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onlybeeewrites · 3 months

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Music of The Night

Requested: sort of :)

Pairing: Sejanus Plinth x fem!reader

Warnings: none, just some fluff

Word count: 1.63 k

Part 3 of the Valley Song Series: Part 1 -> Part 2

Tag list: @v-love @stinkii-boii

It had been a few days since that day at the lake. It was an amazing rest of the day as you and Sejanus spent a whole more underneath that tree, talking. You learned a lot about each other in those few hours as the conversation came almost too easy.

You had learned a lot about Sejanus. He was not just any Capital boy that volunteered to be a Peacekeeper, but he used to be...is...from the Districts too. District 2 to be specific. You learned that his family became stupid rich after the war, bought their way out of District two. Though you had to admit to yourself that it was impressive, to have so much money. To have enough to buy your way into the Capital. You honestly never thought someone could have so much money.

And then he told you about the Capital, how he never really felt right there. That he felt so helpless. Especially with the Hunger Games. His disgust with the inhumane treatment of the tributes. And that was why he was there. To actually make a change, and you watched his eyes light up as he told you his hopes of becoming a medic.

It was then when you had realized that Sejanus Plinth was like no other boy you had ever seen nor spoke to. His words the passion behind them all, the genuine meaning behind his eagerness. Sejanus Plinth was too good for the cruelness of the Capital, of Panem.

And as you told him about yourself, Sejanus thought the same thing of you. You had told Sejanus a similar story that Lucy Gray had told Coriolnaus when they were speaking about thier background.

How you all traveled around the districts performing before the Peacekeepers came. Your parents spoke up along with Lucy Gray's and within minutes they were all shot. Leaving all seven of you orphans.

You, of course, always gave everything to Maude Ivory, your little sister while Lucy Gray kept look out for you.

You told Sejanus about your performances, how they were when Lucy Gray was gone, and how happy you all were to see her come home. You spoke about how you did not quite like the front stage like your sister and cousin. You had much preferred the backup.

Lucy Gray had been trying to get you to be more confident with your voice and performances, you were absolutely lovely after all.

And by the end of the day, while the summer heat was cooling and you all packed up and made your way back to the Seam, you and Sejanus were truly and quickly smitten. Even Maude Ivory was teasing as the Covey and the two peacekeepers split off for the night.

Though now it had been a few days since then, and you haven't seen nor heard much from Sejanus. Though you couldn't blame him since you knew they always were rough on the new peacekeeper. You were sure that he would show up at one of your shows at some point.

However, what you weren't expecting, was a soft few knocks on your old creaky home. You and Lucy Gray were the only ones awake at such a late hour.

You usually couldn't sleep, at least not easily, and Lucy Gray's nightmares from the arena made it difficult for her too. So usually, as of lately, you both would keep each other company until your eyes grew droopy.

You shared a concerned look with Lucy Gray. Who could be here at such an hour? It was late and most of the District would be asleep by now, especially where they lived. The only ones who would be awake would be the peacekeepers that would be out on patrol.

Swallowing nervously, Lucy gray got to her feet and brushed off her skirt before slowly peeking out the door. You watched as her body relax and a grin on her face with what you could see.

Hushed whispers were exchanged, though you couldn't place your finger on it. That was until Lucy Gray nodded, and left the door open just a crack.

"It's for you. Here," she said passing you your mother's old cardigan before shoving you to the door. "Be careful, don't be out too late." she teased.

You looked to your cousin in confusion as you slipped on the old faded cardigan and made your way to the door. "Lucy Gray what are you doing? Its too-" but you stopped in your tracks as you finally see who it was at the door.

"Sejanus..." you said, feeling your face heat up as you softly shut the door behind you. As you look him over, you notice his peacekeeper's uniform, his rifle slung on his shoulder. He must have been on patrol...did he come all this way to see you? The thought of it made your face heat up.

"Y/N.." Sejanus said quietly, softly, shifting where he stood as he was able to finally see you again. Though it took some convincing of Coryo to allow him to sneak off for a little while, it was well worth it to see your beautiful face in the cool moonlight. Just the thought made his stomach flutter.

"I wanted to see you. They've been on our asses about training and patrolling....but I just wanted to see you again. I saw the light in your window and hoped you were awake. I was wondering if you wanted to have a late night picnic with me...if you're not too tired." he asked.

And that's when you noticed the little rucksack he had tucked away. It wasn't much, you couldn't imagine he was able to sneak much out. Unless he had already prepped and stashed it away somewhere. But the thought that he had come all the way out there to ask you to a midnight picnic made your face flush.

"Of course. How can I say no to that? C'mon," You say after a moment, a large grin spreading over your face. You took his larger hand in yours and tugged him off to the meadow.

There was close enough to return home if needed, but still allowed you both to have some privacy.

"How's this?" you asked.

And what a sight it was. The full moon was shining down over the field, reflecting off of the flowers and some dew drops already forming.

Sejanus smiled and nodded, "It's perfect," he said as you two settled down. He placed his rifle off to the side, though still in reach. Just in case. And once you settled he untied he cloth and residing were his mother's cookies. Your eyes widened as you looked up to him.

"How did you mange to get some of these?" You ask excitedly, picking up one of the cookies and taking a deep inhale. "Smells amazing." you say before taking a bite and letting out a satisfied sound. "Hmm...taste amazing too,"

Sejanus laughed as he took a cookie himself, "My Ma made them. She likes to bake, always has. And she likes to send them to me. Reminds me of home." he explained as he took a bite.

Your eyes and expression softened, "Well," you said after chewing, "My compliments to Mrs. Plinth. my favorite baker in all of Panem," you declared.

Sejanus couldn't help but smile, "I'll write to her and let her know she has a fan," he mused before the two of you fell into a comfortable silence.

The sounds of the nightlife continued to fill the air as the minutes passed. The sound of the wind and soft chirping of the crickets filled most of the silence. Some birds, maybe some owls called out into the late night.

"Thank you for this. It was awfully nice of you," you said after a little while.

Sejanus smiled and nodded, looking over at you. "Of course. I wanted to do something nice. I don't exactly always have the time but....you're worth making time for." he said.

That caused you to flush and glance at him, admiring him in the moonlight as well. The way the silvery beams reflected in his brown eyes, making them almost shining. And the way he was looking at you...damn the way he was looking just made you want to kiss him.

Sejanus swallowed nervously as he stared back at you. The way the moonlight was shining in your eyes and hair, he swore he had never seen someone so beautiful. Slowly he reached up, using his thumb to brush away some crumbs that settled on your lips.

It was now or never.

"Y/N....can I..." Sejanus barely got the words out before you almost too eagerly nodded. He took a nervous breath before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

You let out a small sigh as your eyes fluttered closed, slowly wrapping your arms around him to keep him close. The feeling of his lips sent butterflies to your stomach, electricity through your skin as his lips fit rather perfectly against your own.

It had be a dream the way it was all happening. You had never thought that you would feel this kind of emotion again...not after...him at least. But here you were, kissing he cutest boy in all of the Districts.

The two of you pulled back once you felt that burning in your lungs, needing some air. And you did, though you pressed your foreheads together keeping each other close. You looked up adoringly into his eyes before you both started just laughing as you both realized what had happned.

It was almost too perfect as the two of you sat here for a little longer, enjoying your time together, listening to the symphony that played through the trees for you.

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terriblehorriblenogoodverybadday · 1 year

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𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Lay down your head,

And close your eyes

And when they open the sun will rise.

Here it's safe

Here it's warm

Here the daisy's guard you from every harm.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

#hunger games #rues lullaby #deep in the meadow #katniss everdeen #lullaby #agere blog #Spotify

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unfuncutioning-gay · 2 years

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#rue hunger games #katniss everdeen #lullaby deep in the meadow death gentle young. District11

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kalisbaby · 25 days

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“From the River to the Sea.” A Poem by Samer Abu Hawwash, translated by Huda Fakhreddine

every street, every house, every room, every window, every balcony, every wall, every stone, every sorrow, every word, every letter, every whisper, every touch, every glance, every kiss, every tree, every spear of grass, every tear, every scream, every air, every hope, every supplication, every secret, every well, every prayer, every song, every ballad, every book, every paper, every color, every ray, every cloud, every rain, every drop of rain, every drip of sweat, every lisp, every stutter, every yamma, mother, every yaba, father, every shadow, every light, every little hand that drew in a little notebook a tree or house or heart or a family of a father, a mother, siblings, and pets, every longing, every possibility, every letter between two lovers that arrived or didn’t arrive, every gasp of love dispersed in the distant clouds, every moment of despair at every turn, every suitcase on top of

every closet, every library, every shelf, every minaret, every rug, every bell toll in every church, every rosary, every holy praise, every arrival, every goodbye, every Good Morning, every Thank God, every ‘ala rasi, my pleasure, every hill ‘an sama’i, leave me alone, every rock, every wave, every grain of sand, every hair-do, every mirror, every glance in every mirror, every cat, every meow, every happy donkey, every sad donkey’s gaze, every pot, every vapor rising from every pot, every scent, every bowl, every school queue, every school shoes, every ring of the bell, every blackboard, every piece of chalk, every school costume, every mabruk ma ijakum, congratulations on the baby, every y ‘awid bi-salamtak, condolences, every ‘ayn al- ḥasud tibla bil-‘ama, may the envious be blinded, every photograph, every person in every photograph, every niyyalak, how lucky, every ishta’nalak, we’ve missed you, every grain of wheat in every bird’s gullet, every lock of hair, every hair knot, every hand, every foot, every football, every finger, every nail, every bicycle, every rider on every bicycle, every turn of air fanning from every bicycle, every bad joke, every mean joke, every laugh, every smile, every curse, every yearning, every fight, every sitti, grandma, every

sidi, grandpa, every meadow, every flower, every tree, every grove, every olive, every orange, every plastic rose covered with dust on an abandoned counter, every portrait of a martyr hanging on a wall since forever, every gravestone, every sura, every verse, every hymn, every ḥajj mabrur wa sa ‘yy mashkur, may your ḥajj and effort be rewarded, every yalla tnam yalla tnam, every lullaby, every red teddy bear on every Valentine’s, every clothesline, every hot skirt, every joyful dress, every torn trousers, every days-spun sweater, every button, every nail, every song, every ballad, every mirror, every peg, every bench, every shelf, every dream, every illusion, every hope, every disappointment, every hand holding another hand, every hand alone, every scattered thought, every beautiful thought, every terrifying thought, every whisper, every touch, every street, every house, every room, every balcony, every eye, every tear, every word, every letter, every name, every voice, every name, every house, every name, every face, every name, every cloud, every name, every rose, every name, every spear of grass, every name, every wave, every grain of sand, every street, every kiss, every image, every eye, every tear, every yamma, every yaba, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, every name, all…

#free palestine #poetry #samer abu hawwash #huda fakhreddine

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danyllura · 1 year

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Peeta Mellark is the type of person to follow a grieving girl to her broken home and plant a garden. But people forget Katniss is also the type to sing a lullaby to a dying girl and lay her in a bed of flowers. Despite being subjected to the cruellest games, they're two kids who continue to be kind and choose love. Not everyone could find light and love atop a graveyard in a meadow, and that is why Katniss and Peeta have always deserved each other.

#everlark #the hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

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comfortless · 4 months

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hades! konig and persephone! reader

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. abduction, voyeurism, dubcon, not very explicit smut.

notes: this has been on my mind for an eternity actually thank you sweet anon for finally encouraging me to write it out! if you celebrate, merry christmas! and if not consider this just a lil gift for absolutely no reason apart from for being my first Kö request. 💕

A hollow grows within him the moment his gaze meets hers. A chance crossing whilst collecting a rare offering of fruit laid out just for him. Most mortals wouldn’t beckon his attention, and the gods often left him just as well. He knows better than to take insult and become reckless, though… recklessness comes as easily as breathing when his stare settles on her across the glade. She twirls in silent dance, pirouetting carefully as if to avoid crushing the nature that springs up, brushing against her soles. Her voice picks up in a song when she notes the figure watching her from a distance, her cadence no less beautiful than any choir despite the flighty waver in her tone.

When the nymphs rise up from the stream to listen, he stands transfixed for a moment as they pull her in with them for a more elaborate dance, voices all melding until they break into a chorus of giggles and stories.

It should have been left at that.

She walks an earth made for her; flowers blossoming beneath her bare soles, each root extending for just a chance to brush against tender flesh, a breeze that flits gently against her hair. The daughter of Demeter, something unattainable, too precious to be dirtied by the howling abyss below her feet.

He is tethered to darkness and unknowns, an enigma with dried blood beneath his fingernails; the only songs he hears are screams. He’s since stolen flowers from the meadows she dances in. Beautiful peonies and soft green things that smell sweet. Flowers don’t bloom in the dark, they wither and dry.

Days are spent in melancholic longing, nights his roaring grief melds with the wailing of lost souls. Ugly and tainted noises that he dreams will reach her ears, that she will come to him with her lashes wet with tears, wrap him in her arms and quiet all but her own voice as she tells him that he’s more beautiful than her rivers and her blooms.

Yet, she never does.

König takes it upon himself to walk the land of mortals, teemed with life and pleasures more often now. He pulls himself from below with unnatural fire behind his eyes, a horrible, yearning abyss in place of the feathery, clumsy love that he’s watched so many others allow for themselves.

She notices him while he watches her bathe amongst the nymphs, stood upright and imposing beneath the shade of a tree. Each time, while the nymphs shy away with giggles and hands curled over their breasts, she merely keeps her eyes on him; lips-parted and pulse raging. He knows, would swear by it, that his obsession is not entirely one-sided.

Once, she chooses to wave at him, a demure flick of her wrist while his stare remains fixed upon her. The droplets of water from the curve of her neck, down to the swell of her breasts and the pebbled nipples there— down, further into the water that envelopes her and sends his mind to flicker, a roaring flame building from his chest to his groin.

All of his frustrations pale and cower at the fantasy that he just may be able to grant himself the liberty of sinking into something writhing and warm from just one, simple gesture.

He knows he’s fucked, because his first thought after the lullaby of attraction subsides is to poke her just a little; prod her and see what makes her cry the hardest, blanket her in the shadow of himself and pick her apart like a vulture to a cadaver, do things to her that no man ever has or should. It’s not right, and he has to force himself to turn away, the fabric of the veil obscuring his face as he slinks back into the dark where he belongs. Away from the untouchable maiden who seems to haunt him endlessly with her teasing.

The giggles and splashes of the nymphs whisper through the air like the chirping of birds. Though, one voice stands out above the rest of the noise, causes him to halt in his tracks.

“Why does he never speak to us?”

Her voice, so sweet, asking about him when she should be speaking of nothing but the beauty surrounding her, the warmth of the sun and never the cold darkness of the moon.

It’s eating away at him, he realizes, when he can no longer satisfy himself. Nights lain in a haze, staring up at blackened walls with his length in hand. All it takes is the memory of wet lashes and a soft smile, usually. Her beauty is enough to bring even him to his knees, yet, he finds himself instead on the brink of hysteria the first night he finds a vision of her is not sufficient enough to reach the brilliant white haze of a climax.

The thought of stealing her away from her world of beauty to drag her down into the dark with him fills him with both elation and a terrible guilt. Zeus himself is no different; the thought shouldn’t warrant a seeping coldness in his veins, nor should it have caused him to spill his seed into his hand with only a mere flick of the pad of his thumb over his tip, yet it accomplishes both. A waste, when it should be buried deep inside of his beloved.

It takes only two nights for him to plot, to have Gaia choose to favor him, and on the third day the Narcissus flower blooms, pretty and golden. It echoes false promises, softness and beauty beyond even the daughter of Demeter’s imaginations. She will hate him, she will. Her very soul will sour the moment she lays her eyes on him next, but eventually… she will come to understand, return his love with a whisper of her own. Lightly, at best, but it would still be more than he had ever known.

He watches the roots of the plant from below, a pinprick of warm light shining down. The thumps of footsteps overhead, shaking down loose soil like raindrops, giggles like crackling thunder. She’s roaming about with her nymphs again, gentle with her and all of her beauty. After watching her for so very long, he’s more than certain they will be braiding the flowers and falling asleep after fits of laughter with the taste of fruit on their tongues. Only, she’s condemned herself by being so predictable. She will fall, not into soft grasses with a woman’s arms thrown over her, but directly into his own. She won’t eat the fruit of the earth, but drink his wine and allow him to lose himself in her flesh, bedded down against the pelts of beasts and blackened out by shadows.

The wait isn’t long. Her voice breaks through the quiet of the earth below her feet, seems to light up even the space between the two of them as her footfalls halt only several paces away.

“Look at this one!,” she calls out.

Several steps follow after her as one of the ladies of the river comes to join her. He imagines the smile on his beloved’s face, the way her body curves as she kneels down to his trap and his fingers twitch in anticipation of what’s to come.

“Maybe not that one, sweet,” the nymph warns. “There are prettier ones by the bank.”

König can feel his jaw tighten, eyelids pausing to narrow up at the small light as he tries, forces himself to believe that this was fated. She wouldn’t turn away— she couldn’t.

“No... just look at it. We’ve not seen one so lovely since last spring.”

“What if someone else planted it for themselves?”

“But… I want it.”

She sounds so pitiful, so gentle, and he can feel that swell of heat curling inside of him again. The urge to simply love her feels all-consuming with each word that passes from her mouth.

The two above giggle to themselves at her mischief, before finally, the roots begin to move from a gentle tug above. In a matter of seconds, the entire plant has been uprooted. For a daughter of nature to not long for its beauty would be unrealistic, yet he still exhales his relief. The earth riots beneath the women’s feet, splintering cracks and loud discordance echo through the valley. The nymph’s shrieks join the disarray as her featherlight footfalls lead her far, far away from what belongs to him: the dark, the rot, and now her.

With so little time to react, she falls headfirst into the abyss, clutching the narcissus tightly between her soft breasts. Waiting arms are raised to the glimpse of sun and beauty to catch her as he pulls her tightly against his chest, tucks her head against a broad shoulder and grasps at her waist. Whatever he had imagined her flesh to feel like paled in comparison to her warmth, the softness that gives with each press of a digit that makes her tense beneath his touch.

She’s crying, shaking, terrified as she weakly raises her head and offers him a smile. It’s the kind of smile that screams savior, and he can’t bring himself to correct her. No one has ever looked at him with such tenderness.

Everything quiets the moment she looks up to him like that, after condemning herself to him as though she knows nothing of men and gods. She looks at him like he’s an angel, in turn he bites his tongue so hard he can feel the pinpricks of blood and soreness blossom from the wound. He knows he isn’t good, but the heavens have got their filth, too.

“Thank you.” She speaks in a whisper as the world above falls back into place, blanketing them both in shadow and the scent of soil and brimstone. Politeness seems unnecessary, now, though he places her gently onto her feet.

He’s far too mesmerized to stop himself from dropping to his knees in front of her and trailing a hand from her knee to her thigh, squeezing flesh so warm that the very feeling lingers pleasantly against his palm.

If a god couldn’t pluck him from this emptiness and set him on a right path, perhaps a goddess could, as he has always imagined. It’s only confirmed the instant he realizes she isn’t flinching away from his touch.

“I didn’t save you,” he explains calmly.

He’s struck down titans, claimed rulership over the underworld, and yet nothing has made him feel smaller than the fretful look in her eyes as she looks down to him kneeling before her like little more than a common man. As if to provide comfort, selfishly to himself, his massive hands drift higher to rest on her hips still wet with river water and blades of grass clinging to her just as he has longed to do. For what’s felt like an eternity of waiting, of pining, only to have it end with something as simple as a flower.

“I brought you here.”

She’s still beautiful when she cries; a palm is clasped over her mouth, eyes swimming as she trembles in his grip. Of course, she knows what this is about without ever having to ask, yet she still does as if to plead him to tell her that her thoughts are all wrong— that she’s safe and will return to her lovely friends, to her mother that would assuredly be worried sick and furious.

The rise to his feet feels like a mile long stretch, whilst he keeps her caged between the dirty wall and the vast expanse of chest. He shushes her with a gentle tone, wipes her tears away with the ghosting of fingertips before pushing up the veil covering his face to lie claim to her mouth as though his very life depended upon it. Perhaps it did. Though he did not fear Demeter, nor his brothers should she call upon them, he feared not having this ethereal, gentle thing at his side. He feared the creep of loneliness that ravaged his bed each night.

She sighs against his mouth, but does not reciprocate. Everything about her is tense and stressed, a wild mare preparing to kick out for the first time. His tongue lolls out to lap against her soft lips, just twice before he forces himself to part from her.

His beloved brushes away stray tears from her cheeks with the meat of her palms, shivering just a little as she tries to force herself to straighten up, appear braver despite the way she teeters on the edge of falling apart so easily before him. The heavy gaze of obsession fixed upon his face turns further predacious when she apologizes for not being able to help herself in response.

“I didn’t know it was yours,” she explains, holding out the ruined flower to him in one, shaking hand. She protests in her own way, eternally kind, but it all falls on deaf ears as he brushes the petals from her palm and takes her up into his arms again. With an arm beneath the backs of her knees and the other wrapped tightly around her middle, he leads her deeper into the underworld.

A mere taste wouldn’t do.

Her protests are nothing more than soft sniffles when he does take her to his bed of pelts, her arm even thrown over his shoulder as her body presses tightly to him. He thinks for only a moment that he could take his time, stop this all before she truly does grow to loathe him, but the descent into the bed only fortifies his resolve; his belief that this gentle woman of the earth, who smells of magnolia and clear waters belonged entirely to him. For now and forevermore.

“You are to be my wife.”

That quiets her for a moment, her eyes finally meeting his once more as he hovers over her, a palm to either side of her head. She has a mind to shyly curl her hand against her chest then, centered between her breasts which rise and fall with each flighty breath. It’s not panic, but more— curiosity, a misleading thing that he takes to be acceptance until she graces him with a mere murmur of her voice again.

“I don’t belong here.”

König knows that she doesn’t belong in a place like this, for all her grace to be lost to the cold, the rot; his kingdom is nothing but a wasteland riddled with the dead and subjects who take up the mantle of cruelty in his stead. The thought of actually allowing her to go instills rage and melancholy so quickly, he curls his fingers into the fur below to keep himself from flinching.

“You will.”

A digit reaches to trail across her bottom lip, tentative, but the need to touch overwhelms him past the point of caring for much else. To his amazement, she still does not push him away.

“How could that be?”

He doesn’t respond.

More than bedding her, a matter more pressing pushes to the forefront of his mind. Though he knows the likelihood of anyone being aware of her disappearance is nonexistent, a mere whisper from the beaks of crows by this time, he would do well to ensure that she wasn’t leaving. Just as every other soul resigned to dwell here with him, she too would remain.

“You’re famished,” he whispers the suggestion as he splays a palm out over her bare abdomen, only backing away enough to allow her a small length of space between them.

Her concerned stare shoots from his palm to his veil in an instant before she weakly nods her head and props herself up on her elbows.

“Quite… yes.”

She allows herself to be pulled into his lap without a fuss, doesn’t make mention of the hardened cock beneath her. His mind is swimming with the fantasies that kept him tame on so many nights without her as he presses his nose against her temple. A shallow intake of breath, and her lips part readily for him as he pushes the sweet pomegranate seed into her mouth, savoring the brush of her tongue against his fingertip. She eats without thought, never knowing how she’s tethered herself to his plane.

There’s an offering of sweet wine followed by a gathering of honeysuckle for her to sip the nectar from as well before he’s convinced she’s pliant enough. Despite the desire raging within him for all of this time, he would not be cruel to her. The thought of hurting this sweet, little dream doesn’t excite him. It’s her love that he wants, not her anguish.

He lies her back with sweet whispers, gentle caresses as he listens to her murmurs in response. She speaks of the stories only small creatures would know; the way the winds change and the rivers flood, the prettiest places she’s been. No fruit has ever tasted sweeter to her than the pomegranate, and nothing has ever filled him with such emotion as the moment he penetrates her.

He speaks to her through it, tries to, whilst he’s overcome with a pleasure that assuredly no other has ever had the blessing of. She affixes herself perfectly to him, clinging to him as he takes her with gentle thrusts. Gritted teeth and barely contained grunts are met with dulcet mewls as her hands reach for his. His heart aches, truly, at the knowledge that she isn’t meant for this place; his kingdom is nothing but suffering, and she belongs beneath the sun in meadows of flowers. His last thrust is deep, reminds him of the places he dares not tread often, the domains of his brothers, pillow soft clouds and a heaven far above, lost to him.

It’s her consoling him when he fills her to bursting with his seed— delicate arms curling around his head, cradling him against her breasts as she silenced the tears he hadn’t even realized he had shed. He had damned her, yet her soul had not soured; not all flowers withered in the dark.

The endless night is easier on his beloved after the first. She visits with the other souls and comes to him for comfort when the screams and cries in the darkness become too much to bear. She’s less fragile than he had anticipated when she demands he bring her home, and those demands so often end with little else than König taking her into his arms to lead her elsewhere. The underworld can be beautiful too, when seated upon a throne being hand fed by a man that knows little more than to blanket her in as much softness as he can muster. He tells her of the titanomachy, of the white tree, of anything to keep her entertained. His tongue does not shy from telling her that he loves her, too, often met with a shy glance or a soft giggle. Not outright disdain, and for now it feels enough.

She cries often, in longing for her mother and her friends, though never over this love she had never sought herself. Her loneliness only fuels her need for comfort. Selfishly, he believes that he’s saved the night she willingly wraps her arms around him, pulls him close and falls asleep nestled against his chest.

— — —

With the reliance on mortal offerings and Demeter’s anguish having been brought to light with seasons of failed harvests, it was only a matter of time before she was forced away from him. The months without her feel dreadful and empty, but he doesn’t dare disturb her while she walks the earth at her mother’s side. The agreement was beneficial for all of the gods and goddesses, and he knew better than to tread upon it by rushing to her like little more than a pleading dog. When winter took hold, bathing the lands in its icy touch and withering the plants she cherished and freezing over the rivers her nymphs played in, she would return to him as she must.

Each time is different. His beloved is not simply a thoughtless vessel as many of his subordinates. She is the most incredible thing he’s ever had the joy of meeting.

When she returns in tears, calling to him for his comfort he does not hesitate to kiss them all away and remind her that her summers will return and everything above will be just as it was on the day that he brought her below.

Sometimes, she’s angry, jealous even. She asks him often why he doesn’t come to see her while she’s away. He is her husband, after all. Was there anyone else in which he spent his nights with? Someone fairer than even she? The satisfaction of seating her on his cock, satisfying her as she does him on their shared throne far out rivals even ruling the domain itself. He would do anything to prove to her that she was his only; the sole thing he even thought of whilst her mind was filled with new songs and tales from the nymphs she spent her time away with.

Never has she returned with a gift.

Yet, she stumbles back into his realm clutching a small satchel, dripping with the scent of a juice sweet and familiar. A pleasant smile paints her features as she seats herself next to him on the throne. The bench of marble felt far too vast and dreadful to hold someone so delicate, the sight is something he’s grown accustomed to; emptiness is replaced with familiarity seeing her interact with anything here. It may not be home to her, but something in the way she looks to him— as she always had with tenderness, makes him question if a part of her sees him as home.

“I’ve brought something back for you,” she chimes as she pats her thigh.

Each time was different, but it had never been like this before.

He pulls himself to her side before slumping down to rest his head against her, tracing his fingertips along the length of her leg as his gaze drops almost sheepishly.

“Did you?”

She hums in reply, plucking one of the seeds from the satchel before slipping her hand beneath the veil to feed him. His lips part as he takes in the flavor of the aril, the honeyed taste almost akin to the look in her eyes.

“Just like…” She trails off for a moment as she lowers her head to press a kiss to the cheek of his veiled face. The delicate laugh that follows is unlike any he’s heard from her prior, it’s unique, saved solely for him.

“The six that I fed to you?” He asks her quietly, as he pulls himself away from her to meet her eyes directly. The air around them feels thick, loosely charged with a feeling that he can’t quite place; an intensity that he’s never felt before. Any groaning or wailing off in the abyss is silent now, just quiet words spoken.

Things have always felt warmer since her descent, but he’s learned to not expect anything more than she was willing to give. Still, hope cinches his heart tighter than it ever did prior. Even in battle, slaying his father alongside his brothers, he had never felt his heart race the way it does now.

She nods her head, opening up the satchel just wide enough to reveal the other five arils.

“I don’t think that I understand.”

“You should.”

He mulls over that for a moment before the fog finally clears. Any doubt that he had is remedied by a mere two words. He stares at her dumbly, searching her eyes for any hint that this is some horrible, cruel trick; that the implication is something he’s horribly misunderstood.

She couldn’t possibly come to love him… could she?

“To tie you to me,” she says softly.

The smile remains on her face when she closes the distance to kiss him. Not over the veil, but beneath it this time.

Her descent was one of a selfish longing, and his felt as though he was plunging into a world of flowers.

#König x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #König #konig #cod fanfiction #konig fanfiction #cod fanfic

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maysrinn · 2 months

Text

Deep in the Meadow 🥀

The songbird and her two little fledglings, its just gonna be the two of them for quite some time ✨🐦‍⬛

Lucy Gray is making each day at the edge of dawn strolls with both her gremlins through the meadow while singing soft lullabies. While Janus is off in minutes it takes longer for Clementine to fall asleep simply because she doesn’t wanna. She wants to stay up and chase the glowing bugs! and eat them

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enviedear · 5 months

Note

A request throught for billy the kid.

He goes to a bar where a barmaid owns and works there, and they sleep together, and when he comes back, she has a little boy running around that looks a whole lot like him....

girl from the north country — billy bonney

request

i got this ask and my brain immediately went 'bob dylan rendition of girl from north country' because this trope has that song written all over it.

tw— allusions to the deed, hidden baby trope, use of, 'momma' as a pet name.

less than three years ago, you made the grave decision to bed an outlaw. he was sweet and soft with you, sweet talking his way into your britches. it had been a fun night, but despite your delighted evening, a sinking feeling took hold of you the minute he caught your eye.

his name was billy. or at least, he went by billy. he was a mess of dark brown hair, kind blue eyes, and honest nature. it felt like fate when you saw him. he had been sitting at the bar, quiet and lonesome. you found it easy to talk to him.

he had given you a bright smile, engaging you in casual conversation as the night turned to morning. slipping out with you when you closed down the bar, only to follow you up the road to your small homestead.

you had never seen him before, but after he left town, you soon learned exactly who he was. wanted posters with his likeness followed his trail, leaving you tight-lipped about the entire situation.

it was about six months after his visit that your lips finally began to move, coming up with fruitless excuses for the townspeople. by then, your stomach had already started to round, bulging into something plain and inescapable. at first, you were terrified and even considered fleeing to another town and opting to try and pass as a widow. even now, despite yourself, the thought lingers in the back of your mind.

you've been lucky though, the town is nice enough to not ask you questions. just watchful stares and a few upturned noses. you kept your job at the gin mill, working through the night while your married friend watched the baby.

you've found yourself a quiet life—a growing meadow of life hidden in the hellish and desolate west.

with a sigh, you turn your attention back to the clothesline, grabbing at the last of the dry garments and flinging them in your basket. there's a storm brewing close in the distance, and a loud crack of thunder has the small child at your feet fretting.

you pick up your fussy toddler, his pink lips curled into a frown, "c'mon bubba, s'just a little storm."

you glance at the darkening sky, feeling the first droplets of rain on your skin. the wind picks up, causing the clothesline to sway with a creak. cradling your son in your arms, you hurry inside, leaving the clothes in your haste of trying to beat the approaching storm.

inside the cozy warmth of your small homestead, you try to soothe the worried toddler in your arms. the distant rumble of thunder grows louder, and you decide it's best to stay cooped up, work be damned. as you settle into a rocking chair, softly humming a lullaby to the sweet boy in your arms, the rain begins to patter against the window.

the hours pass slowly, the storm raging outside, when a sudden knock on the door startles you. with caution, you approach and peer through the small window and see a tall figure drenched in rain, barely recognizable underneath his sopping hat.

you open the door, and the man looks up. his eyes are kind, and eerily familiar. looking like a drowned man, standing at your door, is billy. he looks apologetic and somewhat sheepish. rainwater drips from the brim of his hat as he mumbles, "m'sorry for showing up like this, i wasn't even sure if you were still here."

you eye him cautiously, memories of your night shared with him resurfacing, but the storm outside softens your resolve, "what brings you here, billy?" you inquire, staring up at the rain-soaked outlaw before you, taking in his genuine expression.

his voice trembles as he confesses that he never meant to stay away for so long— but life on the run has its cruel complications. now, drenched and shivering in the midst of a raging storm, he pleads for refuge in your home, desperation etched onto every word as he begs for forgiveness and a safe haven from his pursuers.

hesitating for a moment, you look back at your toddler playing on the floor. with a sigh, you relent, "alright, billy, you can come in, but just until the storm passes."

as he steps inside, you notice the surprise in his eyes when he sees the boy. he's donned in a darling little linen onesie, your own hands had worked tirelessly over the garment. his bright eyes look between you and billy, the hue of your own eyes evident and the blue of billy's scattered throughout. a perfect blend.

a silence hangs in the air as realization slowly dawns on him. his gaze shifts between you and your little one, and in that moment, he connects the dots.

his voice softens, "is he... is he mine?"

the question sends a shiver down your spine and all of your carefully constructed defenses slowly crumble around you. there's no denying it now, the truth of what had happened was laid bare for both of you to see, innocent face staring up at the both of you. you stand in place, your feet rooted to the ground. you can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you realize the confession you're about to make. taking a deep breath, you finally relent.

a nod is all you can manage, the weight of the unspoken truth lingering in the room. billy takes a step closer to the little boy and you start. but his intentions are gentle as he reaches out to touch the top of his child's head, "i never knew." he murmurs, a mix of regret and wonder in his eyes.

you watch as billy kneels down to meet your son at eye level. the child looks up at him with innocent curiosity, and you can't help but feel a twinge of anger mixed in with the guilt that had been festering inside of you for so long. you had carried the weight of this secret for years, the fear of the townsfolk finding out and ostracizing you and your child from the community. but looking down at billy's face, you know that it's time to come clean.

"he's almost three now, billy," you say softly, the regret in your own voice almost palpable, "i didn't know how to find you...i didn't even know your name back then."

billy's expression softens as he turns to look at you, his eyes full of sorrow, "i understand," he says, his voice gentle. "m'sorry i wasn't there for you. for both o'you."

you nod, knowing his words are earnest, "you couldn't have known." you say quietly.

billy stands up and walks towards you, his arms open. his eyes are sad, but they hold a fierce longing that you can feel despite any attempt to deny it. his body radiates with a warmth that you can't help but feel drawn to, despite all of the fear and regret that fills your heart. you close your eyes, allowing yourself to be enveloped by his embrace, feeling his arms wrap around your body and pull you close.

"i'm sorry," he whispers into your ear. "god, m'so sorry for everything."

you nod, unable to find your voice. the storm outside rages on, but inside, the atmosphere is one of acceptance and forgiveness. you have both been through so much, but now, with the truth out in the open, it feels like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. you look up into billy's eyes, feeling a sense of peace wash over you.

"i forgave you a long time ago," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, "figure i can't keep hiding this little one away from his father. not now, wouldn't be right."

billy nods, his eyes now filled with hope, "i want to be a part of his life, if you'll let me," he says, his voice filled with a conviction that sends shivers down your spine.

you nod, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes, "of course," you say, your voice filled with a mixture of relief and sadness. "he deserves to have his daddy."

billy smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, cupping your cheeks, "what about his momma? seems like she's been gettin' on fine without a man around."

you hum, trying to ignore how easy your heart skips for him, "i reckon she'll make him grovel 'fore she'll be his sweetheart again."

your outlaw lets out a soft chuckle, "then i best get to grovelin', momma."

—reblog and like if you enjoyed, let ur local writer know you like her work !

#—askolivia !#billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #william h bonney #william h bonney x reader #billy bonney #billy bonney x reader #tom blyth!billy the kid #tom blyth #billy the kid 2022 #coriolanus x reader

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notjustjavierpena · 2 days

Text

Meadow (Drabble)

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost

My last fic here in a while. Please consider following me on AO3 💖❤️

Summary: Javier hears you singing to his newborn.

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no y/n)

Tags: Domestic, sugary fluff, Javi POV, babies!

Word count: 850

Meadow

Javier tries to be quiet as he returns to you, carrying a stuffed Eeyore in his hand while listening for the sound of Inés' unhappy hiccups. He calculates his steps on the ground to make sure not to step on a twig or a branch, the crackle of it sure to distress his newborn even more.

He finds that the tall grass dotted with wildflowers and the soft earth is forgiving of his feet, so much so that his presence goes completely unnoticed by you. He never knew that this spot existed, having always treated the road as nothing more but a road until you showed him that its surroundings were so much more. There’s a metaphor somewhere in that, something about him just passing through and you making him able to stop and take a look around.

The sun is warm on his exposed skin, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and you have convinced him to leave the jeans for a pair of comfortable slacks instead. He checks the time to see how long he has been gone and it’s nothing more than a few minutes, realizes that the sun is starting to fade from being at its highest point today.

As he draws nearer to the spot you chose, Inés’ cries have died down completely until they are not heard at all. Instead, it is the soft sound of your voice that drifts through the air to him. You are singing quietly to his daughter, a lullaby that he remembers having heard before in a distant memory of his own childhood.

A breeze rustles the leaves of the oak tree you sit beneath, its crown of leaves protecting you both from direct sunlight. As if forced by nature to relax, he hears the birds chirping too. This is peace and contentment, he thinks, and how wonderful it is to do nothing with the people that he loves the most.

When he finally spots you, he finds you sitting on the blanket you brought with your sweater tucked underneath your slightly bent knees. Inés is resting in your lap, cradled by your soft arms, and sleeping soundly with her tiny fingers curled into fists. You are so beautiful as you stare down into his daughter’s blissful face, your smile even warmer in the soft glow of the sun.

Occasionally, you run a thumb over the length of her nose but you never stop singing to her. The stuffed animal seems a waste of time now but if he hadn’t gotten it from the car, he would have never caught you like this.

How has he gotten so lucky, he wonders, to have such an incredible woman to be the witness of his life? He cannot believe how sentimental you have made him, his chest aching as he watches your beauty grow even further as it is enhanced by the nature around you. More than a decade in Colombia and he thought he would never feel anything again. How ridiculous a thought that is.

When he finally makes himself known again, bursting the bubble of quiet admiration he has been in, you turn your head when he kneels down beside you. You stop singing but Inés sleeps on.

Without a word, you notice Javier and then smile until it widens into a grin on your face that outshines the summer sunshine. He smiles back and places Eeyore on the ground in front of you, purposefully posing him to stand in the grass because you always hate when he is careless about stuffed toys.

“I hope he doesn’t mind getting left in the car,” he whispers as he makes sure Eeyore won’t tip over, “Sorry it took a bit.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, “You have made it up to him; grass is his favorite.”

“Papá! There are frogs here!” Suddenly, his four-year-old son emerges from somewhere in the tall grass, carrying a stick in his hand that he seems to be using as a sword. He grins widely as he approaches the three of you, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he walks quickly on the uneven ground and Javier holds out his hand in case he has to catch him.

“Careful, Muchacho (young man),” Javier chuckles, “You might scare them away if you trip.”

“I found the biggest frog ever!” Lucas brags and falls into his father’s embrace, throwing his arms around his neck, “I want to show you!”

Javier looks at you to silently ask if you need him. Lucas presses on, “Come on, Dad!”

Inés fusses a little at being woken up by the noises around her. You take the stuffed animal and wiggle it in the air in front of her. You start singing again. It is something about meadows and daisies, something about being warm and kept from harm.

“Go,” you stop briefly to urge him, “We’ll be here when you come back.”

And as Javier gets up from the ground and takes his son’s hand, he smiles because he knows that you will.

My last fic here in a while. Please consider following me on AO3 💖❤️

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cnnmairoll · 8 months

Note

Heyyyyyy it’s your local Jing Yuan simp here to drop off a request!

May I ask for something with Jing Yuan with a reader who is very small compared to him and loves to like be held and surrounded by him or be super close to him a lot? Not sure if this makes as much sense as it does in my brain lol. Basically smol reader with him

But anyway if you want to add more characters that’s okay too! Or if you have any questions or anything feel free to ask me! And of course take care of yourself and take your time! :D

Safe in Your Arms

Pairing : Jing Yuan x GN!Reader Genre : Fluff a/n : Disclaimer !! Reader is shorter/smaller than Jing Yuan as stated in the request. Thank you Ryker for requesting this >< !! I'm so sorry if it's a bit short though :sob: hope you enjoyed this though !!

One of the most endearing aspects of your relationship was your difference in size. You were petite compared to Jing Yuan's towering stature, and this contrast only seemed to strengthen the bond between you two. Jing Yuan would often tease you gently, calling you his "pocket-sized love," and you would respond with a playful pout, reminding him that good things came in small packages.

But what truly melted your heart was the way Jing Yuan would scoop you up into his arms, enveloping you in a warm embrace that made the world feel right again. His strength was a source of comfort, and his closeness provided a sense of security that nothing else could replicate. Whether it was a casual hug, a tender cuddle on the couch, or being carried bridal style to bed, his embrace was your safe haven.

There were lazy mornings when the two of you would linger in bed, the soft rays of the sun filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow upon your entangled forms. Jing Yuan's arms would wrap around you snugly, as if afraid that the world might try to whisk you away. "Are you comfortable, my love?" he'd inquire, his voice a rich tapestry of affection. And you would hum a response, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

Conversations flowed freely in these intimate moments, the world outside reduced to mere background noise. He'd share stories of his past, of battles fought and challenges overcome, his voice a soothing lullaby that filled your heart. And as he spoke, you couldn't help but feel your love for him deepen, expanding like a universe where only the two of you existed.

Even amidst the hustle and bustle of daily life, Jing Yuan always found moments to create memories that would be etched in your heart forever. One afternoon, as the sun painted the sky with hues of gold and orange, he whisked you away to a secluded meadow. The soft grass tickled your ankles as he settled down, his back against a sturdy oak tree. With a tender smile, he patted his lap, wordlessly inviting you to take your place.

You didn't hesitate, sinking down onto his lap as he enveloped you in his arms. The gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of flowers, and you leaned into his embrace, feeling his fingers trace soothing patterns on your back. "I could stay like this forever," you confessed, your voice a soft murmur that mingled with the rustling leaves.

Jing Yuan's laughter was a delightful melody, rich and full of affection. "And I would hold you close for all eternity if that's what your heart desires," he replied, his lips brushing against your temple in a tender kiss.

In his embrace, time seemed to lose its meaning. There was no need for grand gestures or elaborate words. The simplest touch, the quietest moment, held a depth of emotion that words could never encompass.

#˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ mai writes #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #jing yuan #hsr jing yuan x reader #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #honkai star rail jing yuan

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artemis-potnia-theron · 8 months

Text

How I perceive different deities' energies

(based on personal experiences)

Apollon ☀️: Light coming up from somewhere deep in the gut. An ache that almost burns. And it might if I stare too long. Swelling gold. A chorus of music too perfect to be written, words that could shatter my tongue if I tried to speak them.

Brigid 🔥: A lump at the back of my throat. Tears in my eyes while I smile. Joy and grief mixed together under my ribcage. Melodies sung through the ages, and through tears. Warmth at my back and a hand on my cheek. Baked bread. Garden herbs. Clear water from a well. An embrace that could last an age.

Nyx 🌌: The low, echoing hum of something eternal. Something too ancient to comprehend and too overwhelming to be perceived. Endless. Ethereal. Peace and chaos. Quiet and thunderous. Coffee. Red wine. Onyx.

The Morrigan 🐦‍⬛: A chant of words I can't understand, spoken in a language I never knew and never forgot. The cold steel of a blade's edge. Sharp, precise, and unwavering. Her language of secrets and ancient knowledge could swallow you whole if you let it.

Hekate 🗝: Whispers. Shadows against candlelight. A flickering flame that knows how to dance in the wind and never extinguish. The smell of old parchment and herbs. A ripple on the water. As intricate and mesmerizing as a spider's web. Silent and sharp like a viper. A bark and a growl heard from somewhere too far away for me to see.

Aine 🧚🏼‍♀️: Sunlight breaking over the surface of a river. Citrus. Wildflowers. Fresh grass. Wind sweeping over a meadow. Chimes. Fruit trees finally coming into bloom. The juice from an apple trickling down my neck. Laughter. So much laughter.

Aphrodite ❤️: Flower petals. Something sweet and soft like honey that trickles down the back of my throat and seeps into my belly. It spreads all through me like starlight trapped in my veins. Bells. Bliss. A want that could dissolve me. A yearning that would hurt if it didn't taste so lovely. The pain feels like a lifetime away.

Tiamat 🐉: Clusters of stars. Endless reflections of light on the water's surface. The deep song of a whale that echoes through the pulse of the sea. An eye that gazes down from the cosmos.

Caer Ibormeith 🦢: A lullaby that has been with me for longer than I know. A kiss pressed to my forehead. That place between sleeping and awake, between real and not. Cool air at twilight. Dew on the glass before sunrise. Clean fabric. A veil. Flying over the world as it sleeps.

Artemis 🦌: Freedom. Breath-taking, devastating freedom. A stag drinking fresh water from a spring. A doe and her fawn, sleeping as the songbirds chirp at dawn. A rush. An absolute rush like mountain air in my blood. Fireflies in an open field. Bones bleaching in the sun. The thrill of a wolf pack chasing its prey. The moon over the ocean at night. Teeth. Bird calls. Wildflowers. A great bear that walks in the stars. Hymns only beasts can sing. Jasmine and animal fur and the midnight air.

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onlybeeewrites · 4 months

Note

NO PLS I NEED SEJANUS PLS PLS PLS PLSSSSS.

(and but i’ve been seeing so many sej x coryo x reader and like………guys idk but like what if i want both now😵‍💫 IDK IF IM THE ONLY ONE THINKIN THIS)

No because I’ve been seeing those too?? And I’m like,,,,,what is happening to me rn

I might have to out out a poll to see what the people would like to see happen. Could end up super interesting.

#onlybeeeanswers #x reader #Sejanus plinth #Coriolanus snow #the valley song #meadow lullaby #answered asks #asks open

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dulcesiabits · 5 months

Text

when the fog rolls in.

summary: You try to piece together your scattered memories about a woman you once knew.

notes: 1.7k words, fic, author's notes, memory loss + nonlinear narrative, I just really wanted to play with form and perspective with this one!!!

There is something you have to do.

There is something you have to do, and you do not remember what.

There is a memory, like a scrap of discolored silk, that you clutch in your numb fingers.

There are many memories, like faded pieces of fabric, too light and too loose for you to hold and to collect. They fall out of your hands just as you reach for them, so you can only hold one at a time.

You have to remember.

You cannot forget.

There is something you have to do, and you’re running out of time.

—

A woman runs light, gentle fingers through your hair, combing the unruly strands. She’s humming an Eastside lullaby that pools in your heart and all its crevices.

Your head is in her lap, and you snuggle against her like a cat. Her touch makes you melt boneless into her arms.

You love her, you think. You have loved her for a long time. You love her gentle fingers and her soft voice and the way she looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

“Awake already?” she asks. Sharp sunlight cuts across her face, obscuring her features from you. “You should sleep some more.”

“But if I do, I won’t get to spend as much time as you,” you say drowsily.

Her laugh is a light mist that settles comfortably over you. You must have done this many times, you think. You must have whiled away countless hours in her warm arms, to be so comfortable here, so relaxed, so at peace.

Her fingers ghost across your eyelids, and you close them obediently. Her fingers trail down to your lips, tracing their outline.

“Of course you do. We have all the time in the world,” she says, but there is a trace of sadness in her voice.

You want to ask her why. You want to hold her. You want to tell her you love her. But before you can open your eyes, she is already kissing you like a goodbye.

—

There is a woman you love.

Her name is [ ].

—

“Why do you cut hair?”

It is an idle question, posed when there are no more customers in the salon, and the woman is sweeping the floor. You sit in a rolling chair, twirling yourself around in planetary rotations.

“It was a dream I had when I was little,” she says. “I liked the idea of being able to soothe away people’s worries by cutting their hair and listening to them talk. In the end, a lot of people really just need a listening ear.”

“It’s sweet that you care so much about others,” you say, slowing to a stop. You peer up at the woman. You are always looking at her in stolen glimpses like this, stealing away memories to pocket and keep, to pour over when you’re by yourself.

She’s beautiful, with her long, slender fingers, and the silk of her hair brushing her shoulders.

“Something catch your eye?” she says, without pausing in her work. “Want to talk about it?”

You flush. “No.”

“Well, if you ever need someone to hear your worries, my door is always open for you.”

“Then I’ll do the same for you!” you propose.

“What?” This time, the broom slows to a halt, a touch of astonishment in the woman’s eyes.

“I’ll listen to you. If you’re always listening to other people’s worries, then who’s going to listen to you? I can do that. If it’s not too presumptuous,” you add, embarrassed.

“It’s not,” she responds softly. “It’s not at all. Thank you. You’re a very kind person.”

“I don’t know if I’m that kind–”

“No. You are,” she says firmly.

The broom clatters to the floor. The woman leans close to where you sit on the chair. You do not dare to stir when she cups her hands around your cheeks and kisses you on the forehead, like it is a spell that can be broken.

—

You move from house to house in the Eastside. You don’t know why. You’re looking for something, you think. But you can’t remember what.

—

You bring a bouquet to the woman one day, a fresh meadow of roses and lilies, pale and fragrant.

Her fingers graze against yours as she takes the flowers, her touch lingering just a second too long.

“They’re beautiful,” she says, fingering a petal.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you say nervously. “I thought you looked a little sad lately, and these flowers reminded me of you, so…”

“Sad? I looked sad?” she says, surprised.

“I mean, a little. I don’t know. I thought maybe it was because there’s less customers lately, and everyone is scared of the fog and that silly urban legend, so I wanted to cheer you up,” you begin.

There’s a kaleidoscope of emotions across her face, each one flitting by so quickly you can’t hope to decipher them.

“I’m all right,” she says, but she still looks a little shaken. “I didn’t realize you could read me so well.”

“Well, I care about you. It would be weird if I didn’t pay attention to you, you know?” You twist your fingers nervously. “Sorry. Was this too much?”

“No. It’s lovely,” the woman says, but there’s a fog blanketing her eyes again, and she is a thousand miles away from you.

“If you’re worried about the rumors, don’t,” you say impulsively. “I’ll protect you.”

“You’ll protect me?” she says, and she is smiling, right where you can reach.

“I’ll walk you home if you want,” you offer.

The woman holds the bouquet to her face, breathing in deeply. “No. It’s okay. Stay home. Try not to go out after dark. Rumors are rumors, but you should try to stay safe, don’t you think?”

“Okay,” you say uncertainly. “Sure. But what if you–”

She smiles mischievously over the flowers. “I’ll be fine. No one will bother an ordinary hairdresser, don’t you think?”

—

There is a woman on the streets with short black hair. You grab her arm without thinking.

“What are you doing?” she snaps, jerking her arm away.

“Sorry. I thought you looked like someone I knew,” you stammer, but she’s already hurrying away, and your hands are as lonely as ever.

—

Hair like a circle of moonlight on your pillow. Soft hands around your waist. Legs entwined like lovers.

In the inky sea of night, it is just the two of you, floating in the boat of your apartment bed.

“You’ve always lived here?” she whispers to you. “In Eastside?”

“Yes. What about you? Did you grow up around here?”

The woman falls silent, contemplating. “I move around quite a bit for work, so I’ve never had time to settle down anywhere.”

You pull her closer. “Why don’t you settle down here, then?”

“It would be nice,” she acknowledges.

“If you’re worried about business, I could help you drum up customers. Solicit random people in the streets. Maybe do some sort of street performance in front of your shop.”

“You? A street performer?”

“I always wanted to learn how to juggle,” you propose.

She laughs. “I don’t think you need to go that far. Or is it just that you want an excuse to juggle?”

“Maybe,” you say. “But you should stay here. It’s a nice neighborhood.”

“It is,” she says. “Very nice. It’s where you grew up, isn’t it?”

“You know, we could…” You lace your fingers together with her. “We could be a family here, too.”

“A family,” she repeats.

“We could be each other’s family,” you murmur again.

“I would like that,” she says quietly.

Her hand is cold and limp in yours. You squeeze it, once, in reassurance, trying to will warmth back into her touch.

—

There is a new hair salon in your shabby neighborhood. You do not remember when it opened, just that it suddenly sprang into existence between the space of one day and the next. It is a lovely little place, and everyday you pass by, you see a woman through the glass.

Some days she is snipping hair with her scissors. Some days she is bent by the sink, gently washing a customer’s hair. Other days, when it is slow, she is simply resting at the counter.

Once, when she sees you staring, she smiles and tilts her head, bangs falling across her forehead, and you look away before she can see you blush.

The next day, the door is propped open, and as you pass by, she pops her head out. “Hello. Are you interested in a haircut?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really cut it much.” You self-consciously touch the ends.

“You do have lovely hair.” She’s posing by the door, arms crossed over the other.

“So do you,” you blurt out. “But, I, uh, guess that’s expected. Since you’re a hairdresser.”

She laughs, a sound like wind chimes in the light breeze. “Why, thank you. If you ever find yourself in need of my services, even for a little trim, don’t hesitate to come in.”

The day after that, you scrounge up what little money you have and head into the shop. When the woman sees you, she smiles like the sun. And you, like a flower, cannot help but bloom in her light.

—

A hand over your eyes. A familiar touch. Your body, sluggish and slow to respond.

“I’ve stayed too long.”

A voice, like a drop of starlight in the night.

“I should have moved on much, much sooner.”

A warmth, next to you.

“You made me selfish. I didn’t want to leave you.”

The shiver of steel in the air.

“But that’s no longer an option. I don’t want to become another worry for you.”

A cool kiss on your lips, a kiss as faint as frost.

“You deserve to be happy.”

And then, a hollow yearning, stretching like a chasm in your mind, in the space where something should have been.

—

There is something you have to do.

There is something you have to do, and you are starting to remember what.

There is a memory, like a scrap of discolored silk, that you clutch in your numb fingers.

There are many memories, like faded pieces of fabric, and you collect them all in your hands, as many as you can. They are puzzle pieces, and you have to fit them all together, even if you can no longer tell what they are supposed to be.

You have to remember.

You cannot forget.

You have to remember, as many times as it takes. No matter how painful it is. No matter how difficult. No matter how lonely.

You cannot stop until you see her again.

#liya writes #path to nowhere #adela #path to nowhere x reader #adela x reader #ptn #ptn x reader #ptn adela

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writingquestionsanswered · 2 months

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Do you have tips on writing lullabies? It's for a mom character from my story who often sings lullabies to her kid. I'm not exactly the best at writing song lyrics, so I would appreciate some tips on writing lullabies.

Tips on Writing Lullabies

First, I want to say that most traditional lullabies like Rock-a-Bye Baby, Hush-a-Bye, and Hush Little Baby are in the public domain, meaning that it's okay for you to use them in your story. If your story is set in our world, you may just want to have your character sing a traditional lullaby rather than writing your own. Just double-check that the song isn't anachronistic and that it is, in fact, in the public domain.

If you're writing a story set in an imaginary world, or there's some other reason why you feel an original lullaby would make more sense, it helps to understand a little bit of what lullabies actually are. The earliest known lullaby was recorded on a clay tablet in cuneiform script 4,000 years ago in Babylon, what is now modern-day Iraq. Like many lullabies over the centuries, it is a little dark and comes with a message for the baby: essentially, stop crying or you'll wake up the house demon. Many researchers believe that part of the function of a lullaby is to help the parent vocalize their fears in relation to the baby, whether that fear is related to the baby's mortality, the potential danger of crying (attracting predators or angering others), or even more personal concerns bothering the mother.

So, a good place to start is with your story's setting... where does the parent character live? Where did they grow up? What concerns do they have or might their parents have had (or the parents of that town/village/culture) that would make it into a lullaby?

For example, let's say you're writing a fantasy and the parent character comes from a village at the foot of a mountain range where mining is the primary industry, and heavy rains fall in the winter months which sometimes create dangerous conditions in the mine. From here you can imagine a parent sitting at home, rocking their baby to sleep while they wait for the other parent to return from the mines... but because it's raining, there's now the fear that the other parent won't return because the rains are so dangerous. How might that translate into a song? How might the parent vocalize these fears in some way to the child?

Some other things to keep in mind are the typical sound and structure of a lullaby:

-- 6/8 time signature with no more than 5 notes is common -- slow, melodic tones reminiscent of a heartbeat -- rhythm that works with rocking or gentle swinging -- few words, repeated over and over

You might even look at existing lullabies and use them as a template. Let's say I want to create my miner-related lullaby using Twinkle Twinkle Little Star as a guide:

Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are! Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky. When the blazing sun is gone, When he nothing shines upon, Then you show your little light, Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

So, maybe it could be something like...

Rain, rain, the winter rain Mother's in the mines. May she find her way to you her darling Valentine. Rain, rain, the winter rain Father's turn will come. May the sun be shining soon, for now the day is done. It's simple and it tells a little story... these parents take turns working in the mines, and it's dangerous work. The parent left behind is always hoping the other parent will make it home to them, and that the rain will stop so it's not so dangerous.

Another example worth noting is the lullaby from The Hunger Games, Deep in the Meadow. (You can read the lyrics here.) This lullaby is lighthearted on the surface... it paints a beautiful picture of a meadow where the child will be safe and loved. But the darker undertone is that the meadow is the safe place while the rest of the world the child lives in is not safe, and that obviously hearkens to the specific world that Katniss and her family grew up in.

And while we're on the subject, although it's not a lullaby, the ballad The Hanging Tree, also from The Hunger Games, has a similar origin in terms of matching theme to setting. (You can read about it here, CW for dark themes.)

I hope that will help you figure out a lullaby for your story!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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everlarking-always · 8 months

Text

The Toast Babies 💕

Their daughter is very much like Katniss - quiet, headstrong, loves nature and music - and follows her mom everywhere, trying to emulate her. She has a sharp wit that could have only come from Peeta, and no one can make her smile or laugh like he can. She takes it upon herself to look after her brother, of course. She has a meaningful nature-related name like Arden (meaning “a place of solitude and great beauty” like the meadow from Rue’s lullaby in the books).

The little boy is rambunctious and outgoing. Truly the baby of the family and a ball of endless energy. He is interested in everything and wants to know how everything works. His favourite word is "why?”, but luckily his parents and sister never seem to get tired of explaining things to him. @jenniferiawrence named him Atlas in her fanfic Give Me Your Wild, and that always stuck with me/seemed like a lovely name for him so credit goes to them for that headcanon, haha!

#the hunger games #toast babies #everlark #eablog art #Really appreciated people chiming in with inspiration re: these toast kiddos! thanks!#included some of my own headcanons that appeared while drawing these precious babies ☺️

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serenescribe · 4 months

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Hmmmm... obviously, discard if you don't want to write this BUT—

Lilia has a surprise for Silver. Usually, he goes on travels ALONE, right? Well, not this time!

Beach time? Snow mountains? Whichever, or you can choose your travel location. Silver will enjoy spending time with his father no matter where they go.

Initially, when Silver heard Lilia was leaving, he was like sad, but determined to wish Lilia safe travels. He goes about his day, although pouting and being much more downtrodden than usual, so much so that Lilia notices. He finds out why, and laughs, saying that Silver was invited to join him this time if he wanted.

Idk if writing some snippets from the actual trip would be too long, so just do you on that part. But, it'd be cute to see Silver's reaction to hearing about where they're going!

💙

[✐] ficlet frenzy

The rumbling of the train tracks lulls into a lullaby, a distant melody that sways his son to sleep.

Lilia cannot help but smile as he feels a head press against his shoulder, a pressure that dips against his limb. To his side, Silver slumbers, eyes pressed close, mouth parting the slightest bit. Today, he is dressed for comfort, clothed in a thick, fluffy sweater and simple slacks, soft clothes that are perfect for a long journey. Lilia, too, is dressed similarly; he dons a matching sweater, except Silver’s is blue where his is pink.

Beyond Silver are glass panes that reveal an ever-changing landscape outside, swathed with hilly uplands, flower-filled meadows, and thick pine forests that cluster together. The Queendom of Roses, with a geography so different from that of Briar Valley. While there are certain overlapping similarities, such as the abundance of woodland rooted across the land, there are enough differences that every day is enough of an adventure for the two of them to explore.

And what an adventure it has been! Everytime Lilia reminisces over their travels thus far, he silently admonishes his past self for being so foolish as to never bring Silver on a trip with him. Oh, how much more lively those days would have been, if he had simply been travelling with his son! There has been no greater joy thus far than to see the blatant delight plastered so openly on Silver’s face whenever they arrive at yet another city or town, head twisting left and right as he takes in all the stunning architecture.

Lilia isn’t ashamed to admit that a good chunk of his luggage is filled with gifts for Silver, cheerfully buying whatever catches his son’s fancy. What else is he to do, when Silver continuously handicaps himself from things he so clearly wants to purchase?

Even now, he still remembers the surprise that struck Silver’s face when Lilia had sprung the trip on him. Lilia had been planning it for a good while: he’d made a show out of preparing to go on yet another lengthy travel in-between his third and fourth year at Night Raven College, excitedly chattering to Silver about all the sights he was looking forward to seeing. Lilia smirks at the remembrance; it had been so amusing to observe how dejected Silver had been, knowing what was in store for him.

And when the day of the trip arrived, and Lilia sprung another ticket and an already-packed suitcase onto Silver?

“I was thinking… It would be awfully lonely to go on such a long trip by myself, hm? So what do you say to joining me, dear? …Khee hee hee, surprise! …Oh, you look as though you’re about to faint!”

Bit by bit, the train begins to slow down until at last, it slides to a stop. There’s the distant whistling of the train accompanying it, and as the doors slide open, footsteps echo through the cabin, of passengers embarking and departing, gathering up their bags and luggages as they come and go.

Next to him, Silver begins to stir. He blinks open his eyes, lifting his head to stare at Lilia blearily before he mumbles, “Wha…?”

“It’s not our stop yet,” Lilia assures him with a smile. He shuffles a little closer, wraps his arm around Silver to pull him into a half-embrace. “Rest for a little while longer, dear. Do not fear, I shall wake you before we arrive!”

There’s still plenty left on their itinerary before their flight back to the harbour, and their subsequent boat trip back to the valley. Silver still wants to show him Deuce Spade’s hometown — Clock Town, if Lilia recalls the name correctly — and there’s still a couple of other places they have yet to visit. But for once, they have plenty of time.

As the train whistle blares again, and the rattling of the wheels against the tracks engulfs the air once more, Lilia leans back into the plush cushion of the booth seat, and smiles.

#my writing tag #ficlet frenzy #twst #twisted wonderland #twst writing #twst fanfiction #lilia vanrouge #twst silver #this is very cute and fluffy aaaaa i liked this a lot #queued posts

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