Story Writer: love, angst, adventure! Mom, rocks lover - Travelled a lot: Europe, Africa, Canada - "Writing is not an obsession. It's my default setting." - Beta-reader in my spare time - she/elle
If you like what I do and want to support my writing, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi (common for my 3 blogs by the way)
MCU:
Loki x Sif (Post Thor movie/Marvel) :
Two of a kind: chap. 1 and on AO3
It has to be elves...
Bucky Barnes:
Her Dark Secret: Bucky x reader - fluff
Spring Cleaning Time : Tower shenanigan, Bucky x reader - SMUT- Sitcom humour
Misunderstanding under the Christmas tree: Bucky x reader - light angst - fluff.
And yet: Bucky x reader - ANGSTY - hurt/comfort
Snow Use Complaining: Bucky x reader - snow and fluff, slight angst, grumpy Bucky
WNIP - Broken is the new normal: Meet the OC.
Drabble/stories outlines/weird ideas.
FFXVI/FF16 :
Between a song and a book (Joshua x Reader)
A snowball fight (Joshua x Reader)
Autumn crocus in the meadows... (Joshua x Reader)
LOTR :
A momentous Wedding : a collection of short stories, drabbles, prompt and so on. Independant chapters - more or less centered around Eowyn and Faramir's wedding (WIP - more chapters to come).
The white swan of Dol Amroth : a take on the romance between Eomer and Lothiriel. Short stories, multi-chapters and so on. Independant chapters (WIP - more chapters to come).
In dark time we sing : created for a fandom event. Who keeps the lore and knowledge alive in Rohan? (and if you're interested : faceclaim)
The end of Gimli son of Gloin : this is the story of what became of Gimli after the end of the war.
A song for the stars: This is the celebration of the end of the year. You are waiting for a very special someone, a particular March-Warden. Will he join you under the stars?
Scribble & Drabbles 2025 : Twinkle of the Stars, A Thank you gift, the language of the Green
Absurd headcanon : LOTR and hobbit characters and cats
The 355
Beg for it (smut, Nick x Reader), AO3
LOTR/AU Hallmark movie :
Crazy decorator Eomer meets surly electrician Gimli - Collab with @lucifers-legions: inspired by various discussion on tumblr, by Hallmark movies and many other things " helping a Scrooge rediscover his Christmas spirit, and revealing the true meaning of Christmas to those who may have lost sight of it along the way".
Faramir and Eowyn Christmas Story - Hallmark style : a very short one shot inspired by a profile pics I did.
Exodus Become the Traveler/Sci-Fi :
Chronicles of a Traveler Dynasty : A series of stories set in the Exodus universe (by Archetype Ent.). We follow the Travelers and their crew, their adventures and challenges as they explore the universe in search of Remnant technology.
Others
Books review (In case you're curious)
Christmas pfp Middle Earth edition
For my original works, go to @emmanuellececchi
I also have a blog for the Exodus Game/SciFi : @emmathescifigal
Finishing Pride and Prejudice... /Finir Orgueil et Préjugé.
Why no one told me that it was an enemies-to-lovers situation?
And why didn't anyone tell me that the ending would be SO satisfying?
Okay. I still want to strangle Mrs Bennet, but Lady Catherine comes a close second. Maybe Lydia too.
Anyway, I did read it. And now? I don't think Bianca would have read it. But I think she would love the movie. It just so happens that I can watch it on Prime, so... Guess what?
---- French below
Pourquoi personne ne m'a dit que c'était une histoire du genre "Enemies to Lover"
Pourquoi personne ne m'a dit que la fin serait TELLEMENT satisfaisante ?
Bon, d'accord. J'ai toujours envie d'étrangler Mme Bennet, mais Lady Catherine arrive juste après… Peut-être Lydia aussi.
Bref, je l’ai lu. Et maintenant ? Eh bien, je ne pense pas que Bianca l’aurait lu. Mais je pense qu’elle adorerait le film… Et il se trouve que je peux le regarder sur Prime, alors… Devinez quoi ?
Bucky has to spend a few days at a cottage to rest. Stuck between Sam's friend, who loves the outdoors, and heavy snowfall, what could possibly go wrong for the Winter Soldier?
Bucky x Reader - (In my head it is set somewhere around TFATWS but you can imagine Bucky at your favorite moment). - Words count : 4,981 - on AO3
Fluff, non-sense, slight angst, Bucky being grumpy, Reader being a bit of a brat.
Been a while since I posted a fanfic. And, to my great shame, it was for a prompt! But here it is! Thanks @lucifers-legions, I had lots of fun writing this utter non-sense with Bucky!
Dividers from @saradika-graphics
Like it? think about supporting me through Kofi.
Bucky is slouching on the couch, a blanket thrown over his legs, arms crossed, and jaw set tight. He glares at everything around him: the wooden table, the rug, even the snow falling outside, as if it has personally offended him.
He blames Sam, the weather, the world, everyone. Why did he even listen to Sam? It’ll be fun, he had said. It’ll be good for you to get some fresh air. Fresh air… Bucky has been freezing his butt off since the moment he arrived. And now? He is snowed in, stuck in this cabin with you.
Going to a cabin in the middle of nowhere for a few days had almost seemed like a good idea at first. He just wanted to rest after another mind-numbing mission. Just him and nature. Until Sam mentioned his “good friend.” Bucky’s brows had furrowed at those words.
“You’re trying to set me up.”
“Who, me? I would never do that,” Sam had said, wearing a shit-eating grin that almost convinced Bucky to say no. “Don’t worry, man, you won’t see much of her. If I know her well—and I do—she’ll be out and about most of the time. She loves the outdoors… not grumpy old men who glare at everything.”
Those were the exact words Sam had used, and Bucky had finally relented. Sam even repeated them when he dumped Bucky in front of the cabin, waving with an infuriating smile as he drove away.
To Bucky’s surprise, and mild relief, the cabin turned out to be a rather spacious, cozy cottage. But you hadn’t been there when he arrived, and though he would never admit it to Sam, he had felt a tiny bit disappointed. Still, the door had been left unlocked, with a set of keys and a note waiting on the table. It was a list of where to find things, along with a few tips to navigate the cottage. Beside it sat a box of cookies. It caught him off guard, and it made him smile.
After that, Bucky didn’t see you for almost two full days. He heard you coming back late in the evening and leaving early in the morning, but he did nothing to force an introduction. He was exhausted—and not just from his last mission. Though he would rather eat glass than admit it to Sam, the quiet peace of the surroundings had actually helped him get some sleep.
Then, one morning, he finally ran into you.
You were in the kitchen preparing breakfast—bacon, eggs, and toast. Humming and smiling to yourself, you merely nodded when he appeared, his hair wild, wearing a rumpled shirt and an old pair of gray sweatpants. He almost retreated to his room, feeling caught in his most vulnerable state, but you didn’t even glance at him, entirely focused on your cooking.
When you both sat down at the table, you surprised him again. There was no small talk. Just a smile, warm as the sun, as you pushed a full plate in front of him, and that was it. You immediately turned your attention to a map spread out beside your plate, tracing a trail with one finger while eating bacon strips with your other hand.
Bucky wasn’t used to being ignored. To say it surprised him was an understatement. Truth be told, it irritated him… Maybe just a tiny bit. But at least it allowed him to watch you. He noticed the way a lock of hair fell across your face while you read, the tip of your tongue poking out slightly between your lips, and your cleavage, which became a little too visible as you leaned far over the map.
He felt a sudden rush of heat, his eyes darting away in a quick flash of gentlemanly panic as he suddenly felt far too tight in his briefs. Then, you looked up at him with a smile… and all Hell broke loose.
“Out. Of. Question. I came here to rest,” Bucky said, crossing his arms with a set jaw.
“Snowshoeing is resting.” You looked a bit surprised by his bluntness, but your smile remained.
“No, it’s not. And my answer is final.”
Your eyes went wide, and you giggled as if he were joking. But he wasn’t.
“I thought super soldiers were all about physical activity and sports…”
“Not if we don’t have to be.”
“Really?” You arched a delicate eyebrow. “You’re being so dramatic.”
“I’m not going out,” he said, sounding petulant even to his own ears, like a stubborn child. “And you can’t make me.”
He sat there, trying to stare you down. You watched him for a few minutes, as if unable to believe he was actually refusing. Then you shook your head, and Bucky could have sworn you looked disappointed. A pang of guilt hit him, but then you spoke again.
“You really give off old man vibes.”
He blinked, taken aback, before shrugging to look unaffected. “Cause I am old…”
“If you choose to believe that.” You shrugged, cleared your side of the table without looking at him, and went to pack for your trek.
Bucky remembered that moment vividly because you had left him simmering in his own frustration. Alone. The whole situation upset him, leaving him with the lingering feeling of a missed opportunity.
Eventually, the storm rolled in, trapping you both inside the cottage. Thankfully, you had made it back just in time—though Bucky would never admit how much he had worried. Now, he just didn't know what to do with himself, or how he was going to survive this situation.
The snow keeps falling, and Bucky keeps glaring out the window. As you walk past him, he hears you snort, which makes him grumble. That makes you laugh, which, of course, makes him even grumpier. The fact that the flurries are flying horizontally outside doesn’t help his mood. Even though the cottage is perfectly cozy, he can’t stop shivering. Faded images from his past and old, buried feelings are slowly nudged back to life by the bitter cold and the endless white landscape.
Tearing his eyes away from the window, he focuses on the fire roaring in the hearth. Instinctively, Bucky reaches for another blanket.
“You need another one, old man?” you ask, your voice a mix of surprise and disbelief.
Bucky frowns deeper, pulling the second blanket over his shoulders. You let out a sigh.
“You’re hogging all the blankets, Barnes.”
“Why d’you care? You love the snow.”
You step in front of him, crossing your arms over your chest, with your lock of hair and legs molded by your yoga pants. He swallows thickly, feeling his heart race as he quickly looks away.
“I do love the snow. Outside,” you counter. “I also love to sleep comfortably. I don’t want to freeze my butt off just because a century-old man has decided to be petty.”
“I’m not being petty…” He tightens the blankets around himself. “I’m cold.”
“You’re being pathetic. With a fire this big? I feel like I’m cooking, and I’m standing right by the window!”
Bucky pouts. “There’s a draft.”
You roll your eyes, uncrossing your arms to slap your hands against your thighs in exasperation.
“You’re such a baby,” you sigh. “I am never believing Sam again.”
Bucky’s eyes narrow, instantly suspicious as Sam’s smug grin flashes in his mind. “W-what did he say?”
“Nothing special.” You lean back against the window frame, ostensibly watching the snow fall.
“What. Did. He. Say.”
You shrug. “Just that you’d be manageable…”
Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. Noting your crossed arms and your slight pout, he can't help but wonder what the Hell Sam actually told you about him.
“Manageable?”
“Drop it.”
“I’m perfectly… manageable. Whatever that means. You’re the impossible one, wanting to go snowshoeing… in the freezing cold… and snow!”
You finally snap your gaze back to him, and the sheer astonishment on your face would be funny if it weren't directed at him.
“It’s winter. In the mountains. Of course it’s cold! What were you expecting, flowers and bees? And newsflash: you need snow to go snowshoeing!”
It’s Bucky’s turn to shrug and look away.
You let out one last sigh. “At least I’m not a couch potato.”
Before he can fire back a retort, you turn on your heel, shake your head, and slam the door behind you. Bucky’s jaw ticks, but he doesn't call after you, utterly torn between irritation and shame.
The morning comes full of light, almost blindingly bright. Everything outside is pure, endless white. You are already awake and ready to go out, standing with your hands on your hips. Bucky steps out of his bedroom, the sight of the infinite whiteness instantly dredging up old, buried memories. Absentmindedly, he moves his left arm, trying to fight a phantom pain etched deep into his marrow.
Not noticing his unease, you turn toward him with determination written all over your body. You slap your hands together, almost in glee.
“Okay, the snow has stopped! We can go out and start digging ourselves out.” You look at him with a wide smile, visibly expecting him to jump at the chance to help. But there is a dull throbbing in his shoulder, and a heavier weight pressing on his mind. Bucky shakes his head.
“No.”
You blink. Once. Twice. “What do you mean, no?”
Bucky takes a deep breath. “I’m not going out.”
Your mouth parts in astonishment, forming a perfect "O" that would have teased Bucky’s mind, and his body, on any other day. But not this morning. You snap your mouth shut and march right up to him.
“And how do you think the snow is going to go away? You think it’s going to melt by magic? There’s no flamethrower around, you know.”
Bucky knows he should tell you, should explain… but he can't bear the thought of seeing pity in your eyes. Or worse, fear. He looks away, stuttering as he tries to find an excuse. “We… wait some more?”
“For what? For spring?” You gesture dramatically toward the wall of white outside. “That’s in two months!” You look at him, your brows furrowed now. “Seriously, what’s your deal, Barnes?” Your head tilts slightly as you study him. “You’re a super soldier. Aren’t you guys supposed to be tough?” You point once again toward the blinding whiteness. “It’s just snow! And, yes, a bit of cold…” Your tone softens just a fraction. “Besides, it’s not even that cold.”
For a moment, he wonders if you’re going to beg, and he feels utterly shitty about the whole thing. But the shivers running along his spine won't leave him alone. He shakes his head again, stubbornly avoiding your gaze.
“I said no.”
You fall silent. It doesn’t last long, but when you speak, your voice is low. “Fine. I’ll do it myself.”
You begin pulling on your boots, then your gaiters, and finally your heavy cloak. He can hear you grumbling under your breath, though he can’t quite make out the words. Bucky looks back out the window, fighting the intense dread building in his chest. It’s gray and windy out there… and it reminds him too much of another day, another lifetime.
Your voice suddenly snaps him out of his trance. “By the way, you’d better watch your use of firewood. If you keep going like this, we won’t have enough for the rest of the stay.”
Your tone isn’t unkind as you leave, closing the door quietly behind you. You don’t even slam it. He probably would have in your position.
For a moment, Bucky doesn’t move. The fire you lit before he woke up beckons to him, a thick blanket folded neatly beside it. Did you prepare that just for him? Even though you think he’s just some grouchy old man, you keep being kind to him. The thought twists his heart.
Then, a sound catches his attention. A scraping noise. A soft grunt. Another long, heavy scrape. He walks over to the window.
You are right there in front of the door, shovel in hand. You are methodically pushing away the snow that accumulated inside the covered entrance, tackling the white wall methodically. He watches you move. You do it seemingly effortlessly, as if you’ve done this your entire life. Maybe you have.
Bucky sighs, another violent shiver wracking his frame. He feels a crushing wave of guilt for not helping you. Hell, he’s felt bad about the whole situation since the moment he arrived, but he can't seem to shake his visceral hatred of the cold. It runs too deep inside him. Too many wounds, too much blood, and too many horrors are intertwined with it.
The scraping sound goes on, punctuated by your occasional grunt.
No. He can't let you do this alone. Yes, you’re insufferable, but this is partly his fault. He should have just explained it to you. At least then you would know. Grabbing his heavy coat off the rack, he pulls on his boots, takes a deep breath, and opens the door.
The freezing air hits him square in the face, making his whole body shudder. Bucky clenches his jaw, steps out, and walks the few paces into the snow to stand beside you.
You are ahead of him, shoveling methodically. The rhythm comes easily to you. He hesitates for a split second, the warmth of the cottage screaming for him to come back inside. You don't need him out here… No. He has to stay. His Ma had raised him better than that.
With another heavy sigh, he steps up right next to you. You hear him approach and look up in pure surprise, your eyebrows disappearing beneath your winter hat.
He grits his teeth. “Don’t say a word, or I’m leaving.”
You keep your mouth shut, your eyes searching his face. Strangely, you don't hand over the shovel right away, forcing him to hold out his hand. “Gimme that. I’ll do it.”
He sees the exact moment you are about to argue, but then something shifts behind your eyes and you shrug. You place the shovel in his hands almost solemnly, as if passing over a trophy. Bucky is already freezing and irritated, so he doesn't comment.
He works hard to break the snow wall, aggressively carving out a path though, toward what, he isn't even sure. You don't go back inside. You just stand there watching him, arms crossed over your chest, a knowing half-smile playing on your lips.
Bucky wonders what you're thinking. Did you really think he was going to let you shovel alone? Probably. Honestly, he had almost stayed inside.
To his surprise, the snow is incredibly heavy, and he genuinely struggles despite his super-soldier strength. It’s packed tight, forcing his muscles to strain in weird, uneven ways. He fumbles to stack the snow so it doesn't come tumbling back down onto the cleared path, all while the wind blows icy powder right back into his face.
After a few minutes, Bucky wants to throw the shovel into the drift and just scream in sheer frustration. And to make it worse, you begin teasing him mercilessly.
“You’re doing great, old man.”
“Keep going and you’ll finally be warm.”
“Maybe it’ll melt your grumpy ass.”
Bucky desperately wants to shut you up. For a fleeting, dangerous instant, he imagines exactly how he'd do it. Spinning around suddenly, catching you in his arms, and crashing his lips onto yours…
No. You don't look at him that way. Especially not after how he’s been acting.
Instead, Bucky just grumbles under his breath. Thankfully, you finally pick up a second shovel and start working on the opposite side of the path, helping him finish the job without another word.
Time passes.
Despite the heavy physical exertion, the cold slowly seeps into him. First his feet go numb, then his hands, and then violent shivers begin to ripple through his entire body. They are so intense he feels as if his very bones might shatter.
But Bucky refuses to say a word. There is no need to completely destroy whatever image you have left of him. So he keeps shoveling.
The shivering gets worse. The white landscape starts to blur. Suddenly, he hears Steve screaming his name. Bucky blinks. He feels his body hitting the snow—hard. He tries to breathe, then a sudden, blinding pain flashing through his vibranium arm.
“HEY!”
Bucky snaps back to the present, blinking rapidly. He looks up at you. Your face is entirely pale, the shovel hanging slack in your hand. He shakes his head, actively avoiding your eyes as he scrambles to grab his shovel again.
“That’s enough, Barnes. I’ll do the rest.”
“M’fine.”
“You’re not. You sound like your mouth is frozen shut.”
“S’not.”
You let out a heavy sigh. He hears your footsteps crunching in the snow, but his stubbornness locks him in place. He tries to lift another heavy pile of snow. Visibly, you are just as stubborn as he is. Your hand suddenly wraps around his—a shocking burst of warmth flooding his frozen fingers—and you firmly pull the shovel away from him. The movement is slow, incredibly kind.
“Come on. Let’s go inside.”
You are standing directly in front of him, and he opens his mouth, ready to bite back with an angry remark. But then he actually looks at you. Your eyes are wide and full of worry. Your smile is soft, devoid of any teasing or anger.
“Please. You look frozen, Barnes.”
Your voice is quiet, a little pleading, matching the look in your eyes. Bucky stares down at you for a few seconds—just on principle, just because he is a grumpy old man—and then he finally nods. Slowly, stiffly, he turns and walks back toward the cottage.
You follow closely behind, leaning the two shovels against the wall before closing the heavy door securely behind you both.
“Go change your clothes. Take a good, hot shower, and then go sit right by the fire.”
“I don’t need—”
“Please?”
It is impossibly difficult to resist you when you look at him like that, especially now that your teasing edge is entirely gone. He simply nods, a sudden, crushing exhaustion falling over him like a lead blanket.
When Bucky returns from his shower, he feels a bit better, even if his mind is still reeling from the flashback. He goes to sit near the fire and notices the thick blanket waiting for him. He hesitates for a second, touched by the gesture. You prepared all of this for him. The fire is burning bright and warm, casting a cozy glow across the room. That is when he notices the scent in the air: cinnamon and something sweet.
You emerge from the kitchen carrying two steaming mugs and hold one out to him.
“Chai tea, with a big dollop of cream and maple syrup.” He takes it, welcoming the sudden warmth between his hands. “It’ll help take the chill out of your bones.” You sit down beside him on the floor, and in a quieter, softer voice, you ask, “How are your toes?”
“What?”
“Your toes. Are they burning? Were they white?”
“No.” He shakes his head, a bit caught off guard by the maternal concern. You study his face for a second and nod, satisfied.
“How are your fingers…?” You reach out, trying to gently take his hand, but instinctively, he snatches it back.
A flash of hurt and worry crosses your face. Seeing it, Bucky softens instantly. “I don’t have frostbite…”
“Barnes…”
“I promise. No frostbite.”
You watch him intently for a moment, then nod. For a while, neither of you speaks, both of your gazes locked on the dancing flames.
“Why the sudden change of heart?” he asks quietly.
“I could see you shivering.” You pause, taking a slow sip of your tea with your eyes cast down. You look incredibly guilty. There is a fleeting moment where Bucky feels a dark, petty sense of satisfaction, but it doesn’t last. The feeling vanishes because he knows he could have just explained things to you. And simply because your vibrant smile is gone. He hates seeing you look so deflated.
“And then you just froze… You weren’t answering me anymore,” you continue, looking up at him with wide, slightly glassy eyes. “Why did you keep going?”
“You were badgering me.”
The words snap out of him, much harsher than Bucky intended. He watches your face turn a shade paler. You look away, taking another small sip of your tea.
“I’m sorry.”
Bucky lets out a heavy sigh, but before he can apologize, you keep going.
“It’s just… That’s no excuse, I know. But I thought—well, Sam said…” You sigh in sheer frustration, shaking your head. “I should have listened to you.”
Bucky reaches out, wrapping his hand around yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. You look up at him. He offers you a soft, reassuring smile, but you still look like a kicked puppy, and the sight twists his heart.
“Hey. I’m okay. I’m just… really not good in the cold.” His tone is lighter now, trying to pass it off as a joke. But your smile still doesn’t return. “What exactly did Sam say?”
“Oh.” You shrug, though you don’t pull your hand away from his. His heart flutters stupidly at the contact. “He just said you’re a super soldier, you like exercising… so I assumed you would enjoy being out, doing some physical activity in the snow.” You let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I was just really looking forward to it, and… I guess I was disappointed.”
There is a vulnerability in your voice that gives Bucky a sudden spark of hope—of what?
“Well, I really did act like a grumpy old man, so I can’t exactly blame you.”
You tilt your head slightly, but your face remains solemn. Bucky hesitates, trying to find the words to explain. “It’s just… because of my past…”
The words barely leave his mouth before you go even paler than before. You suddenly smack your hand against your forehead so hard that Bucky actually winces. Yes, he admits to himself, a moment ago it had felt nice to see you feel a little guilty—it made him feel vindicated. But it is something else entirely to see you completely breaking down. Because in the end, you simply didn’t know.
Bucky Barnes, a man who has fought aliens and gods, feels completely out of his depth as he watches tears well up in your eyes. After a moment, your hand falls away from your mouth. You can't look at him yet, but you whisper, “The cold… it’s because of what they did to you.”
Bucky winces slightly, entirely unwilling to broach the horrific details of his time with Hydra, but he speaks softly, desperate to stop making you miserable. “Yeah.”
You fall silent for a while, and Bucky wonders if he should do or say something to fix it. Then, you take a deep, shaky breath and look him dead in the eye.
“Gosh, what an imbecile I was.” You shake your head in disbelief. “I am so, so sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Bucky feels like he’s repeating himself on a loop now.
“How can you say that? It’s not okay! I was being selfish. I forgot who you are…”
“Wait.” Bucky’s hand catches yours again, cutting you off. You stop, surprised. “You forgot I was… the Winter Soldier? The ex-Hydra assassin?”
You furrow your brows at his choice of words. “Well, it’s not as if you had a choice. I mean, you were brainwashed and…” You falter for a split second, your voice dropping to a whisper as your eyes grow glassy again. “…You were a prisoner of war.”
Bucky suddenly feels all warm and mushy inside, but you don’t seem to notice because you keep rambling. “How could I have been so thoughtless—”
This time, he takes both of your hands in his, firmly but gently forcing you to look at him. You freeze, silencing your rambling.
“Hey. No. It really is okay.” You look entirely confused now, and Bucky can't help but smile, a wave of soft awe washing over him.
“What?” you ask softly.
Bucky lets out a quiet, slightly breathless laugh. He looks at you, his eyes softening as he realizes just how beautiful you look in the firelight. He shakes his head, trying to clear his racing thoughts.
“It’s just… most people are terrified of me,” he admits, his voice dropping. “They see the ex-assassin. The…” He gestures vaguely toward his vibranium arm. “…The weapon. And you…” He locks his bright blue eyes onto yours, his throat suddenly tight with emotion. “…You’re not afraid of me at all.”
He can't even finish the sentence. Feeling his throat constrict, he looks away, focusing intensely on the fire, the pattern of the blanket, his mug—anything to hide how deeply moved he is. He finally releases your hands, taking a hasty sip of his tea to mask his emotion.
“I didn’t see a weapon,” you say softly.
He looks up. You are smiling at him. It’s a small, kind, slightly shaky smile, but it’s so beautiful it almost hurts. You reach out, placing a gentle hand on his metal arm.
“You weren’t terrifying at all. Even with your death glare and your grumpy face.” He arches an eyebrow, making your smile widen. “Maybe you were a bit funny. And certainly…” You clear your throat, a sudden blush creeping up your neck. “…Cute.”
Bucky blinks, entirely unsure if he heard you correctly. “Cute?”
“Yeah.” You offer him a bashful smile, and Bucky can feel the tips of his ears burning hot. He quickly hides his own growing smile behind his mug. For a moment, a comfortable silence settles over you both. Then, he chuckles softly.
“I have to admit… I admire you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “You looked so tough out there. Trudging through the snow, handling the cold and the wind, shovelling like it was nothing…”
“You’re kidding.”
“No! It’s really not that easy.”
You smile, a genuine glint of amusement returning to your eyes as a pink flush colors your cheeks. Bucky’s heart squeezes softly, you look completely adorable.
“I grew up doing those things, you know? Ever since I was old enough to strap snowshoes on.” Your eyes drift toward the window, your gaze becoming distant as you let out a happy sigh. “I just love it. The beauty of it, the way the snow glitters under the rising sun. The clean smell of the crisp air. The deep blue of the winter sky…” You look back at him, your eyes bright. “It’s just so magical.”
Bucky feels his throat tighten again, but for an entirely different reason this time. He swallows thickly, his gaze dropping to your lips.
“That’s not the only magical thing in this room.”
You blink in surprise, and then you laugh. It’s a soft, musical sound, and it warms Bucky’s entire body more than the roaring fire, the blankets, or every sun in the universe ever could.
“Oh. That was smooth,” you tease, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Did you learn that line back in the 1940s?”
“What? No.” He laughs, suddenly feeling a bit shy. But then his eyes lock back onto yours, holding your gaze. “It’s just easy to say when you’re looking at me like that.”
You say nothing for a heartbeat, and Bucky’s stomach drops, thinking he might have crossed a line. But then, slowly, you lean in and press a soft, chaste kiss against his lips. It’s just a gentle, lingering pressure, and he closes his eyes, completely savouring the sudden rush of butterflies in his chest.
When you pull back, you whisper, “You’re not bad yourself, for a grumpy old man.”
Bucky rolls his eyes playfully, but he doesn't move away. You are still so close that he can feel the warm fan of your breath against his skin. His eyes flicker downward, tracing the line of your lips before locking back onto your eyes.
“I might be willing to try this magical winter thing…” he murmurs.
“Oh, yeah?”
“As long as I’m doing it with you.”
This time, he is the one to close the gap.
He leans in, crashing his lips against yours in a much deeper, more passionate kiss. His hand slides into your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he pulls you even closer. For a long, breathless moment, the only sounds in the cottage are the crackling of the fire, the quickening of your shared breaths, and the heat of your kisses.
When you finally pull apart, entirely breathless, you whisper against his lips, “Or… maybe we can find some other activities to keep you warm inside.”
Your suggestive smile makes him feel completely weak in the knees. It’s a good thing you are both already tangled together on the rug in front of the hearth, or his legs would have given out completely.
“Which ones?” he murmurs, his voice low and thick.
“Let me show you,” you whisper against his ear.
Your words, breathed so close to his skin, make a delicious shiver ripples straight down his spine.
When the snow starts falling again outside, neither of you notices. And even when the freezing wind begins to howl against the glass, no dark memories come back to haunt Bucky's mind. Not tonight. Not while he is safely entangled in the warmth of your body, your fingers threading lovingly through his hair as he finally drifts into a deep, peaceful sleep.
I have written three chapters, presenting some of my character and interaction between them. I wanted for the reader to have an idea of who those people are and have an idea of why they're the way they are.
But now I am not sure. I want to say so much about each of them. And I also want the reader to jump right into the story. To meet them and slowly discover who they are.
My worry is to be able to bring their full story in the book. But maybe I do not need to put everything ? Or maybe I could just have this as bonus material?
@dancerinthestorm I thought it would a bit easier to answer here.
So these are really still growing? How fast do they grow? And will they ever stop?? And what would be “old” mountains by comparison???
Yes, the Alps are still young and growing mountains. They started around... more or less 40 or 50 millions years ago with a peak around 9 millions years ago. It's relatively young compared to other tectonic features in the world. Just the Pyrenees are older with a start around 500 millions years and "growing activity" around 50/40 millions years ago
(if any geologists want to correct my dates, please do, it has been TOO long since I studied those ranges so my apologies if the date are not quite right).
The pace at which they grow depends on the tectonic activities. Once again, if I remember correctly, the Alps growth is around a millimeter per year. It's not much but that's geology for you.
Mountains can stop growing if the tectonic underlying their original appearance either changes or stops. The Appalachians in North America are older (480 millions yo... if I'm not mistaken). When a mountain stops "growing" the natural erosion (which happens all the time) will slowly smooth them down, giving a more rounded aspect to the range.
The oldest range (I had to look into that) is (if I believe Google) Barberton Makhonjwa (South Africa) or Hamersley Range (Australia) with age around the 3 Billions years old.
Let me thank you to allow me to nerd out a bit on something I love and studied when I was young.
When hiking, know that each rocks you see has a secret history to tell you. Its origin, how it appears, was formed, came out of the depth, was folded... and everyone of this details will help you understand how the very landscape around you was born.
Geology is a way of seeing the world around us and to learn its history.
I have written three chapters, presenting some of my character and interaction between them. I wanted for the reader to have an idea of who those people are and have an idea of why they're the way they are.
But now I am not sure. I want to say so much about each of them. And I also want the reader to jump right into the story. To meet them and slowly discover who they are.
My worry is to be able to bring their full story in the book. But maybe I do not need to put everything ? Or maybe I could just have this as bonus material?
genuinely i don’t think it’s possible to easily explain the explicit part of online friendships to people who don’t Understand. i don’t mean like, explicit in the sense of “oh you’re sexting” or whatever. no. i mean when you and your friend start gleefully making up explicit sexual scenarios for your shared blorbos and you get giddier and giddier as you add more detail and you’ll be grinning at your screen as you type away at mach speeds. and it’s entirely nonsexual in an interpersonal sense, you’re not really getting Into it, but ohhhhh it’s soooooo fun and satisfying. and you can NEVER tell someone who doesn’t also do this that your mood is actively improved like fivefold because you and your friend played Sexual Tuoys together because they’ll go “what the FUCK.”
I have written three chapters, presenting some of my character and interaction between them. I wanted for the reader to have an idea of who those people are and have an idea of why they're the way they are.
But now I am not sure. I want to say so much about each of them. And I also want the reader to jump right into the story. To meet them and slowly discover who they are.
My worry is to be able to bring their full story in the book. But maybe I do not need to put everything ? Or maybe I could just have this as bonus material?
discovered embroidery brush and, true to character, went overboard with it. a little practice in my illustration style, enjoy a trashy novel cover, either BL or buddy-cop depending on your interpretation, featuring the most annoying duo to ever exist. i know the elves of imladris wanted to lock them in a room and throw away the key, i know it!
This embroidery is done in A3 size using DMC Satin (viscose) thread on matte black fabric. To create a 3D effect, I used a base of two felt layers. The felt was carefully cut to match the curves of the branches and the trunk, and then covered with a padded satin stitch.
Honestly, working with viscose was a struggle. Viscose thread is a tricky material to work with — it is very slippery and frays easily, making it hard to lay down smooth stitches over a raised base. However, I chose this exact thread against the deep black background, because it gives a smooth, shimmering surface. I wanted the Tree to look as if it were forged from real mithril, silvered by moonlight, shining in the dark.
The seven stars above the branches of the majestic Tree are made using the woven star technique. The overlapping threads naturally build volume and geometric facets, so no felt padding was needed underneath them. The light catches the facets of the stars, and the viscose shines just like real metal.
The thick grey cardboard used for the matting is like the ancient stone of the walls of Minas Tirith, the White City, protecting the White Tree. The inner bevel is hand-painted with silver Finetec, and a thin silver cord echoes the metallic shine of the embroidery, completing the artwork.
