#red periwinkles: early friendship
Text
Bouquet
Fandom: The Umbrella Academy
Summary: For as long as he could remember, someone has given him at least one bouquet after every performance he's ever had. Viktor thinks that it's high time he figure out who it is.
Warnings: Mentions of possible stalkers
Word Count: 4,710
Ship(s): Five Hargreeves/Viktor Hargreeves
Archive link!
A/N: Here's the next installment! I wanted to include the meaning I found for all the flowers in here so that it makes more sense when you read it. Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3
Flower index: Acanthus (arts), Canterbury bells (acknowledgement), amethyst (admiration), white pink (talent), southernwood (bantering), musk roses (charming), american cowslip (divine beauty), purple lilac (first love), Deep red carnation (Alas! For my poor heart), yellow acacia (secret love), fennel (worthy of all praise), peach blossom (I am your captive), Arum lily (magnificent beauty), blue periwinkle (early friendship), red tulip (love confession), Coneflower (health), laburnum (pensive beauty), lily of the valley (return of happiness), snowdrops (gratitude), laurestina (I die if neglected), ambrosia (love returned)
flower language - mission fic - pet/child acquisition - "why are you?" - sunshine - fantasy/medieval/dark knights of steel au
The first time that Viktor got a bouquet that was from someone outside of his family, it was in his early college days.
He had joined the college orchestra as he minored in their music program and majored in teaching. It wasn’t a career that was going to pay a lot, he knew that, but he’d have plenty of opportunities no matter where he went and he’d be doing both of the things that he loved so he pressed on with it. His mother and father had been very supportive of it, as they had been with all of his musical pursuits growing up. They were both professional swimmers, and while they had hit it big enough to get into the Olympics and give him a steady childhood, neither of them were shy to the harsh realities of picking a non-typical job.
The college orchestra was small and intimate because not many people that were pursuing the music program there played an instrument that could be easily worked in. They played a few concerts where all the proceeds went to helping them or funding certain trips that they wanted to make to see bigger orchestras and performers. Mostly they helped give the theater company that worked with the college some more authenticity. The theater manager always said that live music had a bigger effect on the audience that the pre-recorded stuff, so they knew that they always had something that they could do there.
Viktor hadn’t been performing with them for very long because it had taken him a lot of time to get the courage to audition. He had immediately slotted into second chair violin only because the senior holding first chair was going to be graduating in a month. As soon as she graduated and had to leave the orchestra, he rose up in the ranks without having to prove himself with another audition.
The bouquet came after a play where he was brought up to the edge of the stage to play. He had never gotten stage fright, too used to having to say things to big crowds of people because of his parents' careers. The nerves mostly came from his anxiety about being able to play it correctly. He didn’t want to ruin the performance that so many of the actors had been looking forward to for so long.
They had brought him up and he had played his piece, which had gone perfectly. He hadn’t been in anyone’s way and several of the actors from the show sought him out after their parts had been finished to tell him how lovely it was to have him included in what they were doing. That by itself was enough to make him fall in love with the idea of theater and continue working with them.
He had only been more confirmed into that idea when Ben had come to find him. Viktor had been standing near the green room while trying to calm some of his anxiety from earlier. He had his head pressed back against the cool painted cement of the backstage area so that he could lower his internal body temperature. He always felt like he developed a fever when he was nervous, so the cool radiating off of the stone was very welcome.
“Did you know that you have a dressing room?” Ben asked. He folded his hands behind him as he fell back against the wall as well. Ben was majoring in art and minoring in music, something that he refused to explain to anyone. He played a cello and was the best friend that Viktor had at the university, the official best friend title going to Diego who attended the police academy at the city limits.
“I did,” Viktor replied with a small nod. “What about it?”
“I got overwhelmed by being in the green room between everyone else and went to hide out in it. I figured that you wouldn’t mind since you were going to be up on stage anyway. Just wanted a place to read and I would never go through your stuff,” Ben quickly explained.
The smaller man reached over and shoved his arm affectionately. “I know that you’re stalling. You know I’m not the type of person to get bent out of shape about sharing a space with my friend,” he teased.
Ben relaxed a little bit. He turned his head towards the dressing room and then pushed himself up off of the wall. He and Viktor may have only known each other for about six months, but it was still easy to see what he wanted. The duo slowly made their way down the hall so that they were standing in the doorway to the dressing room that Viktor had been given since he actually had a part in this play and needed a secluded space to tune before the performances.
“What is it?” Viktor asked, confused about why he had been dragged away from his spot and his thoughts for seemingly nothing.
Ben pointed to the little table in the corner of the dressing room. Between the afternoon matinee and the evening performance Viktor had left his violin there since he knew it would be safe, but it had been empty when he left to go up on stage. The blanket that he had been using to sit on while he was in there alone was untouched other than the book that Ben had left on it. The bag with his clothes in it was just as he left it as well. “When I got up to go to the bathroom that wasn’t there but it was when I came back,” the taller man explained awkwardly.
In the center of the little table was a small vase containing a bouquet. Viktor wasn’t exactly unknowledgeable when it came to receiving flowers for things that he had done. His parents had loved to do it whenever he had a performance in high school, even if it was the ones that could be purchased at the front of the supermarket. These had obviously been chosen with a lot more care.
The main part of the bouquet, the part that took up the most space, was white carnations. Sprinkled throughout was amethyst flowers and canterbury bells that added a pop of delicate purple in between the large white petals. The surrounding flowers that were ringing the edge of the whole arrangement were acanthus, which made the colors inside shine because they were so muted.
“This is lovely,” Viktor whispered as he walked over and picked it up. There was a note tied around the pretty ribbon that was keeping all of the flowers together inside of the water-filled vase. Viktor held it in between his fingers as he flipped it over.
“What does it say?” Ben asked as he came to look at it over Viktor’s shoulder.
“It says ‘I hope that your performance today goes wonderfully, it certainly did in rehearsal’,” Viktor read off. He turned to face his friend as he set the flowers back down on the table where he had picked them up from. “Do you think that it was someone on the cast?”
“Well the note certainly suggests that,” Ben shrugged. He winced when he heard his phone go off in his pocket, which alerted him to the fact that they were both going to be expected in the pit soon. The flowers and who they belonged to were mostly forgotten as they rushed off to get into their spots before they were missed.
---
The second bouquet came during his senior year performance. He had managed to hold the first chair position in the orchestra the entire time that he was participating, which meant that his leaving was kind of a big deal.
He had been nervous since the beginning of the day. He knew a lot of people that he cared a lot about were going to be coming so that they could hear him play. His parents had flown in from Russia where they had been staying during the past six months to take care of his grandparents in their last years. Most of his friends from the music and teaching program were coming when they could get the time off work and classes. Of course all of the orchestra friends he had made were going to be attending since they would be playing alongside him. Diego had even managed to get the night off so that he could take Viktor out for dinner with his parents after it was all over.
As a joke, the orchestra conductor had given Viktor a dressing room, which was really just a changing stall that they had moved from the back of the theater when it was being remodeled a month beforehand. They had decorated it with a bunch of sweet pictures from their years together and programs from all of the performances that they had already put on.
It was something that he had almost cried about before he had gone on stage, but then he had gotten into the mindset that he always did when he was performing so that thought had been put out of his mind. After everything had been played and every last bow had been taken, Viktor returned back to the little dressing room that they had made for him. He was reeling from how well everything had gone, the only hiccup being that the pianist came in a little bit later than he was supposed to to accompany them on their first song. Viktor was able to forgive that very quickly though because over the last several years that they had been working together he had developed quite the crush on Five, not that he would ever be bold enough to act on it.
He could hear some of the others coming over to him so that they could wish him well as he graduated and they all stopped seeing each other. They all had classes and jobs and other pieces that they had to worry about learning, so they’d be going pretty soon. It was bittersweet, knowing that he was one step closer to doing what he wanted with his life but also losing so many people that he adored.
He opened the dressing room stall so that he could stash his violin in it and then focus on talking with his friends but then he paused. Another vase was sitting directly in the center of the floor, flowers basically bursting out of it in their hurry to show off their beauty.
This time, the bouquet was primarily made out of musk roses with cowslips scattered amongst them. There were four or five acanthus and purple lilacs each, which mixed the cool hues of the deep pinks and dark reds with some brown and popping purple. The very edge was ringed southernwood that was just purple enough that it pulled the bouquet together without being distracting.
“What’s this?” Ben asked as he walked up behind his friend and then saw what Viktor had been staring at. “Woah, this one’s even bigger than the one that you got when we were freshman.”
“I know,” he whispered. He knelt down beside it and flipped over the little card tied to the outside of the vase so that he could see what it said. “It just says ‘I’ll miss you’. No name, number, address, explanation, anything.”
“Well not a lot of bouquets come with a spelled out explanation. I think most of them are given as congratulations for a performance. And it’s perfectly usual for someone to give someone else flowers as a going away present,” Ben reasoned. He fished his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of the flowers, no doubt to send it to Fei or Klaus, his best friend and boyfriend respectively.
“They’re not your usual flowers though, are they?” Viktor asked as he looked them over again. He wasn’t very knowledgeable on flower language outside of what he remembered from a brief obsession as a child and pop culture references. He wasn’t given a lot of time to think about it either as the rest of his friends quickly approached them and he was dragged away from the dressing room for the celebration of his graduation from college orchestra.
---
The third bouquet that was more than what his parents brought him whenever they were in town for a performance was one that he remembered very fondly.
He had kept playing even after he graduated college and left that specific orchestra. The first thing that he had done once he had his degree was get a job with a local high school, teaching orchestra and sometimes choir just like he wanted to. He lived in an apartment with Diego and Ben since the former was working as a police officer around the city and the latter was working on getting a steady job going so that he could move in with his long-term boyfriend.
The second thing that Viktor had done after graduating was look for another orchestra that he could play with. He knew that it was a little presumptuous to think that he would get into the best one in The City on his first try when he had only ever played in college and never professionally, but he had auditioned anyway because Klaus had been there to egg him on. To his surprise, and no one else’s, he had gotten in.
He had risen in the ranks in the last year so that he was playing at second chair and got a lot of the solos that were played by someone in the orchestra other than the first chair. It was invigorating to be able to perform with a group as talented and passionate as that one. He had adored his college orchestra, but they weren’t the best of the best the way that his current one was.
They finished up another one of the winter performances that they had been doing for the last two weeks and Viktor immediately began to pack up. He usually liked to hang back with some of the others so that he could talk with them and get to know them better as they were all very kind and he enjoyed their company. Today he had to rush so that he could get back to the school by the time that he needed to tutor the kids that came in on the weekends for extra help. It was something that he also enjoyed doing, but on Saturdays where he had a matinee it left him feeling a little bit discombobulated.
He made his way down to the green room, where he was going to leave his violin until he came back for the evening show. He paused when he saw a very familiar shaped vase sitting on the center table. He slowly approached it and then turned over the tag that was around the bouquet. It was only when he saw that his name was on one side and a small note was on the other that he let himself take in what it looked like.
Five peach blossom branches were sticking up in the very center of the bouquet, striking and beautiful with their delicate pink color. Surrounding them was a deep red carnation and yellow acacia assortment that was only broken up now and again by stalks of green fennel. The card itself read: I thought that this afternoon’s performance was wonderful, I can’t wait to see you ascend the ranks of this orchestra like you deserve.
He couldn’t help but wonder who had sent him these. He knew that on some level he should feel creeped out that someone had managed to follow him all the way from college to this performance, but he didn’t. They had never tried to send flowers to his home nor had they ever approached him in person. It was possible that whoever was doing it was one of his friends, trying to make him feel better or even his parents not wanting to admit that they had spent so much money on something as small as flowers. He knew logically that it wasn’t either of those options because he should have been able to figure out who the handwriting belonged to, but it was the only explanation that he could think of.
“What are those?” Sloane asked as she entered into the greenroom and walked over to him. She played base with her fiance and had quickly befriended Viktor when he began to play in their orchestra.
“Just some flowers. They’re from the same place that I used to get bouquets from before I graduated from college,” he said as he handed it over.
She turned it over and looked at all of the flowers. “It’s a very… interesting arrangement. I didn’t even think that anyone would have fennel to put in a vase.”
Viktor laughed. None of the bouquets that he had ever gotten from this secret admirer of his had ever been traditional. The closest that they had gotten was when they had been primarily a stereotypical bouquet flower like the musk roses, but even then it was still full of non-traditional flowers. “I think they all mean something,” he said after a moment of thinking about it.
“Do you know what they mean?” Sloane asked as she brushed the tips of her fingers over the peach blossoms.
“I know what they are,” he shrugged and shook his head. He wished that he had invested more in figuring out flower language before he had gotten his next bouquet. After the last one, he had been distracted and then he kept meaning to but he was too wound up with all of the activity that came with moving and getting a job.
“Shit, I have to go,” Viktor swore as he looked down at his watch. “Do you think that you could keep an eye on those for me? I’ll bring them home after tonight’s performance but I don’t think that they would do well in the cold of my car while I tutor a bunch of kids so that they play Jingle Bells a little less poorly.”
Sloane laughed. She knew that Viktor cared deeply for his students and that he thought they had great potential, but no one every played amazingly well when they were in high school orchestra. “I can do that. Have fun and be safe!”
Viktor gave her a quick wave as he darted out of the room so that he could make it to his class before the students began to get anxious. He almost ran directly into someone that looked familiar to his college days, but he figured that he had just been thinking too much about the other bouquets and was mistaken. He completely forgot about looking up the flower language to find out what the gift had meant and who it might be from.
---
The fourth was one that he hadn’t been expecting to get. He was very disappointed by that fact because he had been looking forward to getting the little gifts. During that specific string of performances he had been receiving little single flowers in the same vase that he left in his dressing room for that exact purpose. When he left to go on stage it would be empty, and when he came back it would have cloudy water and a single flower sitting inside of it.
He had gotten a arum lily first, then a blue periwinkle, and lastly a red tulip. He had been told that there was a flower the night that he had to take off because he was too sick to come but he hadn’t been told what it was. Helen had also mentioned something about the gentleman that had dropped them off but she absolutely refused to tell Viktor who it was or if he had said anything when he did so. She had always been like that, even before Viktor had tried out for the first chair and gotten it despite her holding it without competition for years up to that point.
Knowing that whoever his secret admirer was had passed the check that his friends and fellow musicians had done on him was reassuring. Something had been sinking in his gut every time that he thought about the bouquets that he was being brought. He switched between thinking that it was his common sense kicking him and telling him that this was something that he should be concerned about and his brain trying to tell him that he had forgotten something without letting him know what it was supposed to be.
He had to miss the second to last day of performances because he had spiked a fever overnight from working himself too hard. He had stayed home and slept for about forty eight hours at the stern direction of his best friend and roommate, which meant that he felt well enough to play one show by the time that he woke up.
The show had gone well and the crowd had been overjoyed with the solo that he played in the middle. It was something that he would never forget, even if the back of his mind was filled with sadness and disappointment that he wasn’t going to see what came out of the gifts that he had been receiving. It felt a little silly to be put out about not getting flowers, but he let himself have it since he was complimented so little.
He made his way up to the green room where the orchestra had been stationed and collected his coat before he checked by the dressing room that he had been using. It was easier for him to change in there instead of with the rest of the orchestra, especially since it was usually empty. Not a lot of theaters booked another performance group when the orchestra was doing their spring shows and rehearsals there. During the winter it was packed, with a performance happening almost every single minute of every single day until Christmas when the Nutcracker was performed by the ballet company and then the theater workers went home for the holidays.
A smile spread across his face as he realized that he had finally found a place where he was comfortable enough to notice little things like that. He had always felt kind of out of place when he was a child because of how often his parents had moved around when he was younger. He was constantly being shipped off to live with different relatives when they were doing their seasons, sometimes even to other countries. He had been living in not only New York, but The City for long enough that he had begun to notice things like the pattern of the theater.
The smile stretched over his face only got wider when he noticed that there was a gift waiting for him on the table despite his absence from the performance the day before. He quickly walked up to it and flipped the card over to make sure that his name was neatly printed on one side before he read the message on the other. “‘Get well soon’, that’s sweet,” he mumbled to himself before he took in what the flowers were.
The main flower in the mix was coneflowers, but they were all different colors so that it was a rainbow. There were lily of the valleys scattered carefully throughout, delicate and white in between the sturdier colors. The vase had five laburnum flowers draped over the sides so that it shed a couple of delicate yellow petals on the table that it had been set down on.
Viktor assured himself that he was going to learn flower language and figure out what his secret admirer had been trying to tell him for years now. He couldn’t let this continue without being aware of what he was receiving.
---
The fifth was one that he made himself. He had special ordered a lot of the flowers that he was going to use after pouring over a book about flower language for longer than he wanted to admit.
It had taken them a month to get all of the flowers that he wanted, but in the end they were all there. He had taken specific care to make sure that the flowers meant exactly what he wanted them to. If he only had once chance to do this and the person that had been sending him the gifts for long was already knowledgeable on the subject then Viktor really didn’t want to fuck it up.
It certainly wasn’t as pretty as a lot of the bouquets that he had received, but the meaning behind it was very poignant. The bouquet was made up primarily of ambrosia flowers with a few laurestina popping out from between them. Snowdrops ringed the very edge of the vase that they were in since they were supposed to be the background message.
His nerves were bothering him more than they had since his first day at university. He knew that he shouldn’t have been nervous because it was very easy to parse out who had been sending him the gifts when he did a little bit of snooping and knew what they meant, but he was still anxious that he had somehow singled out the wrong person. He didn’t want to have wasted a bunch of money for a love confession that was going to be shot down or possibly wasted on the wrong person, both of which would ruin his friendship with them.
He steeled himself as he walked down the long corridor of the university. He knocked on the door to the office that he was going to enter before he was bade to do so. The handle clung to his hand in his body’s last desperate attempt to get him to chicken out on what he was planning to do. He ignored it and entered, closing the door behind him so that it would be harder for him to turn and run when he finished.
He walked over to Five’s desk and and set the vase of flowers down. He and Five had kept in contact after they graduated college, though Five stuck around so that he could work as a teacher’s assistant until he got his doctorate and could work at the university himself as he had already been promised a spot there. They hadn’t gotten closer than they had been when they were in college, only talking when one of them found something to send to the other, but that was mostly because Viktor didn’t allow himself to be closer. He was nervous about doing that in the same way that he had been nervous in bringing in the bouquet in. He didn’t want to destroy a friendship that he cherished because of feelings that had festered inside of him since he was a wet-behind-the-ears teenager.
“Viktor? To what do I owe the pleasure?” Five asked as he set his red pen down to look up at the other man.
“This,” Viktor replied as he turned the vase so that Five’s attention as going to be brought back to it.
The taller of the two tilted his head down so that he could see what it was. When he looked back up towards Viktor, the other took the leap and then leaned down to connect their lips together. Five immediately responded by reaching up so that he could cup the back of Viktor’s head so that he could bring him closer.
They snapped apart when they both had to breathe. “I figured out that it was you because Lila’s parents own a flower shop and the two of you have known each other for years. Why did you never tell me?”
“I guess I was just scared to actually say it with words,” Five replied after a moment of thinking.
Viktor let out a small laugh and then leaned down so that he could have another kiss.
#fanfiction#fanfic#writing#ao3#archive of our own#tua#the umbrella academy#fiktor#five hargreeves#viktor hargreeves#viktor x five#five x viktor#flower language#year of fiktor#year of otp
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Hey there! What kind of flowers or plants would work to symbolize a very bittersweet goodbye, especially any that are white or purple?
Let’s see what we can find for you. There should be something in the depths of this google sheet.
adonis (flos) – sorrowful remembrances, painful recollections, sad memories
baby’s breath – everlasting love, innocence, pure of heart
basil (sweet) – good wishes
bittersweet nightshade – truth
bittersweet – truth
carnation (pink) – I will/I’ll never forget you, woman’s love
chrysanthemum (white) – truth
clover (white) – think of me
coneflower (purple) – strength and health
daisy (michaelmas) – farewell or afterthought, farewell
heart’s ease – forget me not, think of me, thoughts, you occupy my thoughts
heart’s ease (purple) – you occupy my thoughts
heather (white) – good luck, protection, wishes will come true
myrtle – love in absence, love, joy
oak (white) – independence
periwinkle – tender recollections, sweet remembrance, pleasing remembrances, early recollections, pleasure of memories, sweet memories
periwinkle (blue) – sweet remembrance, pleasures of memory, early friendship
periwinkle (white) – pleasing remembrances, pleasures of memory
pine (spruce) – farewell!, hope in adversity
poplar (white) – time
primrose (chinese) – lasting love
rose (tea) – I’ll remember – always
rose (white and red together) – unity
scorpion grass (mouse-eared) – forget me not
white poplar – time
zinnia (mixed) – thinking of an absent friend
– Mod Jana
Disclaimer
This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.
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When Koshek wakes up again, the library has changed;
The previously light wood of the floor has been replaced with dark oak wood, the orange paint stains and a few scratch marks from Catshek disappearing in the process. The shelves have changed, too, though to a lighter color with a few leaves and colorful flowers painted on the sides to function as a contrast. One of the sides stands out, however, being of a dark grey color with a slightly rough texture. A box of different colors of blackboard chalk stands next to it on the ground, indicating the wall's purpose as a blackboard for Koshek to draw on.
At the far back of the library, meanwhile, what used to be just another wall of books is now a wide, open window front matching the style of Site-01 - and, right in the middle, an open gate leads straight out into the field, where the sun is rising in shades of pink and gold behind the apple tree in the distance and countless blooms of baby's breath.
Another story has been added to the library as well, with a few ladders leading up to the walkway about five metres off the ground that makes the higher bookshelves accessible. There is a second balcony as well, separated from the rest of the walkway but on the same level, with an open spiral staircase leading up to it. The view to what is actually up there is obscured by a curtain made of a heavy, royal purple fabric; when pushed aside, however, the curtain reveals a small, but cozy bedroom with a double bed and a night stand on each side. The bed is neatly made with sheets matching the color of the curtain, though both the blanket and the pillows have a loose, white rose print on it. Above the bed, let a bit into the wall, is a mostly empty pinboard, though there is a light blue post-it note pinned to it already - one reading "I love you" in Hebrew, written in Zayin's somewhat messy handwriting.
Returning downstairs, the table, too, has changed - though, not exactly changed rather than having been decorated. In the middle of the table stands a large bouquet of flowers, featuring different blooms; and, placed around it in a carefully arranged circle, are seventeen smaller bouquets, each made up of one of the flowers from the larger one, with a small card attached to them to show who they are from;
Light purple lilacs from Zayin, standing for young love,
Pink carnations from Seven, symbolizing a mother's love,
Pink gladiolus flowers from Eight, wishing Koshek strength,
Red camellias from Four, for admiration,
Veronica flowers from Five, sending its best wishes,
Peonies from Ten, standing for bravery,
Marigolds from Eleven, a promise of protection,
White lilies from Agnes, meaning childhood innocence,
Periwinkle flowers from Three, together with a cat drawn on the card as a reminder of their early friendship,
Wax flowers from Alexei, a wish for lasting love,
Pink chrysanthemums from Una, standing for joy,
Clematis from Sixten, a compliment to Koshek's cleverness,
Hepaticas from Cairo, wishing Koshek confidence,
Pink tulips from London, sending well-wishes of her own,
Pink hyacinths from Hel, commenting on Koshek's playful attitude,
Tweedias from Jane, symbolizing peace,
And hortensias from Two and his husband, for good luck.
[1/2]
Each of the bouquets is also accompanied by a gift from the corresponding person, some larger, some smaller, like a combined gift of two sketchbooks and a large set of colored pencils from Five and Ten, various sweets from the staff members, a book of short stories in Hebrew from Four and food from Agnes, including a birthday cake.
Presented in an almost innocent manner is also a black box containing Zayin's gift, decorated with a green bow. The box itself is flat and relatively large, like one uses for jewelry; and, when opened up, that's exactly what it is for, revealing six handmade enamel pins - two napping cats cuddled up together, another cat infront of a night sky with stars, a bee, a red and white koi fish, a mimikyu, and a dark red anatomical heart with six flowers in the colors of the rainbow flag behind it - as well as, on the right side next to the pins, a promise ring made of hammered silver. A small heart is engraved on the inside of the ring.
The two other gifts in the front, only behind the box from Zayin, look a bit different, though;
the larger one being a carefully folded sweater, crochet in a simple pattern from green yarn that slowly fades from light to dark green up to a solid black over the sleeves. The sleeves themselves feature an intricate design of embroidered, white cherry blossom branches with nine flowers on each side. The sewed-in tag at the back of the neck spells, in embroidered letters, "Love, mom". The sweater smells vaguely of Seven's flower perfume.
The second gift is a matching set of ceramic mugs from Eight, made of a light beige ground material, with the upper side of the mugs having been dipped in color to create a slow gradient from almost-black to a much more intense color close to the bottom. The inside of the mugs, too, is dark, and perfectly smooth to the touch; one of them has a purple to bright pink fade, the other goes from dark blue to an almost electric color.
Both of these gifts look... almost too real to be computer-generated, from the color flow of the sweater and the clearly handmade embroidery down to the not perfectly even edge and noticeable layers of the color dip on the mugs and the vaguely rough texture of their exterior. All three items seem too handmade to have been created by the AIs, or even Agnes, for that matter.
Amongst the presents is also a card, showing a cat napping in the midst of a flower field with a butterfly on its nose. When opened, the left side of the card is written on in an unfamiliar, somewhat old-fashioned handwriting, reading
"Happy Birthday from your friends in IT",
signed by Alexei, Three (as Jamie, notably), Una, Sixten and even Agnes. The other side features a note in Seven's handwriting, congratulating him on his birthday and wishing him the best for the following year, this one being signed by Seven herself (as mom, with a smiley face) and Eight.
[2/2]
#[combining the two halves for convenience!]#[will post Koshek's reaction with this linked back =) ]
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Monoma Neito Crushing On 1-A!Reader
A/N: I hope you like it!! This was such a cute prompt idea!
Neito isn’t aware that he likes you at first. He teases you more often than the other class members and he makes a point to stand close to you- to invade your personal space and smile as he does so. He doesn’t realize he has a crush until Itsuka mentions the crush in passing. He stops in his tracks and he’s distracted for the rest of the day and every time he catches a glimpse of you, he catches himself staring.
Classes are done for the day and for whatever reason both 1-A and 1-B have decided to share the common room and just relax as people joke around and talk to each other. It’s a simple night where people are in their pajamas and everyone gets to act like a kid for once.
You happen to be sitting at a table where Eijiro and Tetsutetsu are at. They’re loud and talking with each other that you’re only half paying attention to, your full attention on a comic. It’s a simple night where you aren’t too worried that Neito will run his mouth with how close Itsuka is.
But then again, that never stopped him in the past.
You don’t really mind his insults. They aren’t even insults most of the time- just truths that are stated harshly. You have to agree that 1-A does attract trouble and fellow classmates seem to aggravate said trouble. In the end, you just listen to him, sparing him a glance and cutting him off mid-sentence as you invite him to the vending machine, telling him you’ll cover for his snacks this time, if he does the same for you next time. You like to think it’s a friendship. Especially when he grumbles and follows you and sits next to you munching on his chips.
The next day, you always find the snack you bought on your desk without a note and the rest of the class not knowing where it came from.
However, now he bears no gift and talks loudly. And he slips. He calls your face pretty and follows it with an insult to your class and everyone stops talking. All eyes are darting between you and him and you’ve stopped reading the comic, looking up at him with wide eyes and he hasn’t caught himself. He continues to talk, a smug look on his face and then he’s interrupted by Katsuki.
Katsuki has no filter. And with how they both have a distaste for each other- Katsuki sees it as the perfect chance to knock him down a peg. He repeats the phrase loudly and it causes Neito to stop talking and when he realizes what exactly he said, he can’t help but stop the blush that fills his cheeks and it only fuels Katsuki to egg him on further. And that’s when Katsuki realizes that he has a crush on you- a student from 1-A.
Neito denies it immediately. Shaking his head and his composure is lost in a matter of seconds. It’s a bit painful to watch as he starts to grow a bright red, a nervous laughter that bubbles past his lips and then his eyes meet yours and he looks awfully flustered and he returns his look to Katsuki who has a smug grin which is returned with a sneer and he walks away.
Neito is mortified. He had only known he liked you because Itsuka and the others wouldn’t stop cooing at how cute you looked today and how cute you looked together but to have everyone else hear that because some prick wanted to embarrass him and he feels awful. You were there and you didn’t do anything. That was probably the worst part.
The common room is quiet and in unison, everyone turns their head towards you. You immediately direct your attention to Katsuki and slap his arm. You tell him to apologize tomorrow or else. It’s a thinly veiled threat with no real plan but you’re sure you can figure something out. He merely rolls his eyes and before he can offer a poor excuse, you leave to go find Neito.
You find Neito sitting on the ground next to a vending machine, the white glow from inside that showcases the snacks lights the hallway, making the darkness seem a bit less threatening. Your steps click against the tile and he makes no attempt to move from his spot. His legs are extended outward, head leaning against the wall and hands on his lap.
You come to stand next to him, and he can only offer you a glance before turning away, a frown tugging on his lips. “Neito,” you call his name, giving him a gentle nudge against his leg. “Neito, come on,” you whine. “You know how he is. He’s just being an asshole like always.” He groans and shakes his head, turning away from you, offering no answer. You sigh and dip your head before coming down to sit next to him, bringing your legs up to your chest. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Your class sucks,” he mumbles under his breath.
You give him a short laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah,” you agree. You give him a quick glance and try to suppress the grin that grows on your lips. “What about me?” He raises a brow and you can’t control the grin now, letting it stretch across your face. “Do I suck?”
He scoffs and shakes his head. “You’re the worst one,” he says in a tired tone, the corners of his lips twitching upwards for a brief second before they fall. “I-”
You cut him off, lowering your legs to be parallel to his. “Do you like me?” He visibly shrinks in on himself and you rest your hand on his lap, feeling him tense under you. Your tone softens and you give him a soft sigh. “Would you feel better if I told you that I liked you?” His eyes widen and you continue. “You’re nice- sometimes.” You flash him a grin when he narrows his eyes. “Cute too and when we hang out, you can be funny. And sometimes,” you voice goes softer, and you look at the hand that rests on him, the hand that he hasn’t pushed away, “it’s nice hanging out and eating snacks. And you’re always so nice when you repay the favor- early in the morning so no one sees you.” He remains silent with only a blush on his face and you shrug your shoulders. “But if you don't like me-” you slowly drag your hand away from his lap, letting your fingers curl over- “I could always ask Tetsu out. He’s-” He grabs your hand and you stop, tilting your head with a knowing smile.
“This is why you’re the worst.” He holds your hand and meets your eyes for a brief second, only to roll them. “If I did like you- which I don’t- do- do,” he stutters in his words and clears his throat- “do you like me too?” He stares at you with shaky eyes, periwinkle irises that are soft in the night, unsure and hesitant as he tries to maintain eye contact with you. His hand tightens around yours, a bit too tight, trembling and cold with manicured nails that hide in your palm.
His composure is lost, a soft touch on his voice as he waits for your answer, his breathing sharp and controlled as he gulps, the apple in his throat bobbing and shaping under. You smile at him, wanting to tease further but with the nervous hold on your hand, you decide against it and merely nod your head.
“Yeah, I do,” you trail, turning your hand in his to hold it in a softer fashion. “What do you want to do?” He gives a simple shrug of his shoulders and you licks at his lips, eyes darting around to find something to linger one, only to rest back at your eyes. “We can start slow. A date here and there-” you tap against his hand- “slowly cutting off the comments-” you cast him a mischievous look where he looks away with a scoff- “and if all goes well, then we can see where we go from there.” You nudge your leg against his. “How does that sound?” You ask in a soft tone, running your thumb against him.
“I like the sound of that. It’s smart coming from you.” His half grin returns, eyes narrowing playfully as you stick your tongue out at him.
“You’re so funny,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “Anyways,” you sigh, bending a leg under the other one, “are you ready to go back?” You cast him a worried glance when his brows furrow and the hold on your hand tightens.
“I don’t want to go back.” He clears his throat and sighs. “I rather not deal with your class right now.”
You shrug. “Fair enough.” You look down at the held hands and bump shoulders with him. “We can go get snacks and talk? Denki busted a vending machine somewhere so it practically gives snacks away.” He gives you a look that you can’t decipher, his lips turning upwards and hand softening around yours. “Come on, we should check it out.” Your hand leaves his and you miss the way his lingers above his thigh, hand still outstretched and curved as if you were still holding it and when you turn, he’s rising and holding a hand out to you.
“And if it doesn’t work?” He asks, helping you rise, leaving his hand against yours. “What then?”
You drag him along, swinging your arms between the both of you, flashing him a crooked grin. “Then we pay for them. Or,” your squeeze his hand and he flushes a deep shade of red, “we can just steal them. I’m sure with our quirks and brains combined, we’ll figure something out.”
“We’re not stealing,” he chuckles. “I have money with me so I’ll just pay for them this time.” He pauses and sucks in a deep, shaky breath. “You can pay for the date when,” he emphasizes the words, keeping his head held high, “we go out.”
You smile at the promised date and squeeze his hand, giving him a curt nod. “I look forward to it,” you lilt, pulling him close to you.
#monoma neito headcanons#monoma neito x reader#neito monoma x reader#neito monoma headcanons#neito monoma imagine#bnha imagines#bnha headcanons#i hope you like it!!#i feel like it comes off juvenile#bleh
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Oh So Many Years: Ch. 7 - Stuck
Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley
Summary:
Could two friendships on the rocks result in two new ones?
Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW
Author’s Note: Posting a tad early this week. Hope you enjoy!
I update every week before midnight on Sundays (US MST)! Please feel free to like, comment, and reblog! xoxo
Masterlist
<<Chapter 6
I'm sitting here stuck
And plastered to my seat
I th i nk up a reason to leave
When you finally stop speaking
I'll take a long slow
Walk down Washington Street
Half asleep on my feet
Half aware if I'm dreaming
Hermione managed to stow herself away in the library for nearly sixteen hours, one of her personal bests, before Madame Pince kicked her out. The grave woman nearly threw her from the premises, claiming she was closing the library early and that despite her biases Hermione should spend some time away from the stacks of books. So now she wandered the castle, lost in thoughts of tournaments, legislature, hidden agendas, and friendship. The castle held the same familiar chill as her feet chose her destination, eventually leading her to a part of the castle only recently familiar to her. At the end of a long corridor, illuminated by two torches placed on either side, hung a painting. Mechanically, Hermione sat on the cold stone, tucking her robes around her, and stared at the landscape that drew her in the first time she saw it three days ago.
Like most paintings in the wizarding world it was enchanted, but instead of some historical witch or wizard as the focal point, the only movement in the frame was the soft sway of long grass and leaves that rustled in the wind. The sun peaked in and out of the clouds, casting ever changing rays of light across the meadow. She felt a calm envelope her as she looked at the bright yellows and peaches of the Adonis and honeysuckle dispersed throughout the grass. Several bees visited the flowers before disappearing from the frame. Hermione followed one as it zigzagged towards the edge of the field near the trees. It stopped on a small patch of zinnias and Hermione felt herself hit with a wave of emotions that had been threatening to capsize her all day. A single tear ran down her cheek as she thought of Ron and Harry. While she was quite familiar with solitude, having grown up an only child and often alienated by her peers, here, sitting on the floor of an empty corridor, she felt for the first time utterly alone.
And despite Harry and Ron’s cruel treatment towards her, she still felt responsible for fixing it. She spent all afternoon trying to figure out how to get her two best friends to cease being angry with each other and how to keep Harry alive this year. By the end she felt no closer to a solution for either problem. Tears continued to fall silently down her face. Hermione’s vision blurred over white gardenias and blue periwinkles, and she remembered the last time she encountered the painting. Her thoughts had been stupid – trivial ramblings questioning her worth as a woman and whether any boy would ever like her. That time the field had been nothing but white heather. What a lovely bit of magic, thought Hermione.
Eventually, when her joints were stiff and backside sore, Hermione stood and made her way back to Gryffindor tower. She walked through the threshold of the portrait hole, thankful that she hadn’t been caught out of bed by Filch or a teacher. Looking around the empty common room, Hermione realized that despite the emotional drain of the day she wasn’t tired. So, she picked up a nearby book left on a table and sat down on the sofa in front of the fire. It hurt to read, her eyes red and puffy from the crying she’d done earlier, but still she pushed on. She had only been there a short while when the sound of the portrait hole opening took her by surprise. Who could be getting in this late? she wondered. Her question was answered when a pair of shaggy red-headed hooligans walked through the opening. Hermione willed herself to be as small as possible. The last thing she needed was the two of them making fun of her in a rare moment of weakness. Much to her dismay the pair noticed her immediately. They walked towards her with large impish grins and Hermione desperately tried to think of how she could get them to go away. Despite her bright nature her brain did nothing for her in that moment and she was left to sink further into the couch, hoping it would swallow her whole.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here Freddie?”
“Why it looks to be our favorite fourth year Georgie.”
The twins seated themselves on either side of her. Hermione hid further into her book, hiding her red eyes and splotchy face. So much for being the brightest witch of her age. She couldn’t even figure out how to escape two bumbling Weasleys.
“Burning the midnight oil Granger?” Fred asked, shaking his hair out of his face.
“You should really give it a rest there,” George teased, nudging her shoulder.
“Yeah, give everyone else in your class a chance. They’ll never come close to your marks if you’re staying up this late studying every night,” added Fred. Hermione remained silent, hidden behind her book. When they received no response, they tried another approach.
“As you can see our grey hair and wrinkles have completely faded,” George pointed out.
“Yes, except I don’t remember the bags under George’s eyes being quite so bad. You better hope that wears off mate or I will definitely be the more handsome twin.” Fred received a smack on the back of the head from his brother for his cheeky remark.
“What Granger? No, ‘I told you so’?” Fred directed his attention back to the little witch between them as he rubbed the back of his head.
“No, ‘you should have listened to me’?”
“No, comment on our dim-witted attempts at fame and fortune?”
They wagged their eyebrows at her, but Hermione remained behind her book, hoping they would consider it a calculated and obvious sign that she was ignoring them. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect, her lack of response only fueling their desire to investigate further. Fred reached over and tugged at the top of the book.
“Hey, what’s this then?” Fred asked, getting a peak at her complexion. He reached towards her face and swiped a thumb across the reddened skin under her eyes. “Why are you crying Granger?”
Hermione shied away from the contact and cursed herself for not doing a glamour spell or at least a disillusionment spell on herself.
“It’s nothing. Um, sad book is all,” she lied, trying to feign indifference. Sad book? Of all the excuses, Hermione berated herself. George grabbed the book from her hands and inspected it.
“I never knew Charms could be so heart-wrenching…we’re not idiots Hermione,” George stated plainly.
“Are you alright?” Fred asked as he lifted her chin. For a second time that night, Hermione felt the weight of the past twenty-four hours fall on her. This time, it was as though her body had been waiting for some sign that it was okay to fall apart, and the twins’ kind gestures had been just that. A short sob escaped her throat and her eyes began to sting as fresh tears welled, daring to spill past her lashes.
“Alright, alright. Come here,” Fred cooed, scooting closer and pulling Hermione onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in tight. George followed suit, draping her legs over his lap, and giving her calf a reassuring squeeze. Hermione buried her face in Fred’s chest and continued to sob harder than she’d ever cried before. The two silently comforted her, George rubbing a hand up and down her leg and Fred stroking her hair. They sat like that for a while, never saying a word – simply acting as figures of stability. Finally, when her body was no longer wracked with little tremors and her cries subsided into sniffles, Hermione pulled away from Fred and wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve.
“Feel better?” Fred asked, brushing her smothering hair from her face. Hermione nodded, realizing in horror that not only was she currently on top of the twins, but she had ruined Fred’s sweater. Scooting off of their laps, she sniffed and mumbled a meek apology.
“It’s just a few tears. Now, what’s the matter? Are you hurt?” Fred asked.
Hermione shook her head.
“Did someone step on one of your books?”
Again, she shook her head.
“Did you do poorly on an essay?”
Hermione shook her head again and scoffed at the idea.
“Is it…girly problems?” George made a face at the thought.
This caused Hermione to let out a short giggle and shake her head again.
“Then what is it?” Fred pushed.
“You’re going to think it’s ridiculous,” Hermione said, wiping her red and swollen eyes. She knew she must look an awful fright. When they didn’t say anything, she took it as her cue to continue. “It’s Harry and Ron; they’re mad at me. Harry, because he’s convinced that everyone’s against him even though I’m not, and Ronald, because I’m not angry with Harry. I know they’re both under a lot of stress what with the tournament and Ron’s jealousy, but I guess I just feel like neither of them really care how I feel.” She sniffed, shaking her head at how pathetic she must sound.
George looked at his brother. “I should have known that our thick-headed little brother had something to do with all of this. First of all, we don’t think it’s ridiculous,” George stated firmly.
“And secondly, you have every right to be upset,” added Fred.
“Really?” Hermione asked in surprise.
“Of course! They’re being selfish gits and I have half a mind to put itching powder in all their clothes,” Fred fumed.
“But because we know that’s probably the last thing you want us to do—” started George.
“—we won’t. Instead we will remind you that you’re Hermione Granger and absolutely too good for either of those imbeciles.”
“So, next time you see our little Ronikins…”
“—you can tell him exactly where to shove his attitude.”
Hermione smiled. “Thank you. You really don’t have to be this nice.”
“Nonsense, you may be our idiot baby brother’s friend, but we’ve grown quite fond of you,” said Fred with a friendly nudge of her shoulder.
“Yeah, you’re like a second sister to us. No one gets to mess with you but us and that includes our brother and the Boy Who Lived. It’s sort of a rule.” George leaned across Fred and tapped a finger to the end of her nose. Hermione let out a small laugh that turned into an overwhelming yawn. Realizing she was utterly exhausted, Hermione waited for the small bit of anxiety that now came with the thought of sleep these days. To her surprise, it never came.
“Alright Fred, looks like we’ve worn her out.”
“I think you’re right George. Up we go! Time for bed!” Fred decreed, hooking his arms under Hermione, and lifting her into the air.
“Frederick Weasley! Put me down! I am entirely capable of walking. I’m tired, not paralyzed! Hermione crossed her arms and gave the boy a disapproving look. Fred merely smiled politely before placing her down at the base of the stairs leading up to the girls’ dormitories. Hermione let out a little huff and ran her hands over her mussed hair, attempting to flatten it.
“Goodnight you two…and thank you. I suppose I owe you. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll tell you why your aging potion didn’t work, and how you could have actually gotten your names in,” Hermione stated with a small smile.
“I’m calling you on that one Granger,” scoffed George.
“Even you’re not that brilliant!” the twins exclaimed in unison.
Hermione raised a brow and with a twinkle of mischief in her eye, she shrugged her shoulders and began to walk up the stairs.
“I guess you’ll just have to find out,” she threw back at them as she disappeared around the bend.
It was a strange day at Hogwarts that following Monday morning. The weather outside was dark and gloomy once again, but the mood of the students was quite the opposite. The first challenge of the tournament was only three weeks away and the school was abuzz over what it could be, and who would come out on top. Hermione heard whispers in her morning classes of Viktor Krum and Cedric Diggory; it seems they were everyone’s bet. Then of course there were the harsh words and accusations toward her best friend. It hurt her heart to hear such dreadful things about someone she cared for, even if he was being a complete jerk. Malfoy was the worst, with his open mocking and constant bullying in Care of Magical Creatures. Many times, Hermione fantasized about wiping the stupid smirk off his face like she had the year before. But instead she ended up taking her frustrations out on two second year Hufflepuffs gossiping in the library that afternoon.
“It would do you two well to not talk about things you know nothing about—" she seethed, sliding her things into her bag “—and no talking in the library. Or else I’ll be tasked to inform Madame Pince.”
She regretted the way she spoke to the younger students. While it certainly taught them a lesson on gossiping, she shouldn’t have been so harsh – they were still young. She didn’t even have her usual excuse of sleep deprivation to blame either. Much to her surprise, after departing to her room, she fell into a deep and peaceful sleep the moment her head hit the pillow. In fact, she slept so deeply and so peacefully that she missed her alarm and had to rush to make it to her first class on time. It wasn’t until she was in her seat, quill in hand, that the memories of the night before came rushing back and Hermione had to focus to determine whether it had all been a strange dream or not. The oddities only continued to pile up, as just before lunch she realized she had completely forgotten to write a short Transfiguration essay that was due later that day. She had no idea how it managed to slip her mind, as it was very out of character for her to forget an assignment at all. She rushed to the library, forgoing lunch and came upon the next strange thing to happen that day. Viktor Krum, of all people, was seated at her favorite table. This forced her to sit at a different one, much too far from the window overlooking the lake and much too close to the stacks, which resulted in her overhearing the two Hufflepuffs.
Now, as she made her way to the Great Hall for dinner, stomach growling, she realized her sour response might have been a result of low blood sugar.
It seemed Hermione’s whole day was destined to be a whirlwind of obstacles, for as she entered the Great Hall, she faced her next challenge – where to sit. Ronald sat with Seamus, Dean, Pavarti, and a few other Gryffindors in their year near the end of the long table and for fear of confrontation, Hermione decided that sitting with them was probably the last thing she wanted to do. A little further down the table, Harry sat sullen next to Neville Longbottom. The presence of the sandy blonde boy gave Hermione hope. Maybe Harry’s finally over his delusions, she thought making her way over and seating herself across from them.
“Hullo Hermione!” greeted Neville in a friendly tone. Neville was one of her favorite classmates. Where he was bumbling and lacking in self-confidence, he made up for it in kindness, acceptance, and all-around goodness. It was always surprising to her that he hadn’t been a top pick for Hufflepuff. But then again, his actions their first year gave insight to his true potential.
“Hullo Neville. How are you coming along with the Charms essay?” she asked, setting her bag down next to her.
“Not very good. I’ve got all the ideas but I’m not quite sure how to put them down. I may need some more help…” he admitted bashfully, looking down to his plate.
“That’s alright Neville. That’s a fairly common problem. I’d be more than hap—”
“Why are you sitting here?” Harry cut her off. Hermione, shocked by his outburst, was at a loss for words. “I don’t appreciate you sitting with me just to act spy for Ron,” he spat bitterly, not even looking up from his food.
“Harry, I’m not—”
“Look, I know how you and Ron feel, and I know how everyone else feels. So just stop pretending,” he snarled harshly, looking up at her with cold eyes. Hermione pursed her lips and stood, utterly embarrassed. She tried hard not to look at Neville’s pitying face as she lifted her book bag onto her shoulder and walked to an empty spot at the table. Staring at the wood grain of the tabletop, Hermione wondered if it was even worth trying to eat something. Willing herself not to cry, a movement caught the corner of her eye and voices began to speak to her.
“Not hungry Granger?”
“That’s a shame. The spread looks exceptionally delicious tonight.”
“He’s right. I think it might be the house elves trying to show off for the new guests.”
“We have a bet going as for how long they’ll keep it up.”
“George here thinks it will be over by January.”
“But Fred insists that it will keep up till Durmstrang and Beauxbatons leave.”
“What’s your take on it, Granger?”
Hermione lifted her head and stared at the red-headed twin sitting next to her in utter confusion. She glanced at his face and recognized him as Fred, but couldn’t manage to process the fact that she had to in fact speak. She must have been staring for too long because Fred pressed further.
“You know, because you know all about them?” He looked at her expectantly, but Hermione’s mind remained a foggy mess.
“What?” she asked dumbly.
“You know, because of all the research you’ve done for your organization. What’s it called again? S.P.E.W.?” George added helpfully from across the table.
“You know about the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare?” said Hermione in surprise.
“Of course—” started Fred.
“How could we not? You’ve given us at least twenty buttons so far this year!”
“To pass out to others! You did pass them out, right?” Hermione looked from Fred to George. The pair wore guilty expressions.
“We may have charmed them to, I guess you could say, spew actual vomit and then pinned them to the back of Filch’s robes,” admitted Fred scratching the back of his head.
“Frederick! I gave you those so people could see them!” Hermione reached forward and started to pile her plate high with potatoes, vegetables, and chicken.
“Well technically, a whole bunch of people saw them,” remarked George, starting to fill his plate as well.
“Unfortunately, it was as Filch was slipping and falling into a giant puddle of vomit,” said Fred with a chuckle, looking skyward at the memory.
Hermione pouted into her chicken, cutting into it with her knife.
“Don’t look so sour Granger. It’s probably for the best—” George reached across the table and grabbed a steaming, buttered roll from a basket “—we’ve been down to the kitchens loads of times and not a single one of them gives a toss about house elf rights. In fact, they view the idea of getting paid for their work as insulting.”
“That’s because they don’t know any better!” cried Hermione, throwing down her fork.
“Now Granger, don’t go infantilizing them. If they’re smart enough for you to think they should be equal members of society, then they’re smart enough to decide whether they want to be paid or not for their work,” Fred chided, picking up his napkin and wiping at the corner of his mouth.
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but found, very surprisingly, that she had nothing to say. She’d never considered that before. Curiously, she stared at Fred. He had a very valid point. It still rubbed her the wrong way when she thought about it. To enslave an entire race of individuals and not pay them or give them any choice? They had no real rights, no real say in anything. Some of them were treated so poorly they resorted to punishing themselves. In the muggle world, something like that would have started wars. But things were different in the wizarding world. There were customs she was unfamiliar with and mindsets she couldn’t begin to understand. She continued to muse on the topic as they sat eating silently. Once she had had her fill, Hermione took a sip of pumpkin juice and asked the question that had been on her mind all throughout dinner.
“Why are you two sitting with me and not your friends?”
She felt the heavy weight of Fred’s arm fall over her shoulders and she looked up at him.
“Are we not allowed to partake in the loveliness of your warm and inviting personality Granger?” he teased, calling out the brashness of her behavior thus far.
“Yeah, maybe we genuinely want to spend time with our favorite little book worm,” added George with a wink.
“Or, maybe you remembered that I promised to tell you how you could have gotten past the age barrier on the goblet and now you’re looking for me to pay up,” Hermione pointed out rolling her eyes.
“Drats Freddie! She’s figured us out.”
“Told you she would Georgie. She’s too bright to let our trickery get past her.”
“Brightest witch of our age I hear.”
“Really? Of our age? Imagine that.”
Hermione couldn’t help but smile at their banter. It wasn’t every day her intelligence was praised as opposed to ridiculed. “Are you two quite done or do you not wish to hear my secrets?”
“Alright Granger let’s hear it then. Where did we go wrong?” Fred asked taking his arm off her shoulder and turning on the bench to face her. Hermione glanced between the two expectant faces and then began.
“Well there are three ways in which you could have gotten your names into the goblet. The first two have to do with maturity—”
“Maturity? I happen to be quite mature, thank you!” George stated in mock hurt.
“Right…and the third has to do with common sense.”
“She’s got us there Georgie. That is something we tend to lack,” Fred added sarcastically.
“To be fair, you two had the right idea when you made the aging potion. However, it’s not enough for you to appear a few months older. It’s your soul as well as your body that must age,” Hermione continued. She appeared to now have the twins’ full attentions.
“How would we do that then?” Fred ask earnestly.
“The first way of course would have been to wait until you turned seventeen, somehow come into possession of a time-turner, sent yourself into the past and then put your names in the goblet. However, it’s extremely ill-advised and dangerous to meddle with time and so it’s probably best that you didn’t do that. Not to mention, time-turners are highly regulated and incredibly hard to get your hands on. The second way would have been with a maturing draught. The first difficulty with that is the rarity and price of the ingredients. The second is that the potion becomes more complicated and takes longer to make as the amount you want to mature increases and for you two, I imagine it would have taken a very long time for you to brew.” She ended her last comment with a smirk, chest swelling with pride as the twins’ mouths hung open.
“Did you just hear that Freddie? I think our little Granger just made a joke.”
“And at our expense it seems.”
Hermione let out a small laugh before continuing, “Of course that is all conjecture.”
“Wait. So, it’s all just theory then! You have no idea if that would even work?” George exclaimed.
“Brightest witch of our age indeed…” Fred added, earning a playful slap from the witch sitting next to him.
“Well it’s not as if Dumbledore took me aside and told me exactly how to get past the age line. But I think those are as good as any theory you’re likely to hear!” she defended herself.
“What was the third way? You said there was a third way. Hopefully, this one is better than conjecture.” George rolled his eyes.
“Well isn’t it obvious?” Hermione asked, looking between the two.
“Obviously not,” said Fred.
“You could have just bribed an older student to put your names in for you,” Hermione stated plainly. There was a moment of silence amongst the group, and then all three burst into laughter. Their cries turned heads from all around the Great Hall, but none of them seemed to notice or care.
“There was no way that George or I were going to spend our heard-earned sickles on some seventh-year prat for a chance at eternal fame and glory!” Fred stated when he finally found his breath.
“Yeah, not when we can get that all on our own!” agreed George.
“Goblet be damned!” Fred exclaimed loudly, standing up to make his point. Hermione quickly grabbed him by his robes and pulled him back down, embarrassed by his outburst but still laughing all the same.
“To be fair, we did try and bribe Jordan with some very enticing Honeydukes chocolate, but he wouldn’t go for it! Can you believe that? Some friend he is…” George shook his head in disappointment.
“Gee, I can’t imagine why a few chocolate frogs didn’t convince him to aid in your rule breaking,” Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed.
“What’s wrong with chocolate frogs?!” the twins asked together.
“I think we should head back to the tower,” said Hermione, looking around her with a surprised expression.
Fred stopped and did the same only to realize that the Great Hall was nearly empty. It seems while they were busy talking and laughing, the rest of the school had left to go about their nights. Fred found that once he and George got the little witch to open up, it was like a faucet with a broken tap. The bushy-haired girl gushed with charisma, humor, and wit. In fact, she spoke as if no one ever asked her about her interests before. He thought that was quite possibly true as all the times he observed the “Golden Trio” in the past, it was usually Ron and Harry talking about quidditch and then rolling their eyes whenever Hermione spoke about anything. Could it be that none of her friends showed any interest in her? Fred couldn’t help but notice the bit of fire hiding behind her eyes when she spoke about magical creature equality, books she had read recently, or subjects she just learned in class. It was the same fire he saw in her more and more these days; he saw it back at the burrow when they talked in the kitchen, in the hallways when he walked her back to the common room, in the woods when they…Fred shook his head of the memory. Nevertheless, there was something about that fire, that strength she showed that absolutely intrigued him.
Standing from their place at the table, they made their way toward Gryffindor tower, continuing their conversation.
“You’re telling me there’s no market for love potions?” George asked incredulously.
“I’m not saying there isn’t some market for it. I’m merely saying they’re silly, and highly dangerous when you think about it. I can’t believe they’re not banned!” cried Hermione, tucking a curl behind her ear. Fred, too engrossed with the movement of her hand, neglected to chime in on the argument.
“Come on Hermione, they’re not as bad as you’re making them out to be.” George rolled his eyes.
“Really?—” Hermione spun on the spot, walking backwards as she spoke “—Okay, for the pure purpose of debate let’s say I was to concoct a love potion and give it to Fred.”
That sentence caught Fred’s attention quite well.
“Go on,” spoke Fred and George.
“And let’s say that as a result he fell madly in love with me. You wouldn’t see anything wrong with that?”
Fred snorted. “Aside from being in love with a little swot?”
Hermione shot him a dirty look.
“The potion would wear off eventually,” challenged George, clearly still operating within the confines of their argument.
“Not if I kept giving it to him—oof!” Hermione’s sentence was cut short by running into a solid stone bannister at the end of the corridor. Dropping her book bag with a loud thump, her eyes grew large as she started to fall backwards. Using his quidditch reflexes, Fred reached out and grabbed the witch by the forearm before she could topple over the bannister and down the many floors. Once Hermione was set right on her feet, Fred grabbed her book bag from the ground and flung it over his shoulder. Despite the strength he had from many years of quidditch, Fred still gave a little groan at the sheer weight of it.
“Merlin, Hermione. What do you have in here? The entire library?”
“Just the necessities! If you’re going to complain, I can just carry it myself.” Hermione reached for her bag, but Fred swiftly avoided her.
“Now, now. I wasn’t complaining! I’m just surprised you can lift it,” remarked Fred, as they began to walk towards the tower once more.
“What? Because I’m a girl I can’t carry a heavy bag?”
“I think he’s more referring to the fact that you look like you weigh barely eight stone dripping wet and your arms are about a thick as a Bowtruckle’s,” laughed George, pinching Hermione’s arm through her thick sweater.
“I’ll have you know I’m not as feeble as you make me out to be,” sniffed Hermione.
“You hear that Freddie? She’s not as feeble as we make her out to be.”
Fred knew the tone in George’s words all too well. Briefly sharing a wicked grin, the two swooped down and lifted Hermione into the air. She put up a good fight, Fred had to admit that, but in the end, she relented, George’s arms linked under her armpits and Fred’s hands grasped firmly around her ankles. The twins laughed obnoxiously as they rounded the last corner up the stairs and came to the portrait entrance to Gryffindor tower.
“Okay, you can put me down now. You’ve had your laugh!”
“What do you think Freddie? Have we had our fill?” George asked, beaming at his twin.
Fred pursed his lips, pretending to think on the subject for a moment before he shook his head from side to side. “Nah, I don’t think we have. Balderdash!” he yelled the password to the Fat Lady with excess enthusiasm, gripping Hermione tighter when she began to thrash, realizing they were carrying her into the common room.
“Make way, fresh catch of the day!” yelled George over the crowd of Gryffindor students.
“Fred! George! Put me down!”
The two ignored her, grinning from ear to ear as they parted through their interested peers, obviously surprised to see such a sight. It wasn’t uncommon for Fred and George to make a ruckus in the common room, but to make one that included Hermione Granger? Absolutely unheard of.
“Oi!” barked Lee Jordan from a nearby table. “What have you two got there?”
“Oh, this here?” asked Fred casually. “Well while we were out, George and I thought we’d do a bit of bird hunting.”
The comment earned him a few laughs, filling Fred with pride.
“And believe me, she wasn’t the easiest of prey. Isn’t that right Fred?” George asked his brother.
“I wouldn’t say that George. I’d say she nearly leapt into our arms. She did threaten to slip me a love potion.”
That comment earned him a swift kick from Hermione’s right foot. Not paying attention, the kick landed squarely in his gut and Fred dropped her legs as he wrapped his arms ‘round his middle. Now able to use the leverage of her feet, Hermione pulled out of George’s grasp and grabbed her book bag from Fred’s shoulder. She took a moment to stare down at Fred, as he stood doubled over in pain. Her brown eyes narrowed down at him, her hair falling around her face.
“If I had a love potion, you’d be the last person I’d waste it on, Frederick Weasley,” Hermione stated plainly, before patting him lightly on the head and walking towards the girls’ dormitories.
A smattering of ‘oohs’ came from the crowd around them, and Fred had to fight very hard not to go red as he straightened out and watched Hermione Granger exited the common room. Despite having embarrassed him, he couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face as he watched the curly headed girl walk up the stairs with a bounce in her step. He couldn’t wait to see how she would surprise him next.
Chapter 8 >>
Taglist:
@theworldisugly-22
#fremione#fred x hermione#fanfic#fanfiction#slow burn#harry potter#friends to lovers#angst#mutual pining
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May 14: Soulbonding/soulmates
It was said that humans originally had two heads, four arms, and four legs. Zeus being terrified of them used a lighting bolt and split them in half. Now people were cursed with the task of finding their other half; their “soulmate” as some put it. Damian had thought this to be utter bullshit, for two reasons.
From a logical standpoint it didn’t make much sense. Wouldn’t your “other half” be the same sex as you? Yes he knew that people of the same sex got together - quite honestly Damian didn’t even know homophobia was a thing, he didn’t understand why people were so concerned about something that had nothing to with them. Even then, wouldn’t that mean you were falling in love with yourself?
He had lived in a world where love wasn’t a possibility. After leaving Nanda Parbat, and being forced to attend school, he realized that most people had children with someone they were in love with. His Father wasn’t in love with his Mother -which he completely understood- and was only conceived because Talia had slipped Bruce a roofie.
Damian found this whole theory to be bullshit and wouldn’t be surprised if it’s what hopeless romantics tell themselves. No, Damian Wayne refused to believe that there was someone like him. That walking on this earth, or any planet, was his other half. It was illogical and stupid to think otherwise.
Then he met Raven
Originally he had thought that he was genetically modified to not feel the emotion of love. But somewhere along the way he found this thought to be wrong. At first he hated the way it made him feel, not having control over himself and experiencing new emotions. He knew his Father and Grayson would be happy that he was finally feeling something other than anger and was getting the chance to dive into the depths that are emotions. But he was not a fan of this one.
With anger or hate he could control it easily, flawlessly. This one decided it wasn’t leaving without a fight. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Raven and would sometimes have to force himself to look away. He knew she had caught him staring sometimes, luckily she never brought it up. He hated that it seemed like he had no control over his body, never getting the chance to just be himself around her anymore.
Somewhere in the midst of this war he grew to like the feeling. Sure it wasn’t fun seeing Raven get hurt or knowing that she was constantly fighting a battle within herself. But he learned that the fights and bruises came with the job and she could handle it. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. It was this warm fuzzy feeling, one that he had grown accustomed to.
Raven could never feel his emotion unless she really wanted to depict them. He had a good grasp on them and his true feelings were always covered by a thick layer of hate and anger. So he didn’t fear that she would find out through her abilities. He made sure not to do anything unusual or out of the ordinary. He had a lot of self control, more than most people realized.
He assumed that this feeling would go away; and while he waited he relished in this new emotion, liking the warmth it brought, in a way different from anger. Although he liked the feeling he knew that it would dissipate, thinking of his infatuation with Raven just that, infatuation. Just some silly, meaningless crush. He was wrong.
What he expected to go away in a couple of weeks had only grown in months that followed. Slowly the balance that his feeling had been under started to shift. Anger and hatred were no longer his dominant emotion. This new and unnerving emotion was.
Sure he had welcomed it when he thought that it wasn’t a big deal, but this was a big deal. He knew Raven could feel the shift in his emotions, and that scared him more than anything. Anyone else, if it had been anyone else he wouldn’t have cared. He might have even told them, but not Raven. Not only could he lose her friendship -which he valued more than he cared to admit- he would lose her altogether. Lose her trust. Lose those rare but breathe taking smiles that she reserved for him and him alone. Lose their early morning chats and afternoon tea. Lose seeing the grateful way she handled herself in battle. He didn’t want to lose that, any of that.
He needed to make sure that she didn’t know; to get away from her, then she wouldn’t be able to sense it. So one day he packed for The Wayne Manor. He knew that if he left The Titans without a word his Father would be upset, but he didn’t have time to gain his approval. It was around midnight when he started to pack and knew that by the time the rest of The Titans awoke he would be on a plane to Gotham. it was a flawless plan; pack when everyone was asleep, slip out of the tower soundlessly, arrive in Gotham later that day. Everything was going accordingly, that was until a knock came on the door.
Tensing up for a bit, he moved his duffle bag under his bed before going to open the door. The sight that beheld him was not one he had seen in a while. a trembling, on the verge of a panic attack, Raven. Most heroes suffered from some type of mental illness. None of them could go through what they did and be sane.
For most it was insomnia. For Raven it was anxiety; social anxiety, separation anxiety, anxiety anxiety. He had figured this out when she had rushed out of early morning practice one day. After that he made sure to keep a close eye on her, making sure to be there in case she had another attack. And she hadn’t, not in a while at least
He knew he couldn’t leave her like this. The fuzzy feeling he felt towards the empath wouldn’t let him. So -almost as it was an instinct- he wrapped his arms around her and let her rest against his chest, shaking. He never knew what triggered them, and he never asked. He knew one day that she would tell him and until then he was happy to be there for her. He knew he was risking everything by doing this. He'll be off schedule, but that didn’t matter. None of it mattered when the girl who had captured his heart was breaking right before his eyes.
Half an hour later and she had finally calmed down a bit. They didn’t talk, just stood, embracing one another. Slowly she released herself from his hold on her. It took everything in him not to reach out to grab her, to feel her against him once more. Silently she walked over to his bed and sat down, head in hands. Her hair fell down around her, covering her face in a curtain of hair. She looked so tiny, like she was fragile and if he made the wrong move he could easily break her. Then she looked up at him, eyes slightly puffy and red. Sighing deeply she looked into his maskless eyes.
“What's wrong Damian?” she questioned, motioning for him to come sit down with her. He wanted to be close to her again. But he knew that he had to be cautious and not do or say something that he might regret. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” he replied. She shrugged before laying down on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. “When you first came to The Titans I hated being around you” she said, still not looking at him. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. For the first couple of days she had avoided him.
“I hated being around you because you were always angry. No matter what you felt in that moment -sadness, excitement, happiness, relief- it was always overshadowed by your anger. Whenever I was around you it felt like I was being suffocated by hatred” although he couldn’t see her eyes, he knew that they were clouded over. Like she wasn’t really there with him. She wasn’t really in his room, laying on his bed; she was lost in her mind, thoughts and memories.
“Eventually I learned to bear with it, and after forming the bond I realized that it wasn’t misplaced anger. I wanted nothing more to cure you of it, release you of all of your pent up emotions” he knew what she was referring to. He had seen her do it once before. They were on a late night walk with Titus when they spotted a woman standing on the edge of a building, about to jump. They rushed over to her, trying to talk her down. Raven had reached her hand out for the lady to take, and after a few moments she did.
The woman had embraced the young teen, crying softly. Looking at Damian, Raven’s hands started to glow periwinkle blue. Quickly he realized that she was healing the older woman. He hadn’t seen any injuries, so he was curious to know what exactly the young sorcerer was healing. When the women pulled away she thanked the teens and left. After he had asked her what she did, Raven had told him that she had taken the suicidal feelings away. She said it was like she had allowed the emotions to be reborn.
“But I knew you” the young girl in front of him spoke. “You would never let me do it, so I dealt with the weight of your anger against my empathic shields. It was bearable and I found that I really enjoyed spending time with you. A part of me thought that I’d have to deal with it forever” she had no intentions of letting him slip by her, leaving her. She was going to fight for him to stay. She knew he was planning on leaving tonight, which had actually triggered the attack. Her Father’s nagging definitely didn’t help.
Moving her head to the side to look up at him, holding each other gaze she spoke. “I was wrong” his eyes went wide for a millisecond. She knew. The one thing he didn’t want, that he tried to keep conceal, and she knew. Of course she did, she always knew when it came to him.
Sitting up straight she continued. “I don’t know if you’re less angry, but that's not what I feel from you any more. Sure you still have a bunch of pent up anger but it is no longer your primary emotion. It's not the first thing I sense when I’m near you” she had pushed herself off of the bed. Bending down she took the duffle bag from underneath his bed, placing it on a nearby chair.
“You were going to leave” it wasn't a question but he answered anyway. “Yeah” he whispered, slowly she walked towards him. Stopping when there was only a few inches of space left and he couldn’t help but think about how if he leaned in a bit more…
“You weren’t going to tell me” again, not a question. “No” he said, looking into her impossible purple eyes. He knew that he shouldn’t -maybe it was the way her eyes pleaded with him not to leave- but for some reason he still had hope. Hope that they could continue the way they had, when all he felt was anger. She had known, for how long was still unclear, but she had known. She knew and didn’t treat him any differently, and if he didn’t say it, maybe life could go back to how it was. Alas, life was never that simple.
“Why?” she questioned, placing her hand on his cheek. He simply smiled sadly at her. “I didn’t want it to be you. To fall in love with my best friend, it’s the biggest cliche out there” he laughed humorlessly. “Anyone else. Had it been anyone else and I would have told them, but not you. Because I need you in every way; not just romantically. Platonically, physically, mentally. I need you as a friend and teammate, to have my back in battle and if I told…” he trailed off. Closing his eyes and sighing, he leaned in to her touch. Opening his eyes he could still see the question in them.
“Rejection is painful” he admitted, deciding to start again. “And I could handle it from anyone else. Anyone but you, I can’t handle being rejected by you” he said honestly. Lifting his hand up to hers, he wrapped his fingers over hers. He was about to move her hand off his cheek before she spoke up. “And why in Azar would you think I would reject you?” she asked him, a look of disbelief on her face. Before he could say anything more she closed what little space they had left between them, bringing her mouth to his.
Damian still thought the theory about Zeus splitting people in half was bullshit. But the idea that somebody was out there, that everyone had a soulmate wasn’t an unwelcoming one anymore.
#damirae week 2020#fanfiction#damian x raven#damian#raven#teentitans#this was kinda long#day 14#soulmates#demon birds
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Hesse-Iris
During the spring of his childhood, Anselm used to run joyfully in the green garden. One of his mother’s flowers was called the blue flag, and he was especially fond of it. He used to press his cheek against its tall bright green leaves, touch and feel its sharp points with his fingers, and smell and inhale its wonderful blossoms. Long rows of yellow fingers rose from the pale blue center and stood erect. Between them a light path ran deep down into the calyx and into the distant blue mystery of the blossom. He loved this flower very much and used to stare inside it for moments on end. At times he envisioned the delicate yellow members like a golden fence standing at a king’s garden, and at other times they looked like a double row of beautiful dream trees, and no wind could sway them. The mysterious path into the inner depths ran between them, interlaced with living veins that were as delicate as glass. The vault spread itself out enormously, and the path lost itself infinitely deep between the golden trees in the caverns. Above the path the violet vault bowed majestically and spread thin magic shadows over the silent miracle that was anticipated. Anselm knew that this was the mouth of the flower, that its heart and its thoughts lived behind the splendid yellow protrusions in the blue cavern, and that its breath and its dreams streamed in and out along this glorious bright path with its glassy veins.
Next to the large blooming flowers stood small blossoms that had not yet opened. They were on firm ripe stems in small chalices with brownish-green skin. The young blossoms forced themselves quietly and vigorously from these chalices, tightly wrapped in light green and lilac. Then the young deep violet managed to peer forth erect and tender, rolled into fine points. Veins and hundreds of lines could already be seen on these tightly rolled young petals.
In the morning, each time Anselm came out of the house, drawn from sleep and dreams and faraway places, the garden stood waiting for him. It was always there and always new. If yesterday there had been the hard blue point of a blossom tightly rolled and staring out of a green husk, there was now a young petal that hung thin and blue as the sky with a tongue and a lip, searching and feeling for its form and arch, about which it had been dreaming for a long time. And right at the bottom, where it was still engaged in a quiet struggle with its sheath, a delicate yellow plant with bright veins, one could sense, was preparing its path to a distant fragrant abyss of the soul. Perhaps it would open at noon, perhaps in the evening. A blue silk tent would arch over the golden dream forest, and its first dreams, thoughts, and songs would emanate silently out of the magical abyss.
Then a day would come when the grass was filled with nothing but bluebells. Then a day would come when suddenly a new tone and fragrance enveloped the garden. The first tea rose would hang, soft and golden-red, over the scarlet leaves soaked in sun. Then a day would come when there were no more blue flags. They would be gone. There would be no more path with a golden fence that led gently down into the fragrant mysteries. Stiff leaves would stand sharp and cool like strangers. But red berries would ripen in the bushes, and new, incredible butterflies would fly freely and playfully over the star-shaped flowers, red-brown butterflies with mother-of-pearl backs and hawk moths with wings like glass.
Anselm talked to the butterflies and the pebbles. The beetles and lizards were his friends. Birds told him bird stories. Ferns showed him secretly the brown seeds they had gathered and stored under the roof of the giant leaves. Pieces of green sparkling glass that caught the rays of the sun became for him palaces, gardens, and glistening treasure chambers. If the lilies were gone, then the nasturtiums bloomed. If the tea roses wilted, then the blackberries became brown. Everything fluctuated, was always there and always gone, disappeared and reappeared in its season. Even the scary strange days, when the cold wind clamored in the pine forest and the withered foliage clattered so pale and dead throughout the entire garden, even these days brought still another song, an experience, or a story with them until everything subsided again. Snow fell outside the windows and forests of palms grew on the panes. Angels with silver bells flew through the evening, and the hall and floor smelled from dried fruit. Friendship and trust were never extinguished in that good world, and when once snowdrops unexpectedly shone next to the black ivy leaves and the first early birds flew high through new blue heights, it was as if everything had been there all the time. Until one day, once again, the first bluish point of the bud peered out from the stem of the blue flag, never expected and yet always exactly the way it had to be and always equally desired.
For Anselm, everything was beautiful. Everything was welcome, familiar, and friendly, but the most magical and blessed moment for the boy came each year when the first blue flag appeared. At one time in his earliest childhood dream, he had read the book of wonders for the first time in its chalice. Its fragrance and numerous undulating shades of blue had been for him the call and the key to the creation of the world. The blue flag accompanied him through all the years of his innocence. It had renewed itself with each new summer, had become richer in mystery and more moving. Other flowers had mouths, too. Other flowers also diffused fragrance and thoughts. Others also enticed bees and beetles into their small sweet chambers. But the boy adored the blue flag or iris more than any other flower, and it became most important for him. It was the symbol and example of everything worth contemplating and everything that was miraculous. When he looked into its chalice and, steeped in thought, followed that bright dreamlike path between the marvelous yellow shrubs toward the twilight deep inside the flower, then his soul looked through the gate where appearance becomes an enigma and seeing becomes a presentiment. Even at times during the night he would dream about the chalice of the flower and see it enormously opened in front of him like the gate of a heavenly palace, and he would enter riding on a horse or flying on swans, and the entire world would ride and fly and glide gently with him, drawn by magic down into the glorious abyss where every expectation had to be fulfilled and each presentiment had to become true.
Every phenomenon on earth is symbolic, and each symbol is an open gate through which the soul, if it is ready, can enter into the inner part of the world, where you and I and day and night are all one. Every person encounters the open door here and there in the course of life, and it occurs to everyone at one time or another that everything visible is symbolic and that spirit and eternal life are living behind the symbol. Of course, very few people go through the gate and abandon the beautiful phenomenon of the outside world for the interior reality that they intuit.
It thus appeared to the young boy Anselm that the chalice of his flower was the open, silent question toward which his soul was moving in growing anticipation of a blessed answer. Then the lovely multitude of things drew him away again, in conversations and games with grass and stones, roots, bushes, animals, and all the friendly aspects of the world. He often drifted off and sank into deep contemplation of himself. He would abandon himself to the marvelous features of his body, feel his swallowing with closed eyes, his singing, the strange sensations as he breathed, the feelings and imaginings in his mouth and throat. He also groped there for the path and the gate through which one soul can go to another. With amazement he observed the meaningful and colorful figures that often appeared to him out of the purple darkness when he closed his eyes, with spots and half circles of blue and deep red and bright glassy lines in between. Sometimes Anselm experienced a glad and shocking jolt as he felt the hundreds of intricate connections between eye and ear, smell and taste, felt for beautiful fleeting moments sounds, tones, letters of the alphabet that were related and similar to red and blue, to hard and soft, or he was amazed upon smelling a plant or peeled-off green bark at how strangely close smell and taste were and how often they fused and became one.
All children feel this way, although they do not feel it with the same intensity and sensitivity. And with many of them all of this is already gone, as if it had never existed, even before they begin to learn how to read the alphabet. For others, the mystery of childhood remains close to them for a long time, and they take a remnant and echo of it with them into the days of their white hair and weariness. All children, as long as they still live in the mystery, are continuously occupied in their souls with the only thing that is important, which is themselves and their enigmatic relationship to the world around them. Seekers and wise people return to these preoccupations as they mature. Most people, however, forget and leave forever this inner world of the truly significant very early in their lives. Like lost souls they wander about for their entire lives in the multicolored maze of worries, wishes, and goals, none of which dwells in their innermost being and none of which leads them to their innermost core and home.
The summers and autumns of Anselm’s childhood came softly and went without making a sound. Time and again the snowdrops, violets, lilies, periwinkles, and roses bloomed and withered, beautiful and sumptuous as ever. He experienced it all with them. Flowers and birds spoke to him. Trees and springs listened to him, and he took his first written letters and his first problems with friends in his customary old way to the garden, to his mother, to the bright multicolored stones alongside the flower beds.
But one time a spring arrived that did not sound or smell like all the earlier ones. The blackbird sang, and it was not the old song. The blue iris blossomed, but there were no dreams and no fairy-tale figures wandered in and out along the golden-fenced path of its chalice. The hidden strawberries laughed from their green shadows, and the butterflies glittered and tumbled over the high lilies, but nothing was as it used to be. The boy was concerned with other things, and he had many quarrels with his mother. He himself did not know what the matter was or why it continued to disturb him. He only saw that the world had changed and that the friendships of earlier times had dissolved and left him alone.
A year went by like this, and then another, and Anselm was no longer a child. The brightly colored stones around the flower beds bored him. The flowers were mute, and he stuck the beetles on pins in a box. His soul had taken the long hard detour, and the old joys were vanquished and withered.
The young man rushed impetuously into life, which now seemed to him to have really begun. The world of symbols was blown away and forgotten. New wishes and paths enticed him. An aura of childhood could still be seen in his blue eyes and soft hair. However, he did not appreciate being reminded of it, and he cut his hair short and assumed as bold and worldly a posture as he could. His moods kept changing as he stormed through the scary pubescent years, at times a good student and friend, at other times lonely and shy. During his first youthful drinking bouts, he tended to be wild and boisterous. He had been compelled to leave home and saw it only when he returned on short visits to his mother. He was changed, grown, well dressed. He brought friends with him, brought books with him, always something else, and when he walked through the old garden, it appeared to him to be small and silent as he glanced about distractedly. He no longer read stories in the colorful veins of the stones and leaves. He no longer saw God and eternity dwelling in the mysterious blossoms of the blue iris.
Anselm went away to high school and then college. He returned to his home city with a red cap and then with a yellow one, with fuzz on his upper lip and then with a young beard. He brought books in foreign languages with him, and one time a dog. Soon he carried secret poems in a leather case in his breast pocket, then copies of ancient proverbs, and finally pictures of pretty girls and their letters. He came back from trips to foreign countries and took voyages on large ships across the sea. He returned and was a young teacher, wearing a black hat and dark gloves, and the old neighbors tipped their hats to him as he passed and called him professor, even though he had not yet become one. Once again he returned wearing black clothes, slim and somber, and walked behind the slow hearse upon which his old mother lay in the coffin adorned with flowers. And then he rarely returned.
Now Anselm lived in a big city, where he taught students at the university and was regarded as a famous scholar. He went about, took walks, sat and stood exactly like other people of the world. He wore a fine hat and coat, was serious or friendly, with lively and sometimes tired eyes. He was a gentleman and a scholar, just as he had wanted to become. But now he felt the exact same way that he had felt when his childhood came to an end. All of a sudden he felt the impact of many years sliding by that left him standing strangely alone and discontent in the middle of the world that he had always strived to attain. He was not genuinely happy as a professor. He was not deeply gratified to be greeted by the people of the city and the students who showed him great respect. Everything seemed dull and lifeless. Happiness lay once again far away in the future, and the way toward it seemed hot and dusty and ordinary.
It was during this time that Anselm made frequent visits to the house of a friend whose sister attracted him. He no longer felt at ease running after pretty faces. Here, too, he had changed, and he felt that happiness had to come for him in some special way and did not lie waiting for him behind each and every window. He liked the sister of his friend very much, and he often suspected that he was truly in love with her. But she was an unusual girl. Every one of her moves and words was unique and marked in a certain way, so that it was not always easy to keep pace with her and find the same rhythm. Sometimes in the evening, when Anselm walked back and forth in his lonely apartment and listened attentively to his own footsteps echoing through the empty rooms, he would argue with himself about this woman. She was older than the wife he had desired. She was very peculiar, and it would be difficult to live with her and to pursue his scholarly goals, for she did not like to hear anything about academics. Also, she was not strong and healthy and could not put up with parties and company very well. She preferred most of all to live with flowers and music and to have a book, in quiet solitude. She waited for someone to come to her, and she let the world take its course. Sometimes she was so fragile and sensitive that when anything strange happened to her, she easily burst into tears. Then there were times when she would glow quietly and softly in happy solitude, and anyone who saw this felt how difficult it would be to give something to this strange beautiful woman and to mean something to her. Sometimes Anselm believed that she loved him, and at other times it seemed to him that she did not love anyone. It appeared that she was just tender and friendly with everyone and wanted nothing from the world but to be left in peace. However, he wanted something more from life, and if he were to marry, then there had to be life and excitement and hospitality in his home.
“Iris,” he said to her, “dear Iris, if only the world had been differently arranged! If there were nothing at all but a beautiful, gentle world with flowers, thoughts, and music, then I would wish for nothing but to be with you my entire life, to listen to your stories, and to share in your thoughts. Just your name makes me feel good. Iris is a wonderful name. But I have no idea what it reminds me of.”
“You certainly know,” she responded, “that the blue flag flower is called iris.”
“Yes,” he responded with a feeling of discomfort. “Of course, I know it, and just that in itself is very beautiful. But whenever I say your name, it seems to remind me of something else. I don’t know what it is, but it’s as if it were connected to some very deep, distant, and important memories, and yet I don’t know what they could be and haven’t found the slightest clue.”
Iris smiled at him as he stood there helplessly, rubbing his forehead with his hand.
“That’s how I feel,” she said to Anselm in her voice that was as light as a bird, “whenever I smell a flower. Then my heart tells me each time that a memory of something extremely beautiful and precious is connected to the fragrance, something that had been mine long ago and became lost. It’s also the same with music, and sometimes with poems — all of a sudden something flashes, just for a moment, as if all at once I saw my lost home below in a valley, and then it immediately disappears and is forgotten. Dear Anselm, I believe that we are on earth for this purpose, for contemplating and searching and listening for lost remote sounds, and our true home lies behind them.”
“How beautifully you put all this!” Anselm complimented her, and he felt something stir in his own breast almost painfully, as if a hidden compass there were pointing persistently to its distant goal.
But that goal was completely different from the goal he sought, and this hurt. Was it worthy of him to gamble away his life in dreams by chasing after pretty fairy tales?
One day after Anselm had returned from a lonely journey, he found the stuffy atmosphere in his barren study to be so cold and oppressive that he rushed over to his friend’s house and asked the beautiful Iris for her hand.
“Iris,” he said to her, “I don’t want to continue living like this. You’ve always been my good friend. I must tell you everything. I must have a wife, otherwise I feel my life will be empty and without meaning. And whom else should I wish for my wife but you, my dear flower? Will you accept, Iris? You’ll have flowers, as many as I can find. You’ll have the most beautiful garden. Will you come and live with me?”
Iris looked at him for a long time, calmly and straight into his eyes. She did not smile or blush as she answered him with a firm voice.
“Anselm, I’m not astonished by your proposal. I love you, although I had never thought of becoming your wife. But look, my friend, I’d make great demands on the man I marry. I’d make greater demands than most women make. You’ve offered me flowers, and you mean well. But I can live without flowers and also without music. I could do without all of this and much more if I had to. However, there’s one thing I can’t and won’t do without: I can never live, not even just for a day, if the music in my heart is not at the core of everything I do. If I am to live with a man, then it must be one whose inner music harmonizes perfectly in a delicate balance with mine, and his desire must be to make his own music pure so that it will blend nicely with mine. Can you do that, my friend? If you do, you’ll probably not achieve fame and reap any more honors. Your house will be quiet, and the wrinkles that I’ve seen on your forehead for many years will have to be erased. Oh, Anselm, it won’t work. Look, you’re one of those who must study so that more and more wrinkles appear on your forehead, and you must constantly create more and new worries for yourself. And whatever I may mean and am, well, you may certainly love and find it pretty, but it is merely a pretty toy for you, as it is for most people. Oh, listen to me carefully: Everything that you now consider a toy is for me life itself and would have to be the same for you, and everything about which you worry and for which you strive, I consider a toy and not worth living for. I’m not going to change, Anselm, for I live according to a law that is inside me. Will you be able to change? And you would have to become completely different, if I were to become your wife.”
Anselm stood and could not utter a word, for he was startled by her willpower, which he had thought was weak and whimsical. He was silent, and without realizing it, he crushed a flower he had picked up from the table with his shaking hand.
When Iris gently took the flower out of his hand, it felt in his heart like a severe reproach, but then she suddenly smiled brightly and lovingly as though she had unexpectedly found a way out of the darkness.
“I have an idea,” she said softly, and blushed as she spoke. “You’ll find it strange. It will seem like a whim to you. But it’s not a whim. Do you want to hear it? And will you agree to follow it and allow it to decide everything between you and me?”
Without understanding her, Anselm glanced at Iris with a worried look in his pale features. Her smile compelled him to trust her, and he said yes.
“I’d like to set a task for you,” Iris said, and she became serious again very quickly.
“Very well, do it. It’s your right,” her friend conceded.
“I’m serious about this,” she said. “And it is my final word. Will you accept it as it comes straight from my heart and not haggle and bargain about it, even if you don’t understand it right away?”
Anselm promised. Then she stood up and offered him her hand as she said, “You’ve said to me many times that whenever you speak my name, it reminds you of something that you’ve forgotten, something that was once very important and holy to you. That’s a sign, Anselm, and that’s what has drawn you to me all these years. I also believe that you’ve lost and forgotten something important and holy in your soul that must be wakened again before you can find your happiness and attain your destiny. Farewell, Anselm! I’m giving you my hand and asking you to go and find whatever it is in your memory that is linked to my name. On the day that you rediscover it, I’ll become your wife and go with you wherever you want, and your desires will be my very own.”
Anselm was dismayed and confused and wanted to interrupt her and reproach her for making such a whimsical demand. But with one clear look, she admonished him and reminded him of his promise, and he kept quiet. He took her hand with lowered eyes, pressed it to his lips, and departed.
Anselm had undertaken and completed many tasks in his life, but none had been as strange and important and thus as discouraging as this one. Day after day he ran around and thought about it until he became tired, and time and again he would arrive at a point when he cursed the entire quest and angrily and desperately tried to dismiss it from his mind as the whim of a female. But then something deep within him would oppose this, a very slight mysterious pain, a very soft, barely audible warning. This faint voice in his own heart conceded that Iris was right, and it made the same demand that she did.
But this task was much too difficult for the learned man. He was supposed to remember something that he had long since forgotten. He was supposed to rediscover a single golden thread from the cobweb of buried years. He was supposed to grasp something with his hands and bring it to his beloved, something that was nothing but a drifting bird call, something like a pleasant or sad feeling that one has while listening to music, something thinner, more fleeting and more ethereal than an idea, something more transitory than a nocturnal dream, more shapeless than a morning mist.
Sometimes when he despairingly tossed his search to the winds and gave up in a terrible mood, he would unexpectedly be stirred by something like a breath of air from distant gardens. He would whisper the name Iris to himself, ten times and more, softly and playfully, like one testing a note on a taut string. “Iris,” he whispered, “Iris,” and he felt something move within him with a slight pain, as in an old abandoned house when a door opens and a shutter slams without cause. He examined memories that he thought he had ordered neatly within himself, and he made strange and disturbing discoveries in the process. His treasure of memories was infinitely smaller than he had imagined. Entire years were missing and stood empty, and when he tried to recall them, they were like blank pages. He found that he had great difficulty conceiving a clear picture of his mother once again. He had completely forgotten the name of a girl whom he had ardently pursued for one year during his youth. He recalled a dog that he had once bought on an impulse during his student years and that he had kept for some time. It took him some days before he could remember the name of the dog.
With growing sorrow and fear, the poor man painfully saw how wasted and empty the life that lay behind him had become. It no longer belonged to him but was strange and disconnected, like something once memorized that could be recalled only with difficulty in the form of barren fragments. He began to write. He wanted to write down, year by year, his most important experiences in order to get a firm hold on them again. But what were his most important experiences? Becoming a professor? Receiving his doctorate? His high school or university days? Forming short attachments and liking different girls in forgotten times? Terrified, he looked up. Was that life? Was that all? He slapped his forehead and could not stop himself from laughing compulsively.
Meanwhile time flew. It had never flown by so quickly and relentlessly! A year was gone, and it seemed to him that he was in exactly the same position that he had been when he left Iris. However, he had changed a great deal during this time, something that everyone saw and knew except him. He had become both older and younger. He had become practically a stranger to his acquaintances, who regarded him now as absentminded, moody, and odd. He gained the reputation of a strange eccentric, and people said it was a shame about him, but he had remained a bachelor too long. Sometimes he forgot his responsibilities at the university, and his students waited for him in vain. Sometimes, steeped in thought, he would meander down a street and walk by houses, brushing the dust from the ledges with his tattered coat as he passed. Many thought he had taken to drink. Other times he would stop right in the middle of a lecture in front of his students and try to remember something. Then his face would break into a childlike smile that was very soft and unusual for him, and he would continue his lecture in a warm and moving tone that stirred the hearts of many of his students.
After years of searching hopelessly for the fragrances and scattered traces of his remote past, Anselm had developed a new sensitivity that he himself could not recognize. It seemed to him more and more frequently that behind what he had previously called memories were even more memories, like an old painted wall where sometimes even older pictures lie concealed behind the old ones that have been painted over. He wanted to recall something like the name of a city where he had once spent some days as a traveler, or the birthday of a friend, or anything at all, and as he now dug up and rummaged through a small piece of the past as though it were debris, something entirely different occurred to him in a flash. A breeze surprised him like an April morning wind or like a misty day in September. He smelled a fragrance. He tasted a flavor. He felt dark tender sensations here and there on his skin, in his eyes, in his heart, and gradually it became clear to him: There must have been a day one time, blue and warm, or cool and gray, or some kind of day, and the essence of this day must have been caught within him and clung there as a dark memory. He could not determine exactly the spring or winter day that he distinctly smelled and felt in the real past. He could not name or date it. Perhaps it had been during his student days. Perhaps he had still been in the cradle, but the fragrance was there, and he felt something within him that he did not recognize and could not name or determine. Sometimes it seemed to him as though these memories reached back beyond life into a previous existence, although he smiled at the thought.
Anselm found many things during his helpless wanderings through the caverns of his memory. He found many things that moved and gripped him, and many things that scared him and made him anxious, but he did not find the one thing that signified the name Iris for him.
One time, in the midst of his torment over not being able to find his goal, he went back to visit his old home city, saw the woods and streets, the paths and fences again, stood in the old garden of his childhood, and felt the waves surge over his heart. The past enveloped him like a dream. Sad and silent, he returned to the city and told everyone that he was sick and had all visitors sent away.
However, one visitor insisted on seeing him. It was his friend, whom he had not seen since the day he had asked Iris to become his wife. This man came and saw Anselm sitting in a neglected condition in his dismal apartment.
“Get up,” he said to him, “and come with me. Iris wants to see you.”
Anselm jumped up.
“Iris! What’s wrong with her? Oh, I know, I know!”
“Yes,” said his friend. “Come with me. She’s going to die. She’s been sick a long time.”
They went to see Iris, who lay on a sofa, light and slender like a child, and she smiled cheerfully with magnified eyes. She gave Anselm her soft white child’s hand, which lay like a flower in his, and her face was as though transfigured.
“Anselm,” she said, “are you angry with me? I set a hard task for you, and I see you’ve kept your pledge. Keep searching and keep going until you reach your goal! You thought you were doing it for my sake, but you’ve really been doing it for your own. Do you know that?”
“I suspected it,” Anselm replied, “and now I know. It is a long way, Iris, and I would have turned back some time ago, but I can no longer find my way back. I don’t know what will become of me.”
She peered into his sad eyes and gave him a slight and consoling smile. He bent over her thin hand and wept for a long time, so that her hand became wet from his tears.
“What will become of you?” she said with a voice that was only like a glimmer of memory. “You must not ask what will become of you. You have searched a great deal in your life. You have sought honor and happiness and knowledge, and you’ve sought me, your little Iris. All these things were only pretty images, and they abandoned you as I must leave you, I, too, have experienced this. I always searched, and I kept finding lovely and beautiful pictures, and they kept fading and vanishing. Now I have no more pictures. I’m no longer searching. I’ve returned home and have only one more step to take, and then I’ll be home. You, too, will arrive there, Anselm, and you won’t have any more wrinkles on your forehead.”
She was so pale that Anselm cried out in desperation. “Oh, wait, Iris! Don’t go yet! Give me a sign that I won’t lose you entirely!”
She nodded and reached into a glass next to her bed and gave him a fresh blue iris in full bloom.
“Here, Take my flower, the iris, and don’t forget me. Search for me, search for the iris. Then you’ll come to me.”
Weeping, Anselm held the flower in his hands. And weeping, he took his leave. When his friend sent news of Iris’s death, he came again and helped adorn her coffin with flowers and lower it into the earth.
Then his life fell to pieces around him. It seemed impossible for him to continue spinning his thread. He gave everything up. He left his position at the university and the city and vanished. He was seen here and there. One time he appeared in his home city and leaned over the fence of the old garden, but when the people asked after him and wanted to look after him, he disappeared into thin air.
He continued to be fond of the blue flag. Whenever he saw these flowers growing, he bent over one, and when he stared into its chalice for a long time, it seemed as though the fragrance and presentiment of all the past and future fluttered toward him out of its blue depths. But he would sadly continue on his way because fulfillment did not come. It was as though he were listening at a half-opened door and heard the most lovely secret breathing behind it, and just when he thought that everything would now be given to him and fulfilled, the door slammed shut, and the wind of the world swept coolly over his loneliness.
His mother spoke to him in his dreams, and now for the first time in years, he felt her body and face very clearly and nearby. And Iris spoke to him, and when he awoke, something continued to ring in his ears, and he would try to recall it the entire day. He did not have a permanent home. He traveled as a stranger through the land, slept in houses and woods, ate bread or berries, drank wine or the dew from the leaves of the bushes.
He was oblivious to everything. Many people considered him a fool. Many thought he was a sorcerer. Many feared him. Many laughed at him. Many loved him. He learned to do things he had never been able to do before — to be with children and take part in their strange games, to talk to a broken twig and a little stone. Winters and summers flew by him. He looked into the chalices of flowers and into brooks and lakes.
“Pictures,” he sometimes said to himself. “They’re all just pictures.”
But he felt something essential inside him that was not a picture, and he followed it. And at times this essence within him would speak, and its voice was that of Iris and that of his mother, and it was consolation and hope. He encountered miracles, and they did not surprise him. And one winter he walked in the snow through a field, and ice had formed on his head. And in the snow he saw an iris stalk standing stiff and slender. It was bearing a beautiful solitary blossom, and he bent over it and smiled, for now he realized what the iris had always reminded him of — he recognized the childhood dream again and saw the light blue path that was brightly veined through the golden pickets leading into the secret heart of the flower, and he knew that everything he had been seeking was there, that this was the essence and no longer a picture.
And once again he was struck by memories. Dreams guided him, and he came upon a hut, where he found some children who gave him milk, and as he played with them, they told him stories. They told him that a miracle had occurred in the forest where the charcoal burners worked. These men had seen the gate of spirits standing open, the gate that opened only once every thousand years. He listened and nodded while envisioning the lovely picture and continued on his way. Ahead of him was a bird singing in the alder bush. It had a strange, sweet voice like the voice of the dead Iris. He followed the bird as it flew and hopped farther and farther over a brook and deep into the forest.
When the bird stopped singing and could no longer be heard or seen, Anselm stopped and looked around him. He was standing in a deep valley in the forest. Water ran softly under wide green leaves. Otherwise everything was quiet and full of expectation. But the bird kept singing inside him with the beloved voice and urged him on until he stood in front of a stone wall covered with moss. A small, narrow gap in the middle of the wall led into the interior of the mountain, and an old man was sitting in front of it. As soon as the man saw Anselm approaching, he stood up and yelled, “Go back! Go back! This is the gate of the spirits. No one has ever returned after entering it.”
Anselm looked up into the rocky entrance. He noticed a blue path that lost itself deep inside the mountain, and golden pillars that stood close together on both sides. The path sank downward as though into the chalice of an enormous flower.
The bird was singing brightly within his breast, and Anselm walked by the guard into the gap between the golden pillars, into the blue mystery of the interior. He was penetrating into Iris’s heart, and it was the blue flag in his mother’s garden into whose blue chalice he floated, and as he quickly approached the golden twilight, all memory and knowledge came to him at once. He felt his hand, and it was small and soft. Voices of love sounded nearby and familiar in his ears, and the glistening golden pillars sparkled as they had in the remote past, during the spring of his childhood.
And the dream that he had dreamed as a small boy was also there again, his dream about entering into the chalice, and behind him the entire world of pictures came and glided with him and sank into the mystery that lies behind all images.
Anselm began to sing softly, and his path sloped gently down into home.
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U’tuulivu Nunh [Crystal] LFRP
@gentlertides:
The Basics ––– –
Age: Early to Mid 20′s (Between 22 to 26, depending on Time antics.)
Birthday: 1st Sun of the 5th Astral Moon
Race: Seeker of the Sun Miqo’te
Gender: Male
Marital Status: Unmarried
Server: Balmung (Crystal DC)
Physical Appearance ––– –
Hair: Shaggy, red hair, usually allowed tof all in his eyes.
Eyes: Soft blue, almost periwinkle in tone.
Height: 5’10″
Build: Extremely thin, almost looks malnourished, with very little muscle tone.
Distinguishing Marks: Has distinct scratch marks down his back and sides. Also always has darker circles under his eyes.
Common Accessories: Tuuli is often seen with his chest or sides bared. He hates restrictive clothing, and will never wear anything that covers his upper half too much. Usually, he prefers light-weight fabrics, and wears crystalline accessories...since he finds them pretty and took a fascination to them upon coming to Limsa.
Personal ––– –
Profession: Adventurer, Arcanist
Hobbies: Weaving, Cooking, helping traveling companions with chores
Languages: Eorzean, and conversational Garlean so far, though he’s eager to learn more. Can read Allagan, well enough, but lacks the ability to speak it, and is in study of more written languages.
Residence: Generally tends to fall asleep wherever Tavilan is sleeping at the time, or at whatever inn room he’s nearest to.
Birthplace: Unknown
Religion: Quiet follower of Menphina
Patron Deity: Menphina, the Lover
Fears: Terrified of being used (the wrong way), violent people, other Miqo (sometimes), being alone
Personality: Gentle, loving, believes in the sanctity of life, and love. He wants the best for those around him. Tuuli would forget to sleep, and eat, if he didn’t have someone to remind him, and once he’s attached to someone, he dotes. He’s got a mind that loves to soak up knowledge, studious and bright, Other people are always the most important thing in the world, and whatever he’s doing can wait a few more hours.
Relationships ––– -
Spouse: None [In an open relationship with Tavilan Kagon]
Children: U’Sichana Tuuli, (Many more)
Parents: U’Makhos Tia (Alive) x U'kayden (Alive)
Siblings: U’Trialle Makhos, U’Rudra Tia, U’Msiba Makhos, U’Charon Tia, U’dagor Makhos, U’Algol Nunh (ALL Alive)
Other Relatives: Too many to list. Way too many.
Pets: None yet.
Traits ––– -
* Bold your character’s answer.
Extroverted / In Between / Introverted
Disorganized / In Between / Organized
Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded
Calm / In Between / Anxious
Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable
Cautious / In Between / Reckless
Patient / In Between / Impatient
Outspoken / In Between / Reserved
Leader / In Between / Follower
Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic
Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic
Traditional / In Between / Modern
Hard-working / In Between / Lazy
Cultured / In Between / Uncultured
Loyal / In Between / Disloyal
Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful
Additional information ––– –
Smoking Habit: No.
Drugs: No.
Alcohol: Is curious, though has never really touched the stuff.
Possible Hooks ––– –
The Scholar: If you haven’t seen him in the Arcanist guild in Limsa, or hanging around the ports and many other guilds, you’ve found him in one of the other massive libraries somewhere in the main cities. U’tuulivu is a man of knowledge, and he’s well known for his love of knowledge. While he’s nervous about taking on jobs alone, he’s always eager to help, and if you tell him you’ve first hand knowledge of some ancient something or other? He’s always eager to listen.
The Storyteller and Traveler: From the time he left his tribe after choosing to renounce the life of a Nunh, Tuuli has heard so many stories. He craves them like a body craves air, and wants nothing more than to hear the stories of every soul he meets, and then to share the stories he hears with the world! The more fantastic, the better! If you have the option to travel, he’ll follow you to the ends of the world. He wants to see it all. His own little corner will never be enough, and there’s far too much he’s never seen before.
Current Scion of the Seventh Dawn: He was just adventuring. He swore that was all it was. It was something fun, a way to get some knowledge and next thing he knew, he got swept up with the Scions. He will never complain, because the things he learns with them far exceeds what he might’ve learned on his own, but goodness, what madness has he gotten pulled in to...
Other: Anything. Any combo, a former lover? Tribe member? Someone who knew him before he ran off? Maybe a family member? It really could be anything! I’m always down to plot, and even open to new-ideas.
What I’m Looking For ––– –
Contacts and Friends!: So, SO new to in-game RP, so I need time and patience, but I would love some new friends and RP contacts.
SHIPS: Tuuli is so sweet and innocent and shy. He needs more corru I mean Ships! Tav will always be a figure in his life, and someone he ships with, but it’s an open relationship <3 He is PANSEXUAL, so it’s totally open to anyone, and will be Poly, once we get him out from under his sweet little shy rock.
Friendships: Tuuli needs some more people who’re willing to pull him out from under his rock.
Shenanigans: Any kind of adventure/scholarly snafus and mishaps.
Slice of Life/Random Interactions: Random and crazy stuff is GREAT.
OOC and Roleplaying Preferences ––– –
I am a Graphic Communications student, who has serious health issues, so my time’s sporadic in-game, but I’m on Tumblr and Discord all the time. We can definitely chat, and try to coordinate things, and I’m always willing to try out new stuff <3
I’m in CST, so I’m usually able to accommodate MOST stuff? But my sleep schedule’s a bit weird, so we have to talk through that.
I’m on Discord a lot, so it’s often the easiest way to get a hold of me.
I’m still very new to in-game RP, and use the PS4 and a Chat Pad, and have super poor eyesight thanks to my health condition, so PLEASE BE PATIENT <3 I’m trying ;3;
OOC TALKING IS MY JAM. I love plotting, and random IC chat, and just...Talking with my partners is so wonderful and amazing and perfect. It makes me happy ;w;.
My home world is Balmung.
Regarding M/ERP: I am more than happy to write it, HOWEVER, YOU MUST BE 18+. I WILL NOT RISK JAIL TIME FOR YOU. I enjoy smut. So much. Like I will write it all day and night if you let me. It is not my be-all, end-all though. I love general interactions~
Contact Information ––– –
Discord - Ask me <3
In Game - U’tuulivu Nunh
Tumblr - @gentlertides
Items in this post subject to change if/when the need arises (regarding roleplay).
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Red Boy Shadow World Chapter:Daisy
Judai hibiki is starting his first year at Duel Academy, while he knew he wasn't the most normal person in the world, this school is whole other league of weirdness! Judai with his friends are gonna have to battle against teachers, fellow students, and even people who really shouldn't be on school property but here they are nonetheless.
Wait they have to fight Shadow duelists, vengeful duel monsters, an the forces of evil on top of that?!?!?! Sheesh these kids wont be able to catch a break!
This can also be red on fanfiction and AO3 under the same names!
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“Judai!”
A never ending void of bright soft colors surround him once more, is this what it felt like to be in a kaleidoscope? His body light, like swimming in zero gravity; a weightless feeling that made him feel as if he was nothing but dust in the air. He was literally at the mercy of the forces around him.
It was amazing!
He kicked his foot out and let out a huff of joy as he was sent spinning in place. Moving his body as if he was swimming in a pool, he careened across the space. This would be more fun if he had someone with hi- a pair of shadowed wings sailed passed him in a series of quick sharp motions. His eyes trying to keep up with the wings, they never strayed far from him but not getting close to him either, as if teasing him to try and catch them.
“Oi Judai!”
A wide smile spread across his face as he kicked off after the shadowy wings laughing as they kept putting themselves in his reach. Just close enough for him to touch, and then pulling away at the last second. A long game of tag that seemed to have no end in sight, a distorted warm laughter filling his ears making his heart feel full and feather light.
“Judai it’s time to wake up!”
And then darkness.
Judai hit the ground hard, coughing as sand and dust filled his lungs. He rubbed at his eyes to get the tiny grains of particles irritating them out. He kept quickly turning his head looking for the wings from earlier hoping for some help. But there was no light here to help him, none at all―it smelled musty and felt cold like being in a haunted house during the school festivals. The weightlessness gone making his body feels heavy instead as he walked across rough stone and sand.
Chills shook his body and fear choked his voice, unable to call out for the wings. He continued walking in hopes he either finds them or a way out of here. It felt suffocating being here, a disgusting feeling of being watched quickening his pace but the area felt endless. How long was he gonna be here in the dark? Is anyone coming to get him? No, No one is coming to get him, there is no one left to find him anymore. He’s trapped, trapped, trapped, and has been trapped for so long.
Damn those priests, damn the Pharaoh! For taking his home, for taking his body, for taking his heart! Damn the feathered wings which kept him from being whole!
LET ME OUT!!!! I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE IN THIS DARKNESS ANYMORE.
Judai collapse as feelings of hatred, and malice filled him; making him ill from how it seemed to oozed into him slowly like slow running lava. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream!
He wanted to hurt somebody…..He wanted to be WHOLE.
A horrid scream of pain rang in his head as a blinding light burned itself into his vision.
“JUDAI WE’RE GONNA BE LATE!”
A scream trapped in his throat as he ungracefully fell out of bed. His face planting into the ground, his brain rebooting from the sensation of smooth hardwood floor. He bumped straight into his desk and his blaring alarm clock hit him on the way down from the initial hit. Well if he wasn’t already awake.
The nausea that had filled him seem to vanish, what was that strange dream? He never felt like that before. So trapped, so hurt, so angry. He curled the blanket around him tighter hoping it could ward away the chills of fear that still seem to have a hold on him. A soft touch like wings seem to shake his hair and caress his cheek and he leaned into it, thankful for the distraction. Glimpsing at concerned orange and teal as well as gold, his body finally started to relax.
Wanting a distraction he took his surprisingly still ringing alarm into his hand, confused as to WHY, it was ringing. 7:30? Why the heck would he set his alarm so early? He graduated….already…..
…….
“SHIT”
“Judai get up we’re late! We’re super late for the airport! Why did we set the clocks this late!?!? FUCK”
Judai ran out of the bedroom like dragons were nipping at his heels, his clothes and luggage in hand. Chucking the suitcase and duffel bag over the staircase to land on the couch, he sprinted to the bathroom to get ready. A blur of dark red and black passed him out of said bathroom ruffling his hair, muttering dark curses and slamming into their own room.
Frantically he pulled off his pajamas and into his clothes he was going to wear on the plane. His toothbrush nearly choking him as he forgot to take it out as he was changing. A duo of laughter reached his ears but he ignored them in favor of rinsing out his mouth.
He practically flew downstairs and caught the bread aimed at him from his frantic elder sister. Her appearance a little frazzled from the stress of having to plan how they were gonna make it to their flight with their very late wake up call. It would have been comical, if he also wasn’t in the same boat! Adjusting his backpack and checking one last time to see his decks are secured, he hopped over to her putting on his socks and trying not to choke on his breakfast.
“Mihori wha tha heck arrr wey goin cu do?!*GULP* Are we even gonna make it?” Quickly checking over to see if all their suitcases were accounted for. Judai decided to make sure everything in the house was ready for their departure. He doesn’t know how long it will be before he can come back home with his sisters schedule and work at the campus.
“*Gulp* I think so if we break like every speeding law to get there, problem is Miho isn’t here yet and is. Not. Answering. Her. Phone!!” Gritting her teeth in frustration she pulled on her long black locks of hair as if the slight pain would give her a solution. She shoved another piece of bread in her mouth huffing. Judai bit his lip as she saw her cheeks puff like a chipmunk from the way she kept stuffing her mouth. Unable to help himself he started laughing, her confused expression only making it worse. He hands her water to ensure she doesn’t choke, she drained it in relief. Midori’s lips quirked some of the frustration slipping out knowing she must be a sight.
It was so normal, he felt like they were getting better at that as of late. Since Koyo’s not- shaking his hair and biting his lip pretending he was just making fun of Midori, he didn’t want her to see his face knowing the good mood will be ruined.
Judai wished he didn’t feel the lack of presence of a third person who should be there too.
The doorbell rang through the house causing them to freeze their necks nearly snapping as their faces swivel to the door, a young woman with periwinkle hair and a small carefree smile gracing her face walked through the door humming.
“Good morning Little Judai, Mi-chan!”
“MIHO!” ripped out of Midori’s mouth as she launched herself at her friend nearly running Judai over in her haste to either hug or murder the other woman.
“Miho is happy to see you both ready! Miho has drinks and snacks for you to take on your trip!” The casual nonchalant way she was talking to them only made their previous stress returned. This was not the time to chit-chat, didn’t she know the time?!? Judai stopped himself short though as he and Midori looked outside the door that was still open to see the barely peeking light of dawn hitting the street. Miho, bless her, finally took note of their confused tired faces and took pity on them.
“OH that is right! Miho had forgotten to tell you but Miho didn’t want to deal with you you both waking up late again. That really is a terrible habit, Miho recommends breaking it. So she set your clocks back two hours so we could leave on time~” Clasping her hands together in apology she smiled brightly at them as Judai felt himself slide to the floor, at the corner of his eyes Midori ended on her knees as she stared at her friend the look on her face clearly contemplating murder as the cheery woman’s explanation finally hit them.
They stressed for nothing. They were actually on time. Will make their plane trip with snacks too boot, all it did was cost them some sleep and maybe a few years shaved off their lives.
“Pfffttt!”
Judai couldn’t help it! He ended up falling backwards he was laughing so hard; his sister following once the relief finally took hold of her. Miho started to laugh too but he got the feeling she didn’t know why they were laughing, that was fine. Miho got them up and hurried them into the car, repeating that they need to get a move on.
Pushing the last case into the car he turned back to his house, the one he’s nearly been in his whole life and couldn’t help but feel a little sad. It’s gonna be a long while before he can come home….a long while before he gets to visit his brother too. Feeling phantom hands on his shoulders and a slow growing chorus of voices encouraging him, he smiles and enters the car ready to take the next step in his life.
And then come back home to show how much he’s grown as a duelist to Koyo.
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This story is something I've been thinking of for a while and is mostly fueled by me wanting more focus on the friendship and bonds all these kids share, as well as the various side and minor characters we see in cannon(I fuckin love em okay they're all good kids) as well as connect various plots together and put some head cannons in X3. I appreciate feedback on how to improve its been a while since I wrote and I'm a bit rusty! This series is also a mash up of both the manga and the anime's worlds/plots!Also nearly every character here is from either the manga or animes, I try to avoid OC's as much as I can as I am not confident enough to incorporate them as more than background characters yet.I don't own anything! I just like playing with these worlds~
#Midori hibiki#judai yuki#Judai hibiki#Koyo Hibiki#Miho#yugioh gx manga#yugioh gx#ygo gx#yugioh gx fanfiction#bonebreakjackwrite#miho nosaka#Red Boy Shadow World
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Give and Take
So, I had an odd sort of dream the other night and it helped shape this fic. This is unbeta’d and probably not all in one tense, but I had to get it all typed out!Hope you all enjoy it even if parts don’t make sense sometimes - I is sometimes not so good with the words...
This is a Castiel x Reader AU fic and it had some language (i think) and mentions of character death and some abandonment kinda mentioned.
Tagging the usual people I like to bother...
@lyndsay88 @sdavid09 @lucis-unicorn @thewhiterabbit42 @mamaredd123
Returning to your hometown, with a six-year-old in tow, was not ever in your immediate plans.
Lawrence, Kansas had always held a special place in your heart. You had grown up here. Fell in love for the first time here. But when a job offer had come from California for your mother, just after graduating high school, you’d gone with her simply because she was the only family you had and you had never been apart for more than a couple weeks.
But life has a funny way of giving and taking.
It took your save haven - the only place you could actually remember growing up - but gave you Eileen Leahy, who was the best friend you could have ever asked for. Eileen and you met the first day of college, English 101. She’d been delighted to find someone who knew sign language, even if only enough to get through a short conversation, but you had scribbled down on the paper with your cell number and room assignment that you were willing to learn more.
Your friendship blossomed. Or as your mother put it “Overtook the garden like ivy.” You two were like sisters, subtle sarcasm and movie quotes galore. Both of you had been born in one place and relocated to another, you: California to Kansas and Eileen: Ireland to California. Eileen was simply the best person you had ever met in your life.
So, when she had called you that rainy California night, asking you to hurry and come over, you had done so without hesitation. And when she held that little plastic stick up, with its little blue plus sign, you let out a squeal of joy. Eileen would be a wonderful mother! But she just looked at you with sad eyes, signing ‘What if I can’t hear my own baby cry at night?’
’Other deaf parents do it all the time, all over the world. You will do awesome. I expect nothing less from Eileen Leahy.’ You sign back, a wide grin tugging on your face.
And just like that, your worlds changed. You both moved into a new apartment, two bedrooms and a small “den” that would serve you well until the baby went to school at least. Her boyfriend, Eric, would take her to appointments and for the ones he couldn’t get off from work, you went.
You cried when you first heard her heartbeat.
Eric died in a car accident when Eileen was five months along. Drunk driver plowed straight into him. But Eileen was strong, making the funeral arrangements since he had no family.
She’d crawl into your bed on particularly hard nights, scooting until her back was pressed against yours before sighing and falling asleep.
It was September 24th, 2011 when life gave you Madeline Leahy and September 26th, 2011 is when it took Eileen from the two of you.
Eileen had, of course, prepared for any and every eventually. You’d gone to court and with no blood relatives able to claim her - and Eileen’s will and legal papers - you were legally able to adopt her less than two weeks after she’d been born.
Thankful to have your mother to help, you raised Madeline as your own. When she cooed out “mama” for the first time, you cried. And your happy life was upturned again, just after February 2014, when your mother died in a car accident.
And after a few more years at your well-paying job, you gave your two-week notice, loaded up your sensible three row mid-size SUV and headed back home to Lawrence, Kansas. Better schools for Madeline and a visit to the familiar was what you needed after these last few years.
Pulling into town, you realized how much has changed and how little has changed. You typed in the address to your new home, realizing it was actually just a handful of houses away from where the Winchesters and Novaks had once lived. You wondered briefly if they still lived there before Madeline let out a squeal from the backseat.
“Is that our new house, Mommy?”
“Yes, it is, squidgy! Ready to see it?”
“Yes!” A little pause, her little feet swinging and gently hitting the edge of her booster seat. “Who’s that lady?”
“That’s Jo. I went to school with her and she found our house for us.” You pull into the driveway, next to Jo’s very nice, very new truck. Freeing Madeline is relatively easy and you grab your purse before handing her the soft, periwinkle bunny that Eileen had bought the day after she’d found out she was pregnant. “Don’t forget Poppy.” Madeline tugs the bunny from your grip and hugs it tight to her chest, giving you a nervous smile.
“Hi, Y/N! And you must be Madeline!” Madeline held out her little hand, shaking Jo’s bigger one firmly.
“Madeline Leahy-Y/L/N. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Joanna Beth Harvelle, but you can call me Jo. And it is very lovely to meet you as well. Very good hand shake.”
“Thank you.” Madeline takes your hand, giving it a squeeze. Jo hands you two plain silver keys and pulls another from her pocket that is purple with lime green and lighter purple polka dots all over it.
“Here are the keys to your new home!”
“Go ahead, squidgy.” You urge, letting your daughter use her very own key to open the front door. “Thank you.” You whisper to Jo, who just smiled reassuringly as Madeline pushes open the thick mahogany wood.
“This place is huge!”
“Go on and explore then.” Her little feet scurry from the entryway towards the dining room/kitchen. “Thanks again, Jo. I know it’s difficult enough selling a house when the person lives in town or nearby, but states away? You’re amazing.”
“Thanks, but it’s all part of my job. And it was nice to help an old friend, bring them home.” Jo follows you into the kitchen, her smile widening as you sigh happily at the large space. “Oh - this basket has some fudge, cupcakes, and scones from Gabriel Novak’s bakery and café Heaven Sent.”
“Mom, is the really big room - can I have a cupcake?”
“Sure honey, but just one please. And yes, the really big room is mine.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it. Call or text if you need anything. I sent you all the paperwork, but I’ve left your originals in the dark green folder under the goodie basket.” Jo gives your forearm a squeeze. “And brace yourself for the neighbors and casseroles.”
Four hours, six neighbors, three casseroles, and one pot roast later you manage to set up both your and Madeline’s beds and got most of her room set up by the time the next visitor rang their doorbell.
“COMING!” You and Madeline yell in tandem, pushing up from your seated position on the floor, sorting through all her clothes as she put them away in her drawers. Thank the Lord for Jo, who had let the movers in the day before. You pad downstairs, running a hand through your hair before putting on a smile and opening the front door.
“Welcome to the neighborhood! I’m Mary Winchester and this is my husband John. We live -”
“Five houses down. Sorry. I just, uh, I grew up here. I remember your sons. They were all a little older than me. I’m Y/N Y/L/N and this is my daughter Madeline.”
“Oh! Of course! John, you remember Y/N, the one the Novak twins had a crush on when they were little?”
“Yeah, of course. The one who cried over the snails and punched Lucifer.”
“Mommy, you aren’t supposed to hit.”
“No, honey, you’re right. You shouldn’t hit. But I did it a long time ago and I had my reasons.” Madeline blinks big brown eyes up at you then shrugs.
“I’m not much of a cook, so I didn’t bring you anything edible. I brought some apple cinnamon candles and a coupon for the garage if you ever have any car troubles.”
“Wow, thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Winchester.”
“Of course! And just know that we’re just a few houses away if you need anything. Is your husband at work?”
“It’s just Mommy and me.” Madeline answers, opening the lid of one of the two medium-sized candles and sniffing.
“Well, in that case, you need anything done just call me, I’ll run over to the house and jot down our numbers, and we’ll get one of the boys to come help.”
“Okie dokie! I’ll post them on the fridge. Thank you, Mary.”
---
Three days later, Madeline woke you up bright and early, a good hour before your alarm was due to do off.
You had gotten up, got your shower first then shooed Madeline into the shower. As soon as she got out, you could hear her shuffling around in her room. She picked her own outfit, a dark gray shirt with white sparkly angel wings on the back and a pair of red skinny jeans. And you laughed when she came into your room, since you were sporting maroon skinny jeans and a dark gray shirt.
’Copycat.’ You sign, smirking at your daughter.
’You copied me!’ Her little fingers danced before she stuck out her tongue.
“Got your backpack ready? Whatcha want for lunch?”
“PB and J!” Once downstairs, you made her sandwich while she flitted around and gathered a couple snacks to add to her light gray kitty lunchbox.
“Okay! So, since we are early, do you want me to make a big breakfast - pancakes, eggs and some sausage - or would you like to go down to Heaven Sent and get some cocoa and breakfast sandwiches?”
“Heaven Sent! Can we get me a cupcake for lunch too?”
“We’ll see if they have a small box for them to go. If they don’t, we’ll get you one next time. I still can’t find the box with the plastic ware, and I think the cupcake holder is in there.”
“Okay. We’ll look through some more boxes when I get home.” She says so matter-of-factly, tucking her lunchbox into her galaxy print backpack with a tiny, cute, cartoon unicorns on the front pocket.
“Got your key?” She nods. “Okay, you want your hair up, down, half-up?”
“A messy bun?”
“Can do! Go grab the brush and the pink mason jar with the hair ties and bobby pins from the bathroom then we’ll head out.” Her little bare feet don’t make too much noise as they climb the carpeted stairs and it reminds you to shout up after her. “Socks too!”
“I shoved the socks in the hair jar.” She pants out, rejoining you in the kitchen. You lift her up onto the barstool, brushing her long brown hair before pulling it into a messy bun, braiding a long spare piece you’d left out and wrapping it around the base of her messy bun.
“Ta-da! Okay, lets grab our socks and shoes.” You sat side by side on the little antique bench, pulling on your socks and shoes before grabbing your purse and Madeline her backpack.
“Can we walk? Like yesterday?”
“Yeah, we got the time today.”
A short ten-minute walk got you downtown and another few minutes got you to an offshoot of Main Street where Heaven Sent was located. The space is big enough for five big tables, a couple of booths, and a half dozen two-seater café tables. The bakery is open from 5 am to 6 pm and offers almost every delicious thing anyone could dream up. When you walked in, you were assaulted with the wonderful scent of coffee and an underlying smell of cinnamon.
“Can you read the signs?” You ask softly, scanning through the options.
“I can read, Mom.”
“I meant can you see it, Miss Sassypants.” A deep chuckle behind you draws your attention, making you turn to look over your shoulder. And you suck in a sharp breath. You’d know that face - those sapphire eyes - anywhere.
“Good morning.” His voice rumbles out, smiling at you.
“Good morning, Castiel.”
“Y/N?! Wow. It’s been - it’s been forever. When did you move back?” You turn to face him fully, only to be suddenly wrapped in his embrace, his scent still the same as all those years before. All those other embraces, sweet words and stolen kisses. The feel of his body claiming yours for the first time. His last whispered “I love you” before you left.
Funny how much more you had in common with his family now. Chuck Shurley had adopted all his sister, Amara Novak’s, children and raised them as his own. After she had come for a visit one day with five-year-old Michael, four-year-old Lucifer, and nearly two-year-old Gabriel - she had simply told Chuck it was too much, too hard and they needed stability. So, she left her three sons with her brother. And every time she got pregnant after that, she’d appear at Chuck’s home with her baby - or babies as was the case when the twins, Balthazar and Castiel - only to disappear a day or so later after all the paperwork was signed.
Not identical but similar. You both now had children you loved more than anything through circumstances you never saw coming.
“Mommy. The line’s moving.”
“Sorry,” You excuse yourself to the two people behind Cas, pulling yourself from his embrace reluctantly. “Sorry Madeline.” You step forward in the line, just one person from the register now. “Oh, um, yeah, it’s been awhile. I just moved back a few days ago. Wanted better schools for Madeline.” You put a hand on her upper back, her little hand shooting out. “Castiel, this is my daughter Madeline. Madeline, this is Castiel Novak, we grew up together.” Cas takes her tiny hand in his, shaking it very seriously.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madeline.”
“Thank you, Cat - Cas, Castiel. That’s a hard name.”
“You can call me Cas, most people do.”
“Can I help - IS THAT Y/N?!” Gabriel shouts from the register, making you whip around, a grin stretched across your face.
“Gabriel!” He’s already around the counter, pulling you into a crushing hug.
“You know the cupcake man?!” Madeline gasps out in wonder. Gabriel releases you, but keeps an arm around your shoulders, giving you a firm squeeze.
“That she does, little sugar cube. I’m Gabriel.”
“Madeline.” She extends her hand again and Gabriel drops his arm to kneel on one knee, grasping her small hand in his.
“Very pretty name. Now, what can I get you two pretty ladies?” He slides back behind the counter, rubbing his hands together.
“We will have two medium cocoas and I will have a cranberry white chocolate scone and you, squidgy?”
“I want a blueberry muffin. Do you make cupcake holders?” She ordered and asked all in one breath and Gabriel chuckled.
“I can absolutely get you a cupcake to go. What kind?”
“Strawberry!”
“Done!” You pull your debit card from your wallet and Gabriel scoffs. “You ate everything I made when we were little, even if it was weird. Your money is worthless in this establishment.”
“Gabriel...”
“Nope. Won’t hear of it! Now, shoo, I have other customers. Hey Cas. The usual?” You guide Madeline towards one of the corner café tables by a wall of books, all having to do with food.
“You know lots of people here, Mom.”
“I grew up here, so I do know some people. But not lots.” You chuckle, fishing through your purse for your little notebook. You pull a pen from an inside pocket and scribble down what you’ve ordered (you’d keep track, even if Gabriel wouldn’t), before turning the page and tapping the pen against it as Cas nervously approached the table.
“May I sit with you?”
“Of course, Cas.”
“How have you been? Where have you been? California?” Madeline looks from you to Cas before tugging the notebook and pen from under your fingertips.
“Yeah, I’ve been in California since I left here. Uh, I’ve been good. Really good. How have you been?”
“I’ve been well. I teach second grade at Lawrence Elementary now. Do you have a job yet? Or maybe your husband does?” Gabriel appears at the table with a tray, three drinks, a muffin, a scone and a bacon breakfast sandwich.
“Smooth, little brother. Real smooth.” Gabriel mutters loudly, making Castiel blush slightly, dropping his gaze to the tray.
“I’m not married. And no, not yet. I was going to start looking today while Madeline is in school.”
“Ooh, call Dean, Cassie! They need someone to run the office now that Missouri is moving. Do you know how to do that?”
“Mommy helped run the office at her old job. She could do that!”
“Perfect! We’ll get you and Castiel off to school then I’ll take Mommy to the Winchesters and we’ll be all set!”
“We met them! They live by us!” Madeline is nearly vibrating in her seat as she talks to Gabriel.
“Awesome. That means you live by my dad too! Okay, now you eat, I’ll go package up a strawberry cupcake and I’ll walk with you guys to school.” He doesn’t wait for agreement or an argument, he just winds his way through the tables to the back.
“I’m sorry about Gabriel. He is -”
“He hasn’t changed a bit.” You get out between light laughter. Today has certainly been one for the books. “It’s fine. Really.” You place your hand on Cas’s forearm, gripping the tan trench coat briefly before removing your hand to eat. Cas nods and digs into his sandwich before peering over at Madeline.
“What are you writing?”
“My name. And Mommy’s name. And then I drew this cupcake.”
“It’s a very nice cupcake.”
“It’s just black, ‘cause I didn’t have no other colors.”
“Still very lovely. Are you done? May I take your trash?”
“Thank you.” You and Madeline say in tandem, smiling at each other.
’Copycat.’ She signs, sticking out her tongue. Cas and Gabriel join you, Gabriel extending a small clear container with a bright pink cupcake with sparkly pink icing with a neon blue “M” on top of it.
“There you are, Miss Madeline.” You stood, putting your notebook and pen back into your purse, grabbing your cup as you watched your daughter set her backpack onto the table, withdrawing her lunch box and gingerly setting the cupcake on the top of her sandwich, rearranging her banana to lay against the cupcake container and putting the two bags of Disney fruit gummies on top. She carefully zipped the lunch box, settling it back into her backpack.
“Okay. We can go now.”
“You sound like your mom when we were little. Oh, little sugar snap, the stories I could tell you!” Cas’s hand is gentle, barely there, against the middle of your back, Madeline in front of you as Gabriel holds the door.
“What kind of stories?”
“All kinds.” Cas confirms, sticking close to the outside of the sidewalk. Gabriel launches into a story when you were five and they saw you walking around and asked if you wanted to play at the park. You said you weren’t playing - you were collecting dinosaur eggs. Which were just large rocks that were more egg-shaped. Cas and Gadreel had been more than willing to help, only for their other brother, Michael to come over and matter-of-factly tell all three of you that dinosaurs were extinct. And you had told him that Jurassic Park said they were alive again and he couldn’t have one.
“Your mom kept the “eggs” in the sun, kept them all together and lovingly checked on them all the time, hoping they’d hatch and she’d have a dinosaur or two.” The school is in sight now, Madeline laughing at the story.
”I’m still upset I never hatched a dinosaur,” You mutter, tossing your empty cup into a nearby trash can before crossing the road to the school. The four of you make your way to the kindergarten building, you take a quick tour of the room, meeting Madeline’s teacher and leaving her the Emergency Contact packet you had picked up from the school a couple days ago, all while Gabriel and Cas wait just outside.
“Have a great first day. I love you, my squidgy.” You kiss her forehead, tears stinging your eyes. “I’ll be back to pick you up at 1. Okay?” You kiss her again before the first school bell rings. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mommy. I’ll see you later.” She presses a quick kiss to your cheek before she bounds over to her assigned seat, you back out of the room slowly, watching as her teacher closes the door as the second bell sounds. You manage a short wave before it closes completely, the tears spilling silently from your eyes.
Castiel’s scent envelopes you, his arm wind around you, pulling you against his side. You stand there for a few minutes in silence before another bell rings out.
“I have to go to work. But I’ll see you later, Y/N.” His blue eyes are kind, just as kind as they’ve always been. “It’s been nice seeing you again.” You turn towards him, hugging him as tightly as he first did.
“Have a good day, Castiel. I was glad to see you too.”
“Alright, alright. Stop hogging her!” He jokes as Cas and you separate, Gabriel taking your hand and leading you from the school grounds.
---
John readily agreed to your employment (after seeing your resume - the man wasn’t born yesterday), thankful to have someone who Missouri likes and feels is competent enough to handle not just the garage’s paperwork but also Bobby Singer’s auto salvage yard as well. John also added that he’d let you have time off to pick Madeline up and she could stay up in the office til the workday was over. You nearly burst out in tears again.
“Thank you, John.” You throw your arms around his neck. “Thank you so much.”
“It’s fine, sweetheart. You were like family growing up and now you got your own family to take care of.” He wraps one arm around you, giving a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “You start tomorrow, 8 am. You give all your paperwork to Missouri?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” Gabriel is a smirking mess when you exit the garage before tapping his cheek.
“I think I deserve it.” You roll your eyes, but kiss his cheek regardless.
“Thank you, Gabriel. Really. You’re awesome.”
“I know.” He claps his hands then rubs them together. “Okie dokie, hot stuff, I’m gonna head back to work now. But feel free to drop by anytime, Y/N.” He waggles his eyebrows before blowing you a kiss as he starts back towards his bakery.
Taking a deep breath, you head home. Certainly, today had not turned out like you had thought today would go at all...
---
Two weeks later, now settled into your new house and getting the routine you’d set up the second day of school down pat, you drove to the Lawrence Animal Shelter to deliver on your promise to get Madeline a kitten.
To be fair, you had thought maybe with school, moving and the weekly trips on Saturday afternoons to Heaven Sent (Gabriel was always happy to spoil Madeline with whatever sweet she wanted - and a few she had reluctantly tried at his behest) that maybe, just maybe, she’d temporarily forgotten.
Luck was not on your side, since the night before she had slid up onto a stool in the kitchen, watching you pull the two trays blueberry muffins from the oven, a serious expression in her light brown eyes.
“Mommy. Remember before we moved? You said when we go a new house and I started school, I could get a kitty?”
“I remember.”
“Can we go tomorrow and get one? Pretty please? You promised, ‘member?”
“Okay. Okay. We’ll go tomorrow morning and give some muffins to Gabriel and we’ll go look for a kitten.” You gently free the first six muffins from the pan, setting them on the counter to cool. “Now, squidgy, you know you gotta take care of it. Clean its litter box - make sure it doesn’t chew or tear up things it shouldn’t - and make sure to feed it, brush it and play with it.”
“I will! I can do it!” You sigh, raising an eyebrow.
“Alright. First bring me my laptop so we can read over what we’ll need to do and need to go buy. And when we go, we can ask about veterinarians in the area and stuff. I’m not promising you a kitten tomorrow, Madeline - you understand that, honey? Sometimes it takes a little while to find the one that’s just right.” She nods enthusiastically, her long brown hair swinging as she slides down from the stool and rushes into the little office/library down the hall.
You exit the car, opening the back door to release your child, who is talking a million miles a minute, saying potential names and looking at the list you had printed out for her, saying that the kitten needed a pink bed or maybe a red one, or that she would like a black cat, like in Hocus Pocus. You wrap your wallet around your wrist by the thin leather strap and take Madeline’s left hand in your right, silently steeling yourself for either coming home with another tiny life or to face the disappointment on your daughter’s face when it doesn’t happen today.
No one is at the front desk, so you call out a loud “Hello”, watching as a bright red-headed woman comes in carrying a big black cat.
“I’m sorry! I was in the Cattery and didn’t hear the door jingle. My name is Charlie Bradbury, how may I be of assistance?”
“We need a kitty.” Madeline pipes up beside you.
“Is this your first kitty or do you have another one?”
“It’s our first.” You supply.
“Well congratulations on deciding to become pet parents! Now, animals are a lot of responsibility, but you two look very responsible. Come on, I‘ll show you to the Cattery.” She leads the way down a short hallway, Madeline tightening her hold on your hand momentarily before walking cautiously into the room behind Charlie, you follow and close the door firmly behind you. “So, I’ll pull out a few of the kittens first - we got them three weeks ago and they’re all ready to go to good homes.” The door opens behind you, but you don’t really pay too much attention, watching as Charlie sets down the big black cat and lets five little kittens of all colors tumble out of the large clear cubicle they were in.
“Hello, Y/N.” Sweet Jesus, the man was everywhere. You turn, a smile already gracing your face.
“Hello, Castiel. What are you doing here?”
“He volunteers here! Ooooooh! So, you’re Y/N! Cas hasn’t shut up about you since you moved back!” She embraces you as heat fills your cheeks. “This is great! I wanted to meet you! Dean was talking about you too! How well you run the office! How cute you are!” Charlie releases you from her hold, her green eyes dancing as she chuckles, moving to sit cross legged on the floor next to Madeline. Madeline is too involved with the kittens to pay you much attention, she just turns with a white kitten clutched gently against her chest and calls out a hello to Cas before another gray kitten crawls into her lap, making itself at home and falling asleep as Madeline strokes it with her free hand. Cas stoops down in front of you, picking up an errant kitten.
“I apologize for Charlie. She is very,” He gives a long pause, “Enthusiastic.”
“No need to apologize. Gabriel and you had both mentioned Charlie, so I‘m glad to put a friendly face to the stories.”
“Is the black cat the mom?”
“No. Their mom died. She was trying to take care of her kittens and got hurt. They wouldn’t eat the first couple days until we brought Luna in.” She points to the large black cat who is sitting by your feet while a little black and white kitten is batting at her tail. “Luna adopted them and took care of them, showed them how to be good kitties. The little gray one in your lap usually sticks to her like glue. The other kittens are very indep - are you okay sweetie?” Charlie’s voice goes from forlorn to concerned.
Madeline looks up at you with watery eyes while Charlie’s have an edge of panic.
‘Like me and you, Mommy.’ You tear up too, nodding.
’Exactly like me and you, baby.’ You sign back and say aloud, to give Charlie and Cas a little context for the sudden emotional outburst.
“I suppose we can’t separate them then...”
“Really, Mommy?!” She scrubs at her eyes with her sleeve before carefully setting the white kitten down and throwing herself against you. Cas grasps your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. You hadn’t told Cas the story about you, Eileen and Madeline yet - you felt it was too soon. You had simply stated one day when he had come to the garage at lunch - for his regular Thursday lunch with Dean - that he was great with Madeline, maybe because of their similar backgrounds.
Charlie sniffles, rising from her seated position with a kind smile.
“If you follow me, we’ll fill out the paperwork and you can take Luna and your new kitten home. Have you thought of a name?” Charlie leads Madeline out, winking at you as the door closes behind her, Madeline’s arms holding the gray kitten and Charlie’s with Luna.
“I could go with you, if you like - to make sure the cats have everything they require. And then maybe we could all go to lunch?” His cheeks turn a light pink as he set the kitten he’d been holding onto a carpeted climbing post.
“I’d love to. We’d love to. And maybe you’d like to come over for dinner?”
“Like a date?”
“Yes, Castiel.”
“I’d love that. Maybe you would like to come over for Family Dinner Night tomorrow? The Winchesters and the Singers and us, we all have dinner Sunday night... Tomorrow we’re having it at our house. Would you consider coming?” You raise up, pressing your lips against his.
“Sounds good. Madeline already loves John, Dean, Bobby, Gabriel and you. I think it’d be nice for her to meet everyone else I grew up with.”
“As my girlfriend - uh, date - as my guests?”
“Let’s start with date. We can work our way up to boyfriend and girlfriend.” Cas swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing before his hands reach out, cupping your face and kissing you passionately.
“I’ve waited for a long time to do that again.”
“Mmhmm. You’ll have to work a little harder than last time to get to do the other thing though.” You grin against his lips, happily leaning against his firm body.
“I am nothing if not a patient man.” A firm knock on the glass pulls you from your little bubble. Madeline is pointing at you then at Cas, then to your feet. You pull away from Castiel and sign ’Yes’
’Luna and my kitten!’ Her fingers bob towards her hand as she looks to Castiel again. ‘Are you guys gonna kiss more?’
’Probably.’
’Gross.’
“She wants to sign the papers and pay so we can go.”
“And?” He rumbles out, moving away to carefully put the rest of the kittens back into their large cubicle.
“She asked if we were going to kiss more. I told her probably.”
“Just probably?”
“You play your cards right, it’ll be more than probably.”
Funny how life worked out.
#castiel x reader#castiel fluff#maybe a smidgeon of angst#authoressskr writes#I had a dream#castiel x reader au#domestic cas#teacher!cas#Eileen leahy#supernatural au#supernatural
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Hi! My character is going to be giving their partner a bouquet for their anniversary, and I was wondering if you had any flower recommendations? Specifically that would represent good communication, friendship, loyalty, love, and things of that sort. They're best friends that became partners over time and I really want it to represent the depth of their trust and relationship if possibe.
Sure can do, most of these meanings exist verbatim I think. Now, not all of these are common for bouquets are even common as cut flowers, however if your character somehow manages to get acacia/glycine twigs and wired arbor vitae tufts, sure they can be in a bouquet. Anything’s game as long as the florist can reasonably work it into the bouquet. The ones the were left out are the ones truly hard to work with like geraniums or periwinkles, which would only really work for very, very tiny bouquets and otherwise as potted plants outdoors.
Good communciation turned out to be a little impossible to convey since there are no meanings that quite fit the idea of it. Truth is more or less the only meaning that could do it somewhat justice.
acacia – friendship, platonic love, secret love
acacia (rose) – friendship, elegance
amaranth (globe) – unfading love, immortality, unchangeable, hope in misery
arbor vitae – unchanging friendship, live for me
aster – symbol of love, talisman of love, daintiness, patience, beauty in retirement
aster (china) – fidelity, variety, afterthought, your sentiments meet with a return
baby’s breath – everlasting love, innocence, pure of heart
bay (red) – love’s memory
chrysanthemum – loveliness and cheerfulness, abundance, wealth, you’re a wonderful friend, truth
chrysanthemum (red) – I love, love
chrysanthemum (white) – truth
cosmos – joy in love and life
dogwood – love undiminished by adversity, durability, I am perfectly indifferent to you
freesia – lasting friendship
heliotrope – I love you, devoted attachment, devotion, the intoxication of love, intoxicated with pleasure, faithfulness
ivy – friendship, matrimony, I have found one true heart, constancy, marriage, fidelity, wedded love, affection
japonica – symbol of love, sincerity
jerusalem oak – your love is reciprocated
lilac – first emotion(s) of love, earliest love, pride, beauty
lilac (purple) – first emotion(s) of love
orchid – love, a belle, thoughtfulness, refinement, refined beauty
pink – pure love, lively and pure affection, boldness, pure affection
pink (clove) – true love
plum tree – fidelity, keep your promises
prince’s feather – unfading love
rose – love, beauty
rose (bridal) – happy love, happiness
rose (moss) – confession of love, pleasure without alloy, superior merit, voluptuous love, voluptuousness
rose (red) – I love you, love, respect, beauty, beauty and love
rose (thornless) – love at first sight, early attachment, ingratitude
rosebud (moss) – confession of love, confession
speedwell (wall) – fidelity
tulip – (a) declaration of love, beautiful eyes, fame, perfect lover
tulip (red) – declaration of love, believe me
tulip (yellow) – hopeless love
veronica – fidelity
windflower – symbol of love, sincerity, abandonment, frailty
zephyr flower – symbol of love, sincerity, expectation, fond caresses
– Mod Jana
Disclaimer
This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.
#flower language#writing advice#victorian flower language#good communication#love#friendship#loyalty#romantic love#feelings of love#ask answered#mod jana
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ok, so a pairing that does not get enough credit for how long they have lived in my head and the amount they have grown is Robyn and Nicholas and Akira.
Like, Robyn is literally a former sugarbaby turned fashion designer with a shoe in with the cooperate owner. She travels often for her work, and she makes enough money that sometimes Nicki can travel with her.
Nicki works at a flower shop just down the blog from Robyn’s house, and while she typically had them delivered, she stopped in one day to pick up a bouquet, met Nicki, and suddenly decided she wanted their opinion on what sort of flowers she should use to decorate.
Nicki was partial to roses, and they made bouquets framed around them after they begin to pursue a relationship (aka after Robyn has been coming in at least once a week and striking up a conversation for over a month). as they warmed up to Robyn, they explained what each colour meant. peach for joy, cream for gratitude, yellow for friendship, white for new beginnings (the first rose they give Robyn before a date), orange for more passionate relationships, and pink for more tender feelings. each bouquet was broken down like that. yellow roses for friendship, queen anne’s lace for magic and healing, baby’s breath for innocence, periwinkle for blossoming friendships.
Robyn went from ‘ok, which flowers mean i am dtf’ to listening with rapt attention because Nicki was speaking sometime around the white roses, and was just touched by the sentiment when Nicki explained what pink flowers mean. when he finally explains what red roses mean, she realizes it is mutual, even if neither of them say it out loud, he just gives her a single rose and she keeps it near by as it dries.
it is still in her apartment, in a narrow keepsake box that she keeps in a drawer. sometimes, when she has to travel for long periods of time, she takes it with her.
Nicki and Robyn dated for...almost three years before moving in together. they talked more days than they didn’t, but Robyn was often traveling, and Nicki appreciated being able to take things slow. it actually mostly happened because Nicki was traveling with Robyn surprisingly often and they spent every weekend together and stayed over at each other’s places, and Nicki’s lease was ending and Robyn had plenty of room and Nicki could have their own space for all of their plants, and if it was weird, Robyn knew she could afford the place on her own so Nicki could focus on saving up and moving into a place that they actually liked, rather than just taking anything they can get a lease for.
they took to living together rather well, Nicki an early riser and Robyn often catching red eyes in, leaving them awake when she got home, sometimes to catch up, sometimes just to cuddle until she fell asleep and they got up. Both were primarily vegetarians and neither of them were chefs so they usually ate out and cooked/cleaned together when they didn’t. Nicki did laundry, usually while Robyn was away as she would throw her things through the wash when she got home. etc. it just...worked well for them, and Nicki had the means to grow their own plants and begin working on their nursery/florist shop, while Robyn never came to an empty apartment and wilted flowers.
she loves Nicki and Nicki loves Robyn, but both of them actively want other partners, whether for quick flings or romantic trysts or just to fulfill a specific need. this is an open and honest thing between them, and both are even able to bring flings over (within certain perimeters, as in a heads up and only if the other consents). this is more often than not Nicki having guys at their apartment while Robyn is away. occasionally, she will see them leaving and once arriving when she got home early and was hanging out at home when Nicki came back with his date. (she knew he was on a date, he knew she was home, she was okay with him bringing his date home so long as his date knew.)
Robyn doesn’t have as many external relationships as Nicki, but there is one woman in France that she is in love with, and Nickolas holds her when the woman breaks her heart and she weeps (they then have a wonderful weekend in Nice) and another of her coworkers that is married and closeted and they never do anything, but boy does Robyn pine and flirt and dance around them. (Nicki teases gently about Robyn being a homewrecker but nothing ever actually happens).
it just so happens that she starts another relationship in Japan. Her job sends her there for twelve weeks on a project, and about two weeks in, she meets a model and they have pretty immediate chemistry. she meets up with him fairly often, initially to discuss fashion but then getting into pop culture and media and finally shared interests. after a laugh, she tells him she thinks he is beautiful and while he blushes, she takes Akira’s hand and tells him she wants to see more of him. when he agrees, she explains that she really wants to see him but she is in a committed relationship, her partner is in the United States of America, and she is allowed to see other people. Akira takes this all in stride, and they continue to see each other. about halfway through Robyn’s stay in Japan, Nicki comes to visit, and she introduces the two of them. there is an immediate interest, and Robyn gets to enjoy a third person perspective of Nicki pursuing someone, suave and charming.
by the end of Nicki’s two week stay, they are calling Akira their pet and telling him that he must visit when he can, and Akira is eagerly agreeing.
Akira comes back with Robyn. the visit was planned for two weeks but stretches into over a month, and Nicki and Robyn both try to convince Akira to stay, but he doesn’t. he does stay in touch with them, and they continue to visit back and forth through the years. in fact, before Nicki proposes to Robyn, he tells Akira, and Akira gets a tourist visa to stay for three months to help with the wedding and spend time with them.
by this time, Akira is the only person either of them are seeing outside of themselves. in full disclosure, Nicki started having fewer hookups after Robyn came home one morning and his booty call turned out to be one of her (estranged) brothers. it was mortifying and hilarious, and after the initial shock, he shamelessly joked that it was beyond his control to be attracted to him, because he looked so much like her and it was really just him longing for her. Robyn was disgruntled but laughed.
their relationship also grew more monogomous as they began to include more bdsm elements into the bedroom, but that is neither here nor there. Akira is occasionally a part of this, though he is a little more innocent than them. Robyn and Nicki have a whole story they are roleplaying, scene by scene in the bedroom between a witch queen and her enslaved vampire.
as they enter their thirties, Robyn and Nicki decide to get their own house for a multitude of reasons, not least of all that they want to have kids. they get a four bedroom place, as not only are both of them advanced in their careers, but Robyn has a tidy bit of hush money from her former sugar daddy, and they are able to pay enough down that their mortgage is rather low, and they start trying to build a family.
it is only while she is pregnant that Robyn breaks down and confides her darkest secret to Nicki. they know, after years of being together, that Robyn became a sugarbaby when she was just 14 through a dating app, that she did it to take care of herself and her younger siblings for almost two years, but then she wound up in an extremely toxic relationship when she was 16, wound up pregnant, and giving birth before she was legal. her sugar daddy took her in and covered it up, supported her through college, and raised his son legitimately, but without any connection to her. her son is almost a teenager and has no idea who she is.
Nicki feels his heart break for her and nothing seems like enough so they settle on telling her that they love her. Robyn still is distraught for some time, even sinking into a depression. Akira was already planning a visit when the episode starts (jokes about witnessing the conception of his god child and it being a mystery dad having been made years prior and still repeated as the plans came about). he proves to be a good support, not just for Robyn but also from Nicki. his vacation starts off with Robyn explaining the situation all over again, sick with misery, until Nicki comes home, and then taking Nicki out to drink and make out and flirt, so that they do something other than look sadly at Robyn’s sadness. they have an in depth conversation at the bar, but they also have fun and Nicki is distracted until they get home and Robyn is waiting up for them. shockingly, she is pregnant, and Nicki literally falls into her, they are so happy. Akira tries to beat a polite retreat so they can have their moment, but Robyn pointedly calls him back. she is in full domme mode, and they have the fun night they had planned before her brain imploded. later, after they are all sated and Nicki sleeps with their head on Robyn’s belly, she pets their hair and tells Akira how grateful she is for him, how she was afraid to take the pregnancy test because she didn’t want to be pregnant while feeling so miserable for the child she didn’t raise, but when he heard her out and talked her through the emotions she had been repressing, it enabled her to want to continue forward and to start her family and be the mother she wants to be. Akira tells her that he loves her, and Nicki, and there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for them or their child.
Akira doesn’t get to stay long enough to feel the baby kick for the first time, but Robyn calls him and Nicki cries over the phone about how sweet it is. Akira nearly does too. Nicki sends him videos of ultrasounds and he jokes nonstop about giving the baby a Japanese name for him. he is video chatting with them at one am for him when they find out they are having twins. he immediately applies for a one year work visa and he arrives before the twins, and he is there when they are born. he cries when one of them is put into his arms.
though Robyn has maternity leave, Nicki does not, so Akira being around to help is a blessing with twins, and Robyn jokes about divorcing Nicki so Akira can pick one of them to marry so he can stay full time when his visa expires. the twins are sleeping through the night, but just barely, and it has been one of the most domestic visits he has had, something all of them reflect on separately with varying emotions on the topic.
when Robyn goes back to work, the twins are almost a year old, and Nicki is leaving his job to open his dream shop, the nursery/florist shop. the girls grow up racing through a sea of flowers, and Nicki does exceptionally because they are generous and flexible and patient. they have built their business from selling clippings online to local bouquet deliveries and the investment in a greenhouse was originally made for their property. Nicki is always grateful for Robyn financing the shop, but it takes off because of Nicki and she never lets them forget that.
Akira comes back right as the girls are beginning to walk well, having witness their first steps online. He actually has been hired by Robyn and Nicki to be their nanny, and all of them joke about him being kept, but he is honestly content. Robyn is Mother, Nicki is Ada, and Akira is Akira to the kids. Nicki and Robyn never try to claim him as an uncle to the children or fit him into an obvious role. He is just Akira with them, and when one of the children calls him Dad, but the other sticks with Akira, he takes joy in both.
their story does go on, as Robyn is contacted by her 17 year old son, who asked for her information for his birthday. she is shocked and pleased and afraid, and she agrees to meet him. he is a quiet boy, contemplative and either withdrawn or shy. though they meet up one on one, he mostly asks her questions and talks only in the vaguest terms about himself. he is doing well in school, he is getting ready for college, he has no other siblings, his dad didn’t marry so he never really had a mom. they continue to talk after their first meeting and he slowly becomes a part of her life. he meets Nicki first and Nicki gets him to talk more, and when he meets his half siblings, he immediately falls into the role of big brother. Akira isn’t around, but he listens to everything about Mikial, and he is excited to meet him when he comes back, but he had gone home just a few months before he contacted them.
Nickolas has begun to have hookups again, though these are never brought home, and Nicki finds they aren’t scratching the itch, but Robyn goes through a dry spell after the twins are born that lasts for months with only brief breaks. this throws a wrench into a visit with Akira, when they get a bit rough with him.
#Nicki is nonbinary now#sorry bambi6543#not that i changed him but without asking#it isn't even really him#just my impression of him#separate from yours but not#aka all of my ocs#i could go on#ocs#original characters#oc: akira#oc: robyn#oc: nickolas#nonbinary#nonbinary characters#polyamourus#polyamourus characters#healthy polyamory
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(Character Two!)
Name; Merlih Lightseeker
Nickname; Mer
Birthplace; Silvermoon, a grand and magical city
Dwelling Place; A cabin in the woods outside of Silvermoon
How do they Live; With her ‘mate’ Ermis, they spar and cause good natured trouble in the city, collecting interesting items, baubles and trinkets, or fighting on the war front when able
Appearance; Mer is a tiny little thing, very small and petite. She has her fair share of scars but is very animated and is often compared to a doll. Her facial features are a bit gaunt, but very expressive. Pouts a lot. Her hair is wild and red and tangled and curly and floats about, just past her shoulders, catching light in a manner that makes it glow almost. She has an eye patch for her right eye, a scar digging from her brow down to the middle of her cheek. Five scars tear through her neck. Fingers are dainty and slender, moving quickly. She seems to dance when she moves. Good eye is big and glows an icy blue.
What’s in their bag/pockets; A book on common hand signs, a few maps, ink and quill, lots of paper and a journal, some pretty rocks, a knife, some pretty necklaces, a small tiki doll, a small ship carved from wood, a few claws with engravings.
Species; Blood Elf (Risen from the dead as a death knight)
Species features; Long pointy ears, glowing blue icy eyes, unnatural strength, unholy magic, pale skin
Name of Siblings; Illinoria (Younger Sister, doesn’t really remember, but has accepted that they are family)
Bond Family; Celenil (Took care of her, inseparable until he suddenly abandoned her, she’s still reeling) Faltora (best friend, climbs him because he is big and tall and she likes to see things from way up there) Kortin (pseudo father figure, they dance together, teaches her manners) Eren (pseudo brother figure, is very nice) Valifearun (Leader, like a grandfather, encourages her to embrace unholy powers and spread destruction) Echelon (friend before and after death, but she doesn’t know this, views him as a protector and superior)
Family History; Mer knows none of her own personal history before death- She was a holy paladin and when she returned from the war her family demanded that she do more and more and more, and that her duties to her people were unfinished. She fled home and set out traveling, making maps and exploring the world. She was killed in Northrend after a ship wreck and raised as an unholy soldier with no memory and no voice, her throat having been ripped out. She was taught the bare basics, how to take orders and how to kill. She was very good at these things, muscle memory of fresh war experience leading to ease in combat. She quickly became very skilled, picking up a few other things along the side such as a broken way of writing and map making once more. She and Celenil spent years and years isolated from the world before he took her to Silvermoon and instructed for her to wait for him there. This was her first real interaction with polite society. Celenil returned a few times before ultimately abandoning her. In Silvermoon she met the Frostbound, a collection of other Death Knights and a few living people; among their ranks were Kortin, Faltora and Eren. They were led by Valifearun. Kortin noticed her seeming lost in the city and took her under his wing, teaching her sign language and how to greet others.
Favourite colour; pink
Favourite Food; any dessert
Favourite place to be; The battle field, Northrend with the Snow or anywhere with Ermis
Personality; Mer is often taken to be innocent and naive, many people consider her a child and a terrible tragedy. While she is a bit of all those things, and genuinely doesn’t quite understand social interaction, she often uses their more rose coloured views of her to manipulate others into getting what she wants. She’s got a penchant for trouble and is constantly taking things, pouting them into her possession when one initially objects. Merlih is straight forward, curious and blunt, she doesn’t beat around any bushes when it comes to asking questions and wanting information. She’s obedient and follows orders to a tee, as long as whoever is giving them is commanding enough in tone and appearance.
Misc; She’s mute and has no memory of her previous life. Childishly selfish unless Ermis’s feelings are involved.
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Hello again Fia!
Let's just jump right into it shall we?
Birthplace: Silvermoon, a grand and magical city
geranium (silver-leaf) – recall
moonwort – forgetfulness
silver-weed – simplicity
Dwelling Place: A cabin in the woods outside of Silvermoon
magnolia – love of nature, dignity, nobility, perseverance
persimon – bury me amid nature's beauties
Based on how they live
achillea millefolia – war
bay tree – glory
bay (wreath) – reward of merit
bladder nut tree – frivolity, amusement
celandine – joys to come, future joy
chrysanthemum (chinese) – cheerfulness under adversity
cineraria – always delightful
copihue – there is no unalloyed good
freesia – lasting friendship, innocence, trust
glycine – your friendship is pleasing and agreeable to me
grass (quaking) – frivolity
indian cress – warlike trophy, resignation
There are no flowers directly meaning small so I opted for tiny flowers and small versions of flowers, some of these come in big and in small
baby's breath – everlasting love, innocence, pure of heart
bell flower – gratitude, indiscretion, acknowledgement,
bell flower (small white) – gratitude
bindweed (small) – humility, captivation
blue bell – constancy, sorrowful, regret, humility, gratitude
cape marigold (small) – omen
carnation – disdain, pride, alas! for my poor heart
carnation (purple) – capriciousness
carnation (red) – my heart breaks, my heart aches for you, admiration
carnation (solid colour) – yes
carnation (striped) – refusal, I cannot be with you, no, sorry I can't be with you, wish I could be with you
carnation (white) – sweet and lovely, innocence, pure love, woman's good luck gift
carnation (yellow) – disdain, rejection, disappointment
clover (purple) – providence
clover (red) – industry
clover (white) – think of me
euphorbia – persistence
forget-me-not – forget me not, true love, memories
hortensia – you are cold, carelessness
hydrangea – (a) boaster, heartlessness, you are cold, dispassion, thank you for understanding, frigidity
meanings of jasmine
verbena – sensibility
verbena (scarlet) – unite against evil, church unity
verbena (white) – pray for me
Based on appearance
acacia (rose) – elegance, friendship
amaryllis – timidity, splendid beauty, pride, haughtiness
camellia (red) – unpretending excellence
camellia (white) – perfected loveliness, adoration
cherry tree (white) – deception
diosma – your simple elegance charms me
fleur-de-lis – flame, I burn
fraxinella – fire
hibiscus – delicate beauty, consumed by love, beauty is vain
jasmine (yellow) – grace and elegance
justicia – the perfection of female loveliness
lily (eucharis) – maiden charms
mistletoe – I climb to greatness, I surmount (all) difficulties, I will rise above all, parasite, kiss me, affection, difficulties
orchid – a belle, refined beauty
peach – your qualities like your charms are unequalled
pink (indian double) – always lovely
pyrus japonica – (the) faerie’s fire
rose (acacia) – elegance
rose (daily) – thy smile I aspire to
rose (multiflora) – many charms, grace
rose (musk, cluster) – charming
sweet flag – grace, fitness
some pretty rocks
rock rose – safety
unholy magic
angelica – magic, inspiration
bittersweet nightshade – truth
black bryony – support, be my support
blackberry – envy
catchfly (night-flowering) – night
cereus (night-blooming) – transient beauty
convolvulus (blue, minor) – repose, night
convolvulus (night) – night
ebony – blackness
enchanter's nightshade – spell, fascination, witchcraft, sorcery
fern – magic, sincerity, fascination, confidence, shelter
geranium (night-smelling) – melancholy spirit
laburnum – blackness, pensive beauty, forsaken
mulberry (black) – I shall not survive you, devotedness
nightshade – scepticism, truth, dark thoughts, falsehood
nightshade (deadly) – falsehood
poplar (black) – courage
Favourite colour: pink
camellia (pink) – longing
carnation (pink) – I'll/I will never forget you, woman's love
convolvulus (pink) – worth sustained by judicious and tender affection
hyacinth (pink) – playful joy
larkspur (pink) – larkspur
rose (dark pink) – thankfulness
rose (pale pink) – grace, joy
rose (pink) – grace, perfect happiness, secret love, sweetness, indecision
verbena (pink) – family union
Favourite Food: any dessert
balm (gentle) – sweets of social intercourse, joke, joking, pleasantry
basil (sweet) – good wishes
carnation (white) – sweet and lovely, innocence, pure love, woman's good luck gift
coltsfoot (sweet-scented) – maternal care, justice, justice shall be done, we will do you justice
gentian (closed) – sweet be thy dreams
honeyflower – love sweet and secret, sweet, secret love, generous affection, sweetness of disposition, speak low if you speak love
lily of the valley – sweetness, tears of the virgin mary, happiness, humility, return of happiness, the heart withering in secret, modesty
lily (white) – sweetness, purity, virginity, majesty, it's heavenly to be with you, youth
mallow – sweetness, sweet disposition, beneficence, mildness, delicate beauty
meadowsweet – uselessness
narcissus – stay as sweet as you are, egotism, self-love, selfishness
periwinkle – sweet remembrance, sweet memories, tender recollections, pleasing remembrances, early recollections, pleasure of memories
periwinkle (blue) – sweet remembrance, early friendship, pleasures of memory
scabiosa (sweet) – widowhood
sultan (white) – sweetness
sweet bay – treachery
sweet sultan – happiness, felicity
sweet william – finesse, childhood, gallantry, scorn, grant me one smile
sweetbrier (american) – simplicity
sweetbrier (european) – imagination, poetry, I wound to heal
sweetbrier (yellow) – decrease of love
sweet pea – departure, delicate pleasures, goodbye, blissful pleasure, thank you for a lovely time
tussilage (sweet-scented) – justice shall be done, you shall have justice
violet (sweet-scented) – modesty
Based on personality
baby's breath – innocence, pure of heart, everlasting love
borage – bluntness, rudeness
buttercup – childishness, ingratitude, cheerfulness, I wish I was rich, riches, desire for riches
coronilla – success crown your wishes
daisy – innocence, beauty, loyal love, I'll never tell, purity
daisy (white) – innocence
gerbera – innocence
ivy (tendril around bouquet) – may I, I desire
lilac (white) – youthful innocence, youth
orange blossom – innocence, eternal love, marriage, fruitfulness, your purity equals your loveliness, chastity
osier – frankness
pink (musk) – childishness
rose (coral) – desire
rose (white) – innocence, purity, humility, I am worthy of you, secrecy, silence, a heart unacquainted with love, I would be single, too young to love
withy – frankness
Misc
syringa – memory, fraternal love/regard
- Mod Jana
Disclaimer
This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.
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(Character One!)
Name; Allfia Layrinith Suncatcher
Nickname; Fia, Alfalfala, Allfi
Alternate Identity; When she was a drug dealer she used be known as Hycanith
Birthday; Semptember 17th
Birthplace; A farm in the country side
Dwelling Place; Transient, she travels from place to place
How do they live; She has two toddlers, twins, and is very quiet and withdrawn. Avoids others, spars and practices combat and embroiders.
Appearance; Expression is typically impassive and distant, very dark green eyes that seem to spark with energy, sickly pale and concerningly thin. Hair is platinum and typically pulled back into a pony tail with bangs that frame her face. Dark clothing, carries knives, covered in alot of scars, she hides most of her skin. Armor is covered in monochromatic embroidery.
What’s in their bag/pockets; Herbs for healing and tea, knives, regents for demonic magic, cigarettes, floss and needle, lighter, a slim and small journal like book, a key, several rings and insignias, and a few gems.
Species; Blood Elf
Species Features; Long pointed ears, glowing green eyes
Name of Parents; Liad'tra (father, deceased) Nol'thai (uncle, adoptive father) Morkriim (father figure)
Name of Siblings; Nia'liss (twin, deceased and Allfia blames herself for her death) Jada (younger sister, eloped when young and no one talks about her)
Other Important Kin; Nataline (Adopted cousin and very wild, good at drawing Fia from her shell) Celethor (Cousin by marriage (but that marriage wound up falling apart) Good at telling what’s up even when she’s not speaking)
Family History; Bad relationship with Mother, mother died in war. Father was later killed in their home. Before then Jada had run away with a man that was considered an enemy to their race. Nia and Allfia were sent to an orphanage, spent several years there before Nol'thai found out and took them in. Nia went, Allfia was angry and bitter and refused, striking out on her own, rejoining the family years later.
Favourite Colour; A deep plum
Favourite Animal; Ravens and Demons
Favourite Genre; Trashy romcoms
Favourite Food; Bitter things
Favourite Place to Be; Near water or on the road
Personality; Very stand off-ish and avoids social interaction. Bitter and regretful about much of her choices- Believing that she’s lead many to her death. Strong willed and stern, reckless and uncaring of her well being. Cares deeply about those that she develops bonds with, isn’t afraid of the law or punishment. She’s wry and sardonic and pushes people away.
___
Hey Fia!
Here for your namesake I see. Let's go for it.
Name: Suncatcher
daffodil – sunshine, respect, regard, unrequited love, new beginnings, self-love, deceitful hopes, chivalry
lychnis (scarlet) – sun-beam'd eyes, sunbeaming eyes
sundew (round-leaved) – surprise
sunflower (dwarf) – your devout adorer, adoration
sunflower (tall) – pride, false riches, haughtiness, lofty and pure thoughts, smile on me still
tulip (yellow) – there's sunshine in your smile, hopeless love
virginia creeper – I cling to you both in sunshine and in shade
Alternate Identity: Hyacinth
hyacinth – jealousy, game play, play, constancy, sport, game, games & sports, rashness
hyacinth (blue) – constancy, consistency
hyacinth (expanded) – benevolence
hyacinth (pink) – playful joy
hyacinth (purple) – sorrowful, please forgive me, sorry, sorrow
hyacinth (red) – playful joy
hyacinth (white) – unobtrusive loveliness, beauty, I’ll pray for you
hyacinth (wild) – play
hyacinth (yellow) – jealousy
Dwelling Place: Transient,
stephanotis – desire to travel, marital happiness, happiness in marriage, will you accompany me to the East?
traveller's joy – traveller's joy, safety, rest
How do they live: She has two toddlers, twins, and is very quiet and withdrawn. Avoids others, spars and practices combat and embroiders.
acanthus – (the) arts, the fine arts, artifice
birch tree – meekness, gracefulness
buckbean – quiet, repose, calm repose
cactus – maternal love, ardent love, warmth
cinquefoil – maternal affection, beloved daughter, beloved child
coltsfoot (sweet-scented) – maternal care, justice, justice shall be done, we will do you justice
heath – solitude
heather (lavender) – solitude, admiration
houstonia – quiet happiness, content
lichen – solitude, confidence, dejection
marvel of peru – timidity
moss – maternal love, recluse, charity
pussy willow – motherhood
wood sorrel – maternal tenderness, joy
What’s in their bag/pockets: Herbs for healing and tea, lighter
crocus – I need time to think (you get saffron from crocus’)
dittany (white) – fire, passion
fleur-de-luce – fire
fraxinella – fire
lavender – I will achieve my goal for sure
lemon – I cannot fulfil your plea
nasturtium – you’re hiding something from me
parsley – I want to do something nice for you, I love the simplicity of domesticity
peppermint – forgive me
rosemary – I have given up on you
salvia (blue) – I am thinking of you
salvia (red) – forever yours!
stinging nettle – I’ve seen you through
valerian – I will protect you
Favourite Colour: A deep plum
date plum – resistance
jamaica plum – privation
plum tree – keep your promises, fidelity
plum (indian) – privation
plum (wild) – independence
Favourite Animal: Ravens
The raven that Noah release my be interpreted as a symbol for vice, the plant tares stands for vice.
Odin's ravens Huginn and Muninn are said to represent thought and memory.
almond tree – thoughtlessness, indiscretion
aster (china) – afterthought, variety, variety of charms, your sentiments meet with a return
bay (red) – love's memory
daisy (michealmas) – afterthought, farewell
everlasting – never ceasing memory, never-ceasing remembrance, always remembered
heart's ease – thoughts, think of me, you occupy my thoughts
heart's ease (purple) – you occupy my thoughts
holly – forethought, foresight, forecast, am I forgotten?, defence, domestic happiness
nightshade – dark thoughts, truth, scepticism, falsehood
orchid – thoughtfulness, love, beauty, refinement, a belle, refined beauty
pansy – thought, tender and pleasant thoughts, think of me, merriment, you occupy my thoughts
periwinkle (blue) – pleasures of memory, sweet remembrance, early friendship
periwinkle (white) – pleasures of memory, pleasing remembrances
snowball – thoughts of heaven, ennui, bound, winter
starwort – afterthought, welcome, welcome to a fair stranger
syringa – memory, fraternal love, fraternal regard
syringa (carolina) – memory, disappointment
zinnia – thoughts of absent friends, absence, I mourn your absence
In Irish mythology ravens are associated with warfare.
achillea millefolia – war
goosefoot (grass-leaved) – I declare war against you
indian cress – warlike trophy
milfoil – war
nasturtium – a warlike trophy, patriotism
tansy – I declare war against you, resistance
In Serbian Poetry ravens are often bearers of tragic news, like the death of a hero.
Iris – I have a message for you, message, faith, wisdom, promise in love, hope, valour
Favourite Food: Bitter things
this is a list of bitter tasting herbs and foods
angelica – inspiration, magic
cabbage – profit
chamomile – energy in adversity, energy in action
chicory – frugality
cress – resolution, stability, power
dandelion – coquetry, the rustic oracle, oracle, faithfulness, happiness, love's oracle
endive – frugality
ginger – strength
mushroom – suspicion, I can't entirely trust you (many mushrooms are bitter)
lettuce – cold-hearted(ness)
lemon – zest (the juice is bitter)
olive – peace (bitter only uncured)
peppermint – warmth of feelings
rhubarb – advice (the leaves are bitter)
rocket – rivalry
rue – disdain, grace, purification
rue (wild) – morals
thistle – misanthropy, surliness, austerity, never forget, harshness, sternness
thistle (scotch) – retaliation
yarrow – to cure, war, a cure for the heart ache, cure for a broken heart, cure for heartache
wormwood – absence
Favourite Place to Be: Near water
water lily – eloquence, purity of heart
water lily (peltated) – wisdom
water lily (white) – eloquence, purity, purity of heart
water lily (yellow) – growing indifference
willow (water) – freedom
Based on personality
aloe – bitterness, bitterness and pain, grief, religious superstition
asphodel – my regrets follow you to the grave, regret
bitter-sweet nightshade – truth
bittersweet – truth
blue bell – regret, constancy, sorrowful, kindness, humility, gratitude
bramble – remorse, envy, loneliness
edelweiss – daring, courage, noble courage/purity
larch – boldness, audacity,
mandevilla crassinoda – you are too bold
pine – boldness, pity, daring, time and faith
pink – boldness, pure love/affection, lively and pure affection, ity
raspberry – remorse
- Mod Jana
Disclaimer
This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cultural_depictions_of_ravens
https://www.botanical-online.com/english/Bitterfood.htm
#victorian flower language#flowers for characters#Allfia Layrinith Suncatcher#ask answered#mod jana#submission
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hello, may I have a list of flowers that mean memory or fear?
Hey littleinksheep,
of course, you may, I hope it’s what you were looking for. These are also the only two meanings which contain the word fear, I have tried several other synonyms also meaning scared, but nothing turned up.
aspen - fear, lamentation, groan, excessive sensibility
bay (red) - love’s memory
everlasting - never ceasing memory, never ceasing remembrance, perpetual remembrance, always remembered
periwinkle (blue) - pleasures of memory, sweet remembrance, early friendship
periwinkle (white) - pleasures of memory, pleasing remembrances
rosebud (stripped of thorns) - I fear no longer I hope
syringa - memory, fraternal love, fraternal regard
syringa (carolina) - memory, disappointment
- Mod Jana
Disclaimer
This blog is intended as writing advice only. This blog and its mods are not responsible for accidents, injuries or other consequences of using this advice for real world situations or in any way that said advice was not intended.
#flower language#writing advice#victorian flower language#memory#fear#mod jana#ask answered#littleinksheep
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