#[river deep] mountain high series

[late-to-the-party-81]

A mountain to climb

AN: It might have taken me 8 months to get to it, but here is something that @lauratang asked for last year as part of my Inspire Me event. I’m afraid this turned more angsty than the pure smut I had planned, and isn’t exactly what was requested, but I hope you all still like it. Blame the characters, I just work here. Anyway, without further ado, it’s time to return to Wakanda and see how M’Baku and Sabi are adapting to some significant changes. This is part four of the story so far.

Feel free to send asks about these two.

lauratang asked: So, okay, first idea for your Inspire Me Event ❤️ First, I would to see some M’Baku x reader! That man is just 😫🫠🥺 So how about some brat taming, maybe? Maybe reader has been pushing his buttons all damn day, riling him up by bending over any chance she gets, swaying her hips every time she walks by, and constantly caressing his arms, chest and thighs, but as soon as he tries to reciprocate she leaves? And he just snaps? 😌❤️

Unbeta’d, so sorry for any typos or rogue commas.

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Master list | Series Master list

Relationship: M’Baku x Female Journalist Reader (Sabi)

Word Count: 4.3k

CW: Lots of Angst, Insecurity, Childish Behaviour, Teasing, mild D/S, under negotiated kink, spanking, pussy spanking, vaginal sex, crying, fucked unconscious. 

You were bored. So very bored. 

And restless.

You were sitting in the library in the palace at Birnin Zana, practising your Xhosa by reading through some of the official histories, but you couldn’t seem to concentrate, staring off into the distance every few minutes and sighing loudly.

What you needed was M’Baku. Your king. But at this moment in time, that wasn’t possible.

“I’m sorry, Sabi,” he’d said, as he’d slipped from the bed this morning. “But today is going to be very busy. I’d like nothing more than to stay here all day with you. Kissing you,” he leant over and brushed his lips over yours. You wound your arms, needily around his neck, arching your body up to his. “Touching you. Listening to your sweet cries. But I am King now, and I have many more responsibilities than I had before.”

You understood. You really did. But you missed the routine that you and he had had back on Gorilla Mountain. The warm, dry heat of the Golden City felt strange to you after all your months spent in the snow and ice of Jabari Land. You missed cuddling up to M’Baku under piles of furs as a fire crackled in the background. You missed the tranquillity that life without advanced technology had given you. Coming to the capital for a few days every couple of months was one thing, but living here full time was something else entirely. You felt like all eyes were watching you - the foreigner who warmed the King’s bed. The Jabari had accepted you as one of their own, but you didn’t know if the rest of Wakanda would follow?

You’d pouted anyway, scratching the back of his neck with your nails, and watching him shiver at the sensation as his eyes closed. You’d hooked your leg around his hip and pulled him back onto the bed, back on top of you, and let needy whimpers spill from your lips.

“Sabi…” he’d growled out, warningly, and then it was you who’d shivered. M’Baku didn’t often overtly dominate you, mainly because you’d both break out into a fit of the giggles, but at that moment in time, something about his tone of voice, the way he’d held the tension in his body, caused your heart rate to pick up. “Now is not the time to play the brat.” 

You’d known that he’d meant it. With a huff, you’d released your hold on him and he’d pushed himself up, giving you an indulgent smile as he did so. “Once I have finished I promise I will return as quickly as I can and you will have me all to yourself. We can go out for a walk, or just stay here. Whatever you want, my desert rose.” He’d given you a chaste kiss goodbye and then M’Baku, your lover, had been replaced by M’Baku, King of Wakanda, and you‘d watched him make his way from your suite.

You’d dozed for a bit after he left, dreaming of the way he touched you and worshipped you, and how you did the same to him in return. When you’d woken it had been with his name on your lips and an ache between your thighs that you couldn’t quench on your own. In the end you’d had to settle for sating your physical hunger, indulging in a variety of fruits and yoghurts that had been laid out on a platter for you, before washing and getting dressed.

Surely there must be something you could do to occupy you for the day, you’d wondered, which is how you’d ended up in the grand library. However it was nothing like the smaller, cosier one you were now used to and you found the differences too jarring. You let out another sigh and shut the book in front of you with a snap. 

By all rights you should be thrilled to be here, especially in the privileged position you had. While you had taken a step back from your job, you hadn’t quit altogether, and were perfectly placed to provide the world with insights into this unexpected turn of events. Yes, the death of King T’Challa had been shocking and upsetting, but no-one could have foreseen the subsequent death of Queen Ramona and that Princess Shuri would abdicate her right to the throne.

However, despite the fact that you’d been born and raised a world away, these were now your people and Wakanda was your adopted home. If M’Baku asked you to present something to the rest of the world using your connections, you would, but there was no way you would do anything to impinge on the nation’s privacy by acting on your own. You respected him and the country he led too much to do that.

You were sad though. Sad for the loss of everything that you’d acquired, even if it was quite by accident, after catching the eye of the leader of the Jabari and becoming his lover. A working trip had turned into an extended holiday and had now morphed into something that felt much more permanent. However, the recent changes had made you doubt the foundations of it all. So much about your lives was different now. Yes, M’Baku loved you, and you loved him, but could your meeting of worlds survive this latest upheaval?

Shaking away your maudlin thoughts, you decided you needed to occupy yourself some other way, and what would be better than feasting your eyes upon any glimpse of your lover you could get? Although you knew he was busy, you also knew that most of the meetings and forums he was taking part in were not private ones with the leaders of the other tribes, held behind closed doors. No, today was all about visibility, with the opportunity for the common folk of Wakanda to meet and question their new King. With that in mind, you made your way along the corridors of the palace, familiar enough with it now to only take a few wrong turns, until you got to the viewing gallery that overlooked the great hall. 

You picked your way along the rows of ornate wooden benches far up near the ceiling, until you found a spot away from the few others who’d decided to come all the way up here - most of the viewers were using the lower gallery, where they could get a better look at King M’Baku in all his finery.

However, you didn’t need to be close to know how he looked. You knew the texture of every piece of fur, of every feather, that adorned him. No-one else present but you knew how it felt to caress the soft skin that overlaid his strong muscles. No-one else had ridden one of those thick, wonderful thighs until completion. No-one else had had their inner thighs rubbed almost raw by the burn of his facial hair while pleading for more. You bit your lip as you drifted off into your own daydreams, inhaling sharply through your nose to fill your lungs with more oxygen.

In theory, you were too far away, too insignificant to the proceedings, for M’Baku to spot you, but as you looked down at him, your eyes roaming unabashedly over his form as he held court, his large body owning the throne he sat in, his own eyes darted upwards, capturing your gaze for a few heartbeats before he turned his focus back to the person asking him a question.

He was radiant and with the light shining in through the windows behind him he even seemed other-worldly. You ached to reach out and touch him, to feel the warmth of him under your fingers, but you’d have to wait.

Instead, you leant forward in your seat, resting your arms along the railing, and continued to let your gaze feast upon him. It was only when his eyes flicked back up at you again, but stopped shy of your face, you realised that the way you were perched pushed your breasts right up to the neckline of your top, almost threatening to spill over. You should behave with more decorum but an imp on your shoulder egged you on. You shifted again, slowly easing your top until it barely covered your nipples. At the same time you put the tip of your thumb in your mouth and took it between your teeth, ready to flash him a coy look the next time he glanced up.

When M’Baku’s eyes went wide, his nostrils flaring at the same time, you felt a flash of satisfaction. You continued to make eyes at him over the next hour, subtly shifting whenever there was a lull in proceedings, so that you almost exposed yourself on a number of occasions. When you saw your King squirm slightly, moving his legs so that the cloth that covered his crotch wasn’t so flush against him, your sense of triumph increased.

When the session came to a close you couldn’t help but tease him with one more thing. As the denizens of the city exited and M’Baku’s advisors rose from their seats to speak to him, you stood from yours. Carefully you climbed the steps that lead to the exit from the upper stalls, but just as you reached the top you ‘tripped’. Your hands went out in front of you, stopping you from actually injuring yourself, but you knew the action had caused the fabric of your skirt to pull tightly across your ass. Standing back up, you dusted off your hands and chanced a brief look over your shoulder. M’Baku was still in conversation, but his eyes were firmly fixed on you. You threw him a smile and made your way out, down the corridors and back to your suite. 

Launching yourself down on the bed, you indulged in further daydreams of how your royal lover would behave once he returned to your shared chambers. Heat spread through your body as your thoughts raced. You didn’t know whether you wanted him to worship you or the other way around. Or what if he just lifted you in his strong arms and fucked you against the wall, his thick thighs doing all the work to make his hips snap up into you? Each thought was as equally delicious as the next, and you ran through them all in your mind as you waited.

And waited.

And waited.

With an exasperated sigh, you turned your head to look at the clock. An hour had passed since the forum session had ended and M’Baku hadn’t returned. Where was he? You pushed yourself back up and looked at the doors to the suite, hoping that just by doing so he would appear.

Nothing.

A scowl appeared on your face and you pursed your lips. What was taking him so long? 

Frustration, both emotional and physical, welled within you and you rose back to your feet. A shower would be a good way to while away some time and, if you were lucky, he might return while you were part way through. Luck, however, wasn’t on your side, and by the time you got out from under the steaming spray - which to your mind couldn’t hold a candle to the hot springs of Gorilla Mountain - you weren’t just frustrated, you were downright cross. You needed M’Baku here with you and he wasn’t. He’d promised, and he’d never broken a promise to you before. You recognised you were being childish, but it still didn’t alleviate the hurt at apparently being forgotten. Once you’d uttered those three words to each other, back in his private room on the mountain, you’d thought this thing between you could work, but there was a vast difference between being the consort of a tribal leader and the consort of a King.

You were so lost in thought, pacing up and down and chewing on the nail of your thumb, that you didn’t notice the door to the suite opening. It was only when it swung closed with a loud thud that you became aware of M’Baku’s return.

You’d been waiting all day for this, but now he was here your thoughts were swirling too much. You were frustrated, your confidence was at rock bottom, and all you could do was blink at him blankly as he stalked towards you, a sly smile on his face

“I see you found a way to keep yourself occupied, my Sabi Star. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

He reached out toward you, aiming to stroke your cheek with the back of his knuckles. His actions snapped you out of your stupor and all your emotions came rushing back in. For the first time ever, you stepped backwards, away from his touch. You were feeling hurt and your pettiness was winning out. You wanted him to be hurt too

“No.”

You ducked around him and moved towards the dresser and your jars of cocoa butter. You let the towel drop from your body, stretched, and then lifted one of your feet onto the stool and proceeded to start moisturising your body. From the corner of your eye you saw M’Baku raise an eyebrow, before he followed in your wake to stand right next to you, his eyes roving over the expanse of your bare skin.

“No?” he questioned, incredulously. “This morning you implored me to stay in bed, despite my duties, then you put on that ridiculous display in the public gallery, which, by the way, had the effect you intended, and you have nothing to say?” He stepped behind you, wrapping his large arms around your waist and nuzzled behind your ear. “Do you know how hard it was to leave you lying in our bed? Do you know how much I wanted to dismiss the forum and take you right there on the throne room floor? I burn for you, Sabi.”

You felt the truth of his statement, nudging up against the back of your thigh, but you were still in a petulant mood, so you slipped from his embrace and began to tidy up the room, making sure to bend over right in front of him as you retrieved your towel.

“Well, that’s too bad. Because I’m not in the mood.”

M’Baku let out a bark of laughter. “My love, you have never been a good liar, but at least try. In all the months we have been together, I have never known you not to be in the mood. Even when your monthly courses come you still wish to touch me, ride my thighs and worship my body.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” you shot back, but you didn’t look at him.

“Sabi, if for one moment I actually believed you I would accept what you’ve said and leave you be, but there is something else going on here. Why are you acting like this?”

All of your feelings started to bubble up. He was being too nice. Too sweet. You wanted his responses to match yours. You wanted some fire. You lifted your head and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m not talking about it, and you can’t make me.”

For a moment M’Baku just looked back at you, his gaze searching yours, but you knew the moment he realised what you were unable to verbalise. His eyes narrowed and darkened and he took a menacing step forward. You sucked in a sharp breath and took an instinctive step back. Fuck! He was so big and looked so dangerous. You felt a tingle start between your thighs.

“Do you really want to test that assumption, Sabi?” His voice, so deep it sent a pleasurable rumble through you in normal circumstances, lowered even further, with a sharp, menacing edge to it.

Your mouth went dry and your eyes darted around the room, searching for escape. However, before you could make a move, M’Baku proved why he was a formidable warrior. He moved faster than you’d think possible given his size, snatched you up and tossed you over his shoulder. You squealed and rained feeble hits down onto his shoulders with your balled fists.

“Let me go!”

A loud crack rang through the air and a sharp pain bloomed across your right buttock. It took you a second to work out what had happened, but then it was like something snapped inside you. You started to kick, shout and wriggle, but it was all in vain. In a moment, he’d sat down on the edge of the bed and manhandled you face down across his lap, his left arm holding you tight to his thighs. 

“If you want to act like a child, be prepared to be treated like one,” he ground out, and with another crack he spanked you again, pulling another shriek from your throat. “Talk to me, love.”

“No!” you shouted back, still trying to twist in his iron grip.

Crack. Crack.

He peppered two smacks in quick succession, landing on the delicate skin at the tops of your thighs.

“Sabi….” he growled out warningly, but you just shook your head.

Pain spread across your ass and thighs as he spanked you, stopping every few smacks to implore you to talk to him, but you couldn’t. You didn’t have the words and your body’s reactions were confusing you, because as he continued, despite the fact that the pain should have increased, it didn’t. Instead you found yourself arching up into the contact. Your legs slowly moved apart, and when the cool air of the room flowed over you, you realised you were wet. This fact didn’t escape M’Baku’s notice either.

“Who’d have thought that this would have been the thing to get you going. But don’t think I’m going to get distracted yet.” With that he brought his heavy hand down again, and spanked you right on your weeping pussy. You yowled, but despite the sharp burn you wanted it again. You wanted his strength, his passion. Craved it. “Tell me what is wrong.” 

Tears were running down your face, your chest heaving, and with a few more smacks the damn broke. You started to sob - loud, ugly noises of raw emotional pain - and in an instant you were turned upright and pulled into your lover’s embrace. Your fingers curled into the furs and leathers of his clothing, their familiar texture and smell surrounding you as he petted your hair and made soothing noises.

“Speak to me please, my love.”

God, you loved him so much, but you couldn’t find the words, so instead you turned your face up and pressed your lips to his. 

“I need you. Don’t let me go,” you whispered against him before putting all of your emotions into your kiss. He returned it with rough ardour, his lips devouring yours, and you turned in his embrace so you could straddle him and press your body closer. The heat between you flared, the pent up energy and emotion from both of you fanning the flames higher.

M’Baku’s hands roamed over your soft, bare skin, stroking and groping, and when he touched your sore ass, the jolts of discomfort went straight to your core, morphing into more heat. Your own hands slid under his clothes, desperately trying to close any remaining distance between you. You rocked against his covered length, whining as it knocked against your clit and your impatience won out.

You slipped a hand between you, pushing up the leather of his skirt and freed him from the soft fabric of his undergarments. M’Baku grunted against your lips as your fingers closed around him, moving with purpose. Your thumb swiped through the precum that was dripping from his tip, smearing it all over, and then you were lifting yourself and angling him towards you. His hands moved to your hips, at first steadying you, but as your body began to engulf him, he used his hold on you to pull you all the way down until you’d taken all of his cock inside you.

He turned his face into your neck, gently worrying the skin of your throat with his teeth as you rocked your hips. Your fingers curled into any part of his own flesh you could find, the need to mark him as yours blazing in your mind like a klaxon. You felt feral. He was yours and you were his and you wanted the whole of Wakanda, the whole of the world to know it. Your movements increased in ferocity as you rose up and plunged back down on him, scratching him with your nails, and it was as though M’Baku knew exactly what you were thinking, as he urged you along.

“Yes, ododo mi. Take what you need. I’m here. I am yours. Mo ni ife re.”

The coarse hairs at the base of his cock brushed back and forth over your clit as you moved and you couldn’t hold back your moans and cries, so close to your peak you could almost touch it. Then, when you didn’t think you could take it any more, M’Baku moved his hand to grasp at your breast and rolled your plump nipple between his finger and thumb.

“Jẹ ki lọ, Sabi. Let go for me.”

You felt yourself shatter into a million pieces, only able to babble his name in between incoherent noises. The world shifted on its axis as M’Baku rolled you both over on the bed, easily manoeuvring you to where he needed you to be, so he could cage you in with his broad arms and continue thrusting firmly into you.

“I love you, my precious desert rose, who blooms in adversity and survives hardship. It is you that I want.”

Tears streamed down your face, your emotions ripped from the depths of you as M’Baku told you with his words and his body how much you meant to him.

“But you don’t need me,” you sobbed, your fears finally able to be spoken aloud.

“Isọkusọ! I will always need you. Always.” His hips snapped and you clung to his biceps. “I may have duties to carry out, and there may be times when I can’t be with you, but that does not change how I feel about you. How important you are to me. Say you believe me, ododo mi. Say it.”

You nodded vigorously, your lower lip clamped tight between your teeth until he thrust into you sharply, causing your mouth to open wide as you sucked in a breath.

“Words, ifemi. I need to hear you say it out loud.” The speed of his movements increased, and started to lose their rhythm and you suddenly found yourself on the cusp of orgasm once more.

“I b-beleive you. Oh gods! “

“What do you believe? Tell me.” It was clear he wouldn’t be satisfied until you did what he asked.

“You n-need me. Y-you love me! Oh! Ọba mi!” You crashed over the edge once more, tumbling in the waves of pleasure and sensation as you held on to your one and only constant, M’Baku. Your lover. Your king.

You were aware that he also reached his peak, his thick cock swelling inside of you, flooding you with the satisfying warmth of his spend, but then everything went black.

You came to surrounded by warmth and the sound of humming. As you blinked your eyes open you found yourself pulled to M’Baku’s chest, his arms around you as he nuzzled your hair and hummed in your ear. At some point he’d rid himself of his clothes, and your legs were tangled with his amongst the rumpled sheets. When the hair at the tops of his thighs brushed over your ass you winced and turned over in his arms.

He ducked his head down and brushed his nose alongside yours. “Welcome back, Sabi. I don’t believe I’ve ever fucked you unconscious before.” 

You grabbed a pillow from behind you and smacked him over the head as the pair of you chuckled.

“Feeling better now, my love?”

A feeling of embarrassment crashed over you, and you tried to bury your face into his chest, but M’Baku was having none of it, tucking his finger under your chin and preventing you from hiding. 

“I’m sorry,” you uttered, feeling your cheeks heat.

“Nothing to apologise for, Sabi. I might be the King, but that isn’t all I am, and I was so focussed on my new role that I didn’t stop to assure you that nothing would change between us.” He hand moved from your chin to brush over your hair. “That being said, I think that while I have all of these things to organise, that maybe you should go home for a short time. You’d have more company - things to occupy you.”

You cocked your head, considering what he was suggesting. “I suppose that wouldn’t be too bad. It’s not like it would take long to travel between here and Jabari Mountain when we wanted to. I’d miss you terribly, though.”

“And I too, my love, but you misunderstand me. I don’t mean our home together. I mean your home. You have been here for more than a year - surely you must miss your family, and would welcome the opportunity to spend time with them?.”

You looked at him in shock, your jaw dropping and your eyes going wide, not believing what you were hearing.

“You’re sending me away? After what we just did? You said you needed me!”

Had he just been humouring you? Inflating his own ego? 

“I do need you, my love. But it isn’t just about me. I am not the one separated from my country, my culture. I have been selfish about keeping you here, and not giving you the opportunity to make a balanced decision.”

Had you been in a better state of mind, you might have been able to see the sense in what he was proposing, but in your currently fragile emotional state, all you heard was that he thought it would be better if you weren’t here with him. You pushed away from his embrace,  jumped from the bed and ran into the bathroom, locking it behind you, ignoring his pleas as you sank to the floor and your tears began anew.

How were you supposed to go on?

Ododo mi - my flower

Mo ni ife re - I love you

Ọba mi - my king

Jẹ ki lọ - let go

Isọkusọ - nonsense

Ifemi - My love

Tag list: @galactusdevourerofworlds; @km-ffluv; @wheezy-stucky; @mrs-illyrian-baby

#m'baku #m'baku x reader #[river deep] mountain high series #m'baku x female reader #m'baku x you #late writes

[horseshoegirl]

Set Me Alight - Part 1: Seventeen Going Under

📜I know I should be working on FFA (Forever After All). However, I got bit by this idea of a fire look-out of all things, then had a whole dream about it. Naturally, I had to fic it. Due to story choices and plot later in the series, I have made a fictional National Park. However, it is loosely based on Mount Rainer and Olympic National Park in Washington.

❗️+18, Strong Language, Enemies to Lovers, Original Female Character, Anything Can Happen in the Woods, Forced Proximity, Bradley Bradshaw x Natasha Trace, post-college daggers, Camping/Hiking AU.

Thank you to @desert-fern for helping me with the title!!

#6k Words

Masterlist | Part 2

Camping was the last thing you wanted to do on your week off.

It will be fun, Nat said. It won't be just the two of us going, she said. It's just hiking and a campfire and seeing the sights, she said.

It was not fun. It was not just hiking and a campfire. It was a fucking bad idea.

Why, you might ask?

It was hiking in a state national park, deep in the wilderness, with only a few fire lookouts as the closest thing resembling civilization. It was miles, miles, from your home state. It was going to be fucking cold, and wet, and rainy. It would be muddy slopes, climbing up cliff faces, and watching out for blind roots and sharp rocks haphazardly sticking up from the ground. You knew you wouldn't even get to enjoy the amazing scenery because you'd be too busy making sure you didn't accidentally die by stumbling over said rock or root down a cliff.

No, all that you could have handled, despite your initial protests. That wasn't the issue.

Because 24 hours post leaving your house and arriving in Seattle, she had failed to mention that fucking Jake Seresin had been invited along too.

It wasn't as if she didn't have a chance to. Oh no, there had been many ample opportunities for either her or her boyfriend, Bradley, to let you in on that secret. Like when the two of them picked you up from your apartment in the extremely early hours of the previous morning to start the journey to Seattle. Or the long drive there, or when you checked into the hotel that night.

Nat and Bradley had been shifty about who else had been invited in general too, but you suspected the usual group. Maybe their girlfriends, if the prospect of leaving the city wasn’t too much for them.

Despite your initial protests, you were actually excited to go. Lakespur National Park was a beautiful sight at any time of the year. The mountains were snow-capped and tall, like they were touching the sky. The trees were the brightest shades of green, especially after a bout of rain. The lakes and rivers were deep pools of unreal bright baby blue, and you knew from the website that there were a couple of waterfalls hidden amongst the trails. The cliffs were high enough, too, that if you managed to find a nice lookout, the views could have stretched on for miles. And neighbouring nearby, you could spot Mount Rainer standing non-threateningly as it could in the distance.

You wanted to paint as much of it as you could before the week was over.

You had awoken in your hotel room that morning in a good mood. You appreciated the few hours of sleep you could get before you had to spend a week in the literal woods, surrounded by bugs and animals who probably wanted to eat you, sleeping in a tent with nothing but a bed roll.

That same feeling carried over to now as you opened the truck door, the scent of dirt and fresh pine invading your nose. Grabbing the support handles on either side, you carefully lowered yourself to the ground, sunlight hitting the sides of your face. It felt good to be out here; the warmth, the fresh air, the sounds of nature going on around you in the early morning light.

Nat sighed affectionately, throwing her arms wide as if she was trying to hug the entire forest. "Ah, Nature!"

You rolled your eyes, but your smirk gave you away. "You said that yesterday morning when you picked me up. It's going to get old, really fast."

She closed her eyes, giggling to herself and starting to spin on the gravel, tilting her head back. You couldn't help but laugh with her as she twirled around, the stones and dirt crunching under her feet.

Nat’s friendship was the only one that had survived College. You’re not entirely sure how you became friends either; it just kind of happened out of the blue one day. She had been in a sorority and ran in the popular crowd, so to speak. You worked in the campus art supplies store selling paint and double-stapled-backed canvas’. And when you weren’t there, you were in the studio, painting or sculpting or doing something creative that usually ended up with you covered in whatever messy medium you had decided to work with.

From those things alone, she had no real reason to want to be your friend.

You suppose you could at least trace it back to that group project the two of had been assigned to do with two other people. Two other people who didn't do jack shit, despite multiple protests from both of you. The two of you had ended up pulling an all-nighter in your apartment off campus, and to your surprise, a girl from a high-ranking sorority had been way kinder than you expected her to be.

You wanted to say the two of you bonded that night, sharing stories and laughing at funny social media posts when you forced yourselves to take breaks. And when the project was done and over with, you didn't expect her to stay around.

But she did. Suddenly, in the aftermath, she was there, texting you about her favourite book series, dragging you out of the studio, and lifting your head off a literal canvas to ensure you had something to eat or drink. She'd sit with you in the library when you had to study art history and bring coffee. And when drama hit at her sorority residence, she moved into your apartment off campus.

That's how you met Bradley. And then his football team. And the biggest asshole to ever live. You regretted a lot of things on that night, and you not standing up to him was at the very top. Written in red. And underlined.

After what he said, after what he did, you never wanted to see his face again.

Once Nat steadied herself against the truck, you turned to catch your gaze on a few familiar figures unloading their gear. You waved hi to Mickey and Ruben as they made their way over to the three of you, gear and supplies thrown over their backs. Mickey was the first to reach you, sweeping you into a hug and ruffling your head over your baseball cap. You're smiling up at him when he pulls back.

"Ready for some adventure, Maeve?" he grins.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe we’ll find some interesting things to get up to. Sightsee, tell ghost stories, see a bear or two.”

“Really, a couple of bears. You think I could take them on?”

You snorted, reaching up to slap the rim of his baseball cap down. “Only you would want to have a fight with one.”

“Come on, you’re not scared, are you?” he said, dramatically holding his hand over his heart before reaching for you. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

Suddenly, a new voice pitched up from behind him. "You are joking, right? You know he will be pushing the two of us in front of him and then running for the hills screaming like a little girl."

You giggled at Cora, his girlfriend's, remark as she pushed him out of the way to give you a bear hug. “The only way you’d ever come close to looking good in that scenario is her painting it.”

Mickey frowned. "That hurts my heart, baby. Really. You really think I'd leave you ladies alone to fend for yourselves?"

You and Cora snorted at the same time. "We know you would."

Mickey pouted, and Cora only laughed, resting her cheek on the top of your head as she laughed. But you were too focused on watching Jessica, Ruben's girlfriend, approach the group, and you had to brace yourself. While you hadn't known her long, Jessica's presence often accompanied an undercurrent of tension. Her lips were curled up in what you deemed a practiced, superficial arc, the kind of smile that was more a social formality than a genuine expression of pleasure.

"Hey Jessica," you greeted her with as much warmth as possible.

She offered you a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes, and you had to force yourself not to take a step back out of Cora's arms or shutter at those eyes, wanting to tear you apart. She looked harmless, with short brown hair that framed her bubbly cheeks. But inside, you knew and felt the familiar twinge of discomfort that came from interacting with someone who clearly harboured less-than-friendly feelings about you.

Instead, you searched for Nat, who was saying something to Bradley as she lay across the front seat of the truck, leaning across the centre console with the door wide open. You called out to ask her, "Who else are we waiting on?"

There was a long-standing pause before Bradley was the one to shout out, "I don't see Javy's truck yet!"

You were about to open your mouth to reply, the retort on your lips, before someone honked a horn, and you came face to face with Javy’s Blue Chevy, kicking up stones as the massive tires rolled into the parking lot. The metal frame sparkled against the early morning sun, and you had to cover your face with your elbow to shield your eyes from the glare. Ruben called out, clapping his hand against his fist, calling out, “They arrive, finally!”

Mickey reached over and slapped him on the back, letting his hand rest on his shoulder. “Fifty bucks says pretty boy spend forever getting out of the shower?”

You jolted at the nickname. To anyone outside the group, the pretty boy reference could have been referring to Javy. But you had the context. There was only one person they could have been referring to, and like a volcano, you wanted to blow your top.

It was at this very moment you realized Nat and Bradley had purposely lied to you by omission.

“Oh no,” you grumbled out, and Cora instantly stepped back, taking her hands off you as if you were on fire and holding them out in front of her. And the two idiots realized what they had admitted, eyes wide as they took you in.

“Oh, Maeve, we thought…”

“Thought what?” you seethed. "What did you think, exactly?"

Javy cut the engine of his truck and swung open the driver’s door, turning in his seat to see everyone, a huge smile on his face as he took everyone in. That was until he landed on you.

“Maeve…” he called out cautiously, hopping down and holding his hands out in front of him nervously.

Don’t Maeve me! Who is in your truck with you? And don’t tell me it’s just Veronica.”

Javy bit his lip, contemplating what he could possibly say to you that would get you to calm down and just listen. But the longer he took, the more you came to the realization that that asshole was, indeed, riding shotgun in his truck.

And when the front passenger door opened and closed, the second you saw the flash of blonde hair, your vision turned red.

And just let that - every single good feeling, every thought of not needing to worry about him showing his face - quicken into flashing white anger. The whole group seemed to know it too, tensing up as your face started to turn beat red, and your mouth was poised open, ready to give the worst shout of their lives.

"Fuck no, Nat! Absolutely fucking not!” You practically screamed, turning to face her with your hands on your hips. Mickey dropped his chin to his chest with a sigh. “Yup, there’s the Midge we all know and love.”

Natasha sighed, mocking your stance as she readied herself for the argument. "Come on, you wouldn't have agreed to come had you known."

"You're damn fucking right, I wouldn't have agreed!" you fumed. "Why on God's earth would you think a whole fucking week with the two of us in close proximity would be such a good idea?!"

Nat went to reply, but the sound of shuffling gravel and a low, resonant thud of weight shifting on the side of Javy’s truck interrupted her, letting all of you know who inserted themselves into the conversation.

"Good to see you still have that mouth on you, Midge."

You slammed your eyes shut in annoyance at the sound of his voice.

Midge.

The not-so-subtle nickname he had bestowed upon you that everyone had suddenly taken to using. They all figured it was in reference to your height, or maybe for short for your weird ass name, as Jake once called it. Out of all of them, including Nat, you were the tiniest of the group. The entire football team towered over you, and while they meant it affectionately, endearingly, in the kindest way possible, Jake had to be the cocky smart ass.

A Midge was also in reference to a fly. A small but fucking annoying fly. He just had to double-whammy you twice.

Bradley came around from the driver's side of the truck, a slight grimace on his face. "Sorry, Maeve, I thought she had told you he was coming.”

Nat might have played a part in not telling you Jake would be here, but she wasn't solely to blame for his presence. No, that was entirely Bradley's fault.

Jake was his best friend, after all.

You marched forward, staring into his face, a finger pointed and pressing deep into his chest. "Why the ever living hell did you invite him!?"

Bradley regarded you for a moment before letting out a sigh. "You know why," he mumbled under his breath only to you, looking down at the breast pocket of his jacket.

Your heart twinged in your chest. You did know why. You helped him pick out that ring. Bradley wanted to propose to Nat on this trip, and it only made sense he'd want his best friend around when it did happen. It quelled your anger for a few seconds.

You could have handled a day. Maybe. A morning or afternoon. A few hours. An hour. Yes, you could have managed to be in the same space as Jake for one single hour. One hour, with doors and indoor plumbing and a driveway where you could park your car for a conveniently easy escape.

Not a whole fucking week. In a forest. With him.

"Please, Maeve," Nat begged from behind you. "This week is important to me. To us. We just want to have a good time with everyone together.”

With your back still facing her, you slammed your eyes shut.

Only if she knew the real truth behind such a statement.

Letting your head rest back on your neck, you opened your eyes to stare up at the sky. You knew you had to do this for Nat. She was one of the few friends you really had, and she had done more for you than you ever thought possible.

You owed her that much.

You turned to face her, taking in her pouting lip before your eyes finally tracked to Jake. He had crossed his arms, still leaning up against the side of Javy's truck. You watched as he wetted his lips in amusement. Your eyes stalked the movement, and for the first time since he arrived, you finally set your eyes on him.

"Oh, come on now, Midge," the asshole grinned at you. "Surely we can get along for a couple of days."

You gritted your teeth, your face scrunching up in disgust.

It had been close to six months since the last time you saw Jake Seresin. He had brought some chaotic tramp who was obsessed with horoscopes and star signs to Nat and Bradley's housewarming party, offering up no conversation except she was a Cancer and that it had to be the explanation and answer to any bizarre behaviour she might possess. You hated that. You hated her, though hate was too strong of a word to use on someone you'd probably never see again.

It made you want to throw up to see how she clung to Jake like he was her personal meal and how he ate it up with no shame.

But Jake didn't look like he did back then. He was more laid back now, in a button-up shirt and a short beard, ray bans hanging from the hem of his shirt. Nothing like the stereotypical playboy college type with rich parents that you knew him to be. Not the man with sharply defined edges and polo shirts as if he was about to descend on his mother’s fancy golf club. Not if he had been handed everything in his life on a silver platter.

Turning your head, you saw Nat's pleading gaze, and when you turned to Bradley, he mouthed a desperate "please." Sighing, you motioned for him to open the tailgate, only to grab your hiking bag from the flatbed and hoist it over your shoulders dramatically.

Adjusting the straps on your shoulders, you huffed out, "Hell better be fucking freezing over if I was ever forced to get along with you."

Collective sighs went up around the group, and you swore you could even see a few sag their shoulders in relief. Yet, that cocky asshole only continued smiling, maybe even wider than before.

"Chin up, sweetheart. There are worse people you could be stuck with out here, in the wilderness."

Your cheeks felt hot. "I'm not your fucking Sweetheart, Asshole."

"Would you like to be?"

Six fucking months and he hadn't changed. Even before that, with how intermittently you saw him. You were too scared to do anything back then about him and his attitude and his fucking mouth.

Now? You’d hit him in a heartbeat now. You were about to, if not for a gentle hand on your arm that prevented you from stepping forward to take a swing at him.

"Come on, Midge, you can stay back with us."

You allowed yourself to be turned, coming face to face with Bob and his girlfriend, Grace. You unclenched your fists almost immediately.

You liked Bob. He was sweet and kind and always had a smile on his face. And Grace had been nothing but kind to you since the day you met her. She looped her arm through yours, securely holding it to her side.

"He's not worth the brain cells," she whispered in your ear. You giggled loudly.

Bradley whistled loudly, making the group gather around, placing him and Nat at the center.

“Thank you all for coming! We all need to check in with the park ranger first,” Bradley started. “But first things first, we need to go over the rules and responsibilities!”

Nat pulled out a piece of paper from her jacket pocket, unfolding the edges and holding it out in front of her.

���Bob and Grace, you’re in charge of campfires! That includes the wood, the setting up and putting out! We don’t need to create any forest fires, so you guys are on this one!”

It made sense, you thought. They were probably the most responsible out of the group. Though you were slightly surprised they didn’t put Bob in charge of the map.

"Bradley and I are in charge of food! You carry your own shit during the day, but at the end of the night, it goes in the bag to hang up in a tree."

Collective murmurs of agreement went around the group. Nat continued to sound out names and tasks. It was obvious Mickey and Cora would be deemed the group's first aid leaders, Mickey being a firefighter and Cora being a nurse. Javy and Veronica were assigned to be on the lookout for freshwater, though you suspected Javy would be more cautious of looking for the designated spots than Veronica would be. And Ruben and Jessica, you had to hold in your laugh when her face dropped into an absolute look of displeasure when Nat called out they'd be on trash and trail sweep duty.

“Finally, Midge and Jake.”

You raised your eyebrow at the implication behind the ‘and' and what form of torture she might have in store for you.

"Navigators," she called out, eyeing the two of you cautiously. "The both of you will take turns navigating us to all of our campsites, trading off the compass and the map. One day, it's Maeve, the other Jake."

You wanted to argue, to call out that Jake wouldn't be able to navigate himself, let alone a group of people, through a national park, but you stopped yourself. You knew of the delicate balance you needed to maintain. Nat knew it, too. It's why she approached you with a careful eye

“Don’t kill Jake,” she eyed you sternly before turning to Jake and pointing her finger. “Don’t kill Maeve.”

You sallowed. "I won't if he doesn't start it first."

From the sound of the shift in gravel, you knew Jake had set his eyes on you, and you could feel them burning holes into the side of your skull. You resisted the urge to meet his gaze, to challenge or confront the unspoken thoughts you felt hanging between you. Instead, you focused on Nat, nodding to acknowledge the assignment.

Nat knew better, glaring at the two of you discerningly. She knew the two of you well enough to sense the undercurrents of tension. You had been careful with her, never revealing the true reason behind why you held so much disdain towards Jake. And you had no idea what he might have disclosed to them, but you were sure it was laced with the same damn message as always, shouting it as loud as he could to the first person he saw.

Midge is a bitch. I don't know why you’d waste your time being around her. She is as two-faced as they come, and whatever she's said or done, it's a personal attack on me when I've done nothing wrong.

Nat sighed, her frustration evident. "I mean it. If you two can't get along, at least be civil. Or so help me, I'll feed both of you to the first wild animal I see."

You knew she was joking, but the seriousness in her eyes conveyed the underlying ultimatum.

"Fine," you huffed first. Jake rolled his eyes, huffing out a less than enthusiastic, "Fine."

You could almost hear the single collective thought of the group: 'This should be interesting.'

Although the pair of you agreed with Nat's terms, tension remained between you. Nat gave each of you one final, pointed look before rejoining the others, leaving an awkward silence in her awake.

Jake, with a knowing and equally cocky smirk, couldn't resist throwing in a final quip. "Who knows, maybe at the end of all this, we might share a tent," he called out over his shoulder as he began to walk away, his voice loud enough for others to hear.

Yet, all he did was loudly laugh at your reply when you heatedly shouted back in kind, "Fuck off, Seresin! Unkindly, fuck off!”

---

You reached the first campsite around early mid-afternoon, having navigated these woods thus far with the agility of a deer avoiding a thicket of thorns and stones, always aware and always at least several feet apart from the one thing you were sure would kill you if you weren't careful.

You had stayed at the back of the group with Bob and Grace as much as possible, catching up with them while Jake took the lead, navigating everyone toward what would be your home for the night.

Grace spent the time talking about her job at the museum. She was a curator, which is probably why you got along with her so well. While she was passionate about the history surrounding a piece of art, you loved the actual creation process. That's how she met Bob, who had been hired there as an archaeologist.

Somewhere along the way, you realized you were only catching snippets of the conversation, her latest exhibit she was building with Bob. You felt bad but placed the blame entirely on the asshole with the compass.

It was a miracle the group ended up at the actual campsite. Jake had done everything wrong. From holding the compass incorrectly to naming the wrong trail markers or reading the map as if it were a field guide to an 18-hole golf course at a rich man's club. With each move he made or every word he spouted, saying it was "This way" or "That," you had to bite your tongue. Even if you tasted blood, you weren't going to start something he couldn't finish.

It didn't stop the glares, though, or the dirty looks. Or the fact your brain couldn't stop trying to figure out what point he was trying to prove by dressing like that?! If you hadn't spent as long as you had hating him, you'd even go as far as to say he looked good.

Fuck Maeve, you are not going there!

Your home for the rest of the afternoon and night was a sparse little clearing framed by several big trees, the branches high enough that it seemed like they were protecting the space below. Everyone had instantly split up, searching for a spot where they might set up camp. You found one easily enough, not too far from everyone else but enough to make the space your own.

Setting up your tent, you watched with a smirk from a distance as Jake wrestled with his tent, the poles flying in all directions in some comedic fashion. You contemplated whether or not to go over and help him, though it almost seemed sweeter to watch him struggle.

The further away he was, the better.

You had strategically chosen a quiet corner, just close enough between Bob and Grace and Cora and Mickey. You wouldn’t dare go anywhere near Nat and Bradley’s tent unless you didn’t want to get a decent night’s sleep. You were already scarred from College. You didn’t need another instance topping that one.

Grace and Bob had already taken the liberty of making the fire for tonight, rearranging the designated stone pit in the middle of the site into the correct shape and loading it with firewood. Everyone was already sitting around it, off in their own stories and conversations before dinner. You’d initially been drawn into the conversation with Nat and Grace sitting next to you, but it had taken a different turn, and your initial laughter had sounded more forced than you’d care to admit.

And you were too busy watching Jake on the other side of the fire, waiting for the moment he’d strike. But the afternoon lagged on, and he never did. Not until he finally caught your eye, that familiar smirk playing on his lips - the one you know he knew got under your skin - that your ability to tolerate his presence cracked hard.

You stood abruptly, not allowing him the chance to wind you up like some toy.

"I'm going to go for a swim," you said pointedly to Nat and Grace, ignoring the asshat sitting in the corner. "I shouldn't be long."

They only nodded at you, continuing back to their conversation. Bob was the only one who seemed to address your remark.

"Be safe!" He called out after you. "The park ranger said to be on the lookout for bears!"

You mocked-saluted him with two fingers. "Scouts honour!"

You didn’t hear the hushed whispers or giggles you left in your wake from Jessica or Veronica, nor did you see how Jake’s eyes narrowed, watching you depart from the group.

The lake wasn't far off from the campsite, maybe about a five-minute walk. The promise of cool water and some peace and quiet to sort out your thoughts was enough to entice you away from the group and lift your spirits. You didn't know how many opportunities you would be able to find on the rest of the trip to escape like this, so you knew you needed to take them when you could.

In addition to the warning you got about the bears in the area, the other wildlife you might encounter, and even the strict warning the group received about this being peak wildfire season, the Park Ranger also mentioned this particular campsite would be the only one with decent cell service. If you wanted to call anyone before you ventured further into the park, you had better do it now.

You called your aunt as you walked. She picked up on the fourth ring.

“Did you step on a snake, or did you get mauled by a bear?”

“Hello to you too, Aunt Viv.”

Your Aunt Viv was considered the crazy one out of your family. Not because of her mannerisms or personality or the fact she probably was borderline close to adding “Friendly Wine Aunt” to her title, she was the only one to have broken off from tradition. She was, perhaps, one of your favourite people in the world for that reason alone.

“Well, when you told me you’d be spending a week out in some fucking forest, I assumed you wouldn’t have cell reception.”

You rolled your eyes, haphazardly avoiding a sharp rock sticking out from the ground, when you finally realized it was in your path.

“At this point, I wish it was one of the above. That way, I’d have an easy and reasonable way out,” you pouted.

There was a pregnant pause on the other end until you heard the thump of a bucket drop to the ground somewhere. “You were so excited to paint those landscapes. What happened? Is he there?”

You huffed. She knew you better than your own parents and your own brother.

“That obvious?”

She sighed through the phone, and you could picture her shaking her head. “Honey, nothing ruins your excitement more than that fucking waste of a man.”

You giggled at her remark. “I regret ever showing you his photo.”

“A woman my age can fantasize all she likes, even if he is a downright bastard.”

“And did say mention of said bastard just make you drop a bucket of apples?”

It was harvest season for her, all the way back in California. Aunt Viv’s apples were probably some of the best you could ever get on this side of the West Coast. Growing up, you always loved to run through the lanes of Galas and Smiths, climbing the trees for the best and brightest apples to eat.

“Don’t you worry, my dear. You know the worms aren’t that fast.”

You shook your head affectionately, finally lifting your eyes off the trail to take in the water. There was a part of you that regretted not bringing your sketchbook down with you, but you knew you could never do it justice. The blue of the water would never have matched the correct shade, and you wouldn't have been able to get the curve of the shoreline the right way or shadow the rivets of water at the right depth.

Sitting on a nearby rock, you dropped your head between your shoulders, letting it hang low.

“I don’t know what to do, Aunt Viv,” you sighed into the phone, pressing your hand to your forehead. There was another pause.

“Maybe you could talk to him about what happened?” she offered hesitantly.

“No, absolutely not,” you rushed out in a single breath. "I barely knew him for a single night before he started running his mouth about me. Why should I give him a chance when he never gave me one in the first place? Besides, he doesn't even know I know what he said."

You were met with more silence on the other end before she affectionately admonished, “Maeve, you don’t have to be scared of him. He’s just a man.”

Her words echoed in your mind, a gentle reproach that chafed against your pride. You weren't scared of Jake. Not really. Not of him, exactly, but of facing those feelings his words had stirred in you - feelings of inadequacy, of not being enough.

It held your breath hostage in a vice grip, tight.

“It’s one week,” you said, the words a half-hearted attempt to convenience yourself of the idea more than her. “It’s just one week where I can find ways to stay out of his way and not be a bother, and then I can leave and come help you out and drink all the dirty apple cinder I want.”

“You can have all the dirty apple cinder you want when you get here, but Maeve, don’t you shrink yourself down for a man who wouldn’t know a diamond if he held it in his hand, okay?”

Your grip on the phone tightened, her words stirring the embers of your resolve. “I’ll just keep to myself and the painting. That’s what I’m here for, right?”

“And your friend, right? Nat?”

You were. But even then, there was a small part of you that was deeply unsure of the why.

“Yeah,” you replied softly. “Bradley, too.”

She gently reminded you to have fun and to be safe before she had to go. The second you hung up your phone, you sighed, rubbing your eyes.

Pushing your towel off your shoulder and placing it on the rock beside you, you reached for the hem of your shirt, peeling it away from your body before doing the same with your leggings. You let your fallen pieces of clothing pile on the ground, and you closed your eyes, letting out a deep breath as you breathed in the clear air, finally allowing yourself to relax.

“Boyfriend trouble, Midge?”

Almost.

Gritting your teeth, you made to cover your body, your arms wrapping themselves tightly around your torso, your nails digging hard into your skin.

"Why the hell would you want to know, of all people?" you snapped at him, turning slowly on your heel. Standing before you, it took you a second to remember just how massive Jake was.

It had been a while since you’d been this close to him. His height and build, attributes that in another context might be admired, now served to remind you of the vulnerability you felt around him. You, with your smaller, short frame staring up at his face, were only reminded of that fact. The broadness of his shoulders, stretching the fabric of his button-up in a way that spoke of strength, with the way he always seemed to carry himself, made him see larger as if he was occupying more space than what was physically possible.

You stood there, trying to hold your ground, but the disparity in your sizes made you feel exposed, almost childlike. He's just a man, your aunt had reminded you.

Yeah, he is a man.

A man you hated with a burning passion. That was clear as day.

"Why are you here, Seresin?" you asked pointedly, ignoring the absence of a reply. He eyed you back. "Same as you. Bradley's going to purpose and wanted his best friend here."

You rolled your eyes. "No, what are doing fucking following me?"

"Fishing," Jake shrugs as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, spreading his arms out to prove a point, the rod and fishing line bouncing in his hand.

You raised your eyebrows at him. “Fishing? Really? Then please, be my guest. Poaching is a great way to get yourself kicked out of the park.”

Jake scowled at you. “You ever hear of catch and release, Midge?” he scoffed.

The laugh you let out was heartless. “Clearly, you know the concept all too well.”

You were dead set on escaping him, turning on your heel and marching towards the water without another word. Jake clearly thought the opposite, reaching forward to grasp at your elbow, pulling you back.

"Midge, stop! It's so like you to run off and ignore all your problems!"

Your turn towards Jake was sharp, a swift pivot that tore your arm from his grasp. Your eyes blazed with raw, unfiltered fury and resentment.

How dare he touch you!

"My problems!? What fucking problems would those be? I'm not the one purposely playing show and tell with my ego!"

Jake's face hardened. "My ego? You're the one making a scene every five minutes. You're the one that needs to calm down."

You glared at him, unwrapping your arms from around your chest to hang them at your sides, balling your hands into fists.

If he wanted calm, you'd show him the exact opposite.

"I'm not the one offering up cheap shots with every other breath. If you throw it at me, I'm going to throw that shit right back!"

Jake's eyes dropped to your exposed skin and the black bikini you had quickly changed into when you set up your tent. You saw it happen, and with each pass over your body, it felt like scrutiny, as if he was picking apart your every flaw, every scar, every wrinkle or flabby piece of skin. It was more ammo for more cheap shots later, no doubt.

Oh, so it's my fault then?" he sneered. "You're the one always ready to jump down my throat at the slightest provocation. Maybe if you weren't so defensive all the time, we could actually have a civil conversation and not ruin the fucking weekend for everybody."

You went to cover your body once again. "What do you fucking suggest then? Considering you cannot stand to call me out on something every two seconds?"

"Me?" he scoffed. "You're the one that seems to shutter in complete disgust every time I'm within breathing distance of you."

The retort was there, right on the tip of your tongue, ready to be unleashed on the world. That he said the same about you first, behind your back, no unless. It hung on your bated breath, waiting for the first word to be spoken, but something tethered you remain silent.

You couldn't admit that you knew, not know. You couldn't confront him about it either. He had proven here, and many times before, that the fault solely rested within you. And if you confronted it, that meant dredging up all the pain you meticulously buried under your disdain.

Admitting the real reason behind your spite, acknowledging the hurt he had caused, felt like giving him power over you, and that was the last thing you wanted.

You were going to back out before you said something you might regret.

"Okay, how about this? " You stated, holding your hands up in front of you, equal width apart. "This is you, and this is me. And this," you exaggerated, moving one of your hands into the center of the imaginary space you created, "is the boundary. We do not cross the boundary. We do not talk unless necessary, and we don't get into each other's way but to pass off the fucking compass to one another."

Jake scoffed. "You can't expect me to believe that is going to work?"

You dropped your hands to your hips. "Well, Mr. Smart Ass, have any other ideas that don't involve ruining Nat and Bradley's week?"

"I'm not that fucking heartless, Midge!" Jake retorted, his voice rising. "I'm not going to ruin it for them, but I won't tiptoe around you either. Whatever your problem is with me, it's yours to figure out on your own. Until then, put your selfish feelings and attitude aside and let them be happy!"

Something hit you square in the chest with his words. Your eyes began to sting, the sensation warning you of the impending overflow of unforgivable tears, and you tried to covertly blink them away. Everything was converging into a single, painful point in your chest, your mind now racing past every insecurity, every moment that had been magnified by Jake's previous words the night you met him - now being echoed yet again.

It was a raw exposure you hadn't anticipated, nor one you were prepared for.

"I'm not being selfish." You tried to hide the hurt from your voice. "But I guess that's a little too much to ask from someone like you."

Jake clenched his jaw. "Fine," he shouted, throwing up his hands. "You stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

You stomped off with a shaky breath towards the shoreline, trying to ignore the tremor in your hands or how your stomach was flipping inside out, falsely warning you of some unknown danger or threat. Jake stormed off at the same time as you, stones crunching under his boots, and you had to force yourself from turning back to watch him leave.

Instead, you stepped into the water, the cool temperature shocking your system, but you pushed on, stepping forward until your waist was level with the lake.

Wading deeper into the water, you try to cast him from your mind. The lake water enveloped you, the cold water soothing on your skin and joints. You tried to pay no mind to Jake as you heard him cast his line off down the shoreline, letting your hands glide along the water's surface instead. You watched how the ripples cascaded out, surrounding your hand, and you found the motion soothing.

You suddenly sprung forward, diving under before you kicked yourself up into a dead man’s float, trying to push every single intrusive thought from your mind. Slowly treading the water with your hands, you let the silence flood your ears.

It wasn't an impossible task. You could do this: ignore him for the entire week and get away without interacting with him unless absolutely necessary. You could stay back with Bob and Grace or Cora and Mickey while he did whatever with the rest of them. You would let Nat have her moment to celebrate with her friends when Bradley did decide to pop the question, and you would smile and hug and toast to whatever came of it.

In some ways, you already had been. Because if staying at the back of the pack, away from Jake and out of everyone's hair, was the one thing you could do to make this experience the happiest for her, for them, you would do it.

So it was at that moment you decided Jake fucking Seresin was not going to have any opportunities to drive that fucking wedge any deeper than it already was.

But if a bear did decide to show up, you knew just exactly who you were tripping first.

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-Lucky/Wickett/Em

Part 2: Abracadabra - Coming soon!

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[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 1 - A way to break the ice

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series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

first chapter synopsis: Thranduil traveled to a village that reported spider attacks with his army to protect those who need it, and accepted when a respected family offered their inn so his army could rest. He didn't expect to find a mage there. Or for the dam to break. [3K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug.

glossary: Lossëistar: Ice Mage┆Mithrandir: Grey Pilgrim┆

Gandalf it's a recuring face in the inn. In some months he appears twice, mostly at the end of the year when he don't have anything else to do, but he never goes more than a month without coming back. Even if he can stay only for a day or two, he always comes back.

Gandalf has been to so many places. Met so many people. Lives so many adventures. So why does he keep coming back? It's just a normal village filled with normal people living normal lives. It's a good place to live, but not the kind of place people want to visit.

"I will see you next month?" Helping him saddle the sorrel, you asked the obvious. Goodbyes were never your forte. Hearing more, even if it's something you've heard before, is better than being silent for the whole time. You already miss him.

You led the horse out of the inn's stable, petting it. The cool breeze made your hair fly. Autumn has begun to announce itself. The sorrel tried to run away, but you held him in place.

"There is someone I need to visit, a master who needs advice", you know that tone of voice. Gandalf uses it whenever you do something stupid. Something as recurrent as his presence at the inn. Someone is about to hear a stern lectur, and you're so relieved it's not you.

"Good luck to the poor person you will pay a visit." You say as he mounts the sorrel. Part of you is still surprised that someone so old would be able to ride a horse so easily, but looks can be deceiving. Gandalf is older than he looks, as well as more skilled.

Gandalf appreciated the river that cut through the property, focusing on the sound of water lapping against rocks. It was one of the reasons for the inn to be so popular. Away from the village center, higher on the mountain, there the water was so calm. So crystalline. But in the background Gandalf could see the high wooden dam. It held back the stormy river, ensuring that it wouldn't run to the waterfall miles ahead and crash against the village.

Suddenly a familiar fear gripped your body. He always comes back, but you're always afraid that one day he'll realize this is just a waste of his time. And if one day he decides not to come back, you'll be alone. "You will not forget about me, will you?"

Awakened by your voice, Gandalf faced you. His voice went softer. "Continuing to ask will not change the answer."

"But why do you keep coming back?" The sorrel stirred. You had to take a step back, and you could felt that Gandalf would use that to move away without really answering you. "You really do not know what happened to me before my awakening? Why did you help me?"

"Continuing to ask will not change the answer." Gandalf led the horse away. And so he goes, without really answering you. As always. "Farewell, persistent girl, and do not cause troubles."

"I can't promise anything." Gandalf sighed. He knows you're being honest in the same way you know he isn't. "Good ridance, Gandalf!"

You stood still, watching him go down the mountain. When he disappeared into the ash trees, taking some of your fear with him, you took a deep breath and remembered that you had a lot to do. Aerin is a kind landlady, but she made it clear that your stay would not be paid with grateful smiles and friendly words.

Gandalf is always travelling, you never have an address to send letters. He usually sends you a letter a week, but you never have a way to respond. But inside the stable, surrounded by horses that needed your attention, work managed to override your concern. Everything would be fine. Everything always turns out fine.

So why does you feel like something bad will happen?

"Breakfast!" You served each horse a mixture of fresh grass, hay and silage, thereby distracting them to prepare a new bedding for them. "Good morning, beauties."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Elrond called the Counsil.

Four hundred years of peace. The enemy was dead. Sauron was dead. It's being a long time, but something had awakened in Rivendell. Something dark and hungry. Something that none could ignore. Evil things did not come into that valley, but maybe something was born there.

"That is not enough to think something is happening", Saruman explained. Sitting in his armchair, Saruman's pearly tunica appeared to be floating as he move his hand. "Orcs and spiders? Not enough."

Galadriel countered the room. Her white gown gleamed at every step, almost hurting the eyes of those who dare to look direct at it. Just almost, the temptation to look at her was bigger than the discomfort.

"It would not." Galadriel whispered. "But we are not talking about ocasional attacks. It's strategical. They are hunting something. Something south of Rivendell."

Gandalf glared at Saruman. He grabbed his staff, holding it closer to him. That subject wasn't on a good path. Not a good path for them.

The Istari came in five. Not that anyone but Elrond, Cirdan and Galadriel knew what they really are. The rest of the world see them as inopportune pilgrims, but they're so much more than that.

Saruman the White, a Maia of Aulë, leader of the White Counsil. The enemy of Sauron. The one who advice great lords, who is responsible for the biggest events, present whenever a important choice needs to be made. When the War of the Ring start, he will be the one fighting Sauron.

Gandalf the Grey, a Maia of Manwë and Varda. The one to defeat evil by the lives of commons. The wiser. When the War of Ring start, Gandalf will be with the soldiers and squires.

Radagast the Brow, a Maia of Yavanna. The protector of Nature and it's life. The avenger of animals and plants. When the War of Ring start, he won't interfere. Saruman don't speak to him since he made his decision.

And there are the two blueses. The ones whos only purpose is to defend humans. Different than Gandalf, they don't organize humans. Different than Saruman, they don't empower them. They're here to purely defend humans from Sauron. Saruman pretend they don't exist. It's been years since Gandalf spoke their names. Elrond and Galadriel often ask about them, but they resufe to answer.

Saruman looked into his tired eyes, and Gandalf understood what he was saying: "Do not".

Elrond was bewitched by the landscape in front of him. He could see the river, the montains, the infinity of the sky. And he felt it. A shadow that grows in the dark. Elrond still not sure if it's something evil, but it's powerful. "Sauron have..."

"Do not even start with this!" Saruman nodded. "Sauron is dead. He is done."

At one point while Saruman and master Elrond discussed, Saruman's only argument being the death of Sauron and Elrond trying to use some logic to explain his fear, Gandalf heard a voice on his head. "What are you hiding from us, Mithrandir?"

Gandalf smiled at Galadriel. His white long beard almost covered it, but she saw it. "Nothing."

"We are not summoned to argue about the Enemy's existence." Thraunduil rose from his chair, but it would take a fool to not perceive how, even simple and identical to those of the other counsil members, it looked like a throne. Thranduil was a king, his presence lived up to his reputation. "We are here to put an end to these vermin."

"Finally someone with a agile mind", Saruman intonate. He was relieved someone changed the topic.

Master Elrond sit down. "This horde keep reproducing. Until we find the nest, the spiders will keep coming back."

"Then we know what to do." Thranduil put and end to the endless discussion. "Mine guar..."

The door was flung open, shaking the council room. A sweaty, breathless messenger leaned against it, legs shaking with exhaustion. His eyes met Elrond's, who immediately rose and approached. "We found another litter."

"Where?" Galadriel asked.

"Above the tributaries of the Bruinen River, in the gorge of the last dam." The messenger straightened up. "They're at least twelve."

"Wake up the intendant," Elrond ordered. "Tell him to prepare my armor."

Saruman swallowed hard. It would be too close. If Elrond... He glared at Gandalf, hoping he could think of an excuse. Elrond would need just a look to recognized her. He can't be near the dam.

"In a token of gratitude for your hospitality," Thranduil made his way near to Elrond. He touched his shoulder, squeezing it gently. Kind words, but attention would show that pride lurked among them. "Let me defeat these insects for you."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

They rode in twenty. Led by the Elvenking, the little guard entered the mangrove with their golden armour lit by the midday sun. Protected from the rear by the Elvenking, the little guard came out of the mangrove with their bloody armour lit by the sunset.

They were still twenty.

"Our mounts need to rest before our return", Gildor saddle his sorrel. One of Elrond's captains, he was the one that managed to map the nest and guided Thranduil and his guard to annihilate the spiders. "Just like your elk, your grace."

Thranduil carressed his brave elk. A longtime companion, that faced bigger threats than a nest of spiders. He wasn't tired, Thranduil could ride back to his realm if he wanted to, but his men needed to rest. "We went through a village, didn't we?"

"Yes, your grace", Gildor pointed to a trampled tail. "An inn favored by master Elrond would gladly welcome us, with comfort and food for us and our mounts. I took the liberty of sending a letter to inform our stay when we were getting organized in Rivendell."

It was a long road. The trail ran along the mountain, climbing towards the setting sun. The sound of running water showed that they were arriving, but what really made them understand that the path had ended was the sound of chitchat. Coming out from the trees, the Elvenking and his men were greeted by dozens of people.

The grooms approached first, taking the horses from the guards with many smiles and promises of good care. As the king descended from his elk, everyone bowed and thanked him for defeating the spiders. Leading the small crowd, a short, plump lady approached.

"Lady Aerin, the owner of the inn", Gildor whispered to Thranduil.

"I imagine it must have been a long and painful journey, your grace." Aerin used sweet words, but it was clear that she practiced them a few times. "All my employees shall respond to your orders, no matter what they are. I know my little inn is nothing compared to your castle, but I hope it brings you comfort."

It was obviously true, but it was modest to say that this was a small inn. It was an immense structure, perhaps six floors high, and the long stables were visible even from the entrance. Nothing compared to a castle, but it certainly wasn't small.

Aerin was kind, personally guiding the king to his chambers. While everyone bathed, supper was cooked and the horses tended. The sun had already set when they gathered for supper, and the food was delicious.

"It's a very lovely inn", Thranduil tried to calm Aerin. Her nervousness was clear.

"Oh, your grace, that's very kind of you." The old lady smiled, then went back to her food. The lull was marvelous, but it didn't last long. But this time, Aerin was trying to whisper to her son. Trying, not succeeding. "Why is she taking so long? I'm starting to worry."

Gildor took a sip from his wine. "You talk about the Lossëistar?"

Aerin was surprised he could hear her. After all, she was so subtle. "She was supossed to be back by now. It's a long way to the fair, but not that long."

"Lossëistar?" Thranduil was interested. "An elve mage life here?"

Aerin and Gildor glared at one another. Gildor was the one that responded Thranduil. "Not exactly an elve, not exactly a mage."

His interest got bigger. "Explain yourself."

Aerin sighed. "She... Look, I don't mean to gossip, I really don't." She looked around the room, and began to whisper. "We don't really know what she is. She definitely isn't human. But an elve... I don't think she's tall enough to be one."

Thranduil laughed at Aerin's honesty. "What's the cause of such confusion?"

The younger boy, Aerin's son, responded before his mom could. "She's weird. Gandalf worries about her."

"Beren!" Aerin scolded him. "Keep yourself silent!"

Thranduil's interest turned into something else. Gandalf isn't exactly a friend, as he often delivers bad news and forget who's the ruler, but Thranduil is wiser to not underestimate him. Elrond and Galadriel care for him, and Thranduil respect their wit. If Gandalf has someone under his wing, then he has his reasons. Thranduil can't help but to wonder why.

Before he could ask more, the creak of the entrance door was heard. "Lady Aerin," a female voice echoed to the hall. It was melodic, Thranduil could sense the happiness. "You won't believe what I found!"

You entered the hall holding a basket full of fabrics, herbs and pots. "Close your eyes, it's a surprise." You were looking for something inside the basket as you walked towards the hall, not even noticing that it wasn't empty.

Thranduil swallowed hard.

Your dress was wrinkled and muddy, the marks of a long, busy day of walking. Your loose hair, falling around your shoulders, framed your face with a sense of freedom. The smile on your lips, so simple and true, carried such lightness. Your crooked steps, of those who need to balance their weight with the heavy basket in order not to fall, were lit by candles. There were violets in your eyes. They glowed. You glowed, even without intention.

"Lossëistar", Aerin called. "We're not alone."

Your smiled died before you rose your face. Lossëistar. It's been more than a year, but she never called you by your name. Don't matter what you say, they never hear you. What's the reason to keep trying? But then you rose your face, and you disappointment turned into shame.

"Your grace", you bowed. "Pardon for the interruption."

Thranduil took a deep breath. He could smell the salty scent, a mixture of earth and herbs, emanating from you. A shiver rose the Elvenking's spine. "Apparently you're late."

"You're supossed to be here two hours ago", said Aerin. "Are you fine, kid?"

"The horse you borrowed me wasn't obedient." You looked up. Your eyes alternated between Thranduils's and Aerin's. With a sign of his head, you slowly stand up. You may be a fool on a few subjects, but you always know when your presence isn't expected. With another bow, you walked towards the entrance. "Have a good night."

"Supper with us." Thranduil didn't control his own tongue. There was something about you that intrigued him. He repeated to himself that he was only trying to find out what interested Gandalf, but he was too clever to be so easily deceived.

"Your grace is so kind, but she don't need to", Aerin thought it was the right thing to say. "I'll bring you a plate when we're done. Thank him, Lossëistar, for his generosity."

Thranduil's voice was heard again. But this time it was different. It was less graceful, less friendly. It was the voice of a leader, and a tired one. "What makes you think that an invitation to dinner and a cold dish are equivalent?"

Aerin blinked. "I'm sorry, your grace. I thought..."

"Join us, lady", the Elvenking looked into your eyes.

Unsure of how to proceed, you followed in silence to the empty armchair at the end of the table. Next to Aerin's son, who was staring at you in a way you couldn't identify, one of the employees served a plate. Conversation returned, Gildor launched into a subject that made the tension in the air dissipate, but you could feel the weight of the Elvenking gaze.

"The last time we saw each other", Gilgor smiled at you. "You still didn't knew how to ride."

You smiled at him, but discomfort gripped your body. You were too dirty, too tired, to sit across from a king. You must have reeked of mud and riding horses. How was your face? And your hair? He's very kind, kinder than the stories about the Mirkwood elves, but it was humiliating.

"I'm still learning." You tried to sound comfortable on your own skin. "I'm not the best, but also not the worst."

"Certainly a stimulant way of thinking, Lossëistar."

"I'm sure you have a name, my lady." Thranduil didn't bother smiling. It was weird the way people didn't addressed you by your name.

"I... I do." You bit your tongue. "People just don't use it."

"So it's about time we change this."

A warmth took over your cheeks. You told him your name, and only then you noticed how long it been since you last heard it. It felt nice to have the Elvenking saying it, almost testing how it sounded on his tongue.

But everything was forgotten after the explosion. The guards got up, not sure what was going on, but you knew that sound. It was the sound of work. The sound of letters and more letters of complaint being ignored. The sound of the dozens of times the village had to rebuild everything because they didn't fix the problem while there was still time. It was the sound of water. And it was near.

You drank the rest of your wine before getting up. "A moment, please."

You ran out of the inn. As imagined, the dam had broken. The second time this month. "That's what happens when you keep solving it," you said to yourself. "They know you're going to fix everything so they don't even bother doing something."

Mist dominated the river bank. You took a deep breath and ran closer to the forest, as far away as possible. You took a bow out of your pocket and tied your hair in a tight knot. The last thing you needed was something clinging to your face. You heard the screams of some of the guards, but didn't let that distract you.

It raced down the gorge, skipping the bank and destroying everything in its path. You could hear the trees bending, you could feel the cold, hard wind burning your face. When the trees behind you shuddered, you knew you could start. So you ran towards the river.

You ran and ran and ran. You stopped walking on leaves to step on land, then you stopped stepping on land to run over the river. And you didn't dive. You just ran, a thin layer of ice forming with each step, and you ran towards the pouring water. And when it was so close she could crush you, knock the air out of your lungs and claim it as it's own, you stuck out your finger and touch the wave.

And as quickly as it started, it ended. It ended with you standing in the middle of the river, with tons of frozen water in front of you, and a speechless Elvenking.

[Second Chapter]

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[demonslayedher]

You need a mountain to make a sword

Mt. Youkou, which only exists in the Kimetsu no Yaiba universe is essentially named "Mt. Sunlight," is said to receive the most sunlight, which gets soaked into the Shoujouhi iron ore and Shoujouhi iron sand—both of which also only exist in this universe and are named for a particular shade of red. This mountain is therefore crucial to the development of Nichirin blades, and deserves more focus than a one-time mention in Chapter 9. If demons were to find this place and prevent them from mining, the Corp would be screwed.

A mountain is a finite resource, though. This post was supposed to be short and simple to say: 1. Large portions of that mountain are lost in the effort to collect the sunlight-soaked iron sand 2. Large portions of that iron sand is lost in smelting it into steel 3. Large portions of that steel is lost in the smithing process

But of course, it is not short and simple, I have more to say about charcoal and what this all means within the context of the KnY world and additional speculation about the production of Nichirin blades.

First you need to break the mountain! Okay, so you start with a mountain. This one is said to be “closest to the sun,” which has made some people theorize that this is the tallest mountain, Mt. Fuji, but perhaps that is just a way of saying it is in a sunny spot in the east. The main criteria is that it is very exposed to the sun. I think the "it doesn't rain" there thing is an exaggeration, as there are trees drawn there, so I assume it has some sort of a water source.

I will focus primarily on collecting the Shoujouhi iron sand as opposed to the ore, because in real life steel smelting in Japan, iron sand was more widely available than ore—and however they got the Shoujouhi ore, I’m guessing it was more of a process of scraping it off exposed parts of the mountain instead of digging deep in the dark for it. It used to be that that iron sand was collected in rivers and lakes from the natural, slow erosion process, but going by the illustration in the manga panel, they appear to practice kanna-nagashi, a process of collecting iron sand in large amounts by speeding up the natural erosion process by scraping off chunks of granite mountain into man-man waterways, and channeling it through a series of collection pools to sort the heavier iron sand from the rest of the sediment. Another reason to suspect this method is because the "Kana" of Kanamori's name is written with the same "kanna" kanji: 鉄穴 ("iron cavity," as opposed to the more common real life last name Kanamori which uses the simple 金 for metal/gold).

In the heyday of real-life traditional iron and steel smelting with iron sand, kanna-nagashi resulted in mountains being leveled because they used up so much of the natural environment. This was used for meeting almost all of the iron and steel needs of populous Edo period society, which did not need as many swords as in previous eras but needed anything from tools and nails to pots and pans. The swordsmiths in Kimetsu no Yaiba only needed to make swords for the Demon Slayer Corp (which we’ll use for referring to the organization’s full history, though it was less formally called “the demon hunters” for most of its existence). The swordsmiths making Nichirin blades were probably frugal with the precious Shoujouhi iron. They needed to make it last for as many centuries as it would take to defeat Kibutsuji Muzan.

Not all iron sand is created equal! While what's very crucial to Nichirin blades is that the iron that has soaked up the power of the sun, what's also crucial to making Japanese blades is a high level of purity in the iron. To put this in perspective, the more common kind of real-life iron sand (akome) that could be used for general iron needs might make up 5-10% of the rock plucked off the mountain, but masa iron sand, the kind that was (and still is) preferred for making Japanese swords might only make up about 0.5-2%. These sands would differ in size, the amount and array of impurities, and how high of a temperature and how long you need to smelt them. However, the real-world smelting process for making sword-quality steel used a mix of these two kinds of iron sands, so it might be reasonable to assume they stretch out the Shoujouhi iron sand supply by supplementing it with high quality sands from other nearby, shadier mountains. There is also the matter of how much of it was Shoujouhi ore, and how much of that ore was available relative to the sand on this fictional mountain, but I’ll focus primarily on a real-world iron sand based processes for consideration on numbers.

Anyway, we've perhaps already wasted at least 85% of what we've taken from the mountain to get this sand, and then it's time for smelting the Shoujouhi iron sand (and Shoujouhi iron ore, in this case) in a traditional tatara clay furnace, because for most of Japanese smelting history, that was what you had.

Tatara iron and steelmaking made the most of what Japan had! Smelting iron in clay furnaces did not originate in Japan, but while many other places in the world had more abundant sources of iron ore to start with, Japan did not, so the tatara method was continually development to make the most of what was available: iron sand. Two of the other major ingredients in this method were clay and charcoal, the qualities of which were important in setting off the chemical processes of smelting the iron sand into pig iron (which would be refined into better iron or for steel for making swords). With Edo period developments in this Japanese smelting method, they were able to skip the pig iron step and achieve a sword-quality steel, tamahagane. Tatara is still the only method with which you can achieve tamahagane.

Look at this beautiful sword baby:

(Fun fact: Tamahagane is covered with many different colors—but rather than being indicative of Nichirin-like properties, these are tiny films of remaining impurities in the metal, which reflect light similar to how it bounces off a soap bubble or a CD. Cool, huh? I also tend to theorize that the coloring changing aspect of Nichirin is a matter of bending the visible spectrum of the sunlight contained within them.)

We don't have time here to go into the fascinating details about how this smelting process works and why tamagahane gives you the characteristic attributes of Japanese blades, but suffice to say, what's crucial is that tamahagane has a high level of purity and an ideal amount of carbon for making blades that are both strong and ductile. However, prior to the Edo period development of tamahagane, we don't actually know all the details about the materials used. Swords could vary widely in quality in the Sengoku period, and it's very likely that the high-quality ones (like what the demon hunters would had used) mixed stronger, imported iron with the local iron sand. This is another reason I'm willing to bet Nichirin blades might be reenforced with other material, though it is still entirely possible in-universe that they are purely Shoujouhi and the craftsmanship of the swords back then was purely thanks to the swordsmiths’ efforts.

A quick note here before we go on: historically, it makes the most sense for Tanjirou to have been offered tamagahane at the end of the Final Selection, because this was the standard material for Japanese swords at the time. In Chapter 8, Kiriya does not say “tamahagane,” but just “hagane,” which means “steel.” However, the first fanbook says that they choose their “kouseki,” which is “ore,” implying that this is still in a raw material stage. It’s possible that before the Edo period development of tamahagane, swordsmen were offered their choice of lumps of Shoujouhi ore, but given the speed with which Tanjirou received a completed sword, I’m willing to bet it had already undergone the smelting process with Shoujouhi iron sand in one big smelting batch. Although industrialized methods of smelting steel with mined iron ore, coke, and brick furnaces were already the norm by the early Taisho period, tatara was still in use, and still the only method of making tamahagane, so I am inclined to think the Swordsmith Village stuck with this and used tamahagane (and Japanese fans who are familiar with the tatara process all tend to assume the same, though most of the ones I've talked to about it are biased tatara nerds in the first place).

Charcoal is crucial in tatara and Japanese swordsmithing! We also don't have time to go into detail about the clay or construction of the tatara furnace, but because this is KnY and I love charcoal, we will touch on that briefly: The charcoal used in tatara would be slightly different from the charcoal Tanjirou produced for household use or the charcoal used in multiple steps of the actual smithing process (both as a heat source and as a coating in a crucial step of the process). In a tatara furnance, it needed to burn quickly and at high enough temperatures to melt iron sand, it was left somewhat "undercooked" in the charcoal making process so as to leave more volatile organic components. Even with those sorts of adjustments to the charcoal making process specifically for tatara, Tanjirou could absolutely talk shop with the Swordsmith Village charcoal producers.

Also, in order to get trees big enough for tatara charcoal use, the trees were ideally 30-50 years old. Forestry methods in tatara charcoal production typically allowed the forest to grow back every 30 years, but this meant they needed roughly 30 different areas to cycle through and cut down from year to year. A single operation of the tatara furnace typically requires about 12 tons of charcoal, that is, roughly one hectare of forest. (This is why industrial tatara in real life usually required owning entire mountains in order to have that much forest available.)

What is one tatara operation? For our purposes here, suffice to say that a tatara operation for the purposes of making tamahagane is a roughly 70-hour process of adding iron sand and charcoal to the flames every 30 minutes or so, resulting in a 2-3 ton lump of mixed metal, called a kera (which is written with sort of vivid kanji that makes it's like the "mother of metal," 鉧). What adjustments that might require to include Shoujouhi iron ore, I am not sure. It is an extremely labor-intensive process, with a high level of know-how required to be successful. It is very easy for the process to be ruined if the giant flames are not maintained, or the proportion of the materials is off, or if there is too much moisture or not enough constant air flow, etc. It also uses a lot of material. In addition to about 12 tons of charcoal, one operation typically requires about 10 tons of iron sand. Roughly 70% of the resulting kera would be tamahagane. That means, very roughly, that of the 10 tons of iron sand, only 15-20% remains as ideal sword material, but maybe only about 0.3-4% of the overall iron sand turns into top quality tamahagane.

How many swords are we talking? The Swordsmith Village exclusively made swords for the Corp, which in Tanjirou's day and age is said to be “a few hundred” people (Chapter 4, and given the context, I assume this means “a few hundred swordsmen” as opposed to including outside supporting roles). Tamagahane for a katana is about 4 kilograms, so you can get, conservatively (and this is only my guess based on weight calculations, not on actually numbers of lumps of tamahagane I found results for), about 375 swords worth from one kera, or maybe up to 90 especially high-quality swords. We see anyone from a Mizunoto like Inosuke to a Pillar like Muichirou getting their swords replaced without much fuss, and clearly some styles of Nichirin blades require more or less steel (looking at you, Stone Pillar). The swordsmiths likely also use material for practice and trying new techniques, as well as for having extra swords available like those stocked up in the village.

I'll allow you to think backwards about how much mountain this consumes every year in a Corp that has been collecting ore and sand from Mt. Youkou for 800-1000 years, with the more damaging kanna-nagashi process being used for about 250-300 years. Instead, I will work forward to say that for a typical katana, that 4-kilogram tamahagane results in only a 1-kilogram sword, so you lose material at this stage too.

To recap: The amount of Mt. Youkou destroyed but which gets collected as iron sand is only about 0.5-15% (if we're being generous). The amount of that iron sand which gets converted into tamahagane is only about 15-20% (or less if they are very stringent about Nichirin quality), though the numbers might be very different depending on the amount of iron ore used. The amount of tamahagane which remains as a finished sword is only about 25%. This is not even taking into account the amount of forest, clay, or even the series of stones necessary for the polishing process, not at all to mention expertise and labor.

So quit breaking your swords, Tanjirou.

Sources: In modern day, the Society for the Preservation of Japanese Art Swords (NBTHK, or Nittouho) operates the Nittouho Tatara furnace three times every winter, so most of these numbers are based on their modern-day operations (though they do not practice kanna-nagashi, which was primarily practiced in the Edo period when tatara was a major industry). Other info primarily comes from other tatara related museums, especially the Okuizumo Tatara and Sword Museum and Wakou Museum, though it’s been glossed over for fandom purposes. Also, I’m a sword nerd anyway.

#SWORDS SWORDS SWORDS #KnY nerdery #KnY Reference #KnY References #I made it AS SHORT AS THE SPIRIT OF HAGANEZUKA WOULD LET ME

[joels6string]

More Than My Father's Son

Joel Miller x f!OC

Chapter 8 - Slow-Cooked Dreams

Summary: A day out and a night in are ready to force someone's hand into finally giving in.

Rating: E

Word Count: 5k

Content: NSFW, high levels of violence normal to the TLOU world, angst, fluff, miscommunication trope (it’s Joel Miller…), slow burn, Joel’s traumatic childhood, getting together, smut, canon divergence after SLC, fix it fic

As the air grew colder, you’d grown warmer, and somehow he’d remained a target of your blossoming affinity for company and laughter.

Chapter 7 || Series Masterlist

“What the hell are you lookin’ for again?” 

“A crockpot.”

“The hell do you need with a crockpot, Chef Boyardee?”

“It ain’t for me. And I cook better’n you do, kept food on your plate, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They were on neighborhood two, house six, the two Miller brothers loudly rummaging through cabinet after cabinet in search of Joel’s prize. A light dusting of snow covered the countertops as he stood from his crouched position, the flurries fluttering in from the shattered remains of a window as Tommy swung open a large pantry, the top hinge snapping from the force of it. The eruption of gruff laughter could be heard from the sidewalk outside, had anyone been around, and when Tommy pulled out the gaudiest set of mixing bowls that definitely would have been worth money if the world hadn’t gone to shit. They didn’t even need to speak to know what came next. 

Fruit-adorned porcelain sat in a row on the front porch railing, Joel’s rifle locked and loaded as he aimed through the remnants of a storm door’s window, the first and biggest bowl shrieking as the echo of gunfire still reverberated through the mountains. Tommy went next, and the two alternated before the remnants of the antiques crunched beneath their boots, rows of clear drinking glasses flanking a coordinated pitcher as they pushed the guilt of wasting ammo to the wayside in favor of continuing the lighthearted laughter that had settled. 

Tommy took out a glass in the middle of the left line, Joel took out the end of the right, and as Tommy lined up again, a familiar sight came into view. 

“What the fuck are you two doing?!” you called out from the street, out of breath and sweating despite the frigid temperature.

“Just havin’ a little fun!” Joel called out mischievously, “Aren’t you supposed to be at the river?”

“Did the river. It’s clear. And then we hear gunshots on the way back and I raced over, all to find you in a battle with…Pyrex!”

“You gonna come up here and join us?”

He watched as you battled with maintaining your scolding position or giving in to the game at hand. He knew which one you’d choose. It had been two weeks since Tommy and Maria allowed you back on patrols a few times a week, not with the frequency of before but it was enough to scratch the stir-crazy itch that had put you into an even more agitated state than you already were. Joel had begged and reasoned, he’d even taken you out into the fields just up the hill from the gates with an assault rifle in hand, firing shots into bales of hay until you could make it from 3 shots to 10 before screaming at him to stop. Then days later it was 20, and then with a deep breath you managed to look at him with those bright green eyes untainted by fear and nod; it wasn’t perfect, it still scared you half to death, but you’d gotten enough of a grasp on it that Indy got her preferred partner back three times a week, your other days spent still sharpening the kids’ skills with a bow safely in the walls of Jackson.

“C’mon now,” he beckoned with a sly grin as he held the rifle out towards you, “Don’t be a bummer.”

“My mother would kill me if she knew I was shattering these historical relics,” you jested as you approached, “The pitcher is mine.”

“Go on then, Legolas. Last I knew I still had you beat in rifle work.”

“You watched Lord of the Rings?”

“No. I read it.”

“Guess that’s what we’re watching next.”

“Get that in one shot from behind that couch and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

The obstacles they’d set up in their game were still in place, a couch ten yards away set centered to the now empty door frame. Not like they needed to lock the place up. You positioned yourself behind it as if it were a blockade, a brother on either side, one intently watching the state of the glass outside, the other’s gaze firmly fixated on you and the way the snow nestled in the strands of your hair. He watched as you lined up the shot, confidence in your movements as the heel of the rifle nestled into your shoulder. Perfect form. He should have known. 

One shot echoed, the shattering of glass following, your beaming, smug smile shining up at him. He couldn’t help but let the corner of his own lips tug up towards his eye and he nodded proudly. He was hoping you’d make it. 

“Your place or mine?” you asked, dragging your lower lip through your teeth in that way that drove him insane. 

“Well you just did your…what was it again? Winter cleanin’?” he teased, recalling finding you on your hands and knees scrubbing the grout in your tiled bathroom floor last weekend when he came to grab you for the now-ceremonial bi-weekly market trip.

“You knock it, but I’ll be hibernating through the mountains’ winter with sparkling baseboards and shiny faucets. And come spring, I’ll have less to do.”

“If you say so.”

“You’re the one saying you want to come to my place because it’s clean.”

You had him there. It always smelled like lavender and the green of the plants you’d begun to accrue from people around town invited him into the space you’d made your own. As the air grew colder, you’d grown warmer, and somehow he’d remained a target of your blossoming affinity for company and laughter. He’d always known it was there, Ellie had always brought out the side of you that was buried beneath years of torment and hardship, but now you were releasing it for others to experience now and it was a wonder in and of itself. The way your nose scrunched up and your eyes crinkled at the corners when you laughed never ceased to pull a smile from him, it was like you were the god damn sun and he was just a moon in orbit, forever searching for more of your light. But you were still just as fierce, just as deadly, if not more so now with a steady place to anchor both physically and seemingly within yourself. He was infatuated. It was dangerous. 

“Alright you two,” Tommy chimed in with a knowing tone, Joel had just been staring at you and the way your eyes sparkled with pride and victory, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed, “We should get back.”

“Did you boys search the place?” you asked as you stood, “I’m still looking for a fucking slow cooker.”

Joel couldn’t help but smirk at himself, tipping his chin down to hide his satisfied expression. 

“We looked down here, upstairs is all yours.”

With Joel's rifle still in hand, you took off up the stairs, Joel avoiding Tommy’s eyes that he knew were waiting to be acknowledged. He wasn’t in the mood to hear one of Tommy’s speeches, he didn’t know what Joel had been forced to become privy to so many years ago. Tommy and his idealistic views that had somehow maintained even through the end of the world didn’t know the pain on the other side, and Joel prayed he never would. 

His attention followed your boot steps on the creaking floor above. He knew no one was in the house, but that didn’t ease his heightened senses as his ears tracked you through the rooms. What he didn’t catch was the way his feet also carried him slowly beneath you. Nothing more than a moon in orbit. 

“Hey Joel!” you called, “Joel!”

“Yeah?!” he responded loudly up the stairwell, your head peeking over the landing down at him.

“Come help me real quick.”

You were standing beneath a boarded-up attic, hands on your hips, the scar that decorated the seam of your jaw and throat on full display as you stared up at the ceiling. 

“I ain’t that tall,” he mused, standing beside you and leaning his shoulder against the wall.

“Just boost me up,” you replied nonchalantly like you’d done this a thousand times before, “that wood is fucking ancient. I can snap it.”

“If you say so.” This you had done before. “Up you go.” Your legs surrounded his head as you sat atop his broad shoulders, his knees straightening and pushing you up to grip against the rotted slats. 

After a few good tugs, you did exactly what you said you would, the barrier snapping beneath your leather gloves as you gave a small victorious laugh. At this height, you were able to simply pull yourself up into the attic, tossing him down a ladder so he could join you, his eyes automatically sweeping for threats as soon as the space came into view. You were already rummaging through boxes, not a care in the world, and his heavy sigh as he hoisted himself up had you whirling back to stare at him. 

“Gettin’ old, Tex?” you teased, his nostrils flaring in a way that had your face twisting in annoyed confusion, “What?”

“You need to be more god damn careful,” he scolded, growling into your ear as his chest brushed over your shoulder, “Anyone…or anything, could have been up here.”

“In a boarded-up attic? That’s one impressive food supply by the age of that wood and the rust on the nails. Lighten up, Joel. I can assess my surroundings just fi—“

Creaking turned to splintering as you turned back towards the pile of boxes you’d been searching through, his still-sharp reflexes wrapping his arm around your middle and pulling you back just far enough to keep your feet on solid ground as a gaping hole where you’d just been standing sent light beaming into the dark space. 

As the shock wore off, he could feel the way your breath was heaving in his grip, your fingers woven through his against your stomach as you gripped him and he cursed the cold weather for making leather gloves a necessity. It was instinctual the way he leaned his head against yours, his arm pulling you tighter as he pushed the what-if from his mind and grounded in the reality of you not impaled on the wood piercing up towards the sky, memories of his own injury that had almost left Ellie alone and abandoned in Colorado flooding back. He could feel the rebar piercing through his stomach, the agony of being pulled off, and the panic that had set in when hunters swarmed the old science building, leaving Ellie to defend him bleeding and sputtering on the floor. 

“Please be careful.” It was a whispered plea, not a demand but a desperate request. 

He felt you nod, your spine curling slightly to fit the contour of his chest, and the way you leaned back into him had his eyes drifting closed as the subtle scent of lavender paired with the warmth of your body and softness of your hair against his cheek infiltrated his senses.

“What the hell was that?!” Tommy yelled as he ran up the stairs to the second floor, his voice pulling both of you from the safety of the moment and back into reality, “Joel?”

“It’s alright!” Joel called back, turning his head to not yell into your ear but immediately returning as soon as the words left his lips, “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” you gasped, and he swore he felt you nestle your head against him further for a split second, your hair catching on his beard before you pulled away without a glance back, “Help me look around?”

The meekness in your voice was unsettling, but he agreed, lingering within arm’s reach as you found boxes of cold-weather clothing, pots and pans, Christmas decorations, and children’s toys. Tommy had gotten involved, both yours and his eyes lighting up at the hoard of useful supplies, Tommy taking box after box through the hole in the ceiling (from his perspective) as you and Joel worked as an assembly line in the attic on wood he’d deemed safe to stand on. 

As luck would have it, two large sleds were tucked into a back corner, their width when tied together with a thick wool blanket between them working like a sling just barely wide enough to fit the haul of supplies thanks to Joel’s ingenuity. Tommy and his horse hauled it along between you in the front and Joel bringing up the rear, the silence giving you time to reflect as the barren trees gnarled up towards the sky and the steady hoof steps of Bill your not-so pony echoed through the mountain's well-worn paths. 

It had been awhile since you’d been close enough to Joel to feel that lingering comfort of the scent of warm leather and sawdust that clung to him despite the canvas jacket he wore. The effect was still the same. Your head was swimming with the heat of summer, the phantom of his palms gripping the backs of your thighs, the sway of your horse mimicking that of Joel’s steady stride. You dwelled in these memories more than you’d ever admit, and far more than you preferred. 

Everything was so pleasant now. And you’d come to depend on him in ways you’d been warned many years ago to not dare consider. But none of it felt wrong. In fact, it had felt more right than any other decision you’d made. But still, that voice nagged in the back of your head that this was a bad idea, a risk, a disaster in the making, yet still a piece of you clung to the hope that this was different. He was gentle and kind—to you at least—attentive and generous, capable and strong, he was a man that shouldn’t exist after all he’d been through yet there he was, slinging a coat still warm from the heat of his body around your shoulders after you’d been too stubborn to wear one to your weekly Bison trip or fixing the leaky sink in your kitchen without so much as a grumble of irritation. But although you had changed entirely since arriving at the safe haven settlement of Jackson, the world hadn’t. And that was something you were constantly reminded of. 

Both of you helped Tommy unload the supplies at the inn, with you promising to return tomorrow to help Maria sort through them as he and Joel went out on yet another patrol. Things had gotten worse lately, both with infected and hunters, there was no shortage of bodies laden with bullets in the surrounding woods. 

“What’s this over here?” you asked as you tried to sort the boxes into categories to make the job easier tomorrow, your hand sliding over Joel’s back as you snuck through the small space between him and the wall, his muscles twitching beneath your touch as it grazed over him, “Can you put it over there?” you asked sweetly, peering up at him with a smile as he nodded, a soft “thanks” following as your fingers repeated their previous motion on your way back to the front of the room. 

It made his stomach hurtle to the floor. You’d been doing it for weeks now, fleeting touches as you passed by, playful hands on his shoulders, and knees resting against his beneath a table. Not reading into it had been almost impossible, the fact you also did the same with Indy and Ellie was the only place to ground himself he had. It was just you and how you’d rediscovered parts of yourself that had long been buried. 

“Joel!” Ellie’s exuberant voice called out as she rounded the corner, both your and Joel’s attention turning as your boots hit the street, “Joel…Cat found me…a Nintendo.”

“A what?” Joel chuckled at the way she was sucking in air.

“A Nintendo. You know…video games.”

“Oh, right. Well I’m sure you’ll have a blast with that.”

“Do you wanna play?”

“I think…playin’ with your friends is gonna be way more fun. I don’t know what I’m doin’ with those things.”

“Neither do I.”

Your elbow jutting into his ribs had his eyes snapping over to you, your eyebrows raising in a silent urging as you ticked your chin towards Ellie at his other side. 

“She wants to play with you,” you hissed through your teeth, hoping he could hear it and Ellie couldn’t, realization falling over his face, softening the fine lines etched into his sun-darkened skin.

Fuck, he shouldn’t have needed to be told that. It was all there in the hopeful gaze staring back at him, another pair of big green eyes that could work wonders against his stubborn ways. As the tug-of-war between his own self-loathing and the swell of pride Ellie’s desire to spend time with him raged, his cheeks flushing pink as the corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk, your own reassuring one caught in his peripherals. 

“Arrow comin’ too?” he asked mischievously, knowing Ellie would never pass up a chance to have you around and damn if he wasn’t going to take advantage of that.

“Duh,” she retorted, and you smiled fondly at the ground as your chin tipped to your chest, warmth flooding your chilled cheeks.

“Alright kiddo,” he finally obliged, “go set it up.”

Without a word, Ellie was sprinting back the way she came, Joel once again focusing his attention on you. There was a softness present, a vulnerability swimming through hazel that was typically hard as stone. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” he said with a bashful tone, and you shook your head, “I’ll grab dinner from the Bison if you wanna head over around 6.”

After a shower, the hoodie you’d managed to snag from the swap shop welcomed you in, a loose pair of sweatpants to match being donned after you twisted your hair into a messy bun; those two had seen you at far worse, one step from sleepwear wouldn’t change their opinions of you. The sun had already begun to set as you meandered your way to the white house on Rancher street, one your instincts could bring you to in your sleep, your knuckles rapping three times on the door before you let yourself in with a bellowing “hey” at the owner’s previous insistence. 

“Kitchen!” Ellie yelled, “Joel forgot to get you no tomato!”

“Why do you gotta tell her?!” you could hear him scolding as you approached, “I’m fixin’ it anyway!”

“Because it’s funny.”

“It ain’t funny… You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

“It’s kinda funny,” you agreed as you rounded into the dining room with a table too grand for the three of you, plates set out with each of your favorites from the only restaurant in town.

“I told him,” Joel defended, dropping a pitcher of lemonade onto the table hard enough to have some sloshing out, “I swear.”

“Is this Ellie’s famous lemonade I’ve been hearing about?” you asked after giving Joel a sarcastic nod of agreement, his flustered groan the reward you were seeking as he left to find napkins in the kitchen, “I’m surprised they gave you enough lemons to make all this.”

“Who says they gave them to me?”

A knowing scoff huffed free from your lips, Joel rounding back in with three old cloths he passed out before sitting down beside you and across from Ellie, the head of the table left empty. Joel’s penchant for leaving his elbows on the table had been something you’d grown fond of, awkward bumps soon turning into shoulders pressed together when space became sparse without a blink. He’d been bashful about it initially, the first time it happened during one of the group’s nights at the Bison, his cheeks burning red as he attempted to make his large, broad frame smaller by gluing his elbows to his sides and pinching his knees together beneath the wooden table. But it had grown to a common occurrence, soon bringing with it fleeting touches and gentle contact like it was a natural thing, entirely normal, almost expected. 

“So what games did you get?” you asked Ellie as Joel filled your glass with lemonade, a small smile thanking him before you flicked your attention back to the excited teenager in front of you.

“There’s a few but the only one I care about is ‘The Turning’,” she replied with thrill and competitiveness in her voice, “Riley told me all about it. Can’t believe I finally get to play.”

“Do you know how to?”

“No… Not really. Her and I pretended to once at… But I’ve never actually played.”

“What about you, Greybeard?” Another side eye earned, but the corner of his mouth twitching at the link to his own nickname he’d used on you earlier. 

“Never tried,” Joel huffed, “I never liked those things.”

“A grump even before the world went to shit. How fitting.” He may have thought the side-eye he gave in response was discreet but he found himself wrong as you laughed. “Guess you’re both learning today.”

“I assume you’re world champion of whatever this game is?” he drawled, leaning back in his seat and draping his arm over the back of your chair.

“No. I was always terrible. My brother always beat me. So I look forward to winning my first fight tonight against you.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Are we ready?” you diverted, standing from your half-finished plate under Joel’s scrutinizing gaze. 

Ellie’s suite as you’d come to call it welcomed the three of you, Joel looking massive in the small space that contained everything a home would. A small bathroom was nestled beside a functioning kitchen thanks to the hot plate you’d found, her bed nestled on one side, a desk, wood stove, and small living room on the other. She’d set up the Super Nintendo unit on the TV across from her bed, the welcome screen of the combat game “The Turning” already sending the tacky techno music of its home screen ricocheting off the walls. 

“I hate it already,” Joel mumbled as he took a seat on the edge of the mattress, you and Ellie sandwiching him in as she threw a control into his lap, “What button does what?”

“Hell if I know,” Ellie retorted, mashing the B button, then A, then Start and finally finding success. 

“Well you know,” Joel pointed out, turning his attention to you, “How do we play this thing?”

“I’m gonna let you figure it out,” you taunted, crossing your legs in front of you and staring at the TV, Joel’s angry grumbles under his breath the only real victory you wanted that night. 

It was all mashed buttons, excited yelps from Ellie as she landed each kick, punch, and combo with her chosen character—Angel Knives—and a follow-up frustrated groan or “Oh c’mon now!” from Joel as his eyebrows furrowed further than you’d ever seen them descend. 

“I landed that!” he bellowed at the screen as his character dropped dead yet again, “I landed that hit! This is…rigged or somethin’.”

“One more!” Ellie challenged, “Best two out of three.”

“You’ve won twice.”

“Three to be the best.”

As she queued up another round, Joel glanced over at you beside him, his eyes gentle and gracious. He asked if you were having fun, a question to which you nodded in response with a content smile settled on your lips, one that he mirrored as he stayed trapped in the bubble of your gaze. Ellie was nudging him, telling him it was time to choose, he had to pick his fighter (he’d chosen differently for each other round), but it was only after you averted your attention did he finally refocus on the task at hand. 

“I’m gonna whoop your ass, you old fogey,” Ellie growled through gritted teeth, her expression all fire and focus. 

“You say that like it’s hard,” he teased, mostly himself.

It began as all the others had, Joel’s fingers fumbling over the buttons, Ellie landing combo after combo, and that’s when your pity for the man beside you finally won out. 

“Hit the two on the left at the same time,” you instructed, your palm sliding over his knee as you leaned over to watch his hands closely. 

“Wh-what?” he stammered, cheeks flushing crimson, “Oh…”

Art from @natendo-art 🥺

The combo landed, Angel Knives taking some significant damage much to Ellie’s dismay, her calls about cheating beginning immediately as you continued to coach Joel through the moves, your hand staying pressed against his thigh. Thanks to your narration, he was able to focus his eyes on the buttons, pressing each one with each of your commands with almost foolproof accuracy.

“You need glasses,” you whispered to him as Ellie groaned in frustration at her loss, Joel smiling ear to ear at his victory, “But congrats, old man.”

You were up next to face the vicious ire of retribution against Ellie and Angel Knives, your victories coming with difficulty but you pulled them off nonetheless, Joel cheering right along with every kick and punch landed. He muttered under his breath, you were positive he assumed you couldn’t hear him, or perhaps he had no idea he was doing it, but when you won the third of three (to be the best) you got a taste of what the man was probably like watching the football games he still reminisced about.

“All right you two,” you announced through the two of them bickering again about their final match being too close to cheating for Ellie to accept, “I’m heading home. I’ll see you,” you shoved Joel’s shoulder playfully,” tomorrow night. And you,” you pointed at Ellie, “tomorrow morning for practice.”

“Yes ma’am,” they said in unison, Joel’s tone much happier than Ellie’s who found target practice annoying. She had a right to. She didn’t really need it, but you weren’t about to relinquish her to the possibility of patrol training just yet.

“I’ll walk ya home,” Joel tacked on, giving Ellie a one-armed hug goodnight before following you out the door. 

For the last 20 years, routine had felt like a pipedream. It was survival, basic and primal, not a steady pillar walking beside you every time the streets were dark to ensure you made it home safe in a town where risks didn’t exist within the walls. They were typically silent, so comfortable and soothing, the scrape of his boots against the pebbles along the road always enough to fill the space. A heavy canvas jacket was hung silently over your shoulders, your hands pulling it tighter as you bathed in the heat trapped in the fabric. There was that familiar smell again battering against your tired brain, the moon bathing the silver strands of his hair bright enough that you could see it in your peripherals. The sight of your house was almost unwelcome now, it meant the night was coming to an end, and not even the guarantee of this happening again tomorrow, as it always did, was comfort enough to soothe the ache.

“My brother died before the outbreak,” you blurted out three houses down from your own, “Cancer.”

“Oh,” he sighed, coming to a stop beside you, “Sorry I asked.”

“No. I-I don’t know why I didn’t just…”

“S’fine.”

Always so forgiving and willing to forget, unless you were Paulie to which Joel still held a brutal vendetta against. He didn’t let the man within two people of you at any time, his eyes were always watchful when you shared a space. Paulie had already tried to get him to ease up, he’d apologized profusely, but it fell on deaf ears. Clearly for Joel, what had transpired was unjustifiable, and it was a fate Paulie had finally accepted.

“Hey, look,” he cooed tipping his head and turning you at the shoulders to face your right.

The lights of the Aurora Borealis shone brightly in the sky. Greens and purples erupted over the mountain tops, your breath hitching as you took in the sight for the first time. His hands remained perched on your upper arms, and in your shock and awe, you found yourself leaning back against him. The rise and fall of his chest was rhythmic and entrancing once again, but this time there was no fear as there had been earlier this afternoon as you stared down the gaping hole that had almost claimed you. Here it felt like home. 

“Ever see that before?” he asked softly in your ear, and you shook your head, too stunned and comfortable for words, “Me neither. C’mere, let’s get a better view.”

Your eyes were locked on the sight as he led you through town, you had not the faintest idea where you headed, only knowing that you trusted the man leading you implicitly. Before you knew it, you were faced with a ladder, the watchtower of the East gate reaching high into the sky above you. Jesse was up there, one of the newer patrolmen, and Joel told him to go take a breather and leave his gun as you both climbed up onto the small landing. 

"Everything you hoped for?" he asked barely above a whisper, his voice cracking, the quietness of his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

It was a better view up here. The colors rippled across the sky as the cool air bit against your cheeks. Joel had nestled up behind you once again, his body far enough away to leave you space but close enough that a simple adjustment would have you pressed against him once again. You opted for the latter, two thick forearms caging you in as he braced himself against the railing. It was here you stayed until Jesse’s arrival back cued it was time to leave. You’d thought you’d known peace here in Jackson; your turmoil had settled to a manageable level, the friendships built far more than anything you’d had in the past, and the security swaddling you like a blanket had created a world you never thought possible. But it wasn’t until now as the warmth behind you pulled away that you realized it wasn’t any of those things that helped silence the long-raging storm. 

It was him.

Chapter 9

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #more than my father’s son

[smalls-words]

Healing Hands pt. 2

Summary: You and Wanda explore the lines drawn in the sand, seeing what happens when you cross each other’s.

Warnings: blood, fighting, kidnapping, marking, taunting, Wanda and you being annoying little shits to one another. 

A/N: This is a complete experiment btw. I have no idea where I’m going with this.

pt. i, pt. ii, pt. iii, pt. iv, pt. v, pt. vi

*not my gif*

When you woke, you were surprised to find you weren’t tied down in chains in a dark dungeon. Sunlight shone through the window to your right whilst a bright blue sky held it up high, the air crisp and clear as it blew gently through the room. The dark green sheets of the bed were clean as they lay over you, a bedside lamp and a stack of the Harry Potter series sitting on your nightstand. 

You slowly stood, noticing you were now dressed in a long-sleeve shirt and silk shorts. A few steps out into the small cabin, one that you weren’t quite sure wasn’t fabricated, had you taking a deep breath. You continued to venture through the house before spotting a set of stairs that led out onto the shore of a lake. 

But when you reached the bottom of the stairs, you couldn’t walk further.

“What the hell?” You muttered, banging your fist against an invisible wall that soon turned a tinge of red.

“Uh-uh-uh, my healer.” 

You turned around to see Wanda leaning against the door frame that led back through the living room. “You didn’t think it was that easy, did you?”

You shrugged. You weren’t trying to escape - just explore.

“Well, it’s not. And that mark proves it.”

“What mark?” You looked down at yourself - the shirt was plain, so were the shorts, so unless she…

“Oh yes. On your lovely hip.” She smirked as she heard your mind wander.

You pulled up your shirt to see her crown marked onto your skin. You tried to brush your thumb on it and remove it, but the slightest touch had your magic confirm it - it was a marking; the same meaning of a brand but with the beauty of a tattoo.

“You marked me?” You scoffed.

“Well, yes. I can’t have you leave, now can I? Everybody leaves, I’m tired of it.” She grumbled, sipping on her tea.

You sighed, looking out on the beautiful scenery in front of you. Just by the lake was a stunning willow tree in full bloom, its leaves swaying in the wind with such grace as they stemmed from branches like waterfalls from a river. A forest drifted off to the left, mountains to the right and behind you, trapping you with the witch since she took your Slingy too.

You liked your Slingy. It was a nice Slingy.

“I made breakfast.” Wanda stated and you walked back inside to see a plate of pancakes waiting for you. 

“Um… Thank you?” You replied, unsure of what to say.

“You’re welcome.”

A few spreads to choose from drifted down from the cupboard whilst a blunt knife came to your hand. You took one look at Wanda before she shook her head. “I’ve eaten.”

You nodded your thanks once more before eating, tasting each mouthful carefully.

“I wouldn’t poison my healer.” She rolled her eyes, yours catching the tinge of black on her fingertips.

“It doesn’t matter if you did. I’m immune to toxins.” You replied, continuing your meal.

“So what if I did poison your meal?” She leaned down on the marble countertop, a wicked grin on her lips as if she would dare to do so next time.

“It would taste mediocre, but not as flavoursome as it could be. For example, if you make something very hot and poison it with cyanide, which is a very common poison, it would taste mild to me.” You explained before taking another bite.

“Hmm… I might have some fun with your taste buds then. We could make a game, call it Poison or Perjury.” 

You shook your head at her dark humour, knowing how it always got you quite well. She smiled gently before her eyes flashed red, making the moment cease as she briskly walked down into the basement. 

When you tried to follow her, you were met with the same blockade, but your mind sought to follow - at a high cost. You let your magic flow around your arm before you pushed through the barrier, only to be met with an excruciating burning sensation. 

You pulled your arm back and saw nothing different, your skin unmarred. Your brain turned to confusion. How was the sensation there but not the mark to show for it?

You lifted your shirt to see Wanda’s mark slowly dull back to black, but you quickly spotted the reddened hue before it faded. You huffed, annoyed that she had blocked you out and potentially hid something from you.

“Healers need to know everything their patients go through, you know!” You yelled down the stairs.

*If you’re trying to say something, I cannot hear you that way.* Wanda’s mind spoke into yours, making you stumble back.

*How do you know I’m trying to say something?* You shot back.

*Because I can feel you. Instant mental connection, tracking, containment. The mark does it all.*

You pulled your shirt up and flipped off the mark before throwing the material back down, going back to your pancakes and not lifting your eyes when the witch came back up the stairs.

“I’m sorry about your arm. Are you alright-”

“I’m fine.” You snapped, daring her blackened fingers to comfort your shoulder.

Her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes glowed once more, her hand falling back to her side. “Do not snap at me, healer. Not when I’m being nice.”

You stood, glowing your own eyes. “Do not tell me what to do, Scarlet Witch. I sacrificed my future, my life’s work, to help you. I didn’t have to.”

“Your friends would have died had you not interfered.” She stepped towards you, your chests almost touching.

“At your hand. How many more lives need to be lost before you get it through your thick skull? Your children are not real-”

Red magic surrounded you before you were thrown across the room, the wooden legs of the table snapping beneath you. You felt your body constrict as Wanda controlled it, bringing you towards her with a flick of her wrist.

Dark, poisonous anger swirled within her stare, her grip on your tightening with every word. “My boys are real! I see them every night! In other universes!” 

Your magic let your words expel from your lungs, surprising the dark soul within the witch. “They were made of magic. The very magic you’re using to try and take my power, America’s power. You will not have either, because I will not let you. Do you hear me, Scarlet Witch?” 

She threw you down onto the floorboards, a deep cut in your head that seeped out blue blood.

“Blue? Seriously? You tried to fit your aesthetic?” She sneered.

You spat out a gob of it before you stood, limping on your sprained ankle. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

You looked down at your shirt, splatters of blood on it, which made you sigh. “Is there another shirt I can wear?”

“What if you went around the house naked?” Wanda smirked.

“Then I’d personally rather go down to the basement.” You gave her a false smile.

She rolled her eyes. “Your cupboard is full of them, healer.”

“I have a name, Scarlet Witch.”

“So do I.”

“Then bloody well use it!” You slammed the door of your bedroom, taking a few deep breaths before you went to change and get on with your day.

You had a feeling that a routine would be needed.

——————————🜃🜂🜁🜄 —————————

You were happy in your little room. Sure, there wasn’t much to eat, drink or do, but you had the Harry Potter books. You were almost at the end of the Philosopher’s Stone before the door swung open, yet your eyes didn’t waver from the line on your page.

“What do you want for dinner?” Wanda asked with folded arms as she stood in the doorframe, cloak slightly drooping to the side.

When you didn’t reply, red wisps lifted the book out of your reach, which amused her since you were simply looking at it. Now that she had a look at you, you were wearing a new black long-sleeve with thin pyjama pants over your legs.

“What are you wearing?” She questioned.

“Clothes.” You bluntly answered, still looking up at your book.

“Why pyjamas?”

“I’m not leaving this place for a while, so why should I make an effort to look good?” 

Wanda shrugged. “Maybe you’ll get a get out of jail free card.”

You scoffed loudly. “Pah! Sure. When your jailor has the spirit of the Scarlet Witch, you tend to not try to do anything drastic against her wishes.” 

Her eyebrows furrowed. “You also didn’t answer my question.”

You waved her off as you looked outside, the setting sun creating beautiful hues against the snowy peaks of the mountains. “Whatever you want, I’m not fussy. Besides, it’s all just energy.” 

She had a thought to grip your chin and twist it to face her. So she did.

You grimaced underneath her grip, not trying to hide it in your mind since you knew you had no privacy there either. “What?” You spat.

“I have half a thought to not feed you.” She stated smugly.

“Then do it.” You dared her.

Her eyebrows relaxed before she let go of her magical hold. “Fine. No dinner for the healer.”

“Fine. Then the Scarlet Witch doesn’t get her heart healed faster.” You shrugged, grabbing The Chamber of Secrets from your nightstand.

Anger boiled her blood, paired with a fleeting thought of stomping her foot. She took a deep breath, which you watched, before her hands clasped together. “Y/N… would you like chicken curry for dinner?”

You smirked at her attempt at politeness, putting the book back down as you walked towards the door. “I would… Ms Maximoff.”

Her face fell flat. “My name is Wanda.”

“And I call my patients by their last name.” You patted her shoulder before going towards the kitchen. 

She followed after you, her cloak catching the generated wind. You sat back as you watched pots and pans fly around the space, sauces and spices mixing in as she cooked magically. You could see a calm focus on her face, a note pad fluttering out within your grip.

“Why are you taking notes?” Wanda asked, watching your pen flutter across the page.

“Because I like to watch my patients in their comfortable spaces. See how they react to certain stimuli…” You threw a flick of magic at the pan in front of you, knocking it slightly but Wanda readjusted to catch its contents.

“Not funny, healer.” She glared.

You chuckled before writing down more. “I think it’s funny.”

She sighed annoyedly as she continued to cook, eyeing your notes with confusion. “What language are you writing in?” 

You chuckled again. “That question never fails to come up with every patient. I write in Healeon, a language all Healers can understand, read and write. Anybody else, even the most powerful being…” You gestured to her. “Cannot read it.” 

She raised an eyebrow at you. “Healeon? Did you just make that up on the spot?”

“No. Look for it in your little spell-book of shadows.” You mumbled.

“It’s called the Darkhold.” She corrected you.

You shrugged. “I know. Just seeing how you would respond.”

Wanda stiffened, now realising you were watching everything she did. “Why do you speak differently?”

“What do you mean?” You replied, putting your pen down and interlocking your fingers on top.

“At Kamar-Taj, you were very formal. Now, you’re… relaxed. Why?”

“Because the Master Healer needs to uphold standards. Here, I’m just regular ol’ Y/N, captured by a woman who wants to bend spacetime to her will.” You gave her a quick smile.

“Which you could, but that would eventually break this reality, and then what’s the point of doing all of that only to have an unsafe world to keep your fictional children in?” 

Wanda’s lips thinned at the word ‘fictional’, glaring at you with enough force to kill you multiple times over. 

“If you want to kill me, you’re going to need a bigger sword than eye daggers.” You remarked.

“Don’t talk about my boys.” She growled.

You whipped out your pad and wrote down quickly in Healeon, tucking it into its pocket dimension before you took the bowl she served you. You stayed at the counter, not really feeling like sitting on the couch, and Wanda surprised you when she stayed too.

“Don’t you have some witchy business to take care of? I doubt that cloak and suit are that comfortable.” 

She glanced at you before focusing on her bowl. “I do. Downstairs.”

“Ah, of course. Goodnight then.” You stood, but magic snaked around your legs and held you in place.

“I did not say you could sleep.”

She brought you back by lifting you in the air, watching with an amused smirk at your un-amused expression. “Put me down.” You huffed.

She did so, putting you back in your chair, and you yawned. “What time is it?”

“10pm.” She replied.

You quickly ate the rest of your dinner before making your way back to your room. “I did not say you could sleep!” Wanda barked.

“Unless you want ‘your’ healer to poison your heart and turn your mind further down the road of madness, I suggest you let her get a good night’s sleep.” You grumbled, closing your door.

Wanda exasperated before making her way downstairs, seeing her spirit levitating above the ground. She did the same, shifting herself into the shadow of the figure before it consumed her, her mind crossing the dreaming plane to find her boys once more.

——————————🜃🜂🜁🜄 —————————

A week later, a new day brought more of the same challenges. Wanda had work to do, work that was done downstairs, whilst you had to entertain yourself somehow. It was hard to do so when you could feel her magic in every crevice of the cabin.

It felt like oil on water, smothering your senses. Normally, you would be able to feel the energy around you, like from the sun or the earth. But with her veil, her shrouding power that existed upon the house, you could do nothing of the sort.

So you sat upon the porch, reading your Chamber of Secrets now that you had properly finished the first book. You just got to the part of bloodied writing on the wall before you felt a sensation on your hip, your shirt lifting to see the mark pulsing her scarlet hue.

You put the shirt back down, not caring about it, until it started to burn. You lifted your shirt once more, tempted to rip the cloth until you actually did. You glared at the painful mark before storming back inside, seeing Wanda standing at the top of the stairs.

The sensation stopped as soon as she saw you.

“What?” You grumbled.

“I just wanted to know where you were.” She shrugged, moving to the kitchen.

“It’s not like I can leave. You also have legs.” You shot back, attempting to go back outside until Wanda’s magic snaked around your legs again.

She brought you close to her and by your unamused look, she realised you expected this. She put you down on the chair across the counter and started cooking lunch, but you shook your head at her offer to make you something.

“Why not?” Her eyebrows furrowed.

“I don’t eat much. Food is not what I need to function, and frankly, survive.” You answered.

Now that Wanda had a good look at you, she could see how low your energy was. Your eyes were half-open, a dullness in the parts of your irises she could see, whilst your fingertips weren’t rich with a redness of warmth and blood.

“What, uh… What do you need?” Wanda asked, now confused.

Why were you so different from the other sorcerers? Surely healer weren’t that different - juts a different branch of magic, right?

“Natural, pure forms of energy. Thermal and Electromagnetic are my most useful forms. They help me recharge quickly.” 

Her puzzled expression was obvious to you as you sighed, explaining simply. “Heat and light.”

“But you were just in the sun.” She pointed at the open door to the porch.

You nodded. “I was, but I didn’t feel any of it. No heat radiating down on me, no UV waves revitalising my senses.”

Wanda looked down at her stirring pot before her eyes flickered red, making you sigh again. You stood up and made your way back outside, only to feel Wanda following you.

“So if you need to heal me, you need some sunlight or heat? To, uh, recharge your battery?” 

You nodded quietly, closing your eyes as you rested on the porch chair. You felt drained - maybe you underestimated how corrupt Wanda had become. Maybe all this time, the mark was a syphon, slowly taking your energy every time it pulsed or burned. 

You felt weak. It was something you had long since experienced, but it shook you to your core. It showed you what Wanda was fully capable of, even without trying.

But then your toes started to tingle.

You opened your eyes to see Wanda at the base of the stairs, facing the house, whilst her scarlet-encased hands fiddled with the boundary of your prison. She kept looking between you and the barrier, a determined frown of her brows showing you only two creases. The feeling of your energy returning, the tingles, started to rise up through your body, making you sigh softly in relief.

Your eyes were closed, but they stayed closed when Wanda’s fingertips caressed your cheek, her mind not paying attention to your racing thoughts as she thought you had fallen asleep. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Y/N. It was not my intention.”

As soon as she stepped inside, your eyes shot open but you stayed still, processing the interaction. A gentle smile appeared on your face as you realised what had happened.

The Scarlet Witch was not in control in that moment. Wanda Maximoff was.

——————————🜃🜂🜁🜄 —————————

When dinner came around the night after, you watched as Wanda moved to an empty corner of the room. The tips of her fingers were still black, scarlet magic swirling around them as she altered the reality of the corner to make a fireplace.

She looked up at you and you timed your hiding smirk well with a sip of your tea made by the witch. When you brought it back down, your eyes darted up to see her in front of you. Her hand fell to your empty mug and lightly took it from your grasp, confusing you.

“I want you to start healing me.” She muttered as she stacked the mug in her dishwasher.

“Wanda, I told you, it takes a long time to heal your heart-”

Her head jolted up, eyes glowing. “I want you to heal me. Now.” She growled.

Your mind was so confused. One second she was calm, compassionate, and then the next she was cold, demanding. 

“Go sit on the couch.” You ordered, watching her sit in her cloak and crown as your mind began to shift into focus.

“Change into pyjamas.” 

She scoffed at you before a veil of magic fell over her, her suit being replaced by a similar set of pyjamas from your first day - a short-sleeve shirt, one that had a small hourglass emblem on the breast pocket, whilst silk green shorts stuck out from the bottom.

You sat down in front of her, her eyes widening at the sight of your healer robes appearing on your body. “Do you really need to wear that?” She scoffed, slightly amused but also impatient.

“No. Do you want me to?” You asked, taking her left hand in yours.

“No, I don’t.” 

She watched again as the pyjamas you wore only moments ago reappeared. Her entire body was tense as your gentle touch smoothed over the skin of her palm, then the back of her hand, then along each finger until you lightly touched the blackened tips.

“What was the first damage to your heart?” You asked formally.

She looked up at your eyes to see how your basic blue colour had turned sharper, more crystalline in pattern along your irises and cerulean in shade. She chuckled darkly, hiding her nerves. “Don’t you remember, healer? Parental. I lost my parents when a shell fell on our house.” 

“For that, I am sorry.” You stated, her mouth opening to speak again but you beat her to it.

“I did not cause it, but I am sorry you have to deal with that sort of pain. How old were you?”

She watched as blue patterns began to show on her hand, swirls dancing up and down her forearm before she answered. “Ten years old.”

She watched you falter for a moment, the swirls flickering, before they and you returned to normal. “A child should not experience such things. I am sorry.”

She observed your touch as it then came to flipping her hand over, revealing the lines in her palm. “Would you like to talk about it?” You offered, gently brushing your fingers over what palm-readers would call her heart line, stretching from between her pointer and middle fingers to the edge of her palm. 

She raised an eyebrow at you. “What are you, my therapist?”

You chuckled softly, the sound reverberating through her body and sending chills to spike at her skull. That sound was so alluring, so enchanting. She wanted to hear it more.

“I am just a healer, my dear.”

“You’re not ‘just a healer’. You’re a Master Healer.” She corrected you and you smirked.

“You’re quite right.”

“Of course I am.” 

You held back your next chuckle with pursed lips, the room falling into silence. Wanda watched as your small smile turned sympathetic, and she looked down at her arm when she saw the swirls of blue dissipate.

But they didn’t leave.

“What the hell?!” She screeched, wrenching her hand away from you.

You tried to grab it back. “Wanda, please, just wait-”

“What did you do to me?!” She howled at you, your body contorting as she lifted you.

“What did you do?!”

She gripped your throat, her other magic fading, and you were suddenly hanging from just her clutch. “It’s the first step… of healing! A connection to the wounded heart… it has to be formed before... before healing can begin!” You countered weakly, choking on your words.

She dropped you on the ground - not even on the couch a whole body width away from you - and stormed off. You sighed, rubbing your sore throat as you coughed a little bit.

Raging sounds came from the basement, of which you could only imagine was the Scarlet Witch throwing and smashing things, trying to remove your healer mark. You felt tired beyond imagination, the combined pressure of healing under an environment of chaos magic urging you to get some sleep.

You groggily stood, stumbling like a drunkard to your room before you locked the door behind you and collapsed onto the bed.

——————————🜃🜂🜁🜄 —————————

Covered in oil and blood, Wanda landed silently in the gap junction, eyeing America, Christine and Stephen as he tried to open the Book of Vishanti. Her left hand called America to her by her hair, her legs swinging wildly above the ground whilst she threw a bout of magic at Stephen, destroying the book in the process.

“No!” Christine yelled in fear, looking at the possessed woman of her universe. 

She tried to grab America from Wanda’s hands but Stephen held her back, eyeing the left hand of the witch. A smirk fell onto his lips before a laugh came out, realisation hitting him quickly.

“You haven’t killed Y/N! Wong is going to be so happy!” 

“How do you know?” Wanda snarled at him.

He grinned at her, pointing to his own hand. “That’s a healer’s mark. More importantly, it’s her mark. She healed my hands far better than any surgeon, including myself, could have done. I remember those marks like… well, like the back of my hand.” 

Wanda captured Christine and Stephen in her grip before forcing America to use her power, sending them to an unknown universe. Wanda then pushed her magic to influence America’s mind, the bright blue star portal focusing on her desired destination.

Her basement.

She threw her into the portal, waiting until it closed behind her before stopping her dreamwalk. She opened her eyes, back in her own realm, and looked down at America. 

“We are going to have some fun, you and I.” She chuckled wickedly, locking the girl into chains on a stone pedestal like she was a real-life Vitruvian Man. 

Pain flooded America’s system as Wanda began to take her power.

.

.

.

Taglist for this cute experiment:

@ripofflizzie​ , @steinfellds​ , @padmeswife​ , @romanoffswifey​ , @thursdayygrrrl​ , @wifeofnatasharomanoff

Sorry if some of the tags don’t work! I don’t normally do taglists so I don’t know how to fix them 😅

#smalls-words #WandaMaximoff #wandamaximoffimagine #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff x f!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x y/n #healer!reader #healer!fem!reader

[laylakeating]

CREATIONS FROM EVERY MONTH OF 2023! (except october but we're not going to talk abt that !!)

Post your favourite and most popular post from each month this year (it’s okay to skip months).

i was tagged by two of the Most talented girlies in the world !! @saw-x and @taiturner ILYYYYY ty for sharing what your brilliant minds came up with this year !!!

JANUARY

MOST POPULAR: britt + karma !! i had so much fun with this set and it was honestly such a good way to start off the year !! FAVOURITE: probably that same set !! also the glee icons pack i made :D

FEBRUARY

MOST POPULAR: from my blog, britt + mike in 207 shsjhs. from teen dramas, brooke in 207 (one of my fave looks of hers) (this was clearly a month for the seventh episodes in second seasons ??) FAVOURITE: barchie + high infidelity for barchiesource !! something a bit different for me creatively but ugh i love it. also glee 514 for gleesource !! again something a lil different !!

MARCH

MOST POPULAR: riverdale returning to television and proving it takes the cake as the funniest show in the world (another rvd is iconic and beyond reproach set for 701) FAVOURITE: a banger month for creative sets !! basically everything i made for barchie week, this unholy trinity MASTERPIECE i made for gleesource, and this djats set + destiny, choice, chance

APRIL

MOST POPULAR: my favourite scene from djats for djats week in green bc apparently i like to make things hard for myself ?? who knew FAVOURITE: again. SO MANY. another month another appreciation week shsjhs. anyway all the sets i made for djats week, more sets for gleesource including santana + valerie and mercedes and santana + river deep mountain high, my santana lesbian visibility set, hsmtmts + tarot cards which took me wayyyy too long to finish, rvd ladies + barbie posters (50s edition), and barchie in 701 for barchiesource in RED (very proud of how it turned out considering i hate giffing in red)

MAY

MOST POPULAR: quinn + tropes for glee appreciation week !! FAVOURITE: everything i made for glee week (there were quite a few bangers), my 2 9-1-1 sets shjshsj - maddie + you first (a banger) and madney + paper rings (another banger), also the first (and only rip) set in my layla episodes series (layla + 101), and this jordayla + proposal foreshadowing i did over on jordayla gifs !!

JUNE

MOST POPULAR: this halle bailey set <33 FAVOURITE: once again. everything i made for all american appreciation week !!! special shout outs to layla + the eras tour and the layla set i made for day 1 !!

JULY

MOST POPULAR: nancy + the wizard of oz horror (that makes sense i swear) FAVOURITE: the aforementioned nancy set, also stancy + persuasion, the little mermaid live action and the quote that made me insane for a few weeks, layla + the lip pout she does (she's adorable), AND last but certainly not least, this pride and prejudice edit which was just nothing like i have ever done before that i LOVEDDDD

AUGUST

MOST POPULAR: ashlyn + giving maddox mouth to mouth (her delivery of AS A FRIEND still sends me into orbit) FAVOURITE: HSMTMTS MONTH BABEYYYYY !! fave sets include (but are not limited to there are too many) gina for hsmtmts week, fave songs (also for hsmtmts week), rina + maybe this time + motion blur (THIS TOOK ME WAY TOO LONG BTW), this antoine set bc he is an icon, madlyn + daylight (still a serve), rina + invisible string (to this day the most insane thing i have ever made), hsmtmts + a meme summary (just your regularly unhinged content honestly), and this jet/maddox set <33

SEPTEMBER

MOST POPULAR: this cinderella 1950 set in pink/blue <3 FAVOURITE: okay so we have ej playing cupid/being a love prophet HSJHSJ, TWO icon packs, one for olivia rodrigo and one for lexie grey, and also the britt + her love for my headband set bc it was the only other thing i made in september and i was worried it'd get lonely

OCTOBER

MOST POPULAR: apparently you have to post something for it to be popular FAVOURITE: i made many sets in my mind dw

NOVEMBER

MOST POPULAR: blair looking excellent (as always) for teendramas !! FAVOURITE: finn + bigger than the whole sky (part of my glee midnights series) (a true labour of love) (still obsessed with it btw)

DECEMBER

MOST POPULAR: percy !!!! for pjosource FAVOURITE: everything i made for 12 days of rina (there are only 5 days rip), and OF COURSE, to round the year off with a bang, the extraordinarily belated 2k celebration set for justine, AKA dair + midnights !!!!!!!!!

tagging some beloveds <3 @alinaastarkov, @jordanlayla, @katherines, @kayascodelorio, @perccyjackson, @yenvengerberg !!

#this fully took me like. an hour to do HSJSHS #ultimately i am my own biggest fan help #anyway TY AGAIN nat and cj this was FUN #MWAHHHHH EVERYBODY HAPPY NEW YEAR

[spacefinch]

MSB rambles: locations

As anyone who’s watched the Magic School Bus series knows, the show is mostly set in Walkerville, a made-up town. However, they never specify where it is, except for “in the USA.” They don’t specify what state, or even what region of the country it’s in. But here are my observations.

In “Gets Eaten,” Ms. Frizzle drives the class to the beach, while the bus is in normal bus mode. The beach looks like a California beach to me (based on my experience going to beaches there), and a sea otter makes a brief appearance. In the US, sea otters are only found along the west coast.

In a few episodes (Getting Energized, Rocks and Rolls, etc…), it’s shown that there are mountains/foothills just outside Walkerville, and that there’s snow on top for at least part of the year.

We know it snows during the winter in town as well. (Source: MSB Holiday Special)

There is a swamp with alligators and blue jays within driving distance of town, as shown in “Butterfly and the Bog Beast.” The whole vibe of the swamp feels very southern to me. (Note: “driving distance” might not necessarily mean said swamp is near town. Could just be that anywhere is driving distance on the Magic School Bus.)

In “Gets Swamped” we see that there is a more marshy swamp in town. The main vegetation is reeds and small shrubs, and the animal life consists of species such as snapping turtles, muskrats, wood ducks, harriers (marsh hawks), bullfrogs, red-winged blackbirds, and dragonflies. This suggests a more northern location for Walkerville.

In “Goes to Mussel Beach,” the mussels are described as “Mytilus californianus” aka the California Mussel, a species only found along the west coast. Again, we have no idea how far away the beach is from town, but it’s a different beach than the one in “Gets Eaten.”

In “Kicks Up a Storm” the outside temperature gets to a high of 99 degrees Fahrenheit— which, judging by the kids’ reactions, is too hot for them. As a Californian, I can sympathize with this.

In “All Dried Up,” the bus (in plane mode) must fly over a mountain range to get to what looks like the Sonoran Desert. Which mountain range they fly over is not specified.

In the book “The Truth About Bats,” it is stated that in order to see bats in Yosemite National Park, the class must fly to California— thus implying that Walkerville is not located in my home state.

In “Goes to Seed,” there is a Ruby-throated hummingbird (at least that’s what I think it is) in the garden at Phoebe’s old school. The Ruby-throated hummingbird lives mainly in the eastern half of the US.

In “In a Beehive,” Tim mentions a “big frost” approaching. Again, this suggests Walkerville is somewhere Up North. (We don’t get a “big frost” where I live— just a few smaller frosts.)

In “In the City,” we see that some of Walkerville’s urban wildlife includes peregrine falcons, red foxes, opossums, raccoons, and nighthawks. It is also implied that bears live in the woods outside of town.

In the book “The Wild Whale Watch,” the New England coast is a short drive from school, which directly contradicts my observations about coastal locations in the show.

The woodpecker in “Meets the Rot Squad” is a red-bellied woodpecker, a species found in the eastern US.

In the book “Rocky Road Trip,” Carlos says that he collected some of the rocks in his collection near “the Saddle River.” I looked it up, and in the real world, Saddle River runs through New York and New Jersey. (But for all we know, the Saddle River in the book could be made up just like Walkerville.)

In “Ups and Downs,” we see that Walkerville is located near a good-sized lake— large and deep enough for a submarine to dive in, and with plenty of underwater vegetation.

In terms of continuity, there is no continuity when it comes to where the heck Walkerville is. This sometimes frustrates my overanalytical brain. So, I leave it to you, fellow Magic School Bus fans, to answer the question:

Map for reference!

#magic school bus #polls #Walkerville #where is it????

[thattrable]

a Night of Wings and Roses

Summary: Feyre asks Azriel to escort Elain out for a night in Velaris.

Notes: Mature / Spoilers for the entire ACOTAR series.

Sneak peak:

“Because I. . .” Azriel looked down at the forest they flew over for a moment before looking back at her gorgeous face. “Because it’s hard to be around you. Every second that I’m in your presence, I feel like I’m fighting for my life. I’m trying to keep my composure when all I really want to do is taste you, protect you, tell you how strongly I feel for you.”

_____

The sky was painted deep shades of pink and purple, the last of the golden light disappearing behind snow-capped mountains as the sun set on Velaris.

Azriel flew above the city, watching the people bustle through the streets. They were all either completely unaware that one of the strongest Illyrian warriors in history, their High Lord’s spymaster, flew above them, or they simply did not care. Az shifted his wings and banked right to follow the sparkling sapphire waters of the Sidra River. Though it was spring, the night air was still crisp and the wind stung his face and bare hands. It was a relief to land on the balcony of the River House and walk into the warm sitting room.

No one was present to greet him, though he needed no invitation to further enter the house. Az flexed his wings, taking in the warmth from the fire place, and sent his shadows out to locate Feyre. They returned quickly and whispered in his ear that she was in the nursery. They also whispered of another presence in the house. Not that he’d needed them to tell him she was here; He’d scented her the moment he entered the threshold.

He would have to make this visit quick.

Azriel strode through the halls of the spacious house and couldn’t help but wonder how Feyre had made such a large, elegant manor feel so cozy.

As he approached the nursery he allowed his normally silent footsteps to fall a little heavier, signaling his arrival. He came to a stop in the doorway and Feyre looked up at him, her blue-gray eyes shining. Azriel nodded his head in greeting, but his eyes fell to Nyx, sleeping soundly in her arms. Tiny-He was still so tiny, so delicate. But fierce. Az had seen the spirit in the babe’s eyes and knew he would be just as wild and unruly as he and his brothers had been as kids.

The thought had Azriel itching to take him to the skys. He and Cassian had already spent hours debating over which techniques they would teach him when he was old enough- Nevermind that Rhys would want to teach his own son to fly.

“Az?” Feyre said softly, drawing his attention back to her. He wondered how long he’d been silent.

Azriel crossed the room silently and held out the small stack of books he’d been carrying. “I hope these are the right ones.”

Feyre shifted Nyx to one arm and took the books with her free hand. “These are perfect,” she said, examining the colorful covers of the children’s books. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” He replied, his eyes again watching the still-sleeping babe. Feyre had asked him to bring some books from the library at the House of Wind so she could read to Nyx.

“Could you do another favor for me?” Feyre asked, placing the books on a nearby table.

“Anything.”

“I had plans to go out with Elain tonight, but Nyx has been fussy and I finally got him to sleep.” She looked down at her son, then back up at Az. “Would you mind?”

Azriel’s heart began drumming in his chest. “I didn’t realize Nyx was giving you trouble.” He eyed her suspiciously. Nyx was one of the least fussy infants he’d ever seen, not that he’d been around many.

Feyre looked away, but not before Az caught the ghost of a smile on her lips. “He’s usually so good, I think he’s just had an off day. I should stay home with him tonight. That’s why I asked you to bring the books. Rhys will be home soon and I’d like to spend the evening with them. ” She turned to him again, and this time her smile was lupine. “I just figured since you're here . . . You could escort Elain.”

Lupine indeed, his High Lady. Intelligent enough to trap him into this. She knew. He was sure of it. Feyre was extremely observant, especially when it came to the romantic lives of the Inner Circle. He was sure she’d noticed the sudden increase in work that kept him away and the way he skipped many family dinners. If he was being honest with himself, he was just surprised it had taken her this long to step in and meddle in his love life. On many occasions, his shadows had warned him of Feyre’s watchful eyes as he stared longingly at Elain from across the room.

Azriel started to open his mouth to object but she cut him off. “She misses you, Az.”

He averted his eyes, and in a low voice said, “No, she doesn’t.”

“Please,” She scoffed. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you. I’ve also seen the way you look at her.”

Azriel stiffened defensively, as if his body was subconsciously preparing for battle.

Feyre released a long-suffering sigh. “I know you think I’m being a busybody, but I just want you both to be happy.

His hazel eyes widened. Feyre laughed. "Relax, Az, I'm just asking you to take her out on the town, not take her to bed."

"Yes, but Rhys-" He protested, heat blooming high on his cheeks.

"Rhys will enjoy some extra time with me and our son,” she nodded towards the sleeping babe in her arms, “and if he wants to be angry with anyone about this, he will be angry with me. I'm giving you an order, as your High Lady; take Elain out and show her a good time.”

And that was that. Azriel simply nodded. Feyre almost never pulled rank with any of them, even less than Rhys.

"And as your friend," Feyre continued, stepping closer and gently placing a hand on his upper arm, "I'm asking you to stop worrying so much. You should enjoy yourself too." She smiled, and Az had to admit defeat.

"I will show Elain a good time, as well as keep her safe." He dipped his head, kissing Feyre’s temple, then leaned lower and kissed Nyx's head. The babe stirred in her arms, but did not wake.

“Thank you, Azriel.”

“I’ll be in the sitting room.” He muttered, stalking out of the nursery.

—--

“I thought I’d find you here.” Feyre said by way of greeting as she entered the kitchen. Nyx was blinking lazily in her arms, as if he’d just woken up.

Elain, seated at the kitchen table, closed the book she’d been reading. “Feyre. I was just looking for a new recipe.”

“What do you want to make?”

“I was thinking it would be fun to bake a pie.”

“I’m sure Nuala and Cerridwen will be happy to help.” Feyre offered.

“Oh, yes,” Elain nodded. “They said they’ll help me learn anything I choose.”

“I can’t wait to taste it.”

Elain glanced at the clock on the wall, and then took in her sister’s clothes; Comfortable clothes more suited for lounging at home, not a night out in the city.

Feyre noticed her stare and her face became apologetic, “I’m sorry, Elain. Nyx has been fussy today so I’d like to stay in with him tonight.”

“Oh, no,” she stood up. “Is he falling ill?” She asked, looking at the babe more closely. Now that he was fully awake, his blue eyes were clear and he was playfully cooing to himself.

“No, I’m sure he’s fine.” Feyre said, adjusting him in her arms. “If you’d still like to go out, I’m sure Azriel wouldn’t mind going with you.”

Elain’s cheeks flushed at the mention of the Shadowsinger. “Would he really?” She asked.

“Yes,” Feyre nodded. “When I told him I was going to have to cancel on you tonight he offered to take you out instead.”

Elain’s breath caught.

“He’s waiting for you in the sitting room.”

“He’s here, already?” Elain gasped.

Feyre chuckled, and the sound of it earned her a giggle from Nyx as well. “Yes. Go have some fun.”

Elain looked down at her rouge colored dress. It was a simple, cotton dress with an empire waistline and long sleeves. Suddenly, Elain felt too plain. “Should I change?” She asked, her voice hoarse. “No, you look beautiful.” Feyre said.

Elain followed her to the sitting room where Azriel stood near the large glass door that led to the balcony. How long had it been since she last saw him? Too long. He turned to look at them and Elain thought she might be gawking at him, much the way she did the first time she ever saw him. Azriel was the first man-male-she’d ever thought of as beautiful. She took in the elegant planes of his face, his golden skin, his dark hair, and his eyes. Those beautiful, hazel eyes that looked back at her, but concealed any emotion or thought. Even the shadows that curled around the tips of his wings were beautiful.

He nodded. “Elain.”

“Thank you for offering to take me out tonight.” Elain smiled, stepping up to Feyre’s side. “I hope you didn’t have to cancel any other plans.”

Azriel’s attention flickered to Feyre and Nyx, then back to Elain. “Not at all. I am yours for the evening.”

Elain couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her face.

“Shall we?” Azriel asked, gesturing towards the glass door.

“Oh,” Elain started. He would be flying her then. She tried to hide her excitement. “Yes, let’s go.” She walked past Azriel and through the door he was holding open and onto the balcony. The night air was brisk and she wrapped her arms around herself to keep from shivering.

Azriel noticed. “One moment,” he said, and disappeared back into the River House.

Elain stood near the balcony railing and wondered where Azriel would take her. Had he really wanted to accompany her tonight? Before she could think too much on it, he reappeared, a cream colored cardigan in hand. “It’s chilly tonight. Feyre said you can wear this.”

“Thank you,” Elain said, reaching out to take her sister’s cardigan.

Azriel held it up by the shoulders, and Elain knew what he meant for her to do. She turned and slipped her arms into the sleeves, allowing him to adjust the neckline of the cardigan against her. Elain hoped he couldn’t hear her heart beating as she felt his hands linger by her shoulders for a moment.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Yes.” Elain breathed.

Azriel effortlessly scooped her up, holding her tight against his chest. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck and wondered if the color on his cheeks wasn’t entirely from the cold as he spread his wings and took flight.

—--

She was going to be his undoing. He should have waited by the front door so they could walk, but he’d gone to the upper floor near the balcony door. He wasn’t sure if he’d done so out of habit, or for an excuse to hold her close like this.

One thing he was sure of was that Feyre had set him up. She had tasked him with a stupid errand just to get him to the house and then came up with an excuse to stay in and ask him to go in her place. Nyx hadn’t been fussy at all. In fact, he was awake and playful when Feyre appeared with Elain in the sitting room. It was almost as if the babe himself was in on his mother’s scheming. The other thing Az was sure of, was that Elain was driving him absolutely insane. Her soft body held firmly against his, the smell of jasmine and honey filling his lungs, it was almost enough to bring him to his knees.

“Where are we going?” Elain asked, her first words to him since they’d taken to the night sky. She kept her eyes on the city below them.

“Wherever you would like to go.” He responded. This was probably something they should have discussed before leaving the balcony, before he’d impulsively swept her away into the night.

“Are you hungry?” She asked.

“I could eat.”

She was silent for a moment before turning her head to look him in the eyes. “Take me to your favorite bakery.”

All Azriel could manage was a nod of his head. It was an effort not to stare into her big, brown eyes for too long.

He landed them in the Palace of Bone and Salt, the market square best known for its food and prepared confections, and carefully set Elain on the ground.

She smoothed out her dress, tucking a strand of wind-blown hair behind an ear, and looked around.

They stood in front of a small bakery, built from warm sandstone, nestled on the corner of a block. Iron tables and chairs were placed outside, surrounded by large planters filled with various plants and flowers. A wooden sign hung from the side of the building that read Lumio Bakery.

“This is Lumio Bakery.” Azriel explained. “I come here often.”

Elain’s eyes were wide, her cheeks slightly flushed as she said, “I saw this place a while back. I’ve wanted to come here ever since.”

Azriel’s heart skipped, and he willed himself to keep his emotions hidden. Even when Elain looked up at him expectantly, even when he extended his arm and she locked hers in it, even as they entered the bakery and his shadows whispered to him about more than one set of eyes on them. Eyes that he knew fell upon Elain’s beauty.

He breathed in the slightly sweet, yeasty aroma, and Azriel felt like someone had wrapped a warm blanket around them.

“Azriel!” A familiar voice called from behind the counter.

“Hello, Sylvie,” He greeted, tucking his wings in tight and leading Elain up to the glass case. Sylvie had worked at Lumio Bakery for as long as Azriel had been coming here-and that was a long time. She was always cheerful and had his favorite order memorized.

“Who might this be?” Sylvie asked, her eyes bright as she took in Elain and their arms still looped around each other’s. “It’s not often that you bring company.”

That was an understatement. Az never brought anyone to Lumio. It was his secret reprieve from the world. He liked the quiet of the bakery, and though he loved them, he knew Cass and Mor would ruin the atmosphere of the sleepy little shop. In fact, he’d once made the mistake of taking a box of treats to a solstice party. Cassian had eaten half of the box himself and to this day still hounded Az to tell him where he got them from.

“Sylvie, this is Elain,” he said, nodding his head. “Elain, Sylvie.”

“It’s nice to meet you Elain!” Sylvie extended a hand over the counter. “Is Azriel treating you to a night out?”

“Oh,” Elain unhooked her arm from Azriel’s and took Sylvie’s hand, shaking it once. “Yes, my sister asked him to be my escort tonight.”

“Ah.” Sylvie’s eyes shot to Azriel’s. She grinned and Azriel stiffened, his shadows coiling around his feet. “Well, what can I get you two tonight? Azriel, I’m assuming you’d like your usual?” “Yes, please,” he nodded, “and anything Elain would like.”

“I’ll take a strawberry donut, please.” Elain said, gesturing to the case of sweets.

“Sure thing.” Sylvie wrapped a donut in paper and set it on the counter. “Anything to drink, sweetie?”

“Some hot tea, please.”

“Comin’ up!” Sylvie quickly gathered Azriel’s usual order and placed the treats in a paper bag with Elain’s donut. Then she poured Elain’s tea and Azriel’s coffee into white paper cups and set them on the counter next to the bag. “I’ll add it to your tab.”

“Thank you.” Azriel handed Elain the cup of tea and took his coffee and the bag.

“You two have fun tonight!” Sylvie called.

Azriel only waved a hand at her, but Elain replied, “Thank you!”

—--

The chill night air bit at Elain’s fingertips, and she was grateful for the warmth of the hot tea seeping through the paper cup. They walked slowly along the Sidra, watching the light reflect off the water’s surface.

Azriel leaned against the railing and held out the paper bag. Elain shifted her tea to one hand and pulled out her strawberry donut. “Thank you.” She said.

“Lumio is one of my favorite shops in Velaris.” He offered.

“You must visit often, if Sylvie has your order memorized.” Elain nodded towards the paper bag, curious as to what was in it.

Azriel smiled, and Elain’s heart skipped. She took a tentative bite of her strawberry donut. “It’s delicious!” She said, mouth full, then blushing at her outburst.

Azriel almost choked on the coffee he was sipping at. Elain covered her mouth with a pale hand, but Azriel only tilted his head back and laughed. “I’m glad you like it.”

“What did you get?” She asked.

Az perched his cup on the railing he was leaning against and shoved one of his scarred hands in the paper bag. “A lemon tart and pain au chocolat,” he explained, pulling out a pastry. Elain studied the flakey bread. “Is that a type of croissant?”

“It’s similar, but there’s a surprise inside.” He held the pain au chocolat out towards her. “Take half.”

“Oh, no Azriel,” Elain started.

“I insist.”

Elain held the other end of the pastry and pulled it in half. She studied her end and found a filling inside the bread. “Is it chocolate?”

Azriel nodded, the corners of his mouth curving up.

She took a bite of the pain au chocolat. The bread was light and fluffy and the chocolate filling was sweet. “Mmm,” she groaned softly. Azriel stiffened slightly at the sound of it. “I can see why you come here so much. Is this your favorite baked good?”

His eyes were trained on her mouth as she took another bite. He cleared his throat and said, “yes, actually. These are my favorite treats.”

Elain nodded, finishing her half of the pain au chocolat. She watched Az stuff his entire piece into his mouth and eat it in one bite. Was he blushing, or was the color on his cheeks from the cold? At least she’d learned what sweets he liked. She would ask Nuala and Cerridwen to teach her how to make them. Maybe she could surprise him.

Azriel took a sip of his coffee and then started on his lemon tart. “Where would you like to go next?”

Elain looked down the street towards the various shops. The pathways glowed softly under hanging string lights. “Wherever,” she said, turning back towards Azriel. “Oh. . .” At the corner of his mouth, a crumb of lemon filling had gotten stuck. Without really thinking about it, she reached up and carefully swiped a finger over it. Then she brought that finger to her lips and licked it clean. Azriel went completely rigid, his eyes wide. The color on his cheeks darkened and Elain felt her own face flush. “You had some. . . Lemon. . .”

“Thanks.” Azriel mumbled.

Elain averted her eyes and drank from her tea.

When he finished his lemon tart, Azriel offered, “There’s a flower shop down the street. We can stop by.”

“Yes, I’d like that!” She replied, linking arms with him.

They walked in content silence for a while. Azriel nodded to a fae male they passed but no one else paid them any mind aside from a polite smile or two from strangers. Elain savored his warmth at her side and was grateful that he’d borrowed a cardigan from Feyre for her.

Arms still wound together, they rounded the corner and Elain spied the flower shop. It was built with red stone bricks and had two large windows covering the storefront. White and sage colored umbrellas stood on the patio covering large buckets of fresh cut flowers.

Elain felt a smile spread across her face. “Look at all the flowers!” Azriel released her arm so she could move freely and she bent at the waist to smell some roses. “They smell heavenly.” “Good evening!” A male voice called from inside the shop. He walked over to the open door and asked, “Do you need help with anything?”

“No, we’re just looking.” Elain replied.

“Ah, I’m here if you need anything.” He wiped his hands on his sage apron. “We have more flowers and some vases inside. Feel free to come in.”

“Thank you.” Elain nodded.

The shopkeeper disappeared back into the store. Elain continued walking around the buckets.

“Do you know what all these flowers are?” Azriel asked. He was walking behind her, wings tucked in tight so they wouldn’t bump any of the displays.

“Yes, most of them at least. I have some of these growing in my garden at home.”

“I recognize these.” He pointed to a bucket filled with bouquets of small yellow flowers.

“Those are daffodils,” she explained, stepping closer to him. “They grow best in the winter.”

They continued wandering through the arrangements, making small talk about Elain’s garden and her plans for the spring and summer. When they’d seen everything the shop offered they started down the street again. Before they got very far Azriel stopped.

“I’ll be right back.” He turned and jogged back to the flower shop.

Elain waited patiently for him to return, cupping her hands in front of her mouth and blowing into them in an attempt to warm her cold fingers. Shadows crept around her feet and along the street, as if Azriel had left them to keep watch over her. She was watching them, still breathing against her hands, when he returned.

“Sorry, I thought I dropped something.”

“It’s not a problem. Did you find it?”

He nodded, his gaze falling on her hands. “Are you cold?”

“A little, but I’m okay.” She admitted.

Azriel took a step towards her and placed his hands around hers. He bowed his head and blew his warm breath onto them. Elain felt all the air leave her lungs.

—--

Azriel stared at Elain’s perfect fingers in his scared ones and cringed. He shouldn’t be touching her like this, tainting her beautiful skin. Gods, he shouldn’t even be out with her.

It was wrong.

Rhys would be pissed.

But Az could have sworn Elain’s eyes glazed over. She didn’t look opposed, wasn’t pulling away. In fact, she looked. . . Happy.

Fuck it. Feyre said she would deal with Rhys. He could have this. Tonight. These small moments. The stolen glances, occasional touches. He would take anything she would give him. Cauldron knew he’d give her anything she wanted.

He blew on her hands again and asked, “better?”

“Yes,” she responded, a little breathlessly.

Azriel was faintly aware of music playing nearby, but the roaring in his ears was drowning it out. He’d forgotten there were others around them. Looking into Elain’s rich brown eyes he could hardly remember what they were even doing out here.

A faint breeze rustled Elain’s hair and sent a chill down his spine. His wings flexed slightly and he noticed Elain’s attention shift to them.

“Do you think. . .” She bit her lip briefly and the only thought in his head was how badly he wanted to put his own teeth there. “Do you think you could take me flying?”

She wanted to fly? “Where?”

“Anywhere.”

He studied her for a moment, his large hands still cupped around her delicate fingers. “Of course. Do you like it? Flying, I mean?”

She smiled shyly. “I think I do. It’s a little scary, but also very exciting.”

“Then let’s fly.” Azriel scooped her into his arms and waited until she’d wrapped her own arms firmly around his neck. His grin turned feral as he said, “hold on tight.”

Elain squealed as they shot into the night sky, her arms tightening around him. He couldn’t help but chuckle against her neck, his wings flapping steadily now as he carried her off towards the mountains. “Did I scare you?”

She loosened her death grip enough to pull back a few inches and look into his eyes. “Yes, I was terrified!”

“I’m sorry.” She giggled and said, “Don’t be. That was fun.”

“You truly like flying?”

“I do.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Even though it’s scary?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “It is frightening, but I feel safe when I’m with you.”

Azriel struggled to calm his heart.

“Thank you for tonight.” Elain said suddenly. She turned her head and her arms shifted around him as she pressed her lips against his cheek. Then, just as every thought left Azriel’s head, her hand brushed against the edge of his wing.

A surge of pleasure shot through him and he sucked in his breath.

Elain, seemingly oblivious to his reaction, ran two fingers along his wing again. “I’ve never touched them before.”

Azriel held her a little tighter against him. “Illyrian wings are sensitive.” He explained, trying his best not to moan in her ear from the touch.

“I’m sorry!” Elain pulled her hand away and rested it on his shoulder instead. “Does it hurt?”

Azriel chuckled. “No. They’re sensitive in. . . Other ways.”

“Oh,” She said. “Oh!” Elain’s cheeks turned the most beautiful shade of pink he’d ever seen.

“Illyrians are so protective of their wings they’ll often attack anyone who touches them.” He felt Elain stiffen up a little. “But I,” Azriel struggled to compose himself, “I feel safe with you too. Elain’s doe eyes sparkled, the stars themselves shining in them. “So it feels. . .”

“It feels a little like this,” He leaned in, his nose grazing the creamy skin of her neck, and brushed a soft kiss under her ear.

An almost inaudible moan escaped Elain’s throat. The sound threatened to be his undoing. “That feels. . . Nice.”

At the whisper of a taste, his cock strained against his pants. Azriel had to get control over himself. Being alone with her like this was dangerous.

No, they could have this. Tonight was theirs.

“Azriel,” Elain breathed, “I’ve missed you.” He stared into her eyes again. “You don’t come to dinners any more, and I hardly see you around the house. Did I do something wrong?”

Azriel felt his heart split in two. He’d done that. He’d avoided her and hurt her, and it was his fault that she looked so sad right now.

“No,” he almost choked on the words, “You haven’t. Don’t ever think. . .” He took a deep breath. “It’s my fault. I. . . I was afraid.”

She cupped a hand over his jaw. “Of what?”

“Because I. . .” Azriel looked down at the forest they flew over for a moment before looking back at her gorgeous face. “Because it’s hard to be around you. Every second that I’m in your presence, I feel like I’m fighting for my life. I’m trying to keep my composure when all I really want to do is taste you, protect you, tell you how strongly I feel for you.”

“Then do it," Elain said. "Tell me anything you want. Keep me safe. . ." She leaned in closer to him, and her lips brushed against his ear as she breathed, "taste me."

Azriel shuddered and buried his face in the space between her shoulder and neck, breathing in her sweet scent. He looked back up long enough to land on a ledge of the mountainside. He set her down carefully, but neither one of them tried to step out of the other's embrace. Elain kept her arms wrapped around Azriel's neck as he slid his around her back.

"Can I just. . . Hold you?" He asked, his voice low and broken.

"As long as you like."

"I'd like to all night."

"I'd like that too."

"But I-" Azriel forced the words out. "I don't deserve it-You. I'm not. . . Good."

Elain pushed away from him enough to look into his eyes. "You're wrong."

"Elain."

"You are good, Azriel."

"I'm not. I've done. . . Terrible things." His hands shook against her.

"I know." She breathed. "But not without reason. You are a good male. You have saved me in more ways than you realize. You listened to me when no one else would."

"Elain-"

His words were cut off when Elain pushed up on her toes and brushed a feather soft kiss against his lips. Azriel's entire body stiffened, heat roaring through him. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her, dumbstruck and speechless.

"Everything in my life has been chosen for me. For once. . . I'd like to choose for myself." She smiled shyly. "And I choose you."

They were the nicest words he'd ever heard. And he wanted more than anything to give into his desires. But they had to do this right. He'd had suspicions that the Cauldron had been wrong in mating Elain with Lucien. Deep, deep down, he felt that he was her true mate, and he would find a way to prove it. Until then, they would have to be careful. If they were caught together. . . Azriel didn't want to think of what might happen.

"I think. . . Elain, I think the Cauldron was wrong. I think you're my. . ." His hands slid down to her waist and as he rested his forehead against hers, he whispered, "I think you're supposed to be my mate."

"Can that happen?" She asked, her voice shaking.

"Truthfully, I don't know. But I feel so connected to you. It has to be."

"I would like it very much," she let her eyes flutter and close, "if you were my mate. But I would still choose you, even if you weren't."

Something in Azriel's chest squeezed. Elain bit her lower lip, eyes still closed. Azriel moved one hand to brush a strand of hair from her face. She hummed softly in response. His hand moved to her neck, his thumb on her chin, so he could angle her head up. She remained motionless, waiting, he realized, for his kiss.

How long had he dreamt of this moment? How many nights had he fisted his cock to the thought of her sweet face? And now he hesitated?

“Azriel,” Elain whispered, “Please. . .”

He’d give her anything she wanted. Himself, a field of flowers, Cauldron, all the stars in the sky wouldn’t be enough.

He bowed his head and pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was gentle, and unrushed, as he slowly brushed his lips over hers, again and again. She tasted better than he’d ever dreamed, and he was going to savor every last second of this. The scent of her arousal that drifted up to him threatened to bring him to his knees, but he wanted to take this slow.

Azriel's hand tightened on her waist and Elain's lips parted for him. His tongue swept in, mingling with hers, and she moaned against his mouth. Az buried his other hand in her thick hair, pulling her against his body as tightly as possible.

He groaned as Elain placed a small hand against his jaw and leaned into him further. His cock ached for her so badly he was going to jump out of his skin. He was going to learn just what sounds she would make when he thrust it into her. He was going to put his mouth all over her gorgeous body and taste every inch of her. He was going to-

"Azriel. . ." Elain moaned breathlessly between passionate kisses.

He pulled back to survey her face. He had no words for her beauty. Her lips, now full; her eyes, glazed over. Gods.

Something fluttered into his line of vision. Snow. They were high enough on the mountain that it would still get flurries at night. A frigid wind tore through them and Azriel knew he needed to get Elain home or they would both freeze up here.

It took every ounce of restraint in his body, but Azriel kissed her temple, gathered her into his arms, and said, "let's get you home."

—--

Elain savored Azriel's warmth in the freezing night sky. As they approached the river house, it became apparent everyone was asleep. All the lights were off, except a dim spark on the balcony.

They landed, and Azriel set her down. She peered up at his face, her hands cupping his cheeks. His own hands ran up her sides, stopping over her ribs.

"When will I see you again?" She asked. She couldn't bear the thought of his absence again.

He considered her for a moment before his mouth curved up into a faint smile. "Tomorrow."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'll be more. . . Involved, now that you know how I feel."

Elain beamed. "That makes me so happy."

Azriel nodded, his hands shifting around her so he could pivot her towards the door.

Elain gasped.

Sitting on an iron table was the largest bouquet of roses she'd ever seen. Azriel slid his hands around her waist and held her from behind. "For you," he whispered, leaning his head down to kiss her ear.

"When did you. . ." Suddenly she remembered Azriel running back to the flower shop claiming he lost something. "This is why you went back to the shop?"

"Yes." He admitted. “I had them delivered.”

She spun around in his arms, stood on her toes, and kissed him. Azriel couldn't help but smile against her lips.

"Thank you." She said, hugging him tightly.

"I'll see you tomorrow." He said, voice low.

Elain nodded. Azriel kissed her temple and then stepped back, wings spreading wide. "Sweet dreams," he said, and then he shot into the starry night sky.

Elain watched him fly away until he was a speck in the night before taking her flowers inside and going to bed.

#acotar #acowar #acomaf #acosf #acofas #azriel #elain #elriel #acotarfic #acotarfanfic #elrielfanfic #fluff #angst #shadowsinger #azrielshadowsinger #fanfic #feyre #rhys #rhysand #nyx #feysand #feysandnyx #azriel and elain #azriel and feyre #azriel and nyx #elain and nyx #elain and feyre

[mapsontheweb]

Mount St. Helens, A Mountain Reborn

The cataclysmic eruption of Mount St. Helens on the morning of May 18, 1980, instantly transformed the glacier-capped volcano and its surrounding forests and lakes into an unrecognizable landscape. Moments before the volcano erupted, an earthquake accompanied the collapse of 3.7 billion cubic yards of land on the north flank of the mountain—one of the largest landslides in recorded history! The lateral blast that instantaneously followed the landslide flattened everything in its path—as far as 17 miles away from the volcano. Pyroclastic flows covered the land to the north of the volcano with a mixture of hot gases and debris while the vertical eruption column sent ash and gas high into the atmosphere.

In addition to altering the volcano’s physical landscape, the eruption catastrophically disrupted its productive mountain ecosystem. In the years and decades that followed, however, streams carved new paths through the volcanic deposits, the volcano grew bulky lava domes, and within the steep crater walls, a new glacier was born. Today, plants and animals have repopulated the lakes and lands around the volcano and life is once again flourishing.

Read more below for examples of how the landscape of Mount St. Helens has been continuously transformed since the eruption of 1980.

1  Lava Domes

Between 1980 and 1986, a series of smaller eruptions formed a lava dome in the crater of Mount St. Helens. These eruptions added an estimated 101 to 119 million cubic yards of lava to the crater. An eruption from 2004 to 2008 formed a series of dacite spines that added an additional lava dome with 121 million cubic yards of material—enough to fill almost 37,000 Olympic swimming pools!

2  Crater Glacier

Movement in the crater snowfield in the mid-1990s signaled the arrival of Crater Glacier (also known as Tulutson Glacier). Since then, a combination of shade from a north-facing aspect and high crater walls, avalanches of snow, ice, and rock from the crater rim, and an insulating rock cover have fueled the glacier’s continuous growth. In 2004, erupting lava began squeezing the glacier against the crater walls accelerating its downslope flow. Four years later the east and west arms of the glaciers merged, completely encircling the lava domes.

3  Spirit Lake

The debris avalanche from the 1980 eruption completely displaced Spirit Lake, pushing its waters 800 feet up the opposite slopes and completely filling the former lake basin with volcanic sediment. Amazingly, the elevation of the current lakebed is now higher than the lake’s previous surface. Although the lake is not as deep as before, the shoreline is 200 ft higher than it once was and the surface area is nearly double its previous size. In the decades since the eruption, life has returned to the lake. Phytoplankton, the base of the aquatic food chain, reemerged, followed by frogs and salamanders. Rainbow trout, likely reintroduced by humans, now thrive in the lake’s waters. A persistent mat of floating logs, remnant of the former surrounding forest, now covers 15–20 percent of the lake, providing additional habitat for insects and other life.

4  Pumice Plain

Pyroclastic flows from the initial and subsequent 1980 eruptions of Mount St. Helens blanketed the surface of the debris avalanche directly north of the mountain and left behind a barren zone known as the ‘Pumice Plain’. Incredibly, within two years, native lupine plants bloomed on this sterile landscape. In turn, lupine added essential nutrients to the soil while also providing anchor points for other plants to take hold. In the decades since the eruption, many other native plants and animals, including pocket gophers and elk, have gradually returned to the Pumice Plain. It has become an invaluable living laboratory for scientists seeking to study how landscapes recover and develop after a seemingly catastrophic geologic event.

5  North Fork Toutle River

The debris avalanche completely buried the upper North Fork Toutle River near the mountain. Hours after the eruption, a volcanic mudflow known as a lahar entered the lower reach of the river as ice and snow meltwater, groundwater, and sediment flowed from the deposit. The lahar traveled down the Toutle and Cowlitz River system to the Columbia River, choking downstream channels with sediment and debris. Today, the river winds a new course by eroding and transporting debris avalanche sediment down river. Including the lahar, over 400 million tons of sediment have entered the river system since 1980, yet only about 15 percent of the deposit has been eroded. Although many structures have been built to contain sediment and manage flooding, sediment continues to flow into the river promising the 1980 eruption and debris avalanche will continue to reshape the North Fork Toutle River into the foreseeable future.

Map by Daniel E. Coe, Washington Geological Survey, Washington State Department of Natural Resources.

#maps #tw #mount st helens

[dreamlandreader]

Ghost of You - Chapter Two

A/n: Thank you so much for all the love on the first chapter! Every like, comment and reblog meant so much to me! If anyone would like to be added to the series tag list just let me know ❤️ I’m so sorry I haven’t updated sooner than now, I found out shortly after posting the first chapter that I got my dream job and I have had so much paperwork to get through before I can start on Monday. Once I’ve settled into the new routine I’ll be able to set up a better schedule for posting so there hopefully won’t be so long between posts! Anyway, happy reading! 💖

Chapter warnings: Memory loss, angst, very brief discussion of injuries

Prythian

5 Months Later

Amren was not an anxious being. She felt rage and lust, irritation and satisfaction. Very occasionally, she even felt admiration, but she did not feel anxiety. However, the last five months had begun to push her towards the brink of worry.

It had been five months since her High Lord and Lady were stolen away in the middle of the day from right under her nose. Five months since the Morrigan had arrived at the River House to find it empty and reeking of blood. Five months since the entire Night Court had gone to hell.

She still couldn’t understand it. How someone had outsmarted her High Lord, the tactical expert who was always a step ahead of his enemies. How they had managed to leave seemingly unscathed when faced with Feyre Archeron, the human turned fae with the power of seven high lords. Nothing about that day made sense, and the unknown made Amren uneasy.

It did not make it any easier that Amren had been prepared for something like this to happen. She was second in command for a reason. Rhysand had chosen her because she was a reliable member of his court who was not afraid to make hard decisions and sacrifices for the sake of her home. Despite this, Feyre and Rhys’s absence was having an increasingly profound effect upon the Night Court, and Amren was slowly beginning to lose her handle on the situation.

It was not like the last time, when Rhysand was under the mountain for half a century. Then, all of Prythian was suffering, no court was left unscathed, and therefore, there was no strife between courts. Internal conflict with the Illyrians and the Court of Nightmares was, for once, not so prevalent, and on the rare occasions trouble did rear its head, rebellion was easily quashed. This time, however, trouble stirs deep in the underbelly of the Night Court. Rumors swirl of Rhysand and Feyre’s disappearance, some speculating that they abandoned their court and its people because they believed a war was brewing once again. The Illyrians took that idea and elaborated upon it considerably, seizing the opportunity to dispute Rhysand’s claim as High Lord, pointing out his inadequacies, and sowing seeds of doubt amongst themselves and Night Court citizens alike.

Hewn City residents were being equally as troublesome. Despite being banished to life in the Court of Nightmares, numerous Hewn City fae have been spotted wandering the Night Court, causing damage to property, starting brawls, and injuring innocent bystanders. Chasing these incidents has possessed the majority of the Inner Circle’s time, which has made searching for Feyre and Rhysand even more difficult.

Trying to find them had been like locating a needle in a haystack. The scene upon which Mor had stumbled on that day provided only a few clues. The tang of blood wafted heftily through the air, broken glass littered the kitchen floor, and a suspicious black powder dusted the dark oak countertops. Azriel’s contact at the local apothecary provided intel that the powder was a highly protected substance, one only available to those with the highest clearance due to its abuse in previous centuries by criminals. The intended use of the powder is for aiding sleep, and works when a small amount is mixed into a tonic. However, when inhaled in larger amounts, the effects of the powder lead to drowsiness and temporary vision loss, suggesting that Feyre and Rhysand were blinded by their attackers, and that the incident was anything but a fair fight.

“I still don’t understand how they got past the wards,” Azriel puzzled, breaking Amren out of her thoughts and plunging her back into the river house dining room, which, in recent months, had become the Inner Circles meeting room.

“Rhysand must have made a mistake. Left a gap in the wards, or not noticed a weak patch somewhere,” Nesta replied, staring intently at the map of the River House in the middle of the table, considering, as they all had over the months, where things went wrong.

“Rhys wouldn’t do that. He’s not stupid. And he wouldn’t risk Feyre’s safety knowing they have a huge target on their backs,” Mor snapped. The longer this mystery dragged on, the worse the tension in the Inner Circle became. Tempers were rising, and as time ticked on, the stakes were getting higher and higher.

“I’m not criticising him,” Nesta retorted, “I’m just saying that everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not Rhys. Not with this,” stated Mor, who refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

“Look, we need to focus on finding out who did it. If we find them, we find Feyre and Rhysand,” Amren insisted. She was sick of it. The questioning. The not knowing. But, sitting around debating what may or may not have happened was not getting them anywhere.

“There is nothing to go by! We’ve spent months and months going over the same few clues, and we’ve still come up with nothing,” Cassian growled.

“Well, what do you want to do boy, give up?” Amren glared in Cassian’s direction, as he shrunk in his seat and began shaking his head profusely.

“No! I would never give up on finding them. If it took three centuries, I’d keep searching. But we need a better plan. What we are doing isn’t working. Sitting around here day after day bickering amongst ourselves is useless!”

“He’s right,” argued Elain, speaking out for the first time that day. “Turning on each other isn’t going to help, and we have been going over and over this with a fine toothcomb for weeks and still come up with nothing. We seriously need to think about reaching out to the other courts for help.”

“No,” Amren scowled.

“Amren, please!” Mor begged. They had been trying to convince her of this for weeks. Bringing in members of outside courts. Asking for their assistance, for their best minds and their advice. No matter what they said, everytime Amren’s answer remained the same.

“I said no. It’s bad enough that the Illyrians and Hewn City are using this as an opportunity to cause problems. We are not letting the other courts know how seriously this is impacting the Night Court. If Autumn knew how bad things have become, they would take every advantage against us.”

“We aren’t suggesting we talk to Beron, but Helion has already offered his assistance in any way possible. A fresh set of eyes might be exactly what we need. We know him. We can trust him. Rhys and Feyre trust him!” Mor protested.

“This remains a Night Court issue. We will not lean on other courts unless we become desperate. Helion may be a trustworthy ally, but how do we know that one of his court members isn’t responsible for this.”

“The Illyrians are spreading lies about our High Lord and Lady which half of the court is starting to believe. Hewn City residents freely walk our streets causing chaos everywhere they go. Our friends are gone, and we have no idea where to even start Amren. It’s been five months. It can’t get much more desperate than this,” Azriel pleaded, and was met with a hard stare.

“I’ll think about it,” Amren mumbled. The entire room sighed, but they knew better than to argue. From Amren, an I’ll think about it was the best they would ever get.

The meeting continued for a further two hours, with Cassian reporting back on his trouble keeping the Illyrians in check, and Azriel interjecting with his own issues locating missing Hewn City members. Elain informed the group of her success in sourcing a group of trusty elderly Night Court fae to keep watch for any suspicious activity, and Nesta detailed the searches that the Valkyries and Mor had performed that week along the southern border in their efforts to locate Feyre and Rhysand.

After delegating a series of tasks to each member of the Inner Circle, Amren finally called the meeting to an end, and everyone slumped out of the river house to get started on their orders as soon as possible. Morale was at an all-time low, and the clock was ticking on their opportunity to find Rhysand and Feyre.

Glancing across the dining room, Amren’s eyes fell upon the portrait that hung above the smooth marble fireplace. Shortly before their disappearance, Feyre had presented Rhysand with a painting of the Inner Circle, crafted from a memory of them all sitting around the dinner table, drinking, laughing. Rhys and his mate were front and center, and he was looking towards her with a level of adoration that one would assume impossible to achieve unless they had seen it with their own eyes.

Amren’s head was beginning to ache. The one thing that comforted her was that she knew Rhysand and Feyre were at least alive. If not, the magic of the Night Court would have already assigned someone else the role of High Lord or Lady. For now, they remained living, but she was well aware that did not necessarily mean they were safe, or that they weren’t on borrowed time. Amren felt the weight of her decisions heavily on her shoulders, and the pressure was starting to become unbearable.

Rhysand

Scotland, United Kingdom

Rhysand flipped the flimsy sign from open to closed and started checking off his nightly tasks. Every evening for the last five months had been the same. Close up. Check. Wipe the tables. Check. Mop the floors, take out the bins, and empty the dishwasher. Check. Check. Check.

However, despite the monotony, Rhysand was unbelievably grateful to Doug and Jenny for not only giving him a place to stay whilst he got back on his feet, but also trusting him to work at their beloved cafe. The Humble Pie was a quaint spot, which specialized in delicious homemade fruit pastries and a variety of fancy herbal teas. Jenny had a knack for baking, and after retiring, she decided it was finally time to follow her dream and open a place of her own with Doug to share her delightful creations. It didn’t pay a lot, but it was enough that within a few months Rhysand was able to rent a small flat around the corner, and even put away a few savings for a rainy day.

Rhysand was well aware that he owed the Caldwells a lot. If it wasn’t for them he had no idea where he would have ended up. The thought often occurred to him - mainly in the middle of the night - that the woman he heard crying out in his memory of the attack may not be so lucky. Was she alone? Was she scared? Did she have any memories of that night? Or, like Rhysand, was she living with scraps of memories that haunted her. Every time the girl came to mind, Rhysand’s stomach twisted. After months he still couldn’t shake the pain that echoed through his body at the thought of her in danger. It was a strange reaction, something he was well aware of, which is how he knew she must be important. There is no way his very soul would ache so violently at the mere thought of a stranger. No, she was different, and Rhysand had made it his mission to find her.

Today was Friday, the one day a week that Rhysand’s search for the anonymous girl from his dreams was put on pause due to his boss’s obsession with getting him to socialise. On Friday’s, Doug insisted that he walked Rhysand home and they shared a few beers and a takeaway. Rhysand was not a fan of beer, and leaving his research untouched for the whole night was always a real struggle, but this was the compromise Doug had offered forward after Rhys continually turned down his invites to join his birdwatching club. So, for Doug’s sake Rhys held off from obsessing over articles and reports for one night a week.

Walking into Rhysand’s flat, Doug stalled near the sofa, taking in the state the flat had become. Each week he visited, Doug observed how research was strewn across the coffee table and occasionally lined the walls, but it seemed as though Rhysand had taken it to another level. An explosion of papers lined every surface. Some sheets were covered with hurried annotations, others were severely dog-eared, and a rather large pile appeared to have scorch marks along one side. The place was a wreck, and the sad thing was that Rhysand didn’t even seem to care. Doug didn’t think that Rhys was a particularly messy person by nature. He was always presentable, and even appeared to have a habit of consistently checking his clothes for lint, but his obsession with solving the mystery of the girl from his memories was taking over his life.

Two months after he woke up in that alleyway, Rhysand had become tired of waiting for the police to find any leads on what happened to him. With very little information and no one coming forward to report Rhysand missing, there wasn’t much they could do, so Rhys’s case was pushed to the bottom of the pile for more pressing matters. The final nail in the coffin was when Rhysand insisted that they needed to search for the woman whose screams he remembered, concerned she could still be in trouble, but as his memory was so shaky and there was no evidence of anyone else missing or injured in the area, it was written off by police and doctors alike that the woman was likely just a part of his mind playing tricks on him, a side effect of his memory loss. After that, Rhys took the situation into his own hands.

“Jeez Rhys, what the hell happened in here. I swear these papers multiply every time I come round,”

“Yeah, things are a bit chaotic at the moment,” Rhysand said, quickly swiping some research from the sofa before Doug threw himself down. “But I swear I’m right on the cusp of something.”

“Why does half of it look like it was set on fire?” Doug enquired, looking pointedly at the singed pile.

“Ah, that would be because it almost was. I wasn’t getting anywhere with it, so I thought about throwing it into the fire. I didn’t, but I got a little close, and it caught alight. Nearly burnt my fingertips off with that one,” Rhys chuckled nervously.

“So, you’re still intent on finding the girl then?”

“Look Doug, I know you think I’m crazy, but I-”

“Hey I don’t,” Doug interrupted, “Extremely disorganised and slightly obsessive sure, but I get it. If I was in the same situation, I can’t say I wouldn’t drown myself in paperwork to figure out who I was too,”

Rhys hummed looking down at his feet, knowing exactly what was coming. This was not the first time that Doug had tried to have this conversation.

“Do you not think you should take a little break from it though? You know, come back with fresh eyes and all that?”

“No,” Rhys replied firmly.

“No?”

“I do that, and I might miss something, and anyway, I can’t waste time. She could be in trouble, and I need to know who I am,”

“You know you might have more luck if you tried the internet. I know you’re more old school and seem to be weirdly bad at technology, but you could check through stuff so much faster online,” Doug suggested.

“I don’t know,” Rhys replied, skeptical about tackling the web again.

Doug had tried to set Rhys up with a phone the first week he lived with him, but technology was clearly not his strong suit. For some reason, Rhys was incredibly intimidated by the internet and still hadn’t come to terms with the TV, never mind texting or searching for things on Google.

“You’ll be able to check a much bigger area, much faster. All this research is local news. You never know, she might be further afield,”

“Fine. But you’ll have to help me,” Rhys gave in.

After half an hour of vigorous searching on Doug’s phone, they came across an interesting article from only three months prior.

“Young Woman Appeals to Find Family After Memory Loss Shock. 

Two months ago, a young woman believed to be in her early twenties was found injured and unconscious on the streets of New York City, after what police presume was a robbery gone wrong. After being rushed to a nearby hospital, it was soon discovered that she was suffering from amnesia and could not recall her own name, history, or anything relating to the incident. 

It was believed initially that the victim's family would eventually contact police about her whereabouts, especially considering she was found wearing an engagement ring. However, no family has ever come forward, leaving detectives to believe that the victim could have potentially lost contact with her loved ones shortly before the incident. The woman - who is currently known as Jane Doe - is now appealing nationwide for any potential friends or family to come forward to identify her.”

Rhysand was holding his breath. The dates aligned. This woman was found on the exact day that Rhys was discovered unconscious in the alleyway. Skimming through the rest of the article, Rhys was desperate to find any information to prove that it wasn’t just a weird coincidence, when a small photograph amidst the writing caught his attention.

A young woman with beautiful blue eyes stared back from Doug’s phone, and Rhys could have sworn his heart was about to beat out of his chest. He knew her. He didn’t know how, but he recognized the blush on her cheeks, the delicate shape of her lips, the swirling tattoos that graced her arms and hands. Rhysand knew her in his soul, and at that moment her name simply fell from his lips.

“Feyre,” Rhys gasped.

The name reverberated around his body. Feyre. He knew her. He had found her. Images began to flood his mind. Broken and twisted, but there nonetheless. Feyre angry, throwing something his way. Feyre embracing him with a tenderness he felt in his very bones. Feyre holding his hand, a dazzling ring adorning her finger. Dancing. Making love to him. Laughing. Crying. Feyre. Feyre. His Feyre. 

“What?” Asked Doug, surprised.

“It’s her. That girl, that’s her. I - I remember,” tears were spilling from Rhysand’s eyes, and he was so overwhelmed he didn’t care he was breaking down in front of his friend for the first time since his ordeal had begun.

“What, you remember everything?”

“No, I remember her. Not anything specific, and it’s all a jumbled mess, but its there. Doug I’ve found her,”

“Rhys are you sure?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, when I said she might be further afield, I meant Edinburgh or maybe even Glasgow at a push. I didn’t mean three thousand miles away. It’s impossible that it’s more than a coincidence, surely?”

“Doug. I know it in my soul. It is her.” Rhys retorted, desperately refusing to let go of the hope which blossomed in his chest.

“Okay, okay I believe you,” Doug replied quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. Rhys wasn’t so sure he really did, but he was too focused on the situation at hand to continue pleading his case.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I have to go. I have to find her.” Rhys cried, running his fingers through his dark hair in frustration.

“You want to go to New York. Just like that. Rhys, you really need to think this through. You don’t know where this girl lives. Do you even have a passport?”

“No. I don’t know where she lives, but look at the bottom it says to contact a … Detective Bailey,” Rhys said squinting at the rest of the article. “This detective will know how to find her. If I can get to see her then maybe she’ll take me to Feyre. She’s looking for family, and I’m … well, I’m obviously something to her.”

“But-”

“And the passport thing is fine. The police sorted me out with all that stuff when I first woke up,”

“Look, Rhys, I really don’t think you’re thinking this through,”

“I need you to trust me. Please!” Doug took in the look of genuine hope in Rhysand’s eyes and knew he couldn’t bring himself to take that away.

“Okay. Alright, I trust you.”

Doug spent the next hour helping to plan what Rhys should do next, he helped book the plane tickets and even offered him a ride to the airport the next day.

After Doug left for the night, Rhysand stood by the window, staring out at the glistening lights in the night sky. For the first time since waking up, Rhys felt like he could look to the stars and dream.

Feyre (aka Jane Doe)

New York, USA

“Damn it, I can’t do it,” cried Frank slamming his brush down onto the paint-splattered work table and crossing his arms in defiance.

“Hey, Frank what’s the matter? You’re doing so well,” Jane responded gently, sitting down by the disgruntled pensioner.

“How am I supposed to paint a damn picture when I can’t keep my arms still!” Frank huffed.

“I know it’s difficult, and you’re still building up your strength, but that’s okay. These sessions are to help you do that,” Jane advised, placing her tattooed hand comfortingly over Frank’s. “It’s frustrating not to be able to jump back up and do everything with the ease you used to, but you just need to take your time.”

Jane had been working at the art therapy center since she had been discharged from their services two months prior. Her doctors had recommended art therapy to help Jane heal her mind and potentially stir some memories. While it didn’t appear to conjure anything new recollection-wise, she had found art to be an incredible escape from the anxiety she felt nagging her all hours of the day.

After unsuccessfully appealing in a national newspaper, and also online, for any information on potential family members, the distraction of painting helped to ease some of the ache in her soul. After seeing Jane’s aptitude for painting and her willingness to help other patients, the therapist in charge offered her the opportunity to help run art therapy sessions, and she hadn’t looked back since.

Frank had been one of her first patients. He had come in after suffering from a stroke, and his doctors were hopeful that art sessions would help to improve his physical condition. Jane had bonded with the man immediately. He had made vast strides already, but she understood his irritation with the knowledge that he wasn’t progressing as quickly as he would like.

“How about you and me take a quick coffee break and then try again in a while, huh? I brought your favorite cookies!” Jane singsonged.

“Oh, go on, you know how to tempt me,” Frank chuckled as Jane led him out to the break room.

Half an hour later, when Frank was stuffed full of Oreos and had settled back down to his canvas, Jane wandered over to a client she had never seen before.

Erica was young, maybe only a year or two older than Jane herself, and she was dressed in the loveliest shade of lilac Jane had ever seen. It wasn’t her appearance however which stopped Jane in her tracks, but the painting which sat before her. An expanse of pastel-coloured roses, violets, and begonias, amongst other delicate florals graced the canvas, and something about the soft warmth of the gardens before her, sent Jane into a tailspin. Jane was immediately transported into what could only be a memory. She was surrounded by creaky wooden walls that let in the bitter cold of winter. Her hands had gone numb in the short while she had been painting, and crouching at such odd angles had stiffened her limbs. Before her sat an old dresser with three distinct drawers, which Jane had spent the evening decorating. One was consumed by red and orange flames, another adorned with the night sky, and the last … the last was covered with little flowers, just like those in Erica’s painting. They were much more crudely drawn, but beautiful nonetheless.

“Please, I swear I’ll keep it clean this time!” A voice begged. Soft and gentle as a feather in the breeze. Jane recognized the warm lilt, but she just couldn’t put her finger on exactly who the voice belonged to.

“Absolutely not. The last time you borrowed my cloak, it came back covered in soil. I’m not lending you any of my clothes if you insist on gardening in them!” Another voice argued. It was far more stern than the last one, leaving little room for argument. The determined tone of the second speaker left something aching in Jane’s chest. She knew this voice too. But how?

“Well, mine finally fell apart this morning. I need something to stop me from freezing to death while I weed the garden,” the first person uttered, frustration lacing their voice.

“I’m not your only sister you know. Ask Feyre for hers.”

Jane felt as though her heart had jumped into her mouth. At that exact moment, something within her stirred, and she recalled two things, the first things she had remembered about herself since the day she lost her memory. First, was that she had sisters, two of them! Somewhere out there, a family of her own. The second was that her name was not the hospital-assigned Jane Doe, but Feyre Archeron.

Finishing her shift with her nerves all over the place, Feyre practically ran out of the door and back home to her cramped apartment. Rushing into her bedroom, she grabbed the nearest blank canvas, and began to desperately paint the drawers from her memory in the fear that the vision would fade from view. An hour and a half later, covered head to toe in paint, Feyre stared longingly at the image before her and finally allowed herself to let out a sob.

Tears streaming down her face, Feyre reached into the drawer of her wonky bedside table and carefully located a cloth-bound object. Gently unwrapping the purple fabric, a small but stunning ring fell into the palm of her shaking hand.

She had a family. Sisters, and by the looks of it a partner. So why had they still not come to find her? The past five months had been filled with hope after hope shattered. First, the discovery of a mystery lover who never showed up. Then, her appeal for her family to come forward came to nothing too. Feyre initially wondered if she didn’t have any family at all, maybe that was the reason nobody had tried to find her. However, this latest revelation suggested that she did have a family, but they clearly weren’t interested in locating her.

A burning knot formed in Feyre’s chest. Why wouldn’t they come? Was she a terrible person in her past life? Had she done something that caused everyone she once knew to turn away from her?

Looking through her bedroom window at the few stars that cut through the city’s light pollution, Feyre tried to control her breathing and tucked away her heartbreak for another day. The lack of starlight caused a strange sense of discomfort in Feyre’s gut, as though some part of her knew she belonged in a land that thrived under ethereal skies.

Feyre sat for hours, staring out of that window, completely unaware that three thousand miles away, the love of her life was also enduring the torture of missing a life he barely remembered.

#acotar #feysand #rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre x rhysand #acotar fanfiction #feyre darling #feyre cursebreaker #inner circle #amren #nessian #elain archeron #azriel #cassian #nesta archeron #ghost of you #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #feysand angst

[late-to-the-party-81]

[River Deep] Mountain High - Series Master list

Welcome to the master list of stories all about M'Baku and his Sabi Star.

Feel free to send me asks about these two.

Key: 🥰 Fluff 😭Angst 🍆Smut 🍑WLW smut 🌑Dark 🩸Violence 🌶 Suggestive

In the Hall of the Mountain King 😭🥰🍆

Of Mountains and Men 😭🥰🍆

Move this Mountain 😭🥰🍆

A mountain to climb 😭🥰🍆

#m'baku #m'baku fic #m'baku x reader #m'baku x female reader #m'baku x you #series masterlist #[River Deep] Mountain High #late writes #late to the party 81

[fluffyprettykitty]

hello hello happy end of the month!

this month as many of you I went back to my Jensen Ackles phase and may I say it has been both wonderful and a blessing, literally more than 2 decades being obsessed with one man :P so this contains marvel, the boys, star wars, and triple frontier fics

as per usual Most of these fics and these blogs are 18+ so please be aware, and read the warnings for each fic, remember to choose to read a fic that is based on your liking, you are responsible for your own media consumption. All fics are x reader! If any of the links don't work please let me know and I will fix em asap!

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅••❅───✧❅✦❅

~My symbols for fics are as follows:

🍋 smut 🌺 fluff 🌩️ angst 🫂 hurt/comfort 🔱 dark

★○★○★○★ One Shots:

Ride The Lightening 🍋 (Thor) by @wint3r-h3art

She Waits In The Dark 🍋 (Valkyrie) by @erinlindsayy

Attachment 🌺🫂 (Jane Foster) by @gremlinimagines

~~~

Queen 🌩️ (Natasha Romanoff) by @imaginearyparties

Nudey Tuesday 🌺 (Steve Rogers) by @demonpoxballad

Indifference 🔱🍋 (Sam Wilson) by @samwilsonsbabymama

Siempre 🍋🌺 🌩️ (Joaquin Torres) by @moonlight-prose

Quid Pro Quo 🔱🌩️ (tasm!Peter Parker) by @get-your-fics

~~~

My Neck Is Open Wide, Begging For A Fist Around It 🌺🍋 (Matt Murdock) by @shedaresthedevil

Say It Again 🌩️ (Billy Russo) by @e-dubbc11

Winner's Streak 🍋 (Frank Castle, Matt Murdock) by @saintmurd0ck

~~~

Sunday Worship 🍋 (priest!Bucky Barnes) by @bucky-barnes-diaries

Dirty Sweet 🔱🍋 (vamp!Bucky Barnes) by @nocturne-pisces

Private Eyes 🔱🌺🌩️ (Bucky Barnes) by @jobean12-blog

Always His 🔱🍋 (ex!Bucky Barnes) by @silver-pieces

~~~

Rescue Mission 🔱 🍋 (Soldier Boy) by @musingsinmoonlight

Fuck It, I Love You 🍋🌩️ 🌺 (Frankie Morales) by @burnthoneymint

★○★○★○★ Series:

Asterism 🌩️ (Cassian Andor) by @im-poe-dameron

[River Deep] Mountain High 🌺🍋🌩️ (M'Baku) by @late-to-the-party-81

Safe Haven 🍋🌩️ (Soldier Boy) by @that-sarcastic-writer

★○★○★○★

Please show your support to these amazing creators by following them and interacting with them and their stories! Interaction has been so hellishly low lately that is really killing the motivation of people. Together we can all make sure things will get better because we do love our fandom content, don't we? DON'T WE???? And remember reblogs and comments are important for these and any other artist! :D

#selenes monthly fic recs #fic rec #fanfic #fanfiction #recommendations #marvel x reader #queue <3

[killingsorcererhypnosis]

What's really fun in the Life series is the world building and general Feeling based on circumstance, constructions, and also based on the actual seed and generated world.

3rd life has a medieval territorial feeling and yeah that's partly because of the role-playing, dogwarts and such, but the map is built for it with key locations being a fair distance apart. The warm desert, colder dogwarts, mild meadow area. The builds also play to this with the amount of castles there are. Lol. But the terrain can't exactly be played tactically as there isn't too much high or low land or very large bodies of water. There are a few areas of tree cover that ended Martyn the first time but nothing super extreme (that became relevant anyway).

Last Life's entire map is cold feeling and the path infrastructure that ends up finding it's place there is really needed. Because of thick trees, most of the major territories seem far away from each other. Magical Mountain stands out of course. Everything also feels quite medieval and territorial with the southlands having an extremely clear presence and again, quite the few castles. But this time with an air of magic with Lizzie's fairy fort and Scar's wizard hut. The life sharing system makes things feel a little more charged in a sense and opens up a little drama. The most tactical play of the terrain is certainly the peak that Scar takes as magical Mountain. The tree cover is also quite beneficial.

Double Life is totally different and is totally fun. The tactics remain in part now with Box and the Red Velvet Keep(despite the flammability) but they are taking things both domestically and as they come, it seems. The terrain this time is absolutely golden with a deep river cleaving two sides apart and treacherous bridges making ways across, as well as flatter land ways away riddled with caves and holes (love u caves and cliffs) .The river is certainly dangerous but not necessarily a tactical place to make a base as defending doesn't seem that easy. The temperature this time is generally neutral, apart from spawn which is clearly cold so it doesn't much impact the vibe I get. The general presence this season is far different from the last two. Most people just made nice houses built to live in that symbolise their partnership(though most less literal than the Relation Ship) rather than to protect or to fortify. The drama this time is insane. Be it because of the word 'soulmate' alone, how most players decided to go with it. Extremely entertaining.

#trafficblr #bros with some kind of synesthesia go crazy #double life smp #3rd life smp #last life smp #mine #sorry rambled #didn't conclude my post very appropriately but I #have thoughts man

[cartermagazine]

Today In History We Honor Tina Turner Her career spanned more than half a century, earning her widespread recognition and numerous awards. Tina started out her music career as a member of the Ike & Tina Turner Revue. Hits like “River Deep”, “Mountain High” and “Proud Mary” opened the world to this legendary superstar. In the 80s, she rebuilt her career by constantly performing, eventually launching another series of hits like “Let’s Stay Together”, “What’s Love Got To Do With It” and “Private Dancer.” Today, Tina Turner is considered to be the “Queen Of Rock & Roll” by Rolling Stone magazine. CARTER™️ Magazine carter-mag.com #wherehistoryandhiphopmeet #historyandhiphop365 #cartermagazine #carter #tinaturner #blackhistorymonth #blackhistory #staywoke https://www.instagram.com/p/Chw_rtRL6wX/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#wherehistoryandhiphopmeet #historyandhiphop365 #cartermagazine #carter #tinaturner #blackhistorymonth #blackhistory #staywoke

[nighmares-art-and-stories]

Not Always Invincible - Chapter 1: Hello

The ship landed on the launching pad with a ferocious hiss. The door of the craft separated from the body of the craft and slid to the side; a small ramp then glided soundlessly to the ground.

Nyathi stood with the rest of the crew, shifting nervously between all four of her feet. The fin on her back fluttered around as she tried her bet to suppress her instinct to fly. She overheard a conversation from the captain of the ship that they have hired some deathworlders due to the dangers of the voyage to the other side of the Norma arm in the Star Mother Galaxy. A chill ran through her fins when she heard the rhythmic clicking of claws, feet, and hooves. Her wing fingers waggled in the preparation of flight. Nyathi pushed the instinct down violently.

The captain stationed outside of the ship emitted a series of high-pitched chitters, the translator implanted in Nyathi’s brain automatically translated it to "Greetings, new ship members, welcome to our humble [Untranslatable: gentle habitat]. This is our crew, and they would soon be your crew as well. Please, introduce yourselves as you enter."

A large serpentine like creature walked past Nyathi, moving like a river have grown legs. The blue-green scales glowed in the dim light of the ship. Its bioluminescent scales flickering softly as it moved. The claws on its feet dug into the ceramic floor, creating small nicks in the floor of the ship. The sapient creature turned its eyes on Nyathi, and she nearly wilted into the floor with its gaze. It had eyes as bright is her mother sun, yet as deep as the tallest cliff, but what have caught her attention the most are the long, sharp powerful fangs poking out of its jaws.

A predator.

This then stood up so that the horns on its draconic head brushed a hanging pipe. It opened its mouth revealing its frighting array of teeth. Nyathi’s fin shot up and her wing fingers snapped to a position for flight. A musical chirping came out of the open maw punctuated by low howls and high-pitched bugles.

Her translator created static as it struggled to interpret the new language, finally spitting out, “[Untranslatable: deep regrets], I didn’t mean to [Untranslatable: trigger] you like that.” This creature then emitted another series of chirps this, time punctuated by guttural groans and various hisses. “My name is [Untranslatable: Smoke], I’m an Umnak of the territory of Mother Sky and I’m a [Untranslatable: predator].”

Nyathi then slowly let her fin lie flat on her back again. The Umnaks are a recent species found in the Iota cluster of the galaxy. One of those rare predator species that have gained sapience. Not much is known about these sapient predators other than the fact that the males of the species have scales of one color, but females have scales of two or more. These creatures seem to communicate from vocalizations, and from the positioning of their tails to how much their bioluminescent scales are flashing. Once the first Umnak have finished with its little speech, four other Umnaks came in like a living wave of blues, greens, purples, and blacks, nearly trampling Nyathi. She finally had enough it and opened her bat-like wings to the fullest and with two powerful flaps, landed on a perch bolted to a wall. The five Umnaks that came in stopped when they met up with the first Umnak and stood on their hind legs as well. They started to communicate in the same chirping, howling language, punctuated by flashing scales and various tail positions that caused Nyathi's translator chip to produce an endless stream of static. Finally, after what seems like a lifetime, they stopped. The blue Umnak speckled with purple and black scales lifted her head and let out a growl.

"I'm [Untranslatable: Purple Mineral], I'm from the Soaring Mountains territory." She flicked her tail at a smaller jet-black Umnak, "This is my brother, his name is [Untranslatable: Dangerous Claw]"

A littermate predator, that is very dangerous. She tightened her wing-claws on the perch that she is on, letting them catch the artificial light. Nyathi glared at them the best she could. Once she had finished introducing herself and her kin, she looped her tail around his and slinked off to a dark corner to allow the rest of the Umnaks to finish their speech. Nyathi watched from her perch as the various predators chirped their names, and what tribe they are from before following the first pair into the shadows. She knows that she is safe on this ship as they are all capable of language and thought, but a deeper darker part of her thoughts is looking for signs that they are going to cause problems for the ship. The first Umnak that came in looked at the captain for approval, and with a nod from the captain, they flowed to the hall marked with their language like small streams from the main river, standing in front of it like a series of blue shadows.

Soon after they have came, a new different species has clomped up the ramp followed up by five more of an herbivorous species. Nyathi focused on the new creature. This new creature seems to be from a low gravity world as its legs are long and spindly. They looked like the massive Darlap of her home world, the only difference is that they are significantly smaller than the Darlap, have a pair of manipulators that look like it would break if someone grabbed it too hard. A long powerful whiplike tail whisked the air behind in a graceful rhythm. A flash of recognition passed through Nyathi as she finally understood the species that she was looking at. They are the known as the Esteen, a member of the Galactic Counsel for more than ten cycles, renounced for their soul-clenching art and cities that create rather than destroy as many deathworlder species do. They walked to the end of our little welcoming line up, soundless save for the light clicking of hooves on the floor of the ship.

The lead Esteen, a large creature with fur a tawny gray, stood in the front. This Esteen stuck its tongue out and spoke with a low breathy whistle, like wind flowing over a field of Koruna fronds. Nyathi closed her eyes, letting the musical language wash over her senses.

The translator naturally picked out the words in the sentence, “We are the Esteen. My name is [Untranslatable: Whispering Grass]” He used his manipulator to gesture at the rest of the Esteens, “These are some of the most promising members of our species”

With that cue, the rest of the Esteens started it introduce themselves their voices sometimes merging, causing Nyathi’s translator to produce static as it tried to interpret what they are trying to say. Once they are done, like the Umnaks of previous, they walked to the hallway marked for their use, with some younger members of the species racing each other, whapping each other with their tails. Nyathi’s fin started to lift again as the behavior is very similar to the play that she had the misfortune to witness when she was just a fledgling. Whispering Grass stopped then looked at the rest of the crew, blue soulful eyes raking the crew of the ship for reactions. He held his tail in a stiff line and shook, somehow creating a low rattle. That seems to be some sort of signal as the two Esteens stopped their playing and resumed their graceful walk into their part of the ship and stood in attention with their tails held high over their heads.

Nyathi pressed herself firmly to her perch. If all the deathworlders are going to be this rough with each other, then what would happen when they interact with the rest of the crew. They would all be crushed by their antics!

The crew started to break formation only to be waved back by the captain. “There is one more species.” With that the rest of the crew slunk back to their places, some groaning with impatience or limply standing in place. Nyathi slowly got down from the safety of her perch and stood. On her hind legs. Then she heard it. The loud yet hushed hissing and guttural growls. A language clearly but one that seems primitive and primal compared to the speech from the other deathworlders that she had seen so far. Then they came they seems to be mammalian in nature, balancing on two legs that looks to me sturdy and muscular in comparison to its flimsy willowy arms. Nyathi felt a twinge of pity when those new creatures walked past. It lacks a tail. Whoever have torn them off must be a violent and dangerous predator. That small spark of pity is soon replaced with curiosity when she noted the sheer degree of color from one species. The one in the front have skin of a sun-dried stone with fur the color of ash from a freshly dead. The creature at the end of the little group have skin that’s as dark as the night and hair much darker. Nyathi paid little attention to the other creatures in the group, as there is a pair that grabbed her attention like food for the starving.

Another littermate?

They looked exactly the same, height, skin color, and smell. If not for the length of the fur on their head, she would have mistaken them for one large organism, like the members of the Zoryntha Hive.

The first creature with the longer fur abruptly stopped, causing the second creature to crash into its back. The force of the impact nearly tipping them over. They turned around and used hisses, growls, and grunts to communicate a bit before the first creature used one of its forepaws to point at where she is standing. The rest of the little pack of the same creatures stopped and looked at them with concern and amusement, before continuing to walk past them. Nyathi slunk down into the ground as she strained her ears to hear the conversation. Her translator caught snippets of speech. “What [Expletive: no analogs found]! … Is there something wrong? … Where is it?”

The second creature swung its head at her direction looking up until its eyes met Nyathi’s eyes. Her hearts stopped. This creature’s eyes are as black as the void they travel in, but with a fire burning in its depths, sharp, and searching. They are forward facing the eyes of a predator. The eyes of the creature softened, and it bared its teeth, showing the flat teeth typical of herbivores. Nyathi relaxed, maybe its forward-facing eyes are because of its need to see the distance of predators, or to judge the distance between different rocks in its native habitat. She certainly seen different prey species with front facing eyes before, as rare as they are. They got to the end of the little line, standing next to the Umnaks. They waited for the two littermates to join them before forming a tight circle, with their two willowy arms resting on their disproportionally large shoulders. They growled and hissed at each other in their language before separating, a robust member of their group with skin the color of honey stood up and introduced the others.

With the introductions done, the crew along with the deathworlders have scattered to different parts of the ship. Nyathi, jumped up clawing at the walls until she has gained enough momentum to glide from perch to perch until she has met up with the captain’s headquarters. Carefully dislodging a metal grate in front of a vent, she slipped in and used the complicated duct work to slip into his room, landing in a tangled heap on the captain’s bed. She waited for him to show up.

Soon after, the captain slipped into the room. Nyathi quickly stopped him and stood on her hind legs to give herself a quick boost in height. Now she towered over him. The captain opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to it, launching into a rant.

“I knew that we have hired deathworlders, but I wasn’t aware that there were going to be predators. They are going to kill all of us!”, she then returned to the normal quadpod form but have flared her fin and wings to its full capacity, making her seem larger and padded with muscle. “You need to get rid of the Umnaks right now! Those predators are completely unable to resist their instincts. What if someone gets hurt and draws blood? They will tear us to shreds!”

The captain then stood up as well, his long shaggy mane starting to stand upright the more Nyathi talked. When she had finished, the captain, used one of his clawed manipulators to smooth the mane down.

“Nya, I thought you had it under control."

She lifted her head meeting the captain in the eye squarely, "I'm in complete control captain."

Now the captain started to bristle. He took a step closer showing his mandibles as they spammed, creating a hollow clicking sound.

"No, you are not. That was then, and this is now. You need to let it go."

Nyathi deflated, her wings and fins pressed close to her body. “But…”

“No. Zip. I do not want to hear another word about the so called 'dangers'.”

"They...!"

"No."The captain gestured at the door of his room with his antennae. “Leave. Now.”

Nyathi did so, pulling her tail close to her flank. The door closed behind with a loud bang that seemed to echo in her bones.

She glanced at the closed door. If the captain is blind to the dangers, then she will watch for them and make sure the Umnaks won’t attack them in their sleep.

Taglist:

@alaralee

#hfy #humans are space orcs #original story #original work #space racism #writeblr #ao3 writer #trope subversion #original alien species #original female character #original male character #Not Always Invincible