#elm branches

[huariqueje]

Wych Elm and Fiddleheads - Brita Granstrom , 2023.

Swedish, b.1969 -

Oil on canvas , 19.5 x 23.5 in.

[anskupics]

Ulmus — elms

[kplays]

Round one had Kukui, Sycamore, Birch, and an undecided tie.

Round two's top four were Clavell, Jacq, Hassel, and Raifort

Round three were Cynthia, Willow, Lusamine, and another tie.

Let's get these ties settled before the final round

[dootznbootz]

i am gifting you cool rocks and pretty leaves with my mind btw. and there's nothing you can do about it

You're wrong! I CAN do something about it! I can thank you for the cool rocks and pretty leaves and then keep the cool rocks and pretty leaves like a little crow!!! And then I can give you the coolest branch to use as a sword/wizard staff with MY mind!

[delicatelysublimeforester]

City Canopy Care: Dispose of Elm Wood for Free this October!

[apoemaday]

Elm

by Sylvia Plath

for Ruth Fainlight

I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root: It is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been there.

Is it the sea you hear in me, Its dissatisfactions? Or the voice of nothing, that was your madness?

Love is a shadow. How you lie and cry after it. Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.

All night I shall gallop thus, impetuously, Till your head is a stone, your pillow a little turf, Echoing, echoing.

Or shall I bring you the sound of poisons? This is rain now, this big hush. And this is the fruit of it: tin-white, like arsenic.

I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets. Scorched to the root My red filaments burn and stand, a hand of wires.

Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs. A wind of such violence Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.

The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me Cruelly, being barren. Her radiance scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.

I let her go. I let her go Diminished and flat, as after radical surgery. How your bad dreams possess and endow me.

I am inhabited by a cry. Nightly it flaps out Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.

I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me; All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart?

I am incapable of more knowledge. What is this, this face So murderous in its strangle of branches? ——

Its snaky acids hiss. It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults That kill, that kill, that kill.

[milksockets]

'wet wool hung over fallen elm branch, calm,' 2001 in enclosure - andy goldworthy (2007)

[theworldatwar]

British Private Kay Elms of the ATS, (Auxiliary Territorial Service) the women's branch of the British Army at a camp in Belgium, 26th Jan 1944. CREDIT : IWM

[fawnymeadows]

Deer Hunter // Oh Sion 18+

Pairing ▸ huntsman!sion x deer!reader

Word Count ▸ 1.7k words

genre ▸ fantsay, fluff (if you squint), mature themes, suggestive, light sexual content forbidden lovers, angst?

warnings ▸ mentions of death, blood and weaponary, manipulation theme

a/n: Sion introduces himself to reader as a bard. He is also a manipulative bastard purely for this piece of fiction! This is a re-upload, because I did not like the original draft yikes. Re-blogs and likes are appreciated greatly :3

♪ deer hunter - &team ♪

The forest was quiet—except for the soft drip of dew from ivy-covered branches and the murmur of a stream that had forgotten where it was going.

And it was here that Sion found you.

You were crumpled against the roots of an ancient elm, sobbing in a way that cracked the stillness. A sound that didn’t belong in a place like this. Your body shook, arms wrapped tight around your knees, your bare feet dirt-streaked. Your hair spilled in damp, tangled waves, clinging to your face as you trembled with every breath.

Sion didn’t mean to stop.

But how could he walk past a weeping poem made flesh?

He stepped forward slowly, carefully as quiet as a deer. His lute was slung over his back, his cloak brushing against the ferns. His breath caught when moonlight hit your face.

You didn’t look entirely human.

You looked like the forest had shaped you—skin kissed by dappled sun, eyes the colour of frozen tears, lashes wet with dew. But you cried like any girl might. Like someone wildhearted and breaking.

“Why do you cry little fawn?” he asked, his voice soft as fog.

Your head snapped up. Your eyes widened. You froze.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whispered.

He knelt beside you not too close, but close enough to offer something. A presence. A witness.

“Neither should you,” he said. “And yet... here we are.”

You stared at him, blinking like a startled animal. Fragile. Unsure. “Are you real?”

He smiled. Not big. Not smug. Just... tender.

“I was about to ask you the same thing, doll.”

You hiccuped, shoulders still shaking. He reached out, gloved fingers brushing your hand. You didn’t flinch.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. “I didn’t mean to be seen.”

“I didn’t mean to see you,” he said gently. “But I’m glad I did.”

Time passed. He told you stories. Sang soft, aching songs. His voice stitched something warm and golden into the cold air. You listened like you were starving. you clung to every note like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

You talked about stars. About music. About how lonely it feels to be forgotten by the world. Your tears dried, but sorrow still clung to your eyes.

He walked with you under the trees. You showed him where the violets bloomed the thickest, where the ferns curled like shy little hands.

“You remind me of a mourning dove,” he said once, watching the way your fingers fluttered when you talked about dreams.

“Why?”

“You coo for comfort... even as your heart breaks.”

You laughed quietly, unsure. But you smiled. Soft. Real.

He asked your name. Truthfully, he could not have given a damn what your pathetic litlle name was, as he became accustomed to the patronising pet names he branded you with

You paused, thoughtful. Then said, “Names are the first thing you forget when you become part of the forest.”

“Then what should I call you, princess?” A shit-eating grin slapped on his chiseled face.

You hesitated. And then, trusting him fully, said, “Call me Y/N.”

He tried not to flinch. But he knew that name.

He’d read it in the old texts. Heard it whispered through myth.

Y/N, the spirit of the glade. The one whose heart, if delivered under full moonlight, would keep his kingdom safe.

He played for you often—songs of ruined knights and fading queens. Of deer hunted in shadow. You cried for every story. And each time, he touched your cheek, brushing away your tears like he had the right to.

Manipulation is just another kind of song, he told himself.

But the longer he stayed, the harder it got to breathe around you. The lies started to feel heavy. The words he’d practiced alone by candlelight came out all wrong.

You leaned on him like he was something sacred. But, he would soon leave you eternally damned.

Your eyes looked at him like he was real.

He should’ve left.

But instead—he stayed.

And one night, he touched you - he kissed you, unable to contain his fervent urges.

And you kissed himback.

That night, the hush of the forest was not peaceful.

It felt like the breath held just before a violent sob.

You and Sion sat close beneath the ancient elm, where its roots curled like ribs around the clearing. The moon hung low and fat above the trees, casting your faces in pale light. You had been laughing—soft, breathless. Something about the way he tripped over a root earlier, cursing so gently.

But now, the laughter had settled, a bittersweet atmoshpere suffocating and exasperating you.

He looked at you like he was memorising the moment. Like he didn’t trust the world to keep it safe. You looked back with the same fear.

Without a word, he reached for you.

Your fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt, dragging him close. He came easily, lips parting against yours like a promise. The kiss wasn’t slow. It wasn’t rushed, either. It was urgent. Not with lust but longing. Your mouths moved like the world was ending tomorrow and this , this, was the only way to leave a mark behind.

When you pulled away just enough to breathe, your foreheads pressed, your noses bumped, your lashes fluttered.

“I don’t want to disappear,” you whispered, like a confession.

“You won’t,” he said, though his voice cracked - revealing the corrupt wolf craving blood beneath his soft sheep-like exterior.

You kissed again. Deeper. His hands found your hips, the small of your back, the pulse at your throat. You pushed him down to the moss, climbed into his lap, trembling. Your shift fell away, and when his hands met bare skin, he froze—only for a moment—but long enough for you to see it. The awe. The fear.

He touched you like he’d never be allowed again.

He guided you with shaking hands, and when he entered you, it wasn't gentle—it was careful, yes, but full of need. The kind that tastes like mourning. The kind that makes you sob into the crook of someone’s neck because you know you’ll never feel this way again.

You clung to him, hips rolling, arms wrapped tight around his neck, your mouth open against his collarbone, gasping his name like a prayer you didn't know how to finish.

“I don’t want this to be a memory,” you choked.

He held your face, his thumbs wiping tears before they could fall.

“It won’t be,” he lied.

You moved together like you were trying to memorise each other with your bodies. Like if you loved him hard enough, you could anchor yourself to the moment. Like if he kissed you deep enough, he could pretend he wasn’t going to tear the world in half.

When you came, it wasn’t quiet.

And when he followed, he made a sound so soft, so broken it didn’t sound like it came from a man at all.

After, you collapsed into each other, limbs tangled, skin damp, breath caught between silence and sobs. Your fingers dragged through his hair, through the sweat at his nape. His hand lay splayed across your ribs, where your heart pounded.

You didn’t speak.

He just held you.

As if you could keep each other whole.

You lay with him afterward, curled into his chest, fingers tracing the ridge of his collarbone like you could write your name there and make it stay.

The forest didn’t move. It just watched.

You whispered something—soft, half-asleep, half-afraid.

“Sion... I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.”

He didn’t answer right away.

He held you tighter.

"I'm sorry, my little fawn"

Then, he kissed you.

Not out of hunger, but grief and some sort of twisted love

It was slow, full of something too big for words. You kissed him back like he was home, like you didn’t feel the way his hand had started to tremble.

Your lips still brushed his when he moved.

His other hand, quiet, practiced, found the handle of the blade tucked beneath his cloak.

He didn’t drive it in like a soldier. He didn’t strike with rage.

It slipped in slow.

Clean.

Cruel.

You gasped—just once—and pulled back, blinking like you weren’t sure what had happened. Then your hand went to your ribs, and came away wet. Your throat swelled with deep, thick betrayal.

“Sion...?”

He held you up even as your knees buckled, even as your mouth opened in shock, then pain, then something deeper. Deception.

“You lied,” you whispered, voice splintering.

His jaw clenched. “I did.”

You stared at him like you were seeing him for the first time. Or maybe like you couldn’t see him at all.

“I didn’t know it would feel like this,” he said. “I didn’t know you’d... look at me like that. Love me like that.”

Blood soaked your gown. It crept between your fingers. You pressed against him, shaking, not to fight—just to hold on.

“You were never real,” you said. “Were you?”

His eyes glistened with tears.

He didn’t answer.

You were already fading.

Still, your hand reached up, brushing his cheek with what little strength you had left. Your touch was featherlight. Forgiving.

“I would’ve stayed,” you whispered, breath catching. “Even knowing this.”

And then—you stilled.

Completely.

He caught you, arms tightening, as though that might undo it. As though grief could rewind time.

Your blood warmed his chest. Your head rested on his shoulder. Your body slackened in the cradle of his arms like sleep.

But it wasn’t sleep.

He rocked you gently, forehead pressed to yours. His mouth moved, but no sound came. Not yet. His lute sat untouched in the grass, silent.

Later, when the moon had crested and the moss felt cold, he buried you beneath the elm, where the roots curved protectively around the earth.

He didn’t cry.

But when he sang again—days later, weeks—his voice sounded different. Hoarse. Hollowed.

Each night he returned.

Each night he played.

Not in penance.

Not in mourning.

But to remember the mask he’d worn so well.

And you—the innocent, devastating deer girl who believed that Oh Sion’s love was real.

[seafoamaphrodite]

since it’s pride month, let’s talk about some queer Hellenic history and myths 🏳️‍🌈 ☀️ 🕊️

Apollo has been recorded to have several male lovers throughout greek mythos, including the Spartan prince Hyacinthus and the shepherd Branchus

“Shall I sing about you as a wooer, in loving liaisons,/how you would go forth courting the daughter of Azan along with/ godlike Ischys, the well horsed son of Elátios…”

— Homeric Hymn to Apollo line 205-210 tr. Rodney Merrill

Dionysus was said to have many male lovers, including his favorite Ampelos and the shepherd Polymnus (also known as Prosymnus)

“Beardless Ampelos, they say, a Nympha's and a Satyrus' (Satyr's) son, was loved by [Dionysos] on Ismarian hills… He trusted him with a vine hanging from the leaves of an elm; it is now named for the boy. The reckless youth fell picking gaudy grapes on a branch. [Dionysos] lifted the lost boy to the stars."

— Ovid’s Fasti 3.407 tr. Anthony Boyle

Iphis was born female, but raised as a male for their own safety. this leaves some question as to their “gender identity”, in modern terms, but they are undoubtedly queer. Iphis fell in love with the beautiful woman Ianthe, and prayed to be made a man so they could marry. their wish was granted by Isis, Hera, or Aphrodite (epithets and regional mythologies differ)

“The ram inflames the ewe, and every doe follows a chosen stag; so also birds are mated, and in all the animal world no female ever feels love passion for another female—why is it in me?"

— Ovid’s Metamorphoses, section 9

Hermaphroditus was said to be the son of Hermes and Aphrodite. Hermaphroditus is, by modern terms, intersex. they have male genitalia with female breasts, and their name is the origin of the word “hermaphrodite”. “Aphroditus” is also used as an epithet of Aphrodite, representative of androgyny and gender fluidity

please keep in mind that our perception of gender and sexuality differs greatly from that of the ancient greco-romans. and as always, myths and sources differ! these were just a few interesting stories i found and wanted to share for pride month! 🩷

happy pride, everyone 💌🦢

[edsbug]

I just realized I don’t think I've ever requested a fic from you and I'm???? appalled???? Please forgib 🥺🖤 I'd love to see how Eddie x reader deal with a big storm coming into Hawkins; currently holed up bc of Hurricane Beryl at the moment. 🌀🌩

hii steph!! i hope you made it through the hurricane alright. thank you so much for requesting this, it was so fun to write! i hope you like it<3

thunderstruck

pairing: eddie munson x gn!reader.

summary: eddie and reader prepares for a storm. (wc. 1.1k)

contains: horror films, uncle wayne makes a cameo, pure fluff.

The first rumbles of thunder rolled through Hawkins as the sky darkened, heavy clouds gathering in an ominous, bruised mass. You looked out the window of Eddie's trailer, watching the branches of the old oak tree sway in the rising wind. Eddie sat at the small kitchen table, fiddling with a string on his acoustic guitar, his usual energetic demeanor subdued by the approaching storm.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping away from the window. “Need any help with that?”

Eddie looked up, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Nah, just trying to get this thing to stay in tune. But thanks baby.” He set the guitar aside and reached for your hand, pulling you gently into his lap.

As you settled against him, the first drops of rain began pounding the roof of the trailer. “Looks like we're in for a big one,” you remarked.

Eddie glanced up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Perfect night for a horror movie, don't you think?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You're impossible. But yeah, sounds good.”

The two of you spent the next hour fortifying the trailer for the incoming storm. Eddie found a stack of old towels and you helped him roll them up, pressing them against the bottoms of the doors to prevent any water from seeping in. You checked the windows, making sure they were securely latched, while Eddie double-checked the flashlights and gathered some candles and matches, just in case the power went out.

As you worked, the wind picked up, howling through the trees and rattling the metal siding of the trailer. The sky was almost black now, flashes of lightning illuminating the landscape in brief, eerie bursts.

You and Eddie settled on the worn-out couch, a stack of VHS tapes and snacks spread out on the coffee table in front of you. The opening credits of Nightmare on Elm Street had just started when the phone rang. Eddie jumped up, nearly tripping over the coffee table in his haste to answer it.

“Hello?” he said softly. “Oh, hey, Wayne.”

You could hear Wayne's voice faintly on the other end, his tone filled with concern. Eddie glanced at you, his expression softening.

“Yeah, we're okay. Just getting ready for the storm,” he said, his voice reassuring. “I've got everything under control. Don't worry about us.”

Wayne's voice rose slightly, and you could make out the words “stay safe” and “call me if you need anything.” Eddie nodded, even though his uncle couldn't see him.

“Thanks, Wayne. We'll be fine. You stay safe at work, okay? Yeah, talk to you later.”

Eddie hung up the phone and turned back to you, a sheepish smile on his face. “My uncle wanted to make sure we were alright. He's stuck at work until the storm passes.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at the concern in Wayne's voice. “That's sweet of him.”

“Yeah, he's a good guy,” Eddie said, plopping back down beside you. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Freddy Krueger.”

As the movie played, the storm raged outside, the sound of rain pounding against the thin roof and thunder cracking in the distance creating an eerie soundtrack. You and Eddie huddled together under a thick blanket, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. The flickering light from the TV cast strange shadows on the walls, adding to the spooky atmosphere.

Every now and then, the power would flicker, the screen going black for a few seconds before the backup generator kicked in. Each time, Eddie would squeeze your hand, his touch reassuring.

“I've got you, sweetheart” he'd whisper, as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

As the last credits of Nightmare on Elm Street rolled off the screen, the exhaustion from the night caught up with both of you. Eddie's arm around your shoulders felt warm and comforting, and the rhythm of his breathing lulled you into a peaceful state. The flickering TV screen provided a gentle glow as you and Eddie drifted off to sleep on the couch, wrapped in the warm, thick blanket.

Outside, the storm continued to rumble, but it was a distant sound now, more soothing than threatening. The rain had lessened to a gentle drizzle, and the occasional flash of lightning was just a dim flicker on the horizon.

The first light of dawn seeped through the clouds, casting a soft glow over the drenched landscape. Wayne pulled his truck up by the trailer, the engine’s low rumble mixing with the distant sounds of birds starting their morning calls. He stepped out, stretching his tired limbs after a long shift, and glanced at the trailer. The sight of it standing unharmed brought a sense of relief.

Wayne quietly let himself in, careful not to make too much noise. He walked into the living room, a smile creeping onto his face as he saw the two of you on the couch.

Eddie's head was tilted back, mouth slightly open, one arm draped protectively around you. You were curled into his side, your head resting on his chest, the blanket cocooning you both. The TV was still on, a static-filled screen casting a dim light over the room.

Wayne shook his head fondly, moving to switch off the TV. The sudden silence was almost jarring, but neither of you stirred. He then picked up the empty snack bowls and soda cans, placing them quietly on the kitchen counter.

He stood for a moment, just watching the two of you sleep, a sense of pride and affection filling his chest. Eddie had always been a handful, but seeing him like this, so caring and protective, made Wayne’s heart swell.

When you woke up, it was to the smell of coffee and bacon. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before realizing you were still on the couch, nestled against Eddie.

Eddie stirred next to you, his eyes fluttering open. He gave you a sleepy smile, his hair a wild mess. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice rough from sleep.

“Morning,” you replied, stretching. “I think your uncle's home.”

As if on cue, Wayne appeared, a mug of steaming coffee in hand. “Morning, kids,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Hope you two slept well.”

Eddie sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Yeah, we did. Thanks, Wayne.”

Wayne nodded, a satisfied smile on his face. “Good. There's breakfast in the kitchen. Figured you'd be hungry after a night like that.”

You and Eddie exchanged a grateful look before getting up and heading to the kitchen.

“Think it's safe to say we survived?” you asked, a teasing note in your voice.

Eddie chuckled, pulling you closer. “Survived Freddy Krueger and a thunderstorm. Not bad for a night in Hawkins.”

[sulumuns-dootah]

16. 10. Aphrodisiacs - Amon

    ༺☆༻

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽Helltober '24☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

    ༺☆༻

For late fall it's still really warm, so you and Amon decide to go for a picnic. The countryside around Abyssos is so pretty when the leaves turn purple, yellow and red. Beelzebub has also recently returned to the castle for Autumn holiday, as he put it. Which has given you and the nobles a lot of free time since you didn't have to comb through the streets of Hell to find him.

It was hard to get Amon to do something with you other than napping and watching something at home, but the beauty of nature drew you outside each day. Foraging for herbs and flowers led you to discover a calm spot under an elm with a beautiful view of the countries surrounding the kingdom of gluttony.

Finally, Amon agreed to go when you told him you'll let him pick out the snacks for your picnic. So now you're happily skipping through the field, trying to remember the path you took few days earlier. The tired demon following closely after you with a blanket and a basket in his hands.

The spot is even prettier while the sun is starting to set. You take in a deep breath to smell the sunny, humid air and your whole body instantly relaxes. Ducking under a few branches to get underneath the tree, you transition to all fours and motion to Amon for the blanket. He follows you to the ground and hands you the warm fleece cloth.

Once everything is set up, you're excited to see the things he's picked out and secretly hope you'll at least like some of them. But as it turns out, Amon got some of his and your favorite snacks. He's quick to take them all out and lean back against the massive trunk. You can tell he's tired so you take one of the chocolate covered strawberries and feed it to him.

    ༺☆༻

The sun has set and most of your food had been eaten, when you realise something which has been in the back of your mind for at least the past ten minutes. It's been only getting more warm by the minute. You've already shed your outer layers and so did Amon.

A shaky breath coming from the sleepy demon draws your attention. So you turn your head and a sudden wave of need hits you from the sight alone. Amon's face is flushed and his chest is beginning to rise and fall more rapidly. But what draws your eyes more and makes your mouth water is the prominent bulge inside his very tight pants.

Looking back at the food you've been eating for the past half hour or so, it all starts to make sense...

The thick thighs of Amon are spread just enough for you to fit between them and so you do just that by crawling on all fours towards him. Getting your face up close to his, you have to ask: “Amon, where have you gotten all that food, baby?”

“H-hiss.. Maj-jesty...” he tries to breathe out, but with you being so close to him, his brain is unable to think of anything else than him being buried in you.

“Beelzebub cooked?” you already know the answer.

“Beelzebub cooked.”

    ༺☆༻

Shhh... The prompt for tomorrow is Hickey/Bitemarks ^^

[anskupics]

Hilltop path

[lostinwildflowers]

Boat. Bayou. Boyfriend.

Colt Seavers x Reader

Summary: With hectic schedules due to filming a new movie, you haven't gotten to spend "real" time with your boyfriend. He takes it upon himself to surprise you.

Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, mentions of crying, Colt is the boyfriend I need

A/N: Did I have to do boat research for this fic? Maybe... I've been wanting to write more for Colt, and I came up with this idea a little while ago. There is some serious Shrek memeing behind this fic but I still think it's still adorable! - Birch<3

The musky air of Louisiana wasn't something you thought you would experience because of work. The types of projects you were sucked into never leaned into the action side of the film-making industry, but things change.

Recruited for an upcoming action movie set in the swampland of Louisiana, you had been secluded to the south for what seemed like months. The only bonus? Your boyfriend was working on the project alongside you.

Colt was one of the best stuntmen in the business, and everyone making the film knew this. So when they finished scriptwriting and told the cast there was going to be an action sequence with a boat jump, you knew just who they were going to bring in.

It was fun working on a movie with your boyfriend. Until you never got to see him because your schedules only overlapped for moments in passing.

The most time you got to spend with Colt was a few of minutes here or there when he'd knock on your trailer door with a cup of hot chocolate for you before call times in the morning. He'd press a kiss to your cheek with a sleepy "good morning" before you'd have to run off to set.

You were tired of it. Colt was tired of it.

So, Colt does whatever a good boyfriend would do, and he steals a boat.

Okay, he borrows it.

- - -

While the light of the dying sun fades from cozy oranges and yellows to muted blues and purples, Colt is dashing around the edges of the set, frantic.

He calls it a set, but it's really just a fisherman's dock on a private property where the crew is filming. They've had it rented for a few weeks now, so Colt knows his way around.

The dock is set deep into a swampland, with dark, muddy water creeping back to aspen and elm trees, whose branches hang low and curl back toward the water.

A few shallow skiff boats line one side of the dock where Colt is milling around. The skiffs are used to get camera crews out to filming locations, so there's a lot of them. But, lining the other side are several other types - pirogues, flat boats, airboats, and more.

The one that Colt is fussing over is a simple motorboat - one with an engine set low and near the back third of the craft, but with a helm large enough for a captain to sit and a viewing area out the front side.

That, is where his attention is.

The viewing area has a flat, cushioned bench in front of the captain's helm, with seats to the left and right going toward the nose of the boat. In the middle of the U-shaped seating area is a flat table.

Colt is currently sticking bits of putty to the table, the chunks no larger than the nail on his pinky finger. It's dark on the ship; he can't risk turning the lights on and being caught.

Not yet, at least.

He makes a ring of putty chunks around the middle of the table, stuffing the excess putty packet into the small plastic grocery bag on the seat next to where he is kneeling.

A deep groan makes Colt jump, a yelp falling from his lips as he whips around. His blue eyes flash around the boat to the dock behind him, scouring over the other boats before he hears it again.

He flinches, less this time, but then he focuses on pinpointing where the sound came from. Then, there's a splash. Colt looks over the edge of the boat toward the swamp behind him, and he sees the ripples of freshly disturbed water.

It's just a bullfrog.

He lets out a sigh before turning back to focus on the table. There's only the sound of crickets and mosquitoes now, the quiet humming and buzzing of the insects a pleasant calm.

The blonde faces his plastic grocery bag again, digging past the putty to find a 12-pack of LED tea lights. One by one, he pulls the tabs out and sticks them to the wads of blue putty.

When he's done, there's a wonky circle of mini candles flickering with small bits of light. A lopsided grin spreads across his face as he moves toward the other side of the table.

A crockpot sits on one of the bench seats, now lukewarm from being unplugged. He picks the pot up and sets it in the middle of the tea lights, feeding the cord down the far side of the table to an outlet.

The small lights on the front of the crockpot spring to life, and he pushes one of the buttons to turn it to Medium. Once he's deemed that suitable, Colt checks his phone to look at the time.

Shit, it was already 8:06 p.m.!

He scrambles to his feet and launches towards his final bag of goodies - one containing a key lime pie and a box of sporks. No, it wasn't the most graceful dinner, but it would have to do.

Colt sets the dessert and utensils on the edge of the table, outside of the ring of mini candles, before brushing off his clothes. He wasn't the best at this sort of thing, but he was trying to make every piece count.

He had put on one of the nicest shirts he had in his trailer - a simple white button down. It didn't have any dirt or stains on it, so it would have to do. He matched it with a pair of medium wash jeans and his Redwings.

As he brushes off bits of dust from his outfit, he sees headlights flash from the parking lot. A wave of nerves rushes over him as he scampers over to the helm, where an old CD player is plugged in.

He double checks that it's loaded with the proper CD, so when he turns the boat on, it'll start playing. The lights from the parking lot disappear, and Colt curses under his breath.

Double-checking everything is in the right spot and nothing has moved unknowingly, Colt climbs out of the boat and onto the dock. He can barely see the figure moving toward him in the dark of the Louisiana night, but the light shining from a single post illuminates the dock just enough to make it out.

It's you.

You're wearing a pair of baggy gray sweatpants with an old set of sneakers. You weren't sure of what you were meeting Colt on set for, so you had opted for one of his Miami Vice sweatshirts he let you borrow.

Your (colored) gaze scans the dark dock, an eery feeling settling over you as you look around. There's no one in sight. It is private property, after all.

But there's nobody from the cast or crew here, there's no one. You can hear the sound of bullfrogs croaking as you get closer to the dock, your arms wrapping around you as you look around.

You had checked the time when you climbed out of your car, Colt had said just after 8, and it was 8:10 p.m. when you cut your engine.

Stepping down onto the dock, you listen to the waves lapping against the wooden boards. You look around, spinning for a moment to see if you can make out the figure of your boyfriend.

He had texted you just after lunch: Come to dock set after 8

No context. No reason. No punctuation.

That's Colt for you. You can't resist him, though.

Despite being tired after a long day of shooting, you got a shower and threw on the comfiest clothes you could find. Now, you can't seem to find the man who lured you out from the comfort of your bed.

You take a couple of steps backward as you face the parking lot you had come from, frowning when you don't see him. Just as you reach for your phone in your pocket, you bump into something.

A scream rips out of your throat as arms latch around your waist, holding you as you thrash and flail. You quickly try ramming your elbow backward, and you make solid contact with your assailant's stomach.

A male's low groan sounds out, and you spin around, eyes wide with panic as you try to catch your breath. You ball your hands into fists and take a step back, ready to launch at your attacker.

"Baby, baby, it's me!" the voice comes, and you pause. You blink, and then squint. In the darkness, you have to focus your gaze to make out of the features of the man in front of you.

You can see when he puts his hands up in the air in surrender, the limbs backlit by the rising light of the moon. Then, you see one of the hands go from a flat palm to a thumbs up, and your heart lurches.

"Oh my gosh, Colt!" you squeal as you launch forward, crushing him into a hug, "I am so, so sorry, I didn't know that was you!" The assailant, now identified as your boyfriend, grunts in response as you squeeze the air out of him.

He still wraps his arms around you, though, and when you feel his embrace, you soften yours ever so slightly. You slide your arms from around his waist up his chest before they stop around his neck.

Colt hums at the contact and murmurs, "Sorry baby, I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you heard me walking up." You giggle lightly into his neck, nuzzling at him as you reply, "I guess at least we know I'll fight if I have to."

Colt chuckles at that, and pulls back from the hug ever so slightly to get a good look at you. It's difficult in the low lighting, but he can make out the twinkle in your eyes and the curve of your smile.

Sweetly, he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your awaiting mouth. Your hands wrapp around his neck, sliding up and into his hair, threading your digits through his dirty blonde locks.

The kiss is short, but it lifts a weight off of your shoulders, and you pull back with a content sigh. Colt lets out a breath too, and silence comfortably fills the gap between the two of you.

There is something scratching at the back of your mind, though, and you can't help but break the silence. "Why did you ask me to come to the dock set this late?" you wonder quietly, your voice gentle as you glance up at the stuntman.

Colt shoots you a grin and reaches for your hand with a chime of, "Let me show you." Only when he starts to pull you along the length of the dock do you take in his outfit. You can see the obviously nicer clothing Colt is wearing, and you pause in your tracks.

The tug of your arm halting Colt's movement has him turning around to face you, and you can just barely make out the confusion on his features.

"What's wrong?" he asks, rubbing his thumb along the backside of your hand. You blatantly check him out before locking eyes with him and saying, "You're dressed nice."

Colt just looks at you for a second quizzically before he does the same to you, "And you look beautiful." You scoff and roll your eyes, playfully swinging your interlocked hands.

"What I mean, is that you're dressed nice and I'm not. You didn't tell me to dress nice," you grumble out as you look down at your comfy clothes with a bit of insecurity.

Colt moves quickly at your downcast gaze, cupping your cheek with his free hand and tilting your head back up to look at him. His dark gaze flits around your face before he whispers, "I didn't tell you to dress nice. I just wanted to see my girl tonight, no matter what."

His words make your heart flutter in your chest, and you shy away under his gaze. His hold on your cheek keeps you from moving away, so you just groan playfully and slump forward until your face crashes into his chest.

Colt releases his hold on your face to slip an arm behind you, his hand sliding down your back and over the curve of your ass. His palms knead at the soft flesh before they dip just below it.

Then, in a quick movement, he hoists you up and into his arms. You yelp as you clutch at him, your whole world moving as Colt wraps your legs around his waist and starts walking again.

You go to protest, but Colt's voice cuts you off, "Sweetheart, I've got something to show you." This shuts you up, and you hang onto the stuntman as he carries you to the end of the dock to a medium-sized motorboat.

It's even darker out here at the end of the dock, but you trust Colt's footwork as he climbs down the stairs and gently sets you down outside of the helm's compartment.

You silently watch as he unties the boat from the dock, and your eyes widen in surprise as you stutter, "W-what are you-" "Just hold on," he cuts you off gently, sliding into the helm of the boat.

He turns the key on, and your eyes widen even further in surprise. "Colt, you, you can't steal a boat!" you whisper-yell, looking around like someone might hear you.

The blonde smiles as the boat comes to life, the fairy lights he had hung above the helm twinkling. Then, the CD player turns on a moment later, and you hear the chords of your favorite artist sliding out of the small machine.

Your mouth falls open as you take in the decorations, and Colt grabs your hand as he pulls you onto his lap. All you can do is stare as Colt begins to drive the boat, your hands settling on his chest as you get comfortable on his lap.

For a moment, it's just the sound of the boat's engine and the music humming in the background. You stare in awe at Colt as he nonchalantly maneuvers the boat out onto the open water of the swamp, far from the dock.

Emotion starts to well in your chest as realization sets in. You sniffle and rub at your eyes, mumbling, "Colt, you so did not have to do this." Colt glances at you as you start to speak but does a double take when he notices the tears in your (colored) gaze.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" he rushes, quickly slowing the boat down and turning the key off, his hands fussing over your face. "Y-you aren't supposed to be crying," he emphasizes, panic flooding him at the tears beginning to stream down your face.

You giggle as you cover his hands with your own, and wiping at your face again, you mumble, "I'm not sad, Colt. I- I just love you so much. Thank you for this."

Your words ease the panic that had settled over the blonde stuntman, and he gives you a tender smile before his expression lights up. He cracks a wide grin as he whispers, "This isn't even half of it!"

He drags you to your feet and pulls you out of the helm and to the front of the boat where the viewing area is. You instantly catch sight of the tea lights twinkling and the foods Colt has prepared.

You can't help but gasp as you turn to look at him, surprise covering your features. He gives you a lopsided grin and a shrug of, "I love you too."

Colt moves to press a kiss to your temple, one of his hands sliding around your waist to tug you close to him. You lean your head back against his chest as you look at the non-circular ring and the crockpot in the middle.

"What's for dinner tonight?" you ask with a coy smile. You can feel Colt take a deep breath as he hums into your ear, "Jamalaya from the locals. I borrowed a crockpot from the food tent."

You glance up at him, once again surprised. "You got local food for us to try? And borrowed? Baby, knowing you, you stole it," you say.

The blonde tightens his grip around you and chuckles out, "Yes, and... guilty as charged." You giggle with him for a moment, but then you hear his voice again, "I got us some dessert too. Only the best for the best."

Your eyes widen as you whisper, "Key lime pie?" Colt smiles down at you and whispers, "Key lime pie." You squeal with delight, turning around in his arms to catch him in a tender kiss.

You may have been busy. You may have been tired. But you wanted nothing more than to be on a boat, floating on the bayou, with your heaven-sent boyfriend.

[buntress]

𓋼𓍊𓋼 Forest Creature ID Pack 𓋼𓍊𓋼

[PT :: Forest Creature ID Pack]

Notes :: Made for my lovely friend @the-crow-goddix-abode <33333

𓋼𓍊𓋼 Names 𓋼𓍊𓋼

[PT :: Names]

Arwen // Ash // Aspen // Bear // Branch // Buck // Eldrick // Elwood // Forrest // Finch // Fox // Jasper // Meadow // Ranger // River // Robin // Rock // Rowan // Silas // Sparrow // Spirit // Wolfe

𓋼𓍊𓋼 Pronouns 𓋼𓍊𓋼

[PT :: Pronouns]

Ant // Antler || Bone // Bones || Dae // Daem || De // Deer || Em // Er || Ey // Elm || Fae // Faer || Fer // Fern || Fi // Fir || Fog // Fogs || Hy // Hym || Leaf // Leaves || Moss // Mosses || Ny // Nym || One // Ones || Rock // Rocks || Shy // Shyr || Thon // Thons || Thorn // Thorns || Whisp // Whisps || X // Xs || Xe // Hir || Ze // Zer

𓋼𓍊𓋼 Labels 𓋼𓍊𓋼

[PT :: Labels]

Alderforespiric // Ashforesten // Bonecoric // Broulgender // Brouvage // Creepvineic // Darkforestcreatin // Eldriforestian // Entiforestic // Florcorporis // Florestlluvian // Florleafian // ForestBeastgender // Forestcoric // Genderjamagix // Huntrence // Kenoentoric // Limien // Liminalforestic // Scaryforestic // Starforestaesic // Th?ng // Uncauna // Venenfollic // Virtuncii

Notes :: Sorry it's a small one this time! I made this for a friend of mine and I don't wanna overwhelm them since they're still exploring! Alsoooo its midnight and I'm lazy lol X3

[delicatelysublimeforester]

Branching Out: City of Saskatoon's Free Elm Wood Cleanup Initiative