#friday forbidden tales

[rye-views]

금요일 베스트. Friday: Forbidden Tales. 7.3/10

I would not recommend this webtoon to my friends. I would not reread this webtoon.

Lmao at the juxtaposition of the english and Korean translations that the author put in. Like, why is it such a different vibe?

These are all episodes I could have never come up with. All very interesting thoughts and stories. I feel like I'm looking into the author's desires and they're so different from what I would think mine are.

I enjoyed the episodes on the door opening to the same room. The last episode was interesting. Really about me and life. Something to ponder.

The blind suicide episode is crazy.

[secular-jew]

Fish and Chips’ Surprising Jewish History. Jamie Oliver confirmed it!

You may be surprised to learn that fish and chips, though wildly popular in England for what seems like eternity, was actually a specialty of the Portuguese Sephardic Jews who fled the Inquisition in the 16th century and found refuge in the British Isles. Celebrity Chef Jamie Oliver referred to this recently in an article in the New York Times, adding that, “Dishes evolve, impacted by trade, war, famine and a hundred other forces.”

Among those “other forces” are dishes born of religious ritual. For observant Jews, fish is pareve, a neutral food in kosher terms, thus an easy way to avoid treyf (non-kosher food) and possibly include dairy in the same meal. It was especially important for Marranos, the so-called crypto-Jews, who pretended to be Christian during the Inquisition. They ate fish on Fridays, when meat was forbidden by the Church, and also saved some to eat cold the next day at lunch, to avoid cooking on Shabbat.

Frying was natural for Jewish home cooks — think of latkes and sufganyiot — and as the Jewish community began to flourish in England, it spurred a taste for its beloved fried, battered fish throughout the country. According to Claudia Roden’s The Book of Jewish Food, Thomas Jefferson tried some on a trip to London and noted that he ate “fish in the Jewish fashion” during his visit. Alexis Soyer, a French cook who became a celebrated chef in Victorian England included a recipe for “Fried Fish, Jewish Fashion” in the first edition of his cookbook A Shilling Cookery for the People (1845). Soyer’s recipe notes that the “Jewish manner” includes using oil rather than meat fat (presumably lard), which made the dish taste better, though also made it more expensive.

There’s some dispute about the where and when of “chips” (what we Americans call French fries and the French call pommes frites). Many historians say that deep-fried, cut-up potatoes were invented in Belgium and, in fact, substituted for the fish during hard times. The first time the word “chips” was used was in Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities in 1859: “husky chips of potato, fried with some reluctant drops of oil.”

The official pairing of fish and chips didn’t happen until a few years later, though. Although there are some who dispute it, most authorities say that it is thanks to a Jewish cook, this time a young Ashkenazi immigrant named Joseph Malin, who opened the first British chippy, AKA fish and chip shop, in London in 1863. The shop was so successful it remained in business until the 1970s.

Who could foresee that fearful Jewish immigrants hiding their true religion and practicing in secret would be responsible for creating one of the most iconic dishes in the U.K.? The down-home dish that Winston Churchill claimed help the British defeat the Nazis, the comfort food that George Orwell said helped keep the masses happy and “averted revolution.” The dish, by the way, that was among the only foods never rationed during wartime because the British government believed that preserving access to it was a way of keeping up morale. A dish that continues to be a mainstay of the British diet.

Think about that the next time you find yourself feasting on this centuries-old — Jewish? British? — recipe.

These days, some restaurants are putting a new spin on fish and chips. Almond crusted. Baked instead of fried. Quinoa coated. Sweet potato fries instead of regular. And those are all fine; as Oliver says, “Dishes evolve.” But plain old fish and chips endures and probably always will. Good recipes usually do.

H/T : @scartale-an-undertale-au

Naveed Anjum

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Timeless soulmates p.1

Hii guyss I hope you enjoy the fourth story of my Spooky Friday series, since I've liked this one so much I'll do a part 2. If you want to read the other ones you can find them on my masterlist :)

When a history student unearths a forgotten tale of forbidden love, she unknowingly releases a presence bound by time and longing, leading her into a darkly romantic mystery where the past may hold her heart captive forever.

It’s late afternoon, and the warm golden light of the setting sun filters through the tall windows of the university library. You’ve been sitting at the same wooden table for hours, surrounded by piles of old, dusty books.

As a history major, you’ve always been drawn to the mysteries of the past, but something about this particular research project has consumed your thoughts more than usual. You’ve been delving into myths and folklore from the 1800s, specifically focusing on the strange and eerie tales from the town surrounding your university. Most people brush them off as ghost stories—fabrications meant to entertain or scare. But then, you find something different.

While flipping through a faded journal from 1845, you come across a legend you haven’t heard before. The pages are brittle, the ink smudged in places, but the story catches your attention immediately. It tells of two lovers from the same village. She was a beautiful young woman, and he… well, the townspeople thought he was a monster. They believed he fed on others during the night, hiding away in the woods. Fearing for her safety, the woman’s family forbade her from ever seeing him again. But the journal hints at something more—a cryptic note about a secret burial site deep in the woods where they had supposedly met their end.

Your eyes linger on the page. It says the woods, the very woods surrounding your university, were their hiding place. You don’t believe in fairy tales or monsters, but curiosity tugs at you. You’ve always loved solving puzzles, unraveling old mysteries. This one feels different, more real. Before you know it, you’ve packed up your things and decided to head out, your mind racing with the idea of exploring the woods for yourself.

The path through the forest is quiet, too quiet, but you brush aside the unease that creeps up your spine. You reach a clearing deep in the trees, and there, hidden beneath a blanket of vines and leaves, is something you didn’t expect: an old stone crypt. Its entrance is half-buried, almost as if the earth itself is trying to keep it hidden.

Every instinct screams at you to leave, but curiosity gets the better of you. Your fingers brush the cold, weathered stone of the door, and after a moment’s hesitation, you push it open with a creak that echoes through the quiet woods. Inside, it’s dark—so dark you can barely make out anything. You squint, trying to adjust to the dim light, but the silence is broken by a faint noise from within. You freeze.

Turning quickly, you glance back into the crypt, but it’s empty—nothing there but shadows and the smell of damp earth. Your heart races, and you back away, deciding that maybe this was a mistake. You quickly leave, the door swinging shut behind you with a heavy thud.

As you walk back through the woods, the unsettling feeling of being watched gnaws at you, but when you glance over your shoulder, no one’s there. You shake it off, laughing quietly at yourself. It’s just a story, after all. However, you don’t notice the pair of eyes, glowing faintly from the darkness of the crypt as you disappear down the path.

In the days that follow, things start to feel… off. At first, it’s subtle—a shadow moving in your peripheral vision, the feeling of someone walking too close behind you, but when you turn, no one’s there. You try to convince yourself it’s just your imagination, still buzzing from your adventure in the woods.

But then the weirdness grows. Animals from the university’s lab go missing—just vanishing without a trace. Clothes disappear from the boys’ dorms, strange items that seem unrelated. Whispers spread around campus, but no one has any answers. You can’t shake the feeling that it all connects back to that crypt, back to that story of the lovers in the woods.

With Halloween approaching, the campus buzzes with excitement. Parties, decorations, and costumes fill the air, but you can’t shake the strange feeling that’s been lingering since the night you discovered the crypt. The unease has only grown—shadows in the corner of your vision, whispers in the back of your mind, and the strange occurrences around campus. It’s enough to keep you on edge.

But then, your best friend, Emma, bursts into your dorm room with a mischievous grin on her face. "Guess what! There's a huge masked party this weekend, and you have to come!" she says, her enthusiasm practically vibrating.

You hesitate, biting your lip. “I don’t know, Emma. I don’t think now’s the best time for parties. There’s something weird going on, and—”

“Oh, come on,” she interrupts, rolling her eyes. “It’s Halloween! You’ve been cooped up with those dusty books and creepy myths for way too long. A party is exactly what you need to take your mind off everything. Besides, everyone’s going!”

Despite your reservations, she convinces you. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you do need a distraction from all the eerie feelings swirling around you lately. You agree to go, promising yourself you’ll just make an appearance.

The night of the party, the old mansion where it’s being held is decked out in flickering jack-o-lanterns and cobwebs, the eerie atmosphere fitting perfectly with the occasion. You wear a simple black mask, your long dress flowing behind you as you step inside. The crowd is lively, laughter and music filling the air as masked figures twirl around the room.

You try to relax, but the feeling that something’s off sticks with you. A couple of drinks later, you’re still on edge, and it doesn’t help when a guy dressed as some kind of medieval knight starts hovering around you. His mask hides most of his face, but his behavior is unmistakable—flirty and way too close.

“Hey, relax,” he says with a grin, stepping even closer, making you feel cornered. “Just trying to have a little fun. It’s a party, right?”

You’re about to excuse yourself when a voice cuts in from behind you, calm but firm. “She’s clearly not interested.”

You glance up, and your breath catches. The man standing next to you is wearing a dark mask, but it’s his eyes that you notice first—green with a mix of blue, sharp and intense. His hair, a deep shade of brown, falls slightly over his forehead. He steps between you and the guy, who grumbles something under his breath and slinks away.

“Thank you,” you say, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

He smiles slightly, his eyes softening as they meet yours. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to rescue you from guys like that.”

You blink in confusion. “Do I… know you?”

His smile deepens, though there’s something almost wistful in it. “I could never forget you. Even after all these years.”

You frown, trying to place him, but nothing about him is familiar. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“Come,” he interrupts gently, his voice almost a whisper. “Let’s get some air.”

He leads you outside, away from the noise of the party, into the cool night air. The moon is high, casting silver light over the lawn. You cross your arms, the chill making your skin prickle, but there’s something about this man that keeps you from leaving.

“So,” you say hesitantly, still trying to figure out who he is. “What did you mean… ‘after all these years’?”

He leans against a low stone wall, watching you carefully. “We met a long time ago. More years than you’d believe. 1845, to be exact.”

You laugh nervously, sure that he’s joking. “Okay, funny. But really—how do I know you?”

His eyes darken, and with a slow, deliberate movement, he reaches up and pulls off his mask. The sight of his face makes your heart skip a beat. There’s something timeless about him—handsome, yes, but more than that. His features stir something deep inside you, a strange sense of recognition that sends a shiver down your spine.

“My name is Charles,” he says softly, his gaze never leaving yours. “You don’t remember me, but I’ve waited for you… all these years. I was locked away, trapped in that crypt you opened in the woods. I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me.”

Your mind reels, the ground beneath your feet seeming to shift. "What?" you whisper, shaking your head. “That can’t be possible. The crypt… That was just an old story.”

“It was our story,” he says, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. “We were lovers, long ago. You were taken from me that night, the villagers separated us. They believed I was something monstrous, something unnatural. But I never gave up hope. I’ve been waiting for you to return, to find me, to set me free.”

You take a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. “This… This isn’t real. It can’t be.”

Charles moves closer, his eyes locked onto yours. “It is real. That night, when they came for me, I thought I’d lost you forever. But you’re here now. And nothing—nothing—is going to keep us apart again.”

His words wrap around you, stirring something deep within, something almost familiar. You want to deny it, to laugh it off, but you can’t shake the feeling that what he’s saying is true. There’s a pull, a connection between you that defies explanation.

“Charles…” you whisper, unsure of what to believe. “I’m not… I’m not who you think I am.”

His smile is soft, but there’s an unwavering determination in his gaze. “You are. You always have been. And now that I’ve found you again, I won’t let anything take you from me.”

Part 2

[ftlgbtales]

Once Upon a Time...

Do you like fairy tales but find yourself wishing they weren't always so hetero-normative?

You're not alone. That's why we feel it's time to shake things up a bit and give some of these stories an LGBT+ update.

And that's exactly what this event is looking to do! This summer we invite you to re-imagine a classic story, or come up with one all your own, starring Fairy Tail characters!

Event Information

Dates: August 23 - August 26

Submissions: Anything that inspires you - art, fics of any length, poetry, aesthetics, edits, head canons, etc.. Both ship and platonic entries are welcome. The most important aspect is that the piece focus on an LGBT+ character(s).

Prompts: We've chosen two different tropes for each day from here that we thought might be fun, but you are welcome to pick others if they inspire you more!

Day 1 (Friday): Cursed ✦ True Love's Kiss

Day 2 (Saturday): Other Dimension ✦ Impossible Quest

Day 3 (Sunday): Abandoned Child ✦ Surprise Royalty

Day 4 (Monday): Forbidden Love ✦ (Un)Happily Ever After

Event Tag: Use the tag FTOUAT in your first five so that we can see it!

General Rules: No character bashing, pedophilia or incest, all content must be previously unpublished and original to the blog posting it. Tag all content appropriately for triggers.

If you have questions, send us an ask!

We love getting likes, but we'd appreciate it even more if you could reblog this post to help us get the word out!

@ftguildevents @fthostevts @ft-reboost

[amethystarachnid]

OPPOSITES - part I

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff, tiny bit of angst

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: short fanfic

ᯓ★ Part II

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: you were raised with strict rules, never once dared to break one of them but the mysterious man you meet at the bar maybe deserves a few rules break.

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of alcohol

ᯓ★ AU: 1920s Gangstares

ᯓ★ Request: plz i neeeeeeeed the 1920s one i’ve been binging peaky blinders ( @one-lengthiness36 )

ᯓ★ Since request didn't spicy reader's gender I'll write it as a fem!reader, as I've said in the post

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The Jazz Club pulses with life on a humid Friday night, filled with the muted glint of candle-lit chandeliers and shadows that dance to the lively notes of a trumpet solo. The place is alive, but you feel like you’re not quite part of it, like you’re watching through glass. You smooth the soft folds of your dress—borrowed from your friend Anna, who insists that it’s the only suitable thing to wear in a place like this—and tuck a stray curl behind your ear, feeling more out of place than you ever have. The excitement and energy around you only seem to emphasize your own nerves.

When Anna and Lucy had insisted on bringing you here tonight, the “exclusive bar everyone’s talking about,” you’d hesitated. You’d been raised on rules, boundaries, and curfews. Late nights and smokey speakeasies had never been on the approved list. But the moment you’d stepped in here, breathing in the heady scent of bourbon, old wood, and something vaguely illicit, a part of you couldn’t deny the thrill that’s begun to buzz under your skin. You’re in a different world here, and your friends seem to thrive in it.

The club, “The Silver Swan,” has a reputation, and you’d heard the whispers about its owner: a shadowy figure with connections that aren’t exactly above board. Rumors say he’s dangerous, a man who rose through the ranks with a rough, unbreakable resolve. And yet, something about those stories only makes this place more thrilling, as if the Silver Swan is something of a forbidden fruit.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror behind the bar, looking wide-eyed and uncertain, the fabric of your dress reflecting the dim light in a way that makes you look more like a stranger than yourself. The low, smoky lights give everyone a sort of glamour, making the crowd seem less like people and more like characters from some gripping novel. A soft laugh tumbles from Anna’s lips, and she nudges you, arching an eyebrow.

“See, aren’t you glad you came?” she teases, her voice barely audible over the music. She’s right—you do feel a strange, exhilarating freedom here, your usual reservations fading into the back of your mind.

But then you feel it—eyes on you, unmistakable and intense. A shiver runs down your spine, and you glance around, suddenly alert. Your gaze lands on a man sitting at the edge of the room, half-hidden in the shadows. His eyes are piercing, almost predatory, watching you with a focus that makes you want to look away and stare back all at once.

The man is handsome in a way that’s almost unfair, with dark hair swept back neatly, a sharply cut jaw, and broad shoulders beneath a crisp suit. He’s lounging in a seat like it belongs to him, exuding a confidence that makes your heart stammer. Something about him is familiar, but you really can't seem to remember where you already saw him.

And right now, he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the room.

You look away quickly, feeling your face flush, but his gaze is unrelenting. It’s like he’s assessing you, taking in every detail. Even from across the room, the heat of his stare is enough to make you feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that has nothing to do with your dress. Your friends are too busy chatting to notice, and part of you wants to tell them, but another part—one you barely recognize—likes the thrill of keeping it to yourself.

Slowly, almost deliberately, Bucky stands up. He moves with a grace that’s startling for a man of his size, all smooth lines and careful steps. The room shifts around him as people notice, some going silent, others nodding in deference. You try to look away, to pretend you haven’t noticed, but it’s impossible not to track his progress. Your heart beats faster with every step he takes in your direction, a drumbeat echoing louder in your ears as he comes closer.

When he finally reaches you, he stops, tilting his head and giving you the kind of smile that should be illegal in a place like this. He has a magnetism that’s undeniable, as if he could pull you in without a word.

“Good evening,” he says, his voice a low rumble that seems to settle over you. The accent’s faint, a New York drawl that somehow makes every word sound like a promise.

You swallow, trying to steady yourself. “Good evening.”

Up close, he’s even more striking. The lines of his face are sharp, softened only by the faintest of smirks that hovers at the corner of his mouth. His eyes, a shade of blue so intense it’s almost unreal, seem to see right through you. But there’s something else in them too, a flicker of curiosity, as if he’s just as intrigued by you as you are by him.

“Bucky Barnes,” he introduces himself, extending a hand. His fingers are gloved, the leather cool and smooth against your palm. “And who might you be, sweetheart?”

The endearment catches you off guard, and you struggle to remember your own name for a second. “Y/N,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—um—I don’t usually come to places like this.”

His smile widens slightly, a flash of white teeth that’s as dangerous as it is charming. “That much is obvious,” he says, his gaze dropping briefly to your dress, then back up to meet your eyes. “But I’d say you’re fitting in just fine.”

Your cheeks heat up again, and you find yourself at a loss for words. It’s disconcerting how effortlessly he seems to get under your skin, making you feel as though he knows things about you that you don’t even know yourself. The bar seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, caught in a bubble of heady tension.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks, breaking the silence. He gestures to the bartender, who looks over immediately, waiting for Bucky’s order with a kind of nervous deference.

You hesitate, then nod. “Yes, please.”

Without looking away from you, Bucky nods to the bartender. “A glass of champagne for the lady.”

The drink appears almost immediately, and you accept it, your fingers brushing against his gloved hand. The touch is brief, but it sends a jolt through you, making you feel both exhilarated and unnerved. You take a small sip, hoping it’ll calm your nerves, but his presence is overwhelming, making it difficult to think clearly.

“So, Y/N,” he says, leaning a bit closer, his voice a seductive whisper, “what brings you to my little corner of the city?”

His little corner of the city. The way he says it is almost proprietary, as though he truly owns every inch of this place, every beat of the music, every glass of liquor poured.

“My friends,” you say, gesturing vaguely to Anna and Lucy, who are engrossed in conversation with each other. “They… they thought it was time I had a bit of fun.”

He chuckles, a rich, low sound that makes your pulse quicken. “And are you having fun, doll?”

The question catches you off guard, and you meet his gaze again, caught by the intensity of it. The truth is, you are. Despite your nerves, despite the fact that you feel completely out of your element, there’s something exhilarating about being here, talking to him.

“I think so,” you admit, a smile tugging at your lips. “Though I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to be doing.”

Bucky’s eyes light up with amusement, and he leans in a bit closer, his voice a low murmur. “Well, sweetheart, maybe I could help you with that.”

The suggestion hangs in the air between you, charged with a promise that sends your heart racing. You’re not entirely sure what he means, but the thrill of it, the idea of letting him show you something unknown, is intoxicating.

“Would you like to dance?” he asks, and his voice is so soft that it almost feels like a secret.

“Yes,” you reply before you can second-guess yourself.

Bucky leads you onto the dance floor, his hand firm and possessive against your back, and you can feel the curious stares of the other patrons as he holds you close. He’s surprisingly graceful, moving with a practiced ease that makes it easy for you to follow his lead. The world seems to melt away, leaving just the two of you, swaying to the rhythm of the music.

The song is slow, sultry, and Bucky’s hands are warm through the thin fabric of your dress, guiding you effortlessly. He keeps his gaze on you, unwavering, as though he’s studying every reaction, every flicker of emotion on your face.

“Tell me something, Y/N,” he murmurs, his lips close to your ear. “Do you always let strangers sweep you off your feet?”

You can feel his breath against your skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “No,” you say softly, meeting his gaze. “I don’t… I don’t usually do things like this.”

He smirks, clearly pleased by your admission. “Good,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Because I’m not interested in being just anyone to you.”

The words leave you breathless, caught in his intensity. There’s something about him that’s both dangerous and magnetic, and you can feel yourself

being pulled in, the thrill of his attention washing over you.

As the music fades, he doesn’t let go, his gaze darkening as he studies you. “Y/N,” he murmurs, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. “I’d like to see you again.”

You’re not sure if it’s the champagne, the music, or the heady warmth of his gaze, but you find yourself nodding, your heart racing as you meet his gaze. “I’d… I’d like that too.”

He smiles, and there’s something possessive in it, a promise of things you can’t even begin to imagine. As he guides you off the dance floor, you can feel the eyes of the crowd on you, but for the first time, you don’t care. You’re captivated, ensnared, and in that moment, you realize that stepping into this bar has changed everything.

Two nights have passed since you met him, and you can’t shake the memory of the man with the dangerous smile and the piercing blue eyes. It feels almost ridiculous how one night could stick with you like this, lingering in your mind like a melody you can’t quite shake. His voice, low and confident, keeps playing back in your head, making you feel things you barely understand.

It’s just that he was… so different from anyone you’ve ever met. Mysterious, maybe a little bit dangerous, though you can’t say exactly why. He was a stranger, yes, but you can’t help but feel there was something there—something that makes you want to know more.

Tonight, you find yourself standing outside The Silver Swan, the same bar where it all began. Your heart thuds in your chest as you glance at the door, nerves warring with the thrill of seeing him again. You’d told yourself that coming back was silly, that you didn’t even know if he’d be here. But in the end, your curiosity had won out over reason, and here you are, alone this time, without your friends to distract you.

Steeling yourself, you step inside. The place feels both familiar and surreal, as though returning to a dream. The low lights, the smoky haze, the soft murmur of laughter—it’s all just as you remember. Except, this time, you feel different, like you’re here for something specific. Or someone.

Your eyes scan the room, searching. At first, you don’t see him, and a pang of disappointment settles in your chest. But then, across the room, there he is, sitting in that same dark corner, half-obscured by shadows. He’s alone, nursing a drink, his gaze resting on the crowd in a way that seems watchful, attentive. He’s so focused that you almost turn around, almost lose your nerve. But he catches your movement, his gaze locking onto you with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

And just like the first night, he smiles—a lazy, inviting smile that makes your stomach flip.

You take a steadying breath and walk toward him, feeling as though every step is pulling you deeper into something you don’t entirely understand. When you reach him, he stands, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he looks at you.

“Well, well,” he drawls, his voice every bit as smooth as you remember. “Back again, doll?”

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… you didn’t tell me your name. I didn’t know where else to look.”

It’s a flimsy excuse, and you know it. The corners of his mouth twitch as if he’s fighting back a laugh, but he’s too much of a gentleman to let it show.

“Didn’t I?” he asks, feigning surprise. “Must have slipped my mind.”

You raise an eyebrow, catching onto the teasing edge in his tone, and he chuckles softly. It’s a warm sound, richer than you remember, and it puts you a little more at ease.

“James Barnes,” he says finally, extending a gloved hand to you. “Though everyone just calls me Bucky.”

Bucky. You repeat the name in your head, testing it out. Somehow, it suits him perfectly.

“Y/N,” you say, letting him take your hand. His grip is warm and firm, and his gaze remains steady, holding yours with an intensity that feels almost intoxicating.

“I remember,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower. “Been thinking about you since that night.”

The admission catches you off guard, your cheeks heating as you try to keep your composure. There’s no trace of insincerity in his tone, no hint that he’s merely flattering you. And it does something to you, hearing that he remembers, that he’s been thinking about you, too.

“Can I buy you a drink, sweetheart?” he asks, gesturing to the seat beside him. The offer is simple, but his gaze tells you that he’s waiting for something more than just a drink. It’s a silent invitation, one you find yourself unable to resist.

You sit beside him, nodding as he signals the bartender. Within moments, a glass of champagne is set in front of you, the same as last time. The tiny bubbles rise to the surface, and you take a sip, savoring the taste as you try to steady your nerves. Bucky’s eyes never leave you, tracking every move you make with a quiet intensity that sends a thrill through you.

“So,” he says after a moment, his voice soft, “what brings you back here tonight, Y/N?”

There’s a teasing glint in his eye, and you can tell he already knows the answer. But you can’t bring yourself to say it outright. Instead, you glance down at your glass, letting the bubbles fizz against your lips.

“Maybe I was… curious,” you admit finally. “About you.”

The words hang between you, more honest than you’d intended, but his reaction is worth it. His gaze darkens, and he leans in just slightly, his voice lowering to a murmur.

“Is that so?” he asks, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I don’t suppose you know much about me, do you?”

You shake your head, feeling both embarrassed and exhilarated by the question. “No, not really,” you say. “Just that you’re the owner of this place.”

Bucky chuckles, the sound low and amused. “That’s one way to put it,” he says, his eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place. “But there’s a bit more to it than that.”

He leans back in his seat, watching you with a faint, assessing smile. “And you,” he says, “are a little out of place in a place like this, aren’t you?”

It’s not a question, more of an observation, and he’s not wrong. You feel the flush of heat on your cheeks as you give a small nod.

“My friends wanted to show me something… new,” you say, glancing around at the bar. “And I guess I wanted to see more of it.”

“More of me, you mean,” he says smoothly, the teasing lilt back in his voice.

You try to stifle a laugh, knowing he’s right. “Maybe,” you admit.

He seems pleased by your honesty, his smirk softening into something more genuine. The conversation flows more easily now, and you find yourself telling him things you wouldn’t usually share with a stranger—about your strict upbringing, your sheltered life, how your friends are always telling you to try something new, something daring.

“Sounds like you’ve been living under lock and key,” he says, a hint of sympathy in his voice. “Bet you’ve never even snuck out after curfew.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I haven’t, actually. I don’t even know what it feels like to break the rules.”

His eyes glint with something mischievous, and he leans in just a little closer, his voice a murmur. “Would you like to find out?”

The suggestion sends a thrill down your spine, and you glance around, feeling both nervous and exhilarated. “Maybe,” you say, your voice softer than you intend.

Bucky’s gaze holds yours, his expression one of quiet satisfaction. “How about a little tour of the place, then?” he asks, offering his arm. “You don’t get to see the real Silver Swan from the barstool.”

You bite your lip, hesitating for just a moment before you slip your hand through the crook of his arm. His gaze softens, and you can feel the weight of his attention on you as he leads you away from the bar. The patrons barely look up as you pass, and you wonder if they’re used to seeing Bucky escorting guests through the place.

He leads you down a hallway that seems to stretch on forever, passing doors that look as though they lead to secret places—rooms shrouded in mystery and intrigue. Bucky says nothing, letting the quiet settle between you, and you feel yourself growing more curious, more intrigued by him with every step.

When he finally stops, it’s at a private booth at the very back of the club, tucked away from prying eyes. The lights are low, the shadows casting his face in a way that makes him look almost otherworldly.

“This,” he says softly, “is where I like to sit when I want a break from it all.”

You glance around, taking in the plush seating and the faint scent of leather and bourbon that seems to hang in the air. “It’s… nice,” you say, feeling a little out of breath. “Quiet.”

He nods, watching you closely. “Not many people get to see this side of the club,” he says. “Guess you’re special, Y/N.”

The words are simple, but they make your heart skip a beat. You hold his gaze, feeling that pull again, that magnetic attraction that brought you back here tonight.

“Thank you,” you say, almost whispering.

He leans in, his hand resting on the back of the booth behind you. “It’s my pleasure, doll,” he murmurs, his voice a low, intoxicating murmur. “I meant it when I said I wanted to see you again.”

You feel yourself getting lost in his eyes, the promise in his voice making your heart race. And as you sit there, hidden away from the world, you realize that you don’t care about the consequences or what you’ve always been told.

As the two of you settle into the private booth, Bucky leans back, relaxed, his gaze never straying far from you. The low hum of the club fades into the background, and for the first time, you feel as though you can truly open up. There’s something about him—something magnetic, confident, almost disarming. It’s as though his quiet intensity has created a space where you feel safe, unjudged.

“You know,” he says, after a moment of comfortable silence, “you’re different than most people who come through here.”

“Different?” you echo, taking a sip of champagne to cover the sudden rush of nervousness. “How?”

He smiles, his head tilting thoughtfully. “Most people here, they’ve got something to prove. Or something to hide. They’re running from their lives or getting a break from them. But you? You seem like you’re still figuring out what it is you want. Not in a bad way. It’s…” His voice softens as his eyes sweep over you. “It’s refreshing.”

You can’t help but smile, feeling a flicker of warmth at his words. But that warmth quickly fades into something more bittersweet, a feeling that gnaws at the edges of your happiness. You glance down, fiddling with the stem of your glass as you think of your father, of the tight restrictions he’s kept on you for so long, and the rules you’ve never dared question.

“Maybe that’s because I don’t know what I want,” you murmur, barely loud enough for him to hear. “I don’t think I ever learned how to decide that for myself.”

He studies you in silence, letting the confession linger in the space between you. Bucky doesn’t press, doesn’t pry—just waits, watching you with a quiet patience that feels comforting.

“It’s just…” you continue, hesitating, unsure how to explain the life you’ve led, the one so tightly wrapped in rules and boundaries. “My father has always been very… strict. Growing up, I had a list of things I could do, places I was allowed to go. There were rules about what I could wear, who I could talk to.” You give a short, bitter laugh, almost embarrassed to admit it. “My whole life has been about following those rules.”

Bucky’s expression shifts, his jaw tightening slightly. “He must be real protective of you.”

“Protective? Yes,” you say, nodding slowly. “But it’s more than that. He always said he was trying to keep me safe, but…” You trail off, staring into your glass. “It feels like I was more of a possession than a person sometimes. Like I was something he could control.”

Bucky’s hand rests on the back of the booth, his fingers inching closer to yours as he leans forward. “Must have been lonely,” he says quietly, his voice gentle, understanding.

The truth of it hits you in a way you weren’t expecting. You’ve never been allowed to admit that, not even to yourself, but hearing it said aloud feels oddly freeing. “It was,” you confess, barely above a whisper. “I think that’s why I stayed. I didn’t know any other way to live.”

A quiet moment stretches between you, and then Bucky speaks, his tone warm but filled with a fierceness you hadn’t seen before. “You know, there’s more out there than just following someone else’s rules, Y/N. There’s a whole world waiting to be discovered—by you.”

His words make something tighten in your chest, a thrill mingling with fear. It’s tempting to believe him, to imagine a world where you could make your own choices, live by your own rules. But the thought is daunting, and part of you wonders if you’d even know where to begin.

“I don’t know if I’d know how to live like that,” you admit, your voice wavering slightly. “It sounds… wonderful, but it’s not easy. Not when I’ve been told my whole life what’s right and wrong.”

“Right and wrong?” he repeats, an amused smirk quirking at the edge of his lips. “Who’s deciding that, doll? Your father?”

You hesitate, feeling a swell of defensiveness and something else—guilt, maybe. “I mean, he’s only ever tried to protect me. He says that the world’s dangerous, and that if I’m careful, I’ll stay safe.”

Bucky’s gaze darkens, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. “And what’s that gotten you? Safety? Or just limitations?”

The question hangs heavy between you, and for a moment, you don’t have an answer. You think about your life as it’s been: the curfews, the rules, the carefully monitored friendships, the way you’d once looked forward to every day shrinking into a comfortable, predictable routine. And it hits you that you don’t remember the last time you actually felt alive, felt excited about something. Meeting Bucky, coming back here tonight—these things have pulled you out of the haze that’s been your life, made you realize just how small it had become.

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling that truth in your bones. “I just… I’ve never known any other way.”

Bucky’s gaze softens, his hand moving closer until his fingers brush lightly against yours. “Maybe it’s time to change that,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a whisper. “To start making choices for yourself.”

His words stir something in you, something you’ve ignored for far too long. Maybe it is time. Maybe there’s more for you out there, more than just the safe life your father has laid out for you. The thought is thrilling and terrifying, a leap into the unknown that you’re not sure you’re ready for.

But sitting here, under Bucky’s intense gaze, you feel a flicker of courage.

“What if… what if I don’t know where to start?” you ask, barely realizing you’ve spoken the thought aloud.

Bucky smiles, a quiet, reassuring smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Then start with something small,” he says. “Just one little choice that’s all your own.”

The suggestion feels manageable, like a tiny, contained spark in the face of a bonfire. You look down at your hand, still so close to his, and a thought occurs to you, simple and impulsive.

“Then I choose to stay here,” you say, your voice soft but certain. “With you.”

Bucky’s eyes flash with something you can’t quite name, and his fingers close gently over yours. He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes tells you more than words could. It feels as though a silent promise has passed between you, a vow to share this moment and maybe more.

“You made a good choice,” he says, voice low and sincere. “You’ll find it’s not so bad, choosing what you want for yourself.”

And as you sit there, wrapped in the warmth of his presence, you realize that for the first time, you feel free. It’s a small thing, yes, but it’s the beginning of something bigger. It’s a spark, a chance to break away from the life you’ve known, to carve out something that belongs only to you.

“Thank you,” you say softly, meeting his gaze. “For… for making me feel like I could do that.”

Bucky’s grip tightens around your hand, his gaze unwavering. “Sweetheart, you don’t need anyone to give you permission to live your life. But I’ll be here to remind you, as often as you need.”

The weight of his words settles over you, grounding you, anchoring you in this moment. And as the evening stretches on, you find yourself leaning into this new feeling—this strange, exhilarating freedom. You don’t know where this will lead, but for the first time, you’re not afraid of the unknown. For the first time, you feel ready to face it.

The hours seem to slip away as you and Bucky talk, wrapped up in a world that feels like it belongs only to the two of you. Conversation flows easily, and each answer you give, every shared look, every quiet laugh feels like a step further into uncharted territory—a life you never imagined could be yours. With each word, each moment, you feel yourself coming undone, shedding pieces of the careful person you’ve been told to be.

You learn more about him, too, though his answers are sometimes elusive, his stories sketched in broad strokes rather than fine detail. He talks about Brooklyn, about the fast changes sweeping through the city, about what it means to take control of your life and make your own choices, no matter the risk. And there’s a gleam in his eye when he speaks of it, a sort of fierce independence that leaves you breathless.

He notices your rapt attention and smiles knowingly, and just as you start to look away, he reaches over, lifting your chin with a gentle hand. “Don’t go hiding now, doll,” he says softly. “You’ve got that look in your eye, like you’re learning a secret.”

Maybe you are. Maybe tonight is a door opening in your mind, a glimpse into a world beyond everything you’ve been raised to believe. You don’t want to look away. Not now.

The night deepens, the lights around you dimming further as the crowd in the bar begins to thin. You’ve lost track of time, and when you look at him again, you realize you’ve also lost track of everything else—the worry, the rules, the constraints of who you’re supposed to be. All that exists now is the weight of his gaze, steady and warm and laced with a depth you can barely fathom.

“Bucky,” you murmur, his name foreign but sweet on your tongue, “you’re right. I don’t want to live like that anymore. I want… more.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but the way he looks at you speaks volumes. The intensity in his eyes softens, a hint of something tender mingling with his usual confidence. You’re close to him now, closer than you’ve ever been to anyone before, and it feels so natural, as though you’re meant to be in this moment, with him.

As if sensing your thoughts, he brushes his hand along your cheek, his thumb tracing a soft line along your skin. “You deserve that,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of music. “You deserve to have everything you want.”

Your heart is racing, but it’s no longer just nerves—it’s excitement, the thrill of something new, something you’ve only read about in books or dreamed of late at night when no one was watching. Bucky’s thumb pauses, just beneath your lips, and you hold your breath, wondering if he can feel the heat rushing to your face, if he knows just how much you want this.

And then, as if time has slowed, he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a featherlight kiss.

It’s softer than you imagined, gentle and tentative, almost as if he’s waiting to make sure you’re alright with this, as though he’s giving you a moment to pull away if you want to. But pulling away is the last thing on your mind. Instead, you close your eyes, letting yourself melt into the kiss, letting him guide you.

It’s your first kiss, and yet it feels like it’s something you’ve waited your whole life for. His lips are warm, and there’s a softness to him that contrasts with his strong grip as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss just slightly. You feel his hand cradle the back of your neck, anchoring you to him, and it’s like everything you’ve known has been turned upside down, as if your world has narrowed to this single point of contact.

When he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, he doesn’t let go. His eyes search yours, and there’s something vulnerable there, something that makes your heart ache in the best way.

“You okay?” he asks softly, a faint, tender smile playing on his lips.

You nod, your voice barely a whisper. “Yes,” you manage, feeling breathless. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

He chuckles softly, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “Then we’ll take our time,” he murmurs. “No need to rush. Just… let yourself feel it.”

You can feel the warmth of his hand against your skin, his thumb brushing slow, soothing circles on the back of your neck. The kiss has stirred something in you, a hunger for more—more of him, more of this feeling of freedom. It’s a feeling you didn’t know existed, a kind of heady joy mixed with an electric thrill, and you find yourself wanting to savor every second of it.

“I’ve never…” you begin, your cheeks warming as you try to find the words. “This is all so new.”

Bucky smiles, his gaze softening further. “I know, sweetheart. But I’ve got all the time in the world.” There’s a promise in his voice, a quiet reassurance that lets you feel safe, cared for. And in this moment, with him, you believe it.

“Thank you,” you whisper, not sure how to put into words everything you’re feeling. “For… for this. For making me feel like I could do something I’ve always been afraid to.”

He rests a hand on your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin as he studies you, as though he’s memorizing every detail of your face. “You don’t ever have to thank me for that,” he says, his voice rough with sincerity. “If anything, thank yourself. You’re the one taking the chance.”

The world outside this quiet, shadowed booth feels a million miles away, and you realize, for the first time, that you’re not thinking of anyone else—not your father, not the rules, not the life you’d been told to live. Here, with Bucky, you’re allowed to simply be.

As the night wears on, you talk in hushed tones, sharing fragments of dreams, whispered promises, and moments of laughter. And when he kisses you again, it’s no longer tentative or restrained, but warm and inviting, a promise of something more. It’s a gentle pull, a quiet invitation to step further into this new life that’s slowly taking shape before you.

And as you close your eyes, feeling his arms wrap around you, you can’t help but think that this—this feeling, this night, this person—might just be the beginning of everything you’ve been waiting for.

The weeks that follow are filled with secret rendezvous, stolen glances, and a flurry of emotions you’ve never experienced before. Bucky becomes your world, a thrilling, hidden part of your life that you keep safe from prying eyes and questions. You meet him on street corners, take long walks in the early morning hours, and share intimate moments in dimly lit corners of his bar. He shows you parts of the city you never knew existed, places tucked away from the polished streets you grew up on. With every touch, every lingering look, you feel yourself slipping further from the quiet girl your family knows and closer to the woman he’s helped you become.

But Bucky’s expression has grown increasingly serious each time he sees you. One night, after a quiet dinner at his place, he turns to you with a look that makes your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

“Sweetheart, we need to talk.” His voice is calm, steady, but there’s something heavier behind it. The warmth that always seems to light up his gaze is dimmer, a flicker of worry casting shadows over his features.

The unease in his voice sends a shiver through you. You reach for his hand, squeezing it gently. “What is it, Bucky?”

He pauses, his jaw tightening before he speaks. “There’s something I haven’t told you.” He meets your gaze, searching your eyes as though bracing himself. “About who I am. About what I do.”

The words make you stop short, your heart pounding as you try to read his face. But there’s no trace of the softness he usually holds for you; instead, he looks almost haunted, caught between protecting you and confessing something you suspect he’s wanted to share for a long time.

“Alright,” you say softly, not letting go of his hand. “Then tell me.”

Taking a breath, Bucky looks away for a moment, as if gathering himself, before he speaks again. “I… I’m not just the guy who owns that bar, Y/N.” His voice drops to a low murmur. “I’m in charge of a group of men—a group that does things your father would never approve of. People see me as… as someone to be feared. I’m the boss of a gang.”

You stare at him, processing each word slowly, feeling the weight of them sink in. The man you’ve fallen in love with—the man who taught you how to live outside the lines, who showed you how to think for yourself—he’s also a feared figure in the world of crime, someone your father would have you believe is dangerous and immoral. But despite the shock of it, you can’t seem to find fear in your heart. Instead, you feel something different, something even stronger.

“And… and you think that changes something?” you ask, barely louder than a whisper.

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, as if he’d expected you to pull away or look at him with horror. “Y/N, this isn’t a small thing. It’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be mixed up in a life like mine. I can’t offer you the same kind of safety you’re used to.”

You shake your head, your hand tightening around his. “But I don’t want safety, Bucky. Not the way my father has defined it. You’ve shown me a different life, one that’s real. I can finally breathe with you, be myself. And if that comes with danger, then so be it.”

He looks at you, the disbelief in his gaze melting into something softer, something filled with a kind of raw gratitude. “You’re sure?” he asks, voice thick with an emotion he doesn’t quite name. “Because once you’re in, sweetheart, there’s no easy way out.”

You lean into him, closing the space between you, your hand resting against his cheek as you meet his gaze with unwavering certainty. “Bucky, being with you has taught me more than anything else in my life. I don’t care about what you do, or who you used to be, or what other people say. You showed me how to stand up for myself. That’s what matters to me.”

A mixture of relief and disbelief flashes across his face, and for a moment, he seems almost lost for words. Then, as if unable to hold back any longer, he pulls you into his arms, his embrace fierce, filled with a desperate kind of gratitude. You can feel his heart pounding against your own, and the depth of his feeling, the strength of his emotion, overwhelms you.

When he finally pulls back, his hands stay on your shoulders, as though to anchor himself to you, his gaze piercing as it holds yours. “I don’t deserve you,” he says, a quiet, honest confession.

You smile, touching a hand to his cheek. “Maybe you do.”

For the first time, he lets out a quiet laugh, a genuine smile breaking through the intensity of his expression. And then, slowly, he leans down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s deeper, more intense than any you’ve shared before. This kiss is filled with relief, with unspoken promises and the kind of love that goes beyond the superficial, the kind of love that’s forged in fire.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll protect you with everything I have. I promise.”

You nod, understanding the weight of his words. But you also know that you don’t need protecting, not the way you once thought. Because being with him has shown you that you’re stronger than you ever knew.

And as you sit together in the quiet of the night, Bucky holding you close, you know that this life, complicated and messy as it is, is exactly where you’re meant to be.

maybe a part 2 where y/n's family discovers their relationship? If you liked the story don't forget to like, reblog and drop a follow if you want to read more. <3

[fleurmionefridays]

Fleurmione Fridays: April 2024 Shell Cottage

A quarterly rec list curated by the 18+ fleurmione discord server. Inspired by hpsaffics #wlw wednesday.

All fics are complete and listed longest to shortest.

Witnessed here in Time and Blood by whistle.the.silver [M | 190.5k]

When Shell Cottage receives a motley group, Fleur and Bill do their best to ensure their safety. In the weeks that follow, wounds are healed and plans are concocted. Fleur and Hermione find themselves coming to a new understanding of one another.

Kissing, It Saves Souls by @k-starr-ent-ceo [E | 45.5k]

Have you ever gone to a wedding, then have to quickly save everyone there by getting them to leave, so you fake an affair with the bride (who subsequently is no longer a bride), then have to keep saving people, by kissing said woman, then realise you're in love? No? Me neither, but Hermione did. This is a tale about two women falling in love, then falling into an adventure.

I Get Along Without You Very Well by @lipzlipzlipz. [M | 32k]

Don’t get her hopes up. Don’t let anyone in. Don’t risk her heart. These weren’t the only lessons the tournament year taught her, but they were the hardest and Fleur Delacour learned them well. Until a girl with honey-brown eyes made her want to forget every one of them.

Lost & Found by lady_wordsalot. [M | 13k]

Hermione gets lost in the Forbidden Forest on a camping trip with her husband, Ron. Weeks later she stumbles onto Shell Cottage and its owner, Fleur.

willow by @rachelc978, from her one shot collection evermore. [M | 8k]

“Wait for the signal and I’ll meet you after dark/Show me the places where the others gave you scars” - willow, Taylor Swift

A single word by @mushroom-grey-scale [T | 5k]

Despite months of living in the same house, there were only a small amount of things Bill could do to calm a veela's temper.

Stirring Dull Roots with Spring Rain by @sleepingontheway [G | 3k]

Hermione stays with Bill and Fleur. Well, she stays at Shell Cottage. Where is Bill all the time, anyway?

[jakeyt]

Bloodstream: Chapter 1

By: @jakeyt + (my lovely sis) @joshym

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, f!OC x m!OC

Bloodstream Summary:

Folklore. Stories passed down through generations. Imaginations run rampant with their tales of sorcery and the supernatural. 

But for Tommie, it was different. Somehow it was more. She had become transfixed by a local legend — one that told of an unlawful love affair between a witch and a vampire. To Tommie, it was an alluring tapestry woven with threads of forbidden love and timeless secrets.  Yet something about it felt strangely familiar to her—but why? 

It was only a story…wasn’t it?

Word Count: 10.8k+

Warnings: witchcraft; vampirism; death; mentions of bodily harm; grief; mentions of lgbtq+ oppression (it's the 70's, people were assholes); Vampire!Jake; lots of eventual smut (minors DNI !! 18+ only !!)

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a/n: this baby has been brewing for a good while now. . . it all came to us after walking around an abandoned cemetery near our hometown.

truly, @joshym and i have worked tirelessly on the chapters, the (massive) plot, and the general outline of the story. so, after sitting on it for a bit, we decided its finally the perfect time to share it - during the spookiest month of the year. . . october!!

this chapter is more of an opening to the story than anything. . . there is so much to come, and this chapter barely even begins to scratch the surface ;)

enjoy, loves!!

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Chapter 1:

Harvard University

Cambridge, MA

PRESENT DAY

Friday, October 27th, 2045

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The wind whistled in dreary tones around her head as she hurriedly trekked down the bustling halls of campus. 

It was finally fall break on campus. And she was beyond ready for the much-anticipated break from the grueling work that came with being a college student at an extremely prestigious university. 

Even though it was only her first semester at Harvard University, the work had come incomparable to the work she knew was normal for your average college student. Her friends, whom she’d just parted from a few months ago, who were going to typical universities, weren’t feeling the torment she was feeling in this season of life.

There were certainly a few redeeming qualities of going to school at Harvard, though. 

The initial reason she’d decided to come here had been to live with her Granny M, who already lived right there in Cambridge, as she attended school. It had already been what dreams were made of. . . being that her Granny M was her favorite person on the entire earth. 

The second redeeming quality had been the boy she’d met during orientation, who she had instantly clicked with. The wonderfully down to earth, charismatic, and completely handsome Andrew Burnett. Andrew was a tall man, Irish as they come, with the warmest, most kind eyes she’d ever witnessed in real life. He was everything a woman could want in a man, and she had been smitten right off the bat. And, luckily, it seemed he had been, too. For they’d spent hours getting to know each other during the week of orientation, and had started dating the first week of classes. He was truly impeccable.

The third (and most) attractive part of being in Cambridge was being away from the stifling environment of her home in Plymouth. Her parents were the opposite of her in every way. They had been pros at squashing every curiosity she could possibly have, as well as dampening her individuality. 

Her father had come from a strong religious background, bringing it into the home. . .

making her mother follow his lead in making sure the home never had anything suspicious come through. 

And, of course, she regularly challenged that. 

With her clothing choices (black, black, and more black), makeup (always donning a particularly murky shade on her lips), and music (only ever music with deep themes and broody singers; Amy Lee, having been her biggest icon for years).

Then, the candle’s small light had become a blazing flame, when at thirteen years old, she had become completely and utterly transfixed by all things witchcraft and wizardry. It had occurred seemingly overnight. The heartiest addition to things outside of her parents’ perfectly crafted and regulated norm, one could say. 

It had come when she’d first witnessed Harry Potter at a slumber party in middle school. She’d been hooked right off the bat. Though, it wasn’t even Harry Potter that’d transfixed her—or any of the characters in that universe, for that matter. 

No, it had gone further—deeper.

The lore of witchcraft and studying the lifestyles of witches had become everything to her. So, from that point on, she’d wanted to constantly research the logistics and legend of it all. . .though, unfortunately, her parents would have none of it.  

And while her Granny M had never exactly encouraged it, she didn’t stop her from reading and spending countless hours at the library when she’d visit her in the summers growing up. The one rule her grandmother did have was to avoid delving into any local legend. 

Granny M always said it was “too risky.” And when she would ever question her Gran, she’d simply respond with, “That’s all I’ll say, love. Please, just avoid it, my sweet T.” 

So, she did avoid it. She would respect that one wish of her grandmother’s if it meant she could freely read to understand every aspect of it all. 

But, here on this cloudy, windy day, nearing All Hallows’ Eve, something was about to change. 

She’d practically skated to the front desk of Harvard’s library, asking for the latest additions to her favorite section. 

And little did she know: the fascination—the strange obsession—would become more than what it had always been. It would almost eat her alive in curiosity, enchantment, and imagination.

She had gone to the same section as always, plucking the most recent addition.

When she’d gotten to the counter again, new book in tow, she’d scrounged around in her messenger bag for her student ID to check out the book. . .but hadn’t had any luck in locating it. 

“Looking for your ID?” The student worker had asked with a sympathetic tone. 

She huffed, still searching through the mess to no avail. She blew her inky bangs out of her eyes, looking up with an apology plastered on her slim features. “Yeah,” she said, closing her bag and wrapping the strap around her shoulder once more. “I’m sorry; I’m a mess. I can’t seem to find it and I have no clue where in the hell it could be. Can I still check that out without it?”

The student looked apprehensive, letting out a slow breath through his pursed lips. “Name?”

“Thomasina Lowe,” Tommie said, her voice raising an octave in hopes that being positive may help her case. 

“Shit,” the student worker gasped. “You’ve got five books out right now, and almost all of them are overdue.” He shook his head, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Nope. There is no way I can let you check this out and still have a good conscience.”

Tommie’s chest pinched with irritation at the condescending way she was being spoken to. “Seriously? I can’t be the only student on this campus with late books.”

“No,” he said, as if talking to a child. “But you also don’t have your ID. Double whammy for you, Thomasina.”

Tommie’s blood pressure rose up to her ears. And just as she was about to interject again, she heard the wind harshly swoop the door closed behind a student. She and the worker both looked towards the doors, shocked at the sudden rush of wind. And to her relief, it was Andrew. He was covering his head with his book bag, sheltering him and his damp shoulders. 

Tommie glanced behind him at the doors he’d come through, seeing there were now raindrops falling steadily from the sky that was dry just moments ago. And as if on cue, the accompanying sound of thunder clapped and echoed throughout the old building.  

He made eye contact with Tommie almost immediately, his smile reassuring and sweet. Chances were, he had already deduced she was in trouble, as Tommie’s face rarely hid emotion well. 

And as soon as he’d arrived next to her, he was taking both thumbs and softly smoothing her eyebrows back down to normal. Tommie felt her own grin perk her lips the slightest bit. 

But, of course, keeping with his wonderfully sunshine-y personality was the student worker, who hastily broke up the moment with a chastising tone and the shove of the book towards Tommie and Andrew. “Please find the ID and the other books and come back another day.”

Tommie’s nostrils flared as she looked at the book. But just as soon, she felt Andrew’s hand on her back, rubbing circles. 

Towering over her, he spoke to the worker, who had to look up a healthy distance to make eye contact. “I’ll check it out,” he said, his voice, ever-calm and cool, thick with his charming Irish intonation. He slipped his ID from the wallet in his back pocket, sliding it across the counter to the student worker. 

The worker seemed hesitant, but Andrew raised a brow, and nodded his head toward the book. There was no way the worker could deny him, so within seconds, Tommie was walking over to the couches in the coffee area that sat at the back of the library, Andrew’s long legs keeping in line with her fast pace. 

And, when he was back from the counter with two warm coffee cups, he sat them down on the table. Then, taking the seat in the armchair opposite Tommie, he curiously asked, “What’s this book about?”

She was only staring at the back of the book, having just completely read the summary. Her shock was obviously apparent on her face, because when her boyfriend spoke again, he sounded concerned. “Love? You alright?”

Tommie blinked several times, then placed the book down on the table between them. She pushed it to him swiftly, and with a raised brow, he read the back of it as well. 

“Local legend,” he remarked, his interest peaking. “How interest—. Oh.”

“Yeah,” she replied, looking down at her coffee, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic to bring a sense of comfort. The nerves were wracking her. “One of the most famous. This is the third book I’ve come across this semester that’s had to do with it. It’s fucking tempting me, but I have to respect Gran’s rule. Right?” Tommie shook her head, tucking her short brown hair behind her ears. She took a swig of the sweet liquid, tongue burning a bit from the temperature. “But it must be a sign that it keeps coming back to me. . .right?”

He looked contemplative, studying Tommie’s face and exchanging glances at the book and her eyes. Andrew was usually one to be the voice of reason to Tommie’s impulsive ways of thinking, but never one to deny her curiosity as it’s one of the things he’s come to cherish most about her. 

He scanned her face, her amber eyes catching the light just right as they revealed her desire to crack open the book and dive headfirst into the forbidden tale. 

“What harm will skimming a few pages do?” he reassures, attempting to conceal his own fascination with the fable. He smiled as her face lit up instantly, her hands quickly moving from her warm mug back to the book. She looked at him in silent question as her hands stilled on the leather bind, waiting for one more seal of approval before turning a single page. “Go on, then. Open it up.”

He scooted his chair closer to her as she slowly opened the book. The tattered pages held a woodsy scent; earthly notes with subtle hints of sweet musk infiltrated their nostrils as she lifted the hardcover. 

Her fingers skated across the title page, the name written in faded golden ink. “A Dream in Gold: The Legend of The North Atlantic Forbidden Lovers.” 

“There’s no author. . .,” she uttered as she turned the first few pages, searching for some indication of who wrote the curious novel.

“That can’t be,” he said. “There must be mention of one somewhere, at the very least a scribe. How old is this thing, anyways?”

Andrew lifted the book, studying the cover, the first page, even the last page in hopes of finding anything that suggested who wrote it or when it was published. Perplexion clouded his features as his mission proved unsuccessful. 

He flipped through the worn pages that looked more like manuscripts. Intricate artwork detailed oceanic voyages and battles fought between ships navigating the harsh waters. Storm clouds with golden lightning bolts, and night skies littered with sparkling constellations. 

“Wait, I may have found something,” Andrew stumbled on a page almost entirely blank aside from what appeared to be two faint, obscured signatures. “It’s autographed?” He questioned. 

“Maybe they’re the mysterious authors,” Tommie noted. 

Andrew hummed in confirmation as he turned back to the first page of the novel, reading aloud the contents.

“Two creatures of sworn enemies, plummeting in the trenches of a love so dangerous and rare. A love that would move mountains and uproot the sturdiest trees, that would beckon storms with gales too fierce to be measured by humankind. Forbidden by the laws of nature, punishable by a sentence no less than death of the highest degree.” 

Tommie found herself entranced as Andrew read the words that garnished the pages, his voice adding a certain depth to them as she somehow felt she’d heard them all before. Maybe in a dream? Her skin prickled with goosebumps when she felt a strange sense of deja vu, an occurrence she’d felt all too often in her lifetime, but this time felt. . . different. 

He continued reading, oblivious to her state of mind when a sudden deafening clap of thunder boomed from the sky, shaking the foundation of the old library and effectively knocking out the power. 

They sat in silence for a moment, startled by the intensity of nature's call. The lights flickered back on, illuminating their faces once again as they stared at each other with a hundred questions. 

“Keep reading, Andrew,” she urged. 

He did as she asked and carried on.

“A woman of sorcery, a man of the undead. Bound together against all odds.”

Tommie closed her eyes, listening intently to the words he spoke. Vivid images of the story came to life in her head.

“A union against Mother Earth's decree over her land. She punishes all her children for such an act, raging her waters in remonstrance.”  

She suddenly saw a woman dressed in obsidian toned filigree lace, her feathered hair cascading down the delicate features of her face. By her side was a man. His slim, yet broad frame clothed in black, his chest embellished with ancient atocha coins attached to a chain made of burnished silver. His chestnut hair rested atop his sturdy shoulders.

The sound of something slapping against the floor abruptly broke her from her trance. She opened her eyes to see a thick, ragged card lying beneath the table, its design mimicked the artwork of the book. 

“What have we here?” Andrew said as he bent down to retrieve the peculiar card that was tucked away inside the novel.

Tommie leaned over a bit, squinting as she tucked her head in front of him to get a better look at the card. 

Holy shit, she instantly thought. 

The man pictured on the card was the exact same one Tommie had imagined as they’d been reading, just minutes-prior. 

How in the hell? 

She’d always been aware of her extremely vivid imagination, but it had never been so apparent as it was at that moment. Something about it felt different this time. . . it felt stronger. 

Andrew noticed a sudden shift in her expression, her eyes widened as she took in the image of the card.

“You’re a thousand miles away, Tom. Tell me what that mind of yours is conjuring up,” he implored. 

She decided to keep this to herself, afraid she would fail in trying to explain the phenomena to Andrew as she couldn’t make sense of it herself.

“Tarot,” she quickly blurted. “It’s a special sort of tarot card.” She dug through her bag filled with books until she found the one titled Holistic Tarot: An Integrative Approach to Using Tarot for Personal Growth.  “I just finished reading this book on them, they’re incredibly fascinating.” 

She carefully took the card from Andrew, brushing away some of the dust that had collected on it over the years.

Printed underneath the portrait of the man: The World.

She thumbed through her book until she found the section that detailed the symbolism of each card.

“This one of your overdue books, love?” He quipped, nudging her shoulder playfully. 

“Look,” She pointed to the image depicting a similar card as she read the meaning to him. “The World card symbolizes completion, fulfillment and wholeness. It often signifies achieving a long-term goal or fulfilling a dream, and indicates travel to foreign lands, connecting cultures as one.” 

Andrew nodded but had a confused look about him, “Why is this card so different from the ones in your book?” He asked.

Tommie couldn’t put it into words. She just had a sense that there was something much more significant about this card, something other tarot cards didn’t possess. This one was rare, one of a kind. 

All she could do was shake her head in response to his question. 

Andrew held it delicately in his hands, turning it around and investigating the pale card with dark etches of an almost-mystic male face. “It looks different for one,” he remarked, placing it down next to one in the book. “The ones in your book are full of color. . .and the faces—they lack the intricate detail this one possesses.”

He was right, the depiction didn’t even come close to the ones featured in the book. 

“I’m not sure,” she retorted, grabbing her coffee in a swift motion, leaning back in her seat to nurse it as Andrew continued to investigate, flipping the pages to find one similar. 

She took a break from the whirlwind of her thoughts and watched him move, his concentration endearing and lovely. He was always so willing to dive right into all of this with her, even if it wasn’t his own interest. Perfect man. He complimented her so incredibly well—encouraging her wonders of life when others only wanted to dampen it. 

Though she’d only known him for a couple of months, their meeting seemed destined. He brought comfort and peace to her otherwise jumbling, lurching train of a life. 

He peeked back, his eyebrow raised. “You’ve gotta see this.”

Tommie leaned forward, sitting her drink on the table. He had the tarot book laid open, next to A Dream in Gold, still spread wide to reveal yellowing pages.

The stark white card was laid between. . .and as soon as Tommie made the correlation Andrew was waiting for, her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. 

“Oh my god,” she breathed, in utter disbelief. 

⋆⁺₊⋆☾*ੈ☁︎🃁𓉸︎☽⋆⁺₊⋆ 

Plymouth, MA

October 30, 1971

It was the most serene and spooky Autumn night, the moon nearly full. An almost-white mist, overtaking the grounds of the old, abandoned cemetery. 

The winds flurried around your loose curls, enticing your coming enchantment. They resembled the voices of the dead, beckoning you nearer. 

“Not quite yet,” you hushed back, placing your open palm on the nameless cemented block of a grave you’d always felt a certain gravity pulling you towards, placed hidden at the back of the plots. “Soon, my friend.” 

The natural fog was alluring to you, drawing you nearer to other old, crumbling stones and markers. Mossy and forgotten, the graves that held loved ones, were treasures. The generations—the centuries— that had passed since most of these lovely souls had moved from one life to the next— it was daunting to most. 

But not to you. 

No, it was like finding precious gold. The remains of these people, being so near, still, even after their souls had departed to their respective realms, . . .it was taken for granted by many. 

Though, not by you.

You danced to their forgotten songs, answered their muffled cries beneath the cold soil. You cherished their abandoned stories, each one so vastly different from the other. You shared in their joy, you grieved in their sorrow. 

You wanted to help them, to ensure their restfulness in the forlorn afterlife. 

Tomorrow night, on All Hallow’s Eve, you would set forth your per annum spell of peace over the lonesome graves. The most sacred night of the year, the only one of which allowed this spell to be cast. 

Most witches strayed from performing this enchantment, the strength it required, being far too great for most to conjure.

But you were different. 

The dead gave you strength; your devotion to them, a driving force for your power. 

The other witches and warlocks in your coven were threatened by you and the sheer amount of power you possessed. You were never one to conform, never one to obey the stringent rules of your High Priestess. 

When you chose to repeatedly use your gift for the betterment of mankind, above the orders given to you by the High Priestess, you were shunned. Expelled from your coven, never to speak to your sisters or brothers again. 

“No witch or warlock must ever misuse their powers for the sake of anyone other than the coven from which they reside. Such misuse is considered an act of treason and will result in immediate banishment. As such, all those remaining in the coven are prohibited from communicating with the banished. Those who do are subject to banishment as well. ”

All of your sisters and brothers followed orders, cutting all ties with you, acting as though you’d never existed. 

All of them, except Sage and Daniel. Your dearest companions. 

Sage had momentarily desired to join you in your exile. She couldn’t bear residing in a coven that you were no longer part of, but you wouldn’t allow for it. You wanted her to stay, to grow in her magic alongside her sisters and brothers. Fellowship, dire for a witch—making banishment all the more harrowing.

She was a free spirit like you, like Danny. . .but she could flourish wherever she may be. 

You and Sage made a vow, a sacred covenant to remain in touch with each other in secret.

Daniel, though. . . 

After your banishment, he lost all respect for the High Priestess, rejecting her order and suffering his own banishment as ramification. 

It had also been murmured in shared spaces that witches and warlocks in your coven, who were attracted to the same sex would be mutilated—dismembered, even— if their true ideal for love were to be exposed. 

So, Danny knew, deep in his heart, that he already couldn’t stay around if that were to be the case. He would have lost his life, or been severely harmed if he were to have stayed. 

Things needed to change in the world. But, alas, you were stuck in a wretched time where who you loved was frowned upon unless it fit an acceptable societal norm.

Even though Daniel had never explicitly told you, you knew him. . . And his wandering eye, for other men, was not hidden from your protective watch. He’d watched your back, and you’d watched his for nearly two decades.

Danny was your closest confidant. He’d been a dear friend since the day you had both entered the coven, each of you, so young. Only eight years old, due for commencement to your trainings at Luminara Institute as a magic bearer.

The coven had been your home for more than half of your life when they’d dismissed you. It had been a gut punch to be exiled, but your best friend leaving with you had softened the blow.

Though, you’d still been nearly frozen in your banishment, not sure what to do next. 

For the past few years, the two of you had wandered the earth together as a pair, a sister and brother in search of anything to fulfill the heavy emptiness in your lives that you just couldn’t place. 

When you’d migrated back to Massachusetts, Sage welcomed you back with open arms. It was funny, as much as you’d enjoyed distancing yourself from the coven, and leaving that life behind, you treasured the fact that you still had a connection to other sorcerers—specifically Sage. 

Being distanced from the coven was good for you, as you struggled with the feeling of being confined when you only longed to be free—whole. . .a feeling you still hadn’t quite achieved, even after leaving Luminara.

But, being apart from it all left you completely out of the loop with several bits of news. Whether it have been new rules for witches and warlocks (some you still had to abide by, given your gift), or all of the whispers of general supernatural happenings. All that fluttered around the spacious halls of the Academy, unbeknownst to you.

If it weren’t for Sage.

Part of the precious vow you’d made with Sage had been to meet at least once a week to discuss things—keep you up on the latest. It was special that she’d been intent on doing so. If she were to ever be discovered doing so with an exiled sister, she would instantly meet her doom. 

So, you had a special place, on the outskirts of Plymouth, flush with the overbearing branches and leaves of towering trees. It was far from the Institute, never risking a prying sorcerer, overhearing any conversation.

A small eatery, only about ten tables total in the entire establishment. . .only ever regulars surrounding you in the multi-colored, creaking wooden seats. 

On this night, after a quick visit to the cemetery you religiously visited every October, you were sitting across from your sister. Her caramel skin, the most beautiful shade, complimenting her bright blue eyes. 

Her hair fell in thick, black waves: gold accented pieces held tiny braids throughout her hair. Her locks fell down to the middle of her bicep, where she wore a shiny gold cuff. Sage was always decked out in gold, warding off any vampires as she’d had a particularly scarring incident with one as a teen, before she’d joined the coven. 

You watched her lips, stained with dark lipstick, take a generous swig of her sweet red wine. Her lips left a perfect mark on the rim.

“Your lips leave the most gorgeous imprint,” you remarked, almost absentmindedly. Sage’s beauty had stricken you since the first time you’d met her. 

Her eyes sparkled and she winked at you, shaking her head. “You’re too much,” she smirked. But just as soon as her eyes glinted, they were growing wide. “Oh, shit, y/n. Speaking of imprinting. . . I’ve gotta tell you.”

“Fuck,” you rubbed your right brow, preparing for the latest gossip. “What is it?”

“Interspecies imprinting. . .completely against our written law. . .against Mother Nature’s law. All of that shit, y’know?”

You nodded slowly, a sort of gloomy feeling made your heart sink. This subject made you strangely sad. You’d never been able to pinpoint why. You’d equated it to just seeming wrong. It was wrong to shame the love one had for another, no matter the circumstance. Any law against love just felt. . . unnatural. 

“A vampire and a witch,” she took another sip of her wine. She gulped it down, eyes still wide as she divulged more. “One of our sisters, in fact. She’s currently in the dungeon awaiting execution.”

“Sage,” you gasped. “How in the hell are you being so calm about this? Our sister is awaiting her death and you’re shooting the fucking breeze about it.”

She blinked rapidly, seemingly taken aback by your sudden outburst. “You like hearing the latest, y/n. I’m giving you the latest.”

“I don’t like you sounding so nonchalant about death, Sage.”

She looked down, pursing her lips and crossing her arms over her thin frame. “She knew better, y/n. Vampires are terrifying and not to be messed with,” she reminded, moving her hair to flash you her jugular. The thick, white scar, sticking out above her smooth flesh. You inadvertently flinched at the sight. “Those fucking blood suckers are hideous, heinous creatures. And interspecies mating is fucking law. It’s in the bylaws. Mother Nature forbids it. You don’t do it. You know this.”

You grabbed your own glass, taking a sip of the red and licking the tart remnants off your lips as you placed it back on the table. “What is she going to do? Do you think they’ll really go through with her execution?” 

Sage shrugged, her dainty fingers going to mess with a Sweet N Low packet. “I don’t know. It’s not so simple,” she noted, stopping her movements to level you with a serious stare. “There’s more.”

“What is it?” You wondered aloud.

“The witch is a relative to our very own High Priestess,” she stated. “But from what I’ve heard, it doesn’t matter. It’s interspecies morherfucking mating— and breeding,” her icy eyes struck yours. “She was imprinted.”

Your blood ran cold under her stare, and with her words. “Oh my god,” you breathed. “She’s with child?!”

“I’d hardly call it that, such an innocent name for something so vile,” she tossed the Sweet N Low packet to the floor, leaning in so her face was mere inches from yours. The sweetness of the wine on her breath filled your every sense. “A vampire and a witch cannot conceive a child, y/n . . what they produce. . . more the likes of a demon. A barbaric creature possessing powers that go against the will of Mother Nature.”

The anger in her eyes turned to fear. “If it’s born, Mother Nature will unleash her wrath in ways we’ve never seen. And that’s not even the worst of it.” She leaned back and took her wine glass, downing the rest of the blood red liquid and wiping the remnants off her mouth, smearing her lipstick. “That thing they’ve created will put an end to all of us.”

You swallowed the massive lump in your throat as you struggled to make sense of it all. 

“Has this ever happened before?” You quietly asked, your voice trembling as the thought caused your throat to tighten. You took the last few drinks of your wine to ease your state.

“No,” she answered. “And for good fucking reason. It’s the law, y/n. They are set in place for our own safety.”

The feeling of the blood rising to your ears came before you even realized it was on its way. The chatter of the other patrons in the room sounded muffled, as though you were dunked below water. 

How could she be so cold about these laws and these rules when . . .?

You slammed your now empty wine glass on the polished wood of the table, causing Sage to jolt in her seat. 

“Those are the same laws that got your best friends banished, Sage. The same laws you were ready to break to join me, but I wouldn’t let you. Tell me, then. Was your safety, or anyone else’s safety at risk with us there—breaking the ‘law’?”

Her face contorted to one of remorse. She took your hand in hers, rubbing the backs of your knuckles with her thumb. “I’m sorry, y/n. . . you know that’s not what I meant. But after what they did to me. . . it’s hard for me to understand why anyone would want to sleep with one of those evil creatures, especially knowing what could come if it.” 

You felt your features soften as well. It honestly broke your heart that she’d experienced such terror from another supernatural being—any being, for that matter. All things had the ability to be evil. But the fact that she’s experienced it firsthand from the exact supernatural creature you’d been discussing made you feel empathy with her harshness. 

Shit, for all you knew, the news could have caused some severe trauma flashbacks for her. . . 

Your blood pressure settled back to normal and you wrapped your hand around hers, squeezing a bit in reassurance. “I understand, babe,” you said, your voice finding its normal calm tone again. “I’m sorry—you’ve possibly relived traumas because of it. . . And I . . . I didn’t think about that before I snapped.”

“I know why you did,” she soothed. “I get it. And I’m sorry, too, for not taking your situation into consideration before I went off.”

Your cheeks lifted a bit with a smile. Deciding to change the subject, pointing to your empty chalice. “I need more wine,” you giggled. 

Her own eyes lit up with yours. “Let’s.”

And as she waved a hand over to signal a waiter or waitress, you zoned out in contemplation, your smile fading. . .

Interspecies mating. . .

You’d always thought it a ridiculous law to forbid it, so you hadn’t ever gone so far as to think about a child coming of it. 

Could something conceived out of love truly cause so much harm to the earth? Could it really be what Sage said it was? A demon? Truly? You had never once thought that any of you could be capable of creating such a thing, especially out of something so pure.  

You had to physically shake yourself out of it, blinking a few times to rid the thought. You knew it would plague you endlessly if you gave it enough headspace. 

You would give yourself time to grieve the fate of your estranged sister another time. 

Tonight was simply about time with a dear friend, and you wouldn’t let yourself ruin such an occasion. 

⋆⁺₊⋆☾*ੈ☁︎🃁𓉸︎☽⋆⁺₊⋆

Plymouth, MA

October 31, 1971

When you arrived at your treasured cemetery on your most favorite, sacred night of the year, the evening was chilling in the best way. You’d worn your thickest black tights with your favorite long sleeved black dress, which stopped at your mid thigh. Your pointed black boots and black wide brimmed hat completing your outfit. 

You giggled in spite of yourself. Because, admittedly, right now, you looked like a stereotypical witch. On Halloween. 

Letting your snicker fade, a small grin stayed on your lips as you reacquainted yourself with the lovely souls that occupied this graveyard. You touched the stones you’d familiarized yourself with over the years, the precious souls that lived in each spot whispering haunting welcomes. 

Your favorite sound.

A thick blanket of fog hovered just above the headstones, illuminated by the moon that shone brighter than ever before in the cloudless sky. It suddenly all seemed much different than the night before. Something peculiar hung in the air that you couldn’t quite place but felt deep within your bones. 

Then, it happened.

You heard a rustle amongst the overgrown ivy leaves, like a rabbit quickly fleeing from its predator. But this was no animal. Especially not anything so innocent as a bunny.

You could feel its energy.

The presence from the being near you was unlike any you had ever felt before. Your spine grew a chill that made the cool air of the night feel warm as the hairs on your arms stood to attention. 

He was here. And he was hiding. . . from you. 

You could hear him quietly breathing, even from a distance, you interpreted the coldness of the stagnant blood beneath his flesh. 

A cold-blooded creature, hiding in the dark. . . A vampire.

Your sworn enemy. You’ve never once encountered one, only heard of the horrendous tales told by your sisters and brothers who had. 

Sage. . . dear, sweet Sage. 

You adjusted the gold necklaces that never left your neck, feeling a certain comfort and safety in the jewelry. Your thumb smoothed across the dainty moon pendant of the necklace that Danny had gifted you recently, the peaceful enchantment he’d put on it calming your nervous heart.

It was simply known that one must always wear gold as a means to ward off an attack from such a creature. So, you never took off your faithful chains. 

Instantly, you became angered; your blood boiled at the thought of him infiltrating your sacred place, of him disturbing your spell of rest over these dear souls. A fire burned behind your eyes as you prepared yourself to defend these grounds.

“You don’t belong here,” you asserted. “These souls are precious and you do not deserve to walk amongst them. Leave, now.”

Suddenly, there was a clap of thunder so great that the ground beneath your feet shook, nearly knocking you down as you braced yourself. Not a single cloud in the sky, yet a storm threatened to brew. His work, no doubt. 

You heard him running against the bushes and you tried to follow him with your eyes, but he was too quick. Reaching your hand out, you channeled his location the best you could. Your brows furrowed in concentration as you mustered up every bit of strength you had. 

Finally. . . you found him. 

Your eyes caught him, crouched beside a grave. . . but not just any grave. The grave of the soul you heard crying out to you the night before, the one from which you’d always felt so much sorrow and pain. 

Your mind became clouded with the need to protect this cherished soul as you stormed him, ready to fight him off when suddenly. . .

As you made your way to him, you watched his body unfold, slowly and gradually, broad shoulders and chest expanding to match a stern exterior. His face contorted into one of true valor and love for the grave at which he stood beside. 

It was strange. 

Vampires were, literally, cold and heartless beings. Not caring for anything or anyone. Their sole purpose on the earth, to cause suffering and death. . . or at least that was what you had been told.

“My brothers. . .they sleep here,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. His eyes swept down, casting the stone a watchful stare. His hands pressed firm to the cold cement, showing his protection over it. He pressed his hand even more firmly to the old stone. 

You stood in shock, but did your best to keep a confident front.

This must be a trick, you thought, trying to find a meaning in his behavior. There is no way he—a heartless vampire—would feel such a need to safeguard anything—much less a corpse. 

It could only be a ploy to distract you, and then cause the harm he’d originally intended.

A classic trait of a vampire—to plot a distractive ruse against their prey. 

He was simply luring you into a vulnerable state— only to strike just as you’ve earned his trust. 

You held firm as you would not let him deceive you. If it were truly his brother, wouldn’t that mean he was also a vampire? Was he naturally born? Or turned? If it were his naturally born, vampiric brother, he wouldn’t be buried. You knew that vampires were not buried after death, their bodies disintegrated to nothing once they perish. There would be nothing to bury. He was lying to you.

“You—you need to leave. You are not meant to walk these grounds. I know what you are,” the quiver in your voice revealed that you were not as gallant as you attempted to convey. You motioned to the graves he was now obviously guarding. “They are not what you are. I would sense it if they had been.” You quickly grabbed your golden moon pendant and rubbed it fiercely in search of calming your tattered nerves.

No matter what, you were not going to leave. You made a vow to protect this burial ground and that is what you intended to do. Any fear over this heinous creature would not stand in your way. You were prepared to die for these souls.

He turned, facing the two matching headstones, nameless and nearly crumbling from years of standing in one place, the earth shifting time and again. 

Then. . . 

He turned to face you, the light of the moon chased after him, illuminating him as a spotlight would. Over his face fell a scant shadow, from the overhanging trees and bright light from the full moon. He stood against the still black canvas of the night sky.

As he looked to you, you saw his eyes, more crestfallen than angry, cutting through your exterior. 

You had always been told that these creatures were revolting. Every image depicted in your books at Luminara showed them as ghastly, repulsive looking beasts. 

That was why you were utterly shocked as you finally caught a glimpse of his face, glowing against the moonlight. . .

His lips were pillowy and plush. His cheekbones, contoured beautifully as the gleam touched them, sat high in the midst of his stark features, his flawless skin not nearly as pale and lifeless as your textbooks had described it to be. 

The most intriguing part of his face, though, were his eyes. Once you looked into them, it felt as though you couldn’t bear to look away. They were cavernous; the color of dark coffee, positively enchanting as they seemed to look straight through to your soul. 

When you did finally pull yourself away, your eyes traced back to his mouth, his lips sitting so full underneath a. . .mustache? 

The swift line of hair above his upper lip complimented him extremely well. It added to his already sharp and alluring features. Though, it caught you off guard; you’d always been taught to believe that vampires couldn’t grow facial hair—whether they be naturally born or reborn. 

Admittedly, you’d been taught a lot of things about vampires that you weren’t sure you could believe as you stared at the one in front of you.

He was clothed in a suit of black, hugging his sturdy body in every way it should. The black button down underneath the opened jacket, unbuttoned just enough to show a smooth, toned chest. Silver medallions sat on the exposed skin that was lifting and falling with deep breaths. Not so often as humans do, but enough to catch your eye. This ‘man’ was an undead creature. How. . .? 

Your eyes followed his movements as he tucked the hand not holding tight to the stone in the pocket of his slacks. You watched as his firm pecs flexed beneath the thin material of his shirt. 

His long, mousy locks blew in the subtle wind. 

He was. . . beautiful. 

A far cry from any account you’d ever heard of these creatures. 

“I wasn’t always like this. . .,” His voice, low and velvety, just a hint of a woeful tone. The despair beneath the tough exterior came off of him in waves. You felt it from him, making your chest heavy with sadness. “This monster you see before you—this so-called life—I did not choose. It was forced upon me– the desolate existence of an alleged killer.” He called himself a monster, yet there was nothing monstrous about him in the least.

His eyes, no longer hard, but rather filled with unshed, glistening tears. They threatened to fall down his cheeks. But, as soon as they appeared, they were gone. 

It didn’t matter how quickly they’d evaporated, though, you had seen them. The raw emotion.

He was telling the truth. And these graves—they were his brothers. You felt especially solid in this belief as you now knew the briefest hint of his story—he hadn’t chosen this life. 

You believed him. 

His cold heart was broken. Shattered in a million pieces. And you could feel every bit of it.

“How are you—?” You gaped, shaking your head the slightest bit. You squinted at him, trying to dissect the creature in front of you. “I’ve always thought your kind to be cold and unfeeling. How are you able to hold even the slightest bit of grief over your resting brothers? And enough to visit them after their death?”

He straightened further, his brow rose with his next words. “They were all I had,” he sniffed. “They were my livelihood, stolen from me before their time by the clutches of hatred and the waves of the ocean.”

“But still. . .” You edged closer, your proximity to him causing him to tense the slightest bit. Trying the best you could, you activated every bit of calm to expel from you, showing him your true intention. You didn’t mean him any harm. He was different. You could tell. “How are you so attached?”

“For one, the man which was laid beneath here,” he placed his hand on the initial stone that had caught your eye. The same one that has drawn you in for all the years you’d come to this cemetery. “Was my twin. The other half of me. We shared a womb, making our bond worlds different from any other. We were tied tighter together than many people. He held me up, and I held him up. But not the way I should have,” his voice cracked as he spoke of this one. And your chest ached for him. What a terrible loss to face. “We came into this world together, and he left over a century before my time. It was a nasty break in our tie to each other. One I had foolishly never prepared for.” 

He skated his hand from one grave to the next. He snickered as he looked affectionately at this stone, a tear glittering against his chocolate orb as he spoke. “And this son of a bitch—was my younger brother. The biggest pain in my side, but on the same hand, the brightest light that I had in my life,” a tear fell to grace his unblemished skin. “His death pains me for many reasons as well—but mostly, I grieve him so deeply because I didn’t appreciate him enough when I had him. Not nearly enough,” he tapped against the stone with his fingers a few times, then removed them to curl into the unoccupied pocket. 

He continued, “It also doesn’t do one well to believe everything they read or hear. Oftentimes, you’re not getting the whole truth,” he peered down at you, your skin growing goosebumps under his piercing stare. “Do vampires share some characteristics? Yes, of course,” he took a step nearer to you, his chest mere inches from yours. You had to crane your neck to keep eye contact. “But are we all inherently different based on who we were as humans before? More so than anything else.”

“I understand,” you whispered, feeling utterly transfixed by every word that slipped from his pretty lips. “It makes sense.”

“But you,” he grew even closer to you, twisting a lock of your hair sitting on your stiff shoulder in his fingers. “A woman of magic. A sorceress. A dealer with the devil himself.” He dropped your hair as his sparkling eyes fixed on yours yet again, his mouth upturned in a faint, captivating grin. “a witch.”

You shuddered at hearing the name come from his lips. The way he said it. . . so chilling as it effortlessly rolled off his tongue. Almost hedonistic— he had been waiting to say it. 

He knew who you were, just as you did him.

“I’ve heard stories about your kind too, you know.” He turned from you as he looked up at scattered stars, tracing their patterns in the air with his finger. “How you prey on innocent children, feasting on their flesh with your gluttonous, carnivorous desire. . .” You found yourself staring at him with a curious gaze, watching as he strategically pointed to each constellation. It was alluring, charming, even. “. . .that your pallid skin is crumpled and decayed. Your nose hooked and your teeth jagged, your beady eyes like that of your feral feline companions.” 

He stopped and looked at you, his eyes following a trail up and down your figure. “You certainly don’t meet the physical clichè.” He smiled, displaying his beautiful, stark white teeth that lacked the pointed fangs you’d always been told about.

Everything he said about witches, it was all a product of a sinister stereotype. . . never once had any of it been true. Your kind has tried to put these horrid accusations to rest for centuries.  

And if that were the case, it must also mean— that everything you’ve been made to believe about his kind, is perhaps not true, as well, though you never truly believed any of it.

You somehow always knew that they couldn’t have been as diabolical as you had been taught, that it had all been wild embellishments on the truth to turn your species against one another. 

“Well, I can promise you I don’t feast on children. That rumor has plagued us for centuries and to be honest, I haven’t a clue where it came from.”

“There are plenty for my kind that I am oblivious to their beginnings as well,” he smirked.

Your mind was clouded with a billowing spiral of questions, most of which you just couldn’t ask. They would simply linger in the air, maybe to be answered someday— but right now you wanted to focus on him. 

Something you couldn’t quite shake, though, was why you hadn’t ever seen him before? In all the years you’d spent wandering through the blessed, abandoned grounds, never once had you encountered anyone. . . let alone him.

You couldn’t help but blurt, your thoughts a frenzy. “What’s your name?”

“Jacob.” He didn’t hesitate, nodding towards you a bit to signal your response. 

“Y/n,” you said, feeling silly to tell him. It felt as though he should have already known it. “It’s funny,” you started, the smallest grin curling your lip as you shook your head, studying him. 

“What is it?”

“It almost feels as though we’ve met. But on the same hand, I’ve never witnessed you walking down this garden of lost souls before,” you pondered aloud. “Why haven’t our paths crossed until now?”

He looked to the headstones of his brothers, longingly and with anguish filling his eyes. “I don’t come here often. It’s dangerous–for me, at least. I seldom come. And when I do, it’s out of desperation to speak with them again.” 

“How many times have you come?” You whispered, as though you were sharing a secret. 

He cleared his throat. “Well, counting tonight . . .,” he paused. “A total of three times since they've been buried.”

“And when were they buried?” You questioned, admittedly dying of curiosity. 

He eyed you for a few quiet moments. The crickets nearby, vyed for attention from the night with their tell-tale creaks. You stayed focused on him, not letting any other thing distract you from his contemplative stare into the black abyss of sky behind you.

With one last glance at his brothers’ graves, he locked eyes with you once more. It was as though he was challenging you. Questioning your intentions. You decided to step towards him. And, against your better judgment, you reached to touch the black of his suit sleeve.

Looking down, he breathed in a deep breath. It was still so strange to you that he breathed so deeply for someone who was, quite literally, undead. 

All of the rumors and legend didn’t add up to the man standing in front of you. 

“1830,” he finally stated. 

Your heart dropped to the pointed toes of your boots. 

Damn. You had not expected that. 

You gaped for several seconds, but found your voice to vocalize the time it had been since. “One hundred and—.”

“Forty-one years,” he finished.

Holy shit.

So not only were you meeting a vampire, you were meeting one who had been around for nearly 200 years. 

Swallowing, you felt the most intimidated you’d been since you first made contact with him. It was unbelievable you were speaking with a human who’d been around for an entire century, plus some. . . You had never been around someone so. . . What was the term? Ancient? 

“You’re in shock,” he said, his velvety tone bringing you back to Earth. 

Your eyes connected with his, blinking several times. 

“Yes,” you said, unashamedly. “I am in shock. You are correct.”

He quietly huffed, a small smile gleaming his features. You saw his perfectly white, straight teeth again. Without wanting to admit it, you were still looking for the legendary fangs that his kind were supposed to have. 

“No fangs,” you said absently, still glancing his teeth. 

“Yes, fangs,” he said, shaking his head at the idea. You raised your brow. “Not now,” he confirmed. “But when needed, they appear.”

“When needed?”

“So many questions.”

You scoffed, but didn’t stay on it. The night was becoming chillier. You couldn’t help crossing your arms, the smallest gust blowing your hair from around your face. 

And then you saw it, his eyes dilated and zoned in on your neck. But as soon as you saw it, he was shutting his eyes, silently mouthing words to himself and tucking his hands deeper into his pockets. 

Now, you were intimidated for new reasons. 

Starting to edge away, you watched as his desperate, sad eyes followed you. They stopped you from moving any further. It wasn’t right to immediately be fearful just because he had natural instincts. That was unfair and you knew it. 

He was lonely. He had to be.

“Do you have friends?” You questioned, channeling empathy into your tone. “It’s been so many years. . .”

“I’ve had a few. Here and there,” he nodded. Then, he shrugged, his thick brows creasing, forlorn. “But they come and go. When I am forced to stay.”

You hummed, not sure how to respond. It was very sad to contemplate. Him, never changing, and everyone around him aging. . .

“I’m sure watching the rest of your family age and leave was hard,” you said, soon realizing the callous way that must’ve sounded. You smacked a hand to your forehead. “I’m sorry. That was — I don’t know. . . I’m sorry.”

“No, trust me when I say I’ve heard worse in my lifetime,” he reassured. “But our other family—they were gone before my brothers and I left to fight in the naval forces. To begin, my father actually left my mother after she’d given birth to Samuel,” he motioned to the younger brother’s grave. He let out an angry breath, seeming to still be disappointed in his father’s decision. Even after all of these years. The genuine emotion in his heart perplexed you. “Then, my mother and sister were killed by ruthless villagers. Terrible, ungodly men who sought the blood of vulnerable women while my brothers and I were away. . .before we. . .switched paths.”

So much information. You weren’t sure how to digest what you were being told. Everything he was sharing, a new discovery that you couldn’t wrap your mortal brain around. Magic couldn’t help you when it came to this vampire. This enigmatic creature. 

You decided to get back to the point at hand. “So, only three times? When it’s been more than a century?”

“It’s too hard to visit often. When your brothers are dead in the ground, and you're eternally alive. . . It’s enough to make one unbearably sick with overwhelming grief. It’s best for me to stay away,” he replied. “I came once to bury them. Then another to visit after they’d been laid to rest,” he rubbed under his eye, flicking the tip of his nose with a finger. A tick. “And then tonight.”

“And why tonight?”

He looked thoughtful again. He didn’t want to divulge the information. You could tell. You reached a hand forward, this time touching his chest. Where a heart should be beating. . .but you couldn’t feel the dull thrum beneath your open palm. 

It was offputting . . .and strangely comforting.

He looked down at your hand, and his stare at your brave touch made you recoil and move to bring your hand back. You tucked it back where it had been, nestled in the crook of your warm elbow. 

“You don’t have to ans—.”

“I came tonight because I’ve heard before that if you come on All Hallows’ Eve to visit past loved ones, a sort of portal opens and you’re able to communicate with those you’ve lost,” he pushed it out quickly, seeming almost ashamed. “I never believed in it. I didn’t want to—didn’t want to get my hopes up. I never accepted it could actually be possible. I still don’t know if it is.”

You nodded, understanding. Your eyes smiled. “I see,” you uttered. You stepped nearer again. “I come for a similar reason. To use my power to send well wishes of peace in death. Talk to those who are forgotten, long gone, in the ways my abilities allow me to.”

“That’s beautiful,” he spoke, his dark eyes boring into yours. “Truly. I didn’t know a witch could be so . . . Full of love.”

“Really?” You scoffed. “You thought so poorly of witches that you assumed they couldn’t love?”

“I didn’t quite say that,” he winked. Leaves crunched under his boot as he, too, took a step. Towards you. You couldn’t help but shiver the slightest bit. And not from the October breeze. “But you are hardly one to talk. Immediately going into defense with me. Assuming the worst. Lies you’d heard.”

“Fair,” you nodded, ducking your head. Looking back up, you matched his gaze, which had unwaveringly stayed on you. You’d felt it burning into you. Tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, you straightened your hat. “I apologize for my assumptions.”

“And I, mine,” he softly responded. “And that’s why you’re here? To speak to them?”

“Yes,” you agreed, straightening and smoothing your dress against your thighs. “And what you heard was correct. Tonight of all nights is the only one with which you may communicate with those you’ve lost,” you paused, pursing your lips with a sad smile. “But only with certain power. And I’m afraid you lack that as a non-warlock.”

You didn’t tell him that not all souls responded when you’d cast the spell to seek the lost in their present realm. That sometimes, you encountered the precious few that did not want to be bothered, longing to stay quiet in their death. 

And especially, you didn’t want to mention the nagging thought in your mind. That, sometimes, if you couldn't reach them, it meant the worst. That they’d gone to a place unreachable. A place that was unreachable, even for one like you who garnered enchanted abilities. 

You ached for those souls, knowing that if you couldn’t reach them, they were in a place where peace would never be able to find them again. No magic could come to them to console them in the afterlife. It crushed your heart. 

Saying this to him was not an option, as you feared for his younger brother. You’d heard plenty from his twin’s resting place. Feeling so much energy from him it was though you’d talked to him as a living being. He wasn’t completely gone, in a place void of peace.    

But you’d never sensed anything from the other. The other headstone, where his younger brother laid, was only ever silent. It never showed signs of a present soul when you’d touch it or speak to it. 

You decided to offer what you could. Attempt seeking his twin. . .and even his other brother. . . If only for Jacob’s sake. 

If you ended up discovering he was in the unspeakable place, and completely gone. . .you would play it off. You could do that. Maybe even enchant Jacob to not know better. 

The flitting of your heart told you that you could at least reach his twin. You felt you had to offer this to him. You wanted to bring his heart a sense of comfort and ease. 

Help him in whatever way you could.

“I can help you. . .,” you said with a hushed tone. “. . . I can help you hear them again.”

He looked at you with silent bewilderment, questions haunting his eyes as he ran his fingers through his hair.

Without another word, you grabbed his hand and took him to the headstones. To your surprise, he didn’t hesitate in the slightest. With you, he knelt down to their level, and you placed his palm upon the one that belonged to his twin brother and set your own on top of his.

You had expected his skin to be cold and lifeless to the touch, but he felt warm. His skin was soft against your fingers, causing a slight hitch to your breath. 

“Close your eyes and clear your mind. Listen–hear.” 

He nodded as his eyes squeezed shut, you doing the same. 

You instantly felt his twin; you heard his unmistakable voice you’d come to treasure over the years of protecting his resting place. 

He was strong; he knew his brother was near. 

You filled Jacob’s hand with your energy, the wind whistling heavier around you, whipping your hair around as you felt it transfer through to him entirely, as you allowed it to reverberate through his soul.

His strong hand suddenly tensed under your touch, and you knew the voice of his beloved brother was echoing throughout his body. 

“Joshua. . .” The name whispered off of Jacob’s tongue so quietly that you nearly missed it.

The name– the name of his twin. The one he’d spent everyday of his mortal life with, from the very moment they were conceived. From the moment they were born. He’d been the one with which he shared his mother’s womb. A bond broken by a death so tragic and untimely. 

One doomed to walk the earth, alone, for the rest of eternity, cursed by the burden of an eternal life filled with isolation. The other, sleeping beneath the cold ground. Their fates, each designed much differently, yet their souls still tethered even in the midst of a tragic end. 

Two souls, forever sharing the other half.

You finally had a name to attach to this darling spirit, and you smiled upon hearing it for the first time. 

You tightened your hold on his hand, feeling his joy at hearing his brother speak for the first time in 141 years. But with his joy also came his sorrow. The immense sadness he had carried with him for more than a century, crashing down upon you as the two of you connected your souls in this most intimate way. You felt it with him. 

You turned your head when you felt his hand flinch a bit under yours. He was still focusing, his eyebrows bent in deep concentration. A few stray tears slipped down his cheeks.

The steady rhythm of your heart lapsed. Seeing him in such a state made your chest pinch. This was the most connected you’d ever felt to another—including Daniel.

It was shocking, to say the least. 

Then, suddenly, he hushed, sniffing tears back. “Samuel. . . Please, y/n. Help me to hear Samuel.” 

Your heart sank. 

The moment you’d been afraid of had come. You knew he would ask about his beloved Samuel, and the last thing you wanted to do was deny him. 

You were scared– scared of hearing the inevitable silence that you’ve come so accustomed to from his place of rest. Scared of him hearing nothing from his dear brother.

You were hesitant for a moment, an inner battle being fought within you. Would you break his heart by denying him? Or would it be by attempting to call out to his brother, only to be met with the stillness you’ve heard at his tomb for years?

He looked to you again, your heart aching as his eyes were much heavier than before. 

You knew that you had to try, if only for the sake of Jacob. You knew it would take every ounce of your strength to try and call out to his muted brother, but looking into his mournful eyes, you made up your mind that it would be worth it. 

Grasping his fingers tightly in your clutch, you moved his hand to Samuel’s stone. And once again, you settled your palm above the top of his hand. He held it firmly to the stone, more tears whisking down his cheeks at what he anticipated. 

You felt your own brewing at your ducts for the defeat you knew was bound to occur.

Drawing a deep breath, you prepared, mustering up the sheer power you knew it would take to reach out to Samuel and draw anything from his spirit in return. 

Repeating the share of energy you’d emitted to Jacob over Joshua’s stone, you tried your damndest to maximize the amount. And just as before, you felt the energy translate to him from you.

His hand tensed, waiting for what had transpired over his twin’s grave. But you knew this was already different than before. Your experience told you so. 

With Joshua and the other souls, you could hear them so clearly. Their spirits would stir as they would come to. . .as they would greet you. . . 

But here, there was nothing. 

Silence. 

You could feel the hope Jacob had conjured, seeping from his pores. Where it wasn’t visible to the normal, human eye, if you opened your eyes, you knew you’d be able to see it. The look of it, floating from him, drifting into the growing fog of the night.  

Pressing harder, you squeezed your eyes shut, so tight you saw stars. . . You needed something. 

Come on, Samuel, you chanted internally, willing him to respond. 

Suddenly, you felt the words to a familiar spell falling from your lips. They came of their own accord, lighting up the fires that were starting to extinguish in your heart. 

One last resort. 

You made another quick decision and placed double hands on Jacob. Where you had one on his hand, you placed another on his back, trying to get your power to work through him. 

Maybe the familial tie would bring this lost soul to you. . . 

But, alas, nothing. 

You sighed defeatedly, yet still kept your eyes closed and your hands on your counterpart. Beside you, there was a choked sob from Jacob, shaking you from your thoughts of despair. 

Feeling the immense sorrow with him, a few tears dripped down your cheeks. More welled in your throat, the longer you sat there, hearing him cry into the night. 

All of the crying stopped when you felt the earth shake at your knees. The sound of tree branches cracking around you roused you, alerted you.

And as the ground continued to rumble, you felt, underneath your hands, the stone crack.

⋆⁺₊⋆☾*ੈ☁︎🃁𓉸︎☽⋆⁺₊⋆｡˚☽˚ 𓃠 ˚☾˚｡⋆⁺₊⋆☾*ੈ☁︎🃁𓉸︎☽⋆⁺₊⋆

a/n:

we can’t wait to share more of this story! please let us know what you thought! this world we’ve created is intricate asf and it's going to have many twists and turns. . . sooo, we’d love to know if you have any thoughts on what’s possibly to come :)

we also created this playlist for you to listen to while you read, if you’d like <3

let us know if you wanna be tagged! here is my form to fill out if you’d like to be tagged in this story or any of my others <3

taglist:

@alwaysonthemend, @jakesgrapejuice, @jaaakeeey

[cleolinda]

Weekend links

My posts

1) From earlier this week: “My ~longform posts are going somewhere else. Dreamwidth? Definitely previewed on Patreon and backed up there. Here’s an unlocked post about it. tl;dr: I know tech bros already scraped everything, but if you tell me you’re going to do it, I’m not gonna hand it to you. Maybe it’s a token effort, but there it is.” Of course I’ll still post links to new writing here. 

2) Some people have March Madness. I now have the Hot & Vintage Movie Women tournament. 

One of the best parts of the tournament (you may remember that Toshiro Mifune won the male matchup) is people reblogging and submitting pictures, further bio information, and personal anecdotes--that sense of the Tumblr collective scrapping for the pure love of their blorbos. I love Edwige Fenech’s eyes and her iconic eyeliner, and I had to step in when she went up against powerhouse Julie Andrews with only one small picture. No, I’m not letting Edwige go out like that. She won’t win, but the people must make their choice knowingly. 

I also posted some pictures for Lady Tsen Mei, because I’d actually never heard of her and was curious. Also, because she’s going up against Musidora and that’s not an easy row to hoe, either. If you see matchups like that, where hotvintagepoll didn’t receive much to post about an actress--appealing to the people with a good picspam in the reblogs is where the fun comes in. 

Bear in mind that running the tournament is an INCREDIBLE amount of work; this was Friday alone. Like, I don’t know the person who’s running this, but it couldn’t be me. They’re working with what they were sent, and here’s how we can be the propaganda we want to see in the world. I will jump in as necessary when Ava Gardner, Gene Tierney, Norma Shearer, Paulette Goddard, and (on my mom’s behalf) Julie Christie show up. But there’s 512 contenders, and it’s going to be a hard fight. 

(I am now reblogging the polls at only one an hour, and when I fall behind, that just means that people who missed them can catch up. Each poll lasts a week, after all.)

Reblogs of interest

You are invited to the assassination of Julius Caesar! If you joined Tumblr during the various internet shakeups last year, you may not be aware that the Ides of March is a major Tumblr holiday. You need to be. 

People have always been people: an immensely long collection that may make you cry. 

Respect for the Welsh language

The “Fool in a Field” theory of life in the universe

A helpful guide to some common birds here in the western US

The Forbidden Colors

“You get to drive away”: A Tale

I was not ready for this development in the Fairy vs Walrus debate

(Did William Butler Yeats believe in fairies? An anecdote from my grad school days)

(”While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a slapping”)

Video

“Recently I’ve been interested in what I’d like to call the historical lesbian wardrobe”

“This is the snake I’ve been looking for my entire life”

Angry kitten scolds water, slaps it for good measure

Cat plays theremin

A speedy boi who doesn’t need a bike to jump

The most relaxed tiger

The sacred texts

Yes, THAT Stinky Bastard Man

Personal tags of the week

I want to be clear that AI has incredible scientific uses and could be used voluntarily by writers and artists for their own experimental projects. That is... not what this AI tag is about. 

Speaking of AI: truly, the Willy Wonka Experience debacle has been a DashCon for the 2020s. 

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Full Masterlist

Updated: 10/21/24

💥 Attack on Titan:

Attack on Pranks

→Attack on Pranks: Chapter 1 (The First Task)

→Attack on Pranks: Chapter 2 (Keep Running)

→Attack on Pranks: Chapter 3 (How it All Started)

→Attack on Pranks: Chapter 4 (Showdown)

Attack on Titan Short Story Collection

→Attack on Titan Short Story Collection: Fireworks

→Attack on Titan Short Story Collection: Towels

💥 Kengan Ashura:

Muscle Heads: Ohma x Raian

→Chapter 1: Shut up, Raian

→Chapter 2: Off His Ass

→Chapter 3: Naughty

→Chapter 4: FishFace

->Chapter 5: Meat Gazer

💥 Dragon Ball:

A Serendipitous Future

Goku Black x Reader: Forbidden Fruit

→Chapter 1: The Flames of Destruction

→Chapter 2: The Game Begins

→Chapter 3: Blink of an Eye

→Chapter 4: Cat out of the Bag

→Chapter 5: The Room

→Chapter 6: Chained Freedom

→Chapter 7: The Calvary Arrives

→Chapter 8: The Curse of Immortality

→Chapter 9: Hate Me Not

→Chapter 10: Victory

→Chapter 11: Zamasu’s Revenge

→Chapter 12: Hidden Treasures

→Chapter 13: The Wolf

→Chapter 14: Infiltrator

→Chapter 15: An Unlikely Allegiance

→Chapter 16: The Forest

→Chapter 17: Red Lights

→Chapter 18: Reunion

→Chapter 19: Even Nightmares Dream

→Chapter 20: The Pact

→Chapter 21: The Ritual [SMUT]

→Chapter 22: Back Again

→Chapter 23: Return of the Past

💥 Baki:

Not Really Katsumi

💥 One Punch Man:

Mayhem

💥 Friday the 13th/Halloween:

Friday the 13th Oneshots: Michael x Jason

→Chapter 1: Handful

→Chapter 2: Halloween Headache

→Chapter 3: You Make Me Go Crazy (SMUT)

💥Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit:

The Elf and the Elk

Red of Rivendell

Mischief

→Mischief: Chapter 1

→Mischief: Chapter 2

→Mischief: Chapter 3

→Mischief: Chapter 4

→Mischief: Chapter 5

→Mischief: Chapter 6

→Mischief: Chapter 7

💥Tangled (2010):

Dirty: Stabbington Brothers/Reader [SMUT]

Works In Progress

If there's anything in particular that you want to see posted, just comment on this post or shoot me a DM, and I'll try to get that one out a bit faster! If you have any questions also feel free to let me know. Some of these were written a while ago and forgotten about but I hate leaving things unfinished.

💥 House of Wax/Halloween:

You Look Like Me (And I Don't Like It): Bo Sinclair x Michael Myers

💥 Friday the 13th/Halloween:

Sharp Love: Jason Voorhees x Michael Myers

Friday the 13th Oneshots: Michael x Jason-Chapter 3

💥 The Collector (Asa Emory):

On Your Own: Professor!Asa Emory x Reader

Never Kiss a Stranger At the Bar: Professor!Asa Emory x Reader

Wrong File: Professor!Asa Emory x Reader

The TA: Professor!Asa Emory x Reader

💥 Hannibal (NBC):

Symphony of Murder: Asa Emory & Hannibal Lecter

💥 Slasher Harem:

House of Horror: Brahms/Asa/Michael/Jason/Harry/Pyramid Head/Bo/Thomas/Ghostface/Jason x Reader

💥 Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit:

Gold and Brown: Lindir x Legolas

Elven Encounters

Taste of Revenge

The Three Hunters: How it Should Have Been

💥 Mo Dao Zu Shi:

No Choice But the Wrong One: Xue Yang x Reader

💥 Banana Fish:

Cold Blue: Frederick Arthur x Reader

💥 Baki:

To Love a Monster: Yujiro x Reader

Triple Doom: Implied Mouth Triplets x Jun Guevaru

💥 Attack on Titan:

Attack on Titan Short Story Collection-Body Swap

💥 Kengan Ashura:

The Shadow That Never Sleeps

Muscle Heads: Ohma x Raian-Chapter 5

Kengan Ashura Oneshots-That's Not a Swimsuit: Ohma Tokita x Reader

Strong, Stronger, and the Strongest: Ohma Tokita x Lihito x Kure Raian

💥 Dragon Ball:

Goku Black x Reader: Forbidden Fruit-Chapter 23

The Devil's Promise: Goku Black x Reader

💥 Record of Ragnarok:

Cherrypop: Buddha x Reader

💥 Toriko:

55 Days to Tame the Beast: Zebra x Reader

💥 Sherlock Holmes (BBC):

The Untold Tales of a Second

💥 Squid Game:

All I See is Pink: Pink Soldiers x Reader

💥 Harry Potter:

Pranking Severus Snape

Mercy for the Brave: Severus Snape x Reader

💥 Marvel-Loki:

Not So Cold: Loki Odinson x Reader

💥 How To Train Your Dragon 3:

DragonSlayer: Grimmel x Reader

Betrothed to a Killer: Grimmel x Reader

[pb-dot]

Film Friday: Bee Movie

I have, on occasion, been accused of being unable to take a joke. As a nerd with an analytical mind and a brain in a frustrating inbetween-y zone of neurodivergence and -typicality, I can see where the criticism comes from. I do however, maintain that I am able to catch jokes, but that I may also chose to opt out of catching the joke if the joke is stupid. This is all to say that many of my criticisms of Bee Movie can be thusly disarmed: relax it's just a dumb comedy. This is fair enough, although I would argue the thing isn't really funny either, but more on that later.

Bee Movie is, in essence a singular breed, a comedian passion project in animated form. Born from the mind of Jerry Seinfeld, this absurd little thing follows the story of one Barry B. Benson, a young bee who, on his first trip outside of the hive, encounters a human woman he falls in love with, as well as the seemingly forbidden knowledge that humans harvest and sell their honey. Now that's a lot to take in, but as it is the only major developments in the movie until a particular groaner in act 3, more on that later, you'll have plenty of time to digest it. Hope you like the inherent absurdity of an adult human man being cucked by a bee for like an hour, because that is, frankly, a lot of it.

Much ado has been made about the beestiality, if you pardon the terrible no good pun everyone and their grandmas have done at this point, but honestly I find it more interesting to view this movie through the lens of economics and politics. Yes, I am serious, I assure you I'm going somewhere with this.

So, in essence what happens in this movie is that a young man discovers that his labor and the labors of his community is being absorbed and used to enrich the people who exploit them. Is man not entitled to the nectar of his brow, and so on and so on. Bee Movie is interesting, I suppose, in that it is a fable-style animal tale that describes capitalist alienation and exploitation and actually goes on to changing that. Shame, I suppose, that the ideas that guide this tale have the stupidest Champagne Liberal-ass take on what succeeding such a task may entail.

See, Barry sues humanity for bees to gain the right to their own honey, an affair that takes up the parts of act 2 that aren't filled with bee-human romance. In the end, the bees pull out a W, which I consider an optimistic estimate to any case where nonhuman sentience in any way is involved, but let's go for it. Humans can't just take the honey any more. Barry B. Benson has single-handedly taken all of beekind into a post-scarcity society, where their ability to produce what is necessary for survival so vastly outstrips their needs as to rend them negligible. Sure, humans can buy the honey from them, but what does a human have that a bee really needs? There's just two small problems. One, "it's just not the same," to quote one character who is so freaked out about not having to work with the threat of a death and destitution hanging over his head he can't function in a world where these swords of damocles are taken away. Two: Complete and utter biosphere collapse.

It is, I believe, pertinent at this point to talk about Bee Facts. See, I firmly believe that knowing about how bees work is a major disadvantage in watching this movie because the movie either doesn't know, or care, the first thing about actual bees in the real world. Barry, for example, comes from a nuclear family type arrangement and not one single egg laying biomonarch, and he is, as far as anyone can tell, a man and not a drone whose only job is doing their part in reproduction. There are those that argue that one should view worker bees as female, and those that argue that imposing an animalian reproduction binary (or should I say beenary?) is incorrect in its entirety. Either way, he probably shouldn't be a suave lad. That's one thing, but I suppose part of "the joke" here is that bees don't act like humans but in this movie they do.

Where this becomes pretty important, though, is in the third act with the aforementioned biosphere collapse. See, one Bee Fact that bee movie does indeed know about is that bees are important pollinators, and now that bees don't have to ride that pollen grind like it's the pony express, plants start dying, and they die a lot. Now never mind that honey bees aren't the only pollinators in the world for a second, even people who know Bee Facts can be guilty of that one. What knowing some Bee Facts will tell you, though, is that this absolutely would not be a problem with honey bees. We know what honey bees do when they produce more honey than they need. It's a process we can see. With our eyes. Once their honey stores are so packed there's no space for new bee larvae to grow, the bees fuck off, leave the hive and the Midas' horde of honey and get started elsewhere. It's not ideal, obviously, but the bees keep at it, they're good at building hives and making honey and by jove they're not going to stop doing that for anything short of fire or storms.

This, to me, is where the movie fails both as a movie about bees and a comedy of "hey what if bees had to exist in capitalism?" It's not a movie about bees because the entire third act would not exist, Barry and all his friends would move hive for like the sixth time that month and otherwise all would be as before. Neither is it a particularly inspired take of "hey what if bees were like humans," because the movie stumbles into a star trek-ass post scarcity situation for these tiny bee-shaped humans and have to bring the fact that they aren't bee-shaped humans but indeed bees (and somehow the only pollinators in the world?) for the movie to go on to have a plot.

I try to not make unflattering psychoanalysis of the people behind movies, whether I like them or not, but on the other hand I don't think I can put into words how heavy the thought "Jerry Seinfeld can't imagine a world where people aren't exploited for their labor because he benefits from that very same system that exploits people for their labor" weighs on my mind when discussing this movie. The movie is so terminally incurious about the ideas it brings to the forefront of its plot that it manages to, with no sense of irony, say that "maybe having to work to live is actually better than the alternative for no particular reason?" There is no room for worker bees to be anything other than just that in Bee Movie's world. They must struggle to survive like the lower classes struggle to survive or the world would end, so says the guy who made a fortune off of (admittedly pretty funny) go-nowhere comedy in the 90s.

In the end, does any of this matter particularly? No, not really. Bee Movie exists now mostly as a meme, a variation of the Shrek ironic enjoyment, although I'd argue the first couple of Shrek movies were actually good movies. Still, I do live under the constant self-imposed pressure of wanting to take movies seriously no matter how obviously flippant they are. That means that some times you write 1.3k+ furious words about the politics of Bee Movie. I suppose we all have our lot in life.

[draguta]

.fairytale of new york | seven.

pairing: professor!bucky x fem!reader

summary: a semester in new york. a handsome man in a bar. whiskey neat. to the lighthouse. christmas lights. this is the tale of a whirlwind romance. a forbidden fairytale. college au.

chapter word count: 2286

warnings: age gap (reader 19, bucky 34), student/teacher relationship

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Y/N

"So, what would we say is Odysseus' main motivation?" Bucky called out, turning back to his class and looking through the crowd of students until his eyes finally landed on you. "Y/N?"

You glanced up from your laptop at the sound of your name, your eyes catching Bucky's. You thought about the question for a while, taking in Bucky's smirk as he waited for your answer; he had clearly picked you on purpose, testing whether or not you had been paying attention or had been daydreaming about that morning in the shower. It was definitely the latter.

"Well, I think it's clear that Odysseus' chief motivation throughout the novel is his desire for homecoming, a notion in heroic culture that encouraged bravery in war by reminding warriors and soldiers of the people that they are fighting for back home," you explained, your own smirk mirroring his as you answered the question perfectly. But Bucky wasn't finished.

"Would you care to expand on that a little more?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Odysseus' return represents the transition from his life as a warrior on the battlefield, back to his life as a husband, father, and the head of his household," you continued, wanting to prove yourself to Bucky. "That would explain why Odysseus is ultimately motivated by a desire to reclaim these elements of his identity and once again become the person that he was before he left for the war."

You didn't miss Bucky's grin at your answer, one that lasted only a second before his mask as your professor was once again placed over his expression.

"Very good, Y/N," he said, and you beamed down at him from your seat on the third row next to Yelena. "Be sure to include that analysis in your paper this week."

He shot you a quick wink, and you felt the blush rising in your cheeks. You glanced around the room quickly, scanning your peers to make sure no one had seen it, until your eyes landed on Liz, sitting right in the front row. But she wasn't looking at Bucky, or her notes. Instead her eyes were trained on you, glaring at you between the heads of your classmates.

You couldn't hold her gaze, quickly looking away, nerves creeping into your stomach like butterflies. You glanced back at Bucky to check if he had seen it, but he was already addressing the rest of the class, seemingly in professor mode once more.

"Ok guys, that's it for today," he called out, returning to his desk. "Don't forget that your papers are due on Friday, and I want them on my desk before the end of the day."

The class began to gather their things, and you quickly followed in their wake, shoving your laptop and notebook into your bag and throwing it over your shoulder as fast as you could.

"Woah, where's the fire?" Yelena asked, raising a brow as she watched you shoot from your seat and rush towards the stairs.

"There's just something I need to take care of," you explained, before rushing away. You didn't have time to explain it now. You had to catch Liz before she disappeared into the crowd - you could explain everything to Yelena later.

You pushed your way down the stairs, squeezing through the crowd, throwing Bucky a look as you passed by his desk, to which he gave you a reassuring nod. You spotted Liz's head over the others and pushed through the hoard of people until you were finally right behind her, tapping her on the shoulder. She paused, turning round, a look of surprise written on her perfect features.

"Do you think we could grab a coffee?" You asked, flustered. "I need to talk to you."

Neither you nor Liz said a single word as you ordered and collected your drinks from the counter at the coffee shop, although there was an unspoken agreement that you would take your drinks to go, not wanting to have this conversation in somewhere as intimate as a coffee shop, especially when it was right beside campus; anyone could walk in at any time and hear what they were saying.

You walked for around ten minutes before Liz eventually spoke up, just as they were nearing the park nearby the college campus.

"So, I think I know what you wanted to talk to me about," she said quietly, her eyes seemingly refusing to meet yours, instead staring straight ahead at the path before them. You sighed, trying to find the right words to express what you wanted to say.

"Why would you do it, Liz?" You asked finally, kicking your feet on the gravel. "I mean, I know we're not really friends, but I didn't think you would ever do anything like this."

"Why wouldn't I?" She shrugged. "Is it right to sleep with a professor for good grades? Do you think that's fair on the rest of the class?"

Her words were laced with venom, but you couldn't see the anger there.

"Do you really think that's why I'm doing this?" You asked, with a frown. "You think I'm doing it for good grades? Does that really sound like something I would do?"

"I honestly don't know," she replied with a fierce shrug. "Why else would you do it? But the thing is, Y/N, the rest of us suffer from you getting special treatment."

"Professor Barnes doesn't give me special treatment," you countered. "When we're in the classroom or at school, he treats me exactly like every other student."

"Then explain to me why you're at the top of the class?" She argued. "When I'm still at the bottom."

And you finally realised; she wasn't angry at the situation, or at Bucky, she was frustrated with you.

"This isn't about Professor Barnes, is it?" You asked slowly, piecing together the hints that she had given you to try and make the full story. "This is about me."

Liz paused, turning to look at you, her long strides coming to a stop in the middle of the path, her dark eyes finally turning to look at you.

"It's not fair."

It was a simple statement, yet there was so much pain in her voice, so much disappointment and resentment in her tone, and for the first time since you'd met her you actually felt sorry for her.

"I get good grades because I work hard. I do extra credit work, I'm always studying, I do anything I can to keep my grades up," you explained. "Professor Barnes doesn't have anything to do with that."

She let out a small laugh, glancing down at her feet awkwardly.

"To be honest, I think I already knew that," she said quietly. "I just-Honestly I'm jealous. You have everything, everything seems so simple for you. You get amazing grades, you're so smart, you're beautiful without even trying, you have a guy like Professor Barnes falling at your feet. And if I want any of those things, I have to work so hard."

You smiled slightly, and when Liz looked up and saw your expression she frowned in confusion.

"You really think I have it easy?" You laughed. "Liz, I basically have no social life because I'm always either in the library or at my desk working and studying. Half the time I look like a complete slob! And honestly? I'm as surprised that Professor Barnes is interested in me as you are, but it's more than just sleeping together. He's important to me, in a way that I've never experienced with any other guy before."

Liz paused, considering what you had said, before looking back up at you. "I'm sorry, ok? I'll delete the video, I never should have sent it in the first place," she said. "I guess I just wanted, for once, to one-up you."

You nodded in understanding, throwing your hand out towards her with a smile. "Friends?"

She pushed your hand away, instead pulling you into a tight hug; she smelled like lemons, although with the way that she held herself, that shouldn't be something that surprised you.

"Friends," she agreed. The pair of you began to walk again, and the tension that had been seated between you earlier was now gone. "Maybe you can help me study sometime? I want to raise my grade."

"Anytime."

You arrived at Bucky's apartment a little after 8:00pm. You and Liz had spent the rest of the afternoon together, heading out for frozen yoghurt, with Liz firing 101 questions at you about Bucky. She had almost lost her mind when you'd called him by his first name rather than 'Professor Barnes', and had apologised profusely for any trouble that she had caused.

When you tried the handle you found that the door was already open, and letting yourself inside you rid yourself of your coat and bag, leaving them by the door.

"Good news!" You called out as you made your way through the apartment towards the lounge. "Liz is going to delete the video, and weirdly I think we're friends now!"

But when you reached the lounge you didn't find Bucky sitting in the armchair with a book like you had expected. Instead, the lights were dimmed, candles placed around the entire room. Three candles sat in the center of the coffee table where two plates of pasta were sitting waiting to be eaten. There was a jar of red roses over a red tablecloth that looked suspiciously like the spare blanket from his bedroom.

That was when Bucky appeared from the kitchen, a glass of red wine in each hand, his cat, Alpine, following closely behind him, rubbing up against his legs.

"Hey doll," he smiled, handing you a glass of wine. He looked delectable, wearing a dark blue suit with a crisp white shirt underneath, the top three buttons undone to show a hint of his chest.

"Bucky, what's going on?" You laughed in astonishment as he took your hand and led you to the coffee table. You hadn't noticed it before, but two of the cushions from the couch had been placed on either side of the table, and he guided you to one of them, helping you to sit down cross-legged by the table, Alpine immediately jumping into you lap and making herself comfortable.

"I know that there's been a lot going on recently, and I wanted to do something just for us," he explained with a smile as he sat down opposite you. "For you."

You couldn't help beaming at the thought as he reached forward and clinked his glass against yours. He had done this just for you. Not as an apology, or so that you'd fall into bed with him, but because he genuinely wanted to, wanted to make you happy.

"Bucky, this is…" you trailed off as his eyes caught yours, blue boring into yours. You got lost in them for a second, an ocean blue that you could simply dive into. "This is perfect."

"You're perfect." You felt as though you could cry; this was everything that you wanted for you and Bucky, to simply be happy, with no worries and nothing to get in your way. You knew that, right now, that wasn't possible, but even just for tonight, you could both forget that, you could play pretend. "That's why I got this made for you."

He placed something on the table, something shiny and small, and slid it over to you. You picked it up, glancing down at it in the palm of your hand. A key.

"It's for this place, a key to my apartment," he explained, and your eyes shot up to meet his in surprised joy. "We might not be able to be together out there, but in here we can be anything we want to be."

"Bucky…" you said quietly, your hand coming to rest over your mouth, tears beginning to well up in your eyes.

"Don't. Don't say anything." He reached over, taking your hand in his, placing a sweet kiss to your knuckles. "This apartment is a safe haven for us. Here, no one can tell us what to do, or how to be. And as my girlfriend, that's all I want for you."

"Girlfriend?" Your eyes widened at the title, your heart beating three times the normal speed. He brought a hand to the back of his neck, scratching there awkwardly, a habit that you realised he brought out whenever he was struggling to emote what he was trying to say.

"If you'll have me?" He asked quietly. "If you want me?"

You smiled, a tear trickling down your cheek.

"Bucky, that's all I want." He reached forward, wiping the tear from your cheek, and that was when you noticed it, the music playing in the background. "Is this my favourite song?"

"Halley's Comet," he confirmed, and you let another tear slip as the song played gently in the background.

In my dreams I seem to be more honest, and I must admit you've been in quite a few.

"I didn't mean to make you cry, doll," Bucky whispered gently, cupping your cheek in his hand. "Please don't cry."

My sleepless nights are better with you than nights could ever be alone.

"I'm crying because I'm happy," was all you could reply. "So, so happy."

I've been loved before but right now in this moment, it feels more and more like I was made for you.

Bucky pulled you close to his chest, and you closed your eyes, taking in his scent, your favourite smell in the world. You never wanted this moment to end.

| @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer | @moonlightreader649 |

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Timeless soulmates p.2

Hii guyss I hope you enjoy the fourth story of my Spooky Friday series, here's part 1. If you want to read the other ones you can find them on my masterlist :)

When a history student unearths a forgotten tale of forbidden love, she unknowingly releases a presence bound by time and longing, leading her into a darkly romantic mystery where the past may hold her heart captive forever.

The night air is thick with silence, the shadows from the old trees pooling around you both as Charles holds your gaze. His voice is deep, as though drawing from a memory that runs far deeper than mere words.

“We met in the strangest of ways,” he begins, his mouth curving into a bittersweet smile. “You had crept into my castle’s garden one night. You were stealing herbs, no doubt for one of the villagers, or perhaps your family. And I—” he hesitates, the memory flickering across his face. “I watched you from the shadows, planning to capture you for trespassing.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine, and he steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that’s both familiar and unknown. “But as I moved closer, something in me… changed. When I saw you, saw the way the moonlight touched your face, the look of defiance in your eyes as you searched through the night… I couldn’t do it. I’d planned to confront you, but I was captivated instead.”

You don’t know whether to pull away or lean in closer. The story he’s telling sounds impossible, yet something about it resonates with a strange ache inside you.

“I fell in love with you that night, without a word exchanged between us,” he continues softly, his gaze never leaving yours. “In the nights that followed, you returned again and again. Each time, I waited, and each time, I was helpless against this feeling that bound me to you.”

“The villagers warned you to stay away, to fear me, but I knew… I knew you were different. That night, in my garden, I saw it in your eyes—a courage unlike anything I’d ever known. And though I knew I should keep my distance, but I couldn’t.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine as he speaks, as though his words are casting a spell around you, one that’s pulling you deeper into his tale. “And that’s when you told me,” he says, his voice softening. “You told me you knew what I was. And that you loved me regardless.”

You draw in a breath, startled. “You… you’re saying I knew you were—”

“A vampire,” he finishes. “Yes. And though the village feared me, you loved me still. It was that love that bound us together.” His voice falters, as though the memory alone wounds him. “It was that love that would ultimately lead to our separation.”

He steps closer, his presence wrapping around you like a dark embrace. “That night, when they came for me, we fled together, disappearing into the forest. And in that quiet darkness, we made a promise—a bond of magic, forged in our blood and words. That no matter what happened, our love would keep us bound, through life or death. Nothing would tear us apart.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his story drawing you in, each word stirring up something deep and aching inside you.

“But they found us.” His voice drops to a whisper, as though saying it louder would bring back the horrors of that night. “And they tore you from me… forever. They struck you down, and as I watched, they forced me into that crypt—condemned to an eternity without you.”

You take a shaky breath, barely able to process the weight of what he’s saying. And yet, looking at him, at the way he gazes at you with a desperate familiarity, you can’t shake the feeling that somehow… this story is true. It’s too strange, too powerful to be anything else.

“Now,” he says, his hand reaching out toward you, “you’ve returned to me, as we promised. Our bond brought you back, just as I knew it would. And I am free… to love you again. To keep you safe, this time.”

You take a step back, heart racing, confusion and wonder mixing together. “This can’t… it doesn’t seem real.”

But as you look at him—at his face, his eyes, his presence—everything in you whispers that he isn’t lying. You’ve felt it ever since you opened that crypt, a feeling that something was watching, waiting. And now, as he stands here, that feeling feels like it’s finally come home.

“What… what was my name?” you ask, almost afraid to know.

He smiles, the sadness slipping away, replaced with something tender. “Amélie,” he says, his voice soft, almost reverent. “You were my Amélie.”

The name rings through you like a bell, familiar and distant all at once. You don’t remember the life he’s describing, yet somehow, in his presence, you feel closer to it than ever before. And as he steps closer, a hand lifting to cup your cheek, the world around you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, bound by a promise made across centuries.

“Now that we’re together again,” he whispers, his thumb brushing gently over your skin, “nothing will separate us, my love. Not this time.”

And despite every rational thought, you find yourself leaning into his touch, part of you feeling as though you’ve been waiting for this moment for lifetimes.

Charles’s hand moves to cradle your face, his touch achingly gentle as he gazes at you, his eyes filled with a love so deep it feels like it’s carving its way into your soul. He leans in, and as his lips brush against yours, warmth spreads through you, soft and consuming. His kiss is slow, like he’s savoring every second, like he’s been waiting centuries for this one perfect moment.

As his lips press against yours, memories begin to break through in flashes, flooding your mind. You see yourself in that midnight garden, surrounded by moonlit flowers, his figure stepping out of the shadows. You feel the thrill of that first touch, the wonder as he looked at you with something close to reverence. His whispers of promises, the warmth of his embrace as you vowed to be together forever. The fear as you both ran through the dark woods, clutching each other in desperation.

And the grief—your last sight of him as they tore you away, his eyes filled with helpless horror.

The memories come crashing down, filling you with the weight of a love that survived death itself. You pull him closer, deepening the kiss as if trying to make up for all the lost years, for every stolen moment. His hand slides down to your waist, holding you firmly as if he’ll never let you go again.

When you finally pull back, breathless, tears are slipping down your cheeks, and he brushes them away with his thumb, his eyes bright with emotion.

“Amélie,” he whispers, the name like a vow on his lips. “You remember.”

You nod, feeling the weight of a thousand lifetimes, of a love that’s spanned centuries. “Yes, Charles. I remember everything.”

A smile, tender and triumphant, breaks across his face, and he pulls you close, pressing his forehead against yours. “We have a second chance,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. “Nothing will separate us now. We’re finally free to be together, just as we promised.”

You lean into his embrace, feeling like every piece of you has fallen into place, like the two halves of your soul have been joined again. And as you stand there, wrapped in his arms, you know that this is the end of a long, agonizing journey—and the beginning of the forever you’d both dreamed of.

With the stars overhead and the weight of eternity lifted, you smile up at him, your heart overflowing with joy. “Forever,” you whisper, and he smiles, kissing you once more.

Tag list :

@alldaysdreamers

[rockislandadultreads]

Read-Alike Friday: Atalanta by Jennifer Saint

The Witch’s Heart by Genevieve Gornichec

Angrboda's story begins where most witches' tales end: with a burning. A punishment from Odin for refusing to provide him with knowledge of the future, the fire leaves Angrboda injured and powerless, and she flees into the farthest reaches of a remote forest. There she is found by a man who reveals himself to be Loki, and her initial distrust of him transforms into a deep and abiding love.

Their union produces three unusual children, each with a secret destiny, who Angrboda is keen to raise at the edge of the world, safely hidden from Odin's all-seeing eye. But as Angrboda slowly recovers her prophetic powers, she learns that her blissful life—and possibly all of existence—is in danger.

With help from the fierce huntress Skadi, with whom she shares a growing bond, Angrboda must choose whether she’ll accept the fate that she's foreseen for her beloved family…or rise to remake their future. From the most ancient of tales this novel forges a story of love, loss, and hope for the modern age.

Ithaca by Clarie North

Seventeen years ago, King Odysseus sailed to war with Troy, taking with him every man of fighting age from the island of Ithaca. None of them has returned, and the women of Ithaca have been left behind to run the kingdom.

Penelope was barely into womanhood when she wed Odysseus. While he lived, her position was secure. But now, years on, speculation is mounting that her husband is dead, and suitors are beginning to knock at her door.

No one man is strong enough to claim Odysseus' empty throne—not yet. But everyone waits for the balance of power to tip, and Penelope knows that any choice she makes could plunge Ithaca into bloody civil war. Only through cunning, wit, and her trusted circle of maids, can she maintain the tenuous peace needed for the kingdom to survive.

This is the first volume in “The Songs of Penelope” series.

Phaedra by Laura Shepperson 

Phaedra has been cast to the side all her life: daughter of an adulteress, sister of a monster, and now unwilling bride to the much-older, power-hungry Theseus. Young, naïve, and idealistic, she has accepted her lot in life, resigned to existing under the sinister weight of Theseus’s control and the constant watchful eye of her handsome stepson Hippolytus.

When supposedly pious Hippolytus assaults her, Phaedra’s world is darkened in the face of untouchable, prideful power. In the face of injustice, Phaedra refuses to remain quiet any longer: such an awful truth demands to be brought to light. When Phaedra publicly accuses Hippolytus of rape, she sparks an overdue reckoning.

The men of Athens gather to determine the truth. Meanwhile, the women of the city, who have no vote, are gathering in the shadows. The women know truth is a slippery thing in the hands of men. There are two sides to every story, and theirs has gone unheard. Until now.

Daughter of the Moon Goddess by Sue Lynn Tan

Growing up on the moon, Xingyin is accustomed to solitude, unaware that she is being hidden from the feared Celestial Emperor who exiled her mother for stealing his elixir of immortality. But when Xingyin’s magic flares and her existence is discovered, she is forced to flee her home, leaving her mother behind.

Alone, powerless, and afraid, she makes her way to the Celestial Kingdom, a land of wonder and secrets. Disguising her identity, she seizes an opportunity to learn alongside the emperor's son, mastering archery and magic, even as passion flames between her and the prince.

To save her mother, Xingyin embarks on a perilous quest, confronting legendary creatures and vicious enemies across the earth and skies. But when treachery looms and forbidden magic threatens the kingdom, she must challenge the ruthless Celestial Emperor for her dream—striking a dangerous bargain in which she is torn between losing all she loves or plunging the realm into chaos.

This is the first volume in “The Celestial Kingdom Duology” series. 

[traumendesmadchen]

Now that our visual novel Chronotopia: Second Skin has been released, we’re starting an event called ✨Fairytale Friday✨. Every Friday, we’ll discuss a tale from the game’s archives! 😃

Last time we mentioned Beauty & the Beast. Did you know there was a Breton variation? In "Les Petites Coudées", the heroine is a princess named Dusk who gets lost in the forest & reaches a castle made of crystal 🏰💎.

The mistress is a White Cat 🐱, the servants are tiny people no bigger than a cubit ("coudée" in French) & the Beast is actually a friendly little snake Dusk is forbidden to talk to 🐍. It’s honestly a rather charming tale!

But of course none of this matters in Chronotopia, it's just a quick reference 😊. I thought I would share it nonetheless~

💜 You can buy Chronotopia on Steam💜

[polizwrites]

PoliZ’s WIP Update - 22 Nov 2023

Combining last week & this – I was on vacation and on the go, so didn’t manage much in terms of a word count.  I touched 3  fics (3 WIPs)  for a total of  1139 words.

On Ao3, I posted: 

No Sensation to Compare With This -  1990’s AU with Rhodey and Tony meeting Carol and Maria at a bar just off base before a test flight.  (Tony/Maria endgame)

A Close Call - pre-War Stucky with pining!Bucky and love confessions.

Beaten to the Punch -  WinterIron College AU - Tony & Bucky as camp counselors with mutual pining.  

I have  18 semi-active WIPs  😬 with my  current  deadlines being  the WinterIron Bingo which wraps on 16 Dec and Stucky’Verse Bingo which wraps on 22 Dec.  

See  below cut for what I’m working on/planning to work on - arranged more or less by bingos/challenges/etc.  As always, feel free to send me   prompts or plot bunnies as well as asks regarding  any of these projects  or any other WIPs I’ve got out there.   Interaction really helps feed the Muse and keep me motivated!

Seek & Destroy Collab

After reading @psychiccatpanda‘s amazing   Morguna and the Green Queen, I  got the itch to explore the Soldier’s POV and talked  Faustie into   collab’ing with me!  We’re working on a new part of the series, and I’ve  contributed about 900 words towards the  2500-ish we have so far.   Going to see if I can squeeze any of my BBB squares into this fic.

WinterIron Bingo  - [WIB_R1]   (Ends 16 Dec 2023)

I have twenty-one  fills completed for this brand-new bingo event that I’m helping mod! 

* B column squares for the Iron Soldier badge (complete a bingo with a single work). – Alpha Tony Stark, “That was not my intention.”, James Rhodes, Alpine loves Tony and Blind date.   Need to figure out an angle on this - possible remix of  A Sugar-Coated Pill?

* G4 - AU: College Students –  Posted  Beaten to the Punch this morning - WinterIron mutual pining College AU  that crosses over with my Volunteering Together square.  It came in at 553 words.

N3 - FREE - filling this with  Somewhere To Turn - a WinterIron No Powers AU with mall security!Bucky and  young!runaway!Tony. It’s crossing over with my BBB Cold square -  I’ve tweaked it a bit since posting on Tumblr (coming in at 881 words) and it will go up on Ao3 1 Dec.   

* O5 - Gentle – use this poem as inspiration?

Stucky’Verse Bingo Round 1 - [SVB_R1]   (Ends 22 Dec)

Thirteen  fills, two WIPs and a couple of ideas.

* A1 - Harem - crossover with CABB Secret/Forbidden Relationship - Bucky and shrimpy!Steve are both concubines who love each other more than their lord. I poked at this a little for 71 words.

* B4 - Sugar Daddy -  looking for inspiration - combining with CABB  Nov Adoptable: Sugar Baby.  Possibly shrimpy!Steve and beefy!Bucky?   

* A4 - Fairy Tale Curse  - this seems custom-made for a continuation of Beyond the Beast😁  Nothing written yet, other than some Vague Ideas.  

* C3 - FREE -  probably using this for Chapter 2 of   Half of the Flesh and Blood That Makes Me Whole   - a Bucky POV remix of at least the first part of Take What Was Wrong (And Make it Right), which is currently sitting at  52 words.  I’m expecting at least one more chapter, possibly two, depending on how far I want to take the remix.   

C5 - Last Resort -  Posted  A Close Call  to Ao3 last Friday.  A pre-war Stucky ficlet with protective!pining!Bucky - also filled my HHB  Dealing with Extreme Cold,  and WFB -  Huddling for warmth squares  (250 words) along with Whumptober Delirium prompt. It came in at 827 words. 

Bucky Barnes Bingo  - [BBB_R5]   (Ends 10 Jan 2024)

I’ve got  sixteen fills,  four WIPs,   and a couple more Vague ideas.

* B5 - Cold  - see WIB  FREE square

* U3 - Fireplace -  Working on a 1980′s No Powers WinterIron fic set at a ski lodge where Tony’s being wooed by poetry and love letters that Bucky wrote to someone else.   Started poking at this as a crossover with a Love Letters prompt and it’s sitting at 129 words.

* C2 - Yelena Belova–   The plan is to use this prompt in the next chapter of Peresmešnik,  (aka Three Avengers and a Baby), which is currently sitting at 1303 words (600-ish of which are mine).

* C3 - FREE  - the October BBB Discord party resulted in a hilarious Mob AU communal story  (mobster!Bucky & clueless!Steve plus Clint&Natasha&Scott shenanigans)   that several of us did/are going to contribute to Rashomon-style.  

* C5 - Marriage of Convenience/Pretend Couple -  next chapter of   Lady Natasha’s Consort and Lord Steve’s Companion.    Got a spark of an idea the other day that might get me a bit further on this fic.  

* K3 - Magic -  Aro!Bucky healing with a kiss idea?

* Y3 - Alpine  - see WIB Iron Soldier combo.

* Y4 - Forgotten Things -   using this for Chapter 4 of   You Can’t Stop It With a Gun  - it’s sitting at  116 words at the moment.

* May Adopted - Insomnia - finally got this filled with The Dead of Night, which also filled a Flash Fiction Friday prompt [#FFF211 An Old Friend] along with my JBB FREE square. It came in at 317 words and will post to Ao3 before this event ends.

* August Adopted: Take the Shot - sounds like a WinterHawk fic to me… maybe cross over with JBB Touch-starved?  Whumptober/Fictober possibilities as well. 

Tony Stark Bingo Round 7  - [TSB_R7]   (ends 15 Feb)

Seventeen  fills and one WIPs, with a couple of ideas in play.  

* S1 - Galaxy - possibly use in final chapter of   Never More to Go Astray ?  

* T2 - KINK: Cock-blocking 'bots -  I still want to combine this with  the  Fictober Day 27: prompt   "I don't know if they will accept this."   

* T3 - A pairing you've never done -  Posted   No Sensation to Compare With This  – inspired by @rebelmeg’s  Wingmen and Airmen, Flirting and Flying  - it’s a remix/spinoff of the first chapter, where Tony flirts with Maria Rambeau while Rhodey and Carol get to know one another better. It came in at 1093 words. 

* T5 - Shawarma - possible crossover with SAUB Canon Divergence – Battle of New York-related?

* A2 - KINK: Concubine - possible crossover with SAUB Gentle Dom

* A3 -  FREE  – @SomeSortofItalianRoast and I are looking at collabing on a  Steve/Tony/Scott fic - maybe throw in a Comfortember prompt?  

* R5 - Doppelganger/Evil Twins -   The Flash Fiction Friday prompt [#FFF214 Broken Mirror] got me at least a good start on the idea I’ve been playing with for this square. I posted NamNori on Tumblr and have a general idea of how I want to build on it to also fill my SAUB AU: Crack square. It’s currently sitting at 360 words.

Stony AUniverse Bingo  [SAUB_R1] (ends 15 Feb)

Another brand-new bingo I’m helping co-mod!   Six fills, three WIPs and several  crossover ideas already!

* S1 - Edging - Filled this with Ringing in the New, where Tony makes a suggestion to improve/change up their love life. It’s a crossover with a Flash Fiction Friday prompt: How Do You Use ‘It’? and came in at 324 words - I will post it to Ao3 before the event is over.

* S2 - AU: Crack - see TSB   Doppelganger/Evil Twins

* S3 - AU: Wings - see SVB FREE square

* S5 - Accidental Baby Acquisition - see BBB Yelena Belova

* T1 - AU: Fantasy -  CoffeeOwl shared a really cool dragon!Steve/indebted!Tony prompt in the ACB Discord server that I may be playing with for this.

* T4 - AU: Canon Divergence - see TSB Shawarma above.

* O2 - Omegaverse - I have a Vague Idea inspired by  @kandisheek’s lovely art piece.  

* N2 - Mutual Pining - crossover with CABB Royal Knight?

* N3 - Gentle Dom - see TSB KINK: Concubine above

* N5 - AU: Multiple Identities - Posted  The Secrets We Keep  to Tumblr.  It’s a first person alternating POV ficlet with mutual pining (and secret identity) Stony.   It came in at 314 words and will get posted to Ao3 before the event ends. 

* Y4 - AU: Soulmates  -  @chrissihr  posted a cool idea about Animated soulmarks, where  only your SM sees your mark move - may try to do something with this!  

Captain (America) Bottom Bingo - Round 2 [CABB] (ends 28 Feb 2024)

I signed up for a 3x3 card for this bingo and have four fills, one WIPs and a couple of crossover ideas.

* A2 - Secret/Forbidden Relationship - see SVB Harem

* B3 - Royal Knight - see SAUB Mutual Pining.

* Nov Adoptable: Sugar Baby - see SVB  Sugar Daddy.

Post July Break Bingo  [JBB_23p] (Ends Apr 2024)

One fill on my  2x3 non-fandom-specific card - still working on  potential crossovers.

* A1 - “It’s you. It’s always been you.” - This might fit in with my TSB Doppelgangers/Evil Twins fill NamNori above :: ponders::

* B2 - Character’s personality is split into two different beings – I’ve never played with Bucky & the Soldier being two different people, but this seems like the perfect opportunity! Will see what might be a good crossover on BBB or WIB (or even SVB)

*  C1 - Touch Starved – another good fit for a Bucky-centric fic. (Steve or Tony or Clint) possibly crossover with BBB Take the shot?

Steve Rogers Bingo - Round 3 [SRB_R3] (ends  15 Jun 2024)

One fill  - need to ponder possible crossovers, especially with SAUB, SBV   & CABB.  

* C5 - Exes to Lovers  - crossover with  CABB - "B1 - "All I wanted was for you to be happy."  – Bucky or Tony as the Ex?   SAUB S4 - Arranged Marriage  might be an additional crossover  

* D1 - Multiple Submissives -  crossover with  CABB - C3 - Bath/shower sex  and SAUB  Y1 - Pre-Serum Steve Rogers?  

Build-A-Bucky Bingo [BaBB_R1]

Another fun year-long  event from the folks at  @buckybarnesevents!  Each month there’s a list of prompts and you choose (at least) one  each month for your card!

* November:  Crackfic  - see  BBB K4 - Accidental villany

Warm and Fluffy   Bingo  - [WFB]   (no end date)

Four  fills on my card, courtesy of   @warmandfluffybingocards  

* N1 - Wingman -  see  TSB A pairing you've never done. 

* G2 - Huddling for warmth - see  SVB  Last Resort. 

 * O5 - Volunteering Together – see WIB AU: College Students

————

On  other creative fronts:  I am working on a DuckTales   Stuffed With Character figure for a commission and have gotten the requests from all three   Marvel Trumps Hate  auction winners - seven figures total!

If  you’re looking for one of a kind gifts for birthdays or other celebrations (besides this coming Christmas), check  out Stuffed With Character    over on Facebook for a full list of my designs (now over 150!).   These soft stuffed figures are  mostly Marvel and monsters, but I have some Star Wars, Star Trek, DC   and Disney figures as well. Plus I love to take custom design   requests  for any fandom!

[ohnoseptember]

birthday (blues) / that time of the year i feel like i am at the bottom of the pit

I turn 23 in 8 days. I’m counting friends like money, I’ve got barely any of either. One best friend I’ve had since school, 7 years of her and I. We’re making plans, but I’m too nervous to say the wrong thing and upsetting her. The second my phone starts dinging with notifications continuously, I immediately pick it up, too afraid to respond to her a little too late and have her mad at me. Or too afraid to miss my father’s death when he lives an hour too long from my place. I’m too nervous to say the wrong thing to the person I say is the love of my life too. In the 2 years I’ve known of him, I’ve always bit my tongue and held back so much. I’ve questioned within if I ever made the right choice marrying him in front of a thousand people on a hot Sunday afternoon. In all honesty, I don’t even remember if it was a Saturday or Sunday. 

Your 20s are supposed to be about liberation and freedom, about loving, losing and learning. My 20s have become about suppressing memories and forgetting everything from yesterday, from a year back, from 5 years back. I don’t remember my wedding, or my graduation. All I remember lately is the people I loved, how much I loved them, how I lost them and this I don’t need to remember because it happens daily, but the hurt from losing them. I remember my cat, being 16 and its parcel of truths and the words to songs I heard first a decade back.

Your 20s are supposed to be about living fearlessly, risking it all and growing. My 20s have become about immediately apologising for mistakes I made and mistakes I didn’t, apologising immediately after a fight that lasts a total of 3 minutes, apologising for being too early or too late. My 20s have become about being too afraid to end the call with my mom without saying I love her, too afraid to sleep upset with the man who won’t remember why I got mad in the first place by the time he wakes up, too afraid to step out of my house and wanting to stay alone all the time. 

I’m counting health issues like regrets, I’ve got plenty of both. Jobs, houses, kids and I feel too young to be wondering about any of this. A loveless marriage where I blow my candles in secret because he has decreed that "birthday" is a forbidden word, and an illicit affair that only sees me when the whole city sleeps and the only sound is of the keys unlocking the gate, they go hand in hand it seems.

Every year, September comes and I see people I look up to celebrate their lives, their art. I am reminded why I love this month so much, the joy of sharing a month with people who don’t know me but I feel like I’ve known them my whole life, the despair of turning older but not any happier, the happiness of being safe, secure and a family that loves me, the grief of all the piling regrets and unaccomplished resolutions and goals. 

It’s tiring being 23 already, and I’ve still got 8 days left. 

I’ll make more resolutions, and tell myself it’ll get better although my brain has convinced itself it won’t. It doesn’t know what "better" is. 

Maybe this is as good as it gets, and if it is, I’ll be grateful regardless. I’ll learn to be grateful. 

And if it’s meant to get better, I’ll wait patiently and pray I make the right choices. 

The number 23 feels scary, daunting, mournful and no good emotions so far. I don't want to be alone for what feels like a walk through a horror house. I'm not, I'll tell myself. I'll read myself bedtime stories, dream of more tales when I make my own birthday cake, and come up with cliffhangers as I cook my birthday dinner.

I'll be eating alone on a Friday night at home, I'll hear jazz and I'll sleep early.

This is 23, my loneliness loves it and hates it.