#I could use a night of dancing in the woods under the moonlight

[kell-stitches]

Got an email today that the trees bought with the donations from the embroidery sale have been planted! Now let's start a petition for a TAD concert in the forest we all helped plant 💖

[daycourtofficial]

All’s well that ends well to end up with you

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 1.5k | warnings: none

Summary: fears and doubts cause you and Eris to do your first irrational act together: a secret mating bond ceremony

Author’s note: happy Eris Week to all who celebrate and to @erisweekofficial for all their work!! I gotta start with my roots and my first post has to be gingerfucker!! I have to give the people what they know me for!! This can be read as a stand alone tho 🫶🏻

You breathed deeply, the chimes of the clock tower drowning out any other noise. Eris stood before you, an immaculate jacket of deep red adorning his chest. He wore a black dress shirt beneath, embroidered with the phases of the moon around the collar. His jacket was a rich velvet, gold thread woven throughout.

It was the perfect way to symbolize your unity. You were not sure who made such a garment, unsure if black fabric was even allowed in the Autumn Court.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to care when his soft amber eyes look down at you as he held out his arm for you.

The two of you were in the Day Court under the cover of darkness, a secret mating ceremony. It was truly quite romantic, a tale you hoped to share whenever it’s safe for you to do so.

You had come to visit Helion a month prior for negotiations on behalf of Rhysand. You had asked to come in Rhys’s stead because 1) you also had wanted to peruse the libraries and 2) you were hoping to negotiate a pegasus from Helion.

At least, those were the reasons you gave your brother.

The end of Amarantha’s reign had allowed you to finally see your mate for the first time in five decades, having slipped away to a spot in the woods after Rhys’s return to wait in hopes of just a glimpse of him.

You had waited impatiently, certain that the nerves and anxiety were rolling off you in waves for any nearby wildlife to intercept. It felt incredible to see him again, your face tucked beneath his chin as he held you close to him, his scent burning itself into your memory once more.

His first words to you following your separation were a desperate plea for a ceremony, his pleas soft as he clutched you tightly to his chest.

You knew it was too risky to do it in either of your home courts. Spring was an obvious no, Winter and Dawn were quite risky, leaving Summer and Day as your only real options.

You were quite fond of Helion, and you were sure you could convince him to allow the two of you passage into his court for a few hours.

After he listened to your pleas, he agreed to allow the two of you access to one of his temples for a few hours.

“Not all of us can see so well in the moonlight,” he had told you, letting you know the location of the most beautiful temple in his court. “Only one priestess roams the halls on Tuesday nights. She is quite fond of performing such ceremonies.”

His words were no embellishment. The temple before you was massive and stunningly beautiful. The high arched ceilings with suns painted everywhere almost glowed against the blue backdrop behind them.

You wondered how it looked during the day.

Eris looked down as you hooked your arm into his. You had accepted the bond decades ago, but the two of you wanted to go through with the ceremony. To ensure that no matter what happened to two of you moving forward, whatever happened to your courts, your people, your homes, there was some record with this date and your names on it. Some written record for future generations to find eons later, when the lands look nothing like they do now and the people live lives that resemble nothing like your own.

When the common tongue is gone, replaced with some newer language you couldn’t begin to understand. Your names would live forever within the pages of this temple, tucked away in their recorded archives: the prince of the Autumn Court and the princess of the Night Court, bound together by fate and by their own wishes.

The flickering light from the candles made Eris’s freckles dance across his face.

The lord led you down the long aisle, your arm nestled into his elbow. The two of you moved in tandem, your long skirts kissing the ground as you went, the black fabric turning red as it moved down your body until it looked as if you walked in the flames.

The priestess nodded at the two of you as you approached the altar, your dress’s slight train cascading down the steps behind you. You turned to Eris, his hands outstretched in invitation, pleading for yours to rest atop them. His hands were warm against yours, the familiar heat calming your nerves.

The priestess before you wore all white, a long flowing gown cinched at the waist. It looked nothing like what Helion wore - instead of long, flowing fabrics, the priestess wore a long, tight-fitted dress, long bell shaped sleeves adorning her arms. A white hood covered her dark black hair, and dark hands adorned with gold rings peaked out from her sleeves.

The priestess lit the candles around the altar as you two looked into each other’s eyes, every emotion strumming through the bond between you two, a song you swore you could hear humming through the air and your chest.

She approached the two of you, a golden silk ribbon in her hands. You moved your right hand into his right hand, and he gently scraped his index finger against his palm. She began chanting, wrapping the soft silk around your forearms. She connected the two joined hands, and you squeezed Eris’s palm, offering a soft smile that he returned.

He was captivating in the night, a fire that kept you warm long through a treacherous night.

Her chanting paused as she looked at you, her low voice telling you, “if you wish to exchange any personal vows, now is the time.”

You took a deep breath, turning back to Eris.

Your mate looked back at you, and any nerves you had dissipated as you started speaking, the words coming from your lips as you gazed into his amber eyes.

“I’m not sure if we were ever two separate things, but if we were, if we are, the edges of you and I have been blurring since I met you, our definitions becoming hazier. I am officially laying claim that there is no longer any part of me that hasn’t been invaded by you.

“I have prayed for you in bonfires, in the dying hearths of my childhood. I always viewed fire as a sacred thing, always offering it something so it can continue to burn before me. Perhaps I was just learning how to stoke the flames, or maybe I knew that worshiping the flame would lead me to you.”

His hand squeezed your own, the ribbon not feeling tight enough to truly blend the two of you together.

His eyes shone in the candlelight, his beauty intensified in the flame as if it knew he was kin.

“I have gone by many names. Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn throne, prick, eldest, …. All of those names pale in comparison to the first time you called me ��mate’.

“That awful playwright who you adore so much put into one of his plays, “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet.” And yet, he never knew what it felt like to be called ‘yours’, what it feels like when you gaze at me so softly, to see the words ‘mine, mine, mine’ swimming in your irises.

“I do not know where my promises can lie, what I am truly capable of. I do not wish to commit to false promises. Our foundation has always been on feeble ground, and I do not wish to build a mateship on such poor foundations.

“I promise to do my very best for you, every day, every minute, for the rest of my life. I promise that every decision I will make will include you as a factor. As the factor. My life is complicated, as you are aware, but you are not complicated. You never have been. My chest yearns for you, at all times. You have always offered me the peace of familiarity.“

You surged forward, capturing his lips in a kiss before pulling back quickly.

“Er, I don’t care about my name, or my title. None of it compares to being called your mate.”

The priestess looked at you two, probably waiting to see if you would pounce on him right here. Maybe that was how they held these ceremonies in Day. You were sure Helion wouldn’t mind.

“You are bound together, from here for eternity, in perfect union. May the Mother bless you both with endless love and patience for each other.”

The air had a certain crispness to it at her words, the bond humming in your chest with satisfaction, satisfying a yearning that hadn’t let up for centuries.

Nobody could deny either of you the sanctity of your bond anymore.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @panther-girl-124

Thanks for reading ❣️

[604to647]

What Was I Made For?

3.1K / Frankenstein AU Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Left on his own, Tim learns a new way to live.

Warnings: None! Age gap cause Tim’s like hundreds of years old 🤷🏻‍♀️😂 Semi-sentient woodland creatures that meddle, I guess 🤭

A/N: Inspired by @almostfoxglove’s beautiful AU moodboard below - if you haven't already, check out that post and the tags, along with all her other AU moodboards! Thank you so much for sharing them with us 🥹🥰

Title by Billie Eilish / Dividers by @saradika-graphics as always 🥰

For a very long time, Tim did not go outside during the daytime.

Father said not to.

And even though Father has been gone for many years, Tim still heeded his words.  His being the only voice Tim had ever heard.

He still doesn’t know why Father left.  He’s even less sure of why he never returned.

Merge Mansion remains dark, even during the day.  Its halls empty, its candelabras unlit.  If anyone was to pass through the ivy choked iron gates and listen at its door, and no one ever did, they would hear only the skittering of mice and the occasional heavy footstep, so slow and deliberate it could be mistaken for the heartbeat of a slowly dying house.

Only ever at night, Tim goes out to the woods behind the now dusty and crumbling mansion.  Those same woods where Father would have him lift, throw, break - repeatedly.  And Father would write furiously in his notebooks.  Tim thinks maybe that’s what he was made for.

For more years than can be counted, enough so that he passes into legend, Tim continues to do what he knows.  He uproots trees and plants and heaves them over knolls and into streams.  He rolls boulders and smashes rocks.  He haunts the forest alone until the dawn threatens to pierce through the thick overhang of the old growth trees; hiding within the moss-covered stone walls of the only home he’s ever known until night brings cover once again.

Until one night after so many nights, he just… doesn’t.  Instead of his nightly exertion to prove something to the darkness, Tim just sits and bathes in the pureness of the moonlight.  He breathes in the earthy musk of the forest’s damp soil and the sweet scent of pine mixed with bark sap.  Instead of his own laboured breathing, Tim finally hears the babbling of the brooks, the hooting of the owls, and soft breeze whistling between the low berry bushes and the high tree tops.  Tim doesn’t know if he was made to be at peace, but he finds that he can do it all the same.

He teaches himself to read.  At first using words Father would say and the signs he would point to in the room Tim lived in: Lock.  Unlock.  Hot.  Cold.  On.  Off.  Danger.  Stop.

Then from books about nature that he finds in the library, remembering words that Father would use to describe their surroundings when in the woods that Tim now knows so well.

Tree.  Rock.  Hill.  Hole.

It takes a very, very long time.  But Tim has nothing but time.

He’s not even sure if he’s doing it right - he has no one to ask.  Not that he could even if there was.  He says the words in his head the way he thinks they sound, but with no voice, never out loud.  He wasn’t made for that.

It’s no matter.  Even if he isn’t sure he’s sounding them out properly, Tim thinks he’s assigned the words to the pictures in the books of animals and landscapes correctly.  There are other books, as well.  Ones with illustrations that are foreign to him and where the words denote meaning that he doesn’t think he will ever understand, but he learns them anyways:  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  Love.

In his woods, Tim no longer destroys: he clears, builds, tends.  Tim carves out paths that feel softer on the bottoms of his lumbering feet.  He removes dead branches from healthy trunks and uses them to sweep the forest floor.  He rolls away dead trees, some fell by age or disease, others by his own hand in the olden days when he thought that was what he was made for.

He still only does these things under the cover of night.  Father had said to be afraid of the village at the bottom of the looming hill upon which Merge Mansion perched.  He warned Tim that if he was discovered, the villagers would come and hurt them both.  Tim wishes that he had known the words or had the voice to tell Father that he would have protected him.  That perhaps it was the villagers who should have been afraid of him. Father’s notebooks say that he was built to be fierce. 

The bunnies in the woods do not seem to think so.  Nor the foxes, or the badgers, or the mice.  The deer do not find Tim to be fearsome, and the birds readily to flock to him.

He supposes it’s because he starts to help them build their nests; his long legs easily carry him to the farthest corners of the woods where the best nesting materials can be gathered.  He volunteers his big, pawlike hands to dig their burrows and holes.  His strength he uses to drag logs and branches to where whole furry families reside, breaking the thick wood into smaller pieces to help them expand and fortify their homes for their growing broods and the incoming weather.  He’s tall enough to lift baby birds back into their nests when they fall out before they’re ready to fly.  He forages and shares all his bounty, himself having no need for sustenance. 

Tim would not mind if this is what he was made for.

The years continue to pass.  The village at the bottom of the hill gets less busy, smaller, and is eventually gone.  Tim only knows because he witnesses the number of tiny square windows illuminated by bright candles during the night, dwindle until there is only darkness.

From the now dilapidated walls of Merge Mansion, Tim watches as what remains of the village rots and is reclaimed by the Earth.  It looks less frightening to him the way it stands now, wild and lush - much more like his beloved forest where he’s only ever known friendly creatures.

It’s the bunnies who convince him to come out in the daytime. 

It had been an especially abundant year for the rabbits, with baby bunnies almost overrunning the forest floor.  The mamas plead with Tim using their big brown eyes to help round up their little ones and keep them safe, making sure none of them strayed too far from the safety of the woods.

Little bunnies are hard to see in the dark.

The first time Tim steps outside during the day, he’s so blinded by the sky’s brightness that he thinks perhaps his eyes were not made for sunlight.  His forest is so green in the daytime.  A richness of browns with the occasional pop of red, blue, even lavender.  In the winters, the snow is so white during the day it appears almost clear.  Once the snow has melted, the streams splash with fish that jump during the day – something that never happens at night.  The sun’s beams warm Tim’s rough skin in a way the moon’s cold, comfortable ambiance never has.  The sounds of the forest are so much louder, cheerier in the day than they are at night – it strikes Tim as odd given it’s the same forest but he supposes he feels more alive during the day as well.

The deer are the ones that lead him out of the forest and to the front of the house.  The overgrown grass on the Merge Mansion hill begs to be grazed on, and with the village gone, Tim and the deer while away many days unseen and unbothered amongst the soft green blades – looking out to a splendid view of rolling plains and sprawling forests stretching all the way to the horizon.  He never strays far from the house - still heeding Father’s words of caution even though the dangers he warned against look to be long gone.

Tim doesn’t even know that another village has sprung up somewhere on the other side of a low mountain that he considers to be more than a fair distance away until you.  The first time he sees you, you’re but a little girl and you come with your own father to the cemetery that rests at the bottom of his hill, where it once bordered the old village.  The same cemetery from which Father gathered the parts that make up Tim as he is, if Father’s notebooks are to be believed.  The deer scamper away before you or your father see them, but Tim stays and hides, watches.

He hears your father tell you that these graves belong to your ancestors who once lived in the old village that’s now gone and that even though you live on the other side of the mountain, you should still pay your respects.  Tim listens to your cheery chatter and the hum of your father’s merry tunes as the two of you clean the gravestones, pull the weeds, plant fresh gardens.

You and your father come every week and Tim begins to look forward to it.  He watches you grow into a beautiful woman and your father into an old man.  He listens to the musical lilt of your voice and the gentle teasing of your father as the two of you care for and nurture the plot of land at the base of the Merge Mansion Hill so that it grows vibrant and fragrant with flowers that he’s only ever seen in Father’s books.  He hears your father tell you stories he heard as a child about the house that Tim lives in – the legend of a mad scientist and a terrible monster.  Tim doesn’t know why, but he feels relief when you laugh at these stories and call them ridiculous.

When your father stops coming with you, Tim watches over you in his stead.  You continue to do your duty in the cemetery joyfully and your sweetness is like an invitation.  The bunnies and the foxes and the mice and the deer all come down to join you.  You laugh and share your food with them and they enjoy your company as much as you do theirs.  Music.  Dance.  Laugh.  Feast.  He thinks he finally understands.  When his furry friends turn their soulful eyes up to the house, Tim knows they’re looking to him to come down but he shakes his head no.  He’s not made for this.

He doesn’t know that you see him anyways.

You’ve known he was there since the days you would come to this cemetery with your father as a little girl.  Most times as just a shadow on the Merge Mansion grounds, but once or twice you had seen Tim’s handsome, haunted face in one of the cracked windows.

You don’t know who he is or what he is, but some how you know that you have to pretend that you’re unaware of his presence.  As if for some laughable reason, he finds you to be frightening.

So, you try to make yourself to be as nonintimidating as possible.  You wear soft flowing fabrics that lie prettily over your equally soft skin in pleasing colours that compliment the hue of your hair and the brightness of your eyes.  You keep your voice gentle and the sound of your notes harmonious when you sing or hum your favourite songs of love and fantasy.  When your father tells you the old stories of the Merge Mansion Monster, you make sure to loudly decry this characterization.  Your unseen friend is not a monster, and you want to make sure that he knows you know that.

Your woodland friends who proclaim to know him best seem to say, give him time.  So you do, waiting patiently for a sign.  For what?  You don’t know.  Just a sign for more.

It comes one summer day, many, many years after your weekly trips to the cemetery became solo trips.  For two weeks, you’ve been in a state of mild panic, unable to find the delicate gold chain necklace that your father gave you - his last gift to you before he passed.  A part of you fears that it may have come unclasped and dropped onto the path some time during your weekly trip to the Merge Mansion cemetery; your heart clenches – if that was the case, your treasured necklace is surely lost.

Your surprise when you find your necklace waiting for you on top of a gravestone next to a small tied bundle of lavender is palpable.  Your eyes threaten to overflow with tears as you look up the hill to the house and mouth, thank you.

You don’t know that you had actually lost your necklace next to this very gravestone and that one of your bluebird friends had carried it up to Tim in its beak.  Tim spends two weeks practicing making the small bouquet of lavender – his large and clumsy hands unused to the precise and delicate movements required.  He refers to the instructions in the book he found so many times he can see the diagrams in his sleep.  But he keeps trying until he gets it right – wanting to offer you something more than just your returned necklace as a token of his appreciation for all the work you do.  Holding the delicate chain in his oversized hand, he can’t stop looking at it glittering in the moonlight and admiring its intricate craftsmanship.  It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  Well, second.

The next week, Tim discovers a large and fragrant bouquet of the cemetery’s best and biggest blooms laid outside of his iron gates.

Three weeks later, on the same gravestone, you find those flowers dried and pressed, then laced together in a pretty flower crown.

You weave your own from new fresh flowers and leave it in place of the dried one you take home.  The following week, the crown you made is gone, and in its place, a large pile of fresh wild berries that must come from the forest behind the mansion.

The squirrels had objected, but Tim promised that the reduction of berries from their weekly hoard would be for a good cause.  You helped prove him right the following week when he returned from the hill with a jar of wild berry jam which he happily shared.

This continues for months.  Each week a small, thoughtful trinket exchanged - neither you or Tim having much to offer except your consideration and time.  The giddy anticipation and resulting awe a gift in itself.

The day you bring a blanket that took you six weeks to knit, you’re imbued with a bravery (the source of which is unknown even to you) that brings you all the way to Tim’s doorstep.  The heavy door opens when you push against it, but no one answers when you call out.

While Tim is in the woods assisting with the birth of a newborn deer, you’re wandering the dark, musty halls of Merge Mansion.  You find where you think Tim must sleep: in a room that looks like a lab - electrical wire equipment, gurneys, restraints and medical utensils long since pushed against the walls of the room and abandoned.

You read the notebooks left behind by the scientist and seethe on Tim’s behalf.  To call him a Creature!  To experiment on him and put him through trials of endurance and strength as if he was merely an instrument for violence!  You’re grateful that Tim’s creator must be long dead by now, else he might not be able to escape the vitriol you feel rising in your chest at the mistreatment Tim endured at his hand.

You leave the blanket and the mansion in a hurry.

When Tim comes back into the house, he knows immediately that you were there.  He smells you.  The sweet floral perfume from your garden and the sticky scent of fruit from your jams hangs in the air.  Nothing in this house or the forest smells quite so lovely.  You were here. 

With growing distress, he finds your thoughtful gift in the room where he sleeps and knows that you’ve read Father’s notebooks.  You know the truth of what he is now.  He’ll never see you again.

But you come back.

You leave him a letter and for three weeks, he reads it every day. 

It’s a letter that tells him about yourself and your family, and how you came to be his weekly visitor.  You tell him how you’ve always known he’s been there but you were afraid to scare him away so you never let on that you saw him.  You tell him that now that you’ve calmed down a bit, you’re not quite so angry at Father but you do think that he didn’t understand Tim’s true nature, or perhaps, you concede, he simply wasn’t gifted enough time to understand. 

You tell him what you think of his nature.  In your experience, men who are strong are rarely gentle and those who harness power are hardly ever giving.  But Tim is.  His hands, arms and muscles may be sewn together from much lesser men, but he, Tim, wields his strength to protect and look after others.  His heart may not be able to pull down trees or break rock, but it’s tender and pure – and where his true power lies.

You write that even though you’ve never met him face to face, you only ever feel safe and cared for knowing he’s around.  And you hope that even if he never forgives you for trespassing in his home and going through his personal belongings without his permission, he will take your words to heart.

Every week you come back to the doors of Merge Mansion bearing a small gift and a big apology, but Tim is nowhere to be found.  You’re starting to fear that you’ve crossed an unforgiveable boundary and ruined your indescribable but cherished connection, when the most wonderous sight awaits you as you near the top of the hill nearly a month after you left your letter.

Tim. 

Impossibly large and broad, a hulk of a man is sitting on the front steps waiting for you.  His face is hard, lined from time and worry, but his eyes are soft and vulnerable.  You see some trace of old scars along his forehead and neck, and down the worn skin that stretches over the corded muscles of his forearms.  His clothes are outdated and entirely the wrong size, but somehow it works on him.  He looks formidable.  Wild, yet tame.  Handsome.

You run to him, beaming.  Tim stands when you come to a stop in front of him, towering over you as he holds out a bouquet of wildflowers picked from the forest lands behind his home that he tends to so carefully.

When you reach out to accept, your small fingers brush his larger calloused ones, and the jolt of electricity that passes between the two of you feels like pure joy.  And although Tim can only offer a quiet grunt, unable to say the words that he wishes he could sing with his whole chest, you understand him perfectly.  Your incandescent smile and hopeful expression reassure him that you too, recognize the simple, unspoken truth: Tim was made for you.

🎶Obligatory Billie Eilish, What Was I Made For lyrics🎶:

'Cause I, 'cause I I don't know how to feel But I wanna try I don't know how to feel But someday I might Someday I might

Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be Something I wait for Something I'm made for Something I'm made for

[hunnylagoon]

Wayfaring Stranger

PREMISE: After your husband refuses to check a concerning sound outside, you do it yourself only to find a beautiful stranger bloodied up on the beaten road beneath moonlight. The events that follow soon after turn your once quiet world on its head.

DISCONTINUED

WARNING: Murder, mentions of violence and injuries

The night hung heavy over the isolated homestead, a sea of inky darkness punctuated only by the sparse glow of stars scattered across the expansive canvas of the western sky. You, wrapped in a weathered shawl, stepped cautiously onto the creaking wood floorboards leading to your bedroom window. The pristine planks groaned under the subtle weight of your movement, echoing through the stillness of the night. "Sawyer, did you hear that?" You ask, turning your head to look at your husband who lay with his back to you, His blonde curls falling upon the satin pillowcases. "Sawyer!" You hiss, trying to capture his attention.

"It's just some cattle," He dismissed, not bothering to look at you; in fact, he pulled the covers even farther up his figure to conceal himself from you.

"Can you go look?"

"Why would I do that?" He groaned, it was a genuine question. He couldn't figure out why you would want to investigate a concerning sound.

"Because it sounded like gunshots and screaming, someone could be hurt!"

"All the more reason to stay inside."

"Well, I'm going to go see what it is if you refuse to." You spat, grabbing the oil lamp from the bedside stand and using your shawl to clear it of debris. You swipe a match across its box, watching it ignite, small sparks dancing around your fingertips. You move the match to light the exposed part of the wick before blowing it out and discarding it on the spruce floors.

"Okay, don't get hurt," He said flat, nuzzling back into the feather pillows.

A solitary oil lamp, its flame shifting with every step, cast feeble shadows that clung to the edges of the wall like silent sentinels. Under the flickering light, you made your way down the stairs and slipped on a pair of worn leather boots, dusty from the day's toil. As your boots met the uneven wooden surface of the porch, you shivered, you hadn't anticipated just how cold it would be.

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of sagebrush and the distant whispers of the unseen nocturnal creatures that inhabited the wilderness. A coyote's distant howl painted the night with an eerie soundtrack, a reminder that the untamed landscape surrounding your home was both beautiful and treacherous.

As you descended the porch steps, your eyes, accustomed to the darkness, scanned the horizon. The landscape unfolded before you in nothing but shadows and silhouettes, the distant outlines of distant hills and mesas barely visible beneath the cosmic tableau above. The isolation of your homestead, far removed from the flickering lights of the town, cocooned you in an otherworldly silence, a solitude that carried the weight of the untamed frontier.

You looked back towards your home as you moved down the dirt road; weathered limestone walls, adorned with ornate ironwork, bore witness to years of harsh sun, and dust storms, though the relentless passage of time wasn't easy to spot as Sawyer had constant maintenance on it. Standing proudly against the dark backdrop of endless prairie, the mansion's presence was a testament to opulence in the rugged west. The home sat on the top of a hill, the trip down being somewhat steep, though the main path was easy to trek, other ways down would send you tumbling.

A soft breeze rustled through the grass dunes, creating a gentle whistle that you liked to believe carried every secret ever whispered in the town.

With a deep breath, you ventured beyond the perimeter of the homestead, your silhouette becoming one with the night. The crunch of your footsteps on the gravel path echoed faintly, a lullaby for the wilderness that watched over you. You move with hesitation, trying to consider that your husband may be right and you should've ignored the clash and tucked yourself back into the king-sized bed, despite this, you keep moving, leaving only the echoes of your presence behind.

You were surrounded by almost nothing but darkness, you could only see the shapes of rocks and cacti reflecting the moonlight along with whatever was immediately around you, thanks to the shine of the oil lamp.

Writhing in the rocky dirt path you saw a figure. It hadn't been an animal or an article of clothing that somehow found its way to you, it had been the slender silhouette of a person, just as you suspected, someone was hurt. As you carefully approached you could hear their shaky breathes that made you sure it was a woman. Her chest rose and sunk as she shuddered in the cold air; she was soaked through with blood, you had never seen someone in worse shape. "Ma'am?" You ask, your heartbeat speeding up. She looked visibly startled, trying to grip the ground and crawl away from you out of fear. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise, I can help you." Your eyebrows furrowed in skepticism at the sight before you.

"No," She shook her head, the woman could hardly get words out of her mouth, just ragged breaths.

"You're shivering," You slowly crouched down, gingerly sitting her up, she winced in pain when you did so "I'm sorry," You hooked an arm around her waist while she slid an arm behind your shoulders, she used her other arm to clutch at a wound in her stomach, you ignored your shaking at her additional weight leaning against your own, you just had to get her up the hill. "SAWYER!" You shouted as loud as your lungs allowed you "SAWYER!" You screamed again, waiting for your husband to be standing on the porch.

You hauled the woman to your porch just as Sawyer finally emerged "What do you- WHAT IS HAPPENING!" His annoyance quickly turned to panic when he saw who was clinging onto you, behind him the door was hanging open letting the light from the foyer break apart some of the darkness. In the light other than the moon you finally got a better look at her. You couldn't even tell what colour her hair was beneath the blood matting it to her head, streaks of red ran down her freckled face and soaked almost every inch of clothing she adorned.

"Ride into town, get the doctor and bring him back here." You ordered, pushing past him, into the living room where you laid her gingerly onto the white gold crested sofa, feeling relief of the added weight gone.

"Well, there goes my coach-

"Sawyer!" You yell again, urging him to leave, he finally does, slamming the door behind him. You run around, hastily lighting candles to brighten the room; you bring a bucket of clean water to her side, drenching a rag in the water, you bring it to her face and begin to wipe away the blood. You noticed her shudder at the touch of cold water on her raw flesh "It's okay," You muttered, in an attempt to comfort her. You weren't quite sure what to say, she must've been terrified but it's not like you were feeling okay with the whole situation, you just didn't want to worsen anything.

More than anything, you wanted to know what had happened to this woman. Of course, you weren't going to ask at that moment, you didn't have to ask though, it's like she read your mind.

"I'm, Ellie," She said between ragged heaves. Just when you were beginning to make up your own backstory for the wayfaring stranger. The picture you had formed in your mind was that her name was Maybelle and she had taken a loan from a gang, and gotten herself into some serious trouble. Nope. Her name was Ellie and what was most logical was that she had been robbed by bandits.

You smile softly, trying to put her at ease. You thought back to all of the ways your mother used to calm you and your little sister "Well, Ellie, doctors gonna be here any minute and you'll be stitched up, good."

Ellie could've sworn that she made you up inside her head. She had heard stories of people on the brink of death imagining an angel guiding them to security just to be told when they recovered that person never existed. She was sure that she would get some rest and would wake up in some clinic with you nowhere to be found. You looked like an angel too, features illuminated in the soft candlelight. "Are you real?"

Her words had you thinking she was ebbing closer to the brink of death, blood loss making her woozy. "I sure am," You said, indulging her "I can tell from your accent that you're from as far west as west goes."

"That you would be right about, ma'am," She smiled with half-lidded eyes, her head lulling back and forth from the spot it rested on the sofa arm.

You soaked the cloth again, wringing it out in the bucket, the once clear water already becoming a foggy reddish hue. You used your free hand to push hair away from Ellie's face, with your other hand you held the cloth and gently wiped the blood from her forehead, clearing the way for you to see more of her freckles. "There we go," You moved your free hand to the back of her head to support it, now using the rag to wash away at the grime on her cheeks and button nose. "I can finally see that pretty face."

"pretty," She murmured, eyelids fluttering.

In the dimly lit room, shadows danced across the walls like ghostly spectres, and the air hung heavy with the metallic scent of blood. The wounded figure lay sprawled on the once pristine white sofa, the echo of a recent struggle still reverberating through the stillness. Moonlight filtered through tattered curtains, casting an eerie glow on the scene of desperation.

A crimson pool formed beneath Ellie, soaking into Sawyer's beloved couch. The rhythmic breathing echoed in the silence, a macabre lullaby that seemed to accompany the fading pulse of life. Ellie against the encroaching darkness, the battle for consciousness etched across a face pale and drawn.

Every breath was a laborious effort, a struggle against the body's betrayal. Her once vibrant eyes, now dull and distant, glistened with a mixture of pain and determination. Beads of sweat clung to a furrowed brow, evidence of the fevered fight within.

Trembling hands clutched at the wound, desperate to stem the relentless flow of a life's essence escaping through her fingers. Each heartbeat sent fresh waves of pain through the body, threatening to pull the fragile thread of consciousness even thinner. The air seemed to thicken with the weight of mortality, and every passing moment whispered of the inevitability of the abyss.

Amid this struggle, fragmented memories flickered like distant stars in a fading night sky. Faces and places, fragments of life now hanging in the balance, flashed before weary eyes. The pulse, once strong and steady, faltered like a distant drumbeat threatening to fade into silence.

Yet, amidst the darkness, a fierce will to survive burned like a defiant flame. The wounded soul summoned reserves of strength, drawing upon reserves untapped in ordinary times. Each laboured breath was a testament to an indomitable spirit, a refusal to yield to the encroaching void.

The room itself seemed to pulse with a quiet urgency, bearing witness to a solitary struggle against the inevitable. Shadows clung to the edges of consciousness, threatening to pull the wounded figure into an abyss from which there might be no return. She saw your lips moving but the words fell upon death ears, she couldn't make out whatever you were frantically telling her, all she knew was that she was tired and she couldn't fight to stay awake much longer.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Though Ellie had believed you to be an angel, you proved yourself to be real.

As the first rays of the Southern sun began to pierce through ornate curtains, casting a warm golden glow upon the opulent bedroom, she stirred beneath the layers of soft, embroidered linens. The mattress cradled her like a sanctuary, and the pillows plumped to perfection, offered a haven for dreams. The room itself exuded a rustic elegance, with intricately carved wooden furniture standing proudly against the walls adorned with rich tapestries. The air carried the subtle scent of cedar, a nod to the untamed wilderness just beyond the ornate windows. Lace curtains danced in the morning breeze, revealing a breathtaking view of the rolling hills and vast plains. The room, a luxurious oasis in the heart of the frontier, embraced her in a cocoon of comfort, providing a stark contrast to the rugged landscape outside. As she slowly opened her eyes, the lavish details of the room unfolded like a dream, and for a moment, she forgot about the events of the night before, until the throbbing pain of stitched wounds hit her once more.

Ellie was no longer in the drenched clothes from the previous night and was no longer nose-blinded by the sickly sweet stench of blood. Though she didn't remember everything from the night before, she remembered you

What had woken her up was the incredible smell filling whatever room she was in. Cast-iron fried bacon, its savoury perfume mingling with the tantalizing scent of freshly steeped tea that wafted through the air. The aroma of flapjacks, golden and perfectly griddled, hung thick, inviting all who caught wind of it to indulge in a culinary celebration of the morning.

A bounty of farm-fresh eggs scrambled to perfection, adorned the table alongside a bowl of vibrant, sun-ripened tomatoes and sliced avocados, their colours mirroring the vivid hues of the sunrise. A basket brimming with flaky biscuits, warm and buttery, beckoned with promises of melt-in-your-mouth goodness.

In the center of it all, a heaping pile of wild berries and succulent peaches offered a burst of sweetness, a reminder of nature's abundance even in the rugged expanse of the frontier. A jar of homemade preserves, bursting with the flavours of sun-ripened fruits, awaited its turn to grace the breakfast spread. All of it meticulously placed on the breakfast tray beside her.

She had never been blessed enough to get such a thoughtful breakfast, or meal, or anything for that matter. Ellie had grown up around ruffians who showed love through gunpowder and chewing tobacco.

Every bite tasted just as good as she had anticipated, most people wouldn't have thought it smart to eat a meal in a stranger's home that magically appeared to wake her up and maybe Ellie wasn't smart but she sure was hungry.

In the corridors, you hummed along to a song you used to sing on the piano when you were a girl while you rearranged and tidied bits and pieces of your shared home so everything was in its place. Your ears pricked up at the sound of rustling, it could have only been one thing. You knocked on the door of one of your guest rooms.

"Yeah?" She said through a mouthful of food.

You pushed the spruce door open, closing it behind you "Good mornin'," You smiled "Or afternoon, I suppose. Feelin' any better?"

She felt embarrassment well up in her throat, there you were looking so effortlessly stunning and she was a half-baked mess laying in one of your beds, swallowing back the food you slaved away to prepare. "Ma'am, I am so very sorry for imposin' on ya' last night, I will be out of your hair in no time."

"Stay as long as ya' need," You dismissed her "Truth be told, it gets a little lonely in this house, Sawyer goes away all day and when he's home he's too tired to speak, so it's just me."

She furrowed her eyebrows "You own a house this big and you haven't got a maid or servant or something?"

You shook your head "We used to have one but Sawyer fired her, said I needed some chores to keep me busy. We do have a stable boy, name's Jerry, nice kid just can't speak English all that well. He comes by a couple of days a week and has tea with me during his breaks. I won't keep ya' here if you don't want to though."

"I'd just feel too guilty eatin' your food and givin' you nothing," Didn’t seem guilty one minute ago. She moved the tray of food from its spot on her lap to the empty bedside table. She began to push the covers off of her, trying her best to ignore the ache in her bones. When her feet hit the ground she felt extreme agony course through her body like a million little knives swimming through her bloodstream. She crumbled over into herself on the ground.

You rushed over to help her back up "Easy," You say, your tone soft "You're hurt, remember?"

Ellie couldn't even stand on her own at that moment, her legs shook with each step she tried to take, you leading her gingerly. "Can't feel a thing," She lied through gritted teeth.

"Are you sure?"

"Nope, I need to sit back down," She said and you helped her to sit on the side of the cushioned bed. She couldn't remember feeling that weak for a very long time, not since she had been a child. Ellie almost wanted to laugh at how stupid she felt, needing you to help her take a few steps like she was elderly, instead, she looked up at you "How did I get so lucky as to have you take care of me?"

"Sometimes we just meet someone at the right time." You shrug. You were no longer able to bite back the question that had kept you up all night "If I may ask, what happened to you last night?"

She sighed, scootching herself back in the bed to get comfortable "I'm nothing more than a travelling merchant ya' see, last night while I was headed out of Palecliff, I was raided by a group of bandits, took my horse, my wagon, everything I've ever known gone in one night along with my dignity."

Your eyes went wide and you clasped a hand over your mouth "What did they look like?"

You had a million questions for her and you didn't waste time in showering her with them. It had been so long since you had someone to talk to, not your stoic husband, not a fourteen-year-old who didn't understand your language, but a woman your age who indulged your questions and laughed at your jokes, adding her witty remarks to them. When you married Sawyer it was like you were thrown into the life of someone you did not know, it went from sixteen-year-old you playing piano every night, serving food, chatting up locals to being isolated in a stark mansion on top of a hill, watching the ghost of what your life used to be from what felt like a cage. You were allowed to enter town once a month, beyond that you would sneak off to the creek and the far-off forest where there was no one to report to your husband, his father was the mayor so out of fear they would never keep their mouths shut.

It only made you ecstatic when Ellie had agreed to stay with the promise of doing house and stable work when she recovered to pay you back in whatever ways she could.

Mornings with Ellie began with the aroma of herbal tea and the comforting crackle of a wood-burning stove. You, now a dedicated caregiver, tended to the injured woman's wounds with gentle hands, your touch a balm for both body and soul.

Conversations flowed like the pages of a well-worn novel, each chapter revealing the layers of their respective histories. Shared laughter echoed through the homestead, a melody that resonated against the backdrop of the vast wild wind. In the quiet moments, as the injured woman gazed out of the window, she found peace in the sight of the rolling hills and endless skies.

Through the nuances of daily life—shared meals whispered confidences, and the unspoken understanding that transcended words—the two women became intertwined, bound to one another almost.

Sawyer wasn't fond of how his wife had come to spend her time. Something about the sound of her laughter echoing through the halls had angered him, knowing that he wasn't the one who made her laugh.

Sawyer, a figure of striking contradiction to his gentle and nurturing wife, cut a commanding presence beneath the harsh sunlight. His tousled locks, framed a face chiselled with the unforgiving lines of both nature and a life forged on the frontier. A mane of wheat-gold hair fell over piercing blue eyes, cold and calculating like the steel of a Colt revolver. His tall, lean form moved with the languid grace of a predator, exuding an effortless confidence that bordered on arrogance. Dressed in the finest of suits, Sawyer's appearance belied an innate cruelty that simmered beneath the surface. A well-defined jawline, framed by the hint of stubble, spoke of a man who had faced the harsh realities of the untamed West, and yet, it was the glint in his eyes that hinted at the darkness that mirrored the vast, shadowed canyons of the frontier. In the presence of Sawyer, the air seemed to thicken with an unspoken tension, a reminder that you belonged to him and him alone.

When Ellie had healed enough to hobble around the house and assist you with chores as well as join you and Sawyer at the dinner table, he had made sure to be vocal. "Ellie, I think you could ease up on the help a little as much as we appreciate it," He said across a table of food you spent hours preparing "I don't want my wife to forget to be grateful for the life that's been handed to her if she relaxes too much she just slips away into some progressive madness."

You look towards him, a subtle rage simmering inside of you "Sawyer, I'm not being ungrateful, I'm just tired from-

He raised a hand to stop your talking "I don't think we want those womanly emotions to get in the way, do we?"

You pushed yourself away from the table, slamming your serviette down and storming out.

Sawyer only chuckles at this, turning to look at Ellie who had found herself constantly having to bite her tongue around him "Just wait until she has children, she'll cry every day and make up even more things to complain about." Before Ellie, he had never felt such a sense of possession over you, typically he just treated you like an ornament.

All good things must come to an end and so they did; Ellie had healed almost completely after two months, the Southern winter had passed and spring was arriving. You both lied to yourself, pretending that it was still sensible for Ellie to be living in your house. You convinced her to let you take her to your favourite spot.

In the early embrace of spring, a hidden gem sat in the heart of nature—a beautiful creek that meandered through the landscape like a serpentine ribbon of liquid silver. The air, still sharp with the vestiges of winter, carried the invigorating scent of damp earth and awakening foliage. Along the banks, delicate shoots of vibrant green grass peeked through the remnants of melting snow, heralding the arrival of a season draped in renewal.

The creek itself murmured a gentle melody, a harmonious symphony composed by the bubbling riffles and the soft percussion of water cascading over smooth stones. The water, crystal clear and pure, reflected the azure canvas of the early spring sky, creating a mirror that captured the fleeting beauty of budding trees and the emerging wildflowers that lined the water's edge.

Beneath the surface, the creek harboured secrets—shimmering pebbles, polished by the tender caress of the water's passage, and tiny aquatic organisms that stirred with the promise of life. The sunlight filtered through the burgeoning leaves above, casting dappled patterns on the creek's surface like nature's stained glass adorning a cathedral of serenity.

On the banks, clusters of delicate wildflowers began to unfurl their petals, their hues ranging from the soft pastels of violets and blues to vivid bursts of yellow and pink, something you didn’t see much in the South. The air resonated with the hum of awakening insects, drawn by the allure of this watercourse oasis. Overhead, the first tentative flights of butterflies painted the air with ephemeral strokes of colour.

As the creek wound its way through the landscape, it carved miniature canyons and pools, inviting creatures to quench their thirst and revel in the burgeoning abundance of the season. The stones lining the creek bed, smoothed by centuries of flowing water, became stepping stones for adventurous critters and skipping stones for the whimsical heart.

The beauty of the early spring creek lay not just in its visual splendour, the soothing melody of flowing water, the caress of a gentle breeze, the fragrance of blossoming life, and the dance of sunlight playing upon its liquid surface. This pristine sanctuary embodied the very essence of renewal, inviting all who encountered it to immerse themselves in the sublime poetry of the changing seasons.

The pair of you just sat in silence, neither wanted to say what had to be said so you decided to drown beneath the weight of the words that went unsaid.

"I can't stay here anymore," Ellie said, her voice hardly above a whisper. She sat on the lush grass with her knees pulled into her chest. Her chestnut hair, the colour of fresh earth, cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders, occasionally stirred by the whispering winds that danced across the plains. Almond-shaped hazel eyes, reminiscent of the vast prairie skies, held a depth that spoke of an untamed spirit. Ellie's sun-kissed complexion bore the subtle traces of a life lived under the relentless Western sun, and a scattering of freckles across her cheeks hinted at days spent amidst the open range. Clad in practical yet well-worn attire she had borrowed from you, her hands, calloused from the rigours of the mysterious life she lived before meeting you, spoke of a resilience that mirrored the vast landscapes she navigated. In the unforgiving wilderness, where strength and grace were as vital as the air one breathed.

"I know," You said back just as quietly, you both looked at the creek ahead of you, not able to meet each other's eyes.

"I don't want to leave you."

"I can't leave." You said, a newfound sense of sadness washing over you. It had just hit that you would return to the dull life you lived before her, days filled with nothing more than silence, loneliness, and regret.

"I wish you could," She picked at the grass, unsure of what to do with her hands.

Silence stretched between you like birds on a wire "Just stay, one more night and then I'll let you go for good, I won't pester you anymore."

She smiled softly "Sure, I'll stay another night."

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

You had left town at the crack of dawn that morning to gather supplies for Ellie before she left, and the night before you had babbled on and on to Sawyer about how excited you were for your plans before you turned in for the night. You had used the only day that month that you were permitted to leave to do something special for Ellie. After paying a brief visit to your father and sister you began the trek back up.

After you returned home from the short trip you had intended to go into the house and bundle up your goodies for Ellie but you had been detoured by a sound from the stable. You hadn't expected Jerry to be there, it was one of your days to man the stables, not his. Despite the confusion, you followed the crashes and bangs from the stables.

As you approached the stables, the familiar sounds of horses' hooves and distant howls of coyotes were overshadowed by an unfamiliar murmur and groan. A knot tightened in your stomach, foreboding lingering in the air like an impending storm. Pushing open the creaking door, your gaze fell upon a sight that froze her to the core.

In the muted light of the stable lanterns, you saw your husband, a man you slept beside every. night, entwined with another woman. The hay-strewn floor became an unwitting witness to the betrayal unfolding before your disbelieving eyes. The flickering lantern light cast shadows on their entangled forms, revealing a scene that would forever alter the course of your existence.

The air hung heavy with tension, the silence punctuated only by the stifled gasp that escaped your lips. The two figures, caught in an embrace that spoke of deceit, turned to face her with eyes filled with shock. The other woman, a fleeting presence in your life until this moment, bore the weight of her transgressions. Horror pushed tears from your eyes "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" You screamed, watching as the two shamefully and frantically dressed themselves.

"Can you blame me?" Sawyer buttoned up his trousers "You're always sad or angry around me, I love you, I just need a break sometimes-

"You make me feel that way!" You felt sick to your stomach like you were going to vomit "I have turned myself inside out trying to love you but I don't even like you!"

You could see your words hit him when his jaw began to tense up, the familiar tell that he would be raging soon "I don't even think you like me!"

"I don't!" You shout "I hate you I wake up every morning and I feel so empty when I have to look into those dull eyes of yours!"

"You won't even touch me."

"You only show me a sliver of kindness when you want your dick taken care of." You spat, the look of complete rage on his face made you smile; that was when he struck you. His backhand landed firmly on the side of your face, forcing you to stumble back, shuddering at the stinging sensation.

He put his hands up, trying to show you that he wouldn't hit you again "I'm sorry-

Before you could finish your sentence you were screaming, grabbing the shovel from its resting place on the stable wall and slamming it across his head. Sawyer didn't even stand for a moment, the second the shovel made contact with his head, he flopped to the ground. You audibly squeaked, watching blood ooze from the newly formed gash in his head.

"Sawyer?" You crouched down, poking at his limp body with the shovel to see if he would shift. Nothing. His eyes fell lifeless along with the rest of him. The shovel clattered to the ground as you brought both hands to cover your mouth.

You stood over his body, your actions registering in your head, you had killed him. You had taken the life of someone.

You were only snapped away from your thoughts when you heard a thud. Your head snapped to where the sound had come from, only to find the black-haired woman he was cheating on you with stumbling back up from her fall, she cast a look back at you, terror written across her pale face.

Feet moving faster than your mind, you ran after her, she had already got a good headstart on you. She was beginning to rush towards one of the steeper sides of the hill, you knew you wouldn't catch her in time; so instead of pursuing her, you grabbed the gun off the front porch and aimed it at the woman.

The metallic tang of gun oil hung in the air as you cradled the shotgun, the weight unfamiliar in your hands, you were only going off of what your father had shown you all those years ago. The overwhelming sun cast long shadows across the open range, painting the world in hues of amber and gold. With trepidation etched on her face, you squared your shoulders and took a deep breath. The gun felt cool against your trembling fingertips as she aimed at a distant woman. The tension in the air was palpable as you squeezed the trigger, the gunshot echoing through the vast expanse. The recoil startled you, and a mix of exhilaration and uncertainty danced in your eyes. At that moment, as the echoes of the shot reverberated through the silence of the frontier, you felt a seismic shift watching the raven-haired woman fall, now rolling down the hill.

Still gripping the shotgun, you ran over to the spot where you had seen the woman collapse.

When you bore down the hill, her body was nowhere to be found.

Your head shot up to search the plains for her but you didn't see a sign of where she had gone, aside from the small pool of blood, seeping into dead grass where she had initially fallen.

"What's wrong?" Ellie shouted, running over to where you stood, frozen in fear for what lay ahead of you "I heard a gunshot."

"Ellie I-" You were stiff where you stood, grasping the shotgun so tight that your knuckles had turned white "Sawyer was cheating on me in the stables and I saw him and I was just so mad that I-I hit him with a shovel, I didn't think he would die, I just wanted him to be as afraid of me as I was of him. That woman he was with, she saw me kill him so I shot her but she got away and now I'm good as dead."

Ellie didn't seem as mortified as you thought she would be, she took the shotgun away from you, slinging an arm around your waist with her free hand and guiding you back to the house "It's okay, not as bad as it could be, you took care of me now it's my turn to take care of you."

"It's not okay, I'm gonna be strung up at the gallows in front of everyone, I killed the mayors son." A breath hitched in your throat "My dad's gonna watch me hang."

"Only if they catch us," Ellie said nonchalantly, steering you up the porch "Pack what you need, we'll be out of here in no time. It only feels fair to tell you now that I’m not actually a travelling merchant.”

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: It's A Full Moon Outside, the Weirdos Are Out [Smiling Man x Reader]

Title: It's a Full Moon Outside, The Weirdos Are Out [Smiling Man x Reader]

Synopsis: You probably shouldn't get drunk and take a walk in the woods on Halloween, but you do anyway.

For Horrorfest request: reader meets smiling man on halloween night when they're with their friends at like a party or adult trick or treating or smth

Word count: 1500ish

notes: reader gets drunk, female reader, implications of being worried about getting murdered?? not much else

You are buzzed, edging in on drunk–in that sweet boozy-woozy zone where your chest is warm and your face is warmer, and people seem extra nice and everything (and everyone) tastes more delicious than they would be in light of a sober day.

But what is Halloween for, if not drinking and dancing the night away while dressed in a patchy witch costume you found at the thrift store? So that’s what you’ll do, while remixes of the same old Halloween songs blare in the open-ended rental house someone booked just for this evening. 

It’s a cool place, out near the woods. The kind of place you’d love to have rented as a teenager to do just this sort of thing, but with the added thrill of the forbidden. 

There’s no thrill in your stomach now as you slide open the patio door and step out into the cool night air. A few couples are hanging around on the patio, lit only by the dim glow of some cheap lanterns someone put there earlier this evening.

You give a wave to someone who might be one of your friends leaning against the railing–it’s hard to tell, in the dark–and keep going, carefully stepping down the stairs and onto the cool grass of the lawn out back. It’s quieter out here, with only the dim sound of the party inside, the quiet conversation of the couples on the patio.

Beyond the yard is the woods, lit by the moonlight, by a smattering of stars that are more visible here than back in town. You’ve missed those stars. When you were little, hell, even when you were a teenager, you could see the stars so clearly, even from your house. Now they are faint things.

Nostalgic, drunk, your hand reaches up for the sky, wanting to touch the stars you used to see back then. Bottle them up and keep them under your pillow so you can look at them before bed and remember when. 

If only you could do that, keep this feeling with you; retain that something that you lost as you got older. If only, if only. And with that thought comes the silliest of memories; that mantra you used to stammer out as quickly as possible whenever you saw the first star of the night as a kid.

And you’re alone, more or less. Why not? Why not focus on those stars and whisper it: 

“Starlight, starbright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.” 

“The stars look even better from the woods,” says a voice, and your drunk self almost twists an ankle on the grass in response.

“Sorry,” says the voice, and hand on your chest, you turn around to see your friend from the patio. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Well. You think it’s him. It’s dark, you’re drunk, and he’s really not that great of a friend, anyway. Even through the filter of booze. A rush of shame flushes through you at being caught in the act of something so silly, but he doesn’t say anything about it, and you let it fling away. 

“I was gonna go for a walk,” you say, without knowing that you’d been planning to do that before. But maybe you were, and that’s why you didn’t stay on the patio. Why you came out to the yard and stared at the sky and thought about the woods beyond. 

“Alone?” says your friend, a hint of wariness in his voice. “I’ll go with you.”

Oh, yeah. Maybe not walking alone in the middle of the woods, drunk, during a house party filled with friends, strangers, and people you vaguely remember being not-so-nice in high school wasn’t the best idea.

The idea seems sensible enough, so you shrug and gesture for him to lead the way, and he does. He keeps his hands in his pockets as he walks ahead.

He’s not even wearing his costume from earlier in the night anymore, and you pin a mental reminder to tease him about this. The pin will be forgotten, thanks to the alcohol coursing through your system, but still. 

The forest does have a trail, well-worn and unpaved, but easy enough to navigate with your friend walking in front of you. So far, anyway. The moon is full, thank God, but the farther you get away from the house, the harder it is to see.

You’ve been walking for an awfully long time, you think. It’s hard to know, when you’ve been drinking. Time gets all slurry.  

“I should’ve brought my phone,” you say, nearly tripping over a branch. “We need a light or something.’ 

Your friend hums up ahead. “It wouldn’t have worked out here anyway. Few things do.”

The reception wasn’t that bad at the party, but maybe your friend has been out here more and would know. You’re not as close with the host as you used to be (fuck, it is hard to keep friends as you get older) and you’re sure you get left out for some events. 

A wave of bitterness, and maybe it’s reflux from the alcohol, too, rushes up your stomach.  You shove it down because you’re supposed to be enjoying the night and getting a better view of the stars.

Speaking of–

You crane your neck upward, eager for that pinch of nostalgia, and–

There are no stars at all.

There’s not even a proper sky. Where the open sky should be is mottled by gnarled trees, all dark and twisted, looking for all the world like some sort of twisted cage keeping you in. On instinct, you whirl behind you, and where there should have been a clear path through the trees, there was only dense forest.

Something’s wrong, very wrong, and your friend just keeps on walking up ahead. You call your friend’s name, a whimper at first, then louder–scared.

He stops. 

And turns.

And as he approaches, step by step, the thought occurs to you that your friend isn’t quite this same build. And his hair is darker, isn’t it? 

The man in front of you isn’t your friend at all.  You don’t know this man, and yet he keeps on coming. You can’t see much in the dark, but you can see the barest hint of his features; you can see his smile. 

“My,” he says, voice taking on a charming lilt. “You really are inattentive, aren’t you?” He sticks his hands in his pockets, and keeps on smiling. “But I suppose the alcohol plays a part.” He snorts, now. “People really do make it easier for me, with that.” 

“Easier to do what?” You ask, throat tight. You don’t have a weapon. No keys, even, to tuck between your fingers. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck fuck, you shouldn’t have come out here, what were you thinking? You’re a grown ass adult, you know better than this. 

Now you’re going to get murdered and left for dead in the woods, dressed like a witch. They’ll find your blood-soaked witch hat a few feet away from your body or something ridiculous like that.

Tears spring to your eyes and you must mumble out some sort of plea, because the strange man takes a step back, puts his hands up.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he says, almost softly. Almost enough to make you stop thinking your final thoughts, blurred and drunken though they are. “I promise.” 

Things other than killing come to mind, and you look behind you, hoping for an escape route. All you get is the forest, unrelenting and thicker than it ought to be.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he adds, with a touch of annoyance in his voice. It makes you bristle, and you get the alcohol-induced audacity to point a finger at him, glow-in-the-dark nail polish standing out in the dimness.

“Then what the fuck do you want?”

The man’s smile flickers into frown. “Such manners,” he sighs. He adjusts his stance, sticking his hands back into his pockets. “I’m offering you a bargain. I don’t always make such personal calls on All Hallow’s Eve, you know.” Something like a stuffiness nestles in his tone. “It is a very busy evening for me.” 

You don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, or if he’s crazy–presumably so–but you do know that there is nowhere to go. 

“What… kind of bargain?” Maybe you can stall for time. Someone will notice you’re missing, one of the couples on the patio will say they saw you walk into the woods with some guy, and that will be that. 

If you can ignore that the trail has vanished when it couldn’t have possibly done so; if you can ignore that the sky has been replaced by a cage of trees. Sure. This might happen.

His smile returns again, and he gazes up at the stars-that-aren’t-there. “Your wish, from earlier.” 

His gaze turns back to you, and you’re struck by the sudden, awful sensation that he knows exactly what you want. That he knows you. That he’s known you far longer than tonight. That he knows something that you will never know, and it keeps him smiling.

It’s not just the booze, and somehow, you know that, too. 

The gnarled trees above, blocking out those stars you used to see, and the forest behind you, keeping you from going back. 

And–

In front of you is a smiling man with his hand outstretched and a bargain on his lips. 

[alice-angel12x]

Death isn't so scary pt.2

Lilia x Death! reader (Part 1)

Somewhat takes place during ch.7 in the dream scape.

It was a calm moonlight night, and Y/n Death sat patiently under a lone willow tree. Under its swaying branches was a simple table, where Y/n sat and waited for their company.

As they listened to the breeze, a masked figure came up. He wore a goblin mask and a general uniform of the Briar Valley.

"Took you a while, I was beginning to think you stood me up," Y/n smiled slightly.

"I would never do such a thing. It was difficult escaping the party I was at. Yet I am here now," Lilia smiles as he removes his mask.

"I'm surprised you would even want to celebrate your resignation from General with me. And not with the queen and your fellow soldiers," Y/n said.

"Well, I will still be working close to the royal family. And I'll still see my friends often. It's you, the one I see by chance," Lilia smiled and takes a sip of tea.

"Why would you want to be in the company of me?" Y/n asked as they watched Lilia enjoy the little meal.

Not too far away two figures peeked out from behind some trees. And only one of them could see a white bird circle around Lilia. A blue-fire Tanuki, a green-haired half-fae, and a silver-haired human watched from afar.

"Silver are you sure this is master Lilia's dream?" Sebek asked Siver.

"I am certain, this is father's dream. But why is he dreaming about having a tea party with Y/n?" Sebek asked. " They wouldn't be alive all those centuries go."

"They would. Y/n has been around since like... Forever," Grim said.

"What are you talking about?" Sebek asked.

"I wish Y/n was in the dream with us to explain," Sliver sighed.

"I am here, just not in a form you can see me," Said Y/n's disembodied voice.

"What! Y/n? Where are you?" Grimm asked as he looked around for her.

"I am incapable of dreaming. So I can't enter the dream Plane. So this is the most I can do. So, What is happening in the dream?" Y/n's voice asked again.

"It's lord Lilia's dream, and it seems he's dreaming about having a tea party with you to celebrate his retirement from General. I think a couple of decades after the War," Sebek explained.

"Are you a fae yourself Y/n?" Silver asked. "How else would you be there around that time."

"I am no Fae. I have been around for a long time, even longer than the oldest Fae," Y/n's voice said. " I... I am not human."

"S-so did you really have a tea party with him, like in this dream?" Silver asked.

"I did, though I think Lilia may be dreaming with rose-tinted lens, 'cause I did not dance with him," Y/n voice.

The boys looked back to see that Lilia had led Dream Y/n into a waltz under the star-lit sky. Dream Y/n had a faint smile as they let Lilia lead them in the dance. who had a faint blush

"He looks really happy dancing with You," Grimm commented.

"That was something I could never understand about Lilia. He was a popular bachelor himself. Yet he would always brush those admirers aside," Y/n's voice commented. "Along with-"

-----------

"Oh? Why are you moving to a cottage in the dark woods?" Dream Y/n asked Lilia.

"Oh, just... Wanted a change of paste, and a break from the hustle and bustle of the kingdom," Lilia smiled sheepishly.

"Hmm, well I think that is a lonely kind of place you have chosen for yourself," Dream Y/n said gently.

"I don't think it would be too bad, since I know it's a common stomping ground for some friends," Lilia smiles at Dream Y/n.

------------

"Fath- I mean Lord Lilia seems very infatuated with you?" Silver looked to the sky.

"He is?" Y/n's voice asked in confusion.

Sebek and Grim face-palm at that.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Day 18:A naughty sleigh ride || Exhibitionism sex ||

Fandom: Marvel Universe

Character: Loki

Naughty or Nice

Warnings:Exhibitionism sex

A/n: Idk how I feel about this one :/

Loki loved to spoil you, anything you want you would get. He could not explain why, you were some mortal that happened to know his brother due to your connection with the Avengers. He found himself smitten with you since day one.

You were just to kind, just so soft he would have been a fool to turn you away and now you were his. So when you walked up to him with your big doe eyes asking if he wanted to go on a sleigh ride with you, well he couldn't say no to you besides you looked so cute all bundled up.

"I found the perfect little path for us love." Loki grasped your chin gently as he nodded to the sleigh behind him. "And you do not have to worry about a thing, if you decide to get frisky." His voice dipped as a light laugh escaped your lips as he helped you into the sleigh and soon you two were off though one moment you were enjoying the scenery then the next you were straddling Loki.

Loki's eyes gleamed with a mixture of desire and mischief as he watched you roll your hips into his own, you looking radiant under the moonlight. The sleigh ride adding an extra thrill to their already exhilarating adventure.

"You are so beautiful." he said, his voice husky with desire. "I could spend a lifetime just admiring every curve, every dip, every delicious inch of you."

He couldn't resist the urge to run his hands under the blouse you wore, his touch gentle yet filled with hunger. His fingers then slipping under your skirt as he traced patterns along your thighs, up to your belly, before finally reaching your breasts, teasing your nipples.

"But we're not here to admire, are we?" he continued, his voice laced with anticipation. "We're here to indulge, to embrace the freedom of our desires."

With a snap of his fingers you were naked your panties vanished as he then tugged his pants down feeling the winter air. The cold only heightened his senses, making every touch, every caress, more electrifying.

He pulled you into his arms,the heat between you both radiating. His lips found yours in a passionate kiss, your tongues dancing in a sensual rhythm.

As you both continued to explore each other's bodies, your moans mingled with the soft crunching of snow beneath them as the sleigh pulled you through the woods, beneath the stars.Loki's hands roamed freely, teasing and pleasuring every inch of your skin. He worshipped you with his mouth, his tongue tracing patterns of ecstasy, savoring your taste.

His voice filled with desire. "I cannot get enough of you. I want to devour every part of you."

With each thrust of your bodies, the pleasure intensified, your connection growing deeper and more intense. Loki's hands gripped her your, guiding your movements, your bodies moving in perfect sync.

You lost yourselves in the ecstasy of your passion, your cries of pleasure filling the night. The stars shinning brightly below you both, your love and lust for one another intertwining in a symphony of sensations.

And as you both reached the peak of your pleasure, your bodies trembling with release, Loki held you close, his heart pounding in unison with your own.

"I love you."he whispered, his voice breathless. "You are incredible, you are everything."

He peppered your face with kisses, his body still buzzing with the remnants of your passionate encounter.

Resting your head against his own you did your best to catch your breath as you smile. Your fingers gliding down his cheek as you then gave him a kiss. "And you are my everything Loki, my King."

Chuckling softly, Loki could still feel your warmth wrapped around his shaft. You still felt wonderful. "Get some rest, my Queen."

[builtbybrokenbells]

Gold Dust Woman | x

Fear of vulnerability becomes obsolete as y/n manages to conquer it once more.

Read part nine here

Listen while reading: Black Magic Woman - Santana or Fleetwood Mac version

Pairing: jake kiszka x f!reader, sam kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 12.8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), praise, dirty talk, shower sex, biting (slightly), touch of body worship, swearing, drinking, angst, long emotional talks, feelings of insecurity/inferiority, sorry if I miss any!

hello everyone!! posting this as a birthday gift to myself bc i finally managed to finish it!! thanks for participating in the poll and for all the lovely messages I’ve been receiving. I really hope you like this chapter and please feel free to share your thoughts in my inbox 🫶🏻 as always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes!! (this is also v lightly edited, my apologies 😁)

Moonlight poured in through the large panel windows casting a luminous white glow over the entirety of the room. All other forms of light were off, leaving you relying only on the night to bless you with vision. Your Gold Top was sat in your lap, odd notes ringing through the air when you felt enough energy to pluck the strings. Your pedalboard was sat by your foot, allowing you easy access to it while you sat lazily facing the door in the only armchair the room offered. Your journal was sat atop the table next to you, open to a page of scribbles and various words, none making a bit of sense. Beside it, a crystal clear glass shimmered under the glow of the moon, housing your pick of poison for the night. The ice inside was causing drips of condensation to fall down on the wood below it, tempting you further the longer you looked at it.

You had one leg draped over the side of the chair as you sat on an angle, cradling your guitar in the other. All sense of creativity seemed to have gone, leaving you feeling like you were failing at your only talent. You kicked off the distortion pedal, sick of the same grungy tone you used so often. You strummed a few chords on the clean setting, cocking your head to the side as the sound filled your ears. “There it is,” you whispered, content with the sound and finally finding the motivation to play something worthwhile. You slid your fingers up the fretboard, landing midway between the body and the head. You closed your eyes, using only your memory to guide you. You plucked away at the intro, lowering your foot on the wah pedal just to add a touch of mystique to the sound.

“Got a black magic woman,

Got a black magic woman,

I’ve got a black magic woman

Got me so blind, I can’t see.” You echoed the tune like an anthem, finally feeling the defeat in your heart flowing away.

“That she’s a black magic woman,

She’s tryin’ to make the devil out of me.” You muted the strings, seeming like the song was put to a stop, only to jump in again with the next line.

“Don’t turn your back on me baby,

Don’t turn your back on me baby,

Yes, don’t turn your back on me, baby

Stop messing round with your tricks,

Don’t turn your back on me baby,

You might just pick up my magic sticks.” You let out a sigh of content, kicking on some light distortion and leading yourself into the solo with ease. You let your head fall back on the chair, eyes screwed shut in concentration as your fingers danced over the strings. As you finished, you let out a breath you had been holding for quite some time, feeling your head spin slightly. Of course, the alcohol was more to blame, but you were never willing to admit to your own intoxication.

You continued singing, the low pitched melody settling in your chest the way music should; filling any emptiness and replacing any discontent. You sang yourself through to the end of the song, taking in a breath so you could sing the last line.

“I need you so bad, magic woman, I can’t leave you alone.” The voice startled you, as did the flash of fluorescent hallway lights that flooded your room. You looked to the door, a laugh on your lips as you noticed the intruder.

“Sing it again, baby.” You said, leading him back into the last line for a moment of sweetness. He took a few steps towards you, a smile growing as he approached.

“I need you so bad, magic woman, I just can’t leave you alone.” He sang, slow and gentle, but impactful and with clear intent. You plucked the last few notes, letting the final one ring until it faded on its own. “Santana?” He asked.

“Y/n, actually.” You corrected, knowing that no interaction with Sam would be complete without at least a little bit of teasing. “And if you’re referring to the song, it’s Peter Green. Shouldn’t you know that, rockstar?”

“Sorry, slipped my mind.” He chuckled, looking around your room with curiosity.

“I’ll forgive and forget, just because you put on such a good show.” You said, leaning forward and switching off the power to your amp. “Minus a point for showing up without an invitation.”

“Your door was open. Thought that was enough of an invitation.” He raised an eyebrow, challenging you. You gave a shrug, placing your guitar back in its case.

“Got me there.” You conceded, both of you knowing that you were only joking with him anyway. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just thought I’d visit. Haven’t seen much of you lately. I miss you.” His transparency was haunting, mostly due to the reasoning behind your sudden absence. Your withdrawal had everything to do with his brother and the profound connection you had felt with him the night you had made your confession of love. Since then, you found it difficult to look Sam in the eye. Despite it feeling so right at the time, you held guilt for having to choose which brother to proclaim love to first. More than that, you felt guilt because it was not Sam who came out on top.

Although guilty, you did not hold any remorse or regret for what unfolded that night in your hotel room. You loved Jake, and you were incredibly relieved to have finally spoken it aloud. You had no desire to withdraw the confession, because it was the truth. But as you had learned, especially when it came to loving the brothers, the truth hurt and sometimes it hurt excruciatingly bad. You knew that you could love Jake and feel bad for shunning Sam all the same, and despite many beliefs, you absolutely can love two people at once. Not only were you struggling with the idea of opening your soul to Jake, you were also struggling with sadness at the thought of pushing Sam away when you so desperately wanted to do the same with him.

So, in short, you had found yourself in yet another cycle of self-punishment for the things that you could not control. You could not control the love you had for Jake, and you could not control the love you had for his brother. Instead of finding the courage to confess to Sam, too, you had locked yourself away in hopes that you would never have to face the harrowing truth of your own complicated emotions. “I miss you too, Sammy.” You replied, turning your head to watch as he took a seat on the edge of your bed.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” He asked, his question loaded and his tone soft. How could you begin to explain without inviting him to ask all of the questions you did not want to answer? You reached for the whiskey glass calling to you, taking a sip of liquid courage before trying to conjure a response.

“So much to say, so little time.” You muttered, clasping the cold glass between both of your hands. The shock of the chill seemed to regulate your brain as it swirled with aimless thoughts and worries.

“I have all night.” He assured you. “Should I close the door?”

“You don’t want the world to know about our dirty laundry?” You smirked, sipping back more of the beverage in your hand. “I’m sure they’d get some good entertainment from it.” He let out a low chuckle as he stood to close the door of the room, locking out any intruders and locking in any confessions. There was nothing inside now but the sound of your sorrow, and the weight of the unspoken love that you couldn���t seem to fess up to. He returned to the bed, the moonlight cascading upon him like a cloak of protection. Unfortunately, not even the comfort of the moon could lessen the pain in your hearts. He could feel the weight of your troubled soul before he ever stepped foot inside the room, and the only thing he could hope was that it did not come from your desire to leave him.

“I saw you and Jake leave the bar that night.” He stated, his words echoing off the walls and striking you with every rebound. You chose to keep your chair pointed away from him in hopes that you could keep your composure. Everything always seemed infinitely harder when you were looking into his eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about your brother.” You said, tone flat and setting a firm boundary. “I want to talk about you.”

“The floor is yours, princess.” He said, inviting anything and everything more than what you were giving him, even if it turned volatile. You ran your fingers over the fabric of your jeans, racking your brain for the best way to begin the conversation.

“We’ve been doing this for a while now, Sam. I think it’s time that we start thinking about the future.” You explained, stomach sick at the thought of tomorrow. “I feel like I’ve been blindly trusting that time will make things easier, but it’s only made it harder. I’m starting to believe that this won’t end until it kills us.”

“Do you want to end this?” He asked, but aimed to keep his inquiry vague in hopes that he would not be met with a devastating response.

“It has to eventually, right?” You scoffed. “I mean, we can’t keep going through life when all we’re doing is hurting each other.”

“I don’t think we’ve only been hurting each other,” his rebuttal was soft. “It certainly hasn’t been easy, but I’m incredibly grateful for the time I get to spend with you.” His words warmed your heart, sending a rush of joy through you despite feeling like you did not deserve it.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” He assured you, wishing that you would turn around so he could see your face.

“I…” you had no idea what to ask first, previously believing that your instincts would guide you through the difficult conversation, but your instincts had never been kind to you before. After all, they were the exact reason you were in the situation you had been struggling with so much. “I need to know the truth. It’s time I asked you everything we’ve been running away from.”

“Whatever you want to know, baby.”

“All those months ago… did you ever notice me?”

“Notice you?” He wanted clarification, unsure of what exactly you were referring to.

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, trying to rid yourself from the crackle of fear in your voice. You needed to know, but you were unsure if you wanted to. “Before… before Jake. I want to know if you noticed me, or if you saw how much I noticed you.”

“Of course I did, y/n.” He defended, trying to comprehend the thought of you not knowing how much he cared.

“I just… fuck!” You exclaimed in no more than a whisper. You ran your hand through your hair, pulling at the strands in hopes that the proper words would come to you. You knew the longer you deliberated your questions, the more confusing they would become. “Then why did you never say anything! Why did you let me sit there and hope that you wanted me, too?”

“I… I don’t know.” He muttered, ashamed that he couldn’t give you a better answer.

“It’s time to know, Sam! Because I need to know, and if you can’t give me any reason to believe you’re not lying, I don’t know if I can do this anymore. I sat there every night praying that you would come and talk to me, or that maybe you would just look in my direction and notice how much I cared about you. You can’t tell me that you didn’t know I loved you, because it’s been painfully obvious since the minute I met you.” You stopped yourself to take another sip from your drink, hoping that the burn would distract you from your breaking heart, but it was just another shot to fill the void that only ever seemed to grow larger. “It only ever seemed like you wanted me when you were scared of someone else having me.”

“That’s not true,” he shook his head, horrified that you would ever think that. “I know I was stupid, and I wish I could make up for the mistakes I made, but I know that they’re always going to hurt you no matter what I do. I can’t take it away, even if I wanted to!”

“Jesus Christ, Sam. The door is closed, the lights are off, you can stop acting! I’m sick of the ‘I dont knows’ and the ‘I’m sorrys’. Why did I only ever exist to you when Jake came into the picture? I didn’t exist when other girls were hanging off your arm, or when there was someone better to talk to, so if your interest in me is more than just a pissing contest with your brother, I need to know!” You exploded, your chest feeling like it was going to explode. You wanted to turn around, to face him while you spat your accusations to at least see if he appeared guilty, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. You knew the minute you saw him, nothing would matter anymore. It was the way your relationship worked; all other issues seemed obsolete when in his company. The beauty of him seemed to outshine any pain, and the comfort that surrounded him was always greater than any turmoil you could imagine. If you were going to get a confession, you would only have the power to do it as long as he wasn’t looking into your eyes.

“More than a pissing contest?” He reiterated your comment, baffled at the lack of understanding you had for him. “Is that what you think this is?”

“What else am I supposed to think, Sam?”

“You’re supposed to know how much you mean to me. You’re supposed to know that after three months of dates and playing house, you mean more to me than bragging rights!” His tone was strong, clearly bothered by your unwillingness to see him as he was. “I’m not falling in love with you for some ulterior motive. I’m not hurting over this because I think it’s fun to play with everyones feelings.” He said, the strain of emotion heavy on his shoulders. “I noticed you, y/n. You just didn’t care to see it, because you’re so fucking afraid of being in love that it changed the way you view the world.”

“That’s not fair,” you snapped, matching his temper with ease. Your fear of love was not an insult to be thrown, and you wanted to make that perfectly clear.

“It is fair, because it’s true. You asked, and I’m answering, so sit there and be quiet.” You wanted to fight back, but you were too stunned at the tone of voice he was speaking in. Sam had never been anything other than gentle with you, and it was shocking to hear anything close to anger in his words. “I noticed. I see you, y/n, even when you won’t let yourself believe that I do. I thought that I showed you over the last few months, but I’m okay with telling you, too. You don’t have to answer, or tell me if I’m right, because I already know that I am.” You furrowed your eyebrows, unsure of what he was getting at. You only had to be confused for a moment before he began again. “Right now, you have a ring on your middle finger. It only has one stone, and it’s a moonstone. It’s a little cloudy, and sometimes when the light hits it, it looks blue. I thought it was an opal, but when I asked, you told me it was a moonstone. I don’t really know what those are, and I had never heard of them before you told me, but I love them, because now they remind me of you. You wear that ring every day, y/n. I’ve never seen you without it.” You looked down at your hand, eyes drifting over your middle finger. You stomach churned with regret as the stone glistened in the pale light from the moon. He was right, and in your time of knowing him, you had never taken it off.

“You have a speckle of brown in your left eye. It’s right under your pupil, and you can only notice it when you look closely, because from far away it just blends in. When you smile, there’s two little dimples in the corners of your mouth. When you’re nervous, you play with your hair. You can’t play beer pong unless your partner is on your right, because you have this little superstition and you think it’s bad luck to play any other way. You’re always the last one to go to bed when we’re hanging out, and you claim it’s because you’re a night owl, but I know that it’s because you can’t sleep unless you make sure everybody else is taken care of. You hate beer. You’ve always been open about that, but it’s so bad that you won’t let us hug you if we’ve been drinking it because you can’t even stand the smell.”

He was right; every little thing he had listed was undeniably true, and the knowledge he collected extended far beyond the few weeks of intimacy you had shared.

“You love the moon, your biggest idol is Stevie Nicks, and you blush when you’re lying. You love to love people, but don’t know how to accept when people love you. You invite everyone to your house because you hate when it’s quiet, and cheap tequila makes you sick. You love the colour green so much that you thought about painting your entire house the same colour, and you think pizza is overrated.” He finished, feeling like he had made his point abundantly clear. “I know you, y/n, and I always have. You can be mad at the stupid decisions I’ve made, but you don’t get to say that I don’t notice you. I notice you so much that it’s hard to see anything else.”

“Why did you wait so long? If you cared so much, what were you so scared of?”

“Everything!” He exclaimed. “I was terrified, and I didn’t know how to get over that. I still don’t, but I’m trying.”

“Did Jake light that fire in you?”

“You lit that fire!” He stood, too passionate about the topic to remain staring at the back of your head. He placed his hand on the arm of your chair and spun it around so you could face him. “You said you didn’t want to talk about my brother, so why are you making it about him?”

“Because you made it seem like it was about him!” You snapped, looking up at him with fire in your eyes. “So you payed attention, but I didn’t catch your eye enough for you to make a move? You let someone else shoot their shot before you thought I was worth the energy! I was in love with you for years, and nobody else ever compared to you. If you asked, I would have given you the world. I would have killed myself just to keep you alive! You let girls flirt with you in my house while I sat there and waited for you like a fucking idiot!”

“What girls, y/n?” He was shouting now, both of you caught up in the moment and unwilling to back down. “What girls are you talking about, because I don’t seem to recall it the way you do!” You recoiled at the strength of his words. “The girls that I had conversations with, but barely ever remembered their names? Maybe had an arm around every now and then? I’m sorry if you perceived it differently, but I was not flirting with them, and not once did I ever take anyone home! If you wanted to, you would have realized that I was giving you the exact same treatment, and my brothers, too! I wasn’t flirting, and I wasn’t with a single girl after I met you. That is the truth, even if you don’t want to believe it!” Your stomach sank, the malice fleeing your body and guilt rolling in to replace it.

Your love for him had skewed your perception of the situation, and now that he was laying it all on the table, he was correct. Looking back on the past without the pessimism and confusion clouding your judgement, he had never once touched nor talked to another girl in the way he did with you in the recent weeks. Back then, when he had a moment of seclusion with you, he acted the very same way as he did with the girls at your parties. You never saw Sam leave with a girl in tow, and you had never found a girl scrambling from your spare bedroom early in the morning before anyone else was awake. He was breaking down your previous notions about your relationship and reconstructing them with pillars of truth. You were the master at overthinking, and the queen of oblivion. The memories seemed to flood back into your brain with more clarity than ever before.

“What are you doing sitting all by yourself?” The sweet tone broke you from any internal brooding, immediately reigning importance over any other thought of the night. You looked up from your drink, the boom of music from the speakers beside you not even loud enough to overtake the beautiful sound of his voice. Your eyes landed on Sam, who was smiling down at you with tipsiness engraved in his features.

“Waiting for you to come and talk to me,” you joked, but the truth underneath the surface was painfully obvious.

“Why wait? You could’ve came and found me.” He grinned, eyes glistening with joy at the thought of you wanting to talk to him.

“I like to be chased, not do the chasing.” You giggled, hoping he would pick up on your humour.

“If that’s the case, I’d be happy to chase you.” He took a seat beside you on the couch, not caring about intruding nor asking permission.

“You don’t have anything better to do?” You said, nervous at the closeness of his body. His leg was practically resting on yours, and you had to bargain with the idea that he chose to sit so close despite the entirely vacant couch.

“When it comes to you? Never.”

You thought you were going to be sick, the rush of blood from your head making you feel woozy and the thud of your heart against your ribs growing more aggressive by the second.

“Hey, you better not be playing beer pong without me!” A voice called from behind you as you walked by with two ping pong balls in hand. Your head snapped towards the source of the sound, gaze immediately landing upon the youngest Kiszka brother. He was standing next to a blonde who seemed enthralled in his every move, but he wasn’t looking at anything but you. “Thought we were partners for life?”

“Better hurry if you want to join.” You sing-songed as you continued walking towards the fold out table, knowing that he likely wouldn’t want to leave his conversation to accompany you. You didn’t make it a point to stare, but had you waited a second longer before turning away, you would have noticed Sam ditch his company without as much as a second glance.

You let your head fall back on the chair, feeling the scratch of tears in your throat and your heart begin to ache.

Slumped over in the kitchen chair, you let your head rest on the table in hopes that the cool wood would satiate the ache in your skull. You couldn’t even seem to find the energy to get up for a glass of water and an Advil. Even if you did, the painkillers wouldn’t take away the hurt in your heart. You had drank your way through the last of your liquor the previous night until it guided you to sleep. By the end of the bottle, you still hadn’t seemed to forget the sight of Sam laughing with the pretty brunette your coworker had brought to the party with her. All other memories? Well, they were obsolete. In comparison, even if you were able to remember the rest of the night, no memory would be nearly as daunting as the one of Sam smiling down at another girl.

“Good morning, sunshine.” The words accompanied footsteps, and had you not recognized the voice so well, you wouldn’t have bothered to look up.

“Morning, Sammy.” You squinted as your eyes tried to adjust to the brightness.

“Headache?” He asked, moving towards the cupboard on top of the fridge. He didn’t need to ask to know; you always had a headache when you were hungover, and you had nursed a bottle of cheap tequila until the bitter end. In truth, he was expecting to find you in a much worse state.

“Mhm,” you mustered the noise in lieu of a verbal response, hoping that it would be easier on your migraine. Sam closed the cabinet after retrieving what he intended to grab. He moved to the sink, filling a glass with water and setting it beside you. He took a seat in a chair, accompanying you in hopes that it might make you feel better. When you looked towards the two pills he sat on the table, you gave him a small smile of thanks. You took them, feeling better at the idea of relief alone.

“Where’s your company?” You asked, hoping to seem nonchalant with the comment. He furrowed his eyebrows, unsure of who you referring to.

“Right here?” He replied, motioning to you.

“No,” you chuckled. “The girl from last night. You two seemed to hit it off, thought maybe it would go somewhere.” He appeared to be racking his brain to recall the girl in question. After a moment, his eyes lit up with clarity.

“Oh, no. I don’t even think I caught her name. After I helped you out, I just went to bed.”

“Helped me out?” You questioned.

“You don’t remember?” You shook your head, anxiety creeping into your chest as you waited for him to elaborate. “You were pretty drunk, and you seemed upset, so I thought I’d check in on you. You were sick for a while, so I stayed with you until you felt good enough to go to sleep. Brought you upstairs to help you to bed, and we ended up talking for a while.”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry.” You groaned “did I say anything stupid?”

“No,” he smiled, recalling the memory “it was nice, actually. I mean, you were upset and cried for a little while, but you wouldn’t tell me why. Once you calmed down, we laughed about it and you asked if I would stay until you fell asleep. Think we listened to the same record for an hour before you started to doze off.”

“Was it a good one at least?”

“It was a great one,” he nodded, but he only enjoyed it so much because you loved it, and if he had to admit, It was his new favourite album, mostly because you had fallen asleep in his arms to it. He decided to keep that memory to himself, locked away in the back of his mind for safe keeping. He didn’t want you to feel embarrassed about it, and he was too scared to admit that he enjoyed it.

“Thanks,” you felt your cheeks tinge red.

“My pleasure.” He assured you.

“I’m sorry if I ruined your chances with her. She seemed nice.” You felt the need to apologize despite your elation at the knowledge he had spent the remainder of his night with you. You wished you could remember what it felt like to be in seclusion with him, desperate to know what intimacy felt like at the hands of Sam Kiszka.

“Oh, no, no need to apologize. I’m always happy to help you out, y/n. Besides, I’m not looking for anything like that, anyway.” He said, reaching out to place a gentle hand on your arm to reassure you he meant what he said. Your stomach burned with desire for him, but your head was screaming at you to remember the picture of him laughing with the nameless girl. Instead of realizing that you were both feeling the same way about each other, you allowed yourself to hurt over the thought of him showing interest in another girl, when in reality his interest was only in you.

“Oh my god, Sam.” You put your head in your hands, desperate to rid yourself of the remorse that was eating you alive. The memories were endless, pouring in with no intent to slow. You had been foolish, equating your lack of intimacy with him to a lack of interest. He did care, and he cared more than you ever realized. You were so afraid of falling that you failed to understand that he had fallen just as hard, terrified of the same fate. “I’m so sorry.” You muttered, trying to control the wavering of your voice. Tears were stinging your eyes, the reality harrowing and the darkness of the night matching the feeling in your heart. He loved you the same as you loved him, but you were both too foolish to find enough courage to open your souls to each other.

“Do you get it now?” He attempted to mask his own hurt, but it was crystal clear. The weight of it was settled on both of you, making it impossible to think of anything else. “I cared, y/n, but you never wanted to see it. You didn’t know how to let me care about you, so you convinced yourself that I didn’t. We were both scared, and we both made mistakes. Don’t paint me as the devil when you were doing just the same.” He took a seat again, defeated from his own confession. “I haven’t been pointing fingers at you for falling for Jake, and I feel like that is just as criminal as anything I’ve done.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I’m terrified! I always have been, and you never said anything either, so I had myself convinced that I was imagining something that wasn’t really there!” He said, looking up to meet your eyes. His sin was heavy in his gaze, as was yours. “I hurt the only person I’ve ever fallen in love with, and the world hasn’t forgiven me since. I haven’t even forgiven me.”

“Talk to me, Sammy.” You held his stare, eyes burning into his soul. “Tell me, so I can understand.” He debated the choice, knowing that if he opened up to you, you would see every part of him, good and bad. If he didn’t, he would lose you indefinitely, and there would only be him to blame for letting you walk out the door. After a moment of silence, he took a breath before divulging into the story he’d tried so hard to bury forever.

“It’s strange, you know. It feels like we’ve been cursed for life, and I’m not sure what we ever did to deserve it.” He started, the first blow striking the wall in hopes of breaking it down. “No matter how hard we avoid it, Jake and I always seem to find ourselves in the same situation. Every single girl I’ve ever fallen for has fallen for him, too, and vice versa. It’s horrible knowing that no matter what, we only ever get to enjoy love for a moment. When we were younger, I think we were stupid and cocky. We saw it as a game, which is horrible.” You nodded along, hoping to encourage him to keep talking. “When we went on tour for the first time, it was so surreal. I mean, we were still kids, y/n, barely grown and travelling the world.” He laughed at the memory, finding it mind blowing to recall.

“We snuck into a bar one night. Well, Danny and I did. Jake and Josh were barely old enough to get in, and we managed to scrape by. Turns out, the bar wasn’t very hard to get into, because it looked like it was crawling with high school students.” He found another chuckle amidst the pain of honesty. “I met a girl about a year or two older than me. She was fantastic, and we ended up talking all night. So much that when they were closing up the place, they had to kick us out. We texted back and fourth, got to know each other, and then seemed to be on the phone constantly. Eventually, we got fed up and she flew out to travel with us for a little while. Things were really good, and she took breaks from travelling with us to go home for a while. When a situation is good, it gets comfortable, and when you’re that young and your life is all over the place like mine was, comfortable is the same as boring in your mind.”

“I got drunk and hooked up with another girl while she was travelling with me. It was my fault, and I’ll never try and say otherwise. I hurt her, and I still feel guilty about it. She was the first person I fell in love with, even if I was young and didn’t really know what love meant. After we fought, she ended up in Jake’s bed. It killed me, even if I did deserve it. Jake and I fought like never before, and I don’t think we ever really recovered from it. Since then, I guess we always let the pattern repeat instead of putting an end to it. I think we both feel like there’s no point in trying to avoid it, because it’s inevitable anyway.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.” Even though you knew the story, it seemed to hit so much harder when you could see the emotion in his face.

“I don’t want sympathy, y/n. I deserved what I got, and I know that. Pain doesn’t make someone innocent.” You nodded, understanding completely what he was saying. “When I fell for you, I fell so fast and hard that it nearly shattered my soul. I was scared because of how much I cared about you, but I was even more scared that he would steal you away. It’s not a good excuse, and it never has been, but it’s the truth. I thought if I kept how I felt hidden, I could enjoy you more, because then I wouldn’t have to watch you fall in love with Jake. I could see he felt the same way for you that I did. It may not have been obvious to everyone, but it was to me. I didn’t want to compete for you, but it looks like we ended up here, anyway.” He ran a hand through his hair, feeling disgusted at how the predicament continued to repeat itself.

“So yeah, when Jake made a move on you it certainly made me realize how much I could lose, but I didn’t pursue you solely because I didn’t want him to have you. That would be disgusting, and I might not be perfect, but I would never put you through that.”

“I wish… I wish we could have said something sooner. It would have made everything so much easier.” You whispered, aching to reach out and touch him. He looked up from the floor, eyes settling on your face as a sad smile crossed his lips.

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Jake wouldn’t have let you go without a fight, and I don’t blame him. You’re worth all of the pain, and I’d go through it a million times if it meant I could be with you, even just for a little while.” He said, holding your gaze. “I fell in love with that girl, and I fucked it up. Y/n, how I feel for you is far beyond anything I have ever felt for her. I didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much, but I do. I love you, but I am terrified of hurting you. I learned lessons that sucked, and I know I would never do that to you, but it scares me to know that I have the power to cause you any type of pain. The only thing I have ever wanted to do is love you, and no matter if it’s forever or only for a little while, I’m still beyond grateful that I got the chance.”

“You mean it?” Your words were barely loud enough to break through the silence, but he heard you. No matter where you were in the world, or how much distance between you, Sam would move heaven and earth to ensure someone was there to listen to you. Your voice was his favourite melody, the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. He was certain that he would never hear anything that compared, and he would certainly never search for it. He adored you, and he did not care solely because he wanted to stop Jake from having you. He cared because he did; there was no personal gain nor any hidden benefit. He loved you completely, and he loved you for you. The suffering, the heartache, and even the fear of losing was not enough to deter him from loving you, because it was the best thing he had ever experienced.

“I’ve never meant anything more in my entire life.” He refrained from reaching out to you, wondering if you would make the first move. He thought he had pushed you far enough with his words, and he didn’t want to scare you away. “I love you, y/n. Always have, and I always will. I will love you until you don’t want me to anymore, and I’ll keep loving you long after that, even if I have to keep it to myself.”

“I love you, Sam. I fell in love with you long before this started.” You breathed, feeling the weight of the world being lifted off your chest. It felt just as good to be honest with him as it did with Jake, but you had not laid the full truth on the table. “But I love him, too.”

“I know.” He said, unable to be upset at you for your honesty. “I just hope that in the end, you realize you love me a little bit more.” You gave him a sad smile, the sullen reply ripping your heart straight from your chest. “I know you can’t control what your heart wants, but I’ll keep my fingers crossed. If not, I’ll be happy as long as you are.” You were furious with yourself for not being able to end the suffering. Your greed was affecting everyone around you, and you couldn’t seem to find the courage to put a stop to it. You had so much history with Sam, and it seemed like the most logical option to be with him, especially considering your years of feelings for him. But logic had never been your friend, and it was a stranger when it came to the brothers. As much as you wanted to fall into Sam’s arms and be with him, you felt like you were stuck to the ground. You were not ready for that choice, and if you were to act impulsively, you couldn’t ensure you wouldn’t double back on your decision.

Worst, of all, you couldn’t stomach the thought of hurting Jake in that way. The conversation with Sam, the profession of love and all of the understanding was simple. So simple that it seemed too good to be true. The clarity you had gained from your discussion was incredible, and it seemed so much easier to confess your love to Sam. The fiery and emotional nature of your confession to Jake made your head spin when you thought about it for too long, and it was all but simple to talk about your feelings with him. But, you had come to learn that intimacy was not supposed to be easy, and by defaulting to loving Sam due to a lack of hardship was not fair to either boy. If you were to decide to love Sam based on simplicities, it would do nothing but make you a coward who could not find the gall to do hard things.

You sipped on your drink, desperate to find something to put your mind to rest. You both sat in silence, looking away from each other in hopes that the other would speak first. “Do you think that there’s another universe where we get to love each other more?” You finally broke the silence, looking up at him with a glimmer of hope in your eye.

“It’s impossible, because in every universe, I love you the same.” He gave you a sad smile. “Maybe there’s one where we can love each other easily.”

“I’d like to know what that one is like.” You felt tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks. “I bet it would be fantastic.” He gave a shrug, feeling a stab to his chest at the sight of the tears overflowing from your eyes.

“This one is too, princess. Loving you is fantastic, even if it’s not perfect.” You closed your eyes, feeling a sob fall from your lips. You wished you could go back in time and stop yourself from falling into the trap, to understand that despite your confidence, the situation was bound to be disastrous. But, at the same time, even if it was painful, loving them had been the most fun you had in your entire life. No matter which boy you picked, or even if you picked neither, you did not regret the time you spent with them. Going back and avoiding your mistakes may have saved you some hurt in the future, but it would have never taught you the lessons you needed to learn.

In your time spent with them, you learned that it was okay to open your heart enough to make room for another. You could finally realize that vulnerability was not the enemy, and intimacy was not as terrifying as you had previously thought. In fact, it was incredibly enjoyable when shared with the right person. You learned that you had the ability to love, and what it meant to love another wholly and completely. Better yet, you were shown that you could be loved, which was something you had never felt before in your entire life. You had always taken the stance of keeping people out for two reasons; the damage they could cause, and the damage they would find. By doing so, you failed to realize that people could introduce a lot more into your life than just pain, and your demons were not as threatening with two people standing guard. You did not regret the decision to love both brothers, even though you knew that the future was not as bright as the beginning. You were thankful to finally know what it felt like to be loved by another, and that they made your realize that you deserve to be loved just as much as anyone else.

“I think that I’m going to need some time to think about all of this.” You said, wiping your cheeks clean from the sadness. “Maybe take a step back, just to straighten out my head.”

“As long as I leave here tonight knowing that you know how much I care about, you can take as much time as you need. I just need to know that you understand, and I’ll wait forever for you if I have to.” He was tempted to hold you, to take the initiative and wipe the tears from your face in hopes of washing the pain away, too. It was hard to resist, but he wanted you to decide if you wanted it or not. He was not going to be the person to push you to love him, because in reality, it would do nothing but push you away.

“Can we… tomorrow?” You asked, not feeling like shutting him out immediately after such confessions. “I don’t want to be responsible, yet. I just want to enjoy this for a little while longer. I’m going to take some time, but I’ll start in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” He wanted clarification before jumping to action, needing to know that you were certain about your decision.

“We said I love you, Sam.” You managed a small laugh through the turmoil that was still ravaging your brain. “I think we’re allowed one night to enjoy it before we have to make any hard decisions.” He watched you for a moment, giving you ample opportunity to change your mind. When you showed no signs of regressing, he jumped from the bed with a new found burst of life. You barely had time to comprehend his sudden move before he was in front of you, reaching down and scooping you into his arms.

Despite the pain that was still thick in the air, you both found yourselves in a shriek of laughter. You wrapped your legs around him, cradling his face in your hands as he made sure you were secure in his grip. “Say it again.” His grin was blinding, making it hard to believe that there were tears in his eyes only moments before. “Please.”

“I love you, Sammy.” He let the words linger, revelling in the bliss before he pulled you into a kiss. It was messy, a show of desperation for each other after being deprived of it all night. It was the perfect show of the truth behind the saying ‘sometimes you don’t know what you’re missing until you’ve come across it’. You had lived your whole life without ever feeling love, romantic or otherwise, and now you were so full of it that you weren’t sure you could ever live without it. You had been so afraid of something that felt so good, even within its own repercussions. You knew you would even miss the bad that came along with it if you were ever deprived of love again.

“I love you,” he mumbled, barely taking the time to part from the kiss. “I love you,” he said again, his smile growing every time he spoke. “I love you so much, y/n.” You thought you would be able to live off the euphoria of being loved by him forever. You leaned forward for another kiss, laughing as you did so. The moment of childish glee was beautiful, especially after the weight of the conversation. It did not take long for the passion from the moment to manifest itself into something larger, neediness increasingly radiating from both of you the longer you had access to each other.

He carefully stepped backwards, lowering himself onto the mattress and gently settling you in his lap. When you were situated, you broke away for air. He took advantage of the opportunity and made a move to slip your shirt over your head. The sting of the air on your skin was a shock, but when his hands came back to you, you forgot the feeling almost instantly. As he brought his mouth back to your own, his fingers unhooked your bra. You dropped your arms from around his neck and let it fall to the floor with little care. He let his lips drift down your neck, gracing you with delicacy and adoration in the small movements. You let out a shaky breath as he worked his way downwards, pulling your nipple into his mouth to continue his physical show of love.

“God, Sam.” You breathed, the moment of physical intimacy amplifying the emotional intimacy you had divulged in. The feeling of his tongue on your skin was intoxicating, his touch similar to that of a wicked entity. The only thing that reminded you that it truly was Sam behind your pleasure was the familiarity of his hands and the weight of your adoration for him. You despised that both brothers seemed to make you into a fool for them with ease, like it was not a struggle for them to hold complete power over you with a single glance. Their power had only grown stronger over the months, and it could only be accredited to you falling victim to love. It was almost funny, how you claimed harm at their hands, but seemed to be holding the gun and prompting the pull of the trigger.

Your hips moved down on him, desperate for any type of friction to relieve the growing ache between your legs. One of his hands dropped downwards, settling on your ass and holding you to him, his own need showing through the small action. You let out a hiss of pleasure as he gently sunk his teeth into your nipple, the surprise of his action adding to the sensation. He broke away from you, looking up at you with lust heavily clouding his gaze. You were both long overdue for more, and weren’t willing to wait any longer. You shuffled to your feet, unbuttoning your jeans and pulling them off in one swift motion. He let his eyes drift over your exposed skin, his breath caught in his throat as he tried to comprehend your beauty. He was practically feral at the sight, crazed at the thought of being able to see you in such a way, but he held himself back in hopes that you could make the night last as long as possible.

“You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, catching your eye as he spewed out the compliment. You felt your cheeks heat red, a smile pulling on the corner of your lips as the words struck you like lightning. A compliment from Sam was worth the world and more, and you knew you could live off them for the rest of your life.

Everything about the brothers was so phenomenal that it made it hard to believe that they were real; you could not comprehend perfection taking form in a human body, but somehow the universe had managed it twice. You wanted to love them forever, to never know what it was like to be deprived of them, but you knew it was not plausible. It was time for you to grow up, to put a stop to the immature behaviour and finally begin to think first, rather than act. You had let the devil lead the way for far too long, and it was finally time to take back the power that you had willingly given away. The only way to stop the hurt was to stop the entanglement, and even if the idea of losing one or both of them hurt so badly, the decision was long overdue.

Then again, you would not be a Gold Dust Woman if not for your tendency to destroy yourself at the hands of your own desires. In true Gold fashion, you allowed the night to continue on even with the knowledge it would do nothing but make the choice even more difficult.

He stood, slipping his own shirt over his head. You felt the same skip in your heartbeat, the sight immediately taking your breath away. He noticed your reaction, unable to stop the smile from creeping onto his face. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, hoping that he couldn’t sense the nervousness in your tone. Somehow even after months, he still seemed to make you nervous when in his presence. He took a step towards you, cupping your cheek in his hand as he pulled you in for another kiss. It was like an addiction for him, almost impossible to resist. “Shower?” You mumbled against his lips, the idea enticing him almost as much as it did for you.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He asked, barely parted from you. You let out a giggle, walking away in the direction of the bathroom. He followed closely, not willing to let you get too far away.

You flicked the light on, immediately reaching into the shower and turning on the faucet. Within a few seconds, steam had already began accumulating in the air. Instead of waiting for you to get in, Sam’s hands slipped around your waist. You smiled at the familiar feeling, wishing you could exist within his touch until the end of time. Something about his hands on you gave you the relief you’d been so deeply craving, and not in a sexual sense. The gentleness always eluded to a future without suffering, and even if the momentary touch was the only time you felt that way, it was nice to finally have some peace amidst the chaos.

He pulled you into him, limiting you from stepping into the shower. You wanted to complain, to voice your excitement for the soothing warmth of the water, but being in his arms always triumphed. He leaned down, letting his lips drift over your shoulders and any exposed part of your neck. Your eyes closed, melting into him and willing to accept whatever he had in store for you. With great care, he guided you towards the countertop until your back gently connected with it. The cold shocked you, searing your skin with the unfamiliar temperature, but you didn’t have time to think much about it. Sam had firmly grabbed your hips, lifting you up and setting you down in one swift motion. He moved forward, settling between your legs so easily, like he belonged there without question.

He brought his lips back to your own, but only for a moment. He worked his way down your neck, to your shoulders and down your chest. Slowly, he sunk to his knees before you with his head nestled comfortably between your thighs. You bit down on your lip, silencing the gasp that you so badly wanted to let out. Your heart was racing, overly excited for what was to come next. His fingers were branding his name into you forever. You knew that when the sun rose in the sky, and you took your inevitable step away, your body would still be littered with Sam. It would be so overwhelmingly obvious that distance would not even begin to diminish the strength in which you needed him. In a moment of weakness and fear of the aching loneliness that was to come, you almost jumped into his arms forever. After the moment passed, you knew you could not discard Jake so easily, especially after the raw intimacy you had shared with him.

When Sam’s mouth connected with your cunt, rationality was no longer the leading thought in your head. Although the devil continued to push you further into Sam’s arm, another one was holding you tightly, pleading with you to stop. At first glance, it seemed to want to protect you from the downfall you were headed towards by allowing Sam access to you while feeling such turmoil. Then again, it would not be the devil if it had no ill intent, and it was not holding you back in fear of soothing broken hearts. The part of you leaning away from Sam was leaning directly into Jake, serially motivated by the desire you had for him and your fear of letting him go. As much as you wanted to fall in love with Sam forever, it was just not possible at the moment. As much as you craved to be with Jake, the time was not right. Which was exactly why time is what you needed, spent away from them and their ability to captivate you. The closer you were with them, the harder it was to resist the love they gave to you. Pain was guaranteed either way, but you had to chose the option that you believed would hurt the least.

But only after one more bad decision, of course.

“Fuck,” you panted, chest burning from the lack of air in your lungs. Sam was working hard, determined to prove a point with his tongue. You weren��t certain exactly what he was trying to prove, but he was doing it well. The steam in the air was thick, melt from the shower but some purely from the energy between you both. Your hand was in his hair, gripping at the roots and holding him to you. He hummed against you, pleased with your enjoyment. It seemed the more disheveled you became, the harder he worked to make it worse. “G-god, Sam. Please don’t stop.” You whined as your head fell backwards. Your eyes were squeezed shut, the burning in your belly almost unbearable.

He used his hands on your hips to pull you closer to the edge, tongue never faltering as he did so. He dropped his arm from the hold he had on you and added his fingers to you, slowly pumping them as he moved his mouth upwards to focus on your clit. The moans you were expelling were vulgar, painting the walls with every sin you already had, and continued to commit. You were so lost in pleasure that any thoughts of right and wrong had disintegrated into nothing. Everything was Sam; you felt like you were being consumed by him, his aura so powerful that you were crumbling into nothing. Dying would be an honour if it were at his hands, and you knew that the descent would be nothing but comfortable as long as you could feel his touch until the bitter end. “Sam,” you repeated, unsure if you could hold back your orgasm any longer. He curled his fingers upwards as he pumped them into you, a small encouragement for you to let go.

With the slight change in angle and the relentless speed of his tongue, your legs began to shake. Your muscled tensed, and you felt yourself clench against his fingers. With only last warning, so weak that it barely sounded over the putter of water against the shower floor, your climax washed over you. Your chest ached from the intensity, limbs begging you to relax, but you couldn’t seem to slow the ferocity of the moment. Your head was spinning, filling with thoughts of nothing but the boy between your legs. You were so filled with love for him that you thought your heart may explode. As you came down, sweat glistening on your skin and the pleasure settling into a dull tingle across your body, you finally managed to get a full breath into your lungs. As you did, Sam slowly tapered his pace to a stop, moving away from you to catch his own breath.

You released your hold on his hair, an apologetic look crossing your face for the strength in which you were holding it. He seemed unbothered at the action, eyes still closed in bliss as he ghosted kisses over your thighs. You let your hand fall to his cheek, appreciating him as he showed you the act of kindness. “Shower?” You asked, voice still airy from the intoxication of the orgasm. He let out a hum, too enthralled in you to care about a verbal answer. You managed a small giggle at his enamouring expression, but ultimately had to put a stop to his admiration. “We’ve wasted enough water, come on.” You said, ushering him to stand. He obliged, although not voluntarily. He helped you off the counter, pulling you into him for a moment as he placed a kiss on your head.

“You first,” he promoted, moving out of your way. You slid the glass door open, stepping under the droplets and immediately feeling the relaxing warmth. He followed suit, closing the door behind him. As you sat under the stream of water, he took the opportunity to have the moment of closeness he had been craving so badly. He wrapped his arms around you, hands settling on your lower stomach as he guided you into him. With your back against his chest and his hands on you, you felt unstoppable. The warm water alongside the memory of the orgasm only solidified the feeling. Sam made you feel like you were on top of the world, like nothing could ever hurt you. His love was like a cushion of protection, keeping you away from any harm as long as he was with you.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” You said, leaning your head back to rest on him, too.

“We can, princess.” He reminded, the small seed of evil planting in your brain effortlessly. He would do whatever it took to keep you in his arms, and if it meant persuading, he was already thinking of a million reason as to why you should stay. “If that’s what you want, we can do that.”

“I know, and I do.” You said, but you didn’t have to finish the statement. He wasn’t ready to face any type of rejection, and you were not willing to dish it out. His hope, although blind by times, was the only thing giving him the will to keep going. “I love you.” You changed topics, hoping the blow would lessen by the sweet phrase. You wished you didn’t already have to use it as an apology, but being apologetic had been the only thing you knew how to do as of recent. You were always sorry for the pain you were inflicting, even if they knew that it was coming. You wondered why it was so common to hurt the ones you love the most, and if it was uncommon, why it was so simple for the three of you to do.

“I know, and I love you, too.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to your cheek. It was beautiful, how much he cared despite knowing how bad it hurt him. You turned your head to meet his mouth, the confession still hitting as hard as it did the first time. You could feel his erection against you; he was desperate for relief even if he was enjoying the sweetness of the moment. You pushed your hips back on him, also eager for the main event after such an emotional night. His grip tightened, enticed by the small movement. The kiss grew messy, both of you at a breaking point long before you ever got into the shower.

He spun you, pushing you against the wall with a new-found energy. Your upper half was flush with the cool tile, and he pulled your hips back to grant himself access to you. He lined himself up with your entrance, fingers digging into the skin of your hips as he pushed his own forward. You both let out a sigh of relief at the feeling, knowing that there were few things in the world that felt as good as it did. “God, you feel so fucking good.” He muttered, closing his eyes to focus only on the way you felt wrapped around him. The heat of the water only amplified every sensation, the steam filling your senses and your brains with the obscene energy that it had leeched from you both. You were feral for each other, uncaring of anything other than the sexual desire between you. The encounter was no longer a solidification of the vulnerability you had shared, but now a need that far outweighed any other that had previously existed.

Sam surpassed any normal person in terms of desire, and quickly manifested himself as one of the most important things to ever exist to you. The thought of being without him was excruciating, and the only thought worse than ones of death. “Harder, please.” You groaned, hands supporting yourself on the wall as he fucked into you. He obliged to the request with little hesitation, pulling you back on him as he thrusted forward. He snaked one hand to your hair, knotting it in his fist and pulling your head away from the wall. He leaned forward, letting his lips rest on your ear as he placed a small kiss to it.

“Does that feel good, princess?” He crooned, voice low and settling straight into your soul. You let out a moan, unable to verbally express the pleasure he was giving you. His grip in your hair tightened, snapping you back to reality for a moment.

“F-feels so good, Sammy.” You muttered, feeling another groan tear through your chest. He hummed against your ear, letting his teeth sink into your earlobe to show his enjoyment of the sounds you were making for him.

“Just want to make you feel good, baby.” His tone was husky, coated with lust and showcasing his desire. He turned your head to the side, just enough so he could capture you in a kiss. He continued moving his hips, never slowing his pace. You let a moan slip into his mouth, driving him further into the cloud of euphoria that was slowly engulfing him. He slipped his hand from your hip, wrapping it around you and settling his fingers between your legs. He began tracing slow circles on your already sensitive clit, making the feeling of every movement even more powerful. You pushed your hips back on him, not ashamed to show him your need for him. A growl came from deep in his chest as he parted from you, the small movement sending him into a frenzy.

He dropped his hand from your hair and used it to hold your hips in place as he began his frenzied attempt to drive you to an orgasm. He didn’t need to try very hard; the knot in your stomach was tightening with every second that passed. “Fuck,” you whined, the fire consuming every nerve in your body.

“Come on, sweet girl.” He encouraged. “Cum for me, baby.” His words hit you hard, the impact nearly stealing the air from your lungs and making your legs grow limp. His hands were holding you steady, making sure you were secure so you didn’t have to worry about anything but your pleasure. You let out another moan, desperation evident in the sound. He continued his relentless effort, moving his fingers faster and with more precision.

“Sam,” you breathed, feeling the pressure reach a peak. Your body tensed as your breath caught in your throat. You tried repeating his name, but it was a useless endeavour. No coherent thoughts were forming, and the only thing coming from your mouth was a slur of curses and moans. Your legs were shaking, weak as they struggled to hold your weight and your heart was erratic against your rib cage.

“That’s it, beautiful.” He coaxed you through, slowly tapering his pace. When your body relaxed and you gained strength to keep yourself upright, he slowed to a stop. “How was that?”

“S-so good,” you stuttered, heaving a heavy breath. He let out a chuckle, amused by your disarray as he pulled out of you. You managed a small groan of discontent at the loss of the feeling, but he ignored you. He gently spun you around so you were facing him, leaning in for a kiss. The gentle action was greatly appreciated; your body was still recovering from the excitement of the moment. His hands planted on your hips once more, but this time he lifted you. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around him as your hands snaked around his neck. He pressed your back against the tile, the cold surface a shock, but you were too tired to care. He pressed his lips to yours once more as he lined himself up once again. When he was certain his grip on you was secure enough, he pulled you down on him. You lacked any self control, the feeling euphoric and the sound that came out of you matched the sensation.

“How’s that, Princess?” He hummed, resting his forehead on your own for a heightened sense of intimacy. “Is that better?”

“Mhm,” you nodded against him, tangling your fingers in his hair. You wanted to be as close to him as possible, but the barrier of your bodies was prohibiting what you needed to satisfy the desire. You felt like his being was too powerful; it was consuming you and leaving behind a shell of what you once were. Sometimes, especially in moments like the one you were sharing with him then, it felt like your sole purpose was to love Sam, or to be loved by him, but truth behind the thought was almost too much to bear. There was a part of you devoted to Sam, wanting nothing but to love him for the rest of time, but there was another part that felt the same about Jake. It was horrendous knowing that you could never love one fully without loving the other.

“Give me one more, baby.” He pleaded, fingers bruising the skin as he continued to pull your hips down on him. The request was simple to fulfill, and you knew that it would not take much for him to get what he wanted.

“If you cum with me,” you placed down your own term before an agreement.

“That’s what you want?” He questioned, trying to make it seem like your words did not bother him. In truth, he was struggling to hold himself back and your statement had only driven him closer to the edge.

“God, yes. Please, baby.” You whined, knowing that the longer he was inside you, the closer you were being pushed to insanity. He let out a low sigh, sent into a downward spiral at the sound of your desperation. He hoped he could hold off for long enough to make you cum, and you were hoping to hold off for long enough to please him. You were both hoping for something that meant nothing; the pleasure that was upon you both was too good to refute, and a climax was easier to attain than anything else.

Your mind was abuzz with the love you had for him, the intensity growing with the steady movement of his thrusts. You were delirious, body exhausted from the continuous pleasure and muscles aching from the strain. The water soothed only enough to keep you going, but Sam’s hands were what made you feel best. “I love you,” he whispered. You felt your stomach burn with desire as he voiced the same thought that had been so pressing all night. You knew you could never get sick of him saying it, and you knew you could listen to him say those three words and survive solely off the feeling it provided.

“I love you, Sam.” You groaned, the climax threatening to take hold. “I love you so much.” He pulled you down harder, his cock slamming against your cervix in a pleasurable type of pain. You let out a cry, the sudden sensation immediately sending you into a third orgasm. You were lost in euphoria, barely existing within the same realm anymore. You clenched around him, singing his name as if it was a hymn and he was the god you were praying to. From the sight of your descent alone, it send him over the edge with no mercy. He held you down on him, uttering curses as he spilled his release into you. By the time you both came down, you were breathless and seeing stars. You held each other close in hopes that you could make the moment last forever, but you knew that nothing this fantastic could ever last. The harrowing reality was just around the corner, and you had to understand that this was the last night you could spend with Sam before you had to make the final decision.

He loosened his grip on you, carefully letting you down to your feet and holding you steady in fear your legs might give out. You leaned into his chest, craving comfort after the chaos. You wanted for everything to be over, for the pain to stop and for the happy to last, but you knew that the hurt was only beginning and bound to stay for a while. You listened to his heartbeat as it slowed in his chest, soothed immediately by your touch. “Here,” he said, shifting so you could be fully under the stream of warm water. You let out a hum of satisfaction, the heat soothing any ache that was lingering. He looked around, grabbing a bottle of shampoo while you enjoyed the water. He lathered some in his hands and ushered you back towards him. You rested your back on his chest once more while he brought his hands to your hair, gently rubbing the shampoo into the roots.

You could have fallen asleep in his arms with how relaxing the feeling was. He was gentle, using great caution in fear he might pull on the strands the wrong way. When he was satisfied with his work, he helped you rinse the soap from your hair. He repeated his actions with the conditioner you had sitting on a shelf and held you until you found the energy to wash the rest of your body. He washed his own hair while you scrubbed away the filth of the sins you had partaken in, but the feeling of Sam could never really be washed away. You both finished the normal shower routine and sat in each others company for a moment before turning off the faucet.

When you got out, Sam found a towel on the rack by the sink. He wrapped you in one before worrying about himself, fearful that the temperature change might disturb you. With a small smile on your lips and love in your heart, you both returned to the bedroom with intent to sleep. “I’d like to stay, if that’s okay. If not, I understand.”

“Of course you can, Sammy.” You said, dropping your towel to the floor as you climbed in bed. “I can worry about everything else in the morning, but for now, I want you here with me.” He couldn’t hide the blinding smile he adorned at the sound of your statement. He climbed into bed, pulling you into his arms in one swift motion. You let out a giggle at his enthusiasm, but you knew that you were feeling the same way just from the thought of sleeping by his side.

“I don’t care who you pick, y/n.” He started, letting his fingers trace shapes into the soft skin of your back. “I hope it’s me, but I just want you to be happy. No matter what happens, I’m thankful that I got the chance to love you, even if it’s only for a little while.”

“I’m grateful for that, too.” You agreed, feeling his words settle into your chest and begin to make your heart ache. You closed your eyes, but your mind was far from asleep. You were dreading the morning because it signified separation and moving on, two things that you were far from ready to do. Even if it was the right choice, it did not mean it hurt any less. Same eyes were closed too, thinking about the same things that were disturbing you. Neither of you spoke about them, and neither of you seemed to curb the fear of loss.

It seemed like such a shame for so much love to be shared between the three of you, especially knowing that the end would be nothing but painful. It was a shame that your first experience with love would ultimately burn you and everyone caught in the crossfire. But, it seemed as though your biggest fear of all was not to love or to hurt, but rather the fear of never wanting to love again after the storm settled. For your entire life, you were horrified of vulnerability, and intimacy was the enemy. Now that you experienced it both so beautifully and profoundly, you were most afraid of never feeling it again. You were terrified of being the Gold Dust Woman from the story, rather than the one Jake viewed you as. Beautiful but empty, cold and distant, and always searching for a thrill, yet forever too scared to take the leap. You hoped that you could remain the person Jake had viewed you has when he gave the nickname, but you knew it was not the case. There was only one way to be a Gold Dust Woman, and it was not in any way he chose to perceive you. You had become all that you swore not to be, and there was no escape from it.

Love was no longer the cause of your downfall; in fact, it never really was. It had always been yourself, even if you chose to remain blind to the harsh reality. The problem found home within you, and this time, you had no one else left to blame.

Did she shatter your illusions of love?

Come on, did you really think I’d let Sam go down without a fight? ;)

TAGLIST: @itsdannysworld @gretavansara @jaketlove @laneygvf @freefallthoughts @psychedelicsprinkles @idontwannabeherenow @joshysgirl @sanguinebats @objectsinspvce @klarxtr @sinarainbows @jakesmustache @gvfpal @hellowgoodbye

[ndostairlyrium]

15 Lines of Dialogue

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Tagged by @greypetrel 💛 thank you dear, scrolling through the pages was super sweet and it reminded me that doing something for myself without stressing too much on how it could be perceived was one of the best decisions I've ever made ;; <3

So, luckily for you I only have just a dozen of chapters translated so you're getting just the Haven + trip to Skyhold arcs :' there she's more jokes oriented wait until the trip to the Dales kicks in

🌸💀 Ankh before the "Lav" 💀🌸

"I should have listened to you. And this will be the first and last time you ever hear me say it!"

"Every culture strives to make [death] poetic in order to make sense of the pain of loss, but reality is much more selfless than any theory."

"This is the point at which I usually lay out my theory to Varric and he raises ten coppers that the situation is actually far worse than what it seems."

"I'm not "an elf". I'm the one who’s going to send you chopping wood with a butter knife, if you keep this attitude."

"Do you really want me to strip completely naked and dance around the fire, hooting in the moonlight under the influence of psychotropic mushrooms?" she paused. "With this cold?

"They give us a certificate along with the rabbit ears when we sprout from the ground."

"This isn't caution, it's lack of decency. If a man is hovering at the edge of a ravine, you carry him to safety, you don't check his ears first. And don't tell me it's a coping mechanism, or I'll tell Sera where you sleep!"

"And if I die, I'd like you to use my skull as a candle holder. Whatever Avaar may say, skulls make terrible mugs."

"I don't believe in redemption. It's like giving candy to a child after class. Mistakes are not stains, they are a reference point for those who make them to spur themselves to do better. They should be welcomed as much as a person's merits. They exist for those who suffer them and for those who make them, to help them give direction to their path"

"Don't transfer your inability to flirt to the Chantry, mister. It's too convenient."

"Not you too, please! You can't catch the plague if you sleep in the same room with an elf. It's scientifically proven. Unless the elf has the plague, but you can notice it on the fly." she pointed at her face with a circular gesture. "Bubbons, blisters, death."

"Oh, shut up! Thanks to my stubbornness, latrines have never been so clean!"

"I complained as well myself, but your saints have a no refunds policy."

"Humans are fickle, huh? First they hate me, then they praise me, then they forget me, and now it seems like I'm the heroine of all lost causes all over again. In all of this... where's my darn griffin?"

"Oh, I have no weapons; I have an arsenal. And if I really wanted to hurt you, you wouldn't be here now. I know where you sleep, I know your patterns, and it would take very little to convince most of the Inquisition elves that inside the council chambers there's an individual worth shaving at night."

-

I'm tagging: @herearedragons and @bruxbea

If you want to get tagged too just drop a ✨ in the replies u-u

[come-down-that-tree]

Prologue Previous

Come Down That Tree! (An aftermare story)

Epilogue

Deep inside a forest, if you follow a thin river south for a while, you may fall on rocks positioned in special ways, creating zones for different uses.

If you walk through bushes and trees, following a path that was paved by feet over years of walking on the dirt, you may find a circular clearing with a young tree bearing peculiar fruits, a strawberry plant with a barrier surrounding it and one old wooden house.

And there, you may encounter a family of four, happily living their day isolated from most of the world.

Not that they did not engage with people once in a while.

In fact they often exchanged goods and services with traveling merchants that had the habit of setting up their camp just outside that particular forest.

They came carrying foreign objects and exotic food and stories that sounded like made up legends that animated talks around the fire during long nights of rest before they all scattered again to do their job.

“Did you hear about the village in the east, the one just 4 days away if you walk fast?” one would whisper over shared drinks and salted meat.

“That one? Someone told me an ancient evil burned their joy away and stole their knowledge for the faes. No business to have there, they’re barelly capable of living without someone holding their hand.” would answer another.

“I heard it was a punishment for chasing out the queen of the fireflies, she was noisy and they threw her out!” would add a third.

“So many people left the place, it made room for ghosts and if you stand under the moonlight you may have the honor of watching their monarchs dancing together around a fountain made of stone so white you can go blind from just watching it,” would exclaim the last one.

And then they would turn their heads to their guests, the two of them, sometimes one, never the three at the same time, and ask “you, who live not so far away, do you know which is true?”

One would answer a different one each time.

The second would smile politely and divert the conversation.

The last one would argue they all were wrong and tell a tale that was so preposterous that the travelers would all laugh so hard, some would always fall from their seats from the sheer absurdity.

And after, they would part ways, without ceremony, confident they would see the residents again, next time they roamed in the region.

And the family would go back home, sort their newly acquired supplies and go to sleep.

During the day, shouts and laughter sometimes tore apart the tranquility of the wood, disturbing the wild life who despite the ruckus stayed close.

One particular shout could be heard at any hour. Be it day, be it night. It seemed that it was used at least once a day and bore no real effectiveness on the matter it addressed.

Open your ear and you might hear it.

Here it is.

“VIVID! COME DOWN THAT TREE!”

The true end-

@dragon-tamer-1 @shinechermont <3

mmmmm Here it is... CDTT ends here...

I, uh, dunno how to feel about it XDc

I posted the prologue the 3rd of june 2021, 3 years ago.

But if we go by when I first wrote the whole plot (and posted it, there was no surprise for who was around and read it at the time XDc), it was in february of this same year I went down the rabbit hole (with some great company ;3).

And if we talk about the day I got interested by the ship? The 31st of january 2021 because of one ask from Cyan anon (everybody claps for Cyan without this fic would not have existed). I was not even supposed to be online XDc I was on a study hiatus but I kinda broke it down to talk about the rarepair pfffft uwu

My reason I latched that hard on the ship? I feel like it's a chill one and I liked that. They're quiet and just vibing for me.

I'm not much of a ship person in fact, contrary to some of my online friends (simps all of you), a story only focusing on romance tend to bore me so writing a shipfic? A challenge.

I also never finished a longfic before. Be it original of fanfic.

Only one-shots or short stuff (3-4 chaps) have been ended somewhat properly.

The doc containing CDTT is 112 pages long, removing the summary and other worldbuilding stuff would only shrink it down to like 110.

I think that's pretty big.

Not huge, I've seen far longer.

But big.

I would not have managed that without you all' comments and tags pushing me forward.

So, truly, thank you for reading :D

(special thanks to AC and Drag')

Goodbye (for now)

[choicesholidays]

Choices Holiday’s Festival of Fears Halloween Prompt Event

It's almost October and that means Halloween/Samhain time! In the spirit of Creepy Campfire Tales (Special thanks to the creator of Creepy Campfire Tales, @annabellewynter for her gracious support of this endeavor), Choices Holidays is hosting a creepy prompt event!

Welcome to a month filled with Murderous Mondays, Terrifying Tuesdays, Witchy Wednesdays, Threatening Thursdays, Fiendish Fridays, Sinister Saturdays, and Spine-Chilling Sundays!

Below are a series of quotes, prompts, and memes meant for inspiration, but you are not required to use them. Any scary story will get reblogged and added to the master list. This is open to all choices fandoms.

All creative endeavors are welcomed: Fics, art, edits, mood boards, whatever you’re inspired to create!

The deadline is All Hallows Eve: October 31st, 2023, 11:59 p.m. CST.

Be sure you tag @choicesholidays #choicesholidays, and #festivaloffears for reblogging and inclusion on the master list at the end of the event.

Please feel free to reach out to this blog or @angelasscribbles with any questions, concerns, or suggestions.

Prompts are under the cut.

Quotes for Inspiration:

“The night is dark and full of terrors.” ~Game of Thrones, George R.R. Martin

“Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?” ~ Tim Burton’s Batman (The line belongs to The Joker)

“Quoth the Raven nevermore!” ~The Raven, by Edgar Allen Poe

“We all go a little mad sometimes.” ~Psycho (1960)

“Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep.” ~A Nightmare on Elm Street

“I see dead people.” ~The Sixth Sense

Writing Prompts:

The following prompts came from The Write Practice.

Creepy Story Writing Prompts

1. It's late at night, and you hear footsteps in the cellar but you're definitely home alone…or so you thought.

2. You've put that doll in the cabinet, in the closet, in the attic, but no matter where you tuck it, it always shows back up on the sofa. On Halloween night, you find it watching you…

3. A bad-tempered businessman is driving home after a long day of work. He thinks he sees his kids trick-or-treating and stops to pick them up but those aren't costumes.

4. It's Halloween night and you and your friends think it would be fun to visit the local town's annual corn maze. But when you're inside it, someone inside the maze doesn't look like an actor in a costume. And shortly after, your friends start to disappear one by one.

5. You don't believe in the rumors that say a certain scary book is cursed—and that anyone who reads it will meet their maker by the end of the week. So naturally, you read it. And then things start going wrong…

Monster/Ghost Story Writing Prompts

6. A young woman goes to her grandmother's house for tea on Halloween night. They have a wonderful time together, sharing stories, joy, and the best times of family. The next day, the woman learns her grandmother has been dead for a week and no one could get ahold of her to tell her.

7. A little boy is lost in the woods, but at least his faithful dog is with him. As they look for the way out, the dog defends his master against terrifying monsters and animals. But the closer they get to escaping the dark forest, the more apparent it is that they'll need to face the person, or thing, releasing these monsters in the first place.

8. A farmer who dreams of being a scientist experiments on this year's pumpkins, hoping to enlarge them. He has a lot of success, until one of his potions is tampered with, and the cute pumpkin in his patch morphs into a monster that eats anyone who stumbles over its vines.

9. Your girlfriend/boyfriend brings over your favorite treat on Halloween, but when you eat it, you transform into a giant, poisonous snake that kills anyone who touches you. What do you do next?

10. You wake up on Halloween night, look outside your window, and see your sister sleepwalking away from the house. You chase after her but can't catch her until she plunges into a dark lake, where there's a mysterious song that starts to pull you deep below the surface.

Not-So-Spooky Story Writing Prompts

Not all people love scary stories. If this is you but you'd like to try to write a scary story—and have a fun time writing it—try tackling a (not-so) scary story prompt that could turn a potentially scary tale into something that is fun (even funny):

11. You hate clowns, which makes it even worse when your husband secretly decides to hire a clown for you son's birthday party—which just happens to be on Halloween.

12. Aliens have just landed on Earth and boy, did they pick a weird day to come. How do they respond to Halloween, supernatural or otherwise? Do they decide this place is just too bizarre and get the heck out, or do they stick around and join in the fun?

13. On Halloween night, lovers get to come back and spend the evening together one more time. One couple from the Roaring Twenties decides to come back from the grave to help their extreme nerd great-grandchild or the kid will never get married.

14. You decide that this year you're going to crash the ten top costume parties in town—and prank each one while you're at it.

15. A mad scientist determined to destroy the world falls hopelessly in love with a not-so-wicked witch. As hard as he tries, he can't impress her.

Meme Prompts:

[xxx-wounded-angel-xxx]

Moon Dance - Demetri V. x f! reader

Wrote another little fic for our Darling Demetri! This time it is in first person pov. Hope you will enjoy!

I could not understand my coven mate’s regrets about the sun, especially now as I was dancing under the moonlight surrounded by dark roses, moonflowers and tuberoses. I had taken a great care of my garden, making sure to grow flowers that would bloom by day and by night. Bright pale flowers blooming under the moonlight, dark flowers in burgundy, reds and black blooming under the sun. Candlelit lanterns hanging in trees in the night, shiny crystals in the light. My little cottage safely tucked away in deep woods, far from humans, not far from my coven mates’ one. If humans were to stumble upon me, especially in moments like tonight, they would mistake me for some kind of witch, or an ethereal being not belonging to this world. And they would be right! After all, aren’t vampires creatures of the night?

The sky was free of clouds tonight, and the stars were shining bright, as the moon was high in the sky. I had finished to tend my garden for the next few days, it was so peaceful. I decided to dance around, my feet light as I was twirling between my flowers, the skirt of my dress flowing around me. Oh, such a lovely night it was! My flowers were so bright under the pale rays of moonlight, as I was humming an old tune. But this night, the moon had decided to gift me something lovelier than my flowers.

Suddenly I felt a presence, and stopping my dance, I turned in the direction of the intruder.

“Who’s there?” I called out into the night. That’s when I saw him step away from the darkness of the woods. Eros himself couldn’t have been more beautiful than the vampire I had in front of me.

Dark curls were framing a lovely face with eyes of rubies, he was really handsome even by vampiric standards.

When our eyes met, I felt as id he had the answer to every question my soul could ask. In one look he had stolen my heart and I never wanted him to give it back.

The lovely gift from the moon was named Demetri, and when I resumed dancing, I was not alone anymore. We didn’t need any music, our unbeating hearts were singing a melody that only us could hear, and it was more than enough.

We danced most of the night, discovering each other. With our two souls that already knew each other, it was relatively easy to know what to say, how to enjoy the other’s embrace.

But alas came the moment to say goodbye. My lovely Demetri had a very important standing in his coven, and couldn’t afford to stay. We left each other with an aching heart, a kiss and a moonflower tucked in his hair to seal a promise of a future. A future full of love.

[mykingdomforasong]

Ooh, how about Historical + Huddling for Warmth with DinLuke for the mashup?

((I have a wip where Din is basically Shakespeare and Luke is his patron (Earl of Southampton), so I've set it in that universe -- England circa 1593 (the plague summer). This is a very self-indulgent AU. This doesn't fit the prompt that well, but it's the historical period I know the most about.))

Rating - M (could maybe be T)

~

Din sat at Luke's writing desk, his fingers of his left hand scratching at the fine, polished wood, as his right hand clutched a quill that scratched away at the parchment. Candles and moonlight lit the room. A rare breeze blew through the room, cooling the hot summer air with all the force of a child blowing the steam off a hot stew.

The right word was evading him. He'd tried half a dozen or so, but none of them fit the meter or set up the right rhyme. His foul paper was covered in more scratched out words than final ones. He felt guilty for abusing his master's fine paper in such a manner, but there was no other way.

He stopped scratching, and instead turned into tapping.

Impediments, he wrote. tap TAP tap TAP. Yes, that would do.

"Master poet," Luke called to him from his spot on the bed. In his usual fashion, he hadn't dressed after making love, choosing to just wrap himself up in his sheets and drift to sleep. He pushed himself up now, the candle light dancing off the blonde hairs of his chest. "As your patron, I must insist you stop writing and return to bed."

Din had left him in a flurry of sheet and pillows when he felt the muse call to him. His coy mistress had abandoned him though by the time he reached ink and paper. With his newly discovered word impediments he'd managed to squeak out a single line.

"I felt inspired, my lord," Din told him.

"You can be inspired over here," Luke said. He reached out his left hand, trying to pull Din back in his direction as if through the air. "It's such a cold night. I'd appreciate some words to warm my bed."

Din laughed. He'd pulled on a linen undershirt when he'd gotten out of bed and nothing else. Even that was already sticking to his chest with sweat. The August heat and the light of the candles kept the room hellish, and their nightly activities only made it worse.

"I think I should keep my distance if you feel chilled in this weather," Din said, but he dared not speak any more in jest for fear of welcoming Death into the home.

Luke flopped back onto the mattress with a dramatic flare to rival Din's own fellow players.

"I'm not chilly," he admitted to his lie, "just burdened with desire."

"Then you should feel hot," Din corrected. "I don't know that I would help alleviate that feeling."

"You, master poet, are the only one who can," Luke said, propping himself up just a little to see if Din would move towards him.

Din abandoned his sonnet, stood up from the desk, and stripped off his linens.

Luke's bed was feather-stuffed, and his bedding was cotton and silk. The air around him seemed always so impossibly perfumed; all luxuries Din imagined belonging to Cleopatra and Helen of Troy. And yet, here they were now, under his knees.

"You, my lord, are a lusty devil," Din said, retaking his position over his patron. Luke's sweet mouth met his. Din felt his hand in his hair, and the stump of his right wrist where Luke had lost his hand trace down his side.

"And thou, master poet, are incredibly tedious." Luke's hand was between them now, moving in lawless ways.

"I'll write you a sonnet in so high a style, Luke, that no man living shall come over it, for in most beautiful truth you deserve it," Din promised. Luke always flushed with passion when Din used his Christian name.

"Any words that might keep you from me tonight are foul," Luke insisted.

"No," Din protested, kissing his cheek, then neck, then chest. "Fair, only fair words."

"Fair is foul," Luke said. Din couldn't quite make sense of that one.

"Then stop my mouth," Din said.

Luke did as he was bid, and captured his mouth again. Luke wrapped his legs around Din, pressing Din even closer as if he wanted every inch of Din to be flush against him. Din always managed to forget just how strong Luke's legs had become from a lifetime of riding. He found himself utterly at the mercy of his patron.

[ticklenight]

Cuddles

Hawks stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, the moonlight casting faint patterns across the walls. He'd been tossing and turning for hours, but sleep just wouldn't come. His wings twitched restlessly, rustling against the sheets. He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his messy blond hair. Maybe some fresh air would help, or a glass of water—but what he really wanted was Dabi.

Sliding out of bed, Hawks made his way down the hallway to Dabi's room, his bare feet padding softly against the cool floor. He peeked in to find Dabi lying on his side, facing away, with one arm draped lazily over a pillow. Hawks hesitated for a moment; Dabi always looked so peaceful when he slept, a far cry from his usual snarky self. But he couldn't shake the restless energy that buzzed under his skin.

"Dabi?" Hawks whispered, his voice barely above a murmur as he nudged the other man’s shoulder.

Dabi stirred, blinking groggily as he turned his head. His mismatched eyes, half-lidded with sleep, met Hawks’ anxious gaze. "What is it, birdie? Can’t sleep?" His voice was rough, laced with drowsiness.

Hawks nodded, his wings drooping slightly. "Yeah… I just can't get comfortable. My mind’s all over the place."

Dabi sighed, shifting over to make room on the bed. "C’mere," he said, patting the spot next to him.

Hawks didn’t need to be told twice. He slid under the covers, pressing close to Dabi’s warmth. The familiar scent of burnt wood and faint cologne wrapped around him, grounding him in the moment. Dabi's arm settled around Hawks' waist, pulling him closer until Hawks' head was tucked under his chin.

They lay in silence for a while, the quiet night interrupted only by the soft sounds of their breathing. Dabi’s fingers traced idle patterns on Hawks’ back, grazing the fine feathers at the base of his wings. It was comforting, but not enough to lull Hawks into sleep. He shifted restlessly, nuzzling his face against Dabi’s chest.

Dabi glanced down, raising an eyebrow. "Still not working, huh?"

Hawks sighed, his frustration evident. "Nope. I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight."

A slow, mischievous smile spread across Dabi's lips, a glimmer of something playful sparking in his eyes. "Well, if cuddles aren’t doing the trick… I’ve got another idea."

Before Hawks could ask what Dabi meant, he felt a light, teasing touch skimming along his side. It was just a faint brush of Dabi’s fingertips, barely there, but it sent a jolt straight through Hawks’ nerves. His wings twitched, and he let out a tiny, involuntary gasp.

"D-Dabi, what are you—"

Dabi’s smirk widened. "You’re too wound up, birdie. Maybe I should help you relax a bit."

Hawks’ eyes widened as Dabi’s fingers continued their slow exploration, grazing along his ribs and creeping dangerously close to his underarms. The touch was maddeningly light, a feather’s touch that made Hawks squirm. He tried to hold still, but the ticklish sensation shot through him like electricity, making his breath hitch.

"Dabi! C-come on, that’s—ah!" Hawks stuttered, his voice cracking into a half-choked laugh as Dabi’s fingers danced along his waist, brushing against the sensitive skin just above his hips.

"What’s wrong? Can’t handle a little tickling?" Dabi teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

Hawks’ cheeks flushed a deep red, and he bit his lip, trying to suppress the giggles that threatened to spill out. He was used to being in control, the confident Pro Hero who always had a smirk on his face. But Dabi had a way of turning him into a blushing, helpless mess with just a few well-placed touches.

"Dabi, s-stop," Hawks managed to gasp, his words punctuated by breathless giggles. "I—this is—nngh!"

But Dabi didn’t stop. He seemed to relish every twitch, every hitched breath, and every flustered whine that escaped Hawks' lips. His fingers moved with precise intent, tracing the curve of Hawks' ribs before dipping lower, teasing the spot right under his wing joints. Hawks arched his back, his wings fluttering erratically as he tried to squirm away.

"You always get so squirmy when I do this," Dabi murmured, his tone affectionate despite the playful torment. His hands moved up, brushing against the sensitive spot just between Hawks’ shoulder blades, where the feathers were softest and his nerves most vulnerable.

Hawks’ laugh burst out, high-pitched and unrestrained, the sound bouncing off the walls. He buried his face in Dabi’s chest, trying to muffle his giggles, but it was no use. The sensation of Dabi’s fingers grazing his back, the gentle but relentless tickling, was too much. Hawks felt helpless, pinned down by his own laughter as he clung to Dabi, his whole body shaking.

"P-please! I-I can’t—" Hawks gasped, his voice breaking as he squirmed under Dabi’s touch. He was blushing so hard his face felt like it was on fire, and his laughter came in breathless bursts, making his chest ache.

Dabi chuckled softly, finally slowing his fingers but not quite pulling away. He watched Hawks with a fond, teasing glint in his eyes, enjoying the sight of his usually composed boyfriend reduced to a giggling, flustered mess. "You look cute when you’re all worked up like this," Dabi said, giving Hawks' side one last playful squeeze.

Hawks, still catching his breath, glared half-heartedly up at Dabi, his face red and his hair a tousled mess. "Y-you’re the worst," he muttered, but the fondness in his eyes betrayed his words.

Dabi just smirked, pulling Hawks closer until their foreheads touched. "Yeah, but I got you to relax, didn’t I?"

Hawks couldn’t argue with that. The restless energy that had plagued him earlier was gone, replaced by a warm, drowsy feeling that made his eyelids heavy. He curled up against Dabi, his wings draping over them both like a crimson blanket. Dabi’s hand settled on Hawks’ back, this time stroking gently, soothing the ticklish tingles into a comfortable hum.

"Thanks, Dabi," Hawks mumbled, his voice soft and sleepy. He pressed a light kiss to Dabi’s collarbone, nuzzling into the touch.

Dabi’s smirk softened into a small, genuine smile as he tightened his hold on Hawks. "Anytime, birdie. Now get some sleep."

With Dabi’s warmth surrounding him and the last remnants of giggles still bubbling in his chest, Hawks finally felt his eyes drifting shut. This time, sleep came easily, wrapped in the comfort of Dabi’s embrace.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Week 4 - Garden

And we go on with this purely self-indulgent story! <3

Prompt: Garden

Pairing: Bilbo x Thorin, Ori x OC

Words: 1 515

Warnings: Fear, danger, a night-time trek

Carefully, this unlikely angel put their things neatly into the negligently discarded packs, his hair shining like polished copper in the dancing glare of the firelight.

“I’m Elya.”

He looked up, a soft smile turning his eyes into pools of shimmering ink. “Ori,” he repeated gently. “The King wants to see you. There will be food.”

Elya interlaced her fingers to keep herself from reaching out and checking his teeth just in case his mastery of their common language had led to an unfortunate misunderstanding, and she was meant to end up on the plate to feed a horde of pointy-toothed savages.

“We know the woods,” he explained slowly. “We can give you good food. Meat.”

That, unfortunately, did nothing to assuage her doubts or calm her fears.

“King?” Bilbo interrupted her mental downward spiral resolutely. “There’s a monarchy in place?”

Ori nodded, beaming with pride, as he jerked his thumb at the outline of a mountain, bathing peacefully in the moonlight, some distance ahead. “The King under the Mountain. You’ll meet him soon!”

He then bobbed his head at the first two men to find their camp who were still standing at the edge of the clearing like mute sentinels. “These are the princes, his nephews,” Ori declared, pride and earnest fondness turning his voice warmer yet.

Afraid that she’d been hexed, Elya hesitated, digging her heels into the soft ground.

Only then did his alert gaze register the hint of unease in their expressions.

“We won’t hurt you,” he promised solemnly. “It’s not safe out here at night; we’ll take you to safety. Come now! Trust us! We wish you no harm!”

He stood and slung one of the packs across his back as if it weighed nought more than a sack of dry leaves and tossed the other to the one called Kíli.

Then, he extended a hand and pulled Elya to her feet.

At once, she was overcome with admiration for his unexpected strength and the warmth of his silken skin—before she could bethink herself of her morals and good breeding, she instinctively wished he’d hold her hand for a little longer.

As soon as that thought sank in like a stone to the bottom of a dark lake, she withdrew her hand.

“Don’t fear,” Ori reasserted, but she could see she’d vexed him with her brusque motion.

“Who are you?” Bilbo interrupted yet again as they were shepherded, wedged between Fíli and Kíli with Ori taking the rearguard, deeper into the forest.

Soon, there was no light other than the moon overhead to guide their steps, but their attendants seemed to know the way by heart and didn’t hesitate or falter.

“We’re the Khazâd,” Ori supplied from behind. “Who are you?”

“We’re researchers,” Bilbo replied readily. “We’ve come to explore this virgin island which doesn’t seem to be so deserted after all.”

Chuckling under her breath, Elya found that his unshakeable humour and verve did much to calm her frayed nerves. She’d trust Bilbo as she had since the beginning of this venture, and they’d certainly end up as right as rain.

“We’re…secret,” Ori informed them tersely. “We can show you, but you can never tell.”

At that, Bilbo visibly withered. This could have been his life’s work. Then again, he’d never write another paper anyway if they were beheaded or left to die in the wilderness by that mysterious king they were destined to meet before the sun came up.

“All right,” he said hesitantly.

“The King will explain,” Ori promised.

As they walked, Elya noticed that their surroundings shifted and changed nigh imperceptibly—little by little, the greenery seemed to grow less dense and suffocating and more ordered in its wild, mesmerising display of textures and shapes.

The sun had crept over the horizon slowly, now bathing the scene in a pale golden light which revealed a blinding array of vibrant colours that positively took her breath away.

“A moment, I beg,” she exclaimed, tugging her notebook from a side pocket of the bag on Kíli’s back and hastily sketching the charming curves and constellations of a cluster of flowers onto the next free page.

Someone snorted good-humouredly.

“Do you like Thorin’s gardens?” Ori’s careful, well-modulated voice cut through the haze of her concentration, pointedly ignoring the unequivocally needling comments from his fellows.

“That’s a fascinating language,” Bilbo observed. “Your drawing seems to have elicited a surge of hilarity. If I’m not very much mistaken, they are mocking our translator, though I’m not yet sure what particular element strikes them as so amusing.”

Elya looked up from her pencil sharply—the forcibly neutral tone of Bilbo’s voice made her narrow her eyes in an instinctive fit of embarrassment.

“I—No!” Ori squeaked while blushing furiously. Evidently, he either was much more fluent in the common tongue than he’d let on or Bilbo’s provocative purr had been universally comprehensible. “It is a good likeness,” he went on with strenuous equanimity after clearing his throat a few times. “If you want, I can show you my own sketches of the gardens in the cold season.”

By that time, the two presumed royals were laughing so hard that they were clutching their bellies as they bent over.

“I would love that,” Elya replied with as much dignity as she could scrape together in her disadvantaged position. “We could look through my notes. Maybe you could give me a few pointers and explanations?”

To her astonishment, Ori’s complexion grew ever darker, making the golden freckles covering his cheeks and nose gleam like stars fallen into a sunset ocean.

“It would be my pleasure,” he whispered curtly but earnestly.

“Careful there, old girl,” Bilbo mouthed when he finally managed to catch his assistant’s eye. “If you’re not mindful of your words, you might well end up married to the odd chap before we’ve even made it to our audience.”

Elya, who’d stubbornly escaped matrimony by disappearing into her scientific and academic endeavours, grimaced as she realised that this ludicrous idea was nowhere near as distasteful and horrifying as it should have been.

She mulled over this uncharacteristic impulse, hardly paying any attention to her surroundings, and gasped in shocked astonishment when she found herself suddenly faced with an intricately carved portal that had been almost entirely obscured by the deceptive layers of greenery.

“I’m sorry,” Ori piped up. “You must be tired, but the King will certainly want to see you first.”

“You better let me do the talking,” Bilbo impressed upon her insistently. “I’d rather not catch up on our lost sleep in a dank cell.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m not a complete brute,” Elya hissed back, vexed to the core by his insinuation.

“If you had told me that yesterday, I’d have believed you,” her superior smirked knowingly. “However, I’ve now seen you make eyes at our poor guide and guardian, and I’d rather not go home empty-handed, tight-lipped, and an assistant short because you pledged yourself to a whole tribe of strangers!”

Elya scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Please,” Ori, blessedly ignorant of their little aside, whispered, waving at a set of heavy double doors.

With a minute shrug, Bilbo stepped forward, shielding Elya with his body and nodded at their confusing would-be-saviours.

As soon as the doors opened, his pulse slowed and then picked up all at once. The room beyond the doors was unexpectedly, amazingly beautiful.

Bilbo knew not what he’d imagined, but—never in a thousand years—could he have foreseen to find a hall carved out of living rock and adorned with precious stones and rare metals.

“Not a jungle hut then,” Elya breathed behind him, apparently less tongue-tied than her boss.

Giving her a sharp glance that was at least in part meant to be punitive, Bilbo felt his head swivel back almost against his will.

At the end of the long, spacious room stood a throne on a raised dais, and—on that massive chair—sat the most enchanting being he’d ever seen.

Now, Bilbo had discovered, labelled, and catalogued his fair share of quasi-miracles, but he was nevertheless struck dumb by the apparition in front of him.

Here was a king and no doubt about it—everything, from the dark, luscious locks to the thin-lipped smile in a sharp-featured face, spoke of a kind of nobility Bilbo had believed to have died out a long time ago.

He’d never seen eyes that glinted like enchanted sapphires in the chiaroscuro of the torch-lit hall or a frame that promised as much elegance as raw power.

Suddenly, Elya’s. sudden weakness seemed less ludicrous to Bilbo who realised, with a pang of wordless shock, that he would only too gladly have succumbed to the mystery that was this enigmatic king on his throne of black stone.

Instinctively, he quickened his pace until he was almost running towards the crowned, bearded stranger in his eagerness to reduce the agonising distance between him and the most glorious find of his life.

“King Thorin II, son of Thráin, son of Thrór,” Ori declared with resounding finality.

@fellowshipofthefics

-> Masterlist

[floof-writes]

I don’t know a lot about Linked Universe, but I love your writing. May I request something with Four’s colors interacting? Sorry if that’s too vague

I know you probably meant with the colors split, but I absolutely love writing Four's internal monologue with the colors so here's a bunch of the colors interacting in Four's head! Thanks so much for the ask (and the compliment). Have a great day!

Title: Never Alone, Always Cold

Words: 1278

Four days isn’t that long, Four tried to convince himself, glaring at the setting sun from the mouth of the icy cave, squinting against the way the snow reflected it back. 

That’s only one for each of us! Red agreed, drawn out by the silence. 

We shouldn’t have waited, Vio said, and no one mentioned the bitter self-hatred in their voice. We should have started down on day one, while we still had rations. 

We were disoriented, injured, and it’s protocol to stay put, Green reminded, ever-steady. The others will find us. 

Before or after we freeze to death, Blue bit out, but at least he was talking. At least he wasn’t silent with memories and fear the way he’d been the first few nights on this frigid mountain. 

Red shrank back from the harshness and Four shivered, pulling his knees closer. Their ankle throbbed, fractured at least from the fall that had gotten them into this damn ravine in the first place. In the back of the cave the drip of melting ice was petering out as the mountain cooled for the night, and maybe Four could admit that he was going a little crazy with worry. 

This mountain was a death trap full of ice and random drop-offs, monsters around every corner, and the temperatures got into the negatives at night. Not everyone was used to navigating this type of climate on their journeys, if Wind or Hyrule had been caught alone…

The four people in their mind were only an illusion of company- Four was never alone but he was very cold, and he wanted nothing more than to split so Blue couldn’t disappear again and the colors didn’t have to swirl in a shared psyche until the lonely silence stretched long enough to give them an individual voice. But more bodies meant more calories, and Four didn’t have any of those to spare. 

They’d gotten lax with keeping their own rations after spending so long with Wild, and the only reason they’d made it this far was because they’d stumbled into an abandoned camp with some long frozen provisions. He’d dragged the remains of the fire pit against the cliff to better shelter it from the wind and burned scraps of wood and cloth, but he was long out of that. 

Regardless, Vio was right. They’d missed their window to get off the mountain on their own, their only hope now was to stay sheltered and hope that the others found them before it was too late. 

Four stood and hobbled deeper into the cave, burrowing into his bedding and holding his fire rod close as the night drew on. 

***

Four woke to a world awash in red. It was nighttime still and outside the mouth of the cave instead of silver-blue the moonlight was the color of blood. At first he wasn’t sure why he woke, but then he realized that instead of the proper, lifeless silence a place below freezing deserved, there was shifting, snorting, roaring- sounds Four knew in an instant belonged to monsters. 

He froze, not daring to breathe. Slowly, he crept out of his bedroll and crawled to the mouth of the cave, keeping low and sticking to the shadows. 

The abandoned monster camp was no longer abandoned. Wild’s moblins and bokoblins danced in the garish moonlight. There were two moblins and at least six bokos, not to mention the ice keese that were roosting under the cliff. Four blinked and quickly took a measured breath before he passed out from lack of air. A speck of Malice-stained ash brushed his cheek and he flinched back into the cave, trying to make his heaving breaths come quietly. 

Okay, so there were monsters here now. Monsters that outnumbered him eight to one. 

Two-to-one, Red corrected, ever a team player even though right now there was just one Four.

Two-to-one, Vio agreed grimly, and there was a flash of surprise from Green and Blue before they realized what they were saying. 

Only as a last resort, Green said. They haven’t noticed us yet.

And how long do you think that’s gonna last? Blue asked. It was in moments like these that the others really realized how much Blue’s pessimism was born of fear, because that sentence was one harsh note away from terrified. 

Hopefully long enough for us to climb out of here, Vio said. 

Four slid off his gloves and grabbed his ring pouch, wincing at every jingle as he used the crimson moonlight to search for the right one. He finally slid it on, the cold metal biting at his finger. Roc’s Cape was already around his shoulders to fight off the cold, so he stuffed the rest of his belongings away. 

He stood shakily, weak from cold and hunger, and peeked out again. The monsters were still up, the moon’s artificial glow apparently giving them strength. Four grabbed the Cane of Pacci and took aim at one of the crates. 

Counting down may have been a little cliche, but what was Four if not classic? The moment Blue reluctantly said one, Four flipped the crate and stuffed the cane away, jumping for purchase on the cliffside. 

He dug his bare fingers into the ice and let the magic of his Grip Ring flow through his joints, helping him hold onto the smallest protrusions. His hurt ankle throbbed but he pressed on, gritting his teeth against the pain. 

Behind and beneath him, the monsters were still puzzling over the flipped box, all Four had to do was get above eye level and they probably wouldn’t notice him. They were safe, they were fine, Blue shut up about the cold we get it-

Four heaved himself another half-body length higher and pressed himself against the cliffs, hearing the monsters settle themselves, turning back around, turning-

And settling, as the moon started to return to its normal color, not one set of eyes turning to Four, huddled halfway up the cliffside and praying to the shadows. Four took a steadying breath and began to move again to avoid finger cramps, their clothes scraping against the ice. 

He saw it a second before it doomed him: the Cane of Pacci slipping out of his belt. He had only enough time to hold his breath before it fell, the glass sphere echoing when it hit the icy ground. 

There was a moment of silence, and then a moblin roared. 

Four jerked, half his limbs trying to go down and the other half trying to continue up. 

Fucking leave it! Blue shouted.

Right! Red said by way of apology, halfway to hysterical. 

But- Vio resisted, even as the body scrambled up another couple handholds.

Vio, Green started, reaching for another hold, and that hold was all they had left when Blue dropped the other, swinging them out of the way of an arrow that embedded itself into the cliffside with a burst of flame that warmed Four’s stinging cheeks and numb fingers. 

Cane forgotten, Vio surged to grab the next hold, securing them back on the cliffside. 

Keep it together, guys, Green said, realizing how internally split they were becoming. 

Helpful, Blue spat as their fingers slipped, the ice wet and slick from the fire arrow. 

The next arrow snagged their cape, and the resulting burst of flame sent them tumbling towards the ground. 

The colors landed in the snow with a thump, Roc’s Cape slowing their fall just enough to keep them from getting hurt. 

Green rolled over, coughing the breath back into their lungs. Last resort. 

The colors reached for their sword and the clearing lit up with a flash of light.