s greed. 

Your neck piece was all them in fact, he’d see it if he ever paid enough attention, or perhaps it was all insignificant to him, five kids meant countless belongings for each individual child had been passed down from his hands, it would be a miracle for father to recognize you still wore his clumsy creations. But again, it had been too long since he’d even looked at you affectionately, he wouldn’t See. 

He’d transferred those habits entirely to Neteyam at one point in time. 

Your older brother would always ruffle Lo’ak’s hair and tease him the way father used to, comfort him in his own playful way, and even though the younger looked discontent at being babied, you knew he was happy Neteyam was quite literally his shadow to look after him through tough times — including shielding from father’s line of fire. In return, he was suffering from being a foil to the older son, you understood the struggle because you were going through the same comparison, you just weren’t obsessed with catching and living up to father as much as Lo’ak did. 

Win some, lose some, I guess.

Plus, Neteyam was trembling under the massive planet-weight pressure, he had to set the standard, he had to live up to the older brother title. He was becoming more of a father figure to Tuk as days passed and the Olo’eyktan became more transparent from his family’s life as a dad to five. 

Besides, Lo’ak made trouble enough for two people to go around that you felt bad for your big brother, Kiri was thankfully more mellow (despite frequently hanging out together with him and Spider) compared to him that Neteyam could breathe, not having to divide his attention. 

You were in awe of her about how disconnected she was from all the changing dynamics. She had her own problems you could never understand, more spiritual than your grandmother, and ever the ethereal soul who you thought would disappear into Eywa if flesh wasn’t holding her down to Eywa’eveng.

You were the teeniest, tiniest bit jealous of her (and Tuk) holding the softer sides of father, the boys thought he was deliberately softer because they were girls — but you were also a girl, so why weren’t you allowed in?   

Well, thanks to that, you’d gotten closer with Neteyam and known him better after the whole clan had settled on High Camp, so it wasn’t all that bad. You could badmouth father all day long sitting on some rock and make him laugh abashedly, guilty that he was smiling along with the trashing of the father’s name he respected so much — it was therapy, as Norm had taught humans frequently sought back on earth. It got you trying some things with Neteyam, becoming more of a companion and ranting buddy for him who he could be honest and open with, so that he didn’t have to worry about taking up a larger role in your life to fill father’s missing presence. You were concerned about him more than he could be concerned about you. 

That got you contemplating if father had noticed how comfortable his two oldest children were with each other that it was always Neteyam who he sent after you. A girl could dream, no? For one moment, it wasn’t because it was Neteyam’s responsibility, but because father was paying attention to how his kids got along.

The image of him pushed you to be frantically fast to reach your destination as the fear returned with might. If he caught you right now when you had no ikran to prove him wrong, the punishment he was sure to give would be way more humiliating, you at least wanted something in your name to taunt him with if you were going down anyways. 

A smile crept up your face at imagining him discombobulated and speechless, unable to pick out one thing that you did wrong. 

The carelessness that came with your speed combined with how dark it was to see where to clutch and put your feet on caused you to slip up countless times when climbing, the sharp rocks scraping the insides of your palms and insides of your forearms, lifting your skin up. What you cared about more than the pain was that the blood was now tracking material for your family to sniff you out — you couldn’t exactly wipe the rocks clean, so you carried on with a hammering heart, more afraid of father ruining your perfect moment than whatever ikran that would soon be going straight for your throat. 

At least you were able to wash the blood off your hands in the waterfall. 

Downside? You couldn’t see shit. With your bare back flushed straight to the wall of rock and your feet feeling out the thin edge, the shrill cry of ikrans and the roaring of water was about to overwhelm your senses too much to pay attention — 

and you slipped. 

The shriek that ripped out of you at the sensation of falling and the drop of your stomach alone almost made you pass out, and for a split second it was a good thing that you wouldn’t feel the moment you died, but your body, once again, was one step ahead of you, it twisted in the air the last second and your hands gripped the ledge. 

The wet rock and your blood made all that your life was hanging on slippery as you dangled into the abyss, swaying with the strong winds at this height. 

You didn’t know if it was the adrenaline or the nervousness, but something made you laugh out loud, and the bubbling laughter continued until you were able to pull yourself up safely at the ikran rookery, finally. 

Looking around like a fish out of water, how you hadn’t cracked your skull open shooting down to the forest below was a total miracle. 

You’d made it?  

No one was there to witness what you just pulled off in total darkness. Your whole body was shaking, and you weren’t even chosen by an ikran yet. This was happening. Shit. This was totally happening! 

Your excited and terrified, “Hell yeah!” went unheard apart from your aerial crowd. 

But. 

One among them answered your holler with its own that cut into the night like a battle horn. It was the closest one to you that was apparently watching you the whole time, starting to roar at you and twitching on its feet, shadow in the night informing you of its movements.

You’d seen from Neteyam and Lo’ak’s iknimayas that you only had a few seconds to pull your shit together until it attacked, this was meant to be dangerous, serious, you could end up as a late night snack to them if things went wrong, but you couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear that it had chosen you.

You were chosen. 

It wanted you as its rider. 

If only father could see you now. The sensation of being the one — being special was unmatched. Now you could somehow get the fraction of the high he must have felt as Toruk Makto.  

The, “Let’s fucking go!” that left you kept echoing into the night as you lunged at it, dodging to the left when it snapped at your head, hooking one arm around the ikran’s slender neck and clamping your legs around it the moment it started thrashing around wildly. 

You didn’t know why father had made a big deal out of it. You formed tsaheylu in no time, breaking Neteyam’s record — and you didn’t even have the rope to hoop around its neck and jaw. 

Firstborn daughter excellence. 

Confidence restored and triumphing wildly to the pulse of your heart, the flickering smile on your face in wonder turned into a full-fledged smirk. At that moment, nothing mattered. It was just you and your victory. Proving father wrong. 

Feeling the ikran’s lifeforce through the bond, a shiver went down your back as his beady eye looked up at you, pupil shrinking and expanding rapidly while you both took a minute to catch your breaths after the fierce wrestling. 

“Gotcha,” you panted. “You’re mine now.”

The adrenaline made everything sparkle and shine, your spirits soaring high and unbothered about literally anything else in the world, and for one glorious moment, lost in the memories of your brothers’ iknimayas boasting with cheers from the clan and sometimes encouraging, sometimes fearful screams of your parents, your spirit sought them out to be soaked in the same pride — forgetting that it was night and nobody was there to celebrate you. 

You were all alone. 

The smile dropped from your face and crashed down like paper thin porcelain upon the slightest movement. 

Right. 

You’d forgotten you were doing this out of spite. It snuffed every twinkle of magic away from the previously shimmering milestone of your life. 

Your ikran felt the crushing disappointment through your connection and chirped at you, almost like an excited sibling pulling on your arm to show you something, weirdly comforting. Mom’s ikran was a spitfire, but also nurturing — this one felt different somehow, you felt him bouncing from wall to wall in your head, hyperactive and cheerful.

Flying! He wanted to fly! 

The first flight sealed the bond, after all. 

You weren’t alone even if none of your family members were here to share the joy — you had your new buddy. And the drop of gravity was thrilling this time, not the terrifying chaos that had your asshole shriveling up as it was when you’d missed your step. 

The flights with mom were something you looked forward to, drying up in frequency as you aged, you’d missed the wind on your body and the greenery dancing below as you maneuvered in the air — but mom reserved nighttime rides for father only, and after the move to High Camp, the skimpering chance you could get your way if you begged cutely enough was gone too. You’d never flown at night. 

The sight was out of this world. The stars leaving a glowing trail above you, the forest pulsing with faint purple, green and blue lights underneath, everything was elevated in beauty because darkness let them shine. 

You made loops in the air with your ikran, got as high in the air as you could before your breath thinned, and scraped at the tips of trees before shooting up again, all the while laughter you’ve never screamed before bubbled out of you. 

And you were all alone. There was no mom to gleefully taunt your ikran with hers to get both of you dancing in the air. There was no father to watch on with a small smile he was fighting. There was no Neteyam to stop you from dipping too close to the ground, and no Lo’ak to challenge you to get closer to race with him — no Kiri to complain how all of you were being so childish, how stupid this was all the while she was the worst of you all, instigating all the chaos. 

No Tuk in your mom’s lap whining about you guys leaving her off the fun. 

Instead, there was the scent of a bogey in the air, snapping you out of the haze of sorrow.

When had you ventured out further into unprotected territory? 

Linked with your thought process, the ikran stopped advancing forward and started beating his wings downward to stay unmoving, you observed the surroundings to get a better feeling of where you were, and noticed this was around the old shack, artificial lights were gliding between the leaves and branches that obscured your view of just who was roaming the grounds at night, definitely not a natural part of the forest’s flora.    

Father’s voice materialized in your head, drilled into you and your siblings’ heads over and over again. If you come across any threat at all, do not engage, fall back and inform me. Got it? You call for me first.

And that split second of being afraid was your death sentence — that father would be so angry at you for your ignorance, amateurism, carelessness and idiocy that he could throw you out of the family for almost leading the demons to base simply by being there that they could figure out what direction you’d come from. That moment of weakness was enough for someone to snipe you out, and get you falling down from your ikran straight into the forest below, the cries of your new friend falling silent on your ears as you did your best to hug giant leaves to cushion your fall to the best of your ability. . 

 Barely any time was left for you to shake the disorienting motion sickness off, you couldn’t even attempt to run into the accepting, protective hands of the forest before whoever just shot at you was onto you, harshly gripping your arms and raising you up. 

Father’s gonna be so mad if he finds out. Shit, I gotta get out of this. 

But… Avatars? In full camo, armored, even. You hadn’t heard of this from anybody in camp!

“Damn! Didn’t actually think you’d be able to land the shot from all of that tree, man! Up-top!”

Two of them high-fived, you were actually going to be sick. 

Thumb between his belt and stomach, another Avatar strutted towards you. The saunter and confidence meant that he was their leader. “Now, now… What do we have here?”

“A native.” You were being pushed down on your knees, one hand being grabbed and shown like a trophy. Just how many were there? You couldn't calm yourself enough to focus! “Four fingers.”

The speaker this time was a woman. “How unusual. Those monkeys don’t leave their coven at night.” 

“Where were you flying, little bird?” The leader, a sleazy smirk on his face, leaned down to take a good look at you. “Leading away from the nest, perhaps?”

“She don’t understand, Colonel, don’t bother. Ya think Sully could ever manage teaching one word of English to those?”

“Watch how she learns in three seconds.” He yanked on your queue so hard you saw white light in this hour of darkness — and when your vision came back, a screen with your father’s face was being shoved to your face. “Jake Sully. Toruc Mactoe. Where is he?”

You screamed when he pulled with increasing strength, keeping up with the act you didn’t understand. And the state of pain and terror massively helped, contributing to you looking frantic and lost, only knowing that you were being zapped to your core. 

“Seems like I don’t need to ask you.” His fingers snapped your head back to get a good look at your earpiece, late to notice you had it on at all because of the dark. “Can directly ask the man himself.” 

All you could form to think was, ‘Father’s gonna kill me for this. He’s actually gonna kill me this time.’

You weren't terrified of what the Avatars would do to you. You were afraid of him.

One empty shell from the reloaded machine gun flew away, tinkling hollow when it fell down, and rolled until it stopped in a small pool of water that had formed on the jagged ground of the cave systems. In the scarlet and orange glow of the campfire he’d haphazardly put together right outside of their home out of impatience after Neytiri had basically thrown him out, Jake almost mistook the liquid for blood. 

An ominous cloud of dread settled on his shoulders, a paranoia every father tended to go through.

“Big Brother, this is Devil Dog. State your status, over.”

Neteyam didn’t miss a beat to answer, thankfully. “Devil Dog, this is Big Brother. I’m still en route to Foxcove, over.”

“How much longer?”

“Ten minutes at best, sir. Over.”

What he wanted to say was how come he hadn’t met you halfway, but it was empty talk. No need to stress the boy out. “Devil Dog signing out.”

This girl was half the reason for the wrinkles on his forehead, Jesus Christ. He was basically waiting you out like a father sitting in the dark to ambush his daughter who had snuck out at night, for that single glorious moment of yeah that’s right, you got caught, after the light would come on to ruin that moment of relief of successfully making it back in. 

His mate had scolded him to be nice and understanding, a Marine was anything but, the closest he could compromise was not being as mean to you than he had to be. Sassing, “So how was your Iknimaya?” like he planned was out the window — Neytiri was spot-on to say the girl would simply give the same mean energy right back at him, and that could only mean another erupting volcano of a fight and a good night’s sleep ruined for him, overthinking where he went wrong and how else he could have salvaged the situation. 

He’d just make you tend to the ikrans for a week for some patience practice, cleaning shit for hours on a daily basis would certainly throw the temporary whim of the rite of passage hyperfixation out of your system. The possibility of you shouting you hated him was unavoidable, but Jake had to get his point across, no matter how terribly it nauseated him to hear something like that from his child. 

It was strange to remember he couldn’t care less for what people thought of him in the past. Some shithead he wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about hated Jake’s guts? Good. He was living in their head rent free, it was fun even — Neytiri too, Jake absolutely enjoyed her hating game at first. 

Being legitimately resented by his very own child, though, was a heartbreak he didn’t expect to hurt him the way it did, knocking air off his lungs the first time he heard it. A burning stab right in his heart that wouldn’t go away until he had to hear it for himself you hadn’t meant any of what you said.

Because that said hate actually stemmed from hurt Jake must have inflicted. Because you could actually despise him, and never allow him to reconnect with you again if he could ever manage to garner the courage to reach out to you — a mightier challenge than hunting Toruk in the sense it actually scared him.   

His teenage daughter. Scared him. 

Jake didn’t know what to do about it, he couldn’t even show what exactly this made him feel, too ashamed and proud for it in the first place. 

The growing distance between you and him was an uneasy, frightened bird he tried to shush and calm in his heart in favor of other pressing matters that drilled small holes in the depths of his stomach, and over time, those little holes had fused together to create one big pit with greater gravitational pull than the sun — until Jake didn’t know how to stitch them back together anymore. 

He told himself he would talk to you later, for sure. The morning after every argument, every fight, every jab from you he snapped at he would try to make amends for, definitely. 

And then he didn’t. 

“What is this, are you palulukan ambushing prey? I told you to make up with her, not prepare for hunting.”

Jake shook his head, dropping the machine gun back inside the crate. The warmed metal was some sort of consolation to his nerves. Marine habit. Always felt safer with a gun near. (Or was it the American in him?) “Neytiri,” he acknowledged, bobbing his head. “I’m just passing time.”

“What do you think will happen when she comes back and sees you waiting for her like this?”

Ah, like the old times when Jake couldn’t do one thing right in her eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” he said playfully, but with no mirth behind it, closing the crate with a muffled thunk. With nothing to do with them, one elbow went to his knee and the other hand’s fingers started a rhythm on the lid he’d just shut. 

His mate’s hand gingerly came down on his shoulder, kneading the nerves. “Just talk to her, Ma’Jake.”

“I don’t know how to,” he admitted, he covered her fingers on her shoulder with his, and she immediately held his hand back. “Don’t know what to even tell her.” He gave an exhale from the deeper, tired parts of his soul, gazing at the path leading away from their tent. “With Neteyam and Lo’ak, it’s easy. I tell ‘em what to do and they—”

Neytiri took a seat next to him, gathering their hands together. “Suffer just the same.” Jake was about to brush her off, but she didn’t relent. “What you’re doing is hurting them.”

This now was about all of their children rather than you, specifically. Neytiri was trying to get him to see the bigger picture first before moving to cover what he did wrong with each child of his, they had had this conversation countless times before. 

Here we go again, Jake thought.

“Doesn’t matter if that’s what it takes to keep them safe.”

“Does it?” Neytiri leaned in, and calmness washed over him despite the disturbing nature of what she was saying. “Does it keep them safe? Or push them to act out more, get in worse situations?”

He grimaced. “I have to—”

“You feel like you have to.” His mate shook their clasped hands, rattling his bones. “I keep my children safe with trust and honesty. Transparence, Ma’Jake. So that they listen to me when I mean it because they See me. You shut them out.” Her lips bared to show her pearly teeth as she was practically beseeching him. “You don’t get your children’s trust by treating them like a squad.”

“They trust me plenty.”

“They trust Olo’eyktan. Toruk Makto. What about their father?”

“I make sure they’re safe.” Neytiri dropped his hands with an agitated snarl, she thought they were back at the beginning again, he couldn’t make her truly understand no matter what he did. He poured his heart out through their tsaheylu everytime, but her values and beliefs were wired so differently from his at the end of the day. “I make sure they stay where I want them to stay for their own good.” Jake shook his head, his voice soft, hushed. No force behind it when Neytiri was heated in return. “One day they’ll understand.”

“They won’t if you never tell them.”

“Tell them what?” Jake asked. “That I’m being harsh on them to prepare them for war? You think they’ll take it seriously after this?”

“Na’vi were in war long before you. There will be wars after you. No parent sullied his child’s happiness for the price of becoming a warrior. You still don’t get our ways even after all these years.” 

“The sky people’s way,” Jake emphasized with his arms. “I have to teach them how they think, what they go through, so they know what they’ll be facing, okay? I can’t simply teach them by telling them.”

“You’re deluding yourself, Jake. Contradicting.” Neytiri was gentle in her cruelty, the flickering flames burned less than her amber eyes. “Tuk and Kiri are getting none of this. I know your heart isn’t allowing you. Why can’t you do the same for your other children?”

Because he had gone too far already with the older three. 

Trial and error. 

He couldn’t take back the things he did and say back — and quite honestly? Jake was being pulled from all sides to sit down and rethink his parenting. All he thought anymore was how to protect his family, frequent nightmares of losing his children in gruesome ways were haunting his every step. 

A father protects his children, that’s what gives him meaning. 

Jake had his own desperate ways to do so.  

He opened his mouth to say something back, anything, but was interrupted by the communication line coming on. “Dad.” 

Jake immediately knew something was wrong, body sitting ramrod straight. If the frantic breathing and barely controlled voice wasn’t any indication of it, his eldest’s behavior was. Neteyam didn’t slip up in the codenames like Lo’ak did, dropped all formalities only when he was borderline panicking.  

“Dad. I’m sorry, dad, sir, I can’t find her, dad, I’ve looked everywhere around here, I thought maybe she was hiding underwater, behind rocks—but I can’t, I can’t—.”

“Slow down.” Jake could barely contain his own panic rising from the state his son was in. The boy wasn’t able to see it, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in as if Neteyam was right in front of him, and started gesturing with his hand. “Slow down, son.”

“Dad—”

Jake tsk-ed. “Neteyam, slow. Slow.”

Neytiri took his elbow. “What is it?”

He told her to wait with his gaze, and turned his attention back to Neteyam. This could only mean one thing, he was praying to be wrong — needed clarification. “Now tell me calmer. What’s going on?”

“She’s never been here. She never came here in the first place. There’s no sign of her. No trace. I’ve tracked.”

Jake’s instant response was fear. Domineering, ice-cold, cutting fear. Bodily and emotionally both. You were clockwork, similar to him in having unchanging routines and patterns. Angry? Went for a walk. Depressed? No talking to anyone until it passed. Happy? Wanted to go to the forest to spend time with your siblings and always craved sweet fruit. Didn’t want to be around anyone? Hid in the little bioluminescent cove with a pond two little mountains away, always. Always.  

Neytiri sensed this, observing the change of demeanor in him.“Ma’Jake?”

“Okay, son.” He seized back control. One missing child was enough. “Stay right there and don’t move. I’ll contact you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Jake,” Neytiri hissed finally, at the end of her ropes.

“She didn’t go to the cove,” he said, face icy neutral as always, but his eyes showed dizzying concern. Neytiri put a hand on her mouth as Jake wasted no time in changing channels. “Night Owl, this is Devil Dog. Come in.” He couldn’t even wait two seconds before trying again. “Night Owl, what is your status? Where are you?” 

Silence.

The more fear dug deeper into his skin, the more his anger and annoyance soared up, his tail was whipping the air erratically, the finger on the earpiece could send the metal right into his brain with how hard he was pressing on it. “I know you can hear me. This is no time for playing games. You know what you did to your brother? Do you know how panicked he was, not being able to find you—” 

Then Jake remembered what Neytiri advised, he didn’t change strategies because she was right next to him to dig his eyes out, but because his heart was picking up its pace by the second. “Tell me where you are, I’ll leave you alone, I promise, alright? If you’re somewhere open, get to safety, I’m only asking this from you. Or else—”

“Don’t.” Neytiri raised a warning finger at him, voice just above a whisper so they could hear their daughter if she decided to cut in. “Threaten her.”

He couldn’t stop her from snatching the communication device off of him. “Ma’ite, it’s mom. Can you talk to me at least?”

His ears twitched at picking up on you responding, not quite making out the words.  

Jake’s eyes shut close for a long time as his whole eyebrow line migrated upwards, he physically had to get a few steps between him and the earpiece so the obliviating worry that’d almost blinded him wouldn’t cause him to say something he’d greatly regret later. He could feel himself deflating. A migraine could be coming anytime soon.

You wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence but the moment your mother interrupted, you did? Fine. Fine. He didn’t care. Jake could live with it. At least you were alive.

A rippling shudder shook him the moment that thought hit him, an image of you lying dead in a ditch, pale blue, flashing in his mind, he had to run a hand down his face. 

When Jake looked back, irked by the silence, he found Neytiri standing completely stock-still. And all of a sudden, her petrifying glare was on him, ears pinned all the way back, hands gradually starting to tremble. 

“Neytiri?” 

She wordlessly handed him the device, and with a deep frown, Jake put it back in his ear. 

“Hi there Corporal, you hear me? Yeah, I know you do. As much as I’m charmed by the fatherly love I could give you a big old sloppy wet kiss, we have unfinished business.”

And the ground disappeared right under Jake’s feet, plunging him into hell itself.

taglist: @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @alohastitch0626 @jackiehollanderr @lucciera @qvrcll @iloveavatar @velvtcherie @ssc7514 @goldenmoonbeam @neteyamforlife @itsluludoll @jakesullys-bitch @blubrryy @sully-stick-together @arminsgfloll @alice121804 @noname2246 @justthingzsblog @eywamygoddess @m-1234 @ellabellabus07 @hellok1ttycake @dakotali @bluefire12348 @abbersreads @yellooaaa @aimsro @octavias-next-meat-bite @nikqdn @nao-cchi @spicycloudsalad @yeosxxx @heybiatchz @winxschester @elegantkidfansoul @eichenhouseproperty @kakimakiloh @dueiosy @liyahsocorro @dimplesxx @tigresslily

[felassan]

[source]

We learned in a Game Informer article that during the prologue of the game,

As you traverse deeper and deeper into Solas’ hideout, more of his murals appear on the walls, and things 'get more elven’. Rhodes says “this is because you’re symbolically going back in time, as Minrathous is a city built by mages on the bones of what was originally the home of the elves” At the heart of Solas’ hideout is his personal eluvian [original post]

The scenes being described here were among the ones that had been edited out of the gameplay reveal video. The rest of the scenes in the new NVIDIA trailer are from the prologue of the game, so maybe these images from it are too?

Image 1: Solas' eluvian? Maybe the one in his Minrathous hideout?

Image 2: On either side of the room is a Fen'Harel statue standing in attendance. they look to me like this one, only these good boys are also holding lanterns very helpfully :) In the center of the room in the foreground, is that coal? like maybe the area enclosed in the gold ring sometimes lights up on fire like a brazier? just a lightsource, or maybe part of a puzzle? In the right hand side of the room in the corner is what looks like a lootable chest. In the center of the room is a desk and chair[?]. if this room is somewhere in Solas' Minrathous hideout (or a Solas hideout), I guess this is Solas' desk and chair? ^^ on the other side of the room opposite the desk, some complicated-looking instruments. :)

also in Image 2, the central focus is the elven tree statue. the tree statue asset is found all over DA:I in ancient elfy places, including Fen'Harel's mountain ruins in Trespasser, the area in the DA:I postcredits scene when Solas kills Flemythal, the Crossroads, and the Dead Hand puzzle in Ghilan'nain's Grove.

(Image from DA:I)

Here's another quote about Solas' hideout.

“[Neve] informs us that Solas has a hideout beneath a nearby statue, and lo and behold, it is Solas’ hideout. He has painted murals around it, magic is used uniquely even by Tevinter standards, and at the end awaits a beautiful Eluvian” [source]

[asexualsinner]

Ghoul Hair Headcanons

This wouldn't leave my brain until I put it out into the world

Dewdrop/Sodo

Pin straight corn blonde that goes to his mid back

Very thin

Dry and damaged from his fire transition (Cumulus bullies him into letting her put oils and serums in it to help. He won't admit that he likes it)

Will wash his hair everyday/every time he takes a shower. This is sometimes multiple times a day. (Cumulus and Rain cry in despair)

Cowlick at the front part. Annoys the shit out of him when it dries funny

Let's his hair air dry after a shower

His hair used to be normally oily pre fire transition from the ministry's lake but noticed that if he swims for long periods of time his hair will be greasy and gross

Leaves hair EVERYWHERE. In the shower, on the furniture, clothes, you.

Uses everyone else's shampoo and conditioner bc he's too lazy to get his own

Will wear it up in a spider clip when practicing

Doesn't like people touching it, will let the other ghouls braid/style it on occasions or if they give him their best puppy dog eyes long enough

Somehow manages to not have bed head. Wakes up and his hair is fine. The pack considers this the 8th wonder of the world

Gets annoyed when his hair gets caught in his mask/balaclava bc he was too lazy to either tie it up himself or let one of the others do it for him preshow

Rain

Wavy hair that curls up just under his ears, blackish almost dark blue in certain light

Hair defies logic, will curl/wave in patterns that don't make sense

Uses 837+ products in it to make it glossy and soft after swimming (screams internally after Dew leaves barely a squirt of shampoo left in the shower and doesn't replace it)

Sleeps with a silk pillowcase

Will pin his hair back with pearl barrettes that papa gifted him

BEDHEAD. The WORST BEDHEAD out of all the ghouls. Wakes up looking like he lost a fight with a moose

Will let anyone run their fingers through it/brush it/style it. He will make you wash your hands beforehand though

Dries it using a cotton T-shirt. Usually the one he was wearing pre-shower

Washes his hair every 3-5 days

Mountain

Brown 3b curly mullet/Mohawk

Shaves the sides bc he finds the hair tickling his ears and horns annoying

Usually has leaves or flowers caught in his hair

Bangs cover his eyes

Cowlick at the crown of his head

Oil? Seums? Who is she, bc Mountain has never heard of her

His horns make headbands impossible so he will use bobby pins to keep his bangs out of the way while in the greenhouse or practicing

Bobby pins are everywhere. In the greenhouse, the practice room, living room, kitchen, EVERYWHERE

Consequently knows how to lockpick doors with said Bobby pins. No he will not tell you how he knows how to do this

Wraps his hair in silk handkerchiefs to sleep

Will wash his hair once a week if he remembers

Shakes his hair out like a dog to dry unless one of the others corner him with the Dyson hair dryer. (He won't admit that he hates the sound it makes)

Will throw in leave in conditioner overnight

Let's Phantom and Aurora put in cute clips that he forgets about

Once showed up to practice with a head full of colorful butterfly clips bc he forgot about them. Copia didn't say anything, wanted to see how long it would take Mount to notice while head banging. He didn't notice the entire practice until one flew off and hit his drum set

Swiss

Dark brownish black locs, sometimes will braid in colors if he's feeling like it. Mostly dark colors like burgundy or purple. Has been convinced to do gold before tours by the others

JEWELRY!!! LOTS of metal rings, cuffs and jewels. Loves being the shiniest thing in the room

Has as many if not more hair care products than Rain. Takes care to make sure his hair doesn't get damaged and is healthy

Sleeps with a silk bonnet to protect his hair

Has done fun style like space buns with his locs but will usually leave it down or in a top knot

Will wash it every 7-10 days or so unless it gets super dirty

Will take care of the rest of the packs hair, is the pack mom about it

Dew/Sodo frustrates the HELL out of him. What do you mean you don't use conditioner??

Will chew on the cuffs like a fidget toy

Takes great pride in his hair, will spend forever in the bathroom if you let him

If his hair isn't cooperating with him, that's it for the day you will not see him

Has injured himself/others while practicing from all the metal in his hair while headbanging/throwing himself around (was forced to wear a cone of shame during the rest of that practice)

Phantom/Aeon

Very wavy almost curly black hair with white streak on the left side

Hair thins out and curls around his shoulders with whispy bangs

Wolf cut girlie ✨

Soft and fluffy, loves to have his scalp scratched and hair played with. Will absolutely fall asleep while it's being done

Has tinted his hair with purple bc he likes the aesthetic

The others have found him in the bathroom at 3am with scissors bc he saw a trend on TikTok and wanted to try it (he was banned from scissors for 3 months)

Swiss cried when he saw it in the morning (what did you do??)

Forgets to wash his hair but is still better than Mountain about it

Washes every 5-7 days

Originally would use a towel to dry until he found the Dyson and now is a menace

Will chew on his hair until it's brought to his attention

Headbands, headbands, HEADBANDS! LOVES THEM.

Has demon horns ones, cat ear ones, regular ones, even those zig zag ones that hurt he doesn't care he loves them

Will use whatever's in the bathroom but prefers softer smelling products

Hates hairspray with a passion

Doesn't sleep with any special pillow cases, etc

Double cowlick where his bags sit and at the crown

Gets really REALLY bad knots at the base of his skull. Will cry when Swiss or Cumulus has to brush them out

Aether

Strawberry blonde short hair and shaved on the sides

Slicked back fade, likes the greaser look from the 50s

Do not touch this man's hair

Not only is it slicked back with 50lbs of product he will also bite you

Has sideburns

Somehow still uses 3-in-1 despite being picky about how his hair looks

Will sing into the hair dryer while using it

Hair is dry, not damaged but definitely not hydrated/healthy enough

Doesn't wear any accessories except for a beanie in the winter

Looks like a peacock in the morning, hair is just everywhere. Sticks up in every direction when he wakes up

Washes it everyday due to the product he puts in it

Fell asleep on the tour bus once and there was a grease spot left from his hair gel

Uses hair pomade that smells like vanilla and sandalwood

Goes through a jar of pomade every two days. The ministry's budget is crying, shaking in their boots bc of this ghouls usage of hair gel

Is a walking fire hazard from the gel

Cumulus

4b curl pattern, rocks the afro with bangs

Natural color is a dark reddish brown but dyes it fun colors like sky blue

Loves to tie it up with a cute designed handkerchief or bun, etc

Will accessorize with butterfly clips or spiral hair wyrms/Jewels

Washes it once a week but uses hair oils/serums daily

Bullies Dew/Sodo into letting her care for his hair

Is the go to for hair advice after Swiss

Uses a silk bonnet and silk pillowcase to sleep

Will use a cotton T-shirt to dry it/scrunch it and then finishes with the dyson

Second biggest hair shedder after Dew/Sodo

Will style it like Rosie the Riveter for practice

Doesn't like it when people touch her hair unless they ask first

Even then the answer may be no

Likes floral scented shampoo/conditioner

Aurora

Straight flat hair with choppy bags

THICCCC hair, goes to the bottom of her shoulder blades

Platinum blonde but dyed underneath

Enjoys the shocked gasps she gets when she pulls her hair up to show the rainbow underneath

Doesn't hold a curl for the life of her, she's tried

Usually keeps her hair down, will do a low ponytail for practice

Twin braids on sides framing her face

Likes playing with the others hair since hers doesn't hold different styles well

No cowlicks but her hair knots horrendously. After show care includes at least two other ghouls trying to help her unknot her hair from her balaclava

Washes it once a week,prefers cinnamon scented soaps

Super greasy if she uses too much product

Is in love with the Dyson hair dryer, fights with Aether on who gets to use it as a mic

Cirrus

Thin, straight dark black hair to her mid back

Twinning with Dew/Sodo except she takes care of her hair ✨

Shorted whispy hair framing her face

Her hair looks blue in certain light, almost like an oil slick

Split ends? Couldn't be her

Favorite shampoo scent is mint

Will spend hours combing her hair

Prefers combs over brushes

Doesn't get bad bed head but her hair is super static-y.

Will wear twin braids when practicing or pin the braids to her head with clips

Hair always looks super elegant

Like Aurora her hair can't hold a curl

Doesn't use anything special to sleep with

Will wash every 3-5 days

Uses serums as needed but her hair is super hydrated

Very soft

Prefers not to be touched but will allow certain ghouls to braid it if asked

Is the one who bought the Dyson hair dryer, is super amused by everyone's feral reactions to it.

[kaiser1ns]

#. DIOSA FROM ORQUÍDEAS ꕥ @17020'S EVENT !

featuring 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ıllı. umemiya hajime, togame jo, endo yamato

fluff. a celebration of self-love, empowerment, and confidence. he's always by your side, as if he's in a trance, spoiling you and always having you on his mind. he is more than willing to worship you like the goddess that you are.

i want to give my special thanks to the person to whom all this is due. amor, thank you for the wonderful opportunity, thank you for being such an amazing person, a real goddess! i hope you and everyone else, writing and reading, will enjoy the orquídeas shared with our favourites ♡

UMEMIYA HAJIME

The world could crumble, and the stars could fall from the sky, yet Umemiya Hajime would remain on his feet with a smile on his face and a bouquet in his hand. He'd walk through fire for you, dive into the deepest depths of the ocean, conquer every mountain, plant every seed, just to see his love grow and grow more for you. His eyes will never lose that warm flame, that spark, that burns only for you. You feel it in every glance, every whispered word and every touch. It's almost overwhelming, the intensity of his adoration, but you revel in it. You bask in the warmth of his affection, knowing that you are the center of his universe.

Hajime knows you better than you know yourself. He has memorized the way your eyes light up when you talk about your dreams and the subtle change in your voice when you speak of things that matter most to you. He knows what brings a smile to your face—a particular song, the scent of your favorite flowers, the quiet moments shared in the garden of Eden. He also understands what brings tears to your eyes, the memories that haunt you, and the fears that sometimes creep into your heart. But most importantly, he knows what makes you feel loved, cherished, and adored.

It might be daunting for some, the way he is always attuned to your every need, but for you, it's a comfort. You find joy in his attentiveness, in the way he anticipates your desires before you even voice them. His friends often tease him about how he spends all his time thinking of you, and how he seems to have little room for anything else in his life. But you find it amusing, a proof of the depth of his feelings. They don't understand the bond you share, the unspoken connection that ties your souls together.

You are used to getting what you want. The universe seems to have a way of bending to your will, of aligning itself with your desires. And in Umemiya Hajime, the universe has given you the greatest gift of all. He is the embodiment of love, the very essence of devotion. To you, he is more than a man; he is a force of nature, a manifestation of your deepest dreams and wishes.

Hajime treats you like a goddess, showering you with the kind of love that poets write about and artists strive to capture in their work. You see it in his eyes, a reverence that makes you feel like the most precious being in existence. He is your most fervent admirer. And you, in turn, are his goddess of love, the divine presence that completes him, inspires him and fuels his every action.

“You deserve the world, and I will spend my life giving it to you.”

You've faced heartache and pain in your life, moments that have left scars on your heart. But he has shown you what true love is. He has healed those wounds with his unwavering care, replacing sorrow with joy, and fear with security. With him, you feel safe, cherished, and above all, loved. His love is a salve, a gentle touch that soothes and mends, making you whole again.

Your belief in the law of attraction has never been stronger. You understand now that confidence and a strong sense of self can indeed bring about the desires of your heart. Hajime is living proof of this. With him, you feel empowered, as if the universe itself is conspiring to make your every dream come true.

Every moment with him is a treasure, a precious gem that you hold close to your heart. His love is a melody, a sweet, lingering tune that plays in the background of your life, making everything more beautiful, and more vibrant. You savor the way he looks at you, the way he holds you, the way he whispers your name with such tenderness. It's as if he has unlocked a part of you that you never knew existed, a part that is capable of experiencing the kind of love that transcends time and space.

As you rest your head against his chest, you think about how fortunate you are and how the universe, in its infinite wisdom, has brought you together, intertwining your fates in a dance of love and devotion. And as you gaze into Hajime's eyes, you know with absolute certainty that this is where you are meant to be — you have found your soulmate, your partner, your forever.

TOGAME JO

In his presence, you feel like you're dancing on clouds, weightless and free. The worries of the world dissolve as he takes your hand, pulling you closer. You gaze into his eyes, finding yourself reflected in their depths, and you know that he holds your heart in his hands.

Togame Jo’s love is like a long, beautiful dream, one that you never want to wake from. He tried to play it cool at first, but your presence ignites something within him. You’re so hot, so captivating, that he melts the moment he lays eyes on you. His smile, once reserved and composed, now breaks free with a joy that matches the intensity of his feelings.

You feel his heartbeat in the silence, a steady, rhythmic pulse that syncs with your own. The room fades away, leaving just the two of you in a moment of pure bliss. His wish was granted the moment he found you; the goddess he dreamt of is now in his arms, granting him the greatest gift of all – your love.

He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. You close your eyes, savoring the sensation, knowing that nothing can stop this. Nothing could keep you apart. He’s giving you his best, his all, and you accept it with open arms. The goddess within you recognizes his devotion, his unwavering commitment. It’s the least you can do to bless him with your fondness, to hold him close and never let go.

"Look into my heart, you’ll find only love there, love for you."

You know he speaks the truth. His love is evident in every gesture, every touch. There’s no need for him to prove himself, for the sincerity in his eyes says it all. The world seems to pause when he wraps his arms around you, holding you as if to shield you from anything that might come between you.

It wasn’t mere chance that you were brought together. The universe had a hand in it, orchestrating your meeting long before you were even aware. Destiny had plans for the two of you, plans that have unfolded beautifully, leading you to this moment. You, the lonely goddess, have found your true companion in Togame, a man who cherishes you beyond measure.

Heaven itself seems to be smiling down on you, as if acknowledging the perfection of your union. You fell from the stars, and he has caught you every single time, never letting you slip away. The temptation to love and be loved by him is irresistible, a sweet promise of happiness that neither of you can deny. You are captivated by the way he loves you, with a devotion that feels both ancient and new, as if you are discovering each other all over again with every shared moment.

In his heart, there is only purness and awe for the goddess who chose him, the one who made him feel and do things in ways he never thought possible. His entire world revolves around this precious connection, a love that feels as eternal as the stars. As he holds you close, he silently thanks the universe for granting him this unparalleled blessing, knowing that every moment with you is like falling in love all over again.

ENDO YAMATO

Endo Yamato’s eyes always seem to find you first. The moment you step into a room, it’s as if the rest of the world fades away, leaving only the two of you. His gaze is intense yet tender, a silent vow that he’s yours—body, mind, and soul. He doesn’t need to say it; it’s an unspoken truth that’s engraved into every touch, every look, every breath you share.

From the very first moment he met you, he knew his life had changed forever. Before you, everything was simple, predictable, almost painfully dull. He was a prodigy, praised and admired by everyone around him. He excelled in everything he did—whether it was academics or sports—leaving people in awe of his talents. But that admiration felt hollow, devoid of any true emotion. He lived his life on autopilot, going through the motions because that’s what was expected of him. He never understood what it meant to feel until you came into his life.

You were different. You didn’t look at him with the same awe-struck eyes that everyone else did. You saw him as an equal, a person with strengths and flaws, not just a prodigy on a pedestal. And when you smiled at him, it wasn’t because of his accomplishments, but because you saw something in him that no one else did. You saw the real Yamato, the one who had never truly been loved for who he was.

It was at that moment, when you reached out to him, that he realized what he had been missing all his life. Love. True, deep, consuming love. And now, he can’t imagine a life without you. He doesn’t want to. You are his muse, his guiding star, the one who painted his world with colors he never knew existed. 

“ I have fallen for you and I’ll never stop loving you. Not in this life, not in the next.”

Yamato is utterly devoted to you, in a way that transcends mere affection. It’s as if he’s in a trance, completely enchanted by you. He follows you with an almost reverent devotion, always by your side, always ready to do whatever it takes to make you happy. You’re his queen, his goddess, and he’s more than willing to worship you as such. Every glance from you is a command, every smile a reward he strives to earn over and over again.

He never hesitates to spoil you, to shower you with affection and gifts, to do whatever it takes to see that smile on your face. He lives for your happiness, and when you’re pleased, it feels like the world is exactly as it should be. They say you must have enchanted him, that there’s something otherworldly about the way he adores you. But you know the truth. It’s love, pure and simple, a love so deep that it has reshaped his very soul.

And in return, you adore him just as fiercely. You love the way he looks at you as if you’re the center of his universe. You love the way he always knows exactly what you need, what you want. You love how he’s always there, he is someone you can always rely on. With him, you feel cherished, and treasured, as if you are the most important person in the world. And in his eyes, you are.

You can see how he’s grown, how he’s learned to love, to care, to feel, all because of you. You’ve opened his heart, and now it beats only for you. He’s like a butterfly, drawn irresistibly to your sweet scent, caught in the web of your love, and he doesn’t want to escape. He’s fallen for you, completely and irrevocably, and he couldn’t be happier.

He believes he was born to worship you, to be by your side, to love you with everything he has. And you, in turn, have learned to accept his devotion, to revel in it, because you know it’s what you deserve. You are his queen, his goddess, and he will spend the rest of his life proving that he is worthy of you. You are his everything, and he is yours.

It’s not about ego, or power, or control. It’s about love, a love that is deep and true, a love that binds you together in a way that nothing else can. You feel him shudder slightly in your arms, as you pull back just enough to look into his eyes and see tears welling up, but then he relaxes, the tension easing as he lets himself be vulnerable with you. He cries, not out of sadness, but out of pure, unadulterated joy. Еach tear is real, showing how it flows into the deepest oceans of his devotedness, which overflows into the waters of true love.

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[humanpurposes]

So thrilled you’re taking requests! I love winter themed fics this time of year. I’m requesting modern Aemond (if not allowed then Michael Gavey) + stuck in this cabin until the storm passes/come sit by the fireplace. As much smut as you’d like with maybe a teeny bit of angst?

Thank you for taking requests, I know they will all be lovely

A/n: Took the liberty of making this a Michael Gavey request 😈 Also this gif is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!! Shoutout @barbieaemond and all the other amazing gif makers on here. These guys are such an integral part of fandom and they deserve all our love, appreciation and credit ❤️✨

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: 18+, slight angst, handjob, thigh riding (ish), Michael Gavey being awkard, but not quite a virgin

Main Masterlist

“Fucking skiing holiday. Should have fucking known this would be a fucking disaster.” 

Michael’s foul mouth hardly phases you anymore. When you first met him you thought he’d be a shy type of guy, with his baby blue shirts, cargos and wire frame glasses he kept pushing up with his middle finger.

You’d quickly found that he wasn’t at all like you expected. He can be abrasive, often judgemental and vulgar, not so unlike your other friends but with Michael it seems to come from a place of unashamed honesty. You sort of admire him for it.

He’s pacing the small living room and kitchen of the cabin, furiously fiddling with his mobile. You’re kneeling by the wood burning stove, hovering a lighter by the kindling in the hopes that you can light a proper fire.

You’re surprised he agreed to go on this trip at all. 

You have a few friends who do Maths, and at the start of second year they started inviting Michael to the pub on the weekends. You recognised him from your trips to the library, where he’d usually sit alone after his friend ditched him for Felix Catton.

They’d been all talking about a skiing trip between Christmas and New Year, to this little Italian village in the Alps. You didn’t— and still don’t— actually know how to ski, but spending a few nights in a cabin in the mountains, surrounded by snow sounded like a dream. Michael had been sceptical at first but you’d managed to convince him to come when you said you’d need someone to keep you company when the others were on the slopes.

The others had all gone out as soon as you arrived, leaving Michael to get settled in the cabin.

But it’s turned out to be somewhat of a nightmare. It’s too dark to actually see the snow storm but you can hear it, shrieking and howling against the walls and windows of the cabin. You have no service, no central heating, just the small assortment of snacks you had brought with you, a packet of paprika crisps, a bar of chocolate and a prosciutto sandwich you’d bought back at the main resort, back down the mountain, back in civilisation.

“Fuck, fuck fuck!”

“What now?” You ask, still focused on the fire.

“Mobile’s fucking dead. Shit! I have a charger in my bag but the bloody electricity isn’t fucking working so I can’t fucking charge it!”

You smile to yourself as the kindling catches alight and the flames start to lick at the larger logs.

You glance over your shoulder as Michael tosses his phone on the sofa, runs his hands through his hair and catches his lower lip with his teeth.

“I have plenty of charge on mine,” you say, “I’ll turn it off to save the battery and we can see if the service is working in the morning?”

Michael stares at you for a lingering moment. He can be so intense sometimes, almost unsettlingly so. “You want us to stay here all night?” he says softly.

“People know we’re here. I’m sure someone from the resort will come up when they can. Until then, we just have to wait out the storm.”

He tuts, but he knows you don’t have any other options.

You sit together with your backs against the sofa so that you can be as close to the fire as possible. The heat pleasantly burns your face and skin through your jeans and jumper. Even then, where your arm presses against Michael’s, you feel the warmth of his body beside you. 

You grab the crisps and the sandwich out of your bag, offering them both to Michael. He only takes a handfuls of crisps and when you split the sandwich in two he takes the smaller half. You offer him more of the chocolate bar but he insists he’s not hungry. You frown at that. It might not be a Crunchie, but Michael never turns down chocolate. 

“How was your Christmas?” You ask, popping a square of chocolate on your tongue.

“Fine,” he says, looking down at his hands, “had dinner with my dad and my nan, went to see my mum on Boxing Day.”

Guilt twinges in your chest. “Are your parents not together?”

“Oh no, they split up a long time ago,” he says, like it should have been obvious.

“I’m sorry.”

He turns to face you, staring intensely. “Why would you be sorry?” 

“Because I didn’t realise.”

He smiles. You think it’s because he knows you’re nervous. “I’ve been splitting Christmases between my parents every year since I was twelve, I’m well used to it now.”

The topic doesn’t seem to phase him. He takes another crisp from the packet and looks into the fire as he crunches it between his teeth.

The low light reminds you of the nights you’ve sat opposite him in the King’s Arms in Oxford, all the times you’ve been tipsy off wine spritzers and found yourself trying not to make it obvious that you’re staring at him. He’s handsome, especially up close when you can see the details of his face, his lips, his surprisingly pretty eyelashes, the little cleft on the tip of his nose.

When his eyes turn towards you, you think your heart might leap out of your chest.

You take a quick breath, eyes darting around the room, at the fire, the pile of logs beside the stove, the sprinkling of ashes on the floor, but it seems inevitable that you’ll find your way back to him.

“Why did they split up?”

Michael raises his eyebrows but keeps his face solemn. “She left him for someone else.”

“Oh,” is all you can think of to say. 

“It happens,” he says. “People always want to find something better. My dad was never the most exciting guy to be around.”

“But what about you?”

He huffs a laugh to himself. “I’m not exactly enticing company either.”

You can’t tell if you just want the conversation to end or if you should say something else.

“It’s not something I can fix,” Michael says. One of his hands rests on his thigh and he slowly flexes it so the tendons shift beneath his skin. “And it’s not something that needs to be fixed. People come in and out of your life, but you move on. That’s just the way it is.”

He’s almost hunched over himself, with his chin tilted down and his glasses sliding down towards the end of his nose. 

You’d seen him in the pub once, back in first year, with that friend of his, Oliver Quick. Oliver had gone up to the bar and ended up sitting with Felix Catton and his band of admirers. You’d watched Michael leave the pub and remember your heart shattering for him, for this boy you didn’t even know.

Now, stuck in this cabin, snow swirling past the windows, the sound of the fire crackling a few feet in front of you, and Michael’s side pressed against yours, your heart shatters all over again.

You place your hand over his, and he instantly stops moving. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re great.”

Michael tries not to smile. “You don’t need to flatter me,” he says.

You curl your fingers over his hand and tighten your grip. His eyes meet yours and you feel yourself frowning, because he doesn’t understand, because he doesn’t see himself the same way you see him. 

“I mean it. You’re funny, even when you don’t even mean to be, and honest, and straightforward…”

You glance down at his lips, slightly parted as he listens to you. It crosses your mind to lean in closer, but something stops you.

“I really love that we’re friends,” you say.

Michael looks down at your hands. His lips are pressed together.

He doesn’t want this, you think. He doesn’t want me.

So you pull away, with a little smile to keep it friendly.

He blinks a few times as he looks back at your face. “Thanks,” he says, softly. 

He stands, and you don’t think you can bear to look at him as he moves towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

You turn your attention to the fire, add another log for good measure and poke at the glowing embers in its heart.

You hear movement behind you, footsteps and fabric.

When you look back you see Michael has his arms full with pillows and blankets. He layers some of the blankets on the rug, and soon he has two makeshift beds, one on the sofa and one on the floor.

“What’s this?” You ask.

“We’ll freeze in the bedrooms without the heating, we might as well make use of the fire.”

It’s a good call, and now that you have somewhere to sleep you start to realise how tired you are. 

You rummage through your suitcase and pull out a pair of pyjamas you got for Christmas. Michael changes in one of the bedrooms and comes back in one of his maths pun t-shirts and a pair of red and black bottoms. 

You go to lie in the bed on the floor but Michael puts his hand on your shoulder and insists you sleep on the sofa.

Even with the heat of the fire on your face and the blanket pulled up to your chin, you can’t stop shaking. Your limbs are frozen and your skin is tight, but it feels deeper set than that. You feel the cold in your chest like a fever.

It feels like hours have passed and you still can’t sleep.

“I can hear your teeth chattering,” Michael’s voice grumbles below you. You peer down over the edge of the sofa. He’s turned away from you, towards the fire. You hadn’t even realised he was still awake.

“It’s fucking cold,” you say, wincing at the quiver in your voice.

Michael shifts to his other side so he’s facing you. You’ve never really seen him without his glasses, and he looks completely different, somehow softer, not as harsh.

“We’ll be warmer if we, if we share,” he says quietly.

His suggestion weighs heavy in the space between you, unless it’s just in your head. You can already imagine yourself pressed against him, feeling the warmth from his body and letting it sink into yours.

You don’t trust yourself not to try something stupid either.

You take the blanket with you. The floorboards are piercing against your bare soles so you step on the balls of your feet, quickly slotting yourself by Michael’s side, on the layers of blankets. 

He’s facing you now, your noses must only be inches apart and you feel his breath running over your cheek.

You try to steady your own breathing, but it only makes your heart beat faster.

You see his neck move as he swallows. “Come here,” he mutters, and brings his arm around you, pressing his palm to your back to pull you closer into his chest.

You let your arm drape over his side and your legs intertwine with his. You need the heat, tucking your head in under his chin and resting the side of your face against him.

You move with the rise and fall of his chest, breathe in the scent of him with every breath, hear his heartbeat against your ear.

If you shifted your head slightly, your lips would meet the base of his throat.

Want tightens and lingers in your stomach, but curled up under Michael’s arm, you let its dull ache soothe you to sleep.

You wake slowly, opening your eyes to cold sunlight glaring through the windows. In your haste to get warm last night, you had apparently forgotten to draw the curtains. All you see on the other side is white, the snow now settled and piled high.

The fire has long since died and the air is colder than it was when you fell asleep, sharp as you take a breath through your nose.

It’s still warm where your cheek meets Michael’s chest, where his hand rests against your back and your bodies are pressed together.

It feels good to be so close to him. He’s still asleep, as far as you can tell. You hear the heavy sound of his breathing, air fluttering in his throat and passing through his pouted lips.

As you start to become more aware, more awake, a warm wanting stirs in your gut and between your legs.

It’s a stupid little crush, one you’ve not been able to distract yourself from these last few months.

You start to trace your fingertips over his chest, feeling where his chest is hard, then soft, and remember everything you said to him the night before, and what you perhaps should have said.

You nuzzle your face in closer to him, to the clean scent of his t-shirt and something else that is so uniquely him.

You try to stay like this for as long as possible, even if it’s torture not to want more.

“You’re moving a lot,” he mutters. You feel his voice rumbling in his chest and humming against your head like it’s a part of you.

Only when you freeze do you realise you’ve been rocking your hips, every hint of friction you get against the fabric of your pyjamas only fueling your hunger. But you’ve stopped now, resting your palm against his stomach.

“I’m cold,” you say.

“Hmm,” he says, resting his lips and his chin against your head, over your hair, “I don’t feel cold.”

The low rasp of his voice only makes you want him more.

The lingering haze of sleep must be clouding your judgement, your sense.

You tilt your head up, brushing your lips over his throat like you’d imagined. You feel him shudder, and feel his stomach tighten under your touch.

He utters your name in a breathless whisper as he paws at your back and pushes his hips into yours. His arousal is evident, hard and pressing to your centre through two layers of fabric.

And then he pauses, and his hand slips away.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says.

You drag your hand down a little further, to slip under his t-shirt and feel the ridges of his surprisingly toned stomach, just above the waistband of his bottoms. “Why are you sorry, Michael?”

“I don’t know, I just…” he huffs in frustration as his hand returns to your body, gripping at your waist through your shirt.

You start to snag your fingers on the waistband, and realise he’s forgone wearing any boxers to bed. “Do you want me to help you?” You whisper, unable to hold back a grin.

“Yes, fuck, please,”

A whine sounds in his throat as you shift his bottoms down just enough to free his cock, and close your hand around it. He’s bigger than you expected, long and thick, heavy, hard and soft-skinned as you stroke, up, down, up, down.

You enjoy the feel of him, run your thumb over his weeping tip as he starts to pant and try to hold back his moans, leaning against you and ghosting his lips against your temple.

You only feel yourself becoming more and more desperate. You hook your leg over his, grinding your core against his thigh. Sparse sparks of pleasure course through your body, not enough for a release, but it still feels good.

You tilt your head again, eagerly pressing your lips to his. He seems taken by surprise at first, but meets you with clumsy enthusiasm. He kisses you like it might save him from something. Once or twice he seems to lose track, dragging his lips to the corner of your mouth only to pull you back into him.

The movements become more and more frantic, your hand pumping Michael’s cock, his hips bucking under your touch.

“Fuck,” he hisses against your lips, “I’m close. Fuck, I’m so close.”

You rock particularly hard against his thigh, and he brings his hand to your rear, squeezing at your flesh and urging you on.

You tease your lips against the shell of his ear, smiling at the wanton noise he makes as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“Are you gonna cum for me Michael?” You whisper as you up the pace.

“Please,” he grunts, “please…” and suddenly he’s moaning against your skin, holding you tightly as you feel his cock pulse in your hand as he spills over your fingers and knuckles.

You quickly move your head back so you can look at him, eyes fluttered shut, jaw slack and tongue just peeking out from behind his teeth.

“You’re so pretty,” you say quietly.

He blinks his eyes open, looking down at you with a dazed smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

“So fucking pretty,” you say, with another drag against his thigh.

He hums, low and cryptic in his chest. “Do you need some help there?”

Before you can answer he’s slipped his hand underneath your pyjamas. He cups your bare, wet cunt, lightly circling over your clit with the tip of his finger.

“Fuck you’re soaked,” he mutters, all but teasing your lips as he leans in to kiss you. “Got yourself all worked up, hmm?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “fuck, don’t tease me, please…”

“Now, sweetheart,” he coos as he presses more firmly against you, hastening his movements so your breath catches in your throat. “We might still have a few hours before anyone comes to get us, and I can think of more than a few ways to pass the time.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @lacebvnny

[prophetszendo]

How the birds fly (Pt. 1)

Content warning: attempted suicide, very negative thoughts. Only read if you are in the right mindset

Summary: the adventuring life took a toll on you, and you face your feelings on a nightly walk

Pairing: Astarion/you (no use of pronouns or y/n)

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: hurt/comfort, kissing, I guess fluff?, I am horrible at tagging please forgive me

About the dialogs: they are in two different "-marks, because my program uses my native language as default. And as I'm not a native speaker, feel free to point out typos, or simply weird sentences. I aim to be better with English.

It was a very long day. You finally made camp after walking for half a day, defending yourselves against an ambush, then gettinf lost in some woods. You ended up in a clearing, somewhere up in a mountain. You were not even sure anymore that you were heading to the right direction.

Setting up camp always came with it’s duties. One of it was collecting wood for a fire so someone can make the only meal you usually eat a day. Today, you were on wood and branch duty. As if it wasn’t me nearly always – you thought to yourself. Everyone clearly preferred not doing it. It was a long task and if unsuccesful, the bearer could be blamed. They didn’t went far enough, didn’t look hard enough.

Of course, everyone was on edge by now. The tadpoles in your head, the waiting, the constant danger looming over all of you created this snappy and sarcastic environment. They never really meant any of it, it was just a way to let off some steam.

You tried to not think about any of it while you picked up another piece of wood. Somewhere in the distance you heard some birds rustling, chirping, and then flying away. You tried to look through the trees surrounding you to see their siluettes in the dawn, but they were far away.

Once you deemed you had enough wood, you headed back. You heard the camp from far away. Your companions talked loudly, as if they were in a tavern, not on some mountain in the middle of nowhere.

This used to make you smile. You used to think there was at least once place you could remotely call warm and home. Right now it just felt distant.

„I’m back” you announced. Your companions looked up in sync, and in agreement, they took all of it from you and started making a fire to cook. Everyone, except Astarion.

He had this game with you. Sometimes he gave you attention, and other times, like this, as if you were thin air. Which you probably wouldn’t have cared about that much, if only you didn’t have feelings for him for a time now. When he gave you his attention, it was simply heavenly. Great flirtatous talks, teasing words, maybe a few stolen moments alone, or a drink for him, from you. They were cherished by you.

You sighed as you sat down, watching the others get lost in the chaos of collecting the ingredients for dinner.

Gods, you felt alone.

Later, when it was already late at night, you lied in your tent, wide awake. You were exhausted, yet dreams evaded you. Maybe for the better – you thought to yourself. Since the tadpoles, they were confusing, and you couldn’t get the proper rest and awoke feeling tried.

You decided to take a walk. Maybe moving around could make you a bit more sleepy. You decided to take the same route you used for collecting wood. At least you had an idea where you were there, and where was camp.

It was a very clear night, the moon was also full and shining bright. So bright, that it nearly dimmed all of the stars.

You zoned out while walking. When you came to, you noticed a cliff. You decided to take a rest there, and using what light tbe moon provides to just sit and watch.

There was a branch conveniently a few meters from the edge of the cliff.

In the distance, you heard and owl making noise. The next moment, it flew above you, and into the horizon.

You always wanted to fly. It seemed so free. From everything. Let it be the ground that was under you, or the burden of everyday life.

Not that you had a big burden back in Baldur’s Gate. It was the opposite, really. Everyday was the same. It grew dull overtime. Yet you couldn’t find anything motivating enough to change it. You were prepared to grow old, doing the same thing. You also had trouble bonding with people there. Not that you didn’t try, the friendships just always seemed to wither away with time. And the tavern buddies slowly all stopped showing up, until you were sitting by yourself, drinking some cheap ale.

Originally you thought of this tadpole event to be the push you needed to finally change your life around for the better. Learn new skills, like how to set up camp, survive on your own, decide which berry is edible. Make great friends for life – if you make it out alive. You were positive at the start that you would. You took on every challenge, helped every person that came your way, moved every rock to find a cure.

The others started to see you as their leader. It made you happy, gave you a purpose.

Until it became too much. You had to make the hard choices: who to side with? Which lead to follow? Kill someone and be sure they won’t spill your plan to the enemy, or let them live and be hopeful that they will be true to their promise?

It didn’t help that everyone had opinions, which they didn’t hesitate to share. And someone always disapproved, and it was on you.

And seemingly only you had nothing personal to solve. Everyone had a life, a purpose, a big enemy, an end goal. A reason to get the tadpole out. What waited for you after the adventure was just... grey. As it was before.

You sometimes wished this adventure would never end. You liked being around everyone. Karlach’s happy demeanor, how she seemed to be excitied for everything. Lae’zel and Shadowheart’s conflicts did bring some tension, but it always turned out well in the end. Gale and his magical hunger made you slightly amused: who actually eats boots? Not to mention Wyll, Halsin or Volo.

Astarion. Obviously, he was the star of the group. For you, at least. You loved how he liked deception and mocking people. You loved hearing his sweet words, especially when one of those were your name. You loved, when he opened up a little about himself. How life was for him as a spawn. It twisted your heart to hear him struggle, and you tried to help any way you could. Basically blidly following if he had a suggestion, even claiming it was your idea, if the others asked.

You believed your feelings became obvious for the others some time ago. You overheard them talk, then suddenly go silent when they saw you. Your name was whisperes silently along with Astarion’s a few times, but you were never included in those conversations.

You stood up, and took a few steps ahead, while fixing your gaze on the stars. They looked beautiful, like tiny little lanters far in the sky.

Like how the blood splattered from the goblin you killed today.

The image suddenly invaded your mind, and you now all you saw in the sky was bloodshed and violence. You didn’t want to end their life, it seemed pointless. They didn’t even seem so evil, just like a few pawns in the bigger game.

You tried to redirect your thoughts, so you thought about something else. More precisely, someone else. His silverish hair, eyes so sharp, that they see into your soul, his vampire smile he only shows with you.

Usually these pictures comfort you, but how Astarion had been acting lately, you just felt more invisible, even smaller.

Yes, invisible. You found the right word. As if you were hidden behind your responsibilities and decisions. As if your opinions, emotions did not matter anymore. Because you will do all the hard stuff, let it be collecting wood, taking the blame, or deciding to let someone bleed out or end their suffering.

They probably haven’t even noticed just how much you had on your shoulders.

Would they notice if you were gone?

You took a few steps closer to the cliff. You wondered what could be on the bottom. Maybe the river you passed recently? Or was that on the other side? Maybe a few boulders.

The memory of the birds you heard today flashed i ro your mind. You really did want to feel free, like how they were flying away from you.

You stood on the edge. The front of your feet were not even on the ground anymore. The moon didn’t give enough light to see what was on thr bottom. It seemed like a dark pit, that could just swallow you whole.

You felt something cold on your face. You realized that while you were lost in your thoughts, you started crying.

You never faced your raw feelings before. Maybe that’s why. Or because you finally made a decision. One, that would make sure you never ever had to make anymore.

„I always wanted to try flying...” you whispered in front of you, into the abyss.

You closed your eyes, and put your arms out, imitating wings. You shifted your weight, and started to fall forward...

...and with a suddend yank, you fell back, onto something warm.

You were confused, and it took you a few seconds to realize what happened. Sounds slowly made it to your ear, and the little light into your eyes.

„Fuck, dammit, you... No, it’s not your fault, I’m sorry, but shit, I can’t believe... Do you know what you were doing?!”

A voice came from under and behind you. It was rambling, sounding very distraught. Maybe even scared.

You turned around, still a bit lightheaded from the shock of falling backwards. Your eyes met a very familiar pair of scarlet eyes.

Astarion.

He was panting, as if he ran from camp all the way here. But you doubted it, he wouldn’t run after you. Maybe he noticed you were gone?

Suddenly, he hugged you tightly. His fingers dug into you, as if you could just float away anytime from his grasp. He felt warm, which was unusual to you. But truth be told, he never held you like this before.

He struggled breathing. He didn’t need to get air, which just added to the list of strange things happening. Maybe you actually fell and now living in just a fantasy?

But no, you slowly started to hear soft sniffles with the breathing. Astarion was... Sobbing.

„I’m... So, so sorry” he said, making eyecontact again. You noticed tears forming in his eyes.

You were at a loss for words. You finally pieced together what happened. Astarion saved you in the last second, and he was clearly distraught by what happened.

You felt guilty.

„What happened?” Astarion asked with a soft voice. You looked away, not being able to make a sound. You yearned to share your feelings with him, but there seemed to be no proper words to use. Nor a voice to say anything with.

„You... You’re so strong. What happened? What did we... What did I miss?”

The correction in his sentence made you heart flutter and ache at the same time. He clearly was very caring towards you, but you feared it was just one of those times and that it would never last longer than a few days.

„I’m...” you stuttered. Your voice felt like it wasn’t yours. You had to put all your strength into forming just a few words. „...not...strong...”

Astarion looked at you, with immense worry. You couldn’t say more now, and you felt like you couldn’t speak again for a long time.

You tugged on his tadpole, inviting him for a visit in your mind. You previously all agreed in the group, that you give everyone the privacy of their own mind, so you opening a way into yours was unusual.

You gave him a faint smile. You tried to put encouragement into it. He closed his eyes, and stepped through the door into your memories and feelings.

You showed him everything. How life was for you in Baldur’s Gate, and just how miserable you felt. How the initial excitement of this adventure turned into a daily torture of decisions, where there was no right answer, responsibilities which were crushing you, and the constant judgement of others.

You showed him the rollercoaster of feelings his actions caused. The hope you cradled for so much time, the longing you felt for him. The pain you felt everytime it seemed like he was just toying with you.

You shared how ready you were to let things end.

As he experienced your feelings, his arm grew even tighter around you, and he slowly buried his wet face into your neck.

After you showed him everything, he pulled out of your mind. He lifted his head, but only so much that his mouth was to your ear.

„You’re so much stronger than I thought you to be, darling” he whispered. „I never knew you struggled so much. You always seemed so sure, you... You never took any shit. You seemed so brave and determined.”

He gulped, and took a deep breath. He slowly lifted his head fully, to be face to face with you.

„I guess... I never thought about how it affects you. It was so easy following what you say, letting you decide on every crossroad. And it was so easy... Blaming you, if something went south. We... I should’ve stopped to think about you. And how you feel.”

Tears started forming again. He took another shaky breath, and tried to quickly blink them away.

„I always took you for granted. A strong leader, who is always there. And not just there...”

He looked down. You saw a single teardrop sneaking over his cheek. You never saw him this vulnerable before.

„I took you granted in a more... personal way too. Now that I saw myself through your eyes, I understand. Gods, I was such an asshole with you.”

He paused for a moment, as if searching for words. He opened his mouth, but closed it back soon. You sat in silence for a bit. You didn’t mind.

For the first time, you felt seen.

„I was scared of my own feelings” Astarion said suddenly. You sligthly raised your eyebrows, suggesting suprise. His own feelings?

„Yes. The ones I have for you.”

Your stomach filled up with butterflies. Did you hear that correctly? You couldn’t do anything, but blink at him.

„Whenever I realized just how much I care about you, I pushed you away. In my past, caring about someone meant you had another exploitable weak spot. Someone they could hurt to hurt you. And I didn’t want anyone to hurt you. So I pushed you away, since if I’m cold towards you, noone will think anything of you.”

He chuckled a little.

„But I could never keep it up for long. Because I missed you, Gods I missed you so much, even when you were right beside me, covering my back in a battle, sleeping just a few tents away. And yet, I kept missing you so much, it hurt. And now that I see, just how much it hurt you, I regret it so, incredibly much. We could have had sweet stolen moments together, if only I was less stubborn, and looked out for you a little more.”

Astarion looked utterly defeated and sad. You felt the truth in his words, and it was something you only ever dreamed of. You raised your hand to caress his cheek. He gave you one of those vampire smiles that made your knees weak.

He lifted both his hands, and held your face just under your ears. He pulled you closer to himself, and out your foreheads together. It was a very intimate moment.

„I think I fell in love with you” he whispered so silently, you barely heard it. But you did. And it gave your voice back.

„I fell in love with you, too” you said, giving him the first real smile since you were here.

He slowly leaned closer to you. You closed your eyes, and got lost in the moment.

And then... He kissed you.

[sammyofold]

Here are those fic recs I promised you @incesthemes ! I hope there's some in there that you'll really enjoy <3 I split up the recs into overarching tropes to group some together, but I'll start with those that don't fit into any of the groups.

The list got a bit long, so I decided to split it up into two parts.

(Part 1 | Part 2)

Courting Death by theproblematique.

Summary: Sam Winchester lived the first six months of his life in a happy family; the next twelve years as John Winchester's only son, and the last decade as an orphan. He's supposed to die at twenty-two trying to save the woman he loves from a fire, because he doesn't have a brother to pull him back. But the night Sam meets his Reaper he discovers that Death is overly fond of pop-culture references, too beautiful to be real, and reluctant to kill him.

Servant of Servants 'verse by klove0511.

This is a two-part series (though I think it might've been intended to have more fics, its ending doesn't leave you feeling snubbed), posing the question: "what if it had been Sam who'd been mortally wounded at the end of Season 1?"

love potion no. 9 by according2thelore.

Summary: Dean drinks a love potion. Sam is falling apart at the seams because he's been in love with his brother for more than a decade.

keep me in a daydream by according2thelore.

Summary: After an accidental kiss makes a hunt go suspiciously well, Sam and Dean decide to try it again. And again. And again. It's no different from wearing lucky socks, right? A 5 + 1.

for you and me (i got no alibi) by remy.

Summary: There are people hitting on Sam wherever he goes, and Dean is doing weird things like holding doors open for him and touching him way more than is necessary, and it's all driving Sam up the wall. It doesn't help that he's been in love with Dean for just about forever, and all of it feels like a mockery of something he'll never get to have. Meanwhile, Dean is at his wits' end trying to figure out how he can make Sam realize that he is, in fact, trying to get into his pants.

Ben Has Two Dads by regala_electra.

Summary: When Ben turns thirteen and learns that Dean Winchester is his father, he runs away to join his father (and uncle). A tale where boys are boys, Vikings are Vikings, unicorns go to Candy Mountains, Dean and Sam are in big gay love, and Ben becomes a Winchester.

Last Temptation by merle_p.

Summary: Sam is running a fever again, the kind of fever no Ibuprofen or cold compress will bring down, the kind of fever that is eating him up alive, eviscerating him from the inside. He is too hot and too cold and too pale, delirious and shaking, resonating with whatever divine energy the trials are subjecting him to, and Dean is not sure how much longer he can stand to see him be in this state. Because Sam is quite possibly dying, and there is nothing Dean can do to stop it. Because Sam is dying, and he just. Won’t. Shut. Up.

Five Times Dean Forgot and One Time He Remembered by elsi.

Summary: Rowena warned him the obliviate curse might have “aftershocks.” That Dean could relapse to his amnesiac state without warning—though only temporarily, she assured. But this? This goes beyond calling a lamp a “light stick.”

Whatever It Is by theproblematique.

Summary: Both Sam and Dean get sent to the year 2014.

Take My Hand (Take My Whole Life, Too) by TeacupUnicorn.

Summary: Sam and Dean get handcuffed together during a hunt. With a werewolf on their tail and a proximity to each other they haven’t had since they were kids, their unstable relationship is put to the test and their trust in each other is pushed to the limit. Set sometime after 5x16 and before 5x20.

Not Her Sam by Yuval25.

Summary: Future Dean goes back in time to change the future and saves Jess. Future Sam tags along unexpectedly. And Jess is okay. No, seriously. She's fine.

Mistaken For a Couple

101 - mythology by ani_coolgirl.

Summary: As Sam, Dean, and Kali flee Lucifer's slaughter, Kali makes an assumption. The boys try to clear up any misconceptions. They don't do a very good job.

I need you so much closer by cherryvanilla.

Summary: five times they're mistaken for a couple plus one time they actually are.

Domesticity

Paisley by samsexualdeancurious.

Summary: After his mind wall was broken and was healed, Sam knows he can’t be a hunter anymore, so he and Dean retire, and Sam ends up finding a homeless dog who was abused and together they heal.

The Chicago Verse by compo67.

This is a series spanning a whopping 169 fics. I've read only a few of them and I enjoyed Sam and Dean retiring in this town together. It's still updating, looks like, since the latest fic added was in May of this year.

a few things worth saying by hathfrozen.

Summary: “So this morning,” Dean ventures as they blast down the highway in pitch black night toward a probable werewolf case. Sam looks over at him, thin eyebrows raised, eyes clear and calm. He’s not even difficult about it, doesn’t ask what Dean is after, doesn’t deny what had happened. Instead he says, very simply, “I just figure, why lie?” Alright then.

All The Way In by hunters_retreat.

Summary: Sam never did know how exactly it happened. One day, he and Dean were run ragged, exhausted from yet another disaster of a hunt, no money and no gas, no prospects and no allies left alive to give them a hand. The next, they owned a store with a shooting range and Sam was a professor of religious studies at a local community college.

Pre-Series & Season 1

To Blow Against the Wind by dreamlittleyo.

Summary: After Oasis Plains, Sam and Dean can't. Stop. Touching each other.

Star-Crossed by Agent_Hellcat.

Summary: Before Sam departs for Stanford, he writes a letter to Dean, begging him to come to Palo Alto with him.

Birthday Suit by wincestation.

Summary: On the morning of Dean’s eighteenth birthday, Dad takes him to buy a suit. Sam is… interested.

house song by according2thelore.

Summary: “The werewolf.” Sam says, quick. Hushed. Scared. “I don’t know how. I was—He was standing above you and then he wasn’t. And I think I did that.” Dean keeps whispering stuff to Sam, banal reassurances that Sam soaks up like a sponge, but he feels sick. Sammy did something impossible. Sammy’s been doing impossible things. For years. Or: Pre-Canon/Teen!chesters AU in which Sam develops powers at age eleven, Dean will do anything to protect him, and they have to live with the consequences

Outsider POV

What I've Done by Amoreanonyname.

Summary: He wasn’t going to say anything more about it. He could tell, Dean was happy to see him, but wasn’t going to humor this topic. Dean, young Dean would jump to obey John, to answer John’s questions, but this was an older Dean who was more loyal to someone else now. More loyal to his brother. John wasn’t the priority here, and he realized with another guilty jump in his stomach that he never should have been.

something you love and understand by monsterq.

Summary: In heaven, Mary makes an unwelcome discovery about her sons’ relationship.

a skeleton terribly restless by remy.

Summary: Mary knows she doesn't fit right in this strange new world she's woken up in, with these grown men masquerading as her sons, but she tries her best. She really does. She closes her eyes to all the things she does not want to see, and she lies to herself until she's convinced. Until she can't.

Flowers on the Window Sill by orphan_account.

Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester's relationship as observed by the good people of Star's Hollow.

Soulmates

Fix You by non_tiembo_mala.

Summary: After their encounter with Famine, the boys are in dire straits. With Dean left shaken by the horseman's taunts - which rang truer than he'd like to admit - and Sam juiced up on demon blood again, Dean is at a loss. He has no idea how to move forward, or where they're meant to go from here. Then again, they’ve always had each other - perhaps their salvation isn't as far away as it seems.

All Too Familiar by sammichgirl.

Summary: Sam's new hobby has consequences they never saw coming. Turns out, that's OK with Dean after all.

What We Do by BleedingInk.

Summary: Castiel catches Sam and Dean in a compromising position.

since feeling is first by queenklu.

Summary: That he wants to think this is Dean yanking a leash should make his blood run cold, not aching hot. It should make him sick, angry, it should get his fucking hackles up and make him fight. He does want to fight. But there’s a skin-thin line between primal things, and fighting isn’t all he wants to do.

if the dam breaks open many years too soon by deirde_c.

Summary: Sam’s soul springs a leak, and Dean’s the one who can repair it.

In the beached margin of the sea by rivers_bend.

Summary: Sam and Dean black out on a hunt, and when they wake up, Dean's having visions and Sam can't get new, strange feelings out of his head. When John finds out about the side effects, he'll do anything to get rid of the "curse". But Sam and Dean don't want to go back to the way things were before.

I Don't Need A Symbol by amoreanonyname.

Summary: It hadn’t meant that much to Sam at first. A warm glow at being able to do something nice for Dean, to give him something for once, to make him as happy as he seemed when he put it on immediately. It was what it meant to Dean that made it mean something else to Sam.

[crystaleclipse10]

A look into the Ninja's powers

Welcome to my analysis of the powers of each of the 6 main Ninja. How each power feels and its source for each Elemental Master, and how it reflects in their personalities. This has headcanons and canon explanation. Hopefully it all makes sense

Cole: Cole’s power comes from deep within the ground. He can feel the power of the earth in his guts, strong and steady. It’s grounding. It’s constant. The earth is always somewhere below him. No matter where he is, somewhere there’s earth—whether it’s deep within a mountain, everywhere; or leagues under the sea; or so far beneath the sky it is practically invisible—it will never not be there. It’s reliable. Yet it takes different forms: dirt, rocks, magma, sand; it’s all part of the ground, versatile. It’s protective; it encases and preserves ancient ruins and fossils, it gives shelter to those seeking refuge. It connects all living things—it reaches every part of the world. It cannot be forced to move, but it can be guided. It is the foundation of everything.

“You've never been farther underground. Never been more surrounded by the very thing that powers you. The Skull Sorcerer thought he was burying you, but what if he was actually bringing you closer to the earth? To the source of your elemental power?” “So what do I do? Try to connect with the earth?” “Perhaps. Or perhaps you just have to stop worrying so much and let the earth connect with you.”

Zane: Zane can sense his ice powers in his mind. It can exist in the coldest of climates, and when it melts, turns into something just as powerful; it is not wasted. It carves its way through anything—glaciers. The rivers of ice creep forward slowly but surely, taking everything in its path. It’s steady and cold, but its bite can be unrelenting. Frostbite, hypothermia—just as cold as ice is. And icicles, especially when shot as a projectile, are like daggers; sharp and dangerous. But it can numb pain. It tames something burning hot into something pleasantly warm. It is hard and strong, but it can crack—and if that happens, it can be made whole again with a little time. It is reliable and quiet. It can create a protective barrier. It’s there when it needs to be.

“This isn’t about numbers…it’s about family.” “He’s protecting us.” “I am a Nindroid, and Ninja never quit. Go Ninja, go!”

Jay: Lightning. He can feel it buzzing on his skin and nerves, able to be condensed and controlled. Pure energy, electricity. It’s volatile and dangerous. But it can be essential to life. It’s everywhere—thunderstorms, static, neurons firing in the brain. If it wasn’t for electricity, the brain would cease to function and life couldn’t exist. It’s quick—blink and it’s gone, just a thread of light that comes and goes. But its impact is remembered. A thunderous boom, a scar of soot, sometimes even a blaze set in its wake. Its glow is practically too bright to look at; a source of light for even the darkest of caves. Just one spark can start a fire or illuminate a building. It’s a source of power—for vehicles, technology, buildings. Even though it is not always visible, lightning and electricity are all around, ready to be called upon.

“Control the power inside you. When you feel a surge welling up, harness it.”

Kai: Kai’s power over fire comes from the breath—air is fuel for fire, and controlled breathing can control the blaze. It is not a matter of force—though hot anger can stoke fire—but harnessing the buzzing potential in the air. Fire can be destructive; a wildfire is chaotic, unyielding, and intense, burning everything in its path. But it can be life-giving, too. It’s cozy. It provides warmth on the coldest of nights. It can cook food, boil water, ward off frost. It is the essence of the sun—the largest blaze that allows life to exist. It burns with passion and ferocity, but if it loses strength, there will always be an ember remaining. Almost nothing can beat back a big, hot fire. It can be a weapon or a defense; it hurts to touch, and no one without immunity would dare go near. Without fire, life could not be sustained.

“I just wish I still had my powers. I was Master of Fire. I could've made a new fire like—like...like this.” “Oh, do not worry, Kai. Elemental Power comes from within, like courage. Sometimes it wanes, sometimes it waxes, but it cannot be stolen.”

Nya: The power of water flows through her veins. Water is ever-changing and powerful. Even the strongest rocks erode under the power of water. It’s relentless. It can defeat ghosts because it is always changing and shifting, while ghosts are stuck trying to be one thing and refuse to change. It cleanses and heals. The first thing to do for something dirty is to wash it with water. And it’s part of blood, something vital for people to live. It’s restless. The ocean never stays still; it does not like to be contained. The tides are as constant as they are powerful. The entire ocean moves with the tides; the constant in and out of so much water shapes the coasts. Rivers bend and flow around obstacles; no matter what is in the way, it will eventually reach the ocean—the largest body of water filled with plants and animals. Water supports life and creates ecosystems. It’s the heart of the wild.

“Jay, the ocean's good for much more than food. As we go deeper, I can feel its elemental power growing. It's almost overwhelming.”

Lloyd: Perhaps the most vague but also the most powerful element is Lloyd’s. Is it Power? Creation? Energy? Life? Lloyd is connected to the Source Dragon of Life, not Energy. Whatever the case, it comes from his heart. If it is Life, that is where it is strongest—the beating of a heart shows life in a living being; it is impossible to live without a heart. It’s everywhere—inside Lloyd, in his comrades, his students, his masters, nature around him. His love for the world is his true self and makes his heart powerful. His goodness gives him strength. His drive to save the world fuels his passion. Life is inside of him, but it can also be taken away. It can heal, but also hurt. When it is taken away, overused, or corrupted, it leaves him weakened and sick. But it can save his life in a fight—and it has. It is a combination of the core elements of Creation: Lightning, Ice, Fire, and Earth—LIFE (thank you @secretlyharumi for helping me realize this!). They can be utilized individually, but also combined into something potent and beautiful. Without life, nothing would exist. It is the thread of the universe, stitching together things similar and different; big and small.

“I’m already the Golden Ninja. How much more power do I need?” “You’ve only scratched the surface! You have the potential to move mountains. Power of the First Spinjitzu Master!”

I like the idea the Ninja's personalities and powers are mixed

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk