#thorne's writing challenge

[sunnymoon-sunshine]

Another thought I’ve been having relates back to The Scorching, the history behind it, and how much of a good twist it was to throw out. I don’t know if it was planned or a convenient retcon, but it works on so many levels thanks to the themes already present. It also leads to some interesting theories.

Burn could never have been queen. The first action we see her do in the books is destroy an egg due to hatch within the next few nights. It’s cruel, and most of all, it sealed her fate. The kingdoms were founded on the blood and tears of furious mothers, broken hearted from losing their eggs and determined to keep their broods safe. Burn couldn’t have been queen, because that is not what a queen should be. Thorn takes the throne because she took over a city, created an army, and fought tooth and claw to find and save her lost dragonet, despite the odds.

Glory takes the throne because she is the dragonet who should have been cared for. She should have been seen, noticed, and saved. She wants to be queen not to have the nicest things, but because someone should care when a dragonet disappears. The first dragon she rescues is a dragonet. She is worthy because Grandeur gave up on her dragonets and her tribe, but Glory refused to give up.

Coral isn’t a good dragon; her abuses and her absolute classist nature are abhorrent. However, she is marked by her craze as she watched as so many of her daughters were crushed in their eggs. The horror of losing a child is what marks a queen, in some shape or form. Orca was not worthy of the throne, because before she even challenged her mother, she devised a way to kill every dragonet that could challenge her before they so much as crawled out of their egg.

What one truly has to wonder is when the rules changed. When did it become a rule that to become queen, there had to be a fight to the death? When did mothers find themselves pitted against daughters, sisters, nieces, all for the power of the throne she has? Who came up with the deadly challenge?

One can only wonder.

[jerzwriter]

It always starts somewhere...

This is my entry for Day one of @choicesjanuary2024 January Challenge. I hope you enjoy it!

Book: Crimes of Passion (post book 2) Pairing: Trystan Thorne x Carolina Rose Category: Fluff with a dash of angst Rating: Teen Words: 1,200 Summary: It's a tradition. A day Carolina always looks forward to, even if it's filled with bittersweet memories. But tonight, the tradition starts anew, with Trystan by her side.

Darkness had already enveloped the city as Carolina drew the curtains. Her face bright with anticipation, she gazed out her bedroom window onto the street below. There was only one thing on her mind as she mindlessly twirled the crystal flute of Chardonnay in her hand, nearly forgetting it was there. But the moment she remembered, she eagerly brought the glass to her lips, savoring the rich, oaky flavor as it swirled over her tongue, warming her more than the roaring fire ever could.

Despite the dipping temperature, she slipped off her cardigan and tossed it on a nearby chair. Eyes still focused on the freezing pavement, and she couldn't help but smile. This wasn’t the first time she had practiced this ritual; it was practically as old as she was, even its practices had been amended over the years. The ceramic mug her father bought for her when they saw Annie was no longer in her hand. The delicious aroma of the hot cocoa that had filled it was also gone, just like her father, who once sat at her side.  

The unwelcome visitor was drawing near. Sadness, reaching in and gripping her as it often did made her eyes flicker away, but she turned back with determination. No! Sadness and despair would not win today; not on a night as special as this. Her fingers traced the rim of the crystal chalice that her father had used years before. The only one she’d consider using today.

“Ves eso, Papi?” she whispered into the deafening silence. “Any moment now.”

He must have entered quietly, or perhaps she was too distracted to hear him because his breath was warm on her neck and his arms gently encircled her waist before she heard a sound. Then, she had to laugh. Was she even a detective after all?

“What will be any moment now?” Trystan whispered, brushing her hair to the side and placing gentle kisses on her freshly exposed skin. She leaned into him, a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding escaping her as she melted into his arms. Just like that, all was right with the world.

“Mi Vida,” she smiled. “This is a very important night.”

His eyes widened for a quick moment... concerned he had forgotten an important date. Then, his expression softened as he recalled the stormy forecast.

“That’s right,” he grinned. “The first snowfall of the year.”

“Mmm hmm,” she nodded. “More importantly, our first snowfall together.”

“I see you have your father’s wine glass,” he smiled. “And the curtains are drawn, so you have everything you need.”

She gently placed the glass on the table beside her and turned to face him; her eyes lingering on his moonlit features. “At least I do now." Her lips moved toward his, claiming them as her own in warm, comforting kiss.

“Mmm-mmmh,” he simpered before playfully pulling away. “Oh, no, Lina. No way. I’ve been waiting to participate in this ritual for some time, and I will not allow you seduce me away from it.”

She strolled toward the old mahogany sideboard with a chuckle. "Oh really," she said, pouring another glass for her love. A playful smirk tugged at her lips when she placed it in his hands. “Then you’ll need this... if you plan to do it right."

He nodded with approval upon taking a sip. “This is quite good; I suppose the seduction could wait.”

“How noble of you!” Carolina teased.

“But, of course! I am a prince, after all.”

Shaking her head with delight, she fell into his arms and and Trystan tried to determine if that sound of her laughter had become his favorite melody of all. It was undoubtedly in his top three, each spot now claimed solely by his Carolina. But his body tensed as he realized her laughter had turned to tears that dampened the crook of his neck. He clasped the sides of her face, worry weighing on his features.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered, gazing into her tear-filled eyes. “Are you all right? I thought this was a happy tradition?”

“It is,” she sniffled, wiping away her tears. “But it’s different now, and it’s my first time sharing it with you.”

“Is that OK?” he asked. “If you’d rather be alone...”

“No, no!” She grabbed his hand and held it against her heart. “I’ve done this alone for years now, ever since my father died. Honestly, I never thought I'd share this with anyone else again, but now... I can't wait to experience this with you by my side.”

He pulled a chair closer to the window so they could sit without missing a thing, then motioned for her to sit on his lap. “I’m glad to hear that,” he assured. “Because there is no place I’d rather be.”

“So, how does this work?” He asked, getting down to business. “Do we do anything special while we wait?”

“Nope, we just keep watch. Whoever spots the first snowflake has to yell, ‘Look, it’s a blizzard!’ and then we share a toast.”

“A blizzard?” Trystan chuckled. “Carolina, a flake of snow does not a blizzard make.”

“Of course not, but it is how each one begins. Everything has to start somewhere, and that’s what makes it so remarkable. We watch one single snowflake fall to the earth, so innocent, so insignificant on its own, but when we wake up tomorrow the city will be blanketed in snow, and you and I will know, that it all started with that one little flake we watched together.”

She could feel him swallow as he gently turning her chin his way. “Everything starts somewhere,” he whispered. “And we never know what beautiful places it might lead.”

The world fell into slow-motion as their lips came together. The familiar, sweet taste filling their sense as everything else fell into the shadows. He pulled her closer, as her fingers ran through his hair, and the rest of the world was lost.  Neither knew how long they stayed like that, but they couldn't forget Trystan's childlike gasp when he briefly opened his eyes.

“Look," he pointed with exasperation. "It’s a blizzard!” A solitary silver flake glistened in the streetlights as it slowly twirled down to the street below. They jumped to their feet, foreheads pressed against the cold glass, unwilling to miss a moment as it descended to the earth.

“It is! It’s a blizzard!” Carolina squealed, grabbing their wine glasses to propose a toast. “It’s our first snowflake, Trystan! The first snowflake has fallen, and with it, a new chapter begins.”

“To new beginnings,” he smiled, reaching out to caress her cheek one more time before they emptied their glasses. Side by side, they watched as more flakes fell, one by one, until a whispy, barely there sheet coated the sidewalks.

“You see, it’s happening!”

“It is," he smiled. "I dare say that we will wake to that blanket of snow tomorrow."

“We will,” she beamed. "But until then, I was thinking I'd like to get under the blankets with you. Are you in?"

Trystan took Carolina in one arm, as the other hastily pulled the drapes closed, a devilish glint in his eyes.

"I am so in," he smiled. "Look at us, sharing new things every day."

"Yep," she agreed. "One day this will all be old hat... we'll be some old couple boring those around us with stories of all the blizzards we've watched begin together. Hopefully, you won't grow tired of it by then."

"Are you kidding? Each snowflake is different, no snowstorm the same... and every day is a new discovery because I fall in love with every little thing you do."

A/N: Incorporated all 3 parts of @choicesjanuary2024 Day 1, though, I cheated and didn't use the sentence as the first line! Also participating in @choicesflashfics, prompt "I fall in love with every little thing you do."

@choicesficwriterscreations Tagging others separately.

[im-sleepingbeauty]

controversial opinion but an argument can be made for elain archeron is the muse for taylor swift’s “the bolter”

[munsonownsmyass]

Selkie! Tristan Thorn x reader

Summary: Having to move back home to help your grandfather as his health declines, your life changes forever when you meet a mysterious stranger.

Notes: This is my contribute for The Moon in May challenge and the word i chose for the first week was "shift".

Also thanks to @albatrossandivys for the idea and shoutout to @firefly-graphics for the beautiful dividers.

I had to make this an AU (and a modern one) for obvious reasons. Hope that's okay 🤣

Warnings: None? Talk of floods, ocean and seals, so maybe triggering for people with thalassophobia? Also some fluff.

Words: 2.3 K

You needed the break. Life had been so damn hard lately after the breakup that you just needed to escape. Disappear for a while. Everything back home reminded you of him, of the life that you no longer shared, so when your mother mentioned your grandparents needing help, you volunteered instantly.

The move had been easier than you thought, switching out your hectic life in Edinburgh for a quiet village on the shore. Your grandparents had lived there their whole lives, your grandfather managing the little lighthouse. Now that he had gotten sick, you had taken over much to his dismay.

But you did a good job and when you weren’t helping out at home, managing the lighthouse or reading, you often found yourself looking out over the sea. Captivated by the waves, the soothing sound finally giving your soul some much needed peace.

At the end of the day, just when the sun would start to set, you would walk along the shore. Listening to the waves gliding over the sand, feeling the breeze in your hair. You’d always loved the sea, been drawn to it for a long as you could remember.

Growing up, you had spent every summer here. Spent the days bathing in the sea, fishing by the pier. Some days you could even see the small colony of seals that lived here sunbathing on the rocks. They are still there today, curious heads breaking the surface, curious eyes following you.

Sitting down for a while, you watch them in the distance. The older seals snoozing as the young ones play, splashing in the surface. And then… there’s one of them, just standing stagnant in the water. Eyes and snout just above the surface, eyes fixed on you.

You recognize him immediately. He’s been around for as long as you have, a mere seal cub when you were a kid. He had special markings, they all did, so you could easily tell them apart. This one you call Bangs, because of the longer tuft of fur on his head. Very unusual for a seal, you’ve been told.

Actually never been up close with them, curiosity takes over and you slowly walk closer to the rocks near the pier, climbing them carefully. Bangs are still watching you, inching closer in the water as you struggle on the wet rocks. You lose your footing, falling down towards the cold water when suddenly everything goes black.

Waking up, you feel a throbbing pain in your forehead and… a hand on your cheek. Looking up, you see a man hovering over you, his hazel eyes looking at you in concern. You should be scared, screaming and wondering how you were completely alone on the beach a few minutes ago and now find yourself in the arms of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

“Are you alright?” He asks, his soft voice enveloping you like a warm embrace. He helps you sit up, eyes never leaving yours.

“I-I guess…” You groan, your body aching. You probably hit more than just your head in the fall. And then it dawns on you. You could have drowned. If this stranger hadn’t come by, you could’ve…  You look into his eyes, hazel eyes so deep you could drown in them, and shiver.

“Thank you for saving me.” You say, voice almost breaking. His hand is still caressing your cheek, the motion so soothing. He just gives you a nod in return, his fingers slowly making their way down the column of you neck, stopping to inspect the silver chain that adorns your neck. You shiver under his gaze and his touch is so timid, so curious, that you don’t even question why this stranger has no apparent knowledge of personal space.

“Of course, Mo Ghráidh.” He counters softly, eyes again finding yours. It’s odd. Somehow, you feel like you know him, feeling weirdly at peace in his embrace. His… naked embrace.

You flinch back an inch, realizing he’s sitting naked before you. “You’re naked!”

“Well, yes. I suppose I am.” He looks down, smiling when his eyes return to yours. There’s a sweet innocence over him that you can’t help but love. Which is crazy! You don’t even know this man, besides him being your savior. A beautiful, sweet and naked stranger, but a stranger, nonetheless.

“Where did you even come from?” You smile, still not sure whether all of this is a dream and in a few minutes from now you’ll wave up gasping for your life in the water.

“Oh, I come from Wall.” He smiles gently, fingers playing with a strain of your hair.

“Wall?” You huff out, almost snorting. “That’s not possible.” Everyone had heard tales of Wall. A city in England, just on the other side of the border, which had been swallowed by the unforgiving waves of the ocean hundreds of years ago. Some say there’s still ruins down there today, though now its only sea creatures residing in them.

“Christ lassie! Are you okay?” You see your grandfather walk as fast as he can down the stairs to the beach. Behind you, the water slashes as something breaks the surface and when you turn, the mysterious stranger is gone.

“I saw you fall down the rock and hit your head.” He falls to his knees with a groan, inspecting the cut on the side of your head. “We need to get this checked.”

“Where did he go?” You ask, looking between your grandfather and the ocean. All that was left of your stranger, was his footprints in the sand, disappearing into the ocean.

“Who?”

“The man.” You touch a footprint before the waves wash up and remove the last trace of your encounter. “The man who saved me.”

“I didn’t see anyone, hen. Come on.”

With some difficulty you both get on your feet, making your way back to the house. As you reach the pier, you look back towards the sea and see Bangs looking at you, his little face barely above water. His kind eyes keeping an eye on you, never leaving his spot before you reach the house.

The next week you find yourself looking out over the ocean more than before, wondering if you could catch the stranger walking around on the beach. You had even borrowed some books at the local library about Wall, feeling silly as you skimmed through the pages as if they could give you an answer. When a few weeks had passed, you had given up hope of seeing him again, boiling it all down to the head trauma.

Distracted by some seal cups playing in the ocean, you barely notice the footsteps beside you, until someone sits down beside you. With a smile, you greet the stranger, relieved that he was in fact real and not just a figment of your imagination.

“Hello again.” He smiles softly, mimicking you by swinging his legs out over the pier, letting them dangle like yours. You instantly see that he is less naked this time, a pair of worn trousers hanging low on his hips.

“You’re not naked this time.” You say, seeing how his cheeks flush red.

“No. You… You didn’t seem to like it.”

“It’s not that I didn’t like it. You’re very han-” You stop, closing your book before looking at him again. “It didn’t bother me, but thanks.”

He looks down at your book, his fingers running along the spine, tracing the delicate letters. “What is it?”

“My book?” You question, smiling wide when you see his curious nod. You show him the front page, watching as his eyes go wide in wonder. “It’s Treasure Island.”

“It’s about the sea?” He looks at the cover, captured by the little pirate ship on the blue waters.

“No. Well, sort of.” You giggle softly, giving him the book to hold. “It’s about a young man named Jim Hawkins who finds a treasure map, so he goes on a journey to find it. On his journey he meets this pirate called Long John Silver.”

“Could… could you tell me the story?” He asks, his wide puppy like eyes staring into yours, making it impossible to say no. So that’s what you do. Over the next few days, you meet the stranger, who you’ve come to know as Tristan and read to him. Every day around sunset you sit on the pier, Tristan listening as you tell the tale. In between, he asks questions, and you ask yours in return.

There’s much you don’t know about him, but as the days go by you get closer to Tristan, feeling yourself drawn to him. Thinking about him when he’s not there. Such a kind and warm soul, his smile always brightening your days and the small fleeting touches sending shivers through you. You know you shouldn’t, but you feel yourself falling for him.

“You spend so much time looking out over the water, I’m fearing you’ll get lost in it.”

You tear your eyes away from the waves to find your grandfather standing next to you, leaning on the railing. For some time, you just stand there silently, listening to the waves.

“I just-” You start, but don’t even know what to tell him. That you meet Tristan every day and you believe he lives in the ocean? He’d have you admitted to a psych ward in no time. “Could you tell me about Wall again?”

“Hen, I’ve already-” He looks to you, seeing the quiet plea in your eyes. He just sighs, pointing out over the water. “Hundreds of years ago, there was no ocean here. Instead, just on the other side of the border, was the small town of Wall.”

“According to the stories, it was a wonderful place. But sadly, one day, the entire town was swallowed by the sea.” He pauses, nudging your shoulder before pointing over at the small colony of seals on the rocks. “Legend has it there was magic surrounding the place, turning all the inhabitants of Wall into Selkies.”

“Selkies?” You frown, looking at the seals. “So… seals?”

“No, no, Hen. A selkie is a creature that can shed its seal skin and become human.” He states, laughing when he sees the disbelief on your face. “Aye, it may be old folk tales, but stories of the selkies have been around for hundreds of years. They are rumored to be so beautiful in their human form, that we can’t resist them.”

He talks a little more, but you don’t hear a word. It couldn’t be real, could it? This had to be tales for children, dreamers. Your grandfather had always been a little superstitious, so you weren’t even that surprised that he’d believe something like this.

When he leaves you alone once more, you sit down on the pier, looking at the seals. Just below your feet, you see Bangs break the surface, his big eyes finding yours. With your grandfather’s tale still fresh in your memory, you just smile at Bangs.

“So tell me, Bangs… Are you really a selkie?” You giggle, feeling silly. But when you see him nod, you freeze. Wait, did he nod? No, you’re just imagining things. “Did you just nod?”

Raising his head just a little more above water, he nods again and… smiles at you? Okay, it’s official. You’ve lost your mind. You’re talking to a seal.

“Right… Okay…” You say as you get up and walk away, muttering under your breath how you must be tired and this is all just results of banging your head all those weeks ago. But at a large thud, you stop, feeling the wood vibrate under your feet.

You turn around to find Bangs on the pier, never truly realized just how big seals are. Or is it just him? Taking a few steps closer, you timidly close the distance to him. in the next second, he rises to his feet and if it weren’t for the railing, you would have fallen into the sea again.

Gently, like shedding a coat, the beautiful grey fur falls away, making way for human skin. There in front of, naked as the first time you met him, is Tristan with a pile of seal fur at his feet. If you hadn’t just witnessed it yourself, you’d have thought you had gone mad. Well, maybe you had.

“Y-you’re a-a selkie?” you stutter, frozen in place. Tristan just smiles, stepping closer to you, leaving the seal skin behind him.

“Yes. Please don’t run away.” He steps closer, gently taking your hand in his. His beautiful hazel eyes find yours as he closes the distance further, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that makes you shiver.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for years, but I was afraid you’d never speak to me again.”

You reach out to touch him with trembling fingers, your hand lands on his chest. Somehow, you still need to feel him to know he’s real.

“I’ve watched over you for years, missing you when you weren’t here.” His free hand reach for a loose strain of your hair, tugging it gently behind your ear. “Waiting for the day I was brave enough to tell you.”

And it’s true. For a long as you can remember, he has been there. Always watching on the rocks, swimming playfully by your side whenever you’ve ventured into the ocean. Like a guardian angel, making sure you were safe.

“Would… Would it be okay if I kissed you?” He asks nervously, almost as if he expects you to say no. And you should, because of what he is. There are a million questions in your mind about how you could make this work, but every thought is drowned out as he looks into your eyes.

The whispered ‘yes’ barely leaves your lips before he kisses you, the touch of his lips as sweet as him. But the sweetness soon gives way to a hunger like you’ve never known before. Tristan has ignited something in you, a fire only he can soothe. And just like that your fate is sealed.

Tagging: @itwasthereaminuteago @e-dubbc11 @mattmurdocksscars @lavenderursa @yarrystyleeza

[theblackphoenixwritings]

-𝙒𝙝𝙮?- -𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙪𝙨 & 𝙏𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙚

The crackling of the fire in the fireplace had been the only company Marius had longed for during that long and busy week.A curious contrast that of the noise of the fire, almost cheerful, with the silence of the snow falling outside, enveloping everything for several days now. That isolation was born out of his loyalty to his duty. He could not regret setting it aside for, he had to admit to himself, quite some time. That time had been filled by love and tenderness, by being close again to those he loved. It had been an intense and happy few weeks, Armand remaining always by his side, proud and devoted, his eyes full of love, Daniel who like Armand, never left Marius and was always there ready to offer his support and love. Thorne who despite being at least as busy as Marius, always found time to go to Marius to spend time together. And Lestat and Avicus, dear Zenobia, and Teskhamen.Marius had finally felt at peace and though he feared even to utter, within himself that word, happy.

Now the clutter in that room was a testament to his stubbornness, there were too many matters that had been left unfinished, too many things unfinished or to be corrected, and it was his specific duty to remedy and set things right. The desk was buried with pages and pages, written in elegant handwriting, open and closed books arranged one on top of the other, there were also ancient scrolls, photos and reports, documents about the activities of the immortals, law requests and drafts to be checked and finished, even complaints and stories and testimonies collected in order to give more attention to problems that might arise among the immortals. On the majestic ruby-red carpet that reached from the foot of the desk to the large bed, were scattered sketch pads, and sheets with barely drawn drafts, others finished, pencils and brushes, oil pastels and canvas boards. There was also the design of the large mural to be finished and checked, and it had to be harmonious throughout, it had to remember their history and their protagonists and pass it on.

All those studies were important and needed to be created with care and attention and then be supportive of the final project. Marius observed that confusion and sighed, resting his face in his hands. As his thoughts followed that chaos unable to make sense of how he had managed to create such a mess, gentle but firm knocks made themselves heard at his door. After a moment Thorne's gentle face peeped out, Marius smiled happily, leaning against the back of the large carved fine wooden stool, and with a wave of his hand invited his best friend in. He was always happy to see and talk with Thorne, was glad to see that he was well after recent events, glad in a way Marius could not give words to.

He knew, however, that Thorne, more than anyone else had made Marius' words his own, and between them it was often no longer necessary to use them. They understood each other with their look at each other, their friendship had become a deep and unbreakable bond. "Are you well? Do you need anything?" asked Marius as Thorne sat down in front of him. " It's strange I had come here, just to ask you these very questions. You are greatly missed." replied Thorne, settling into the red velvet armchair.

"I know I've beennot much present lately, but all this mess, it must lead me to put things in perspective and be able to support this court in every way. I have been putting this off and now I have to put it in order. You are always in my thoughts, even if I am not there with you." Marius knew that might sound like a weak excuse, but Thorne was as devoted to that family as Marius was and knew well that some things took time and detachment. " I just wish you would remember that you are no longer alone. We're here if you need a hand. And certainly we are not senators from ancient Rome, but we are here for you, and you know how precious you are to us. What I mean is that you can lean on me as well as Daniel and Armand and all the others who love you. Remember that you can share any burden or thought with us." Thorne, wanted Marius to be ready to accept that those who loved him were ready to be his support; he was no longer alone.

" Well it seems that even these gods, in whom I do not believe, somehow blessed me. Who knows maybe it was just your Thor." said Marius, with bright eyes and a gentle smile. " Why?" asked Thorne puzzled. He did not see what the gods could have to do with his words. " Because he has given me a friend who has the heart to listen to me when I speak, to see me when I am dejected, to walk by my side when I go astray, to show me the way with his presence, for the gift of his presence and his love. For I have found a friend and a brother, for I have never had one in my immortality, not so close to my heart, not so pure and strong in his friendship toward me." It was Thorne's turn to smile and have his eyes glaze over. " Whether this is because of the gods or a higher will, it matters little, but my will to stand by your side is unchanged and ever faithful."

[nursal1060writes]

Summary:

Tamlin has been tortured and imprisoned while Feyre is performing her trials.

Rhysand sneaks off to see the High Lord who has fallen so low - and reminisce about who they used to be.

[merryfortune]

Every Rose Has Its Thorns

Written for the 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt :#59 Rose

Title: Every Rose Has Its Thorns

Ship: Dorothea/Manuela 

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Word Count: 3,690

Rating: T

Tags: Student/Teacher Relationship, Age Difference, Crushes, Unrequited Pining, Kissing, Academy Phase, Crimson Flowers

   The assignment was deceptively simple, Dorothea realised now in horror.

   Professor Byleth had assigned the class a task to teach them magic - and to teach them to appreciate how beautiful and complex magic was at all. How enchantment worked and how with just a flick of a wrist, they controlled the elements. Of which, when it came to magic, regardless of it it followed the convention of Reason or Faith, there were obvious elemental types belonging to either category. Those elements being ice, light, dark, wind, fire, and thunder.

   However, there was also the oft ignored type of anima. 

   Anima was just there, or so Professor Byleth described. Anima was the rhythm of the natural world like the seasons, or the beauty of the moon and the sound of waterfalls. Anima was the name given to the little gifts from the Goddess, or so the religious amongst them would say but since Professor Byleth was very much, not that led to the assignment.

   Professor Byleth asked the class if they could tap into the mundane anima that they saw within the world and create a new spell from it. 

   The spell didn’t have to be something like Meteor, Professor Byleth said and so gave the example of simply learning how to enchant a teacup so its contents would never grow lukewarm. Discussion throughout the classroom also yielded some ideas in vein of what Professor Byleth was trying to convey.

   Lindhardt came up with an idea of a pillow which was always cold. Ferdinand wondered if it were possible to lead a horse to water using this form magic. And Bernie wondered if she could use it to make a form of invisible ink. Professor Byleth applauded all their creativity and said that the homework would no doubt be a delight to mark at the end of the month.

   With all that as inspiration, Dorothea came up with her own idea: she would create a spell which would manipulate when roses bloomed. Seemed easy enough.

  (Wrong)

   She felt drawn to the idea of utilising anima magic and since she was never too far from the rose gardens, of course the fancy tickled. So tada. With a little bit of elbow grease and borrowing some recommendations from the bookworms in the other classes - namely Lysithea and Annette - Dorothea was well on her way to crafting her spell.

   It took her three weeks of research but she did it.

   She dubbed the resulting spell “Virgo” and upon testing it, it worked.

   In the privacy of her room in the dormitories, Dorothea had her set-up ready. She had a vase slender enough to fit only one rose and Dorothea had selected the most premature rose she could find from amongst the bushes. A rosebud days old and shy, the colouration of the petals was a scant peach. Dorothea was certain that with her spell, this rose would bloom and darken in colour.

   Only one way to find out.

   With the assignment due next week, Dorothea was nervous. She really didn’t have the time to scrap this project and start over if it was a failure. She sat in her seat, straight-backed and exhaled nervously. She concentrated on the rose then spoke.

   “Virgo.”

   The name of the spell tingled on her lips as excitement followed the sensation. She watched, eyes widening in gleeful disbelief, was the rose began to mature and bloom. The colour deepened to a warm pink as the rosebud opened, flowering, as Dorothea’s heart raced.

   She squealed, lost in her success. 

   Dorothea plucked the rose from the vase and held it close to her breast. She inhaled its divine scent and savoured the softness of its petals as she nuzzled against it. Anyone would be fortunate to receive it as a gift, a perfect specimen of its species, and anyone would be fortunate to receive it as a gift from Dorothea.

   Though she had no illusions of getting lost in the fleeting reverie.

   Her crush was ill-advised though it would be a dream, nonetheless, to gift that person with roses. The Goddess knows she deserved them and every accolade. In her youth, she was showered with roses in endless flurries at the end of her awe-inducing shows. She would have received plenty of bouquets in her time and so, another rose from an adoring fan would not be special - even if that fan was Dorothea.

   Her feelings would always be cut short and dismissed, Dorothea was well aware.

   Yes, that person Dorothea was thinking of as she held this rose was none other than Manuela Casagranda.

   Dorothea sighed dreamily as she indulged this peculiar and romantic reverie. One in which she was the heroine and Manuela was her love interest, how she had admired her from afar and did her best to blossom into a young woman befitting the diva’s legacy. She was the next generation but she did not believe that the emblem of the near past, of fame and glory turned dulled, could slip through her fingers so quickly. 

   To her, Manuela was very much still in her prime and if only Dorothea could convince her of her worth and beauty that she had at present, not just her glorious and illustrious past. 

   Perhaps a rose would suffice. More likely than not, it would not.

   Dorothea opened her eyes and she inhaled that lovely smell of a fully bloomed rose. Her skin prickled as she had more than just a heart palpitation of the sensations of her crush. She, akin to the rose she was holding, became adorned with thorns.

   Small, tiny thorns, over and up and around her slender arms.

   Dorothea squeaked in horror as she felt it, how they rose from her skin not that differently to hair. She dropped the rose in her fright as she tried to fathom how such a thing could occur, the green-black, hooked pricks of what were undeniably thorns. 

   Her eyes went wide and her heart raced. Dorothea tried to pluck them off herself but they were too sharp. A pearl of blood welled up, round and shiny, on her pointer finger and her heart stopped. That was more than enough to send her into a fit over this.

   Having just pricked from merely attempting a removal of these vile thorns from off her flesh, Dorothea desperately looked around, the rose on the cobblestone pavers of her floor utterly forgotten. Even trampled as she tried to find gloves, tweezers, shears, anything! Surely she had something stashed in her room to help.

   A frantic search did, in fact, yield tweezers.

   Her fingers went fuzzily numb as she carefully removed the thorns one by one from off her arm. There were dozens of them and she collected them on her table, a bead of sweat on her brow as she prayed to the Goddess that this was one time deal. A self-inflicted curse, a fluke, anything. 

   She stared at her pile of now removed thorns. The sight of them disgusted her. Thus, she was quick to get rid of them and throw herself at study. There had to be a way to fix this, even so close to her assignment.

   She didn’t care what it took. Just long as it got her top marks in her assignment. 

   There was no turning back to close to the due date, after all.

   She became convinced that she hadn’t studied properly. That she had missed something. That the manifestation and enchantment had been off somehow. It was just meant to be a small, simple thing but she became so reviled by it, she had to fix it immediately.

   After all, once was an accident and twice was a pattern, isn’t that how it went? Dorothea wasn’t too sure, she wasn’t some scientist like Hanneman or any of the proteges who took after him but she did try again after hitting the books some more. This time, the day before the assignment was due. She tried again and voila.

   No thorns.

   Just a pretty flower where there had been a bud before.

   Crisis averted.

   Or so Dorothea thought.

   Pre-class nerves had Dorothea jittering. Even though she was no stranger to stage fright, this was something else since she had the mixed results from her experiment in the back of her mind. But she was determined - convinced - the second attempt was the real one, not the first one. Nevertheless, she spoke stiltedly through polite small talk with her fellow students as they waited one by one for Professor Byleth to test them. Solo style, just like they would if they were to take a proficiency test to change classes.

   Then Professor Byleth called her name and Dorothea put on her most grandiose smile. She had this. She flicked her hair off her shoulder and forcibly eliminated all nerves from within her.

   “Greetings, Professor.”

   “Dorothea.” Professor Byleth returned her unusually jovial salutations and then arched an eyebrow. “What are you going to present to me for the assignment?”

   “A rose, of course.”

   Dorothea winked at Professor Byleth, who rolled their eyes and simply wrote down “rose” since that was all the information Dorothea had given them so far.

   “Begin when you like.” Professor Byleth told Dorothea once preparations were complete.

   “Thank you, professor.” Dorothea replied and whew.

   She felt nervous again. Even though she was satisfied with her practice. It was fine. It was totally and completely fine. She forcibly shut down thoughts that meandered anywhere near the malfunctions of her spell. She was confident nothing would go wrong as she set up her exhibition.

   Dorothea glanced around the room. The familiar four walls, the boring study materials, the door ajar. She exhaled with confidence as she placed her rose then stepped back.

   She closed her eyes. She visualised the blooming of the red rose, the bud that was swathed tightly in its petals. 

   “Virgo.” Dorothea said and invoked her homebrewed incantation once more.

   For the final time. 

   Thinking that felt good. It emptied her mind and when she opened, the first thing she saw was…

   Manuela.

   She looked past where she had set down her rose in a vase to the hallway. She could only see a snippet of it but she would know that dress anywhere and the accompanying sound of high heels.

   Virgo. Her spell worked but a little too well. The flower bloomed as it should but her arms became spurred with countless, green thorns. She could feel them grow and prick her skin, it was a nauseating feeling, Dorothea thought as she was subject to these horrors once more.

   “Uh, Dorothea…?” Professor Byleth prompted her. “I think it's a good idea if you go see Manuela after class.”

   Dorothea stiffened as she looked over her arms in horror. Sure enough, she had sprouted countless thorns up and down her arms. She could heard the other students outside begin to whisper. Her cheeks burn.

   “And my grade professor?” Dorothea asked, cuttingly, anything to change the subject.

   “Pass. With flying colours, congratulations.” Professor Byleth said. “Now, you are dismissed.”

   “Thank you, professor.” Dorothea said and she could not flee the classroom soon enough.

   She felt embarrassment burn her up from the inside out. Her arms erupted with more spines the more she rotated the awkward moment in which her spell went awry more and more in her mind. She stomped off, in a hurry, down the halls and let her peers speculate.

   She barged into the infirmary with tears in her eyes, “Manuela, I need help.” she announced.

   Manuela could have jumped out of her skin but she was quick to act. She was nothing if not professional when she was alert and sober. Even if she hadn’t been expecting a student. It was fortunate that she had been headed back from a stock re-supply at the markets when she had walked past Professor Byleth’s classroom enroute to her infirmary.

   “With what- oh.” Manuela’s expression went from one extreme, confusion,  to the opposite, of complete benevolence.

   She directed Dorothea to a bed and Dorothea accepted. It looked soft and like the perfect place to sulk whilst Manuela got ready to treat her patient. Thorns! How very unusual yet quite fitting for a splendid rose like Dorothea, how very curious.

   And just one in quite a lot string of incidents, actually.

   Manuela sighed as she fussed around, “I’m not surprised to see you in my infirmary, Dorothea. Seems a lot of the Black Eagles have made it into my midsts as of late. I’ll have to have a word with Professor Byleth about this assignment…”

   “Y-Yeah…” Dorothea quietly agreed, chewing on the syllables of her slang.

   She felt like a child. A silly, stupid child and she hated it. She tucked her knees under her chin as she sat in the bed, upright in the foetal position, back to the wall. Her arms were taut as she hugged herself, the spines of the thorns on prominent display as her skin prickled around them in embarrassment.

   “I’ve seen Caspar, Ferdinand, Linhardt, and even Bernadetta recently.” Manuela nattered. “So, suffice to say, this experiment is a failure.”

   She continued to busy herself with choosing ingredients for the salve she wanted to make. Dorothea watched, her cheeks hot. This was not where she wanted to be right now. She’d had her fair share of doctor-patient fantasies involving Manuela and they most certainly did not involve being in actual pain.

   “There we go, not long now, I’m almost ready, thank you for your patience, Dorothea.” Manuela said as she began to grind something into a paste using her mortar and pestle.

   “No problem.” Dorothea replied through gritted teeth. She winced every time there was a loud sound.

   Manuela turned around and tada. She had a freshly made… something. Dorothea couldn’t begin to identify it - eye of newt, perhaps? - but it smelt foul and had to be applied directly to her arms, that much was for sure.

   “It’ll only sting a bit.” Manuela lied.

   Dorothea hazarded a smile and allowed herself to be painted with the goop. She opened up, sat properly on the bed rather than like a petulant egg then offered her arm up to Manuela. She was at the ready with a brush as she held the mortar in her other hand.

   Inside the mortar was the salve. It was somewhere between grey and green in colour with a crunchy look to it. Manuela gave it a final swish with her brush and then applied it to Dorothea. It was cold the way peppermint was cold, with a spicy twinge beneath that frozen snap. It left a burning after-effect in its downward wake as Manuela painted her but Dorothea didn’t complain. She had experienced worse than a little sting.

   “You're handling this well.” Manuela observed and she glanced up at Dorothea who bore the stormy pout of an adolescent younger than she was. Manuela sighed. “Which leads me to believe that this is not your first time discovering this side effect of your spell.”

   There was a pause before Dorothea finally nodded and admitted, “Yes, this isn’t the first time.”

   “I thought so.” Manuela replied, understanding. Her brushwork was immaculate, swooping in and out around the various thorns.

   “Plucking them out didn’t work, quite clearly.” Dorothea cursed herself.

   “It happens.” Manuela consoled her. “Did you at least get a good grade, was it worth it?”

   “I did actually.” Dorothea replied, perking up slightly. Though that only answered half of Manuela’s question.

   Manuela hummed thoughtfully and Dorothea let her finish. 

   She used up all the paste that she had made. She used half of it on Dorothea’s first arm and the other half on the second. Manuela was delicate as she made sure that not an inch of Dorothea’s skin was bare by the end of it. Though the paste did dry in and magically disappear afterwards, taking the thorns with them. The thorns shrivelled up and fell away before disintegrating.

   “There we go.” Manuela said at the end of a job well done.

   It had even begun to put a smile on Dorothea’s lips again, “Thank you, Manuela.”

   “You're welcome.” Manuela replied.

   Dorothea flashed a smile and she began to get restless. She had been fondled up and down her arms by Manuela for the past half an hour or so, and she was still feeling overly dramatic over the error of her spell so she was ready to go. She tried to get up but Manuela reached out and stopped her. Gently. So that her fingers slipped over Dorothea’s smooth, dinless arms. Neither hair nor thorn on them, now.

   Just the crinkle of the paste.

   “Hold it, missy.” Manuela warned her.

   “What?” Dorothea asked.

   Manuela frowned, “Don’t sass me.” she scolded Dorothea. “My word, something has gotten into you today. I suspect it's more than just your homework.”

   “Sorry…” Dorothea mumbled.

   “I need to know for future reference, should another student’s spell go awry like this… What was the trigger?” Manuela asked. “I can take a few educated guesses but I would like to confirm my hunch.”

   Dorothea felt a flicker of lightning through her: the retribution of the Goddess, she would think. It made her stiffen and her heart stop. And Manuela noticed all of her micro-reactions.

   “Well, you know… The usual stressors.” Dorothea replied, inelegantly dancing around the truth but not outright lying.

   “Uh-huh…” Manuela chewed on her reply.

   “Roses are, of course, quite symbolically loaded.” Dorothea replied. 

   Manuela’s brown eyes were discerning. Her countenance turned severe. She was always in opposition of Dorothea as a figure of authority and yet, that’s what Dorothea found attractive. Right up until she was reminded that she was just a subject below Manuela, feelings entirely one-sided. Her mouth dried and she absent-mindedly scratched her arms, still feeling where the paste was and where the thorns had once grown.

   She could almost feel them grow once more but Manuela’s balm was too good for her. She was cured now.

   “It might be that thinking about a certain someone… The ideas get crossed and the spell backfires.” Dorothea explained.

   Her voice trailed off and Manuela’s expression softened. She smiled, delighted. Though delighted like only a gossip could be delighted.

   “Well?” Manuela asked. “Who’s the lucky guy?” Then she blinked, embarrassed because she had put her foot in her mouth. “Or… girl. I know you are, uh, inclined both ways.”

   Dorothea felt her stomach squirm and her palms sweat. This was not how she had imagined this moment going. Sure, it happened in the infirmary sometimes in her daydreams and other times, it did involve plentiful amounts of roses but this reality was far too awkward and flat.

   Yet confess was exactly what she did.

   “You.” Dorothea murmured.

   “Uh… pardon?” Manuela malfunctioned. “Come again?”

   “I said. You.” Dorothea kept her voice down but her repetition was louder than a murmur.

   Repeating her confession out loud, however, still did not compute with Manuela as Dorothea found herself blushing rose red. Her heart was beating hard and fast, like she had just completed a solo for an audience of a thousand and yet. It was just Manuela who was somewhere between refusing to listen and refusing to believe that it were possible for someone like Dorothea to hold a candle for her.

   But it was.

   It really was.

   Dorothea admired Manuela with all her heart and soul. Her beautiful voice, her quaffed hair, her angular cheekbones, the way she felt like home no matter the scene or stage, whether it was the opera or the academy or the infirmary. She truly meant the world and more to Dorothea. How was she to not fall in love with such a woman, a force of nature if only she could see?

   “Please.” Dorothea insisted with eyes which were welling up with tears.

   “I know.” Manuela sighed wearily. “I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been there, done that. Pined for someone older than me and trust me, my sweet, it is a path that doesn’t end well for either of them.”

   She reached out her hand and caressed Dorothea’s face. She felt sparks in the pads of Manuela’s fingertips. She was so soft and gentle and ultimately, bittersweet. As was the expression which tugged on Manuela’s made-up face. Dorothea remained pleading and petulant, however, resistant to the wisdom that Manuela felt and was trying to bestow upon her as the closest reward she could get for bravely confessing her feelings.

   “I’m sorry,” Manuela told her, “I don’t feel the same way but just know, you would be good fortune to anyone to have, rich or poor, old or young, male or female. Please, my dear, keep looking, you will find someone who deserves you.”

   Manuela leaned in and pressed a familial kiss onto the middle of Dorothea’s forehead. Through her lips and lipstick, Manuela could feel the throb of Dorothea’s pulse and practically taste all the thoughts running through her head. She held Dorothea’s face steady.

  “I understand, Professor.” Dorothea replied brusquely, her heart broken.

   “I’m glad,” Manuela whispered as she pulled back, she felt a ribbon of Dorothea’s tears slide down over her hand as she cupped Dorothea’s cheek, “now be good, stay out of mischief, and keep on top of your studies. I don’t want to see any more thorns marring you.”

   “Understood.” Dorothea said.

   She shifted and squirmed, and Manuela kept her hand in place until Dorothea finally slipped away. The warmth of her was fleeting, turning to cold. Even Dorothea could feel the ice that she was exuding and as she stood up, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms.  As though she, too, were cold. Her bare arms felt cakey underneath her palms but it was just the after sensation. The paste that it had absorbed yet smooth as no longer was she prickly with thorns.

   “See you later, Dorothea.” Manuela called out to her as she began to leave.

   Dorothea turned around, at least briefly, to nod in acknowledgement of Manuela telling her goodbye but that was it. She excused herself wordlessly, feeling like a trampled rose.

[redrobinhoods]

knife to the throat | Febuwhump 2023

CW: Character Death

Summary: Thorn checks in on a Corrie patrol

A/N: Have a scene from my next fic… as a treat.

AO3 Link | Febuwhump Index

Thorn stormed into the offices of the Coruscant Guard like a hurricane.

He watched a shiny flinch out of the corner of his eye as he walked past, kama beating at his sides, to shove open the door to Fox’s office.

Fox barely glanced up at him, waiting for the door to close before he spoke. “What’s wrong?”

“Where’s my lieutenant?”

“He’s on patrol.” Fox set down the datapad to turn his gaze towards Thorn. “I asked him to take command of Kilo’s route in his absence.”

“His leg-”

“Is nearly healed. You’re such a mother hen, Thorn.”

Thorn’s shoulders shook as he heaved in a long breath. “Where are they?”

“Thorn.” Fox sighed even as he brought up his comm to transfer the coordinates. “You can’t…” He let his words trail off, brows lowering into concern.

“Can’t what, Fox?” Thorn’s comm chimed as it received the message. “Protect him?”

He knew Fox wouldn’t argue against that, wouldn’t dare go head-to-head with the subject.

“I’m just going to check on them.” Thorn said, biting back the anger in his voice. “Routine inspection.”

“You’re going to scare the shit out of Kilo’s men is what you’re going to do. They’re all terrified of you.”

Thorn shrugged as he turned towards the door. “Good.”

-

Thorn found the squad’s speeder with ease, leaving his own beside it.

It had been a few weeks since he’d ventured into the underbelly of Coruscant and he took a few moments to look at the planned route before disembarking the speeder. He’d intersect them, perhaps join them for the remainder of the route. How Thire would roll his eyes at him, echoing Fox’s ‘mother hen’ comments. It was better than the alternative scenario that smothered his thoughts.

It only took a few moments to calculate their approximate location in his head, a few more to decide where to meet the route and backtrack to ensure he didn’t miss them.

Then Thorn was off.

He had been following the patrol’s route for ten minutes without sign of them when he heard a scuffling in an alleyway. When his head turned, he caught a flash of Coruscant red as one of the clone troopers fell away from the assailant, shield falling to the ground.

Thorn moved into the alley, drawing the blaster at his side.

He regretted the action when it caused the clone trooper standing behind the trandoshan to pause, his helmet snapping towards Thorn to assess the potential new threat. Before Thorn could fire his blaster, the trandoshan had turned, grabbing the clone and tugging him before him.

Two of the three troopers already lay on the ground. The one at the trandoshan’s feet still stirred, his hand resting on the bloodying wound at his side. The other lay unmoving at Thorn’s feet, his helmet at an extreme angle.

Thorn felt sick to his stomach at the realization that he couldn’t tell the three men apart. Not when their armor was the same age and freshly repainted.

The trandoshan ripped off the clone’s helmet, flinging it to the ground with enough force for the plastoid to shatter as he brought the knife to his throat.

Thorn’s hands didn’t shake as he kept the blaster pointing forward. “Let him go.”

The trandoshan hissed and spoke as he began to draw the knife along the clone’s throat. “Let this be a lesson not to interfere-”

Thorn fired. The shot found its way to its target, his eye, and the trandoshan fell backwards. The clone in his hands fell forwards onto his knees, grasping at his throat.

“This is Commander Thorn calling for medics,” Thorn commed the Coruscant Rescue Ops as he rushed to his brother’s side. “Three men down with critical injuries.”

He knelt down beside the clone, reaching for the bacta at his side. His stomach turned when he realized it would be useless but still pressed it from the tube into his hands as he brought the man down into his lap.

“Look at me, look at me.” Thorn said as he replaced his brother’s hand with his own, smearing the bacta into the gaping wound. “I’ve got you.”

Thorn spared a glance over his shoulder to the man behind him, who had found his own bacta tube, and turned back to the man before him. He knew that Rescue Ops wouldn’t make it in time, not as each breath his brother took gargled in his throat.

Thorn removed his helmet to meet his brother’s gaze. He fought down the nausea in his stomach at the fear it contained as the man fought to breathe.

“It’s okay, you can rest.”

The man’s eyes widened and he shook his head, Thorn’s hand slipping from the blood running down his neck.

“Look at me,” Thorn said again softly, taking the man’s blood covered hand in his own. “You can let go. No one will ever hurt you again. You’ve done your duty.”

The man shook his head, chest heaving as he struggled for each breath.

There was an ache in Thorn’s chest as he pressed his forehead to the man’s own, cradling him. He didn’t even know his name, but he could feel tears welling in his eyes as he grasped the man’s hand. Had things been different, it could’ve been Thire he was holding now. Perhaps Thire was already dead. But he couldn’t withdraw from the man before him, couldn’t let him die alone as so many men had on Geonosis.

He let the gathering tears fall as his brother stilled with his last breath. He couldn’t bring himself to rise, couldn’t bear the odds he was about to face as to who lived or died.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder before the man’s weight fell against him with a groan of pain.

Thorn let his hand fall from the dead man’s throat, reaching his arm around to support the brother that had come to him, bringing him into his side.

The man let his head fall upon Thorn’s shoulder with a sigh. “We need to randomize the patrol routes. He was waiting for us.”

Thorn leaned his head against Thire’s, guilt rising in his chest at the utter relief he felt that two other men had died and not him. “Are you okay?”

Thire gave him a quiet hum in response that was nearly drowned out by the sound of the approaching speeders.

Thorn let go of the dead man’s hand to usher over the medics, giving Thire’s shoulder a squeeze before letting them take him. The guilt of his relief threatened to pull him under, but Thorn pushed it down as the Coruscant Rescue Ops took over the scene.

[elixirfromthestars]

A Night of Frights & Delights

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (College AU)

Summary: It’s Friday the 13th and the college kids in town decided to host a weekend camping trip on the outskirts of town. Your best friend convinced you to go much to your reluctance. What could go wrong when the one guy you can���t stand is also there?

Word Count: 7k

Warning(s): slight horror themes / suggestive tones + implications / mentions of a past murder (not in graphic detail just campfire storytelling) / slow burn / suspense + other elements of spookiness / touch starved elements / be prepared for lots of back and forth + tension

Prompt: Campsite + forced proximity + “ It’s not bad enough to have Friday the 13th, we’ve gotta have a full moon too?”

a/n: here’s my entry for @witchywithwhiskey ‘s summer slasher writing challenge. Any chance to celebrate summerween and I’m there 🤭✨ I got carried away with the spooky element of it and this ended up longer than expected. Thank you for reading! 🧡 Feedback is always appreciated!! 🎃🧡

“ It’s Friday the 13th! Gather ‘round, for some good ol’ scary campfire stories!” Sam Wilson called out to anyone who would listen. A task that wasn’t the easiest thing to ask for when all the college students in the area were trying to have their last bit of fun before fall semester started. Amongst the ones that weren’t already drunk or passed out, a few were trying to find the perfect opportunity to sneak away into the night.

You on the other hand sat near the bonfire, appreciating the warmth it provided on this chilly night. Your back was resting against a log. The scratchy surface grazes against your black sweater at the slightest movement. Camping wasn’t your ideal choice for a weekend getaway, but when your best friend Jane insisted on you coming along it was hard to say no. Especially, since you had already said no to multiple get-togethers throughout the summer. 

It’s not like you didn’t want to hang out with her. The issue was that wherever she was her boyfriend was—and wherever he was his friends were. And his friends included one smartass star pitcher for your university’s baseball team who made it his life’s mission to be a thorn in your side. 

Needless to say, you couldn’t stand the man.

“ It was actually 1982, not 1985,” Jane whispers her comment to you, nudging your arm lightly. You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at her, your clueless eyes meeting her amused ones. 

“ You’re not paying attention to Sam’s story, are you?” She quietly calls you out, leaning slightly closer. You shake your head sheepishly,“ No. Kind of got lost in thought,” you admit. Jane nods in acknowledgment,“ You’re not missing much. He’s just telling the story of the murders that happened here in ‘82,” she explains. You nod slowly, an eerie chill creeping up your spine. Everyone within fifty miles of the town knew of the horrific crime. It was the worst the town had ever seen. 

A group of teenagers had snuck off into the woods to party a week before their senior graduation. They brought their camping gear to spend the night under the full moon to celebrate the milestone. They had gone so deep into the woods no one heard their music blasting all night. 

No one heard their screams either as their life was taken from them. 

You took a shaky breath, your fingers tracing random patterns into the dirt beneath you. Even though you could recite this story from memory it was different hearing it told in gruesome detail. Something Sam was not shying away from doing. 

“ Don’t let Sam’s story get to you—here have a s’more,” Thor spoke up, handing you a small disposable plate with a freshly assembled s’more. His way of trying to comfort you. 

“ Thanks,” you shot Thor an appreciative smile, taking the sweet treat. Jane’s boyfriend had always been kind to you and you got along well. The mutual friendliness extended to all of his baseball friends.

Well, the friendliness extended to all his friends except for one.  

“ He’s telling it wrong anyway, so don’t pay it any mind,” Jane says causing you to let out a small laugh. Leave it to Jane to alleviate your nerves by just being herself. 

You try to drown out Sam’s true crime retelling and focus on the sugary gooeyness on your lap. Jane and Thor snuggle into each other beside you and a small smile appears on your face at the sight. You take a bite of the s’more, letting the flavors melt into your mouth. 

“ The next morning the cops led a search party into these very woods. Everyone searched day and night for three days straight. Scouting every inch, no stone unturned, to find them. And then one day, one member of the search party found something. That member being my Titi—so listen close,” Sam sets up the big reveal. 

“ Wanna know what they found?” A voice you know all too well whispers into your ear from behind. The hairs on the back of your neck stand as his breath fans your ear. 

“ I already know,” you grit out, turning your head to glare at him. Bucky can’t help the cocky grin that overcomes him when you look at him like that. He makes his way over the log and sits right next to you. You don’t hide the displeasure on your face. 

“ Couldn’t find anyone else to annoy, James?” 

 “ None worth my time, sweetheart—and it's Bucky.” 

You roll your eyes biting back a snarky comment. No matter the number of times he insists on you calling him by his nickname, you refuse to. Only his friends call him Bucky, and you're not friends—far from it. So to you, he’s James and nothing more. 

“ We’re not friends, James. Friends don’t make you miss your biology final,” you remind him bitterly. He looks at you with slight disbelief,“ You’re still stuck on that? How is it my fault the party went until four in the morning?” You bristle at his defensiveness. 

“ I don’t know. Maybe by not kicking everyone out of your apartment?” you retort, taking another bite of your s’more. Hoping to lose yourself in the sweetness of it before the distaste of his presence taints it. 

“ At least the professor let you make it up…” he mutters under his breath. 

“ That’s not the point,” you snip, unable to let him have the last word. You pretend to focus on Sam’s story, but really your attention is on the flames in front of you. The way they dance and crackle as if telling their own story alongside Sam’s. 

Bucky stares at you, his eyes scanning every detail of your face. His favorite pastime is finding all the ways to push your buttons. There’s something about your reactions that he can’t help but want to see more of. He openly enjoys being the only one who can elicit such responses from you. Hell, you could say he was proud of it. 

“ Stop it.” 

“ Stop what?” 

“ The staring.” 

“ Don't want to.” 

You turn to give him a piece of your mind but abruptly stop when you see the way he’s looking at you—or more so the way he’s examining your lips. His eyes reflecting more than just the golden flames in the bonfire. There was something deeper and not entirely unfamiliar. He had looked at you this way before, and yet it was still unrecognizable to you. An emotion you couldn’t pinpoint, but that was heartstopping nonetheless. 

His hand lifts to your face, his thumb brushing away at something on the corner of your mouth. Your tongue instinctively darts out to lick your lips and remove whatever remnants of the s’more are left. Something unreadable flashes in his eyes. You wonder what he must be seeing in yours when his eyes drift from your lips to your gaze. 

“ You had a little something there,” his voice has a deeper cadence to it, contrasting the cheeky grin plastered on his face. That damn grin. It’s all you need to snap out of whatever trance you were just in. 

“ You’re insufferable,” you hiss out, getting up from your spot on the ground and stepping away from the bonfire. You hate how he does this—how easily he’s able to mess with you. It’s like it's his second nature to know exactly how to get a reaction from you. Almost as if he knew you better than you knew yourself.

The vulnerability of it all is what ground your gears the most. Bucky was used to this. The flirting, the back and forth, the teasing, and having girls wrapped around his finger. The last time you were in a relationship was your freshman year of college—a few years ago. It had been too long of being touch-starved that the slightest of touches or gazes brought about a yearning deep within you. One that you swore Bucky could see right through and it made you detest the man more. 

You hated feeling like you were being toyed with. But above all, you hated how much you actually didn’t hate the attention he gave you. 

You make your way over to one of the many trashcans around the campsite and dump the last bits of your s’more in along with the disposable plate. Your appetite for the treat long gone after his little stunt. 

You use your phone as a flashlight as you walk over to where all the tents are stationed. It’s not too far from the bonfire, but far enough that the voices of everyone drown out into a low hum. A few people are already in the tents enjoying the night without the warmth of the fire. 

“ Y/n! Hold up!” Jane calls out to you from behind. You face her confused expression, “ Everything okay?” You nod, your hands hiding in the pockets of your grey sweatpants,“ Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna call it a night,” you say tiredly. You don’t want her to worry or keep her from enjoying her night. 

“ Okay…Are you sure? Because you seemed off after Bucky—” 

“ Please for the love of everything don’t mention him.”

Jane drops the subject entirely, “ Okay, okay. I won’t,” she assures you and pauses for a moment before she adds, “ By the way, I’ll be staying with Thor tonight, so you have our tent all to yourself.” 

“ Oh? Oh…behave yourself, Foster,” you warn her playfully. She rolls her eyes waving off your tease,“ No promises.” You laugh together—the exchange alleviating the heaviness in your shoulders.

After a light farewell, your best friend retreats to the bonfire. You find your eyes drifting from her figure to the back of Bucky’s head. He’s still sitting in the same spot, right next to where you had sat. He was drinking away at a beer as Sam continues his story. You look away, ignoring the way your heart feels a small pang as it wonders if it would have been so bad if you had stayed.

Only Bucky had this way of infuriating you, but enticing you at the same time. A magnetic push and pull that tugs at you whenever you’re near him. 

You crouch down and unzip your humble abode for the night. Gazing up at the sky before heading in. The moon is bright and full amongst the dark hazy clouds. 

“ It's not bad enough to have Friday the 13th, we've gotta have a full moon too?” you grumble before entering the tent. The knowledge of being in here alone all night sounds less appealing now. You wish Sam had told a different story to set the mood for tonight. 

For the next couple of hours, you lose yourself in your sketchbook. Every corner of the tent became your makeshift desk as the soft scratches of graphite filled the air. A small LED lantern casting just enough glow to guide your intricate curves and shadows across the paper. At first, you were sketching a flower you had seen earlier in the day along a trail. You don’t recognize the species, but the cluster of pretty violet petals vividly lived in your head and you wanted it forever memorialized in your sketchbook. 

At some point, however, the petals turn into doodles and then unrecognizable scribbles. The creative flow taking a life of its own. You soon find yourself drawing a pair of eyes on another page. Giving them a space of their own. These eyes you recognize deep down, but they still have the same unreadable expression from earlier. Almost as if you hoped to decipher it by putting it on paper. 

Maybe then it would be easier to look at them without being affected—without feeling that pull. 

There’s a loud thump that echoes close to your tent. You freeze at the sound. By this point, everyone had called it a night and retreated to their sleeping arrangements. It had been at least half an hour that you hadn’t heard a single sound except for the chirping of crickets amongst a chorus of other creepy crawlers. 

When no sound followed the thump you decided to ignore it—acting like you hadn’t heard a thing. And yet, your fingers swiftly moved to turn off the lantern and close your sketchbook, neatly tucking it beneath your pillow. 

Another noise rang out—the skidding of dirt. And this time it was closer to your tent. Not directly outside it, but almost. You don’t know why your heart dropped or why your fingertips went cold, but they did. You tell yourself it’s probably just someone going out to use the bathroom or some other related activity. 

Your body betrayed your mind as it started to feel enclosed in the tent. Like a prey caught in a trap. Hopelessly awaiting the moment the predator decided to take them out. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and with numb fingers, you grab your phone. The tent shrinking around you as your heart pounded in your chest. Going out to investigate the source of the noise wasn't the smartest idea. However, continuing to be a sitting duck in the tent was distressing you more—and that helpless feeling overpowered anything else. 

You slowly unzip the tent, trying to make as minimal noise as possible. You slip on your moccasins, putting one foot in front of the other as you step out into the night. Your surroundings are cast in shadows as the moon seems to be hiding behind a gloomy cluster of clouds. You look around and notice no one else is awake. Only dormant tents with sleeping residents inside accompany you in the night. 

You scan the area, training your ear to see if you can pick up any noise. 

That’s when you hear it—a rustling in the bushes. 

You peer into the woods, your eyes narrowing hoping to center on something, but you can’t see anything. There’s a slight fog that encases the lines of trees encircling the campsite obstructing your view. 

You take a few steps forward, hugging your sweater closer to your body. The outside air catches you off guard with its falling degrees. The shadows at every corner of the woods become creatures of the night if you stare at them for too long. 

Why were you doing this? Why had you decided this was a good idea? 

You questioned yourself. An unpleasant shiver goes up your spine at the thought of you walking straight into a creature’s claws. Your footing stumbled, and yet you found yourself walking further in the direction of the sound, the faint glow of your phone illuminating your path. You decided against using the actual flashlight on your phone as it could easily alert whatever was hiding in the foliage of the woods. 

You don’t go too far from the campsite. Your legs only take you a few feet away from the perimeter of it before tensing at the way the hoot of an owl cuts through the stillness of the night. Your breath caught in your throat, and you gripped your phone tighter. The edges of it digging into your skin. 

“ What are we looking for?” A voice too close for comfort whispers behind you and it causes you to shriek, your phone tumbling to the ground as you jump away from the source. Your eyes zero in on the culprit—your blood boiling when your gaze meets his ceruleans. 

James Buchanan fucking Barnes.

A deep chuckle erupts from Bucky at your reaction. Not only at the way you jumped, but also at the way you’re now seething. He stands there in a basic white tee and black joggers, his hair slightly unkempt from lying on it earlier in the night. 

“ What the hell is wrong with you?” You hiss, bending down to pick up your phone from the ground. The anxiety from before dissipating into irritation. 

“ Me? What’s up with you? Sneaking around in the woods at night. That’s kinda creepy, sweetheart,” he jabs with a smirk. You roll your eyes, exhaling to steady your breath,“ Stop calling me that. And I'm not sneaking around—I heard something.” 

“ And you came to check it out?” 

“ Yeah.”

“ You have no survival instincts, do you?”

“ And you do? You're out here too.”

Bucky crosses his arms, his eyes roaming over your figure. He’s thoroughly entertained by your attempt to catch whatever is out there in your cozy outfit. It’s not exactly monster-hunting material. 

“ I let my buddy have the tent for the night. He’s got a girl in there. Thought I'd sleep under the stars like nature intended,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. A wry smile appears on your face,“ Aren’t you a great friend,” you reply sarcastically. He’s about to give you a snippy retort when a branch breaks ahead of you, causing you both to snap your attention to it. 

You both go silent—wondering if you’ll hear anything more. Bucky takes a few steps forward to stand in front of you. Positioning himself between you and the unknown noise. 

“ Is that what you heard earlier?” He asks, his voice a hushed whisper. Your eyes drift up his form and the way his arm is slightly outstretched in your direction in a protective stance. He’s looking in the direction of where the sound came from, but then his head turns back to look at you. 

It takes you a second to gather your words,“ Sort of. At first there was like a loud thud by my tent and then some rustling—and now this,” you describe the unfolding events thus far.

He frowns,“ Is your tent the one by Wanda’s?”At his question you nod,“ Yeah…why?” He tilts his head slightly as he tries to recollect something. 

“ The two-person one with the purple edges?” 

“ Yeah…” 

His features soften, dawning on a sheepish expression. His protective stance faltering as he scratches the back of his neck,“ The noise was me then—sorry. I tripped over something while looking for a place to piss.” 

“ Oh…” Is all you manage to say. Feeling utterly foolish for getting so worked up over nothing. What you had thought was something going bump in the night ended up being Bucky stumbling to relieve himself. 

Another branch cracks in the murky fog. Reminding you that although the noises you heard outside your tent were explained, the ones here, not too far from you and Bucky—weren’t. 

“ I’m gonna go check it out,” he takes a step forward, but you stop him. Your hand shoots out to grip the hem of his shirt,“ Don’t! Are you crazy? You’re going to get yourself killed or something!”

His eyebrows raise, not expecting you to have that reaction.“ Are you worried about me, sweetheart?” A smirk spreads across his face, a twinkle in his eye.“ As if—screw you,” you deny harsher than you intended, removing your hold from his shirt. This only provokes him more, his smirk turning into a cheeky grin,“ You wanna?” 

“ You know what? I hope whatever is out there gets you.” 

“ Oh, you’d miss me if it did. But don’t worry—if it gets me, I’ll make sure to let it know you’re the one worth chasing." 

Bucky doesn’t give you a second to process what his words really mean. Instead, he takes out a small flashlight from the pocket of his joggers. He turns it on, shining the area ahead of him. A brazen expression is the last thing you see before he wanders into that direction of the woods as if there wasn’t potentially something dangerous up ahead. 

You wanted to protest, but you didn’t. Rather, you end up standing there amongst the wilderness, watching as his form gets smaller and smaller until it disappears into the haze of the fog. 

You feel uneasy as soon as you don’t see him. Your chest feels heavy with the unknown. You call out to him. Thinking maybe he’s doing this to prove something or to mess with you. When he doesn’t call back you find apprehension in the sinking pit of your stomach. 

Behind you, the campsite is still in sight. The smart thing to do would be to go wake someone up—like Thor—to go after Bucky. However, your feet work faster than your mind does, pushing you to follow after him. 

This time you use the flashlight on your phone to light your path. The luminescence cuts through the fog as you trudge through it. Leaves crunching beneath your feet, and hands outstretched lightly to use the passing trees as support to persist onward. 

You walk for a good few minutes before you finally spot him. He’s standing by a tall pine tree, his right hand tracing over something etched into the bark. 

“ James! Come back to the campsite!” You whisper yelled, approaching him. He hummed,“ So you are worried about me,” the smugness in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you. When he turns to face you his eyes tell you he was expecting you. Like he knew in the end your stubbornness and pride wouldn’t matter because you’d end up following after him after all.

You are worried about him. He needs no further proof than your actions. 

There was a prickling of annoyance building up in your system. More than anything, you wanted to get out of the woods as soon as possible. The campsite feels like a haven awaiting your return. 

“ Can you stop being so insufferably cocky for one second and just come back to the camp before I drag your ass back?” You say through gritted teeth. You wanted to have more bark to your bite, but the inkling dread of what could be out here stopped you from crossing that line. 

He stepped closer to you, the glow of his flashlight reflecting in his eyes in tiny glimmers,“ Why? I thought you didn't care if ‘whatever is out there’ got me.”

“ I don��t—but I’d hate to be an accomplice to that thing.” 

“ Admit it. You’re worried about me.”

By now Bucky was mere inches away from you. Having slowly sauntered right up to you. His eyes were daring you to speak the truth—his arrogant smile tempting you to do even more. 

“ I came to get you back, but if you’re determined to stay here then stay,” you huff, spinning on your heels to storm off. 

Bucky’s hand reaches out and encloses your wrist gently. Just enough to keep you from walking away. He sighs with defeated ire. 

“ Sweetheart, why won't you admit—” he’s cut off by the swift movement of something dashing past the both of you. He immediately pulls you in closer, his arms encasing you protectively—his body a shield. One arm is wrapped around your waist while the other holds your head. Your own body leans into his as if bracing for impact. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see the culprit of the racket. A deer dashing through the woods like it had somewhere to be. You held back a laugh at the revelation. 

This is what had you so worried this whole time? A deer? 

Even so, your heart races in your chest. And Bucky has you so tightly pressed into his that you can feel the way his own heart is thrumming rapidly. Both of your breaths work to steady from their instability as you realize there is nothing truly to be worried about. 

You stay like this for what seems like an eternity. Finding comfort in each other’s arms. The fog dances around your figures as if pushing you closer. The tips of your fingers tingle from where they’re pressed at his chest. 

When you finally register whose touch it is, you pull away. Bucky reluctantly lets you go. His arms awkwardly falling to his sides. You don’t know what to say. He doesn’t know where to start.

Why was his instinct to protect you? To keep you from harm’s way? 

And why had you felt the safest all night in his arms? 

You swallow the questions that desire to escape. There’s a part of you that feels like you should thank him, but then the other part feels stupid for wanting to do so. Knowing how much it would feed his ego to vindicate him as a hero. 

“ Guess it was just a deer, huh?” Bucky tries to cut through whatever tension is starting to build. 

“ Yeah…silly us…” you reply, half-heartedly. Your mind still reeling from his touch. 

You both go quiet again. The silence welcomes you where words fail to. 

Out of nowhere, you feel a tiny bead land on your head. Followed by one on your hand and then your cheek. It's beginning to drizzle. The rain cutting through the trees and promising to kiss every inch of your skin. 

“ We should get going,” Bucky says, his palm cupped to catch a few droplets. 

“ Yeah, that’s a good idea,” you agree, clearing your throat. In other circumstances, Bucky would rejoice and point out how, for once, you aren’t arguing with him. But not right now—not at this moment. Not when the memory of holding each other stirred something within you both. 

No, now instead you walk back to the campsite in silence. You’re a few steps ahead as Bucky decides to tow along at a slower pace. Seemingly lost in thought. 

When you’re back at the campsite your eyes dart to your tent. It’s within reach. A safety you can hideout in until the emotions Bucky arose in you fade away.  

“ Can I chill in your tent for a while? Just until the rain stops,” Bucky surprises you with his request. Until you remember he gave up his tent to his friend for the night. 

“ What? No,” your response is immediate. The thought of you and Bucky alone in your tent causes many scenarios to run through your head. You didn’t think you’d make it through the night with him in it. You were barely hanging on as it is. 

“ I just saved your life.” 

“ You did not.”

“ Did too.” 

“ James, you absolutely did not–” 

“ Please,” his soft plea tugs at the very part of you that wants to say yes. He’s not the kind of guy to beg, but he’ll do anything to not stand out in the cold rain. You being in an enclosed space with him was just a bonus. 

An extremely tantalizing bonus. 

“ Fine…but only until the rain stops,” you concede. You weren’t heartless enough to leave him out in the rain. 

You zip open the tent and climb inside. You remove your moccasins and leave them by the entrance. The inside is spacious enough for the two of you, but you still find yourself going into the furthest right corner of it. You sit crossed-legged as you turn on the small LED lantern to illuminate the tent with its muted glow. He makes his way inside, his hair glistening from the rain. He leaves his muddied slides by your moccasins. 

“ This tent is way nicer than the one Sam and I got,” he comments, running a hand through his hair to dispel the droplets. He’s trying to make light conversation, keeping his distance as he sits in the corner by the entrance diagonally from you. 

“ Jane’s family is really into camping so she had this one laying around…” you mention. The oddity of small talk between you fills the space with a foreign dynamic. The rain goes from a sprinkle to a pour. Hitting the top of the fabric cacoon in harsh strokes.  

He chooses to pivot the conversation.“ Do you have everything ready for fall semester?” He asks you, maneuvering to sit with his knees bent, his shirt hiking up the smallest bit to expose the skin at his hips. You avert your gaze when your heart does a little flip. 

“ Almost. I still have one or two textbooks to get,” you reply, playing with a few loose threads of the blanket beneath you. Anything to not have your eyes wander back to him. 

He scoffs lightly,“ You already got your textbooks? There’s no way. I always get ‘em after the first week.” Unlike you, he can’t seem to keep his pretty blues away from you. Your features heightened in the gentle sheen of the lantern. Intricate shadows scattered across your figure that made you look ethereal. The way his heart hammered in his chest romanticizing the sight of you.

“ That's because I’m responsible and you’re not.” 

“ I am responsible. As captain of the baseball team—”

“ Spare me the team leader speech, please,” you groan, stopping him from continuing. There’s only so much you can take for one night. And hearing Bucky light up as he talks about the one thing he’s passionate about—the one thing that humanizes him to you beyond his usual cheeky self. It would do more to you than just make your heart do a little flip.

You’d end up saying or doing something you wouldn’t be able to take back. 

“ Look, Y/n, I’m just trying to make conversation here. You don’t have to be so difficult all the time. Just talk to me,” Bucky brings you out of your thoughts not only by his exasperated tone, but by the way your name rolls off his tongue. He so rarely calls you by it. He’s called you sweetheart endlessly—and he’s even slipped a few sunshines in the mix—but your name was foreign to his vocabulary.  

 Bucky is usually good at dealing with your constant back and forth. Some days it's the only thing he looks forward to. However, right now it was irritating him how much you pushed back. He wanted you to give in. To what, he wasn’t sure. But he wondered what normalcy felt like with you—what just a damn friendly conversation felt like. 

You sigh, meeting his eyes.“ I don’t want to talk. Sorry, I think I’m just tired. Maybe we should go to bed,” you suggest, hoping that if he says yes you can sleep away the bubbling of emotions in your chest. 

You can see the way he contemplates something, biting the inside of his bottom lip. Now he’s the one holding back. A beat passes and you nervously wonder if he’ll turn down your suggestion. 

“ Fine—it's late anyway. But only if I get to sleep next to you. I promise I’ll keep my distance. It’s just there’s water leaking through the zipper at the entrance,” he mentions, his hand motioning to the entry. Your eyes dart to where he’s pointing and sure enough there’s a small puddle of water pooling by it. Not knowing how long the rain would continue, you knew you had to deal with the issue.

You grab Jane’s camping gear that holds numerous amount of supplies in all of its various pockets. She always came extra prepared no matter the occasion. You take out a washcloth, scooting over to the entrance to soak up the forming puddle. You decide to leave it there neatly tucked underneath where the water was finding its way in.

“ Alright, but if you snore I'm kicking you out,” you warn, but it’s more playful than serious. Something to lighten the mood before you go to bed. A way to dissipate whatever tension’s built up so you'd be able to fall asleep. 

It’s hard to cut through the tension and alleviate its symptoms when your shelter from the storm seems to shrink the more you chat with Bucky. And now sitting right next to him—shoulder to shoulder—it seems like a damn near impossible task. 

" I’ll take my chances. But just so you know, I don’t go down without a fight,” he winks at you, your shoulders brushing. Your heart rate picks up and it takes everything within you to stare into his eyes and not focus on the way that simple contact sent a shiver down your spine. 

His eyes drift to your lips causing your breath to hitch. The implications of where this could go are enough to pull you away from his spell. 

“ Goodnight,” you choke out. Subtly rushing over to your sleeping bag and settling into it. You don’t see when he shakes his head, but you do hear how he chuckles lowly. He mumbles something under his breath, but you can’t pick it up. 

He makes his way over to Jane’s sleeping bag, but lays on top of it instead of nestling into it. Choosing to cover himself only in the maroon fleece blanket that was draped over your body too. 

“ Goodnight,” he finally says, his body turning to face away from you. You respond by turning off the lantern. The space is now engulfed by darkness. Only the faintest of light shines in from the outside, letting your eyes trace the outlines of objects. 

 You turn to your side. Your back facing his. You take a deep breath, concentrating on the sound of the rain to hopefully lull you into a slumber. But the air felt too thick and your body was burning up from the heat radiating under the blanket. There was a good foot or so separating your body and Bucky’s. And yet, you could feel the heat radiating off of him as if he was pressed up right against you. 

It was too much. You swore you started sweating, so you shuffled under the covers and out of the sleeping bag. Every movement slow and deliberate as if to not snap the rope keeping the palpable tension in place. 

When only the plush fleece covered your body, the heat radiated less. But the fluttering of the blanket caused Bucky’s cologne to waft your way. A pleasant scent of musky woodiness with a hint of something that was entirely him. You gripped the cover tightly and counted to ten in your head. You were going mad. 

“ Would you stop hogging the blanket? ” Bucky muttered from beside you. There were a lot of things he wanted to tell you to stop doing. Because you and your constant fidgeting were driving him crazy. Every fiber of his being holding back from doing something to snap that rope. 

You didn’t realize you had been pulling it your way until he mentioned it. Your grip on it loosened,“ Sorry. I wasn’t hogging it though,” you argued for no reason other than to fill the silence. 

“ Yes, you were.” 

“ No, I wasn’t.” 

There was something about the proximity of your bodies that made the blanket seem smaller. Like there was no possible way it could equally cover both of your sleeping forms. Maybe this is what caused you to then tug at it, however, he holds it firmly to himself too.  

Persistently you pull at the blanket again. He pulls back—a tug of war ensues between you. You can hear him huff in the darkness, but you're not letting up. Bucky couldn't care less about the blanket. He only cared about not letting you get the upper hand. His competitive streak showing.  

While you solely really didn’t want to let him win. 

You wrap the end of the blanket around yourself—almost like a cacoon. The delicate fleece encases you. Leaving the bare minimum amount for Bucky to cover himself with. 

“ You have got to be one of the most stubborn people I have ever met in my goddamn life,” he practically growls as he yanks forcefully on the blanket. A tiny yelp escapes you as you get pulled along with it. 

You underestimated the strength of the star pitcher. 

You end up on top of him. The blanket now an extra cushy barrier between your bodies. In the dim light, your eyes lock, and you can faintly see the outline of a boyish grin on his face. You don’t move away. There’s like an invisible force that keeps you there. Your body pressed against his feeling his warmth tenfold. You can’t tell if either of you are breathing because all you're aware of now is how his heart beats in time with yours. 

“ You’re insufferable you know that?” you swallow hard, your voice lacking its usual bite.

“ You sure about that, sweetheart?” he challenges, his voice barely above a whisper. His lips brushing against yours with feather-light contact.

When had your lips gotten so close? 

You don’t know who leans in first. The one who finally breaks the standoff because your lips seem to meet at the same time. The kiss is sweet, but with a slight hesitance to it. As if neither of you are completely sure the other wants this. Or more like neither of you believes this is happening. However, when his hands grip the back of your thighs, sliding your legs from on top of him to his sides so you straddle him—you believe it. And when your hands find themselves threading in his hair—he believes it. 

One kiss that tests the waters turns into one that slowly sinks into the feeling. Until the two of you fully submerge into the depths of whatever has been simmering between you for what seems like too long. Delicate kisses that get more heated—more intense as your lips continue to meet. Bucky beams at the fact that you’re no longer pushing, but pulling into him. His craving for you only increasing now that he’s had a taste. 

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, slow and gentle. Asking for permission to deepen the kiss. Bucky Barnes isn’t the type to be slow and gentle—but when it comes to you he finds himself wanting to relish every second he gets. Not knowing when he’ll get another moment like this with you again. 

Your lips part enough for him to slip his tongue in to truly kiss you like he wanted to. As soon as you grant access he takes full opportunity to explore every corner of your mouth. His tongue molding with yours in fervor. Your fingers lightly tug at his hair while his hands roam your body memorizing every curve and dip. Wherever he gripped and caressed, his touch left heat in its wake. 

A heat you had to contain before it consumed you both. 

“ If you think you’re getting lucky tonight—think again. This is the most you’ll get,” You say breathlessly, pulling away to help your lungs remember what oxygen is. 

He groans, breath panting, the outline of his pout evident in the dim light,“ Don’t do this to me, sweetheart. Can’t leave me like this.” His voice a desperate whine that allured you to keep going. 

“ Too bad. You're dreaming if you think this is going any further.” 

“ God, you don’t wanna know what I've dreamed about.” 

“ Shut up,” you cut off his groan with another kiss. Fierce enough to silence him immediately. He hopes you shut him up like this more often. 

Your lips meet again in a hasty lock. No hesitation now as your tongues meet quicker. You seem to be obsessed with his hair as you run your fingers through it again. He shivers at the touch. His hands slide under your sweater to trail along your soft skin. Keeping his hands along your back and waist. Teetering around the boundary you drew, so he didn’t get carried away. But it was hard when kissing you felt as good as throwing the perfect game—maybe even better.

He realizes the emotions you bring out of him are worth a lifetime waiting for.

He pulls away this time to catch his breath, his hands sliding up your body to cup your face,“ I’m in no rush, sweetheart. I’ve got all the time in the world to take it all the way—make you fall for me.” 

You hum, leaning into his touch,“ You seem sure of yourself. ”

His voice is rough yet affectionate when he speaks,“ I’m sure of you, sweetheart. You’re worth every second, and I’m not stopping until you see it too.” 

He gives you one final tender kiss. One that's full of promise for the future. You weren’t sure if it was his words or the meaning in the kiss that stole your breath away. 

After a few seconds, you both pull away. Separating your bodies from each other to provide that much-needed space before lines were crossed.

“ Goodnight, Bucky,” you say, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how you would keep your hands and lips to yourself come tomorrow. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat when you called him by his nickname. Bringing a genuine smile to his face, loving the way it sounded coming from you. 

“ Goodnight, Y/n.”

Even after saying goodnight, the two of you can’t fall asleep immediately. You try to, but there are small moments in the night where you drift back to each other. Where in the darkness your lips meet again and again—satiating the tension in parts. Where your hands find themselves under the covers and layers of clothing. Flaming the fans of desire just enough so it doesn’t completely burn out, but smoldering to be reignited at any moment’s chance. 

You don’t realize when you fall asleep. Your eyelids growing heavy at some point tangled up in his body under the covers. Your face in the crook of his neck. His head resting on top of yours. Your bodies fit like puzzle pieces like they were meant to be connected in every way. 

It’s not until that morning when you wake up and find yourself in his arms, snuggled into his side, that the events of last night sink in. You pull away the tiniest bit. Merely enough to be able to get a look at him. The brown strands of his hair tousled and clinging to his forehead. The slope of his nose, his dark lashes fanned delicately against his skin, and the tiniest parting of his lips. He looks peaceful—almost angelic as he slumbers. 

You’re itching to sketch the image in front of you. 

You can’t stop yourself from reaching out to touch the strands at his forehead. It’s enough to have his eyes flutter open, their color brighter in the daylight. He gives you a lazy smile the instant he realizes last night wasn’t a dream and you really were here, nestled in his arms. 

No words were exchanged, but both of you were conscious of the line you had drawn last night. And yet, you both also knew that in time, that line would be crossed again and again. Until the line blurred into oblivion.

[glitchlight]

actually to expand on that last post is there truly any more dire state of a genre than western traditional fantasy now.

the top end is dominated by genre tentpoles nobody likes anymore, all of which are stealing the same five ideas (four of them racist) from one another constantly. Amazon blew a billion dollars on a lotr show nobody watched -- WHILE ALSO making a wheel of time show for millions itself and ALSO nobody talks about it. Bioware's probably gonna be dead if DA4 flops; Bethesda might well be dead before even getting a chance to make TES6. DnD is even more of a cultural juggernaut than it ever has been even as everyone hates it more with each passing day. Hasbro needs a billion dollars man. Hasbro needs MONEY. And everywhere else we're stuck in the prequel timeloop of endless nostalgia recursion.

The base of the genre, long dominated by a litany of endless hacks and enthusiastic nobodies has been supplanted by a new generation of neophytes and the 2020s hack, cranking out interminable webnovels emulating anime and light novels or else hopping on new genre trends inspired by anime and light novels like isekai and/or litrpg. There's an entire subgenre that's just " boring Dungeon Keeper letsplays."

The most interesting thing to happen in western fantasy in years is the development of cozy fantasy, the least emotionally challenging genre experiment ever and one which is as creatively bankrupt as it is wildly successful. Just slap a found family sticker and a token queer romance on a small business in a fantasy world and you've got yourself a cozy fantasy. And when those writers truly try branching into fiction when they can't lean on cliche and fanfic formula they write something like rebecca thorn's This Gilded Abyss, a Bioshock rip off so poorly plotted the middle portion of the book becomes literally incoherent.

Genre's fucked man.

[astralnymphh]

aestra good evening monarch 🩷… i’m thinking about just like a soft fluffy slightly drunk giggly first kiss with ellie… i just know she would be so awkward and flustered and a bit of a loser but try to play it off cool like it’s not the event of the year to her. hm. need to bite her at once. anyway!

a/n: basically the best kind of kiss.. okay so default for this is jackson!ellie no buts and no whats! fluffy content. slightly suggestive. mdni.

it starts with mouthfuls of nonsense. tight cords in her neck, wringing her out into the fool of romance. ellie spent the enitre dinner party drinking to you and spectating coversations with you, slipping in periodically. on this secluded night, she naturally would never know what to say, what to think—however, tonight is ascendant; the moon is drunk and it is beaming on her skin. the alcohol is talking for her, and loosening up the little thorns in her throat. influenced, an absent-minded sentence trips over her lips, “so, you don't like me? not even a little?”

thing is, you never even stated that. all you mentioned was your appreciation of her presence—and how much of an ultimate idiot you thought she embodied. of course, the headlighted girl read it wrong.

then, it transformed into handfuls of flesh. your sultry fingers give her an ultimatum, combing behind her simmering ears: either kiss you now, or hole up her peace until time is perfect. nature argues; time is never providential, and she feels herself falling into you. stumbling over to your mouth like it provides lovely passions she cannot express. her hot breath saturates your lips. “fuck—you're really letting me do this,” she revels, going hazy-headed. from intoxication, from being moonstruck—none can tell. what you can tell from the delicate treatment of your lips is that she cannot believe this. exchanging soft, little kisses, feeling your mouth. she is nervous to explore you.

she laughs a smirk into your mouth, and you coo. “such a giggly girl, huh?” making her every muscle tighten and want you ritualistically. the hands, they atone for softness. a deep, agreeable hum, “mhm..” vibrates your lips, then, her fingers wedge into the closed crevice behind your knees, intending to tug you upon her. she quickens the kissing, and leans back. “this okay? wanna feel your weight 'n'me,” she slurs her words, and stares with drooped, sycamore eyes. spellbound. “oh my god, you look so fuckin' pretty like this. wanna fit you in my sketchbook.” she traces your frame, lip bitten. the desire makes no sense in theory—but to the alcohol, it makes perfect sense. as though you don't already live in her pages. what an idiot!

after more lip-twinings, neck-bitings and grindings, you ask her what she thinks of all this. she indeed, attempts to play it cool. “yeah, it's, uh—it's good. i've kissed so many girls though, kinda hard to compete.” throwing mock-casual expressions, maybe a little shrug too. to you, she has just triggered a challenge; enticed you. “really?” the endings of an idea salient in your tone. pushing up her white shirt, she never expected you to stoop so low. nicking and licking circles around freckles and moles on the flesh of her sensitive stomach, she has to suck in. croak for a gasp.

yeah, she is gonna write all about this.

[hrefna-the-raven]

Mask

Horror masterlist - Masterlist - Misc. masterlist

RZ Michael Myers x female nurse reader

Part 1

Words: 1248

Warnings: very mild and short descriptions about violence

Summary: you seem to be the only person who's able to communicate with Michael and so you continued to take care of him on Dr Loomis' orders

Reader: short female reader in mind, but no specific descriptions are used

The following days and weeks passed with the same routine. You were overseeing Michael in the observation room until Doctor Loomis would arrive for the therapy session. Occasionally, the doctor would even request that you stay, hoping that Michael would open up in your presence. He did, although the doctor was too engrossed in his own theories to notice it each time, but you saw all of it. The little amused huffs behind the mask whenever you challenged him with a question, the silent chuckles and crinkling eyes whenever you told one of your jokes and the way his breath hitched as soon as your hand found his in an innocent touch. All the while a frustrated Loomis sat across the table, huffing as he scribbled down in his notebook, so much to write and yet no wisdom to share, only speculations.

The conflict within Michael kept raging on, torn between his urge to kill and the growing fondness for you. You were a thorn in his flesh of bloody sin and yet, you soothed his mind and your touch left a sense of longing burning beneath his skin. Your fingertips brushing the side of his hand as he tried to help you make your own mask felt electrifying, a spark straight to his rotten heart, nourishing its dying flesh. His heart raced, threatening to burst out of his chest while his breaths grew heavier. As his eyes finally locked on yours, the entire world around him froze, time trickling away while you observed him, your perfect lips slightly parted, realising what was happening to him, what you did to him.

"Well mine doesn't look as good as yours but I still have time to learn from the master", you giggled, holding your mask up for him to see, "shall we try them on?"

A faint smile spread across his lips, well hidden beneath the painted paper on his face. The way you giggled so carelessly in his presence, the graceful movements of your hands, making the piece of paper-mâché seemingly dance in the air, Michael could feel a knot forming in his stomach. He had never felt like this, not even prior to that one fateful Halloween. Although his heart suddenly jumped as he observed your cheerful expression falter, replaced by a hint of fear. Would this be the inevitable moment of truth where you'd finally realise how ugly he truly was on the outside and deep within?

"I...I should turn around", you murmured, "sorry I forgot for a moment that you don't like showing your face."

His fingers moved up to grasp your chin, preventing you from turning your head away. Observing your initial confusion, he handed you his new mask and slowly removed his old one. A hushed gasp slipped passed your lips, eyes wide in shock as you gazed upon Michael's real face for the very first time. He let out a rasped groan as your fingertips graced his forehead, brushing the long blonde strands of hair away to tuck them behind his ears. His handsome face bore a rough charm, tiny dark stubble adorned his broad jaw and chin, his lips trembling ever so slightly while his icy blue eyes locked onto yours. He noticed your flustered expression and the heat rising to your cheeks as you leaned closer and put the mask over his head, but you didn't pull it down immediately.

"That...uhm...is a very beautiful face", you whispered, "thanks for allowing me to see it...for the trust."

You pulled the mask down and right before it covered his face entirely, you saw his lips curl into a wide smile. As you were about to put your own mask on, the metal door swung open and Loomis entered with Cruz following closely behind.

"Thank you nurse", the doctor called out while Cruz simply waved at you with a smile, "you can take your leave now. Mister Cruz will take care of Michael in the coming days and I will commence the daily therapy session now. Happy Halloween!"

You sensed Michael tense beside you, the breaths under the mask becoming more erratic with each second of silence passing. Your hand found his, squeezing it gently while his gaze met yours at the subtle reassuring touch.

"I'll take a week off from this evening on, but", you spoke calmly, sensing his rising panic, "I know tomorrow is Halloween, soooo....after discussing it with Dr Loomis, I got the approval to drop by and visit you, in my Halloween costume. And of course I gonna bring you some candy."

You offered a gentle smile while your hand remained on his but it wasn't nearly enough to quell the anger burning within Michael in this moment. He had trusted you, opened himself up to you, and now, like everyone else in his life, you were about to leave him again. Leaving him all to himself and his darkness again? The thought of being abandoned consumed him, causing his teeth to grind and his once warm eyes turned cold and lifeless. His hand instinctively moved towards your neck while his mind exploded with images of how he could simply smash you head first into the table. The cracking sound of your skull, the crimson trickling from every wound, pooling around your face in perfect contrast against the dark grey metal underneath, all mingling with the sweet melody of your panicked last breaths, realising your life was drained away by his hand, the very one you're still holding onto right now.

"If you write me down your favourite candy, I gonna try and get that one for us. Promised!"

Your soft voice snapped him out of his murderous trail of thoughts back into reality and he felt his hold on your neck loosen, gently caressing your skin before retreating. Steel blue eyes blinked at you a few times, the love and gentleness slowly returning to them and with a loud sigh Michael leaned forward, hastily scribbling a few words on a piece of paper before sliding it towards you. The chuckle escaping your lips went straight through his chest, it being the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, forgetting all the pain and doubt it had caused within him just a few seconds ago.

"Oh those two are my favourites too", your finger tapped on the paper, "you have an excellent taste in sweets, Mr Myers."

He rolled his eyes in response but you could almost see the smirk peeking out from behind the paper-mâché.

"I'll see you tomorrow then. Make sure to wear your scariest mask", you winked at him before heading towards the doors.

Before the door fell shut, Loomis slipped through it, calling out for you. It amazed you how this man knew so much and so little at the same time about his most famous patient. He listened, analysed and yet, he never seemed to truly see or hear Michael. Maintaining a friendly and professional expression on your face, you continued to listen as he provided additional instructions for your visit the following day.

As you laid in bed that night, a stash of candy and sweets stowed away and ready, excitement bubbled in your stomach while your restless mind got lost in the anticipation of your first private meeting with Michael, outside your nurse outfit and the obligation to watch over him. It would simply be you and him having as much Halloween fun as a place like Smith's Grove would allow.

Part 3 - Home (18+)

[munsonownsmyass]

This month's prompt is "Oh, I'm sorry. Was that too much?"

For keeps by @she-likesorchids

Summary: Being the daughter of a New York politician with a heavy hand against organized crime puts a target on your back, and one night The Kitchen Irish finally get you. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen and The Punisher rescue you, and they vow to keep you safe. But, what happens when feelings get involved?

The Sweet Spot by @e-dubbc11

Summary: You and Billy are invited to a picnic and you offer to bring dessert and wine. Billy offers to help you bake

Move Me by @itwasthereaminuteago

Summary: A dancer and a boxer, you've got more in common than you first thought, and helping each other through your issues brings you closer than you could imagine.

Will you be mine? by @munsonownsmyass

Summary: After courting you for some time, it's finally the day where Tristan will ask you the most important question of his life.

[theblackphoenixwritings]

𝘋𝘢𝘺 14 - 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴: 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦

𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘶𝘴/𝘈𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘰 & 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘶𝘴/𝘋𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘭 𝘈𝘜/𝘞𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯 - 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 9

They left Teskhamen's tribe the same morning. The small party led by Marius's dog, Daniel, Amadeo and finally Marius set off quickly and orderly on the road to Cripple Creek. Amadeo seemed to have already become familiar, with his horse, which he had named, Famine. Marius and Daniel had squinted at that name, but Amadeo was convinced and proud. Famine, for her part, seemed quite happy to bear that name, rubbing his black muzzle against Amadeo's shoulder. Marius was not surprised at the talents the boy was slowly discovering, in fact, he was somewhat proud of him. That battered and broken boy had not only regained the strength to exist, in a world that had been merciless with him, but seemed intent on standing by Marius' side, despite everything. With his intelligence and good heart even if seasoned with a chili temper. Not too bad. There was much to admire in that auburn-haired figure, who rode erect and silent; there was darkness in him, but who does not have it in them? Marius himself was well aware that even he was not immune to it. They had no time to stop, and so they ate in the saddle, dried meat and bread, and each drank from his own canteen.

As the morning gave way to the afternoon, the group united and rode side by side, galloping across the vast prairie, the freedom Marius felt growing within him as he galloped fast, man and horse one, was something indescribable to him. The horses proceeded swiftly and swiftly over the level ground, the riders attentive to their surroundings, behind them only the trail of dust raised by the powerful hooves of their steeds. That ride found an end when they were close to the canyon again. They had to cross it again, but to be on the safe side, they passed on the opposite side from where Marius and Amadeo had come. The horses returned to the pass, and quietly they continued on the cobblestone road. Marius could not shake the strange feeling of being watched. He wanted with all his might that that instinct of his was related to the bad experience there, but he knew that his will represented nothing in the eyes of fate. Marius caressed Wise, who went on quietly, Marius was reenchanted; if Wise was quiet, perhaps it was he who was too agitated.

"Do you think Thorne is doing well in that nut hole of town?" Marius shifted his gaze to his left; Daniel was staring at him with his violet eyes. Marius smiled.

" If Thorne can't do it, who could?" tried to joke Marius.

" Well you for one. Thorne is the coolest, super badass man alive, but after you, my love. And that city is you who can hold it down properly."

"What I can't do with you, you would say." Marius retorted almost with stinginess, but there was a veiled smile that did not escape Daniel's notice. He had known him too much and for so long, there was no way Daniel could misjudge his man's emotional motions.

"Look the same goes for him," and Daniel pointed with a graceful gesture of his chin at Amadeo, who to Marius's left was watching the top of the canyon.

" He doesn't need to keep me at bay, because he likes it when I challenge him." announced Amadeo confidently as he continued to stare at the canyon top, "Someone is watching us." he then sentenced.

Marius had been puzzled and incredulous at those words, while Daniel had burst out laughing.

" Well yes, we know too little genius, that they are following us, and it's certainly not good for them to realize that we know, so get your little nose away from the top of the canyon." said Daniel.

Armand slowly shifted his attention to Marius, who was staring at an undefined point ahead, his blue eyes seemingly carved out of ice.

"We're in an extremely disadvantaged position, pretty much doomed if they have a carcano" Marius sentenced.

"It would be very easy, for them to end it here, if they kill us, they can handle the story of those creatures and the exsanguinations as they want, the truth will be buried with us." continued Daniel.

Amadeo seemed about to say something but a raised finger of Marius' gloved hand made him stop.

" If Mr. Carson and Santo are involved with the creatures, they sent these men, to finish the work the creatures started the other night, they want us out of the way. But why? And what's in it for them?"

"Why are you convinced this is Mr. Carson?" asked Amadeo, who seemed, now, intent on mulling over the situation. But Amadeo was right-they did not know who these men were, and they could not connect them to Mr. Carson in any way.

"That man lives to do evil, and to accumulate wealth, he is a greedy bastard without a shred of humanity," blurted Daniel.

"Amadeo is right Daniel, we don't know if those men are related to Mr Carson, and we're not even sure if he really is in cahoots with the creatures, whatever the reason might be. We have nothing solid, only supposition." said Marius calmly, who seemed intent in his thoughts.

" Damn it!" blurted Daniel " I followed them, saw the vampires going deeper into Carson's lands. They could have gone any other direction, heck, instead they moved toward the old well. It's less than half an hour from Carson's house. Either they're all already dead, or those creatures don't want to kill them because they have some kind of deal," Daniel said.

"That's right. But we don't know at the moment. We don't know what happened in Mr. Carson's prorpy, and if we get out of here alive, that's the first place I'll go to investigate." said Marius, as he unfastened the latch of the bolt-action bag attached to his saddle. Daniel stared at him; he had never doubted Marius, and even now he was more than sure that Marius would protect them.

"What goes around in that head of yours?" asked Daniel.

"With the scope, I can shoot all the way up there with the bolt, but it would only serve as a diversion, and they have the advantage of height. I'm pretty sure at the canyon exit we'll find more of them, and at that point we'll have no escape." admitted Marius, who was whirling around for a way out of that situation.

"If we stop they will know we have seen them, if we turn back they will attack us anyway, and we are now too far away to call for help," Marius continued. Amadeo and Daniel stared at each other dejectedly. Then suddenly a rifle shot resounded in the canyon and then another and another. Excited voices were heard from the top of the canyon, some stones fell down, pushed by the eagerness of galloping horses. So Marius was right, and at the entrance to the canyon other men were waiting for them, their companions above, had realized that their own were in danger and were rushing to help them. Marius galloped off, unsheathing his bolt from his holster, whoever he had shot had saved them, and was now in danger, even if it had all happened by accident, Marius could not let those half-bandits of Mr. Carson's men kill those who had given them a hand.

"Stay here," he shouted to Daniel and Amadeo, who had already moved to follow him "You are unarmed, and I don't want anything to happen to you." Marius shout, Wise galloped swiftly and inplacably toward the entrance to the Canyon.

Amadeo stared at Daniel, and drew a bow from the bag hanging from his horse, and slung a quiver full of arrows over his shoulders, Daniel nodded, and likewise drew a colt from the leather bag hanging from the side of his horse.

" Let's go." said Daniel, but Amadeo did not answer; he had already thrown his horse into a gallop.

"I'll be damned, but where did he find him?" Daniel straightened up in the saddle and spurred his horse, which followed fiercely in the wake of Amadeo's.

Meanwhile, at the beginning of the canyon a real gunfight resounded. Marius dismounted from his horse and sought shelter among the boulders. In a moment he spotted from where he was shooting, who had rescued them, and the position of the attackers. They had gathered and formed a group to the right of the canyon. They were shooting like mad, bullets were flying everywhere, there were at least seven of them Marius considered. On the other side of the canyon, on the other hand, at precise and calculated moments, ammunition was being fired that had already gone off, there were three corpses disinterred among the rocks. Marius considered that the gunman who had rescued them had damn good aim, but this had alerted the other members of the group, who were now no longer exposing themselves from behind their shelters. Marius slinged his bolt and sought a position favorable to him.

The gang that wanted to kill him, Daniel, and Amadeo had not noticed him. The bolt had only five shots, and from that position Marius could take out at least two of them safely, but then he would give away his position. There was not much else he could do; trying to reach the gunman was out of the question, and changing position was also out of the question. So two powerful bolt shots rang out, and two bodies fell into the sand. One dead, the other wounded, unable to continue firing. There was an excited hubbub from the band; there were five of them left. In an instant Marius' shelter was hit by a barrage of bullets that seemed endless. There followed a scream and a gunshot, then another, and only the sound of a body falling heavily to the ground was heard. For crying out loud that gunman was formidable thought Marius.

"All right, all right, you killed all our comrades, why don't we try to reason now?" shouted one of the survivors. Marius leaning with his back against the boulder, sneered, maybe we could talk, maybe as soon as we put our heads out you will put a bullet in us, maybe as soon as you come out to talk the gunman will put a bullet in your heads, or maybe we will just all kill each other, thought Marius, curious to know what the gunman thought.

But neither could ever know those maybes where they would lead them, the moment the two men came out of their hiding places with guns drawn, hoping that their lie of peace had been believed, one of them fell shot in the neck with an arrow, and the other found death with a colt shot fired by the mysterious gunman.

Amadeo stopped, desperately searching with his eyes for Marius, completely ignoring the red-haired giant with implacable green eyes who was staring at him.

"Thorne!" shrieked Daniel, dismounting from his horse with a smile, but instead of running toward Thorne, who was staring at him in amazement, he rushed to Marius. Daniel threw his arms around his neck, and Marius pulled him close, at that moment, Amadeo also threw himself into the embrace. Marius squeezed them happily; he should have scolded them, but there would be time for that.

Thorne approached with a curious look, Marius placed a hand on his shoulder affectionately.

" Deputy sheriff, I am glad to see you, I have missed you, my friend."

"Sheriff, if you leave again for all this time...You'll have my resignation on the table when you come back," Thorne threatened, but his smile said, more than that.

[supremeshrimpy]

please don't leave me again

Request: Hello! can you write reuniting with them after months/years due to work/curses/ or anything! (up to you!) with seperate! lilia, jade, azul, floyd, and leona? (atp im just desperate for content for the aforementioned characters badly) 

-Anon

Summary: stay a bit longer, it’s been so long! Just…don’t leave them again…

Characters: Lillia Vanrouge, Jade Leech, Azul Ashengrotto, Leona Kingscholar 

A/N: damn a 18 month hiatus is crazy huh… Also, I didn’t feel like writing a Floyd one because I’m a tired senior 

Lillia Vanrouge (Curse): 

Sometimes, when he closes his eyes at night, he sees you smiling at him in a field of flowers. Euphoria. Other times, he sees you lying motionless in his arms, he can still smell the toxin on your lips. He remembers everything so vividly, the way your hair shaped your cold face as he laid your body in your glass tomb. Still, hundreds of years later, he remembers his promise to you.

“For as long as my heart beats,” he whispered, “I will be restless in bringing you back to me, my love.”

So when he received a letter that you had awoken, he was overcome with emotions. As he flew back to the Valley of Thorns, he was angry at himself for missing the moment as your eyes reopened but so fucking excited to feel his cold skin against your warm self again. 

They moved you to our old room in the palace, everything was the same but so much time had passed. It had been so long since…everything. You can’t walk, you can barely talk, and all basic movements feel like challenges. Everybody that you once sat around a table and laughed with was now long dead. 

You were left to ponder how you could even exist in this new world. Everything you knew was gone, friends, family, and…oh no. What became of your dearest, Lillia? Did he go out as a war hero or as a criminal? Did he live to…find someone new and start a family? 

This was all too much, you can’t take the thought. Everything is too much, you just wish that you could close your eyes and go back to the ways things were. 

The door to your room slammed open and there stood a panting, young man. Why does he look so familiar? 

“You’re…this…by the Dark- you’re awake…,” even with his stammers he sounded a lot like someone you once knew. A certain someone who you shared a final memory with. 

“...Lillia,” your question comes out like a whisper as if it was taboo. Before you knew it Lillia had dropped to his knees in front of you. 

“YE-yes it’s me, my love,” he corrects his voice just as quickly as it came out. His head dropped on your lap; he wanted to feel your skin on his, “please, let’s allow me to stay like this for a bit….” 

Jade Leech (Moving Away):

His last memory of you was when you were both seven years old, Jade was clinging to your tail. He was sobbing and screeching for you not to move away. He remembers your parents dragging you away as his parents held him back, your figure slowly fading in with the bubbles. He hasn’t seen you since, so imagine his surprise when he receives a letter from his parents saying your family has moved back along with a photo of you. 

He’s never been so excited to go home for spring break, you’re back…you’re home. And here he is stuck at school while you're just a dive away. As he tried to focus on his studies, you were now permanently stuck in the back of his head. The photo of you sits on his desk, a beacon of what waits for him after midterms. 

“You seem unusually happy, Jade,” Azul says as stands in the doorway watching Jade pack his bag, “is it because they’re back?” 

Jade snickers as the thought of seeing you once again fills his brain, but this meeting won’t be the same. You and him aren’t the same people as you were 10 years ago. He’s so excited to see how you’ve blossomed in the time you were away from each other.

Jade couldn’t contain his smile when he saw you waiting on the other side of the mirror. He would have been the first to greet you if it wasn’t for Floyd jumping you into a surprise hug. Once Floyd was finally off of you, Jade was finally able to speak to you once again. 

“It’s good to see you again Jade,” you smile at him oh-so softly, “I’ve missed you.” You’re so fucking gorgeous, you look so different than the last time he saw you. 

“Now, don’t you look breathtaking,” Jade smiles, corking his head to the side. You don’t even know that your small giggles make his heart do flips. 

“Now tell me, Jade,” you say, swimming ever so close to him, “what have you been up to while I was away? “

Azul Ashengrotto (Different Schools) 

Azul loves the school’s open cultural festival for several reasons. One, the Monstro Lounge does wonderfully during the three days that the event is taking place. Nothing screams profit quite like parents wanting a quiet, relaxing place to lecture their kids about their grades. 

And that plays into his second reason too well, kids will do anything to get rid of their parents for a few hours. The contracts just keep rolling in for Azul as these kids sell themselves to him just to keep their parents busy and away from them. 

As the Octavinelle student mans the lounge, Azul is left in his office. His leg bounced anxiously for his third reason to love the school festival to arrive. Parents aren’t the only crowd the cultural festival attracts, students from other schools flock to see the wonders that Night Raven College has to offer. 

Oh, how Azul misses you. He misses the way you smile, the way you shake your hands when you get excited, the way your lips…god. He misses you so bad. With a huff, Azul brushes his hair out of his face and fixes his glasses to check his phone. 

“I’m so lost right now, I can’t believe your school is this big”

“Wait…”

“Nevermind I found the Portal room, see you soon”

Is it normal to be sweating this much, it's only been a few months since he last saw you in person, only a few days since you last talked on the phone, and only a few seconds since you last texted. He can’t honestly be this nervous to see you again. What happened to cool, suave businessman Azul? The Azul that can smoothly talk his way into the best outcomes for himself. Who is this nervous mess?

“YOOOOO! AZULLLLLL,” the door slams open, with no regard for Azul’s privacy

Damn it, Floyd…

“Floyd, what have we discussed about knocking before opening the door,” Azul grits through his teeth while fixing his crooked glasses. Floyd gives nothing more than a shrug before leaving the room. 

“It’s nice to see you again too, Azul,” you pout mischievously, fanning offense that your dearest octo hasn’t greeted you. 

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, why don’t you close the door so we may have some privacy while we…chat.”

Leona Kingscholar (Lost Contact)

Leona is a lot of things; smart, cunning, handsome, regal, but if there's one thing he isn't, it's communicative. This man can not keep a relationship running for the life of him. If you aren’t in front of him every day, Leona will just forget you exist. He doesn’t think anyone is deserving of constant contact with him. 

They should be the ones to reach out to him, not the other way around. So when your letters stopped coming in, he was…surprised. You have always carried the conversation in your guy’s relationship so for you to suddenly stop is out of the normal. 

Are you angry with him? Have you found someone else more worth your time?

Impossible there is no one more worth your time than the Leona Kingscholar. You must have forgotten to mail your letter in or the post must have lost it. He’ll have Ruggie go check your letter tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that until you come to your senses and mail that damn thing.

One, Two, Three damn weeks and no letter from you at all. As much as Leona thinks that it doesn’t affect him, the members can tell he’s irritated. If you ask Ruggie, he’ll say he’s seen Leona writing something at his desk and then immediately turning it to dust when he notices Ruggie’s in the room.

Oh, but Ruggie knew everything, he knew that if you stopped writing Leona he’d fall into such disarray. As much as Leon will deny it, Leona adores your letters and keeps them safely stored away in his desk for his eyes only. Ruggie’s been secretly keeping the letter you’ve been sending just to see how long it would take for Leona’s pride to break for you. 

Three and a half weeks is all it took. 

Leona catches Ruggie in the early morning (a time Ruggie thought Leona would never be up at) and hands him a neatly wax-sealed letter and simply instructs him to “make sure this makes it where it needs to go.” He also hands Ruggie a 5,000 Grimm bill and walks away. 

You bet your sorry ass Ruggie hauled him to the post to deliver the letter. 

And just like that, communication between you and Leona continued. And if you squint real hard, you can even see the faintest of smiles when he receives a new letter from you. 

He can’t wait for spring break.

[dee-writes-smut]

FORGET ME NOTS (Chapter Two)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x pregnant!reader

SUMMARY settling into The Autumn Court is scary and intimidating especially when a certain fire-blooded male takes a liking to you.

CONTENT WARNINGS vague descriptions of smut, mentions of abuse, Beron (yeah, yall, he's mentioned), Ianthe (cough, cough), vulnerable convos, flashbacks to calanmai, pregnancy, sad Eris :(

AUTHORS NOTE I know this is much shorter than the first chapter, but when I say I struggled to write this chapter, I mean I STRUGGLED. Anywho, I apologize if you guys feel like the pacing of this chapter is kind of fast, I was trying to get a lot of information in all at once so we could move on to the good stuff. Hope you enjoy ;)

SERIES MASTERLIST

As dawn broke over the Autumn Court, the first rays of sunlight crept through the tall, arched windows of my chamber, casting a warm glow that promised a new day. Despite the beauty it heralded, my heart was heavy with secrets I carried, especially now, facing the prospect of daily walks with Eris—a constant reminder of the brother he did not know he shared with me in such a profound way.

I found Eris waiting in the courtyard, his posture relaxed against the cool morning air that whispered through the turning leaves. His presence was both a comfort and a curse, wrapped in the guise of courtly duty.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice carrying that ever-present hint of mischief that seemed less charming today, more a wall I needed to scale or perhaps fortify.

I mustered a smile, tight-lipped and brief. “Eris.”

He seemed to notice my cool demeanor, his eyebrows lifting slightly in amusement—or was it challenge? “Shall we begin?”

The gardens of the Autumn Court were undoubtedly beautiful, but I walked beside Eris with a stiffness in my shoulders, an invisible armor against the potential wounds of getting too close. Every step was a reminder of the line I walked, balancing between necessity and fear.

“It’s beautiful here,” I commented, a safe observation as we passed a sprawling bed of flowers, their vibrant hues a stark contrast to the muted turmoil within me.

“It is,” he responded, his eyes briefly meeting mine before returning to the path ahead. “The court has its ways of ensnaring you with beauty, all the while hiding its thorns.”

I couldn’t help but snort softly at that. “Sounds familiar,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

Eris caught the words, though, and his smile deepened. “Indeed. But sometimes, we find that even thorns have their purpose.”

We walked in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the distant call of court birds. I felt his gaze on me several times, curious or calculating, I couldn’t tell.

“About last night—” I began, but Eris raised a hand, halting my words.

“Today, let’s set aside the past and dealings of courts for now. Let’s walk, talk, and be unburdened, at least for a moment.”

Reluctantly, I nodded, accepting the temporary ceasefire.

Our path took us deeper into the garden, where the foliage grew thicker and the outside noises fell away. Here, the air was cooler, the shadows deeper, and the sense of seclusion more pronounced. Eris seemed more at ease in this part of the garden, his steps unhurried, his eyes occasionally catching the light in a way that softened the usual sharpness.

"This is one of my favorite parts of the garden," he shared, his voice almost contemplative. "There's a peace here that's hard to find elsewhere in the court."

I looked around, taking in the dense greenery that enveloped us, the serene quiet. "It's like a different world," I admitted.

"Yes," he agreed, his gaze lingering on a particularly dense cluster of trees. "A world apart, where one can forget, if only for a moment, the burdens waiting beyond those trees."

As we walked, the conversation slowly shifted from the impersonal — comments on the weather and the garden — to more personal territory. Eris spoke of his childhood in the court, his voice tinged with a nostalgia that painted a picture of a boy who had run through these very paths, wild and unburdened.

I listened, the stories painting a picture of a different Eris, one who had existed before the weight of the court had fully settled upon his shoulders. It was in these stories that I found myself drawn in, my guard lowering just a notch as I began to see the man beneath the prince.

Our walk led us to a secluded spot with a bench overlooking a tranquil pond, a favorite retreat of Eris’s by his own admission. "I come here to think," he said as we sat. "Today, I wanted to share it."

Something in his tone, a rare note of sincerity, made me glance at him. "Thank you," I said quietly, the weight of my secrets making the words heavier than intended.

"Everyone needs a sanctuary," he replied, his voice low, almost reflective. "Perhaps, for now, this can be ours."

As we sat together, the morning light softening around us, a part of me wanted to believe in the sanctuary he offered. But the secrets I held tightened like a noose around my thoughts, a constant reminder of the stakes at play.

For now, this truce would have to do—a brief respite in a garden of hidden thorns.

In the quiet embrace of the garden, Eris and I sat together on a weathered stone bench, enveloped by a tranquil stillness that seemed to stretch on for eternity. The morning sun had just begun its ascent, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow upon the verdant landscape around us. The delicate fragrance of cherry blossoms lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil and the distant melody of chirping birds.

For what felt like an eternity, we remained ensconced in a shared silence, each lost in our own thoughts amidst the serene beauty of our surroundings. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy between us, a silent barrier that seemed to grow with each passing moment.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden, I could no longer bear the oppressive weight of my thoughts in silence. The chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves seemed to mock my inner turmoil, urging me to break free from the suffocating grip of my fears.

Finally, unable to endure the silence any longer, I mustered the courage to speak. "Eris?" The sound of my voice was barely more than a whisper, carried away on the gentle breeze that caressed the garden.

At the sound of his name, Eris stirred from his contemplative reverie, his eyes slowly opening to meet mine. There was a fleeting moment of recognition in his gaze, as if he had been expecting this interruption all along.

He regarded me with a cool detachment, a silent question lingering in the depths of his gaze. It was as though he were silently urging me to articulate the thoughts that had weighed so heavily upon my mind.

Summoning all of my courage, I pressed on, knowing that his patience was not limitless. "I need to speak with you," I said, my voice steadier now, though the weight of my confession hung heavy in the air.

For a moment, there was silence between us once more, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Then, with a subtle nod of acknowledgment, Eris inclined his head, granting me permission to unburden myself of the secrets that had long weighed upon my soul.

(Calanmai, Fifteen Weeks Ago)

The night of Calanmai unfolded like a grand spectacle, a symphony of sights and sounds that swept through the Spring Court like wildfire. In the heart of the courtyard, beneath a sky ablaze with stars, I found myself ensnared in a whirlwind of tradition and temptation, drawn inexorably towards a destiny I could not yet fathom.

As the festivities reached their crescendo, a hush fell over the gathered throng, anticipation crackling in the air like static electricity. All eyes turned to the dais at the center of the courtyard, where Lucien Vanserra, with his mane of fiery hair and eyes that glinted like shards of emerald, stood poised to perform the Rite—the ancient ritual that ensured the flow of natural magic within the Spring Court.

I watched from the edge of the crowd, my heart pounding in rhythm with the pulsating beat of the drums that echoed through the night. Beside me, Ianthe, with her golden locks and beguiling smile, whispered honeyed words in Lucien's ear, her intentions veiled behind a facade of innocence and charm.

But I knew the truth—the truth that lurked beneath the surface, like a serpent coiled in the shadows, waiting to strike. And so, with a courage born of desperation and defiance, I stepped forward, offering myself as a sacrifice to protect Lucien from the machinations of those who sought to use him as a pawn in their deadly game.

Lucien's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief, his gaze searching mine for the truth hidden beneath the surface. And in that moment, I saw the flicker of gratitude and something deeper—a spark of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf us both.

Together, we slipped away from the crowd, seeking refuge in the sanctuary of the forest that bordered the Spring Court. In the darkness, illuminated only by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the canopy above, we found solace in each other's arms, our bodies moving in a dance of desperation and desire.

With hesitant hands, Lucien reached out to me, his touch tentative yet determined. There was a solemnity in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the sacrifice we were both willing to make in the name of saving the Spring Court from impending doom. Each movement was deliberate, as if he were navigating uncharted waters, unsure of what lay ahead.

As he undressed me, his fingers trailed feather-light over my skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The air crackled with anticipation, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. There was a raw intensity to our connection, a primal need that pulsed beneath the surface, driving us forward even as we teetered on the edge of uncertainty.

Our kisses were slow and languid, each one a silent plea for understanding, for absolution. And as our bodies moved together in a dance as old as time itself, I felt a sense of surrender wash over me, a letting go of the fears and doubts that had plagued me for so long.

With each touch, each caress, we explored the depths of each other's souls, seeking solace in the midst of chaos. And as he spilled his essence inside me, there was a sense of release, a letting go of the burdens that had weighed so heavily upon us.

In the aftermath, we lay entwined beneath the moonlit sky, our breaths mingling in the stillness of the night. There was a peace in that moment, a fleeting respite from the storm that raged around us. And as we lay there, lost in each other's arms, I couldn't help but wonder what the future held for us—for the Spring Court, for our people.

But such thoughts were for another time, another place. In that moment, there was only us, two souls bound together by circumstance and necessity, seeking solace in the midst of turmoil.

(Autumn Court, Present Day)

"What is it, little fox?" Eris's voice, gentle yet tinged with curiosity, pierced the tranquil stillness of the autumnal garden, drawing me from the depths of my reverie. The morning sun, a soft orb of golden light, filtered through the crimson leaves of the ancient oak tree under which we sat, casting a warm glow over the secluded corner of the courtyard.

Eris reclined on the stone bench with an air of effortless grace, his features masked in an enigmatic veil of indifference. His gaze, like liquid mercury, bore into mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine, as if he could discern the turmoil that churned within me with unsettling ease.

For a moment, I hesitated, the weight of my confession heavy upon my tongue, like stones in a riverbed. The memory of Lucien, his absence a haunting specter in my heart, mingled with the uncertainty of what lay ahead, casting shadows over the fragile sanctuary we had found amidst the autumnal splendor.

Yet, despite the tempest of emotions that threatened to engulf me, there was an undeniable pull, a magnetic force that drew me inexorably towards Eris, compelling me to lay bare the truth that simmered beneath the surface.

"I—" I began, my voice trembling like the leaves that danced in the breeze, the words caught in the tangled undergrowth of my uncertainty. With a trembling hand, I reached for my tiny bump, a silent testament to the life growing within me, the fragile thread that bound me to a future fraught with peril.

"Eris… I'm scared," I confessed, the admission hanging heavy in the crisp autumn air, a fragile offering of vulnerability laid bare before him. Tears welled in my eyes, their crystalline trails reflecting the kaleidoscope of emotions that churned within me, a tempest threatening to tear me asunder.

It was a truth I had not yet found the courage to share, the truth about my unborn child, about Lucien, about the tangled web of emotions that threatened to ensnare me in their grasp. And yet, as I spoke the words aloud, I felt a sense of liberation wash over me, as if the act of vocalizing my fears had lifted a burden I had long carried in silence.

“I know,” Eris continued after a moment, his voice tinged with a quiet sadness. “When my mother would give birth, my father would have meetings with his counsel and continue about court like nothing important was happening, too caught up in his ambition to even consider loving her. He would leave her to suffer alone, to be in pain, awful pain, alone, while she brought his children into this world,” he took a breath, watching the branches of the great tree sway before looking back to the fountain sitting before us, water streaming softly and glinting in the light of the sun.

“So, once I was old enough to see how wrong it was, I joined her in the birthing rooms. I didn’t care how many times a nurse advised me against it, how much I was beaten afterwords by my father. It wasn’t about any of that. It was about her, it was about not being alone in a time of need, to not be consumed by darkness without a twinkle of light. My mother deserved better. Still does,” Eris sighs, resting his warm hand atop mine on the bench, giving it a small squeeze. “I can not promise profection, I can not promise relief, and I can not promise life, but I can promise that you will not walk in the darkness alone, that I will be right there, by your side as you scream and claw and cry until your babe joins this world. Just as I did for my mother.”

As he spoke, his warm hand found mine on the bench, offering a reassuring squeeze that spoke volumes more than words ever could. "I can't promise perfection," he continued, his gaze steady and unwavering. "I can't promise relief, or even life itself. But I can promise that you won't walk through the darkness alone. I'll be there, by your side, every step of the way."

As the last words of our shared confessions lingered in the air, the atmosphere seemed to soften, infused with a sense of understanding and acceptance. The ancient oak tree above us rustled gently, its branches swaying in a silent dance with the breeze, as if nature itself bore witness to the fragile bond we had formed in this secluded corner of the autumnal garden.

In that moment of quiet introspection, my gaze fell upon a delicate forget-me-not that had nestled itself amidst the fallen leaves at the base of the oak tree. Its petals, a soft shade of blue tinged with hues of violet, seemed to shimmer in the dappled sunlight, a beacon of fragility and resilience amidst the earthy backdrop of the garden.

A sense of recognition washed over me as I regarded the flower, its presence a poignant reminder of the vulnerability we had both shared in this fleeting moment of connection. Like the delicate bloom that dared to flourish amidst the harsh realities of autumn, we too had found strength in our shared vulnerability, forging a bond that transcended the barriers of fear and uncertainty.

With a gentle smile, I reached out to pluck the forget-me-not from its resting place, cradling it in the palm of my hand as a symbol of the bond we had forged amidst the chaos of our intertwined destinies. And as I turned to meet Eris's gaze, I knew that in this fleeting moment of shared vulnerability, we had found not only solace but hope, blooming like the delicate forget-me-not that dared to thrive amidst the changing seasons of our lives.

TAGLIST

@purple-writer8 @defnotlucienvanserra @cherry-cin @julesofvolterra @mirandasidefics @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @littlestw01f @skylarkalchemist @babypeapoddd @daardyrnitta