#& I took a pinecone from the grass

[unseendeity]

I kinda wanna devote my pinecones bracelet to Hades. Like I know it's not a part of His associations, but I just think it's neat & He'll like it 👉🏽👈🏽

[kaleidoscopewritings19]

Bruce Wayne x BATMOM!Reader

Title: "Blood thirsty Gremlin"

Character(s): Bruce Wayne, Female!Batmom!Reader, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, and Tim Drake.

Warnings: None

Prompts Used: In bold print and credit goes to @skriveting

NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO POST/TRANSLATE MY WORK TO OTHER APPS OR WEBSITES. Thank you <3

OTHER BATMOM!READERS (CLICK THE TITLES)

"A Snowman, A Nosebleed, and the Wayne's"-CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

"Annabelle" - HALLOWEEN SPECIAL

"A Trophy and Chloroform"

Every summer, Bruce would have the field behind Wayne Manor cleaned, trimmed, and tended to. The grass would be cut, the trees would be cleaned up, and overall, the field was maintained. Bruce even added a man-made stream to divide the field in half. 

There was reasoning as to why this said field was properly maintained, and so much effort was put into it. This reasoning was the Wayne’s Summer Fun! (At least, that is what you called it)

Every Summer, your family would choose one day out of the week to camp, cook out, and stay in the field to play games all week long. 

Bruce and the boys gave up their vigilante antics for the week so you could spend quality time together. Plus, you just wanted the boys to feel like they had a good childhood, and it wasn’t just full of training and fighting criminals once the sun went down.

It was the end of the week and tomorrow the boys would go back to their normal schedule, and you and Bruce would go back to work. Every year, you would end “The Wayne’s Summer Fun” with a game of capture the flag. The boys loved it, and every year, you would switch up team members so the games would stay interesting. 

And every year, one of the teams would receive a trophy, that was normally given to the winner of monopoly, and every year, someone would end up in a fight. (But that story has already been told: click here to read).

This year, your team consisted of Bruce and Damian. Jason, Dick, and Tim were the blue team, and your team was the red team. Alfred was merely just the mediator, and he would sit in a deer stand that Bruce had built just for the purpose of this game. 

Alfred always explained the game, even though everyone knew how to play. “Each team has a flag and will hide it at eye level, but not in direct site. Each team needs to have an offense and a defense, and a spot they call jail.” he said, and he cleared his throat. “Switch offense and defense often. Those who are in offense will go and try to capture the other team’s flag and take it back to their side of the field. Those in defense, will capture those who try to take the flag and put them in jail.”

Jason sighed, “Alfred, we know-”

Alfred spoke over Jason, “HOWEVER, players of the team that has captured members, can retrieve their partners from the jail and take them back to their base. As always, protect your flags! The first team to retrieve a flag and get it to their home base, will receive this, trophy.” Alfred smiled as he held the gold trophy in his hand.

Each side had an equivalent number of trees, and you, Bruce, and Damian took off running towards your home base. Damian held the flag, “Okay, between these trees will be perfect. The bushes cover it, and its eye level, so technically we are not breaking any rules.”

You and Bruce looked over at each other, “Sounds good to me. Now, Damian and I will obviously be offense and you be defense.” Bruce said, and your hands went to your hips.

“Why am I always defense?” you asked, and Bruce and Damian stared at each other. 

Last Year

You were placed in defense, and your team consisted of Tim and Dick. Jason, Bruce, and Damian were a team, and Damian happened to sneak past you. The sound of a twig snapping caught your attention, and you jumped into action.

Damian was standing next to your blue flag, and about to take off with it. But when his eyes met yours, he bolted, making you chase after him. You threw a few pinecones at Damian, but he dodged them all. He was quick on his feet for being so little, but you jumped, and tackled Damian to the ground.

“Come on Dami, give mom the flag!” you shouted as you tried to grab it out of his hands. Damian flailed like a fish, and shouted, “NEVER!” You started tickling him, until he dropped the flag. 

Damian laid on the ground out of breath from laughing. You stood up, picked up your flag, and picked Damian off of the ground and took him back to your bases jail. “Don’t mess with momma.” you said before leaving Damian in the "jail".

End of Flashback

“I wasn’t that bad!” you exclaimed, and Bruce smiled.

“Mom, you were throwing pinecones at me! And you tackled me to the ground!” Damian said, and you gave them both a nervous smile. “Okay, that wasn’t my best motherly moment. But in my defense, I am competitive. I can’t help it.” you say as you ruffled Damian’s hair. 

Bruce pressed a kiss to your lips. “That’s why I married you, honey. I like your competitiveness.”

“Okay, guys, we need to get going. Alfred just blew the whistle.” Damian took off running, leaving you and Bruce behind. 

MEANWHILE....

“Jason, that’s cheating!” Tim exclaimed as Jason placed the flag on the ground behind a big rock. “It’s not cheating.” Jason said, as he turned to look at Tim.

“Alfred said, the flag must be eye level. So, having it lying on the ground is cheating.” Tim explained and Jason rolled his eyes.

“Tim, look down.” Jason said, and Tim looked down. “Can you see the flag?”

Tim nodded, and Jason clapped his hand to Tim’s back. “Okay then. It’s eye level.” Dick looked between Jason and the flag and smiled. “He’s got a point.”

Jason stood up on the rock, “I have decided I will be the defense, while you two be the offense. Damian will always try to be the first one to get the flag, and I want to be the one to put the spawn in jail.” he said as he hopped off the rock.

The boys heard the whistle blow, “Let’s go win us a trophy, now break!” Jason yelled, and Tim and Dick took off down the field.

...

You and Bruce had waited for Damian to return, but he never did. The sound of twigs and sticks snapping caught both yours and the Batman’s attention. Bruce held a finger to his lips and crept off through the trees. You waited patiently, and Bruce came back with Tim and Dick by the collars of their shirts.

“They thought they could sneak past the bat.” Bruce said, and he led them away to the place you guys picked as jail. "You did not just say that..." Dick said as Bruce tossed them both into jail.

When he came back, he smiled, “They made the mistake of sending out two scouts. I am going to check on Damian and I will be right back.”

You checked on Tim and Dick and they were lying on the ground. “Why would you send out two of your scouts?” you questioned, and they shrugged their shoulders. “It’s the last time we let Jason call the shots.” Dick mumbled, and Tim threw a rock. 

Ruffling both of the boys’ hair, Tim spoke, “Well, at least it was dad who got to us. Mom would’ve tackled us both.”

“Or worse, she would’ve thrown pinecones at us, or landed us in the ER..” Dick shuddered, and you rolled your eyes. “Have fun in jail, boys.”

You ran back to your hiding spot. and Bruce came back with no sign of Damian. “He must be up in a tree strategizing. He’s not in jail, and he’s nowhere to be found.”

Both you and Bruce heard a sneeze, and you looked around frantically. Bruce pulled you behind a tree, and the two of you peeked out towards the left of the field. Jason, Dick, and Tim were all creeping around, and you turned to Bruce. 

“It was a trap! This was Jason’s plan all along!” you whisper shouted, “That little shit....” you whispered, and Bruce chuckled. “It’s not funny, Bruce! If we lose this--” 

 Bruce placed a hand on your shoulder, "It's just a game of Capture the Flag honey, it's not that serious-"

You looked Bruce straight in the eyes, "If we lose this, I'm divorcing you." 

Bruce sprang into action, and the two of you went after one of the boys one at a time. Jason was the hardest to catch; somehow, you were able to climb a tree, and once Jason walked underneath, you leaped down at him. 

Jason let out a scream and hit the ground, “OUCH!” Jason cradled his arm, and pain raced up through your left leg. Bringing your leg to your chest, you held onto it, and Bruce, Tim, and Dick came running.

“What happened?” Bruce asked as he raced to your side.

“Mom jumped from the tree like a blood thirsty gremlin and tackled me to the ground. I think my arm is broken...” Jason said, and Bruce looked at you with an eyebrow raised.

“I think my leg is broken....” you said, and Bruce shook his head. He lifted you up off the ground, and Tim and Dick helped Jason off of the ground. “Another trip the ER. They might as well give us a room with our name on it.” Bruce mumbled.

-----

LATER THAT EVENING

Your leg had a cast, and you were on crutches. Jason had a broken arm, and you had a fractured leg. “Your competitiveness has gotten the better of you. Again.” Bruce said as he helped you into bed.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I thought you loved my competitiveness?” you questioned, and Bruce laughed. “I do, trust me I do. Sometimes I think you should have been a Navy Seal Operative.” 

 Alfred walked into the room and Dick trailed behind him with Damian in his arms. Damian had a red flag wrapped around his mouth, and duct tape around his wrists and ankles. 

“Oh my gosh, who did this?” you say and you motioned for Dick to place your youngest son on the bed. You tried your best to untie him. One you took the flag out of his mouth Damian coughed.

“I was outside for three hours! Where were you guys?” he asked, and you looked down at your leg. Damian stared, “Woah.  How’d that happen?” he asked, and your cheeks turned red.

Bruce sighed. “Your mom and Jason were the ones to get in a tussle this time around. But- what happened to you exactly?" Bruce asked and everyone turned their attention to youngest Wayne.

"It was Jason! I almost had their flag, and he jumped me from behind and tied me up!" then Damian started looking around the room. "Speaking of which... where is he?" Damian looked past Dick and seen Jason trying to creep out of the bedroom.

Before you and Bruce could grab Damian, he leaped off of the bed and hurled toward Jason. And a loud smack could be heard around the world and Jason's pained scream could also be heard in a thirty-mile radius.

"Don't mess with me!" Damian shouted as he bowed up at Jason. Alfred walked into the bedroom with the trophy in hand, "I assume that I get to keep this trophy?"

Bruce and you shared a glance at one another, "Because I have captured both flags." Alfred said as he smiled and waved both flags. That year, Alfred was the Wayne Summer Fun Victor.

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

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this x reader! This was meant to be posted in the summer, but oh well. I hope you all have a great weekend! Let me know your thoughts on this x reader in the comments!

XOXO

[lovezbrownies]

Nia with a weird reader who likes naming pinecones after people they like (shes not one of them)

Unfaithful rat bastard. (Yandere Queen x GN!Reader.)

Nia's Masterlist - General Masterlist

Synopsis: You cheat on your Queen, your wife. With pinecones.a

Nia Bloodwen x GN!Reader.

Warnings: Nia's usual dramatics!

You sat cross-legged in the royal garden, eyes narrowed as you carefully examined the pinecones spread out in front of you. Each one had been named after someone important, someone you actually liked. With a sigh, you picked up a particularly symmetrical one and gave it a once-over.

"Maybe… Aria," you muttered to yourself.

"Aria?!" Nia’s voice rang out, startling you and causing the pinecone to slip from your hands. You gritted your teeth and looked up, seeing her marching toward you with all the grace and drama of a queen who knew exactly how to make an entrance.

She stood over you, hands on her hips, eyes wide with mock indignation. “Did I hear that right? You named that pinecone after Aria?”

Suppressing a groan, you kept your voice level. “Yes, Aria. Because I like her.”

“And yet…” Nia's voice took on a wounded, exaggerated tone. “I see no pinecone in this pile named after me—your beloved queen?”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “That’s because you don’t have one.”

Her gasp was loud and dramatic, as if you’d just told her the kingdom had fallen. “No pinecone?! None for me? Not one, even after all the affection I’ve lavished on you?”

You stared at her blankly, half-expecting her to laugh and admit she was joking, but of course, this was Nia. She was dead serious—or at least, serious in the way only she could be, with theatrical flair and a whole lot of misplaced priorities.

“Nia,” you said, your patience wearing thin, “not everything revolves around you. Pinecones are special. I name them after people I actually like.”

“I’m your wife! How am I not on that list?” Nia flopped dramatically onto the grass beside you, throwing her arms over her face as though she were about to faint from the sheer tragedy of being left out. “How can you sit here and name these after everyone else? Aria of all people? I give you everything, and this is how you repay me?”

You shot her an exasperated look, more than used to her dramatics by now. “Nia, it’s not that deep. They’re pinecones.”

“But to you, they mean something! You name them after people you care about! I’m the queen—you should care about me the most!” She flung an arm out, her voice rising as if she was delivering some grand speech to the kingdom. “I’m devastated! Utterly heartbroken!”

You rolled your eyes, brushing some dirt off your hands. “You’re the queen, Nia. I think you’ll survive.”

She peeked at you from between her fingers, eyes wide and imploring. “But it hurts, my love. You don’t even know how much I’ve suffered without my pinecone!”

“Nia,” you snapped, rubbing your forehead, “it’s a stupid pinecone! Why do you even care?”

She gasped again, her voice cracking with false anguish. “How could you say that? It’s not stupid if it means something to you! And if it means something to you, it should mean something to me! I just want to be part of this little… tradition of yours.”

You stood up, shaking the dirt from your pants as you glared down at her. “Well, too bad. I haven’t found a pinecone that reminds me of you. And honestly? I don’t think I will.”

Nia sat up, blinking at you in genuine surprise for a moment. Then, in typical fashion, she shrugged it off, standing up and brushing imaginary dirt from her gown. “Well, I suppose you just haven’t found a pinecone worthy of me yet.”

You huffed in frustration. “Or maybe I just don’t think you deserve one.”

Nia’s lips curled into a smile, and she stepped closer, her voice soft and teasing. “Oh, I see how it is. You’re just playing hard to get, aren’t you, darling?”

“Hard to—?” You groaned and turned away, thoroughly done with the conversation. “Forget it. I’m done talking about this.”

But Nia followed after you, clearly not ready to let go of the topic just yet. “Don’t worry, my love,” she said, her tone impossibly sweet. “I’ll be patient. When you finally find the perfect pinecone for me, I’ll cherish it forever.”

You grumbled under your breath as you stomped off. Nia was impossible, utterly impossible. But deep down, you knew she wouldn’t stop until she had that pinecone.

And you were completely right. Seeing how your side of your shared bed is covered in spiky pinecones, “I ordered a shipment of pinecones, search and find one best for your darling wife! Oh how romantic!” Nia giggles, kicking her feet in excitement as you, exasperated, sort through the pinecones only for her.

[idkfitememate]

Hello!! I've been here since your first creation, Boar! Creator. And I'm thinking about something.

What about Squirrel! Creator 🐿️

Like, squirrels in Genshin really have no fear, all they think about are pinecones. Many times I approached them, but they didn't run away like other animals, they just stood there, near their pinecones.

So I imagine a character who has a hat, like Mona or Venti walking in the forest and a pinecone gets stuck in their hat. Then a squirrel followed them all day, leaving them confused, not knowing why the squirrel was following them. And what the worse was that the squirrel had no fear, they even followed them into the city!

Mona Encounter

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : Gn! Squirrel Reader x Mona

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 649

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : fluff & crack

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Mmmmm big bushy tails the floofa :3

Future note: Mona has a house… not right now she don’t-

Mona was a woman of business.

Booming business?.. Admittedly no, but business nonetheless.

Spending her nights charting the stars and giving out fortunes to those brave enough to handle her sharp tongue, she was more than busy in her life, even if she was just barely getting by.

… Where does she keep all her astrology books, tools and otherwise when she has nowhere to stay? Up your ass that’s where.

One busy night of watching the stars in a forest had worn the poor girl down, and the grass was so soft, and the gently breeze that rustled the leaves was so nice and oh… she’s asleep.

So deep in sleep, she didn’t notice the pinecone that fell into her hat.

Nor did she notice the you who was perched on a branch above, salivating at the mere thought of that now slightly forbidden cone because it fell on a human, and you told yourself not to go near them, if not for self preservation than just to not interact with them.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t ever want to interact with them, it was an inane fear that something might happen so on so forth, especially since you found out that you were in SAGAU. Fuck that chance. Trees, apples and pinecones is enough for you.

But this… this chance… fuck it it was to much to bear. You jumped right on into the hat, curling around the beloved pinecone. Nothing else mattered now except the piney scent and the cold comforting darkness of this idiot’s hat.

Fuck yeah.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🎂🍩🍰୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

When morning came, Mona opened her eyes with a groan and popped her back considering the awful position she slept in. She blinked blearily as she took in the morning air. Feeling around, she grabbed her hat that had fallen off her head, not even noticing the extra weight, and plopped that sucker right on her head, somehow not even feeling your tiny little shivering feet.

Oh shit you fell asleep in her hat and now she was standing up. You sat as physically still as you could as you felt the somehow oblivious woman rose and begin walking.

The swaying motions wasn’t very nice on your stomach, ears twitching and eyes constantly moving around the space to try and find any kind of exit.

For a moment everything stopped, and your tail hitched and breath stilled. Suddenly, a hand reached up into the hat and in a panic you lightly jumped onto the fabric of the back of the hat, staring as the hand scratched the spot you once were and reach around a bit, finding the pinecone you once held and threw it out the hat, muttering some random stuff that was muffled to your ears.

After a few moments of stillness the astronomer was on the move again. And you were in her hat. Trapped. Alone.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍡🍮🍪୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

City noises were weird when you’re hearing them from inside a hat.

That was your deduction as Mona walked through what you could only assume to be Mondstadt. The hustle and bustle and overall joyfulness permeated even the fabric of the hat you were currently trapped in and made life just the slightest bit brighter, shocker.

Mona was just walking around as far as you could tell, no real destination in mind. But, you were hoping for her to stop soon, your paws hurt a little bit from their harsh grip on her hat and wanted a rest. Issue being, of course, you couldn’t rest on her because then she’d find out you were on her head for Archons knows how long.

The space you inhabited was just barely lit from the sun. The back of the hat behind you moving around due to a slight wind.

As the woman you were riding on continued further into the city, the only thing you could think was:

“Oh Fuck.”

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I was writing this years old when I found out Genshin has squirrels-

Also yes I purposely left off like that for requests/future stuff to pick up on lmao I’m sorry-

[toweroftickles]

Mini-Fic: Tulin Tickles

I completely 100% blame @otomiyaa for this. 😂 Here I was working on normal things, and she went and reblogged an old Tulin post that got my brain working. So this is not great and was spit out very quickly. Lol

The warm Hebra summer wind blew through Tulin’s crest as he nocked an arrow into his Swallow Bow. This was his last shot…he had to make it count. His tongue poked out of his black beak, and he squeezed one eye tight…the wooden bullseye, scarred by dozens of arrowheads, bobbed up and down on a Korok balloon, 200 yards ahead.

“Come on, Tulin, you’ve got it!” Zelda cheered him. Link tossed her a glance that playfully asked “Whose side are you on?”

“Heck yeah! I’m the best archer in Rito history!” declared the young avian, cocky as always. One last cheeky wink at the competition, and then he took off.

Wings flapped. Claws pulled at taught string. The arrow fired off like a rocket through a spiraling wind, and time seemed to stand still. The target was dancing quickly in the air. With a loud and vibrating THUNK, the arrow struck home…

…on the target’s outside edge. It pulled to the side just in the nick of time to avoid a bullseye.

“Ohhh, that was so close!” Zelda announced. “Sorry, Tulin, that’s 30 to 29…Link wins again!” She dove toward Link excitedly and pecked him on the cheek. Tulin’s face fell.

“Awww, maaaannnnn….” he grumbled and kicked the dirt, pouting. All he wanted was to be a great warrior, just like his dad…and Link. But no matter how hard he pushed himself, it never felt like enough. Teba always told him to “take it easy” or “you’re still a child” or “don’t try too hard” and other boring parent stuff…still, nothing excited him more than tearing holes in the sky with his bow. Why, just imagining all the upcoming practice he���d have to do…it quickly turned his frown into a determined grin.

“Well…I’ll get you next time, Link; you just wait!”

Link smiled and nodded at him, and even flashed a thumbs-up for good measure. Tulin returned the favor…he couldn’t possibly stay grumpy with his friends. But as he turned to retrieve his arrows, he didn’t look where he was going, and clumsily bumped right into the princess, who appeared in front of him as if from nowhere. She didn’t seem to mind, though…she was smiling down at him, her head framed by hanging streaks of golden hair, and she was giggling like a schoolgirl who knew a dirty secret. Tulin looked up into her eyes.

What’s she up to?

"Heehee! Remember the rules, Tulin…”

Oh no.

“…the loser has to pay a penalty.”

When Rito became nervous, their whole bodies prickled like fuzzy pinecones as their feathers stood on end. And at that precise moment, Tulin looked like a very fuzzy pinecone indeed. His eyes were the size of dinner plates.

"W-wait...hold on! We don't have to..." The young Rito stumbled backward away from the princess, stammering, seemingly having forgotten that he could fly. She was slowly walking toward him, hands tucked behind her back, her sunny smile hiding evil intent.

"I'll train EXTRA hard for next time, and...a-and...yike!"

Before he could flutter his wings away, Zelda grabbed Tulin by the shoulders and pushed him down into the high grass. He tried to squirm out of her grip, but his leader plunged her fingertips through his feathery coat and wiggled them up and down, pinching like crab claws under his arms and all over his belly.

Oh no.

"Uhuh-HAA!! *hic* Ah HA-HA Ha-Ha Ha-Ha!! *gasp* Aw...vnnn...ffffHA-Ha Ha!! Huh-Heh HA!!" Tulin's chipper voice kept cracking, his hysterical boyish laughter peppered with shrieks and hiccups as he struggled wildly. He was flapping around like a...well...a Cucco with its head cut off.

"Heh! Your giggle is contagious, Hn-Hn Hn!" Zelda cooed sweetly, lost in her own joyful snickers. She was loving every second of this. “Heehee! Awww, Link; he's sooo ticklish...”

"Luh…Link, HA-HA HA! M-make her stahahop!!” Tulin’s cheeks were hot with embarrassment, and they hurt from smiling. He hated this…why wouldn’t Zelda stop treating him like a baby? Surely his closest friend, his big brother, the Hero of Hyrule, would rescue him. Surely…right?

No such luck. Link was laughing too. Instead of helping, he knelt down and rummaged through his travel pack, ever the sovereign’s obedient knight…the gears in his head were visibly turning. Out of his supplies he pulled a strange, squirmy object and tossed it near the tussling knot formed by his two friends.

It was a green Lizalfos tail.

The severed appendage, unaware its owner had died, suddenly snapped like a whip and coiled itself around Tulin’s right ankle. It felt cold and craggy and squeezed too tight. Was it trying to snare prey for a non-existent mouth? Tulin couldn’t say…

…he was too busy cracking up. The tip of the tail was flicking back and forth and tickling his foot. He was laughing so hard he’d almost gone silent. Tears stung his eyelashes.

"Hhhhuh, Ha-Ha Ha-Ha Ha! *gasp* Heheh...NGHa-Ha Ha-Ha HAA Haha-Ha!! H…Hehehelp! Uncle!!!"

But then, out of nowhere and quite instinctively, Tulin was startled to remember something: his Vow.

A huge, cold gust of wind blasted from his flapping wings. The Lizalfos tail ripped from his leg and careened far into a field beyond, and the princess of Hyrule was thrown into the air with the force of a Hinox arm.

She cried out in surprise. Link immediately hopped up to catch her, and although his arms were at the correct height, he misjudged the distance. Zelda’s butt crashed right into his chest cavity, and the wind was knocked completely out of him. He choked, eyes bulging, unable to breathe, and the two crumpled into a heap on the knoll.

Spurred by a mix of shock, guilt, humiliation, and a sore stomach, Tulin sat up in the grass and stared, jaw hung open.

He wanted to be mad. He wanted to huff and pout and not talk to either of them for a day or two.

But looking at Link and Zelda sprawled on top of each other like that, all Tulin could do was laugh.

**************

[sumerus-little-sprout]

Pinecones and Primroses~ A Cyno x Tighnari fanfiction

“Hello, jolly campers! Welcome to Stellar Moments summer camp! Get ready for a summer filled with fun, adventure, excitement, and most of all……”

“Stellar moments!” The chattering audience exclaimed excitedly in unison. Tighnari gave a light smile to his best friend as he linked his arm to his. “I can’t believe we’re finally here Cyno, Summer camp!” 

Cyno observed the environment that surrounded him as he twirled his hair with his finger. The fresh air was pure from nature, the campers in little groups on their own buzzing about what cabin they might be in, the councillours taking a head count of everyone, the soft grass under his feet littered with weeds and tiny pinecones. 

“I never understood why you were so excited to come here, Nari.” He scoffed unimpressed, although his affectionate use of his friend’s nickname indicates otherwise. “It’s just…trees and grass and plants and……you know what, never mind.” Cyno teased Tighnari, giving him a mischievous grin “This place must be like heaven to you.” Tighnari gave him a petulant pout as he shoved Cyno away playfully.

“I like stuff other than plants!” he protested, his tail swaying from side to side. “Like, fungi! And…..um…” Cyno laughed at him frowning, struggling to come up with any non-botanical related hobbies. “Reading! Yeah, reading!”

“I have no idea how you’ve managed to convince me anyway,” he grumbled slightly childishly, his grin replacing with a frown. Tighnari grinned himself and chuckled softly “Stop complaining so much you big lummox!” he retorted cheekily “Or are you just upset we might be doing something in the summer holidays that ISN’T training?”

Cyno blinked, taken aback by Tighnari’s sudden comeback, and stuck his tongue out at him smiling “Fine, fair enough.” he admitted, blowing a wisp of his long, soft white hair out of his face “We’re both strange teenagers. Happy?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tighnari said, wrapping his arm over his best friend’s shoulder “Because we are going to make this the best summer ever!”

Cyno gave Tighnari a usually rare soft smile that he has grown to love, then unexpectedly poked Tighnari in the cheek “Nari.” He looked at Cyno in amusement “Hm?”

He didn’t answer, instead consistently poking Tighnari’s cheek “Nari, Nari, Nari, Nari.” “Whatttttt?” Tighnari asked. For some weird reason, his friend’s voice was getting more…feminine?! And high-pitched. It actually sounded like……

“TIGHNARI!”

Tighnari jolted awake, his long ears ringing at the sudden and unwarranted interruption. He took a while to process where he was at the moment, still half asleep. He found himself in his dad’s stale SUV, with him at the wheel and Cyno’s adoptive father Cyrus in the front seat next to him, chattering about the classes he took at the school where they were attending, the Akademia.

He took in the stale scent of the old grayed interior of the car as his little sister constantly poked his face with an annoyed pout from the middle seat she was sitting in. 

“I was asking you a question,” she stated, folding her arms and glaring at him. Tighnari sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck “Sorry Collei,” he apologized “I was just really tired.”

“I wish the stupid camp bus didn’t have to leave so early.” Cyno offhandedly grumbled from his seat next to the window. This just made Collei frown even harder than she already had been.

“Well, I had to get up too, AND I’M NOT EVEN GOING!! So listen up!”

“Alright Collei, what is it?” Tighnari asked, leaning into his seat. 

“Can I get your room if you get murdered by Hilichurls?” she asked, her eyes glinting mischievously as she hid her laughter. Tighnari raised his eyebrows in amusement. 

“I’m not going to get murdered by Hilichurls!” He says, tickling his little sister, who erupts into peals of laughter. “But if I do, I’ll come back as a ghost and haunt you if you even think of touching my stuff!”

Cyno glanced at the two laughing and gave a small smile before looking out the window, eyes glassy. Tighnari glimpsed at Cyno, leaving Collei alone and resting his chin on his palm wondering what he was thinking about.

He wore a greyish-colored t-shirt over a long white-sleeved shirt with a skull on it. Along with having multiple piercings on his ears, he had a long silver chain with a pendant of the Egyptian god, Anubis on it which he fiddled with. He had never seen him without that damn chain. After all, it was his only connection to his real parents.

“You seem quiet today,” Tighnari whispered softly, prodding Cyno’s shoulder with a coy smile. Cyno shrugged his shoulders but didn’t divert his attention away from the mirror. “C’mon, you can’t be THAT upset about going to summer camp,” Tighnari said, tugging his sleeve in the hope of a response “I’d be all alone if you didn’t come with me.”

Cyno gazed at his friend, took his hand, and gave it a little squeeze, which gave warmth to Tighnari’s fingertips “You know I’ll be with you when you need me to be Tighnari,” he said “After all, you were always there for me. Especially when I needed you the most.”

Collie, feeling increasingly bored, poked Cyno’s shoulder interrupting the two. Tighnari raised his eyebrows, slightly annoyed by the interruption but not showing it. “Will YOU get murdered by Hilichurls Cyno?” she asked, shuffling in her seat.

“Collei, it’s rude to ask something like that!” Tighnari hissed under his breath. Cyno however, lightly held Collei’s shoulder and looked her in the eye seriously.

“If I go to summer camp and never come back, I expect you to protect my TCG collection with your life,” He said, Tighnari letting out a snort of amusement “Am I clear?”

Collei grinned widely and nodded her head aggressively “Yes sir! I won’t let you down!”

“Quiet down back there you three!” Tighnari’s father exclaimed from the front seat, tapping his finger on the steering wheel with him and Cyrus poring over a large map of the forests in the area. All that lay in front of them was an open barren road, trees surrounding every side and corner of the area. “All of these trees look the same!” Cyrus stressed, crumpling the corners of the map to navigate their location in vain.

“Actually, these trees are coniferous. The trees we saw a couple of moments ago were deciduous. But that is beside the point!” Tighnari’s father argued. Drops of water started to patter against the car’s glass, the wind pace picking up outside. “Wonderful,” he grumbled, activating the windshield wipers “Now it’s raining.”

“Are you SURE we are going the right way?” Cyrus asked as he thrust the map close, peering over it with a mix of desperation and irritation, which made him frown even harder, furrowing his brows as he shoved the map away. “Of course I am.” Tighnari’s father lied. The kids silently watched the ongoing argument in the backseats before Tighnari piped up “Why couldn’t we just use a GPS,” he complained “Y’know, like NORMAL people!” The rain outside started to pick up, lightning flashing across the sky.

“I don’t need a GPS!” Tighnari’s father snapped at him “I’ve got it covered.” “This is the trip to Liyue all over again,” Cyno muttered under his breath, picking at his nails, bored of the same scenery repeating itself.

Cyrus tapped Tighnari’s father’s shoulder nervously. “Ummm, maybe we SHOULD check the GPS,” he said “Y’know, just in case.” Collei looked at her father anxiously, as Tighnari frowned when thunder boomed in the distance and Cyno slouched, resigned. He sighed in defeat “Fine. Maybe we could take a look at the GPS.” he muttered, pulling out his phone from his pocket, ears in tail twitching in exasperation. “There’s no signal!”

Cyno exhaled as he rested his chin on his palm. “We would’ve gotten there hours ago if Lisa was driving,” he mumbled. Now was Cyrus’ turn to snap at him “We are perfectly fine going on trips without Lisa!” he retorted.

Collei silently tugged Cyrus’ shoulder, who looked at her with a raised eyebrow “Yes dear?”

“What’s the name of the summer camp again?”.

“It’s Stellar moments. Why?” her father asked. Collei silently pointed outside at an old, rotting sign that, sure enough, read ‘Stellar moments Summer camp’. “How did we not notice that before?” Cyrus asked in disbelief as everyone gaped at the revelation of the sign.

“Never mind that!” Tighnari urged “Let’s go!”. They drove towards the direction of where the sign pointed, and they soon reached the camp bus stop. Luckily, the rain had stopped after a slight drizzle.

Everyone helped Tighnari and Cyno unload their luggage from the car as they bid their farewells before boarding the bus. “Have fun with the adventure scouts Collei!” Tighnari said, ruffling his sister’s hair with a slightly sad smile. Collie pouted, upset to see her brother leave and frustrated that she couldn’t join the two. “I’d rather be with you two,” she complained, hugging Tighnari “I’ll miss you..”

“I’ll miss you too Collei,” Tighnari said. “Become the best scout there ever was Colleiflower!” Cyno urged Collei, both her and Tighnari groaning at the pun. Tighnari gazed at his father and embraced him as well “I’ll miss you too Dad.” He gave his son a soft smile “Don’t forget to make some new friends, alright son?”

Tighnari nodded, wiping his eyes and smiling. Collie sniffled in sadness as Cyrus was lecturing his son. “Did you take sunscreen?” “Yes.” “Crossbow?” “Of course.” “Toothbrush?” “DAD!” Cyno exclaimed “I have everything. You should stop worrying about me so much.”

Cyrus gave him a wry grin “Alright alright. You and Tighnari look after each other okay?” Tighnari and Cyno looked at each other and nodded. Everyone gave their final goodbyes and it was finally time for everyone to go.

Collie, Cyrus, and Tighnari’s father went off to their car as Tighnari and Cyno lugged their luggage into the large trunk of the bus and went to find their seats on the bus. Most of the campers seemed to have already arrived, occupying most of the seats on the bus and buzzing with excitement.

Tighnari sat near the window and Cyno occupied the seat next to him, putting his backpack on his lap. Tighnari took his phone and a pair of earphones out of his pocket and connected them. He offered one of the sides of the earphones to Cyno and smiled at him. “Wanna listen to some music?” Cyno hesitantly accepted the earphone and put it in his ear as Tighnari turned on the music, laying his head on his shoulder.

When the tears are rolling down

Like a river to the ocean

And there's no one else around

You won't question my devotion

Everybody needs somebody

And you got me

You know that I know that you know that

Cyno looked at his friend, already fast asleep again on his shoulder. He looked rather peaceful, his side felt warm on his skin. Cyno couldn’t help smiling as Tighnari snored lightly, and gazed out of the window as the bus was starting to move slowly.

I'll be there for the highs and lows

Give you mine if your heart gets broke

By your side, when you're all alone

I will be there

When you're down, d-down on your luck

No ride home and you got too drunk

Two A.M. I'mma pick you up

I will be there, ay

Ayo and that's all for chapter one! Please reblog and tell me if ya like it!

[theheartlandsblog]

happy macmarston may! i have something very special to celebrate... =) 💛💛💛

below the "keep reading" prompt is a portion of the enormous macmarston fanfiction that i have been working on for a YEAR! it's not finished, but in the spirit of the month, here's a segment for you to read if you'd like. i'm so impatient to get this fic done. i wish i could post this segment on AO3, but i only want completed works there!

6,632 words - john marston/bonnie macfarlane - canon compliant violence - emotional infidelity. enjoy =)

TGCAC. SECTION T1. • DURING THE MISSION "MY SISTER'S KEEPER". • JOHN MARSTON IS ESCORTING MIRANDA, LUISA FORTUNA'S FIFTEEN YEAR-OLD SISTER, TO THE MEXICAN BORDER. • IT HAS BEEN MONTHS SINCE HE HAS SEEN HIS FAMILY, AND WEEKS SINCE HE HAS BEEN IN HIS HOME COUNTRY. • THERE ARE UPON THIS VERY SAME EARTH PINECONES THAT ONLY FALL AND OPEN AFTER WILDFIRES. •

-

in the morning, an early, early morning like the rest of them, john awoke and raised himself up with his filthy elbows and within his first breath he already knew it was raining somewhere out there, behind the cliffs, the mountains. he could smell it - doglike he lifted his face to the meandering wind and huffed deeply, his mouth hanging open, tasting the scent. the cliffs kept the moisture greedily to themselves, however, hemming the clouds in with their brown peaks, and the best the weather could do for them was be determinedly humid. miranda asked him softly if he liked that smell over the dark remains of last night's campfire and he said he did. 

the dust stuck to itself instead of blowing, leaving the trail rather clean and open. on that second day they passed a man on a donkey that knew john by name or face and called out a greeting to him, pride written all over his face for noticing such a passenger. at miranda's amused questioning, he brushed it off. she sat closer to him that day and talked a little more - a lot more, in a loud voice, about her family mostly, and what she wanted to do in yucatan. the four horses pulled them past prickly pear and more dasylirion, took them under the shadows of big grey clouds.

once, one single time they stopped, to feed the horses and themselves. across from where john pulled the trembling wagon over was another such wagon, abandoned for what he reckoned was many years. standing beside it and irritably cropping grass was a beautiful wildlooking horse that did not run off when the human beings extracted themselves off the seat and tested their land legs. as john changed into his poncho, he studied the horse. it didn't run - maybe it was just feral, someone's escaped protégé. a light tan hide that turned darker down the legs, dark brown tail and ears, a dorsal stripe. it reminded him of a horse he'd had long ago and caught kicking and squealing in a land just like this. who goddamn knew what the pinkertons were doing with him now.

at the end of the day they found themselves riding outside chuparosa, like they'd intended to. it was, despite everything, beginning to be a sight john was warming up to. there were a couple memories attached to it now, ones that came back when looking at it. there's the length of wall he shot bottles off of with landon ricketts. there's the tracks that guided that godawful train he'd fired from. maybe ricketts was in there right that second, with whatever business he'd promised john.

"you wanna go in?" he offered, slowing the coach down and gesturing with his hat at the little white city. the young girl was already shaking her head, however.

"i can't. they could arrest me! someone could see me and arrest me, kill us both." she insisted, wringing her braid around her hands. the poor girl's eyes were steely and scared.

john furrowed his brows. "i've been in there a couple times and they ain't hung me yet." he said slowly, deliberately leaving out the part where he'd slaughtered three men like sheep in the road for touching his hat, all within minutes of arriving. "you're just a kid. and i'd come along with you. we could buy some sup - "

"you don't understand." miranda interjected him. her eyes and her jaw set and her brain working, working behind them. "i'm sorry. you don't understand what it's like to be someone like me."

a failure. he felt like a failure. john marston was such a godawful father that he couldn't even briefly soothe a child that wasn't his own and would be leaving in a matter of days. some man. some two-faced, unchanging bastard of a man. "i guess i don't." he admitted lowly, flicking the reins again and speeding them up. chuparosa rotating in their view. "we can just stop a little ways away. ain't no trouble."

at a fork in the road they stopped, right alongside a wooden signpost john had read more than a few times. TESORO AZUL / LAS HERMANAS / ESCALERA. they were near enough to chuparosa's rail line to see and hear the locomotives but not to feel them shaking the ground, and as the last light in the sky faded and made way for a dwindling moon the old cowboy and young fugitive watched in tandem the heavy black clouds of boilersmoke roll on by as the engine was fed to stop. the six horses lolled in the grass together, itching their backs, john's palomino with his long neck up, observing the city. 

they weren't near enough to hear that, but it sprawled across their vision pale and tempting. john was a long way from the days of arthur and hosea hissing the world civilization under their breaths like a forsaken, unprintable oath. so too was he a long way from their graves, and their homes, and his home. he didn't much know where he was anymore. the cowboy leaned against emilio's coach smoking and resolutely pointed away from chuparosa. directly across from it was el ojo de diablo. he watched that. a drag from his cigarillo. another. saguaro cacti and trees still stood along the edge of those ancient cliffs, like so many sentinel soldiers lined up for the kill. another drag. a wet hack into the dirt. fog swept over them all as they slept, a quiet and blue night save for john's tiny cherrylike glow. chuparosa glowed too.

"señor marston? are you awake?" miranda's voice suddenly peeped. he had been laying down smoking his third cigarillo and he gave a full-body jerk when she spoke. his hat fell off his forehead.

"i am now." he grunted.

from the dark he heard miranda shuffling in her bedroll. "we're going to be out here for a while, aren't we?" she asked him plainly. a particularly wet gust of wind blew across their shoddy campsite, carrying spits of vapour that, when they touched john's cigarillo, snuffed it out completely.

"that's right." he rasped, taking pains to try and not sound so goddamn dour for once. his fingers dropped the stick limply to the grasses.

"how long?"

"five days at least." john mumbled. he stretched his feet out in his horribly sweaty boots that he was wearing to sleep, and rolled onto his side. "we done two. we'll - "

miranda's voice cut him off, rising, hissing. "but my boat leaves - "

"i know when it leaves. i'll do what i can, miranda." john silenced her, truthfully even in his vague irritation. without thinking, he'd curled his legs up and inward. his knees nearly touched his chest, just by how long they were. in the anonymity of night he sought with his hands and gathered his knees up and hugged himself tightly. fetal, vaguely born. the scratch of the rough and worn denim and the ever-present twinge in his leg and the two random bullet casings in his pocket and the grit in the crease behind his knee - he could feel it all. sleep started to crawl across his eyelids and he shut them.

"i'm scared." miranda whispered. john squeezed his eyelids tighter.

"i know. stay scared. it'll keep you alive."

upon entering the third morning, john and miranda were damn near immediately set upon by the army. he woke and stretched and fumbled for something to eat while miranda sifted through her accouterments to find her comb, and it was a happy sort of morning, quiet and wide and blue and brown. once emilio's coach was hitched and been spurred into motion john had stopped them, idiot, godawful idiot, to pick prickly pear blossoms and wooly bluecurls in the shoulder of the trail. he twirled the orange and purple flowers around between his gloved fingertips and it harkened back to hand rolling a cigarette but this was nothing like that, only cleanliness and goodness, and then miranda screamed for him to get back to the wagon.

"john! john marston!" she shrieked, and immediately his heart dropped like a dead horse right into his heels, and the gunslinger turned and positively flew on them back to the wagon. dimly, he registered still clutching the flowers. she was in the passenger seat gripping the wood like she'd all but been nailed to it, staring wide-eyed down the hill. 

"quiet, girl! don't holler like that!" john snapped, foregoing chivalry as one often did in situations where he was about to be or was already getting shot at, and scrambled up the side of the coach. "what the hell is it?"

the young girl pointed - "more of them, near the train tracks!" - and he landed in the seat so roughly his breath huffed out of him in a nasty khufh. at the end of her thin and trembling finger trawled a group of seven or eight homogeneous uniformed men on horseback and a collection of three or four more fussing with sandbags. the wooden scaffolding that held up chuparosa's rail was buzzing the imminent arrival of a train and some of their horses were antsy, glowering up nastily at it. they were moving.

"they're on their way! dios mío, they're looking at me!" miranda despaired. one hand wrenched itself off the wood to clutch at her braid. aw hell. john's face contorted into a deep grimace as he took up the reins.

"ye-eeah, they're comin'. you had better hold on." he said ominously, and a bit unnecessarily. then he stood up and brought the reins singing down onto the animals and WHAP! and they were off, careening down the golden hillside.

the soldiers turned to look, as one would do, and he saw them draw their massive and terrible rifles from their saddlescabbards, like teeth, like beasts and snakes unhinging their jaws and unsheathing their fangs. john snarled and his scarred lip pinched and curled and he drew his revolver, abandoning the reins and reckoning speed over firepower, thinking even in the most fleeting of moments, and he reckoned with the eyewatering speed of the coach and the rattling seat and fired three times. one hit a horse and the other soared home into a grey chest and the third took a man's middle two fingers clean off. no time to mourn the animal. no time -

no time; no sooner had he reloaded than they set off after them, moving as one, one united entity. "head right! we will get back to the main road!" miranda called to him. all he could do was wince and pray the four horses would know what to do, swiveling and firing in rapid succession. when the horses realised they were heading directly for a wooden bridge they howled and wrenched the wagon right, and something went flying out of the back, and john wormed completely around in the seat, leaning over the back, one hand on his hat and the other firing, firing.

in a flash they drove under the bridge and the army flowed after them, bloodthirsty. mexico was a thirsty country. "i've got the coach! keep going!" miranda's voice suddenly, blessedly filtered in, thank god. the sound of the reins split the air in time with his bullets. he reloaded, fired, killed a second. días and the ricketts mare were thundering crazily beside the coach and running for their dear lives. john gasped hotly at the air and threw himself down flat to reload, his mouth opening and closing.

in what looked like a watery slow goddamn motion he saw a bullet fly past miranda's head and miss her by a hair's width. "oh, my god! they are still chasing us! get RID of them!" she shouted clear as day. bitterly, he clawed for his rifle. when he rose he rose and was already firing and a soldier pitched sideways off his galloping steed and his head pitched the other way. their chariot of war went flying around pale rocks in pale sand and rattled through a corner, and another life ceased to exist when it rounded after them.

a spoke of the wheel, right under john's shoulder, exploded in splinters as a bullet tore through it. there was something coming out of his mouth, some disgusting remark that would have had javier in stitches, and he aimed down the retreating road at the three oncoming men. CRACK - CRACK - CRACK - and their returning fire seemed to curve around him - and días wailed and shoved the wagon hard - and john marston killed the final three soldiers and left them tumbling to the dust.

miranda, goddammit, is she ok? without a second wasted john flipped about and all in one movement took the reins from her, snapped them over the horses' backs and checked her over. she was breathing hard and staring straight ahead but she wasn't bleeding and she looked strong. she was strong, he realised. looking at that girl of fifteen john thanked his stars that the gang was dead. they'd have snatched up a girl like her, a whole family like hers. potential, miranda had. she had potential. she was lucky. miranda finally glanced at him, and her eyes were clear and solid and bone dry.

for a long while after they pressed that coach hard in silence, until the horses foamed and shook. when they finally stopped that wild ride, the sands had turned white. the pair spent the rest of the day in a shaky adrenalin crash, stopping briefly to water and feed the horses and check on días and then pressing on again. the palomino was perfectly unharmed.

"you such a delicate little old bitch, ain'tcha?" john muttered fondly into his lowered ear, as he searched him for bullet holes. he got confirmation when the stallion huffed and pressed the weight of his huge neck into john's offered chest. then they rode, they rode.

miranda clambered into the back with her skirts bunched up at her knees to hand john a jug of water without stopping the coach. finally, the exhausted girl fell asleep among her scarce things. john was quiet. no whistling, no talking to the horses. he didn't look at her. the wagon rolled through chalky white paths in between raised, sunbrown mesas in miniature. and there were seabirds on the air. surely they were close.

when john finally caught a glimpse of the united states of america across the san luis river, his throat seized and his breath stuttered. only just, only barely, but it was there and my word, it was there. it had been a good couple of weeks since he'd been in america. without even seeing the river, however, he knew it was different and he knew what it was. it looked much the same as the portion of mexico they were in, dry, warm, wrinkled and seamed, but it was his, or he belonged to it, one way or another. emilio's wagon rumbled up the sands. not a half-day's ride away visibly twisted the rolling and sparkling line of water.

by the time a peachy sunset started to ripen, miranda awoke. peering over his shoulder at her, john reckoned she seemed better. taking her hair down from her braid to comb it again, gazing softly at the countryside. the hooves of all six horses beat upon the trail and it lulled john, soothed the stinging still-raw wound of losing his ranch, and then his country. it was open still, rotting still. the pair set up for the night deep in creosote bush and right smack-dab on the border between perdido and punta orgullo. they were close to the water. maybe a fifteen minute ride. john was nervous, excited, a braided rope of both offered to him by his own heart, and standing in his ribcage there holding the rope he knew not whether to climb somewhere with it or strangle himself. it felt strangling, anyway. he knew he wasn't going back there any time soon. again he raised his face to the air and sniffed it, tasting the water, and above him in that same air floated clouds lined in goldleaf from the sunset.

to catch dinner, john decided, rather cautiously, to go fishing. he got real nervous around water. but the horses needed to drink, besides. holding the reins of five goddamn animals at once and riding the sixth, a whimsical sight he did not miss miranda's tittering laughter at, he rode the quiet little ride it was to reach the shoreline and concomitant country. it was riddled with snakes that días eyed rudely. ironic. the horses pulled excitedly for the water and john let them go and tied their reins to each other and watched them line up military style along the edge. ripples arcing out from where their tired forelegs were submerged, arcing out from their dark muzzles sucking and breathing. 

"y'all feelin' peckish?" he muttered to the surface as he cast out his line from his battered fishing rod. he hadn't bought a new one since the year nineteen-oh-four.

reckoning with what little shadow he had in the fading dull light, keeping it off the water as best he could and never once by god never once relaxing this goddamn close, john marston caught five little mackerel-type things he hadn't seen before in rapid succession. the fish gave him a fleeting joy. he wished he could draw them, but he knew he wouldn't. even if he had that journal. after his thrashing bluish grey prey was dumped whole and unscaled into días's saddlebag, john took his poncho and boots and socks off and rolled his jeans up and cuffed them and sat with his legs out and swirled the filthy garments in the water. one hand always gripping the shore, buried in the gritty sand mixture, and the droplets spinning darkly off his stallion's whiskers, and the sun fading and the world greying, and america bedding down in the dark, soon to be unseen.

barefooted he rode back, the boots and socks cradled in his lap and the poncho slung wetly over días's hindquarters. miranda was waiting for him and when she saw him and his herd she smiled and giggled again and motioned for the fish. thankfully, she'd started a fire while he was gone, and hadn't gotten herself kidnapped or killed or any other nonsense. the coach was parked behind her and upon the scratchy wood jumped the jagged shadows from the flames and behind it the tall cacti, older than sin, cradling the stars. a treeless section of country. 

"lemme see the map, kid." john muttered, slinging his wet clothes down to the dust with loud slaps to dry by the fire. the man and child exchanged the fish and document. wearily he lowered himself to the ground and squinted at it, tilting it towards the fire. "yeah, we'll be there in two or three days."

"do you think it will be waiting still?" miranda asked meekly. she'd sourced silverware from her baggage - god, even that was a luxury these days, john took a fork gratefully - and had speared on it a little piece of mackerel. 

"i've no idea. depends on those folks you know." he said honestly. he ate a chunk of the mackerel while it was still hot and painful and steaming from the fire but he didn't care and went back in for another. "we're makin' good time, anyway. still got our hides on. ain't been flayed and all."

miranda shook her dark head and sighed, such a mature gesture. "it's been awfully close, though!" she exclaimed. john sat, nodded and thought yes it sure as shit has, and kept quiet. she shuffled about and ate some more fish and looked thoughtful. then across the fire they made eye contact and she smiled sagely. "i trust you, john marston. i think we will be ok."

she's a far cry from a couple-a days ago, john thought again, to when she'd begged him me equivoqué, voltéate, and he knew she'd be alright in the yucatan with a complete certainty. it felt better not to talk so he didn't and he wolfed down another halfcooked fish before quite suddenly remembering spices did exist out in that great big frontier. 

languidly he rose and retrieved his saddlebag, taking the whole thing off días's drowsing form and sitting with a puff in front of the fire with it. rifling through it awarded him nothing of the sort. two old newspapers ripped and torn and some small thing that was edible maybe four weeks ago and loose bullets and the paper he'd bought with luisa and his duster coat and a few bottled medicines were among the things he dredged from that creaking leather cesspool, but herbs were not. he moved onto his satchel, faintly frustrated, a subtle indignant warmth just touching along his neck. out of his satchel he unearthed dozens of sprigs of dried flowers that cracked and disintegrated in his touch.

"¿tienes un amor?" miranda asked him all of a sudden. john glanced up. her chin was nestled on her knees and her hands knitted about her legs. her voice was lively, sweet.

his jaw set into a hard line. "what?"

"a lover. a sweetheart. ¿una esposa?" she clarified. and oh, oh, that hurt, that hurt too, worse than the ranch, the aching deadness inside him, the wounded animal lashing out, the stray cur-dog, the mutt. john put a protective hand on his satchel and tried not to snap at her. it was not her fault. she didn't know.

"oh. sí. ¿por qué?" he said, his voice clipped. 

she gestured towards them by raising her chin briefly. light dancing upon her cheeks and fingers. one hand outstretched now and holding a mackerel over the flames. "tienes tantas flores, en paquetes, en el papel." and with gruff and indelicate hands he attempted to sweep the dead flowers away, flushing at her observations. they were useless by now. they rolled and clattered like bones and a few caught sparks from the fire and coughed a weak smoke. then she raised her eyebrows and nudged her head in the direction of john's messy satchel again. "¿para ella?"

he automatically moved to pack it all up, to stuff the paper and the mummified plant stalks away, but something made him pause. he was staring at the fire. the leather of his belt creaking as he held his pose, frozen half bent over, primitive. she was a good kid.

"...no, son para - son - um - ah, i'm sorry." john tried, stammered, huffed out his nose like a bull and shook his head. the fire crackled joyfully, started to thaw him on the inside. "i don't know that much spanish."

"it's ok. just talk." miranda fortuna brushed it off, her voice as warm as the flames.

john looked up, looked at her, and thought back to - well, it could only have been a few weeks ago, to meeting the old man named billy west under the boughs at stillwater creek, and the bittersweet insistence of his own ancient heart. he talked. "they're not for her. i was asked to gather flowers by a man in the states for his wife."

"but you do have one?" miranda inquired, the most cheerful interrogation he'd ever been a part of. she was leaning towards him with a wistful look on her young face in the dancing lights that reminded john of her sister.

"yes. tengo una esposa y un hijo y una hija en..." he tried, and trailed off. he didn't know why he was telling miranda about that. he didn't know. he wanted to. it didn't matter. "um, paraíso. en el cielo. mi hijo se llama jack, he's - él está vivo. tiene quince años."

his stomach flipped and wavered, and his eyes flitted to and from her, undecided. but miranda only shuffled happily, very obviously pleased with herself. "thank goodness! i was worried." she celebrated, around a mouthful of fish. "you have so much paper, you should write her."

like it was the most natural goddamn thing in the world. john leaned back like the words had tangibly pressed him backwards. he scoffed and, insouciant, started to pack his things into his satchel. he leaned and spat into the fire. but the words kept touching him and slipped in-between his cracks and unmended pieces and started to hold on. it was goddamn useless. when was the last time he'd written abigail? the old cowboy rose up onto his knees and slung his satchel over his neck and tracked it with his hand until it settled in its proper place on his hip and then he fixed her with a curious gaze and his eyes burned hotly in the semidark.

"you're the romantic sort, aren't you, miranda? it runs in the family?" he said, again thinking of luisa. what a curious sort he'd fallen in with. in the silence she'd moved to eat what little was left of the fish but snapped smartly back to attention and tried to press her hand to her collarbones despite it holding her fork.

"oh, yes, i can't help it." the girl said proudly. john scoffed again and this time it was almost a forgotten brotherly sort of thing and he rose and packed and hefted up his saddlebag into his arms and he'd thought she was done talking and for that some normalcy had finally started to peter back into him but while he was slinging it onto días she called to him.

"i can deliver it to the train station in the states. what is it called, benedict? i can slip right across the river. it won't be any trouble." she offered, the sound of her voice bouncing about the creosote, bouncing into him. john did not turn around.

"gee." he said simply, stunned. días's sides rose and fell. "thank you. i guess i will. ain't got nothin' else to do."

she told him then how to press the flowers in newspaper or other papers to dry and preserve them during his travels that would no doubt take him elsewhere and to great and wonderful places and she told him that he must have had a lovely mother who had taught him to care about even the lowly things such as inconsequential plants and she told him how she'd get to benedict point and she traced the route on his map with the handle of her fork. john was impressed by how studious she had obviously been during their journey, and at her apparent literacy. crickets chirped loudly and he slept to their song and dreamed of something he could not remember when the morning and consciousness came.

particulate matter of every kind and all eons old twinkled in the pale sand they rolled across that was as blinding as snow and the furthest thing from it. the smell of the water was constant, a harbinger of the end. john was on edge, on the edge of something - and his wariness paid off when, after not even an hour after he and miranda had broken camp, they came across a woman in white standing by an empty wagon in the side of the trail.

she saw them coming, and stepped abortedly into the hot packed dirt, then shuffled back. "¡americano!" she yelled, waving a hand.

"john, look, look!" miranda took him by the shoulder and pointed at the woman. he was stiff. he did not move under miranda's grasp. 

"americano, hermana, help chelo, ¡por favor!" the woman kept shouting, leaning out of the nick in the brown rock that clambered on either side, the nick she had wrestled her cart into. dirty and frail looking, still waving. john gritted his teeth and flicked the reins. the horses pulled them level with her.

"we can't stop." he grated out.

miranda's mouth snapped shut, then opened again. she twisted against him and he shut his eyes tightly and flicked those goddamn reins. "we have to, she needs help!" the young girl pleaded, a note of urgency creeping into her voice, and her sharp elbow dug into john's stiff shoulder in place of her hand. she was climbing over him to look at the woman.

the coach rolled past. she was calling, calling, calling into the harsh dry wind. "mi carreta eh - ahm - no work! ¿me puedes llevar a mi pueblo? ¡señor! ¡hermana!"

miranda's knee collided harshly with his ribcage. "miranda. we can't stop." john snapped, his eyes prying themselves open. she froze, hanging halfway out of the seat, and he looked forward, forward down his nose at the dust, the desolate country. the woman was still calling. slowly she settled back down into the seat. 

he tried glancing at her. she would not look away from him. she huddled in on herself and stared at john from the passenger seat, staring, staring. he could feel her looking at him. john tensed the muscles in his neck and jaw, first with intent, then without, felt them flex and ache and he narrowed his eyes and drove the coach through the complete silence until finally he broke and threw his hands up, exasperated.

"what if she was gonna rob us?" he tried, bringing his hands down with a smack. 

"we don't know that!" miranda instantly shrilled back. yeah, she'd been waiting for this to start up. there was sand in john's teeth. in the corner of his eye she hovered, acrid and scared and constantly looking over her shoulder back the way they'd come. it was never easy, this conv8ersation.

"i've been held up a hundred times. i know the look." john said suddenly - and he was lying. he'd robbed and been robbed and killed and been killed and done it all honestly and dishonestly but he was lying. "we have to reach the port. we didn't have the time to spare. still don't. don't you ask me to stop this wagon, miranda. we can't be too careful."

"i - i -" miranda stammered, and wrung her hands, and john felt in excruciating detail a bead of sweat track down his neck and soak into his red neckerchief and he was begging her in his head to stop, 'cause if you keep it up i'll turn around and kill all three of us, and thank god, she slumped and finally crossed herself. "dios mio. i'm sorry." she muttered.

no sound anywhere save only the wind. "i'm sorry too." john made his voice seep into it, be borne upon it to pollute and stink. "it's the way it is."

the country was all the more desolate that fourth day. horridly hot and the temperature steady and flat in both shade and sun and john's arms itched and prickled. he hacked off the side of the coach and in sun that strong even his spit had a wobbling shadow as it flew. another army roadblock crouched blackly along the coastline made them turn unexpectedly. miranda directed him left in a sad voice, told him to follow the railroad until she told him otherwise. they scuttled off the coast all eight of them like so many dried out crabs and slipped into the rocks.

after a short but excruciating ride on the devastated carthorses, they came upon the railroad, the very same that eventually ran to chuparosa. the tracks were bleached to a pink in that mexican sun, and reluctantly rusted. alongside it the telegram poles shuddered in the heat where they jutted crudely out of the land. like a knife unsure of itself and the effects of its wound unknown yet to it. no amount of ease they brought to modern life could quite erase the unease in john, bred into him, taught in infancy and never forgotten in age. steadily uphill they rattled, passing two trains. each time, their bullish clouds of dust and the jittering tracks foretold their arrival.

the traveling vagrants were granted the treat of watching the second train pass the united states and mexico border across the bridge, and even on their time crunch the coach's speed faltered, just slightly, just enough to watch. frontera bridge swayed perceptibly, and all the crows passing time upon it took off at once, and the engine howled and the smoketrail was light and grey and the long headlight cleaved the evening and cut out the six horses and two human beings in a brilliant yellow.

for the night they stopped right under frontera bridge, and john was aching, had been aching all day, his skin strange on his body, his teeth unsettled in his mandible. they both puttered around the fire as it got going and it ended up weak and pale and eventually they settled down in their spots across from each other. john marston's satchel was heavy on his hip, heavier than any iron. the aching nonstop and sending pulses of pain into his eyes. they'd gotten their stopping point godawful late due to the detour and he already knew it would be a grueling minimal hours of rest and he should really just go to sleep.

he stared into the flames sitting crosslegged and slumped over and smoking absently. he had no business thinking as much as he did. his mind conjured up horror stories of abigail starving in some dingy jail cell or consorting with some incarcerated man or dead and jack being handed a piece of paper with her inutile name scratched upon it. it was a waste of time.

do not think. he reached down and stirred up the contents of his satchel until he found a piece of paper and a pencil sharpened by his knife, the same he used to kill with. with crude movements he splayed the page out over his knee and then slowly put the pencil to the page and wrote the first line.

dear miss macfarlane.

their fire was meagre and spat and shuddered. his head shot up from the page at the noise, fixed upon the flame. he was being a better neighbour to her, to the whole family. no one could give him an earful about such a goodhearted thing. he wrote. i hope you and mister macfarlane are doing well at the ranch. i recall you mentioning you wished to travel one day. i am in mexico, due to foolish efforts i won't bother you with detailing, but maybe this letter will -

he paused, teeth clutching at his lip. no, that sounded stupid, like he didn't know what his own letter was supposed to do. at once john violently scratched that last portion of the sentence out and instead replaced it. so i will tell you about what i've seen. under the crude graphite tip the scratching was loud and ratlike. miranda suddenly looked up and began to watch him keenly over the fire, smiling, shuffling on her heels. he did not deserve this rapt little audience. 

slowly, he returned to the page, the cigarillo curling daintily at its end. i think you would like it. i met landon ricketts coming into town, of all people, if you are familiar with the name. i know your feelings about gunslingers, but he is a fascinating sort of man.

he could feel miranda's eyes boring into him. it would have been endearing in another world. his head tilted slightly in thought and the greasy black hair swept across his nose. i also met a family of mexicans which i am helping across the country and one of them is posting this letter in return. they're strong people. it is hot m -

"¡la carta de amor para tu esposa!"

john looked up at her quite suddenly, sharply. there she was, beaming with approval, her hands clasped by her chin. he was silent. in the complete void of noise, he suddenly realised someone had tied bells to the inside of the bridge and they were tinkling slightly in whatever wind, a tinny, lonesome sound. something compelled him to pluck his cigarillo out of his mouth and forcefully lay it on the ground next to him. he was not going to see this girl again. he felt...

"no es para ella." he said plainly, the words spilling off his tongue like terrified cattle off a cliff. "i don't know where she is. i don't even know if she's allowed to get letters. i haven't seen her or my son in months. this is a letter for someone else."

miranda's hands stayed clasped by her chin, but her eyes grew wide. firelight twisting in them. john stared her down unblinking and rigid and he did not know goddamn why and she opened her mouth to speak twice, failed both times. their campsite was so godawfully exposed, paths on all sides, mourning, he's in mourning, that's what it was. a cart pulled by two oxen with a little family in it clattered by on those paths. a dog was following. he was not doing anything wrong. god forbid he want some fucking company. 

his hand felt about in the dust and finally took up the cigarillo and he placed it slowly between his cleaved lips like he was smoking for the first time in his life and he bent back to the letter. it is hot most days, and the rains are refreshing. i have not had the chance to visit my land in escalera. but if i got my way, i would hope one day to show it to you and your father -

"it's a secret love. something forbidden." miranda managed to get out, her voice enthralled.

"pssh. i don't know. something like that." john drawled, his cigarillo bobbing. he was feeling every single emotion all at once at maximum capacity and not a single facet of his body betrayed it. he was rather proud of his self-control. pulling at the cigarillo with only his lips, just his black mouth visible under his black hat, he crossed out that last line. i doubt it's much good for ranching. he scratched instead. a familiar territory, marked in self-loathing.

i miss the united states and everyone on your ranch. i hope soon to be back.

yours, 

john marston

the assassin attempted to fold up the letter, fumbling with such a delicate action, dropping it once and savaging the left corner. heated, he relented and tugged off his heavy gloves and he folded it properly, turned it over in his huge, dirty hands, blew smoke out his nose in twin puffs. he - he didn't even remember how to address it, it had been that long since he'd participated in society. subconsciously his eyes flitted to miranda.

she was just as he'd left her and peering into his lap where the letter lay with no shame and with a wide and wondering innocence and behind her the horses were cropping the harsh grass and further still the scaffolding of the bridge stood completely black and sharp. no more trains. no moon. colourless everywhere save for that goddamn fire. finally he wrote on the back in his brutal scrawl. 

FROM JOHN MARSTON. TO MAIN HOUSE MACFARLANE RANCH.

the next breath he took was warm in a way a cigarette could not even pretend to understand. the old cowboy passed it around the side of the fire to miranda so as not to burn it and she took it with both slim brown hands and held it to her chest like it was a child. now, she was looking into his eyes.

"yo me encargaré, john." she whispered.

"gracias."

[nightlight-writes]

Pigtails (Luca Kaneshiro x Reader)

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: none

Notes: Double pigtail Luca brainrot is real, do not send help.

“Hey, we’re here!” the man in the driver’s seat called, “Now get up!”

The driver, a rather large man with blonde hair, just so happened to be your boyfriend. You were still recovering from the amount of sharp turns he took while driving to the venue. Surprisingly, you were still alive and you definitely weren’t letting him on the driver’s seat next time. The moment you alighted from the car, your boyfriend lifted you up, placing you on his back.

“Can we sit there? I heard the view is kinda pog.”

He pointed to a spot under a pine tree. Pinecones lazily sat on cool, green grass, with squirrels occasionally whisking them away to be stored and eaten. Songbirds chirped, their melody synergizing with the faint sounds of the wind. Far behind the tree was a field of sunflowers, their bright yellow popping out against the surroundings.

Your view started shaking as Luca ran without breaking even a single sweat. He plopped you down on the cool grass before going back to retrieve more of your belongings. After a few seconds, he returned. This time, he donned a white silk apron. On it was a purple heart that would’ve looked fancy if it wasn’t drawn with a marker. With a single glance at the old shoelace around your arm, you knew what to do.

Your fingers delicately combed through the loose side of his hair, causing a slight blush to form on the blond’s face. His hair was as rough as straw, but it also exuded a flowery scent. After playing with his golden locks, you used the shoelace to create a ribbon to tie around his hair. Luca now wore cutesy twin pigtails, which were rather unfitting of the ways he would often describe himself. Eagerly, you  showed your boyfriend your handiwork.

“That person you’re showing me looks rather… cute!”

Luca’s eyes sparkled at the sight. You were almost going to congratulate him for calling himself cute. But alas…

“Wait! That’s me, right? But- but I’m not THAT cute!”

In a move rather uncharacteristic, yet perfectly plausible for someone like him, he quickly realized what he had just said. His cheeks puffed up, growing pinker by the second.

“You can take it off, it doesn’t really suit me.”

Your only reaction was to facepalm. Maybe next time…

“But, just saying, doing your hair would be pretty pog…”

Alas, you didn’t have anything to style your hair with. No clips, no hair ties, nothing. Before eating however, you both wanted to take a picture at the sunflower field. The flowers stood high, but none of them were as big as Luca. As much as you wanted to immerse yourself in the field, you were fearful that you would be lost inside. 

Luca held a dozen of sunflowers like they were in a bouquet.The sun’s bright shimmer was captured perfectly on your phone’s screen, and so was the smile that could remove all hour worries. The wind was very strong, causing some of the sunflowers to sway to the side. You waited to make sure no stray leaves would get in the way of your photo.

—Snap—!

In the end, the entire day passed way before you got your “bracelet” back.

[taters-for-tots]

So i’m currently on vacation and i’ve been sending @rootbeerrex updates in the style of letters from a soldier at war so here are those

day 1 - driving. all driving.

Dearest,

The sky is grey here. I haven't had food in ages, but we trek on. General says it's only 12 more hours. I'll see you soon.

Dearest,

The boys are singing now, to try to keep our spirits up as we make our way through the hostile land known as "high way". The bugle is playing along, too, in a new tune they're calling "Video Killed the Radio Star". I'll write again once we reach camp.

Dearest,

The sky has cleared up, but though the sun may shine on us again, things look bleak. The boys are rallying up against the Captain to get us food. Hoping for the best.

Dearest,

Still no food. Captain wasn't hard to sway, but the real issue is finding something. Any amount of vegetation is few and far between out here, but we trek on. A few of the boys haven't lost hope. They speak among themselves of a place called "Bojangles". I can only pray they're onto something. Talk soon.

Dearest,

Salvation! A kindly man by the name of Mr. Queen took us in and gave us food from his dairy farm. The boys are in high spirits now, our energy revived, and hope for our survival has returned. I think of you every step I take. Talk soon.

Dearest,

We've entered Tennessee. The grass is greener here, and leaves adorn the trees. Leaves! Can you believe it?

The boys have grown quiet as of late. General says it's 8 hours to the base. The landscape is growing more colorful with every step I take. I spotted a wildflower earlier, which I will enclose within this letter. It reminded me of you.

Talk soon.

Dearest,

We've been out here for years. When did we leave? The date evades me, even now, resting. The only thing for us to do is play cards or walk. Poker's less fun when you're betting on pinecones and last night's dinner.

Tell the kids I said hi.

Dearest,

As the sun begins its tired descent toward the horizon, I reflect on how far I've come, and how little I have left to travel. I think of you, back home, in your old green jacket, reading. I think of the hard times, when our muscles ached and our hunger burned worse than the sun herself. I think of Mr. Queen, and his wine red farmhouse. I think of the days ahead of me, and all the letters I will write. Most of all, though, I think of dinner.

Talk soon. ❤️

[pro-gamer-moves]

Hi hello! I don't know if it's bad form to make a request on anon.. sorry if that's the case.

However I've been dying for some lu Sky hurt/comfort and would very much like to request some.

No problem, requesting on anon is totally fine!

As for the prompt, how about a bit of claustrophobia?

Closing In

Tw for claustrophobia, panic attacks, and a bit of thunder.

It was nighttime when the portal opened, its eerie glow tinting the camp as the Link on watch woke them one by one. Sky had been sleeping with Fi nestled in his arms as always, only to be wrenched into wakefulness by a pinecone bouncing off his forehead.

It didn’t take long to pack up the camp; most of them had gotten into the habit of putting their things away before sleeping on their adventures, and those that hadn’t quickly picked it up. Once every bedroll was tied to a pack or shoved in a bag they joined hands and walked through the portal.

Sky liked this part the least. The dizzying sense of disconnection, like something that had always been there was suddenly missing, combined with the swirling lights he saw on the way through; he wanted to collapse on the ground of wherever they turned up even when he kept his eyes closed. He would never understand how Time and Twilight managed to blow it off so quickly.

The Hyrule they arrived in was lifeless and overcast. Most of the grass was dead, and the sparse trees that persisted had half as many leaves as they should have. At least, Sky was pretty sure they didn’t have enough leaves. He wasn’t a tree expert, especially not among this group. To top it off, the sky looked like it was going to open up any second and drench them and their equipment.

Hyrule perked up when he saw their surroundings. “I know where we are! This is close to my house!”

Oh.

Hyrule led the chain through a field or dry grass and bushes to a well-hidden cave. “Here we are! This isn’t exactly my home so much as one of the homes I have scattered about, but I’m pretty sure there’s enough room for all of us if we squeeze.”

Sky took a deep breath. Great. Hyrule lived in a cave (worry about that later), and they would all have to cram into it because it was about to rain, another of his favorite things. He could almost imagine what Fi would say: I predict a 52% chance that this arrangement will be more satisfactory than anticipated.

She was nice like that, always trying to make him feel better.

Sky realized he had zoned out, and that the others were already removing their equipment and putting it under a sailcloth to keep it dry and free up room in the cave. He set his pack with the others, but didn’t remove Fi or his own sailcloth. Nobody said anything.

The sky rumbled ominously, and Time started to usher them into the cave. Sky waited until it was only him, Time, and Hyrule before speaking up.

“Is it okay if I stay out here and keep watch? I don’t mind getting a little wet.”

Time hesitated, and Hyrule shook his head. “Sorry, I know it’s not the best place, but everyone has to be inside or the concealing magic won’t work. You can be closest to the entrance, if that helps.”

His heart sank. He had known it was a long shot, but still. “Yeah, thanks Traveler.”

Time looked between him and Hyrule, then nodded and ducked inside the cave to join the others. “Let us know if you have any problems. We can all deal with getting a little wet and a couple of monsters.”

Sky nodded as Hyrule followed their leader, but he knew he wouldn’t take Time up on the offer. They could all handle being in a stupid cave, so he could too. He wasn’t going to risk their lives just because he was uncomfortable.

Sky squeezed himself into the cave next to Hyrule and closed his eyes, leaning onto the wall. It wasn’t that bad, he reminded himself. It’s not like the other caves, there aren’t any monsters. It’s like a sleepover, and everyone is sleeping on the floor. You can even feel a bit if wind from the entrance there, this don’t so bad.

Then Hyrule closed the door.

Every trace of the outside was cut off; all he could smell was dirt and sweat, all he could hear was shifting fabric and the complaints of Wind and Legend as they fought for elbow room. His eyes were closed and he kept them that way because he knew if he opened them all he would see was the walls and the ceiling and the stifling closeness of it all.

Outside the rain started. Sky could hear it thudding on the wooden trapdoor, feel the coolness seeping in through the cracks. He tried to focus on it, to convince himself that this was just a crowded sleepover and it was raining outside but it was safe and warm in here with his brothers.

One of them must have noticed how tense he was, because he felt a calloused hand grab his own and squeeze it softly. It helped, having another thing to focus on. He squeezed back and huddled further into his sailcloth. He could do this. All he had to do was fall asleep, and he could wake up when it was safe to leave the cave. Eyes closed, brothers gathered close, the soothing sound of rain… perfect for a little nap…

The sound of nearby thunder shattered his serenity. He reached for Fi before he could think, he had to redirect the lighting before it was too late, but it was too close in here, too small no room walls ceiling sky gone stone all around growing smaller collapsing unyielding—

There was a hand on his face.

There was another on his knee.

Over the sound of rain and thunder he could hear a low voice talking softly.

“Are you okay Link? Do you need us to open the door? Nobody would mind, we’ve all been wet before. I spent a good amount of time underwater when I was on my adventures, a little rain won’t hurt me.”

Time kept talking in the same soothing tone until Sky felt his body relax. For the first time, he opened his eyes. The cave was cramped, as he had expected, but it seemed like the idea of a sleepover wasn’t far off. Twilight’s lantern had been lit, and it filled the area with a warm glow. Wild was passing around fruit to anyone that wanted some, but most of his fellow heroes had made themselves comfortable and were trying to fall back asleep, using each other as pillows and blankets as they saw fit.

Sky looked back at Time, who still had a worried look on his face. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Do you want me to open the door?”

Sky actually considered it this time. “Nah, leave it shut. Wouldn’t want to let all the cold air in.”

Time smiled. “Sure thing. Get some rest while you can, okay?”

“You know me, I always do.”

Sky shuffled closer to the tangle of Links and pains his head on a nearby shoulder, draping his sailcloth over himself and anyone nearby, and drifted off to sleep with a contented smile on his face.

AN: this is only my second one-shot, and I’ve never written hurt/comfort before, but hopefully you liked it! Let me know if it was too long or anything, I’d love some feedback.

[the-fifth-rascal]

Pinecones and Primroses~ A Cynari fanfic. Chapter 1

 “Hello, jolly campers! Welcome to Stellar Moments summer camp! Get ready for a summer filled with fun, adventure, excitement, and most of all……”

“Stellar moments!” The chattering audience exclaimed excitedly in unison. Tighnari gave a light smile to his best friend as he linked his arm to his. “I can’t believe we’re finally here Cyno, Summer camp!” 

Cyno observed the environment that surrounded him as he twirled his hair with his finger. The fresh air was pure from nature, the campers in little groups on their own buzzing about what cabin they might be in, the councilors taking a head count of everyone, the soft grass under his feet littered with weeds and tiny pinecones. 

“I never understood why you were so excited to come here, Nari.” He scoffed unimpressed, although his affectionate use of his friend’s nickname indicates otherwise. “It’s just…trees and grass and plants and……you know what, never mind.” Cyno teased Tighnari, giving him a mischievous grin “This place must be like heaven to you.” Tighnari gave him a petulant pout as he shoved Cyno away playfully.

“I like stuff other than plants!” he protested, his tail swaying from side to side. “Like, fungi! And…..um…” Cyno laughed at him frowning, struggling to come up with any non-botanical related hobbies. “Reading! Yeah, reading!”

“I have no idea how you’ve managed to convince me anyway,” he grumbled slightly childishly, his grin replacing with a frown. Tighnari grinned himself and chuckled softly “Stop complaining so much you big lummox!” he retorted cheekily “Or are you just upset we might be doing something in the summer holidays that ISN’T training?”

Cyno blinked, taken aback by Tighnari’s sudden comeback, and stuck his tongue out at him smiling “Fine, fair enough.” he admitted, blowing a wisp of his long, soft white hair out of his face “We’re both strange teenagers. Happy?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tighnari said, wrapping his arm over his best friend’s shoulder “Because we are going to make this the best summer ever!”

Cyno gave Tighnari a usually rare soft smile that he has grown to love, then unexpectedly poked Tighnari in the cheek “Nari.” He looked at Cyno in amusement “Hm?”

He didn’t answer, instead consistently poking Tighnari’s cheek “Nari, Nari, Nari, Nari.” “Whatttttt?” Tighnari asked. For some weird reason, his friend’s voice was getting more…feminine?! And high-pitched. It actually sounded like……

“TIGHNARI!”

Tighnari jolted awake, his long ears ringing at the sudden and unwarranted interruption. He took a while to process where he was at the moment, still half asleep. He found himself in his dad’s stale SUV, with him at the wheel and Cyno’s adoptive father Cyrus in the front seat next to him, chattering about the classes he took at the school where they were attending, the Akademia.

He took in the stale scent of the old grayed interior of the car as his little sister constantly poked his face with an annoyed pout from the middle seat she was sitting in. 

“I was asking you a question,” she stated, folding her arms and glaring at him. Tighnari sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck “Sorry Collei,” he apologized “I was just really tired.”

“I wish the stupid camp bus didn’t have to leave so early.” Cyno offhandedly grumbled from his seat next to the window. This just made Collei frown even harder than she already had been.

“Well, I had to get up too, AND I’M NOT EVEN GOING!! So listen up!”

“Alright Collei, what is it?” Tighnari asked, leaning into his seat. 

“Can I get your room if you get murdered by Hilichurls?” she asked, her eyes glinting mischievously as she hid her laughter. Tighnari raised his eyebrows in amusement. 

“I’m not going to get murdered by Hilichurls!” He says, tickling his little sister, who erupts into peals of laughter. “But if I do, I’ll come back as a ghost and haunt you if you even think of touching my stuff!”

Cyno glanced at the two laughing and gave a small smile before looking out the window, eyes glassy. Tighnari glimpsed at Cyno, leaving Collei alone and resting his chin on his palm wondering what he was thinking about.

He wore a greyish-colored t-shirt over a long white-sleeved shirt with a skull on it. Along with having multiple piercings on his ears, he had a long silver chain with a pendant of the Egyptian god, Anubis on it which he fiddled with. He had never seen him without that damn chain. After all, it was his only connection to his real parents.

“You seem quiet today,” Tighnari whispered softly, prodding Cyno’s shoulder with a coy smile. Cyno shrugged his shoulders but didn’t divert his attention away from the mirror. “C’mon, you can’t be THAT upset about going to summer camp,” Tighnari said, tugging his sleeve in the hope of a response “I’d be all alone if you didn’t come with me.”

Cyno gazed at his friend, took his hand, and gave it a little squeeze, which gave warmth to Tighnari’s fingertips “You know I’ll be with you when you need me to be Tighnari,” he said “After all, you were always there for me. Especially when I needed you the most.”

Collie, feeling increasingly bored, poked Cyno’s shoulder interrupting the two. Tighnari raised his eyebrows, slightly annoyed by the interruption but not showing it. “Will YOU get murdered by Hilichurls Cyno?” she asked, shuffling in her seat.

“Collei, it’s rude to ask something like that!” Tighnari hissed under his breath. Cyno however, lightly held Collei’s shoulder and looked her in the eye seriously.

“If I go to summer camp and never come back, I expect you to protect my TCG collection with your life,” He said, Tighnari letting out a snort of amusement “Am I clear?”

Collei grinned widely and nodded her head aggressively “Yes sir! I won’t let you down!”

“Quiet down back there you three!” Tighnari’s father exclaimed from the front seat, tapping his finger on the steering wheel with him and Cyrus poring over a large map of the forests in the area. All that lay in front of them was an open barren road, trees surrounding every side and corner of the area. “All of these trees look the same!” Cyrus stressed, crumpling the corners of the map to navigate their location in vain.

“Actually, these trees are coniferous. The trees we saw a couple of moments ago were deciduous. But that is beside the point!” Tighnari’s father argued. Drops of water started to patter against the car’s glass, the wind pace picking up outside. “Wonderful,” he grumbled, activating the windshield wipers “Now it’s raining.”

“Are you SURE we are going the right way?” Cyrus asked as he thrust the map close, peering over it w ith a mix of desperation and irritation, which made him frown even harder, furrowing his brows as he shoved the map away. “Of course I am.” Tighnari’s father lied. The kids silently watched the ongoing argument in the backseats before Tighnari piped up “Why couldn’t we just use a GPS,” he complained “Y’know, like NORMAL people!” The rain outside started to pick up, lightning flashing across the sky.

“I don’t need a GPS!” Tighnari’s father snapped at him “I’ve got it covered.” “This is the trip to Liyue all over again,” Cyno muttered under his breath, picking at his nails, bored of the same scenery repeating itself.

Cyrus tapped Tighnari’s father’s shoulder nervously. “Ummm, maybe we SHOULD check the GPS,” he said “Y’know, just in case.” Collei looked at her father anxiously, as Tighnari frowned when thunder boomed in the distance and Cyno slouched, resigned. He sighed in defeat “Fine. Maybe we could take a look at the GPS.” he muttered, pulling out his phone from his pocket, ears in tail twitching in exasperation. “There’s no signal!”

Cyno exhaled as he rested his chin on his palm. “We would’ve gotten there hours ago if Lisa was driving,” he mumbled. Now was Cyrus’ turn to snap at him “We are perfectly fine going on trips without Lisa!” he retorted.

Collei silently tugged Cyrus’ shoulder, who looked at her with a raised eyebrow “Yes dear?”

“What’s the name of the summer camp again?”.

“It’s Stellar moments. Why?” her father asked. Collei silently pointed outside at an old, rotting sign that, sure enough, read ‘Stellar moments Summer camp’. “How did we not notice that before?” Cyrus asked in disbelief as everyone gaped at the revelation of the sign.

“Never mind that!” Tighnari urged “Let’s go!”. They drove towards the direction of where the sign pointed, and they soon reached the camp bus stop. Luckily, the rain had stopped after a slight drizzle.

Everyone helped Tighnari and Cyno unload their luggage from the car as they bid their farewells before boarding the bus. “Have fun with the adventure scouts Collei!” Tighnari said, ruffling his sister’s hair with a slightly sad smile. Collie pouted, upset to see her brother leave and frustrated that she couldn’t join the two. “I’d rather be with you two,” she complained, hugging Tighnari “I’ll miss you..”

“I’ll miss you too Collei,” Tighnari said. “Become the best scout there ever was Colleiflower!” Cyno urged Collei, both her and Tighnari groaning at the pun. Tighnari gazed at his father and embraced him as well “I’ll miss you too Dad.” He gave his son a soft smile “Don’t forget to make some new friends, alright son?”

Tighnari nodded, wiping his eyes and smiling. Collie sniffled in sadness as Cyrus was lecturing his son. “Did you take sunscreen?” “Yes.” “Crossbow?” “Of course.” “Toothbrush?” “DAD!” Cyno exclaimed “I have everything. You should stop worrying about me so much.”

Cyrus gave him a wry grin “Alright alright. You and Tighnari look after each other okay?” Tighnari and Cyno looked at each other and nodded. Everyone gave their final goodbyes and it was finally time for everyone to go.

Collie, Cyrus, and Tighnari’s father went off to their car as Tighnari and Cyno lugged their luggage into the large trunk of the bus and went to find their seats on the bus. Most of the campers seemed to have already arrived, occupying most of the seats on the bus and buzzing with excitement.

Tighnari sat near the window and Cyno occupied the seat next to him, putting his backpack on his lap. Tighnari took his phone and a pair of earphones out of his pocket and connected them. He offered one of the sides of the earphones to Cyno and smiled at him. “Wanna listen to some music?” Cyno hesitantly accepted the earphone and put it in his ear as Tighnari turned on the music, laying his head on his shoulder.

When the tears are rolling down

Like a river to the ocean

And there's no one else around

You won't question my devotion

Everybody needs somebody

And you got me

You know that I know that you know that

Cyno looked at his friend, already fast asleep again on his shoulder. He looked rather peaceful, his side felt warm on his skin. Cyno couldn’t help smiling as Tighnari snored lightly, and gazed out of the window as the bus was starting to move slowly.

I'll be there for the highs and lows

Give you mine if your heart gets broke

By your side, when you're all alone

I will be there

When you're down, d-down on your luck

No ride home and you got too drunk

Two A.M. I'mma pick you up

I will be there, ay

[writingsofhubris-a]

Grace for Sale

[AO3] Rating: E WC: 3.2K Tags: Blood and Gore, Torture, Blood Kink, Magic, Buried Alive, Eye Trauma, hand Truama, Knives, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat Fandom: Sorcerer's Apprentice Ship: Maxim Horvath/ Reader Disc: Happy Halloween, enjoy Maxim torturing his lover's abusers in front of them.

“I will say. There is rarely a reason for obscene, gratuitous violence. Harming another just for the sake of those actions alone?” A soft ‘tsk’ fell from Maxim’s lips. “No. It is pointless, it is worthless to bloody one’s own clothes, soil one’s own skin with another’s blood.” There was silence in the woods, when Maxim’s voice echoed to a stop. 

“Who-”

“Don’t waste my time with pointless questions.” His dark eyes flickered up, finding the man who’d asked the question. “Do you know the benefit of living for as many years as I have?” 

“I'm older than-”

“No, you very much aren’t.” Shadows fell across the clearing in differing measure; the near pitch blackness meddling together into a tangible entity. The oppressive feeling, the deathly silence, tightened around chests. It was stifling, and freezing, and each of the three acted as though they were unable to breathe, if only for a moment. 

The lash of pain to their eyes was caused by a sudden, bright floodlight, illuminating the dying last flowers of spring, the start of crunchy grass underfoot. 

Maxim finally came into the light, his well fitted jacket imposing a sight that kept their breaths tight in their chests. 

“Final question, and I do hope at least one of you knows the answer to this. It will be for your benefit if you do. 

“Do you know why you three have been brought here?” Now illuminated, they all looked between the others, confusion growing as they were able to apprise the others. The confusion grew, until a name was spoken, whispered among the trees, a hiss following the syllables. Maxim watched the confusion melt from each face, expressions once again morphing. One with contempt, another with disgust, the last with a sickening smile on their face. 

“There we are. See, I, once, took an oath to protect all of humanity, to protect any that could ask for help. It didn’t take me terribly long to realize that was *not* the path that I wished to take, offering hours of labor for the chance at bread. It was made clear to me that those who love often find themselves hurting those who are not meant to be hurt. But more often than not, I found myself seeing the monsters who claimed to love. I found that love was an excuse, love was a lie, used to cover the truth of humanity: living is pain.” Maxim finally stepped closer to the three, his cane tapping into dried grass, cracking on pinecones. 

“Do you know how many years I now have lived? How much pain that brings to a person?” His stance was wide, at the feet of the middle person. “Do you know how much pain there really is in this world?” With an almost casual effort, Maxim lifted his cane, almost inspecting the black shaft in the darkness provided by his torso. 

Looking at the ground, his polished shoe lifted only slightly, looking down at the man. 

“Do you know how much pain a single human can survive? I do.” His hand took the bottom of his cane, holding the roughened tip in his palms, the head now tilted down to the grass. “I have experienced more variety of pain than I know you will ever find in this world.” Maxim's second hand took the cane, and with a strength hidden by his coat, he drove the head of his cane directly between the man’s legs, a scream let loose in the woods. 

“Please do be as loud as you’d like. No one can hear you, this far out.” The cane was pulled back, only to complete the rotation with the jewel being driven directly into the throat of the third man. “Only the coyotes, and they do fancy a meal around this time.” His head turned to the final person, a smile on his lips, nearly deadly. 

It was at that moment that 

The head of the cane started to glow blue again, and the untouched man suddenly struggled to peel the branch that suddenly appeared around his neck, nearly too tight to breathe through. 

Legs kicked out, trying to find enough purchase to gain traction once more. Nothing seemed to be enough, the branch simply tightening even harder the more he struggled. 

"Shall we see how many years of pain we shall condense into tonight, hm?" 

"No, no. No," the word was repeated in a fury by each man, still with energy to protest, to argue. Each plea fell onto deaf ears. Maxim didn't care, didn't even delegate enough attention to them to even really process the words any more than he allowed the wind whistling through the leaves on the branches. The metal head of the cane fell hard onto the choking man's hands, a sudden shout of pain all that was allowed out. 

"We can do better than that." The head of Maxim's cane glowed blue, and the hand was manipulated to pull from the restraints, onto to rest above his knee by about two feet. His shoulder struggled to pull away from the magic force to no avail. 

"Is she worth losing your soul?" 

"They would be. If I still had one." The blue jewel came down onto his hand, bones crunching in a satisfying way, an indent in the skin from the sudden lack of skeletal support. Another, harder hit, and the skin split, a bone fragment slivered through the rough flesh. The rain of blows only finished when nothing but a few veins and a couple tendons connecting the remaining fingers to the wrist. His cries had disappeared into whimpers, and once the onslaught was done, his sounds only turned to soft gasps, trying to sequester the pain out of his mind. 

The handle of his cane then met the man's breastbone, simply resting on the spot. Blood smeared over the already ruined shirt. The blood was smeared into a nearly perfect target, a small x mark of blood. 

Instead of allowing a weapon to fall, allowing pain to proliferate, Maxim merely pulled his cane back, inspecting just where the blood and sinew had caught, before driving the metal down onto the collarbone of the man with the smile. The crack rang again, another sound of pain, and for his trouble, he was rewarded with the other side of his collarbone broken as well. 

Each sound of pain ended up mixing with the sound of blows, the small clearing little more than a scene of horror. Time lost meaning as he returned years old blows, injuries that were all but forgotten to their memories. 

When the head of his cane was coated in blood, Maxim took the first steps to you, recognizing you were even there for the first time in nearly an hour. His cane was set to the ground next to your feet, and his bloodied hand rubbing up your calf, streaking the skin with red. His lips touched your knee as he looked up at you. 

With a fluid motion, he stood, taking the rag folded near you to clean off the bulk of the blood. As soon as both hands were clean, he unbuttoned his jacket, and smoothly laid it over your shoulders, the thick fur settled around your face, cutting the cold wind from your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His lips pressed to your cheek, swathing you through the wool with his heat. “Were you cold? You’re shivering.” You pressed your cheek to his, taking a deep breath in, before nodding. His scent surrounded you, curled around your body. 

“Thank you, sir.” His lips pressed against your cheek once more, before pulling away from you, once more ignoring your existence. His hands rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, expert fingers folding the fabric just so. Ink buried deep in his skin at last shone in the harsh light, and from your vantage you could see them flicker in frustration, flitting around his skin, waiting for the chance to express their own frustration. 

“I could list every single incident they’ve told me.” You saw his fingers start to pull at his glove, sliding the fine fabric off his fingers. His fingers tightened for a moment before storing the gloves in one of his pockets. "Every dire second of pain, even nights they spent alone, believing themselves to be broken…" he softly tutted, ending with a soft laugh. 

"No, instead why don't I just…" looking at the one who's face at shore with contempt, Maxim one again pulled his cane back, and allowed the handle to embed itself in his cheekbone, shattering the thick ridge of bone. His screams only lasted for a few moments, until the cane returned its path and dislocated the man's jaw. Whimpers fell instead, any jeers possible effectively cut off from his mouth. 

The lapel of Maxim’s jacket suddenly, without any obvious cause, moved from your chest, and two of the knives he always housed in the inner pocket carefully floated to him, before he pulled them from the air. The face that had so shortly before been filled with Contempt looked at him, trying to find any source of pity. 

"Please… please my good man, allow me…"

"Pity? I will allow you the same pity that you allowed them each time they asked you. We can all assume how much that is."

"Good God, you can't be that…" Maxim cut in.

"Unjust? Painful? Cruel? No, you each have crimes to atone form, crimes there is no proof for, no evidence for the jury to weigh against testimony." Knelt as he was, it was hard to see just what he was doing, just what his hands were adjusting on each of the tied up men. The blade once again flashed into the light, sharp edge nearly the only highlighted spot. 

Maxim let the knife tilt up the chin of the one who had disgust on his face. "I'll take your tongue as your punishment." Then, to his left. The blade pushed up on the dislocated jaw, almost popping it to its home, but it fell short with Maxim’s thumb squishing down the shattered bone further into cartilage and muscle. "And your eyes as my trophy." His knife then moved to the chin of the one who had smirked at first, any form of cockiness well disappeared from his face. "But you? I'll be happy to alleviate you of your cock." 

Well practiced with these blades, the knife was grasped hard in Maxim's hand, and his hand came down to aim the blade directly into the third man's shoulder, strong metal slid through flesh and chipped into bone. His scream managed to ring through the clearing again, before it tapered off into a sob. 

"What are you?" 

"A man who refuses to allow harm to come to what's mine." As if using a joystick, Maxim let magic flood through the metal into the man's nervous system, convulsions suddenly shaking through him. 

"Stop! Just kill us!" The magic stopped, and Maxim allowed the blade to pull out of the man, knowing better than to keep a weapon so easily in their reach. 

Instead of responding, he only took the time to drive his foot directly into that man’s hip, the joint missed, yet the pelvic bone hit. 

Branches rustled, the shouts of pain almost seeming to cause it. 

“Your wish will be granted.” Once more, Maxim’s thumb pushed into his face, bone fragments ground against each other. Then, the knife came close to his face, mere inches from the sphere of his eye. The very tip of the sharp metal moved closer, piercing the gelatinous orb. “If you shift your eyes even a millimeter, this cut will worsen.” As if by the mere suggestion, the man’s eye darted down, cornea sliced in but a mere second. 

The scream that rang through the clearing allowed the rest to fall to shame, agony shook through branches and dead leaves. It wasn’t until it tapered off that you heard Maxim’s voice again. 

“I did warn you.” His arm flexed, clearly driving it deeper, before twisting. The pleas that fell were incomprehensible, and his feet kicked out in a futile effort to inflict pain onto the man who had just caused so much to him. 

When maxim moved to one of the other victims, you could see tears streaked over one cheek, but blood mirrored on the other side. His head fell against the trunk of the trea he was tied against, shallow breaths moved his chest in the smallest of movements. Pain seemed to filter weakly through his nerves in small jerks of his legs. 

Maxim’s cane was pressed into the inner thigh of the smirking man, pressing the skin to the side. A deep red started to glow from his lap. His legs didn't respond quite right, one leg kicking out before a resounding pop came from his hip. Foot turned the wrong way around, he couldn’t even attempt to move the leg, only broken gasps fell from his lips. 

That knife found home in the hole from earlier, digging back into cartilage and bone. The yell rose and fell, his head turning away from the knife, an attempt to put some space between the blade and his own body.

Maxim cupped the blood pouring from the wound, allowing a small amount of blood to gather on his palm. There wasn’t a terrible lot that he caught, only a couple tablespoons or so. Hair still in his eyes, he took the chance to smooth his hair back, dark locks sticking together with the organic liquid. The red didn’t show against his dark locks, but shine appeared on the strands. 

His other hand smeared down his locks tighter against his head. A river of blood ran down the back of his neck, dispersed into the sheen of sweat on his skin, soaked into the light linen of his shirt. Maxims shoulders rose, then fell, a deep breath pulled into his lungs. 

"Don't worry. One of you is going to be lucky now." You saw his cane rise, the tip pointed at the one with that smile. "You, I think." 

You saw the glow of his cane, slowly getting brighter in the dark area. 

“But don’t think that you’ll get out of this easily. This little spell will boil every drop of blood out of your skin.” A twist of his cane in his fingers, and the man went silent. “And this will make your end feel like eternity.” 

Your hands tightened on the ropes wound around your wrists, not terribly tight or painful, only enough to hold you to the spot he wanted you; just on the wrong side of the floodlights, hidden from the view of the writhing masses illuminated. 

Even as Maxim walked to you, just as much control over his steps as he ever did, you couldn't find fear in your body. The torture he'd just preformed could never be allowed to pass from his hand to your body. Even as the blood soaked knife touched your jaw and tilted your head up, the only comparison in your head was to an avenging God, a divine creature covered in a demon's black ichor. 

"Alright, sweetheart?" 

"Maxim…" His eyes were on your tongue as it darted out to lick your lower lip. "Please." Your wrists tugged on the ropes, pleading to touch him again. The lick of cotton disappeared from your skin as the ropes fell away. Maxim didn't stop you as your hands moved to the catch of his pants, his heavy cock guided directly into your waiting mouth, eyes looking up at his heated gaze. 

A blood coated hand slipped to the side of your neck, trying to guide himself deeper into you, searching out your heat. Tacky blood transferred from his hand as you greedily worked to bring him pleasure. 

Maxim’s soft sighs entered the ambient noises of pained groans and shifting leaves, death rattles and skittering roaches. 

When he finally pulled his hips away, his length slipping out of your mouth, his hand had to force you back to the chair instead of follow him. The knife he'd been holding moved to your throat, a thin line of red transferred to the skin. 

"Patience, pet." He waited until you stopped squirming, looking at him with bated breath. "Much better. I don't want to nick you." The blade then shifted, a sharp edge splitting the front of your shirt to his eyes, allowing him the moments to look over your body. Nearly carelessly, he threw the knife to the side, the sound muffled as it hit the dead grass. "Stand up." 

There was no hesitation, and Maxim turned the sturdy chair around, the back now facing the three husks of what used to be men. Still mostly tied up, they couldn't have known what you were going to do, even if the flood lights were illuminating you. Maxim guided you onto the chair, knees on the seat, and hands holding the back. His body was warm behind you, a security even as each of the people who had hurt you were unable to move, to register anything before them. 

His coat, still over your shoulders, was thrown over your body, and your pants pulled down. Blood coated fingers slipped between your legs, feeling the slick that had gathered. He couldn ‘t hold back after feeling that, allowing his cock to slowly spear you open, position forcing you to be trapped between maxim and those that Masxim had so recently tortured. 

“You’re mine.” He settled inside you, cock rested as deep as his thrust allowed him. “Just mine, from now on.” He allowed himself a couple short thrusts, a sigh fell from his lips to your neck. “No one will hurt you again.” Your hand reached back to grab his, and you guided it between your legs, that extra bit needed for your peak. His fingers, so very familiar with your sex, started to work you just as his thrusts started in earnest. 

He knew just how to thrust himself into your body, heavy and thick, as his growls fell. Each sound was complimented with a thrust, just intent on your peak. 

“The only time they will touch you again is now, this blood. They won’t be able to hurt another person.” His lips moved to your ear, hot breaths fell against the edge. A kiss to the shell, and Maxim started to thrust deeper, harder into you. 

He only slowed slightly when his cane was in his hand again, the final knife stored in his jacket slowly lifting out of the silken lining. The blades lifted, his free hand grasped your chin, and tilted your head up to watch. 

In only a moment, that blade embedded in the chest of the one with contempt. 

Seeing the sudden spurt of blood was all you needed to cum, his mouth pressed against your neck, kissing along the expanse offered to him. He came deep inside you, claiming you in a new way. 

"What are you going to do with the last one?" Your foot trailed over the outside of his thigh, a soft plea for affection.

His tacky hand was on your hip, allowing his breath to slowly steady again. 

“What would you want me to do?” 

“How long can a restraint spell last?” 

“As long as I will it.” 

“Good. Bury him between those two, in restraints.” Your lip curved up on that last word. “Alive.”

[cyanophore-fiction]

Treading Lightly

Trying out @writeblrsummerfest‘s prompt with the haunted house theme! Sounds like fun, and I like the idea of having AI characters encountering the supernatural, I haven’t tried that concept before. 

(Note: for the purposes of these characters, anything in [brackets] instead of quotations indicates dialogue transmitted silently via electronic communication instead of spoken aloud. 

Under Pala’s cloak, the night made Coyote almost invisible. Its silhouette was perfectly black, and if it kept away from streetlights, it appeared only as a shadow slightly darker than its surroundings. It would be the same on infrared and radar—a splotch of unreflective nothingness, soaking up every stray photon. 

 Without the sun dumping heat into the cloak, there wasn’t much to worry about, but Coyote kept an eye on Pala’s temperature monitor anyway. It was a cool night, and the little drone was comfortable, its heat sinks barely warm. Its cluster of red eyes swiveled independently as they tracked motion in the dark: rabbits and squirrels hopping through the undergrowth, the occasional bat overhead.

Through the cable that connected them, Coyote felt the echoes of Pala’s mind. Each time it found an animal, it took a few seconds to pepper the creature with lidar pulses, building up a three-dimensional model to add to a growing wildlife database. Sometimes it took scans of the trees, bird nests, or pinecones. Its motive was simple curiosity; the data would have no tactical value.  

Coyote smiled. It had to remind itself that up until now, Pala’s only experience of nature had been the Mojave desert. Time and luck permitting, Coyote wanted to let its companion absorb as much as possible, so it had taken over the task of navigation. 

The place would be about a quarter mile up the road, if Coyote reckoned things correctly. It had done the calculations a few times over and cross-referenced them against its stolen paper map to be sure, but there was only so much precision it could count on with the satellite network turned against it. It had been weeks since the last orbital sensor sweep, but even so, Coyote didn’t dare try to connect to GPS. PRIONODE would be too clever to miss it.

[Hey. Is that it?] Pala said, all its eyes swiveling to focus on a spot just off the road. Coyote stopped, turned, and peered into the darkness. The place had come up so much sooner than expected that it had almost missed the turnoff. 

There, past a hedge of uncut grass, thistles, and overgrown gardenia bushes, was 312 Lemon Tree Lane. The old house was built on an acre of land surrounded by a solid wall of pine forest, abandoned for so long that stray saplings were beginning to invade the front yard. Wooden planks, sagging with age, barely held the front porch together. Coyote crouched, nodding to Pala, and together they painted the building with active sensor pulses. 

[Can’t get reliable returns through the windows,] said Pala. [Might as well be opaque.]

[Okay, so the interior’s a question mark until we get in there and look,] said Coyote. [Place is on the verge of collapse, too. One good windstorm and it’s coming down.]

[Did the records say anything about who owns it?]

[At this point? The county, maybe. Last inhabitants left over a decade ago. That’s about it. Anything on passives?]

[I’ve got…] said Pala, trailing off. It unfurled a set of antennae from its back, extending them through the boundary of the cloak, and waited for a few moments. [Yeah. There’s infrared and microwave-band emissions coming off the house, but—I can’t parse it out. Natural source, maybe?]

Along Coyote’s head, its sensory fins laid flat. [Where?]

[There’s not a specific origin point that I can see.]

[Okay,] said Coyote, standing up. [Here’s how we’ll play this. I want you to check the property. Look for a storage shed, basement entrance, or any derelict vehicles or appliances. Anything that runs on gas and has an alternator, we can pull a charge from. Sometimes old places like this will have emergency generators, that’s the best case scenario. If you find anything like that, tell me. Don’t go inside the house unless I say. Clear?]

[Got it,] said Pala. It began withdrawing its cloak, and Coyote felt hundreds of microbots skittering along its armor back to Pala’s chassis. [What are you going to do?]

[I’m going inside,] said Coyote. [I’ll check the interior, room by room.]

[You’re worried there’ll be someone in there?]

[Possibly. Could be homeless humans taking shelter here, kind of like us. Maybe other spirits. We won’t be a welcome sight, so I’ll try not to be seen. Don’t worry, the place is probably empty.]

[Okay. Be safe.]

[You too,] Coyote said. What it didn’t say was that EMD guns were apparently legal in the area, that people tended to be less shy about drawing and firing one, and it wasn’t sure if Pala’s light shielding would hold against a direct hit. Best to have it out of harm’s way.

As it approached the door, it activated the ultrasonics in its claws and sliced through the lock with a quick, silent cut. It turned and watched as Pala scuttled away into the overgrown lawn, resisting the urge to go back and regain sight of it. The little one would be fine on its own for a while.

Stepping through the door, Coyote armed its flechette gun, felt a round slide home into the barrel behind its palm.

[mysteriaqueen]

The Traveler's Journal

Day 1 Part Five | &lt;Prev • Next> | Word Count: 776 words

As the pair walked Amber ended up quite ahead of them. Jaylenth decided against rushing to catch up as she could see Mondstadt and the distance and Paimon knew how to get there if they got really lost. Jaylenth picked up every mushroom, pinecone, apple, and sunsettia she could find. When they began to smell something delicious cooking. Eventually they see a woman standing near a pot and approach her.

“Hmm. What should I cook next?”

She noticed the pair and turned to speak to them.

“Oh! Are you travelers from around here as well?” “No, we just happened to be passing by,” Paimon said, punctuating her sentence with a sniff. "So, Whatcha cookin’?” Jaylenth asked. “It smells really goood!” “I see. Welcome travelers! I’m Lynn, the survival expert of the Adventurers Guild.” “Wowie,” Jaylenth said with widened eyes. “As you can see I’m experimenting with some new recipes.”

Paimon gasped, wearing an expression that may as well be drooling.

“‘Eat before you go.’ --The first rule of the ‘Wilderness Survival Guide.’” “A picnic? Oh Paimon just loves picnics! My travel partner here is good at cooking as well.” “Yeah, cooking is fun.” “Oh, there’s a cooking pot right there,” Lynn said, pointing. “Show me what you got.” “Okay! What am I makin’?” “There are some Mushrooms and meat in the barrel over there. Try making a Chicken-Mushroom Skewer for me.” “Bet.”

Jaylenth looted the barrel and then stepped up to the pot. She slightly stuck her tongue out and focused. Paimon looked at her expressions, bewildered. Unperturbed, Jaylenth went on to make perfect Chicken Mushroom Skewers.

“Wow! Good job!” Paimon cheered. “Hehe, thanks. I’m gonna make some more stuff while we’re here.” “Ooooo! Paimon’s hungry already.” “I’m making this for later.” “Ugh! No fair.”

Along with a few skewers, Jaylenth also made Radish Vegetable Soup and Sweet Madame. After she finished the pair talked to Lynn again.

“Is it done? Mmm… Smells good!”

Lynn began to eat the skewer.

“Oh…” Jaylenth raised an eyebrow. “Ahh… Uh oh,” “Now that’s really tasty! You are indeed gifted!” “Paimon told you so!” “With your culinary skills, you should try more difficult dishes.” “Seriously? Thanks.” Jaylenth replied, awed by the compliment. “You’re welcome. Oh! I’ve got some raw ingredients in my bag. Have them in return for this meal.” “Can we really have them? Won’t you run of ingredients?” “Paimon shh-” “That’s okay. You should be able to find lots of ingredients when exploring the wilderness. Don’t forget to look carefully.“ “I definitely do.” “There’s also a restaurant known as Good Hunter that sells food and ingredients. Go have a look when you’ve got the time.” “Will do.” “Okay, thank you for the info,” Paimon said before suddenly gasping. “Hey! Leave some Chicken-Mushroom Skewers for Paimon!”

They said their goodbyes and continued into Mondstadt. As they walked they came across a bridge. Jaylenth took the time to go over to the left side of the bridge and observe the scenery. Much past the body of water the bridge was built over there was a rather sharp peak. The water, grass, and trees were so beautiful to her that couldn’t help but stop there for a second.

“Mondstadt is pretty.” “All of Teyvat is.”

She walked to the other side of the bridge and saw many peaks across the water. Then she looked straight ahead at the city in front of her. She took in the buildings and windmills before her.

Blinking herself back to reality she began to cross the bridge and noticed a small boy off to the side surrounded by various birds. She walked towards the boy, scaring the birds away.

“What’re you doing?! You’re scaring the pigeons away!”

“Oh! Oh- I am so sorry…. Well, they’ll be back at some point y’know?” "They do come back usually…" "See! They'll be back." "But what happens if one day they leave and never come back again." "Uh- Well-" "Just like Daddy…"

Jaylenth's eyes widened beyond belief. Damn it. Where's Paimon and their constant cheery disposition when you need it? Jaylenth kneeled down in front of the kid and smiled.

"What's your name?" "Timmie." "Well Timmie, I can assure you of one thing. If you keep feeding these pigeons and treating them well they will always come back." "Really?" "Yes. And when they have babies they'll bring them here and you'll get to feed them too." "How do you know?" "Because the birds love you for feeding them and they want to keep coming back. I'm sorry for scaring them away." "Okay…. thank you." "Of course!"

Jaylenth stood up and continued across the bridge into the city. 

[sambadecomboscribbles]

Resting beneath the Redwood.

Mother 3 Oneshot

Tags: Mother 3, Earthbound, Strong Language, Mentions of Alcohol, Mentions of Death, Mentions of some disturbing imagery (death, rot, etc), Body horror of the tree variety, possible slight Anxiety attack, Overworking, Exhaustion, Weird POV changes but I promise it’s swag, Marshall's got a lot of trees to cut down before he'll fill that hole in his heart. Maybe he never will. This is Dad Lighter the Oneshot.

Characters: Marshall (OC), Lighter, Mentions of Lucas, Claus, Hinawa and Flint.

———

If you took one look at any forest, you'd see a abundance of green foliage and green trees as far as the eye could see.

Strong oaks, simple birch, and if you're lucky, the towering of Redwood trees, covering the sky and sun with their splendorous red. Pine needles and pinecones falling down as a storm blankets the forest. Leaves twirling down onto the soft floor below of green grass and moss.

In Tazmily, there was a forest. One that spans miles of land with green hills and leaves.

It was called the Sunshine forest.

Named by the way the sunshine reflected off the leaves in the spring and summer with a shining blanket of light and color. The leaves almost alive with the sound of the nature that inhabited it. Birds nested inside the green, cooing gently to their families. Beetles and ants crawl along the branches.

It was many a place for the villagers of Tazmily to have picnics, relax in the shade or even play on ropeswings. Yes, The Sunshine forest had much to offer. Even when most of her gorgeous flora and foliage was burned three years ago. Some could still smell the reeking, aching wood to this day, if you dare venture to the... not so kindly named, Ugly part of the forest.

But even beauty, lies beneath the ugly. Beauty cradles those who wish to sleep upon a bed of roses and ugly does much the same. Holding onto those with a worn but comforting hand, holding them close. Keeping them safe. Almost beauty in its own right, in its caring nature even through pain.

And sleep many creatures did.

One such creature, slumbered away beneath a strong oak. His sleeping body slumped against the tree, arms tucked against his stomach. His breathing soft, barely above a gentle breeze. Snores, barely audible. Not to disturb no one none.

No ma’am or sir, indeed.

His worn axe rested in a fallen log, the wood barely splintering as the steel cleaved through its tough brown surface. Around the clearing sat bundles of logs, tied together with tough leather straps. Old age and wear clear on their surface. Had real personality, a aged lumberjack says. Wont let ya down they won’t, for sure. He also says with a knowing gleam in his eye. But even some straps, he continues, can wear and tear too much by the strain.

This mighty creature slumbers away surrounded by his afternoons work. The sun gently shining on him, almost like a blanket in the cool spring air. Still warming up from the cold hold winter had on it. He had spent a good few hours of his early morning cutting trees and moving them towards town. The retirement home needed a new floor and well, he’s happy to help them replace it with some new oak boards.

So that he did.

Once he finished up, he made his way back through town and into the forest, axe in hand and sweat still on his brow.

There ain’t be no time to clean sweat away. Work must be done.

Chopping away trees, bundling them and moving them to storage was easy enough. It was monotonous at times but it was easy and made a difference. Moving lumber. chopping. Moving lumber. Chopping. Like a machine, he worked day and night, hours and hours. Hardly stopping or taking a break. But don’t worry none, he likes the work. Makes him feel good.

Makes him feel earned.

Makes him living feel earned.

Makes the shadow of the Redwood tree just a smight bit smaller with each axe swing.

Sap dripped down his hands, his life force bleeding away in a puddle of white amber. His gears grinding to a halt. For what a machine does a break warrant? No. He doesn’t believe in breaks. Sloth ain’t a word in his family. Certainly not in his vocabulary.

Yet, here he was. Laying in a patch of grass, his head to the tree’s surface.

His body next to nature. Almost similar to a forgotten teddy bear, one with nature now. The rain weighing it’s stuffing down on the inside and the roots and plants growing through its fabric to give life to something abandoned and rotten. Perhaps the creature was the one who was rotten? Who could tell.

His bones rest like roots on the forest floor.

Heavy.

Sap bleeds from his blisters.

Exhaustion clear on his muscles and skin. Though to those passing by, he looked peaceful. Like a corpse. For how long he slept, he might’ve grown his own leaves.

Wouldn’t that be nice dear?

A machine man growing plants.

How quaint.

———

“Hmmm…”

It had been an hour since the last ringing chop had been heard from the lightning struck home.

Lighter had brought back his own bundles of lumber and decided a glass of lemonade was more than welcome right now. He had asked Marshall if the boy wanted to stop and take a breather for a moment. But the boy, bless his heart, said he’d keep workin’. He didn’t mind none, he’d said.

That was hours of daylight ago. He was starting to get worried. He knew Marshall had a track record similar to his father. Workin’ till he was aching and still offered to carry one more bundle or bale.

Lighter rose from his chair, bones cracking and aching.

He certainly wasn’t any younger but that doesn’t stop him. He pushed open the door to the cool outside air, taking a breath in of the pollen. “Now what the hells goin’ on….” He muttered, moving to grab his trusted two by four and rested it on the groove of his shoulder and set off.

His boots crunch the dirt. Sticks and leaves breaking under his weight. The snow had melted, revealing many winter secrets for Fuel and Claus to get their hands on come weeks in the future.

He knew this route like the back of his hand, every turn and tree he marked specifically. He turned into the clearing, breathing out a slight wheeze and turned to look around the superhuman progress that was made.

10s of 20s of trees, all chopped, bundled and placed in neat stacks. Ready to be moved and processed into boards and planks.

“Eh? Marshall??” He called, hands cupped around his mouth. He turned in the clearing, his worn eyes looking for the boy.

And there, in the middle of the clearing, sat under a old oak tree was the boy. Lighter sighed softly, moving across the clearing to clear the distance between them. He knelt down in the dirt and mud, his knee becoming slick with mud.

“Dammit boy, ya feel asleep again, didn’t ya son?” He rasped, shaking his head.

The creature’s face was pale, shadows under his eyes as thick as bark. His hands and arms shaking like wind shakes leaves.

His hands finally bare broken blisters, leaking red sap onto his shirt.

“Dammit all…”

“Cmon, let’s get ya inside, yeah? Cmon..”

With aged muscles, he moved an arm underneath the slumbering creature, moving to tuck him next to his side as much as he could. Then, he lifted him, slowly but surely until the boy’s arm laid across his shoulders. “Oof! Christ!! Ya really are his son!! Fucks sake!” He groaned, moving to steady his legs before taking a step forward.

“Cmon now, let’s go son…” He hushed, patting the others arm with a gentle hand.

Over the River and through the woods to the lightning house they go, the old horse knows the way to carry the fallen tree through melted snow.

The old horse makes his way through the forest, ever careful of his cargo. Once he made it through the endless fields of branches and bark, he carefully opens his door. Stepping into the home with mud covered boots. He carefully placed Marshall down in his bed, removing the others own boots and covered him up. He stepped back, placing both pairs of shoes next to the door.

“….”

His gaze lingered on the bright leather Star stitched with a loving hand on the side of one shoe. The patchwork of a mother. Held together by strong thread and love. He sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair.

“What the fuck am I gonna do with him, Hin? Him and Flint, both stubborn bastards.”

He muttered, making his way into his kitchen, mindful to keep his steps quiet. He dug around through his wooden cupboard, pulling out a bottle of whiskey.

It was a gift from friends.

He grabbed a glass and sat down, pouring himself a small bit and leaned back, sipping the amber liquid inside. “I’m gonna give that boy a stern talkin’ to Hin.“

He closed his eyes, breathing out softly.

And inhaled a scent of Alcohol.

Alcohol with a scent of oak wood and polish. With a hint of char and smoke.

The smell attacked his nose with a intensity similar to that of rotten milk or eggs. He blinked open his eyes, golden pupils shaking about as he shot up from bed. “!!?” He rubbed his eyes free of the phantom feeling of apple blossoms and amber.

“ ‘Bout time you woke up.”

A voice greeted his confusion, turning to see who it was revealed,

“L-Lighter sir… I-“ He started,

“I don’t want to hear any of that nonsense, boy.”Lighter finished.

Lighter slowly stood, placing his cup down, “I don’t want that to happen again, ya hear me? He said, voice stern, sharp, “ if you need a break you tell me, understand?”

“I-I don’t…?”

“Do ya understand me, Marshall?”

“I’m…”

“You can’t keep doin this son, it’s not good. And I’m not going to have ya Kill yerself for one or two bundles o’ lumber!”

The feeling of shadow hangs over the creatures shoulders. The red, red shadow. You could smell the scent of redwood in the air, feel it on your skin. Did it always feel this rough?

“Think about Lucas and Claus, Marshall! They need you! What’s gonna happen if they loose you? Huh?”

“I…”

The feeling of suffocating, writhing branches inside your lungs, filling them with leaves. Filling your bones with sap.

Are your hands bleeding? Why is the sap red?

“From today onward you are taking breaks while you work, understood? And if you refuse, I’ll make ya take them and sit ya in the corner like I did with fuel.” He said, voice calm, yet holding back a simmering anger. He always did tough love. “Otherwise, im gonna have ta let ya go.”

“Yes… yes sir…”

The shame hangs from his back like abandoned tireswing rope. The shadow of Redwood too high to see above. Slowly, he stood from the bed, his bones aching. “I understand, sir..” His voice is meek, quiet but ever so polite. “I’m…right sor-“

“Son, you don’t have to give me that nonsense.”

Lighter spoke, moving to place his hand on the others tense shoulder. “Just head home for today. Rest up. Take a few days off, those hands o’ yours need it.” He motions to the bandage covered palms, wrapped tight and neat.

“Do you need me to walk you home?” Lighter offered,

“N-no sir, I’m alright…” Marshall nodded, moving to make his way towards the door. He slipped his boots on, holding onto the doorframe with a tight grip as stars danced in his eyes.

“…. Alright, have a good night Marshall.” Lighter surrendered.

Marshall opened the door, stepping out into the night air and leaned against the door with a wheeze. He patted at his chest, coughing gently into the sky. The feeling of fall fills his lungs as the leaves inside his chest fall away, settling at the bottom of his lungs. His eyes close, his breathing slowly steadying.

Then, he set off.

Lighter watched him walk through the window, a pinched expression on his face. His glass in his hand, the amber liquid pooling inside. He took a sip, turning to face away from the door.

“I’m gonna need more whiskey…”

[robyngallagher]

The billionaire and the billionairess

Another folk tale from the olden times.

The billionaire was anxious. He'd spoken to his therapist, his personal trainer, his foot masseur and now he had scheduled a meeting with the billionairess.

The billionaire and the billionairess were not close friends, but the billionaire would turn to her as one of the few people who truly understood what it was like to be a billionaire in this modern world.

They met up in a discrete private lounge at the airport. The billionaire ordered a rum and Diet Coke, the billionairess tucked her raven locks behind her ear.

"Listen, I have summoned you here as you are a powerful SheEO. I look to your power as a powerful woman and a boss babe." The billionaire started out strong. He knew this woman deserved to be treated with respect.

"Go on, I'm listening," the billionairess murmured, absently mindedly playing with her solid gold Pandora charm bracelet.

"Boss babe, they are coming for my private jet. Some kids have started a website called www.trackthebillionairesprivatejetdotcom.com and you can log on and see where my private jet is at. I feel extremely uncomfortable knowing that anyone on the internet is going to be aware that last week I took my private jet to the pedicure salon that would alternatively have been a five-minute drive in my gold-plated limousine."

"Concerning." The billionairess furrowed her brow.

"How can I stop them?" The billionaire's voice quivered. Tomorrow I was planning to take the jet to go and visit my neighbour down the road but now I am reassessing my optics and might instead use my gold-plated e-scooter.

The billionairess paused, looked thoughtfully at the melting ice in the billionaire's drink and then spoke.

"The billionaire, there are two options. The first is you can install a cloak of invisibility around your plane. You know Wonder Woman's invisible jet? It's the same technology, but it will require that you are accompanied by a woman at all times."

The billionaire sharply inhaled. He was a lone wolf and didn't need no woman.

The billionairess continued.

"Alternatively, you need to stop caring about what people think. Neither of us got to where we are today by caring about what the www web thinks of us. Instead, you must take your private jet more often. Need to use the toilet down the other end of your mansion? Don't walk - take your private jet. You are too rich and too busy to bother with walking!"

"Wise words, sister. But what about the carbon emissions," the billionaire asked. "I do not understand what carbon emissions are, but what about them?"

"That is simple," the billionairess replied. "Just plant a tree. Here, I always carry a few pinecones in my designer leather bag for occasions like this. The next time you are near some grass, throw a pinecone on it."

"Grass? This is marijuana?"

"No, the other kind of grass. Lawns, finely manicured lawns."

"Sorry," said the billionaire. "The only manicure I know of is what Martin does to my hands every Tuesday. Speaking of which, I need to get going to this week's appointment — which I will do via my private jet, with considerable pride!"

The billionairess smiled. "Good, I'm glad we had this conversation."

The billionaire stood and was about to leave but he paused.

"One more thing, boss babe. Does the loneliness ever end?"

"No, the billionaire. It never does."