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bestiarium · 9 months

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The Stikini [Native American mythology; Seminole/Passamaquoddy mythology]

Owls inspire a certain sense of awe with their highly efficient nocturnal hunts, so it comes as no surprise that they have a role in some myths and folktales from around the world. In the religion of the Native American Muscogee and Seminole peoples, a Stikini was a malicious owl-like monster. The Muscogee people had a special dance called the StikinobAnga to ward off the evil Stikini, but they could also be fought with special ‘Stikini arrows’ which were equipped with owl feathers and featured grooves filled with medicinal herbs. Stikini used to be humans in life, but are now undead owl-creatures due to dabbling in witchcraft. I noticed they are sometimes translated as ‘witches’.

I found very few Native American descriptions of the exact nature and appearance of these monsters, but McElroy’s encyclopedia claims that the Stikini look like regular people during the day. When night falls, they vomit out their own entrails before hanging them in trees and transforming into horrible owl monsters. They then set out to hunt, and exclusively eat still-beating human hearts. If they ever go a full night without consuming at least one heart, they die. At dawn, they ingest their entrails to transform back into humans.

An often-cited interview with Lucinda Davis, a former slave from a Muscogee owner, claimed that the Native American Muscogee people associated owls with death and often perceived the birds as deathly omens. Whenever someone heard the noises of a screech owl, it was thought that somebody among them would soon perish. Supposedly, these owls could often be heard during funerals.

The Stikini is related to this belief, and the word ‘Stikini’ was also used to refer to screech owls.

Interestingly, it is believed that African folklore influenced the Muscogee story of the Stikini. The Passamaquoddy people, too, knew a version of this creature that they called the Chebelakw (or Cipelahq). And old Passamaquoddy song describes how the monster, along with the spirits of the land and the water would cease their doings to listen to the sound of the singer’s drum.

The powerful wind spirit k’Cheebellock is also related to this creature: he has long legs, mighty wings, and a head but no body. In one Passamaquoddy story, k’Cheebellock takes a liking to two young girls who were taking a walk. He grabs them and lifts them high into the air to carry them to his world, which is a strange place even above the sky. But the girls soon became homesick and cried to be returned to their world. Eventually, k’Cheebellock gave in and took the two back to the world below. But the forest where he landed was vast, and his wings were too large to reach the ground through the thick canopy. So he left the girls on a hemlock. The girls noticed Leux, a local folk character, and begged him to help them. He replied that he was far too busy and left them to their fates.

Later, though, Leux came by once more and the girls called out to him again. Leux agreed to help them down, but on the condition that one of the girls would become his wife. But the girls were clever and tied a hairband to the tree. Once back on solid ground, they demanded that Leux took the hair band back if one of them was to marry him. He tried, but the girls had tied a very tight knot so it took him a long time to collect the hair band.

When at last he climbed down from the tree, the girls had finished their preparations and blinded him. They then called out to him to follow them, and so tricked him to walk right into a river. After climbing back on dry land, Leux heared the voices of the girls again and follows them, only to step on a trap made of porcupine quills. He then tried to rest, but when he awoke he found that the girls were nowhere to be found.

Sources: Layman, M. M., 1989, Utilization of Traditional Health Care Systems by the Native Population of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, a thesis submitted to the faculty of graduate studies and research in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts in the Department of Native Studies, University of Saskatchewan. No author listed, 1890, A Story of Leux, The Journal of American Folklore 3(9), p.270-270. Pasierowska, R.L., 2017, “Screech Owls Allus Holler ‘round the House before Death”: Birds and the Souls of Black Folk in the 1930s American South, Journal of Social History, 51(1), p. 27-46. McElroy, D.R., 2020, Superstitions: A Handbook of Folklore, Myths and Legends from around the World, Bok Sales, p. 91, 192 pp. Prince, J.D., 2021, Passamaquoddy Texts: Volume X, Publications of the American Ethnological Society, Drugulin, Germany. (image source 1: Audre ‘Charamath’ Schutte. You can buy a print of this artwork or browse the artist’s other works on charamath.com) (image source 2: Kim Declercq on Artstation)

#Native American mythology #Passamaquoddy mythology #monsters #mythical creatures #witches #undead creatures #spirits

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theresattrpgforthat · 2 months

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Hello, thank you for all your hard work on recommendations! Do you know of any vampire games where being a vampire is NOT presented as a 'You are a horrible parasite clinging to humanity!' thing? And/or perhaps it is more about how humans are awful to vampires. Being non-crunchy is a bonus. It doesn't have to be light-hearted, I'd rather play something with a serious tone.

Theme: Alternative Vampires.

Hello friend, there’s a lot of really interesting vampire games out there! One of the most well-known is, of course, Vampire: The Masquerade, which you've possible heard about before, but I think is important to acknowledge when looking at many vampire games that have been created in the past. It's influenced the way a lot of roleplayers see vampires.

On the other hand, there's also a lot of work to change up how vampires are seen, and the BIPOC Vamp Jam is an excellent example of that. I think you'll recognize some of the games in this list from that jam!

Some of the games here are more serious than others, but I think there’s still some complex themes even within the games that don’t take themselves too seriously. I hope there’s something here that fits what you’re looking for!

Bloodsucker Elegy, by Porcupine Publishing.

Tonight, everything falls apart. The place went up like a bonfire Black-clad mortals They know everything about us They know our names They know how to kill us

Bloodsucker Elegy is a compact (15pp) game for two or more players, about vampires on the night their world comes crashing down around them.

Intended for short-form play, Bloodsucker Elegy uses a diceless system that draws on ideas from the Vampire: the Masquerade spinoff video game Swansong.

A game about enduring the end of life as you know it, Bloodsucker Elegy gives you both human skills and supernatural powers to help you face your oncoming doom. Every time you do something supernatural, you must take 1 Hunger. Every time you use a human skill, you must spend Willpower. With no Willpower left, you’ll slip into a slumber resembling death. At 12 Hunger, you can feel your inner beast surface, your bloodlust take over. You can gain willpower by meditating and reduce hunger by feeding, but both are dangerous when you’re being hunted. If you want a game that pushes your characters and forces them to make heavy choices, this might be the game for you.

Thousand Year old Vampire, by timhutchings.

A creaking hunter among dust and cobwebs, you prowl the night places, seeking the souls on which you feed. You have done this since time immemorial, or so you believe; you have no memories of living as a man-thing like those you catch and eat. But human traces linger; your fingers trace clever arabesques in the dirt of your grave-place and with the flourishes come whispered songs in a language you've forgotten. Far away, in a museum, hangs your portrait in oil by a master five hundred years dead--you might have been lovers but the diary you kept then is long lost.

This is a solo game, meant for intimate and personal experiences. Thousand Year Old Vampire comes with a lot of high praise, meant to be powerful, emotional and thought provoking. You are a vampire, discovering and losing memories as you fill up your diary. This is a personal horror game, a game about losing pieces of yourself to the ravages of time. It’s received 3 awards from the Ennies, and also won the Indicade Tabletop Design Award in 2020. I think it’s probably worth checking out!

The Blood, by Falconian Productions.

Vampires are creatures of magic; how else do you explain the undead? It’s not some outside force’s pet project — vampirism is magic. An arcane force, The Blood, is what makes a vampire.

What is the Blood? It’s the fragment of power shared by every vampire in the world, and the conglomerate force made up of those segments. It's not a voice, or instinct, but… insight. The Blood shows you what you want, what It wants. It shows you the quickest and easiest ways to get to it.Then, it gives you what you need to act on it.

But your choices are always your own. Those that would do no wrong even in the face of temptation likely still won't as a vampire, but those that avoided wrongdoing only because they feared being caught, or lacked the means?

The Blood is a game about vampires as arcane creatures, an otherworldly force empowering their undead forms and providing them with magical potency. The powers attributed to vampires in stories and media are simply the spells that come most easily to them. It's about seeing how they balance their desire for power with the need for secrecy in the world, and about succumbing to or resisting the arcane desires their Blood inflicts on them.

This is a game that feels like it draws quite a bit from the lore and allure of Vampire: the Masquerade. It gives your characters an internal struggle to wrestle with, gives you 10-sided dice to roll in dice pools, and counts a 7 or higher as a success. In this game, your character also has magical strengths and personal advantages or disadvantages - perhaps a certain kind of magic always comes easier to you, or perhaps you have a sworn enemy who is always on your tail. If you want a game about secrecy and struggle, this might be the game for you.

Dead Letter Society, by Rori Montford.

Live your best unlife as the newest member of the Dead Letter Society, an exclusive communication network for vampires. Pursue your ambitions, and question the Society's motives, in this journaling and epistolary game for 1-2 players.

Dead Letter Society is a journaling game where your letters drive the action. Choose your genre, build your world, and discover the joys of corresponding via a secret society with unknown motives.

This is a slower and quieter game, for a much smaller group of people that happens over the course of writing various letters or journal entries. Using tarot cards, you’ll answer the questions that arise out of the course of your play (although it looks like you can use dice or other method of number generation if you like). The game is, at its core, about two vampires sharing a connection through a Society whose motives are… suspect. It looks like there are play-sets for various settings, and while I’m not sure exactly what your vampires’ position is in relation to humans, the fact that it’s meant to take place between 2 players (or by yourself) gives me a suspicion that your characters will be sympathetic, rather than monstrous.

Eat the Reich, by Rowan, Rook & Decard.

The year is 1943. You are a team of crack vampire commandos with one mission: drink all of Hitler's blood.

This over-the-top, ultraviolent game is designed to be played from beginning to end in one to three sessions of carnage, blood magic, meaningful flashbacks and hundreds upon hundreds of extremely dead fascists. It tells one story, it tells it loud, and it tells it brilliantly. Think Wolfenstein crossed with Danger 5 and you're not far off the mark.

This is a game about punching up, and punching back. The designers are aiming for something that is over-the-top, messy, and violent, something that guides your characters through one big mission while providing the ability to flash-back to moments in WW2 that led your characters to this final moment. It’s meant to be big, bombastic and bloody - and it’s currently still in production. You can still pre-order it on the Kickstarter page, but if you want to learn more about it first, I recommend checking out this post by the authors, as well as the game v, which uses the same rule system to deliver a punchy one-shot experience.

Bloodbeam Badlands, by Viditya Voleti.

You have survived the apocalypse, and your worst nightmare has come true. The sun burns redder, brighter, and hotter, never setting - the Forever Dawn. The land has been irradiated and kissed by its strange sanguine rays, warping the world into a carnival for the strange and the supernatural.

Bloodbeam Badlands is a game for at least 2 players, including a Game Master (GM). It’s a game about vampires stuck surviving a post-apocalyptic world where the sun never sets, what it means to keep moving when the deck is stacked against you, the immortal facing mortality with every step. It’s also a game about being really cool vampires with cool vampire powers and cool magic guns going on rad adventures in a rad world filled with rad things.

Characters in Bloodbeam Badlands have 3 Stats: Guts, Guile, and Guise that determine your capabilities and how many dice you roll, and 3 Sources: Blood, Bullets, and Burn which determine your state of being and what value you need to roll under. Managing your Sources as they fluctuate and playing to your strengths allows for a dynamic yet simple system! It’s the end of the world and your greatest enemy is able to kill you at all hours of the day.

A game of survival and plenty of character pieces that exist in threes, Bloodbeam Badlands hands you some cursed guns and powerful vampiric abilities and asks you to try and survive in a world where not just the humans, but the landscape wants to kill you. If you want a game about kicking desperation in the face and rad adventures, this might be the game for you.

The Sun’s Ransom, by pidj.

The Sun's Ransom is a poetic, tragic RPG where you play vampires determined to bring back the sun.

The world has gone dark and the mortals are consumed by the need for warmth, light and power. It is up to you, who do not need life or warmth or light or power, to ransom the sun, despite the cost. You must go against your vampiric nature and remember what brought Light and Joy to your mortal self. That is the blood-price for the sun.

This is a game that takes your resources away from you as you play. Your table will have the freedom to determine what kind of world you start in and what exactly the roles are for both mortals and vampires. This means that it’s up to you what kind of creatures vampires are, and how people see them! What you’ll struggle with is your doom - or to be more clear, the doom of the mortals around you.

When you begin play, you’ll place as many dice as can cover the sun that the game provides for you to print out. As you play, those dice will be removed - and the sun will come back, saving the mortals you fight for, and hurting you in the process. If you want a game of tragedy and sacrifice, I recommend this game.

Other Games I’ve Recommended

Blood and Sacrilege, by Tom Clark.

Vamp Camp!, by Sebastian Yue.

Bubblegum Vampires, by Gormengeist.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #vampires

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thornsnvultures · 2 years

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natasha romanoff x f!reader 18+

1.8k words, domestic fluff, smut, oral, top!reader, breast worship, pussy slapping, tw food mention, tw scars

You're vegged out on the couch in the living room when Natasha comes home. She's not surprised to see you there, work's been kicking your ass lately and you've taken to disassociating to the sounds of Great British Bake Off as stress relief.

"I'm home!"

"Howdy."

She chuckles and shakes her head at your lackluster greeting. "I picked up garlic bread from the store, thought we could do pasta tonight."

"Sounds good."

Nat preheats the oven and walks over to where you're sprawled out, garlic bread still in hand. You're in just an over-sized tshirt and sleep shorts, long legs exposed and begging to be touched.

She pokes your leg with the bagged bread instead. "You alright, sunshine?"

"Hmm?" It takes a second for you to register what she's asking and you have the decency to look sheepish when it does. "Sorry, Nat, it was a rough one today." You sit up and crawl up the couch until you're face to face with her. She cups your cheek, her worried eyes take in the bags under yours. Your stupid boss has been working you too hard, pushing you to exhaustion and Natasha doesn't like it one bit. If she had it her way she would've had a less than cordial meeting with the old creep by now, made it known you were dating a deadly assassin and weren't to be fucked with. But you refused, you said you could handle it.

"Don't apologize for having a bad day, angel."

"Yeah, but you're out there kicking ass and saving people and I'm, what, sad that I have to sit in a meeting for an hour longer than I wanted to?"

You pout into your lover's hand, and let your eyes drift shut. Nat coos at her sweet, tired angel, pulling you close so she can press a kiss to your forehead.

"Just because you didn't maim anyone today doesn't mean you didn't have a hard day."

You giggle and wrap your arms around her trim waist. "How do you know I didn't maim anyone? I have great maim potential sitting just under the surface, ready to strike."

Nat leans back to look at you and cackles. "Sure ya do, killer."

You pout even harder now as your girlfriend wiggles out of your grasp and heads back to the kitchen to start dinner. It's late for both of you, but a routine that neither of you can skip. Eating together, watching mundane TV shows, feeling normal and domestic in a way neither of you thought you could. It was important, no matter the time of day.

So you stand behind Natasha at the stove, wrapped around her back like a sleepy koala bear on a tree, as she stirs noodles in a pot. You tell her all about your day and she shares as much as she can of hers that isn't classified information. You trace the scars that litter her shoulders with your lips and she bats your hand away from the sauce pan so you don't burn yourself. Again.

The oven dings when the garlic bread is done and the two of you eat in companionable silence, taking precious moments to simply exist in each other's space.

When you're done you fight Natasha to leave the dishes for tomorrow.

"I need cuddles. You better put down that scrub brush, I swear to God."

So you resume your position on the couch. Sprawled out with an arm over your head, your toes touching the opposite end and a cat-like Natasha curled up mostly on top of you.

She has such a presence, a dominating, commanding force of a woman when she's out there in the world. But here in your little one bedroom, in the space your arms make for her, she shrinks, like a porcupine lowering its spikes.

The tv plays in the background but neither of you are paying attention. Your right hand rests behind your head while your left runs a steady course up and down her back, soothing in a figure eight that you know she likes. Her hands find their way under the hem of your shirt, grazing your tummy in a soft, tickling touch that makes you shudder and huff an indignant laugh.

"Don't you dare."

"I didn't," she protests into your neck. "They're about to judge the last cakes. I'm not distracting you, am I?"

"Brat," you chuckle and kiss her head where it's laying on your chest. The two of you lay all snuggled up until you start to fall asleep, gentle snores blowing through the red curls by your cheek.

"Nope. No falling asleep on the couch, too uncomfortable."

You whine and wrap your arms tight around Natasha, rolling until she's under you. She shouts like she's hasn't been trained how to overpower someone doing what you're doing fifty times over. No, she loves letting you crush her and you love feeling her under you.

With a hand on her cheek you lean in slowly, your gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips where her tongue darts out to wet them.

"Do you want me to take you to bed?"

Her eyes flutter shut and she nods her head. It's been a long day, but those words light a fire in you both.

You press a kiss to her forehead and climb off the couch, pulling her up with you by the hand as you go.

She protests when you push her into the bathroom to shower, but you know she needs it. Some time to herself to wash off the day, to unpack and make peace. That and the unscented soap at the compound just isn't the same as your lavender vanilla body scrub. It settles you too, smelling you on her like that. Mixing with the scent of her shampoo and something distinctly...Nat.

You're ready for bed when she comes back out. The shower was short this time and you know why when she doesn't bother to put her pajamas on, or even fully dry off.

You watch from the end of the bed as she drops her towel. Rivulets of water run from her collarbone and down her chest as she walks toward you.

To anyone else she would look fierce, like a lioness stalking her prey, confident and lithe in her movements. And she does look stunning, your breath catching as your eyes meet when she moves to stand between your spread thighs. But you see her. You can see the hesitation in those pretty green eyes that search yours from under thick lashes.

It's still there. The fear that she's not worthy of your time, your love. That she's too broken to be what you need.

You'll spend the rest of your life showing her that's a lie if she'll let you.

Her hands run the length of your thighs, pushing up the hem of your sleepshirt as you hold her face in your hands.

"So beautiful." You capture her mouth with yours, hungry and desperate to feel her against you.

Your hands caress her jaw before moving lower, grazing her shoulders, brushing away whatever laid heaviest there, before sliding further down to her breasts.

Natasha gasps into your mouth as you pluck and pull at her nipples, tugging on a line that runs straight to her core.

"Please," she groans against your lips.

"Please, what?" You tug harder on her nipple until she gasps and whines, pouting that you're making her use her words.

"Need you. Please. Touch me."

Her skin is soft and dewy against your lips when you wrap your lips around her breast. The sweet taste makes your eyelids flutter shut and you groan around your mouthful.

"Oh, fuck," she cries out and pulls at your hair as you lick and suck at her breast.

"Taste so good, baby. So perfect. Perfect fucking tits."

Her head falls back, mouth open and breathing heavy as her wet red hair tumbles down between her shoulder blades.

Your hands palm her ass cheeks, tugging her closer, squeezing the plump mounds between your fingers.

"Yes, baby, please," she moans when her exposed folds rub up against the cotton of your panties. You can feel how wet she is through the thin fabric.

"What do you want, baby? Want me to make you feel good?"

She looks down at you, at where you've been busy sucking new bruises into her skin. Doing your best to mark her as yours.

"Fuck yes. Make me feel good, baby."

She squeals when you grab her hips and throw her down on the bed. You know your grin is positively wolfish as you climb over her, tugging off your sleep shirt. Natasha's eyes fall to your breasts as she scoots back on the mattress, her mouth open and practically panting as her gaze skims your nearly bare body.

"Like whatcha see?"

"You know it, baby."

You laugh and fall to your stomach between her legs. Her thighs are creamy and soft and spread for you so beautifully.

"Such a pretty fucking pussy." You kiss down the inside of her thighs, nipping and sucking little love bites into her soft skin.

She inhales sharply when you ghost over where she needs you most to press kisses to her soft tummy. The scars there hold so much of her shame, the most uncomfortable parts of her past. It's a blessing, a gift, for her to show those parts of herself to you. And you treat them as such, every scar, every mark getting its own soft, loving kiss.

Her hips twist under your steady hands, trying to push you towards her center.

"Alright, alright," you laugh and nip at her hip, kissing your way down to her mound.

"You can spend all day down there another time, you sap. I wanna come all over your- ahh!"

Natasha cries out as you wrap your lips around her clit and suck.

"Oh fuck, baby. That's it."

You run your hands down her thighs to get knees and push them up to her chest, keeping your mouth on her pussy, licking and nibbling at that sensitive bud.

"Open up for me. Lemme see."

Nat gasps, her nails digging into her thighs as you spread her lips open with your thumbs and fuck her right hole with your tongue. She's so fucking tight, clenching around the muscle as you lick into her.

"Tight, creamy little pussy. This is my pussy. Right, baby? Say it."

You slap your hand down on her messy cunt.

"Yes! Yes, baby, it's yours. Your pussy. Fuck!"

Satisfied, you dive back in, licking and sucking at her lips, her clit until her legs are shaking around your head.

"I'm gonna come, fuck I'm gonna-"

You pull back and slap her pussy again and again.

"Ahh!"

"Come for me, then. Fucking come."

Natasha screams and comes when you shove your tongue deep in her pussy. Her juices spill over your tongue and you lap up all of it, as much as you can.

"C'mere."

Nat pulls you up by your chin and licks you clean, your chin, your cheeks. She kisses you, moaning into your mouth at your combined flavor.

"Good?" She nods her head, practically purring. "Want more?"

"Oh god, you're gonna be the death of me."

#lmk if you want more domestic natxreader #this was fun #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fan fiction #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff one shot #natasha romanoff headcannon #black widow x f!reader #black widow x you #natasha romanoff x f!reader #black widow fan fiction #black widow smut #black widow one shot #black widow headcannon #black widow fluff #my fics #i wanna write more domestic nat 🥺

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trainingdummyrabbit · 20 days

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whats tpoh?

oooohhh hangon i have a pitch for this

tpoh (or The Property of Hate) is a lovely comic with heavy theming of storybooks and hero's journeys, and has the same vibe as something you'd read as a bedtime story. it has a Fascinating take on a lot of worldbuilding and wordplay and its!! so hard to describe properly in words, its something youre really just gonna have to see for yourself. its got Really strong character leads whom iwould kill and die for, n if you like funky designs that Really play with theme and concept well. ohoho. oooohohoho.

u want a funky tvhead guy themed around old timey film/television and slapstick that changes palettes based on his surroundings ? swan made of candyfloss and chocolate styled into knives and ballet slippers ? porcupine made of sewing needles and fabric scraps from a place that specializes in quite literally Altering Character Designs??? grabbing u by the shoulders.

do u like playing with the bounds of webcomic and narrative and imagination as an in-universe mechanic, as a world to traverse and rules to abide by? ever wonder what happens to story fragments that never get realized as full concepts? how you become a role and a role becomes you, blurring the lines of person-concept-object-idea?

also assok is there

#[writing this down] Oh This Explains Fucking Everything Actually. ok #im trying so hard not to spoil my favorite bits bc theyre literally breathtaking. its been going for years-- and still is !#u can See the art developing as it goes and boy does it fuckig GO... AUGH #pleas read it if u get the chance its everything 2 me.#piktalk #as a disclaimer i havent read anything since the interlude w The Bnunny (iykyk) so im missing shit but ouhhhghghggg AUHUGH..

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 10 months

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Soft and Sweet

I know it's been a while, but I've had a few story ideas and I crave your work lol. I really want soft Remus h/c. Remus feels like he can't be soft though. And he knows about all the reassurances and the "be who you are" speeches that Logan got when he felt like he needed to be a robot and Patton got when he was hiding being sad and Janus got and- well everyone but him basically got. But he never needed that speech cause he is being himself, and he's happy with himself... however being himself has some disadvantages. He's as soft as a porcupine covered in nails with how his brain and magic works (he thinks even though he's definitely been soft with others and helped them) and he really wants a soft day and for once his intrusive thoughts are taking a lazy day or something so he wants his freaking soft day with everyone. He just really doesn't know how to go about it since it's so rare for him. 💜 (Doesn't have to be hurt/comfort. But I'm in love with the idea of Remus trying to set up a soft and quiet day and failing and trying to not ask for help cause "that's stupid") – insanitori

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none! just soft remus and soft janus

Pairings: dukeceit, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 3280

This is it! This is it! This is it, this is his soft day, he's so ready for it.

He's made sure he doesn't have to go into the Imagination to work, he doesn't have to go and bother the others and they won't bother him, and he's even pilfered a copy of Roman's fairy lights to hang up on the edges of the room.

Remus claps his hands and wriggles, unable to keep the manic grin off his face. It's been so long since he had a day where he wasn't busy—and really, can you blame him? Have you seen all the shit running through good old Tommy Salami's head recently?—and now that it's here, he can have his soft day the way that everyone else has. You know, where you don't have to do anything in particular, except the things you really want to, and you can make sure that the lighting is just perfect and your drink is just right and the whole world is a little floaty and sweet and just the way you want it.

He's heard everyone extoll the virtues of a soft day for ages now—he lives with Janny, for crying out loud, he knows better than anyone the benefits of having a soft day, okay, and if you'd been forced to sit through about a million TED talks on the matter, you would too—and finally, finally, he gets to know what it's like himself. So last night, when he'd been getting ready for sleep, he put on his coziest pajamas and snuggled down in his softest blankets and took way too long to get to sleep because he was so excited.

Which brings him to now.

About three hours before his soft day is technically supposed to begin, Remus is awake. Now, if he were awake for just too-excited reasons, this might not be as big of a problem, but he's not awake for no reason.

His back hurts.

Frowning, Remus twists under the covers, trying to figure out which muscle has decided to be a thorny dildo and wake him up. No, it's not that one…no, that one's fine…it's only his right side that hurts when he's trying to figure it out but it's hurting in a place where there isn't really a muscle to be causing that type of pain. Maybe it's a bit further up? His fingers press along his spine, trying to locate the tell-tale knot where he can prod halfheartedly at it until he can go back to sleep.

But everything he tries just hurts, and not in the productive way a massage is supposed to.

He flips over, making the mattress jostle, and tries to twist and stretch it out. It hurts like a stretch is supposed to, but it doesn't feel like he's actually stretching it out, just that it's hurting.

This isn't supposed to happen today. This is supposed to be his soft day. Not his back-aches-and-who-the-fuck-knows-why day.

He looks at the clock. It's still about two hours before he's supposed to be up. Muttering something unsavory about muscles and how much he'd like to permanently redesign them, he closes his eyes and tries to ignore it long enough to go back to sleep.

The pain makes it difficult, forcing him to shift about this way and that to try and find a place that won't strain the muscle and make it worse, but also that isn't causing the problem in the first place. Is it the mattress? But he's slept on this mattress for ages without a problem, is it how he's sleeping? Probably, but he always sleeps like a roly-poly, why would it just now be causing him problems? Was it something that had built up over time and he was just now noticing it? But that barely made sense either, unlike the other Sides that rarely paid attention to their bodies until they were in absolute-danger-will-die-and-fall-apart mode, he knew that he needed to take care of his meat sack.

Which is why he was supposed to be having a soft day.

No. Nope. Not happening. He has been looking forward to this soft day for ages. He was not going to let some stupid back pain ruin it.

He doesn't quite manage to get back to sleep, but he does manage to slip into that little half-sleep daze where everything is all nice and floaty until it's time to get up. He sits up, wincing at the pull in his back but smiling when he sees the gentle light coming in from the window.

Perfect.

He gets up, reaching for the remote to turn on the fairy lights. He makes them a soft green color, to match the ambiance of his room, and he's just about to put the remote down and go about his soft day when he notices that one of the lights is flickering when it isn't supposed to be. Frowning, he crosses the room and reaches for it, pulling it down and trying to discern what the problem is.

Maybe the bulb is faulty?

He looks at the back, trying to find how it's connected, and locating a few screws that hold the back of the bulb to a tiny panel connected to the main wire. He should have a screwdriver around here somewhere…maybe it's over on his desk.

He goes to root around, pushing aside his other projects, pliers, and scraps, but he doesn't see his screwdriver. Alright, maybe it's in his toolbox.

After upending the entire thing when he can't seem to find it and sorting through the piles and piles of screws and bolts and nails, he has to conclude that no, there is no screwdriver in here. Or rather, there is, but it's not the right one. Those screws are tiny, they're not gonna work with the normal-sized one.

He bites his lip and goes back to the flickering light, all but glaring at the screws. Maybe if he just uses something sharp, like the corner of something small, he'll be able to get it open. Yeah, that should work.

He takes the point of another tool and start to turn it in the screw. There, he can feel the traction of it, this is working, he's almost there—

Only to realize he's just stripping the head of the screw and now there's no hope of getting it out even with the right screwdriver.

Fine. Fine. It's fine. This light will just be flickery. He shoves it inside one of the chew toys he's making for Uma and takes a deep breath.

Soft day. Soft day.

What about a shower? Janny's always saying that he takes a shower and it makes him feel better, let's try that.

He goes into the bathroom, wincing at the bright lights, and just turns on the one near the door. There. That way, there's enough shadow in the shower itself to make it feel all warm and cozy, but he won't be flopping about in the dark. He takes off his pajamas and turns the shower on, waiting for the room to get nice and steamy before getting in.

At first, it's great. The pressure of the warm water does wonders for the budding headache, reminding him of why it's one of his favorite grounding techniques when the voices get too loud. It's not too loud, it's not too quiet, he can watch the light make pretty patterns in the water as it runs down his arms, his hands, his fingers, and the little ornament with bath salts that Logan gave him to help him focus smells so good.

But then his back starts to hurt again.

Maybe it'll be easier to stretch standing up? He raises his arms above his head, accidentally knocking into the ceiling, and tries leaning to this side first, then this side, then back, trying to isolate the problem. Then he leans over, trying to touch his toes, only to realize that stretch is more for his legs and he'd rip them apart before he even got close to stretching the right part of his back. Maybe backwards—nope, nope, not backwards, not in the shower, he's not trying to crack his skull open today, that's Thursday.

He lets out a sigh and his forehead clunks against the tile wall.

Maybe he should just focus on getting his back not to hurt first. Then he can go about his soft day without worrying about it. Maybe he can take another shower later.

He gets out, toweling off, and shucks the pajamas back over his head. Going out to his room, he puts his hands on his hips and scrunches his face up.

"Okay, you little shit, what the fuck do you want?"

Twisting sort of helps, but it just feels like he's making it worse. Doing a bridge doesn't help because it's too low down. Cat-cow and child's pose aren't working the right parts, and doing a lying-down twist with his knees on one side then the other works, technically, but it just feels like he's succeeding in making it hurt and not actually doing anything productive.

Maybe it's just sore? He has been sitting down a lot lately, maybe moving around a bit will get the muscle warmed up and help it stop doing whatever the fuck it's doing. So he gets up and starts trying to figure out how to do that.

Turns out that specifically trying to work that section of his back requires exercising a lot more of his body by default and he is not a fan of exercising. Plus, these pajamas are great when he's lying in bed or lazing around not doing anything, but as he starts to work up a sweat, they start to pinch and rub and pull and really just get disgusting, so he has to take them off and put on these ill-fitting scratchy things that are the only other ones clean right now.

As he pulls it over his head, the tag gets stuck in his hair and suddenly he just wants to rip the whole thing in half. This was supposed to be his soft day, goddamnit, and everything is just fucking awful. He tried so hard to just get this day where he was free and he could be soft and it was supposed to work and now his good pajamas are sweaty and his lights are flickery and his back hurts and everything sucks.

He lowers his arms. His back hurts. He stands in the middle of his room, panting. He looks around.

Blood and viscera cover the walls. Half-completed projects cover every surface. There's a mangled piece of metal pinning an old piece of pizza to the desk.

What was he thinking?

He can't be soft. That's not his job. His job is to be gross and ridiculous and annoying.

No wonder this wasn't working.

As the realization washes over him, he suddenly feels the absence of those three hours of sleep thanks to his stupid back. He trudges back over to his bed and flops down on it, ignoring the pain. He stares out the window.

…there's a project he needs to finish when he wakes up. He'll just do that today instead.

***

You deserve a soft awakening, my dear.

***

Rain patters gently against the window just beyond the curtains. The sun has not hidden its face completely, the fabric coloring amber as a few stray sunbeams reach their fingers through to brush his cheeks. He stirs in the bed, covers rustling and shifting around him as his eyes slowly open.

The window was cracked, the warm smell of cool rain drifting through, curling around the edges of still-damp hair. His limbs, still sleep heavy, move toward it. A soft hum escapes his throat.

He lies there like an old oak tree, speckled with moss and lichens as the rain falls around him. Roots seem to grow from his trunk and hold him fast to the bed, refusing to let him so much as roll over.

His eyes flutter once more.

The rain continues to fall, slight breezes wafting through the window to venture tentatively around the room. They curl over his desk, his nightstand, his lamp. His phone sits plugged in, its alarms asleep, screen blank. A thin ray of light warms its edge. The breeze toys idly with a strand of his hair.

The rain manages to slip through the grey haze permeating his brain, but no more, for it takes all the limited focus he has to feel the covers, hear the rain, smell the breeze. And it is so warm, so sweet, so gentle there, nestled beneath the covers, that he feels no urging to move.

A soft rumble of thunder, far away in the distance.

Storms can be timeless, truly, and so he drifts in that semi-lucid state until a quiet creak comes from the door.

"Sweetie, are you awake?"

Muffled footsteps make their way across the door and the bed dips with another's weight, a familiar face swimming into view.

"There you are," Janus murmurs, reaching out to steady himself as he leans closer, "hello, sweetie."

He hums, blinking slowly.

"Are you alright? I've never known you to linger in bed for so long." His concern washes gently over Remus's trunk. "Are you sick?"

He shakes his head.

"No? Not sick?" He shifts his arm to prop himself up more securely. "Just tired?"

"Tried to have a soft day. Didn't work."

"Oh, sweetie," he hears distantly, before something warm brushes his forehead, "it's alright. You can still have your soft day. Can I help?"

"Help?"

"Yes, sweetie, will you let me take care of you? That's soft, right?"

"But it's stupid."

"I do hope you're not saying that soft days are stupid," Janus murmurs, voice gentle enough to take the sting out of the slight chastisement, "are you?"

"Me needing help with them is stupid."

"Oh, sweetie, no. It's alright." Even Janus sounds upset at that, reaching down to ruffle his hair. "It's alright to get help for something like that, you're letting someone take care of you, that's soft, that's okay. Please, sweetie, let me help? Let me take care of you?"

Remus stirs a bit, blinking up at him. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why're you so excited? What're you getting out of it?"

Janus's confusion gentles as he huffs, tapping Remus lightly on the cheek. "Do you know how often I get to spoil you as opposed to everyone else? Because it's not that often, sweetie, and you know how I get about things I want."

A light pink flush rises to Remus's cheeks.

"Let me spoil you, sweetie," Janus murmurs, running his fingers over his face, "let me be soft with you. I want to."

"Okay."

Janus smiles and reaches down to guide the covers away from his neck, making it easier to breathe. His touch lingers as he tucks it away, reaching up to card his fingers through his hair. Remus hums, pleased, and he strokes a thumb along the curve of his cheek.

"Do you want to tell me what didn't work before?"

"My back." Remus shuffles. "Hurts."

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie, would a massage help?"

"We can try."

"Roll over for me, then, dear, let's see what we can do."

He mumbles and tries to roll only for the covers to ruck up awkwardly under him and trap him there. A disgruntled noise makes Janus laugh as he reaches to help, still laughing when Remus's expression turns outraged.

"Oh, the big eyes," he murmurs when he blinks up at him, "is that good?"

He lets out a startled huff when Remus pouts up at him instead.

"Come now, what's all that for?"

"'S hard."

"It's hard? What, moving?"

"Mhm."

"You poor thing," he says softly, only half teasing as he helps roll him onto his back, "comfortable?"

"Yeah."

"Lovely. Hold on a moment, let me just…there. Alright, can I lift up your shirt?" When Remus nods, he carefully takes the hem of his pajama shirt and raises it up, only to let out a noise of dismay. "Oh, sweetie, you're all bruised back here…I'm not sure a massage will be helpful, but I'll rub some bruise cream onto it, how does that sound?"

"Okay."

Thunder rumbles again as he works, closer.

"Close your eyes if you like, sweetie. I'll stay with you."

His touch is warm, and he must have taken his gloves off, calluses dragging slightly along the curves and sweeps as he traces. Parts of Remus's skin tingle slightly from the contract between the cool breeze and his gentle touch. After a few moments, he goes from rubbing the cream into particular places to running long passes up and down the planes of his back, up and down, up and down.

It overwhelms him with soft persistence, following the pitter-patter of the rain and the humming of the warmth just beyond the curtains. Time drifts away once more, carried by the soft tender brush of the breeze over the covers.

After a while, he realizes Janus is calling him.

"Sweetie," he says, "sweetie, can you open your eyes for me?"

Remus does with some reluctance.

"There you are, yes, hello. I'm all done, now, and the cream has soaked in as much as it's going to. Would you like a cuddle?"

He mumbles softly and Janus leans down.

"Was that a yes, dear?"

"Mhm."

"Alright, then, one moment."

Another roll of thunder as he carefully slips under the covers too, letting out a small noise at how warm it is.

"Come here, then, sweetie," he murmurs, carefully coaxing Remus into his arms as the breeze gusts about, "there…all better."

He smells of spilled tea and fresh water. Remus tucks his nose into the crook of Janus's neck as more hands come to trace little invisible lines up his back, across his shoulders, down his sides. He snuffles at the slight ticklish touch and Janus's chuckle rumbles against his chest.

"You talk a big game," he whispers, "about not being all sweet and cuddly and precious…but I know better. You can be all soft too, Remus, you can have soft days too."

And as the rain continues to fall, the thunder rumbling gently out of the window, it becomes the easiest thing in the world to drift away there, in Janus's arms.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

#sanders sides #fic #dragonbabbles #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit

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vintagewildlife · 1 month

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African porcupines By: Karl Soffel From: Lebensbilder aus der Tierwelt 1908

#african porcupine #old world porcupine #porcupine #hystricomorph #rodent #mammal #1908 #1900s #Karl Soffel #Lebensbilder aus der Tierwelt

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uncharismatic-fauna · 11 months

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Uncharismatic Fact of the Day

Contrary to popular belief, porcupines can’t throw their quills. However, the foot-long barbs are loosely attached to the porcupine’s skin and will easily become embedded in any animal that comes too close. Over time, any lost quills will be regrown, and a single porcupine may have over 30,000 at a time.

(Image: A North American porcupine (Erethizon dorsatum) by Ashley Conti)

If you like what I do, consider leaving a tip or buying me a ko-fi!

#porcupines #Rodentia #Hystricidae #Erethizontidae #Old World porcupines #New World porcupines #rodents #mammals #uncharismatic facts

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backgroundgoblin-blog · 6 months

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Headcanon Freedom fighters (or basically how I would like to group characters together in teams to fight Eggman):

Knothole FF: One of the first to start their revolt against the mad Doctor. They live in the forest of the Knothole Village, under the leadership of Princess Sally Acorn.

Angel Island Guardians: Originally just starting with Knuckles, the group slowly grew as the timeline went on. Now becoming one of the largest of the FF, all of them have a close relationship with the Rad Red.

The Spiral Hill Restoration: Forming much later than the others, this group has ties to the Restoration, making it the most resourceful of them. Still new and inexperienced, the group has Lanolin the Sheep, a young leader that's still getting the hang of keeping things together.

Shijin Warriors: Hailing all the way from the east, these shaolin warriors where formed thanks to Monkey Kahn. They protect the land of Kar Leung and the Shijin Shrine, often being moderators to the neighboring clans.

Spagonai Fighters: A group residing on the outskirts Spagonia, operating on the old ruins of the mad doctor. They are well versed with the doctors' tricks and doodats. Johnny lightfoot acts as the leader of this rag tag group.

Woodland Kingsmen: From the woods of Merica, lead by Bow Sparrow, they seek to dethrone the current king and establish a new monarchy. They mostly rely on old forms of weaponry and rarely use modern technology.

Desert Raiders: The smallest of the groups, living off the dessert, they are often fighting at odds through tick and thin. Lead by Spike the Porcupine, they seem to idealize Sonic and co.

Arctic Fighters: From the cold of the northern tundra. Lead by Guntiver the Arctic Wolf, these fighters fight the cold just as hard as they fight for freedom.

Others that I group together, but don't have a stationary place:

Forget me Knots: A world traveling band, lead by the famous Mina Mongoose. Their songs are the inspiring melodies that keep the world safe from tyranny.

Chaotix: The three man group of detectives, lead by the man himself, Vector the Crocodile. These misfits can solve any case, for the right price. But when trouble seems too unjust, they are willing to give their support, on the house.

also all of the art here is not mine, art used are from: JoeAdok, Drawloverlala, liris-san, SomeJoJoGuy, and the castle I can't remember.

#sonic headcanons #headcanon #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #sonic au #freedom fighters #charts

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astrronomemes · 10 months

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THE ILLUSTRATED MAN: STARTERS

a collection of quotes, phrases, and sayings from the 1951 Ray Bradbury novel, The Illustrated Man. change & alter as needed.

"Do you know where I can find a job?"

"You'll be sorry you asked me to stay. Everyone always is."

"You smoke a little more every morning, and drink a little more every afternoon, and need a little more sedative every night."

"Long before you knew what death was, you were wishing it on someone else. When you were two years old, you were shooting people with cap pistols."

"Nothing ever likes to die — even a room."

"There's a chance we'll be found."

"I know how you feel, [name]. I don't take it personally."

"I don't know why I said that. I guess I wanted to hurt you."

"There wasn't anything there for me, or you, or anybody like us. I've never been sorry I left."

"[Name], I can't be made to do nothing like that."

"It doesn't matter who I am. I'd be just a name to you, anyhow."

"We destroyed everything and ruined everything, like the fools that we were and the fools that we are."

"What happens next is up to all of us."

"Haven't you heard? It's happened."

"Oh, I want to be home. I want to be home."

"You can't trust anyone anymore."

"[Name], if you don't understand, there's no way of telling you."

"This is what I came looking for. I didn't know it, but this is it."

"You're crying like a baby. Stop it."

"Stay if you like. But I'm going on, with the others, as far as I can go."

"It's been a long time, a long, long time, since I relaxed."

"We've enough food for another two days if we're careful."

"I'm not crazy yet, but I'm the next thing to it. I don't want to go out that way."

"Promise me you won't be like me."

"Next time I come home, I'm home to stay."

"We have reached a new land, so we must have new eyes. We shall hear new sounds, and must needs have new ears."

"Love has to do with humor, doesn't it? For you cannot love someone unless you put up with him, can you? And you cannot put up with someone constantly unless you can laugh at him. Isn't that true?"

"I haven't feared death for a good many years, [name]."

"Can't you recognize the human in the inhuman?"

"May I come again, someday, that I may learn from you?"

"What would you do if you knew that this was the last night of the world?"

"It's not a matter of deserving. It's just that things didn't work out."

"I'll have nothing to do with you terrible people!"

"War begets war. Destruction begets destruction."

"Memories, as my father once said, are porcupines. To hell with them! Stay away from them! They make you unhappy. They ruin your work. They make you cry."

"You die each day, and each day is a box, you see, all numbered and neat. But never go back and lift the lids, because you've died a couple thousand times in your life, and that's a lot of corpses, each dead a different way, each with a worse expression. Each of those days is a different you, somebody you don't know or understand, or want to understand."

"We're all fools all the time. It's just we're a different kind each day. We think, I'm not a fool today. I've learned my lesson. I was a fool yesterday, but not this morning. Then tomorrow, we find out that, yes, we were a fool today, too. I think the only way we can grow and get on in this world is to accept the fact we're not perfect, and live accordingly."

"I'm getting worse, aren't I? I thought so. This morning, when I woke up, I thought, I'm getting worse."

"I've never enjoyed myself so much in my life."

"You've got the wrong person. My name is not [name]."

"The rabbits may hide in the forest, but a fox can always find them."

"Really, you've both been incredibly romantic, running away from your responsibilities."

"The car's in the repair shop. It'll be ready at four this afternoon. Then we'll get the hell out."

"Don't you realize what'll happen when they discover your talent? They'll fight over you. They'll kill each other, kill you, for the right to own you."

"Oh, but I don't belong to anybody. No, not even you."

"Your first night out in years, and you go home at ten o'clock."

"I recall that I was quite firm on the subject."

"You won't mind waiting a moment, will you? I have to make a phone call."

"In order to make a good fight, you got to have a new way of surprising people."

"Someone should go who could tell it well on returning. You have a way with words."

"I will buy your ticket today. You can leave next week."

"I can go, can't I? And you'll like me when I come back?"

"We will remember it for always, [name]. We will never forget."

"You're the best father in the world."

#rp meme #roleplay meme #rp starters #roleplay starters #dialogue prompts #rp memes #roleplay memes #sentence memes #sentence prompts #sentence starters

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the-hinky-panda · 9 months

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Something Witchy: Blackbird, Delaware

Title: Something Witchy

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're a physical medium and chaos magician that is called in from time to time to help consult on some X-Files. You've lived your life seeing into another world and believing in things you can't see. What happens when you fall for the die hard skeptic Special Agent John Doggett?

Blackbird, Delaware

The house is in the middle of nowhere. John never thought the state of Delaware was big enough to have a “middle of nowhere” location and yet, here he is. At least, he’s not alone. Monica was convinced there was something paranormal out in the woods of Blackbird. A few teenagers were coming back from visiting an abandoned farmhouse with scratches, quills stuck in their skin, and then they would have the most insane run of bad luck until the next group would go out there into the woods.

But Monica wasn’t feeling well, having succumbed to the flu that was making its way around the office. When he had called her, she had suggested having you accompany him on the two hour drive up to Blackbird to investigate the house. After looking at the case file, she thought it could be another Elemental or possible demon, both of which you would be able to assist with handling. She had been impressed with your reading at the McLeary farm and had apparently visited your shop a few times since then so her faith in your abilities had grown.

Not to mention, John hasn’t been able to get you out of his mind since that case. The waves of your dark hair as it falls over your shoulders, your dark eyes that somehow radiate warmth. That unique scent of lavender and thyme that follows you. In the last week, he’s started dreaming about you. He can’t remember any specific details from the dream, just that you were there. He could hear your laugh, feel your warmth next to him. When he woke up, the smell of lavender and thyme was on his sheets.

And he didn’t mind it.

“You said the teens are coming home with cuts and bruises,” you ask him from the passenger seat of the car, “and quills?”

“Yeah. Like porcupine quills but…”

“But they’re not. Delaware doesn’t have porcupines. The state doesn’t have the appropriate ecosystem for them.”

“You got any ideas then?”

You smile at him, bright and confident, in the late afternoon light. God, you’re beautiful. “Delaware may not have porcupines but they do have pukwudgies.”

“Puk what?”

“Pukwudgies.”

“The hell is that? It sounds like something teenage boys do to each other in the locker room.”

“A pukwudgie is like a gnome, it’s a fairy type spirit that shows itself as a small old man with porcupine quills on its back. They can be beneficial to the areas they inhabit but they can also be little tricksters.”

“So they have short tempers.”

“And they don’t suffer fools lightly. They can follow you home and give you a string of bad luck if you insult them.”

“Sounds like our suspect then.”

You give him a surprised look. “Why, Agent Doggett, did you agree with a paranormal explanation of a case?”

“For now.” He gives you a brief smile. “Until we get up there and find it’s some old, short guy with a pet porcupine that’s teaching some obnoxious teens a lesson.”

You laugh quietly. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

He glances over at you, a smile still on your lips and he’s in complete agreement about the situation, of you agreeing to make this drive with him. It is too good to be true. Someone as bright and beautiful as you willing to spend your Friday night driving out into the woods to investigate with him. And the thought passes through his mind, watching the fading afternoon light shine off the soft waves of your hair and that now familiar scent of lavender and thyme fills the car, that he may very well be falling in love with you.

***

It all happens so fast.

You and John reach the abandoned house just as the sun is setting. You take pictures of the house, the woods, the front door that is standing open. You think you see odd footprints in the dust that could belong to the suspected pukwudgie and take a few shots of those as well. John moves through the house, opening every door and ensuring that there is no one lurking about on the property. When he’s done, he finds you in one of the upstairs bedrooms investigating what looks to be a pile of pine needles, a kind of bedding for a small creature in one of the closets.

“Find anything pukwudgie-ish?”

You can hear the sarcasm in his voice but smile anyway. “Actually, I think I did find something.”

He comes over to where you’re standing and when you look over at him, you see the door to the bedroom slam shut. Before either one of you can move, you hear the slide of a chair moving across the wooden floor and settle under the doorknob of the bedroom. It happens in a matter of seconds and ends with the sound of small claws tottering off into the house. John runs over to the door and tries to open the door only to find it locked. He slams his shoulder into it a few times but the old wood stays surprisingly unphased.

“Dammit!”

You fiddle with the lens of your camera. “Looks like we’ve been pukwudgied.”

“Okay,” he says, a little breathless. “How do we un-pukwudgie it?”

“Under normal circumstances, we would provide a peace offering to the creature, nuts and berries mostly. But,” you motion to the door, “we’re stuck until someone can let us out.”

He sighs in frustration as he pulls out his cell phone and tries to call the Blackbird PD, but that results in another frustrated sigh. “No service. Great.”

You go to the window and push it up. “I could try to climb out on the roof-”

“No, no no,” he grabs your arm and tugs you away from the window. “That’s the last thing we need, you falling through the dilapidated roof and breaking your leg or worse.”

“Alright, no climbing on the roof.” You wander around the perimeter of the room while John goes back to studying the door. There really is no other way out other than waiting for either the police department to come looking for you or some curious teenager to show up to the house. Not having much else to do, you sit down on the floor and pull up the pictures you took on the digital camera. John gets tired of fighting with the jammed door and comes to sit down next to you.

“You had something to show me up here?”

You’re close enough to the closet door to pull it open from your seated position on the floor. “I found a pile of pine needles in the closet. Like it was being used as bedding or a nest.”

He hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything else.

“You sound skeptical.”

“That’s because I am.”

“Agent Doggett, we are locked in a room in an abandoned house that you personally cleared.” You hold up the camera. “I have pictures of unexplained footprints and found a nest in a small, dark enclosed space. What other explanation is there?”

“Another explanation? Okay. It’s a big house so I could have missed them when I did the sweep. The footprints could be an animal’s and the pine needles in the closet could be from a raccoon or opossum.”

“So no pukwudgie? Not even a little bit of possibility?”

He gives you a mildly apologetic look. “Sorry, but no. Unless you got a picture on that camera of the creature, I’m siding with a flesh and blood explanation of who locked us in here.”

You nod. “Alright. Photographic evidence. Got it.”

He actually laughs. “You get a picture of this thing, a good picture of it, and I’ll spring for dinner.”

“Deal!”

You sit in companionable silence for a few minutes. The sun has been down for almost two hours and the chill of night is creeping through the dilapidated house. You’re wishing you had grabbed your down coat instead of the thin jacket you’re trying to tug closer around your upper body. John shifts next to you.

“Here.”

That’s the only warning you get before John drapes his coat over your shoulders. It’s warm and holds notes of his cologne, cedarwood and pepper. Your hand smooths over the thick wool and images start to flood your mind. Mist is still clinging to the trees, dew is collecting on your shoes. There’s a group of people huddled together in a grassy clearing. You don’t want to see what they’re staring at but you move towards them anyway. As you approach them you can see the outline of a boy lying prone on the ground. Your heart stops and your stomach roils and…

“Hey!”

You snap back to the darkness of the bedroom and try to blink back the tears that have gathered in your eyes. John has a hand on your shoulder, firm and grounding. You bury your nose against the collar of the coat and take a deep, steadying breath, inhaling his sharp scent. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He doesn’t sound convinced but relinquishes his grip.

The pieces start to slide into place and tears come to your eyes again. This man has lost his son. He had been wearing this coat when they found the body. He had been in that field, had seen his son in that condition. And your heart breaks for him. But you can’t just tell him what you saw as skeptical as he is. So you do the only thing you can in the moment and open the coat as an invitation to share it. He gives you a small smile before moving closer to you, your sides pressed together and the coat wrapped around both of you. It’s so comforting, his warmth and solid frame next to you. You find yourself closing your eyes and starting to fall asleep.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a few minutes of quiet.

That rouses you. “For what?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings about the…” he motions to the door.

“You didn’t hurt my feelings.” You lay your head against his shoulder. “In fact, as far as skeptics go, you’re the most polite one I’ve ever met.”

“Then why’d you start to cry?”

You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to answer that question when flashes of light and whispered voices can be seen from the window. Both of you jump to your feet and run over to the window. There are about four teenagers sneaking up on the house, trying to keep their voices down as their bright flashlights bob in the darkness. You grab John’s arm.

“Don’t tell them you’re FBI.”

“Why not?”

“You want them to help us?”

He nods.

You lean your head out the window. “Hey! We need help! The pukwudgie locked us in this room!”

The teens stop dead in their tracks and lift their lights up to the window almost blinding you. “You said the pukwudgie locked you up?”

“Yeah! Can you help us?”

You hear the excited twitter of their voices debating on whether or not the creature is still in the house or ran off or they were being tricked. Curiosity got the better of them and they did venture into the house and soon the door was opening with four curious high school students standing on the other side. You thank them for helping while John flashes his FBI badge and tells them they’re trespassing and shouldn’t be there. But since they helped you, he’ll forget about them breaking the law if they leave.

Once the teens are well on their way back home, you and John climb back into the car and start the drive back to DC. He seems to have forgotten about his unanswered question concerning the sudden rise of your tears and you don’t remind him of it. You’re not sure how long ago the event occurred and if he would even be willing to speak of it. When you reach the suburbs of DC, he asks you where he should drop you off.

“At the store,” you tell him. “I live in the apartment above it.”

“That’s convenient.” He gives you a small smile. “For all those late night séances when they run out of black candles and incense.”

You tut. “You don’t use black candles for a séance. Amature.”

He chuckles at that and navigates the mostly empty streets of DC to your shop. He gives you a warm “Good night,” and waits until you enter the shop safely. You debate taking a shower, wanting to carry the residual scent of his cologne on your skin. As you lay in bed that night, you make plans on heading back to Blackbird to get that picture of the pukwudgie.

It’s Sunday afternoon when you download the pictures you took that morning of the three foot tall figure with the rows of short quills on its back onto your computer. You open your email and type in John’s email address, attaching the image. In the body of the email, all you say is: I like Fiorentino’s on 8th Street.

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