#the rest of the time has been the flower the colour or weed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bullet-prooflove · 1 year

Text

No Words - Filip 'Chibs' Telford x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @lexondeck @anime-weeb-4-life @redpoodlern @ravencrow83 @kishie8 @nu1freakshow @oureternalbond @rubes2323 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @jtelford @the-wandering-lunatic @samanthaofanarchy @darqchilddaydreamz @yourwinchesterbros

It’s a slow fall, one that Chibs could never have prepared himself for even if he tried. He feels his fingers clawing at the edge of the cliff, he tries to fight it, he really does but it’s like trying to struggle against the tide, you can’t, so in the end he succumbs to it. He feels it every time he looks at you, the current dragging him deeper.

There are a thousand things he loves about you.

Your elegance, your charm, your perseverance in the face of adversity. A woman like you, in their world. You shouldn’t fit in amongst the ingrates, but you do. The respect cuts both ways. It should be as simple as taking the money and doing the work, but you’re not like the other lawyers the club has worked with. You take the time to build relationships with each and every one of them. Most of the guys trust you with their personal affairs. You’ve handled Bobby’s most recent divorce, Tig’s investment in Cara Cara, Juice’s weed shop. You’ve fought for them all in court, brokered deals, reduced charges, laughed in the face of prosecutors who have designs on shutting down the club.

You’re vicious, beautiful and damn right tenacious.

Chibs notices when the wedding ring disappears, the faded indentation on your left hand where a diamond used to sit. You don’t mention it to anyone in the club but there’s signs. Your sense of style changes, you become more eclectic, bolder patterns, brighter colours, fabrics that accentuate your figure instead of hiding it away. You favour different jewellery, it’s more edgy than delicate, beaten metal instead of gold and precious stones. When you change your hair, it takes everything in him not to run his fingers through those freshly trimmed locks when he compliments it.

He recognises freedom when he sees it. Whatever was keeping you prim and proper, locked away in that claustrophobic little cage is gone and you are thriving. You bloom like a flower, petals unfurling as if you’re feeling the sun on your face for the first time. It’s stunning to watch.

It’s late that night, you’re seated at his kitchen table sipping from one of his lowball glasses. He’s filled it halfway with top shelf whisky imported straight from one of the distilleries in Scotland. You’re going through the most recent version of his will with him. He’s known since that last visit to Ireland, that things between him and Fiona were never going to be the way they were. She may be free from Jimmy, but his wife is dedicated to the cause, it will always be her first love. Fiona’s not holding out for him and he’s not holding out for her, they exist on two different continents, two separate spaces. He can never go back to that life, and she can never step into his. He will always love the mother of his child but not in the way he loves you.

However, he wants to make sure that both her and Kerrianne are taken care of if something were to happen to him. He has assets, cash in a safety deposit box, some of his mother’s old jewellery, items that have been passed down through the generations. He wants to make sure they end up in the right place.

The two of you are sitting close together, his arm resting on the back of your chair as he studies the documentation in front of him. He taps the pen on the surface of the table as he reads, checking everything off in his head. Once he’s satisfied, he scrawls his signature at the bottom before setting it down and tilting his head to look at you.

“I’ll file it first thing in the morning.” You tell him, leaning in just a little to reach for your pen.

It’s your scent that catches him off guard, that and the proximity of your body. The perfume you’re wearing it’s dark and sensuous, something subtle and honied, he breathes it in and it floods his veins like a narcotic. The silk of your blouse brushes across the cotton of his shirt with a slight rustle and he feels the heat from your body grace his skin.

You look up and that’s the moment that everything changes, because he sees the desire in your eyes, the desperation, the need. He kisses you softly, nothing more than a brush of the lips but in that instant he’s lost.

There’s a moment when you step into the ocean that the current takes you, it snarls around your body, dragging you deeper, the waves crashing over your head until it forces you under. That’s what happens to Chibs in that moment, the tide fucking takes him, and he drowns.

He won’t survive this, he knows, but he can’t help himself.

You’re a force of nature and he’s simply a man adrift at sea.

He draws you into his lap, that pencil skirt of yours hitching higher up your thighs as he explores your mouth with slow, tender kisses that leave you whimpering. He can tell that it’s been a while since someone has loved you. It’s in the way you respond to his touches, that little sigh when he kisses your lower lip, the way your head tips back as his thumb chases along the line of your jaw, your thighs parting because you need to be as close as he does. He doesn’t know how you make it to the bedroom; he’s too wrapped up in the sensation of being with you.

It’s when he lays you down amongst his sheets that he pauses. He sees you lying there, the navy blue silk contrasting against your skin, buttons undone, revealing black lace. That silver necklace made of hammered metal sits against your collarbone like a chest piece. His fingertips run over it because by now he understands what it represents, beaten but never broken. If that doesn’t sear itself into an old Scot’s heart…

You watch as he removes the rings on his fingers, there’s a sensuality to it. His dark gaze sets firmly on yours as he takes them off one by own. You remove your own armour, that necklace, the matching bracelet on your wrist. There’s a catharsis in it. He takes them from your hands, setting them down gently on the nightstand alongside his own precious pieces.

He underdresses you in the dark, flashes of moonlight from the open highlighting your skin. You don’t speak and neither does he, there’s an affinity in the silence.

You breathe his name when he enters you, it flows like a prayer from your lips. He moves in slow strokes, prolonging the pleasure until you're flushed and wanton, a wreck amongst his sage green sheets. His hand caresses your jaw, guiding your gaze back to his as he makes love to you in a bed that’s never known it. He wants you to see what you do to him, that you’ve stolen away his heart, that you’re gradually stealing his sanity. He kisses you when you come around his cock, drinking down your moans as he cradles your head in his hand, his own release spilling into you.

In the aftermath he watches you dress, his back against the headboard, the sheets pooling around his hips as your fingers draw up the zipper of your pencil skirt. There are no words to describe what just happened, there’s nothing that needs to be said. You’re both still raw from your past, there’s no space to discuss a future.

It’s only after you leave that he realises you’ve left your jewellery on the nightstand. Your necklace and bracelet, his rings. They look like they belong together, a jumble of forged metal, worn in the heat of battle.

He smiles to himself, his fingertip tracing over the indents made in the hammered metal.

At least now you have a reason to come back.

Love Chibs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#chibs x reader #chibs telford #chibs telford x reader #chibs imagine #filip chibs telford x reader #filip chibs telford #filip telford

196 notes · View notes

undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

Note

This might seem like an odd request, but I'm gathering up my courage to ask anyway.

Could you perhaps do a writing where the reader is a very good person, but has a horrific past.

Corinthian comes to her town, she sees him being a menace or maybe murdering someone, although she's very much afraid of him she thinks he needs a friend. The Corinthian *shocked at this behaviousr* ends up becoming friends with her after sometime and visits her every year until she passes away and every year, he leaves flowers on her grave. Perhaps he meets her grand daughter one day too?

Just a thought for a drabble, if you have time.

Meanwhile, I'll be nose deep in you masterpieces on the master list! 😍

[MASTERLIST] | [Sandman-inspired playlist]

Corinthian isn’t religious, so rituals of any sort are quite unfamiliar to him. Despite that, he does have a few of them, even if ‘rite’ is not necessarily the word he’d use, like the way he goes about his victims - the stalking, the loving, the carving. Or the way he’d visit this one grave every year.

The sunlight of early spring glides across the grey tombstone. The day is cool but the marker is probably warm to the touch. Lanky weeds grow around the grave, although they are not tall or dense enough to consider the memorial neglected. There are numerous lanterns placed around it. An enormous willow tree proudly stands not too far from the grave. Some of its long branches brush against the grey stone. In a place like this, one’s rest can truly be peaceful.

When people age, it’s a graceful statement of very vital information: they’re alive. Whatever tried to kill them was unsuccessful. Graves growing older, however, are the exact opposite: it’s a malicious cackle only becoming louder as the tombstone cracks and fades in the sunlight; a memory slowly fading away even if it's regularly recalled and relived.

Corinthian reads the line at the bottom of the gravestone over and over again: Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future*. Whether he wants to or not, he recalls the strange night he met you all those decades ago. Nothing about that fateful run-in suggested he’d become a prisoner to sentiments and melancholy:

Hot blood is dripping down his hands. It’s refreshing, cleansing in some macabre way. Giving in to this urge is always just as sweet like finally scratching a patch of skin that has been terribly itchy for the past, well, forever. But the night is going to only become better: now that the thrill of the chase has come to a grand finish, comes the ravishing.

“Well, that was a little excessive,” you speak up.

The man in a cream-coloured jacket suddenly turns around to look at you. His sunglasses are halfway off his nose but he pushes them back up immediately as he stands up. “An uninvited guest!” Corinthian announces. “Wasn’t expecting one. I think I have some spare time if you want to,” here he flips the knife in his hand, yellow light of streetlamps cascades off the well-kept blade, “get to know each other.”

“I’m not scared of you,” you say with a giggle hiding in your voice. “Middle of the night, you’re killing some poor bastard you’ve never seen before behind a run-down motel, trying to act all tough. You have a knife, what did he have? Sweaty palms? Excerpt from the Bible tattooed on his wrist? It’s not scary, it’s pathetic. You don’t need another victim, you need a friend. Maybe a hobby, too.”

He’s standing maybe a meter or two away from you but you’re not bothered by that. You can’t be, not anymore. “It’s quite dangerous for a young lady like you to go around at night, asking strange men to be her friend. Has no one ever told you that?”

“>Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future<,” you quote. “I wonder what's yours.”

A curious smile suddenly appears on Corinthian’s face as though he realized that some things were about to change. It’s hard to say whether he knows how much he is going to change. “Feeling fearless, don’t you?”

“What can I say,” you answer with a disinterested shrug, your hands still shoved deep into the pockets of your coat, “I’ve seen worse. I’ve grown to know the terrors lurking in the dark a little too well to ever be scared of them again. Now come on, I can hear someone walking this way.”

A shy voice interrupts Corinthian’s melancholy. “Excuse me? You knew my grandmother?”

The girl looks to be in her early twenties or late teens if she’s living a stressful life. Judging by the messy hair and bags under her eyes, coming to the cemetery must have come with some hardships. She has a sweatshirt with a logo of a university embroidered on it. There seems to be an orange stain, some sauce without a doubt, on the hem of the pullover.

“Once. At least I’d like to think so.”

She looks at him suspiciously but not necessarily in a bad way - she can tell there’s something utterly exciting about his dishonesty. A thought passes through his head that, in some way, at that moment, she looks exactly like you did that fateful night. “But you look very… young, sir.”

“I eat my greens and use a good SPF.”

Understanding that Corinthian isn’t interested in small talk, she falls silent for now. The two of them are complete strangers suddenly united in grief, despite their respective mourning being so different. They’re together but still so very alone.

“I always liked that quote,” the girl speaks up after a few minutes. Maybe she’s looking for closure in friends of someone she is yet to learn to live without. “It’s very… hopeful. Anyone can be good, all it takes is the right decision. You can always change.”

“It’s a warning,” he states.

The girl scrunches her nose and furrows her eyebrows. “How so?”

“Even the smallest, seemingly insignificant choice can change the direction you’re headed. You can never know what you’re going to become until you become it. And when you do… it’s already too late.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

Corinthian doesn’t answer straight away. For a moment he’s pondering that notion, slowly and painfully accepting that those decades he spent with you changed him forever. “Maybe I am,” he says in a slightly quieter voice.

_____________ *Line from Oscar Wilde’s A woman of no importance

#the corinthian x reader #the corinthian x you #the corinthian imagine #the corinthian fanfiction #the corinthian #the sandman fanfic #the sandman imagine #the sandman netflix #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman #corinthian #corinthian x reader #corinthian fanfiction #corinthian imagine #corinthian x you

73 notes · View notes

hjmorgan · 2 months

Text

&. AN INTRODUCTION TO :

— HARPER MORGAN.

'if i told you that a flower bloomed in a dark room, would you trust it?'

BIO.

INTRODUCTION

BIRTH NAME: HARPER JANE MORGAN

CHOSEN NAME: HARPER

NICKNAME(S): MORGAN, HARPS, BLOSSOM ( HER GRANDMOTHER )

TITLE(S): N/A

AGE: 29

DATE OF BIRTH: 25/11

STAR SIGN: SAGITTARIUS

GENDER: CIS WOMAN

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: SHE/THEY

SEXUALITY: SHE ISN’T FOND OF LABELS, BUT WOULD SAY BISEXUAL IF SHE HAS TO

HOMETOWN: SOMERSET, ENGLAND

LANGUAGES SPOKEN: ENGLISH, GAELIC

RESIDENCE IN FENRIR'S WOOD: IN A STANDARD HOTEL DOWN AT SUNE'S HARBOUR

OCCUPATION: BARTENDER AT STARSTRUCK

SPECIES: WITCH

APPEARANCE

FACECLAIM: LUCA HOLLESTELLE

GENERAL APPEARANCE: USUALLY PRETTY CASUAL AND SIMPLE. DOESN'T SPEND TOO MUCH TIME ON MAKE-UP AND HER HAIR IS LEFT TO DO AS IT PLEASES UNLESS SHE TIES IT UP. HAS A SCRUNCHY ON HER WRIST AT ALL TIMES

HAIRSTYLE/COLOUR(S): SHOULDER LENGTH, WAVY, NATURAL REDHEAD

EYE COLOUR: WARM BROWN

HEIGHT: 5'5"

BODYSHAPE/BUILD: SLIM ATHLETIC

IDENTIFYING MARKS: A SCAR ACROSS HER NOSE SHE GAINED AS A CHILD DURING HER GRANDMOTHER'S RITUAL ( THOUGH SHE HAS NO MEMORY OF THE HOW ), FRECKLES ACROSS HIS NOSE, A SMATTERING OF SCARS ON HER KNEES FROM PLAYING IN THE WOODS GROWING UP

DEEPER DIVE

ALIGNMENT: CHAOTIC GOOD

POSITIVE TRAITS: CREATIVE, COURAGEOUS, COMPASSIONATE, OPEN-MINDED, ACCEPTING, LOYAL, STEADFAST, PROTECTIVE

NEGATIVE TRAITS: STUBBORN, DISMISSIVE, IMPULSIVE, EASILY DISINTERESTED

LIKES: BEING OUT IN THE WOODS, NATURE, SKETCHING, PHOTOGRAPHY, SINGING, PLAYING HER OLD AND BEAT UP GUITAR, SWEET FOODS, EXERCISING, BEING OUTDOORS, FLUFFY SOCKS, ROCK AND INDIE MUSIC, FRUITY SHAMPOOS, DOGS, HER PICK UP TRUCK

DISLIKES: BEING COLD, SOUR FOOD, BEING STUCK INSIDE ALL DAY, WHEN HER THROAT GETS SORE FROM SINGING, EGOTISTICAL PEOPLE, BEING TOLD WHAT TO DO OR BELIEVE, CATS

SKILLS AND STRENGTHS: CAN PICK A LOCK WITHOUT TOO MUCH OF A PROBLEM, MISDIRECTION, PICK-POCKETING, HAS GREAT ENDURANCE AND STAMINA, CAN BE CALM IN EMERGENCIES

WEAKNESSES: LEADING, TAKING CHARGE, FOLLOWING ORDERS, IS CLAUSTROPHOBIC, HAS A TENDENCY TO RUN AWAY

FEARS: MAGIC, SPIRITS, BEING STUCK IN THE SAME PLACE FOR TOO LONG, BEING ALONE FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE, NEVER FITTING IN ANYWHERE

DISABILITIES/ILLNESSES: N/A

ALLERGIES: CATS

ADDICTIONS: N/A

DRUGS/ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION: SMOKES WEED, DOESN'T DRINK

SMELLS LIKE: LAVENDER AND GOOSEBERRIES, OCCASIONALLY SMELLS LIKE WEED IF SHE'S BEEN SMOKING IT

PRIZED POSSESSIONS: HER OLD GUITAR

PET(S): N/A

VOICE CLAIM FOR SINGING: LIZA ANNE

FAVOURITES

MUSIC: INDIE/ROCK, ALTERNATIVE

FILMS: ACTION AND ROMCOMS

COLOUR: DARK GREENS

FOOD: A BURGER WITH A SIDE OF CHEESY FRIES AND A CHOCOLATE MILKSHAKE

SMELLS: EARTHY SMELLS, SWEET FLORAL SCENTS, CITRUS

FAMILY AND RELATIONS

FAMILY:

GRANDMOTHER ( DECEASED, DIED WHEN HARPER WAS A TEENAGER. HARPER USED TO VISIT HER IN TOWN WHEN SHE WAS A CHILD UP UNTIL THE AGE OF SIX WHEN HER GRANDMOTHER CAST A RITUAL UPON HER TO ALLOW HER TO SEE GHOSTS, WHICH FRIGHTENED HARPER SO BADLY SHE REFUSED TO GO BACK )

FATHER ( DECEASED, DIED WHEN SHE WAS YOUNG )

MOTHER ( ESTRANGED, NO CONTACT )

RELATIONS:

HASAN JACKSON / her baby sitter as a kid. used to spend a lot of time with him when her grandmother was busy during her visits to town. most memorable moments were running away from him 90% of the time to go hide in the woods

NISHANT DOSHI / another friend she made as a child. would come to the park just to hang out with him and his friends

AFFILIATIONS:

SAGA COVEN / tba.

GENERAL BACKSTORY

WAS BORN IN SOMERSET, ENGLAND TO AN ENGLISH FATHER AND AN IRISH MOTHER

MOVED TO IRELAND WHEN SHE WAS AROUND 2 YEARS OLD AFTER HER FATHER DIED

WOULD COME BACK TO ENGLAND TO VISIT HER GRANDMOTHER AT FENRIRS WOOD REGULARLY AT HER GRANDMOTHER'S REQUEST. HER MOTHER COULD NEVER SAY NO AS SHE FEARED WHAT HER GRANDMOTHER WOULD DO

HARPER'S MOTHER SPENT HER CHILDHOOD TELLING HER MAGIC WASN'T REAL, THAT IT WAS ALL A JOKE HER GRANDMOTHER BELIEVED IN, THAT ANYTHING TO DO WITH HER WOULD BE DANGEROUS, BUT HARPER DIDN'T CARE. HARPER LOVED HER GRANDMOTHER AND WISHED TO SEE HER AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE

SHE LOVED MAGIC, SHE LOVED THE SPIRITS, SHE LOVED THE FREEDOM SHE FELT INSIDE WHENEVER SHE CONNECTED WITH THEM

SPENT A LOT OF TIME IN TOWN AS A KID, USUALLY RUNNING OFF SOMEWHERE THE MOMENT ANYONE TOOK THEIR EYES OFF HER

HAD AN AFFINITY FOR THE WOODS AND NATURE, HER FAVOURITE PLACE BEING HER GRANDMOTHER' GARDEN AS IT USUALLY WOULD BE FILLED WITH MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF PLANTS AND MAGICAL ELEMENTS

AT THE AGE OF SIX, SHE DEMANDED TO MEET HER GRANDMOTHER'S FRIENDS WHO ONLY SHE COULD SEE. HER GRANDMOTHER OBLIGED

THE RITUAL TO ALLOW HARPER TO BECOME A GHOST WHISPERER WAS CAST ON SAMHAIN, TO WHICH HARPER DIDN'T RESPOND TO AS WELL AS HER GRANDMOTHER HAD HOPED

HARPER BECAME TERRIFIED OF EVERYTHING SHE SAW. OF THE GHOSTS, OF THE MAGIC SHE'D GROWN UP ADORING. SHE SPENT THE REST OF HER STAY WITH HER GRANDMOTHER CONFINED TO HER ROOM, REFUSING TO OPEN HER EYES OR ACKNOWLEDGE ANYTHING AROUND HER

AFTER HARPER RETURNED TO IRELAND, SHE NEVER WENT BACK TO FENRIRS WOOD, AND NEVER SAW HER GRANDMOTHER AGAIN

HARPER DIDN'T ATTEND HER GRANDMOTHER'S FUNERAL

AT THE AGE OF 18, HARPER LEFT HOME. HER RELATIONSHIP WITH HER MOTHER HAD FALLEN APART OVER THE YEARS AS HARPER'S GIFT TO SEE GHOSTS AND CONNECTION TO MAGIC GREW STRONGER. HARPER HAD CONFIDED IN HER MOTHER HER FEARS, TO WHICH HER MOTHER DISMISSED HER

HARPER THEN SPENT MUCH OF HER TIME TRAVELLING IN AN OLD PICK UP TRUCK THAT SHE STILL DRIVES TODAY, TRAVELLING ALL OVER IRELAND, AND THEN EVENTUALLY MOVING TO ENGLAND WHEN SHE TURNED 25 AND HAD SAVED ENOUGH MONEY TO GET AWAY

HARPER SPENT 4 YEARS MOVING AROUND ENGLAND, TAKING UP ODD JOBS TO GET BUY, BUSKING ON THE STREETS AND MOSTLY SLEEPING IN HER TRUCK. SHE LOVED THE WAY OF LIFE BUT COULDN'T SHAKE THE FEELING OF BEING PULLED TOWARDS FENRIRS WOOD

HARPER ARRIVED IN TOWN AROUND TWO WEEKS BEFORE EASTER

IMPORTANT DETAILS

HARPER DOESN'T USE MAGIC. SHE DOESN'T ACKNOWLEDGE IT. SHE DENIES ITS EXISTENCE DESPITE BEING VERY AWARE OF IT

HARPER DOESN'T MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH ANYONE AND WILL CHOOSE TO KEEP HER GAZE ON THE GROUND MOST OF THE TIME. SHE'S AFRAID OF WHAT SHE'LL SEE, OR IF SHE'LL REALISE THE PERSON STANDING BEFORE HER IS A GHOST

CURRENTLY, SHE HAS NO CONNECTION TO THE SAGA COVEN. YET

ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS

TBA

WANTED CONNECTIONS

HARPER CURRENTLY LIVES IN A HOTEL. EVENTUALLY, IT'D BE NICE IF SHE FOUND A ROOMMATE OR TWO SHE COULD TAKE UP A RESIDENCE WITH. I'D LOVE TO GIVE HER A REAL HOME ( 0/? )

A BEST FRIEND. SOMEONE SHE CAN RELY ON. HARPER HASN'T HAD FRIENDS SINCE SHE WAS A KID. I'D LOVE FOR HER TO FIND HER PERSON, OR PEOPLE ( 0/? )

A MAGICAL MENTOR. SOMEONE WHO CAN TEACH HER MAGIC ISN'T EVERYTHING SHE FEARS. SOMEONE WHO CAN HELP HER RE-ESTABLISH HER CONNECTION TO HER HERITAGE AND THE LONG LINE OF WITCHES THAT CAME BEFORE HER ( 0/1 )

NOTES

HARPER IS NOT AVAILABLE FOR PLOTS THAT INVOLVES PREGNANCY OR PREGNANCY SCARES. I'M NOT COMFORTABLE WITH WRITING THOSE PLOTLINES, SORRY!

I DON'T PUSH FOR ROMANTIC INTERESTS OR CRUSHES FROM THE GET GO. I PREFER RELATIONSHIPS ( WHETHER FRIENDLY, PLATONIC OR ROMANTIC ) TO DEVELOP ORGANICALLY

LINKS/TAGS/PAGES

TBA

#bio #pinned post

5 notes · View notes

sleuthy-scientist · 2 months

Text

Time After Time - Chapter 12 - Meet & Greet

Other chapters can be found here⬇️

Before heading to the park to meet Emily and Grace, as Aaron promised, the Hotchner men made a pit stop at the cemetery Haley was buried in. Aaron knew Jack had been itching to visit his mother's grave, since they had first gone into WITSEC on the run from Scratch.

Jack cries when he sees the fresh flowers already there, immediately knowing Emily and Grace had probably placed them there for his mom. He touched the new golden angel medallion that also now adorned her headstone. He could see the extra care and attention bestowed to his mother's final resting place. While many of the others were overrun with weeds, ivy, and moss, his mom's look pristine in comparison.

Jack crouched down to trail his fingers across the name and date, forever etched in stone. His heart melted as he noticed the colourful crayon drawing, resting underneath the beautiful bouquet. He knew Jessica had been telling the truth about Emily and Grace visiting his mother's grave each week. But seeing the tangible proof was everything.

This kind gesture, renewed his hope that his father was right telling him there was nothing to be nervous about. Emily had made sure his mom wasn't forgotten, just as she had always promised him when he was younger. It did however add to his guilt for ever doubting Emily's love for him and his father, for thinking she could have ever been cruel enough to betray either of them in any way.

He glanced up, noticing his father also subtly wiping away the tears he tried to hide. He knew his dad was just as touched by the care and attention Emily put into keeping his mother's memory alive, even in their absence. Jack knew that his father felt bad it had been over 5 years since either of them had last visited his mother's grave. But the older man's tears were in repentance for the sins he felt superseded that one alone.

Jack silently whispered a prayer to his mom, hoping she could somehow help his father and Emily patch things up. Because he knew his mom may have been his dad's first love, but Emily was his father's last , forever, and truest love. Seeing the whole situation was murky at best, his dad needed all the help and good will he could get.

On the way out of the cemetery Jack asked his father if they had time to make another quick stop before heading over to the park. He didn't want to show up empty handed to meet his little sister. He wouldn't give it to her immediately, not wanting Emily to think he was trying to buy their affection. But he wanted some tangible item to give his little sister to commemorate this day, and maybe help him alleviate or absolve some of his own guilt that lingered.

Jack also wanted to give Emily a gift as well, but he knew she would appreciate the gesture more if he made something that has sentimental value. He had the perfect idea of what to give her too, he just wanted to wait until his nerves settled and he had a chance to reconnect with her first. Jack knew Emily would never expect a gift for herself regardless, and deem it unnecessary, as if she didn't deserve to be shown an ounce of the love she gave others.

But Jack knew she did, and he would do something special for her, once he had time to wrap his head around everything, and allow his heart and nerves to settle. Jack had wanted a younger sibling far longer than he could fully recall, he hated knowing how much time he missed with his baby sister. But Jack knew if he voiced his concern Emily would advise him not to dwell on the past and accept the things he couldn't change. So he endeavoured to do just that.

When they arrived at the park, the Hotchner males could see Emily kneeling on a checkered red and white blanket, unpacking things from a basket. Grace could be seen excitedly running circles around her mother. She noticed them first, clueing Emily into their arrival. "Mommy look they're here they are really here. That's my daddy and my brother, they finally came to see me."

Jack couldn't stop the smile erupting on his face, hearing his little sister's obvious piercing squeal of excitement already helping to quell the butterflies in his stomach. He wanted to chuckle as it very much reminded him of his Aunt Penelope's exuberance. As they got closer Jack could hear Emily attempting to calm down the hyper 4 year old.

"I know baby it's exciting, I am so happy for you Gracie. Come sit monkey, they will be right over to meet you." Emily patted the spot beside her needing to feel her daughter close by, not entirely ready for the emotional renunion that was merely seconds away from happening.

Emily knew the polite thing to do would be to stand to greet the Hotchner boys, but she feared her legs wouldn't support her, and wasn't sure she wanted to risk the humiliation. The closer they got, the faster her heart beat, the queasiness in her stomach rising. Emily hoped it would settle soon, knowing at least one of the three Hotchners in her presence would make note or give her grief, if she didn't try to eat something.

Jack and Aaron watched as if a switch was flipped as the rambunctious little girl in the blink of an eye turned shy, settling herself instead into her mother's lap. Clinging to the older woman's neck, clearly beyond comfortable and at home in the safety of Emily's loving embrace. One that both Hotchner men themselves, distinctly remembered had always brought them nothing but peace and comfort as well.

Emily felt like her heart was going to explode, the thumping readying itself to beat out of her chest. Her mind running rampant with a million and one ways this scene could play out. The moment she officially introduced Aaron to his daughter and Jack to his little sister. She had waited, wanting this to happen for so long. Now that the time had come, Emily was a loss for words.

Jack is the first one seemingly brave enough to break the silence. "Hey Emily" was all he managed to get out, even though there was a million other things he wanted to say. But even those two words seemed enough, he heard the wheeze of sob break through Emily's lips, an onslaught of tears following it.

Grace, confused by her mother's tears, protectively launches her body more forcefully into hugging her mother, not entirely sure what they had done to hurt her. She immediately squawks out "Don't be mean to my mommy" confused by her mother's uncharacteristic outburst of tears, unable to remotely understand the full situation at hand.

Grace couldn't stop herself from clutching her mother even tighter, burrowing her face into the warmth of her neck, immediately feeling safer and at ease, even more so when her mother returns the embrace, rubbing her back for more comfort.

Emily wanted to chuckle at her daughter's antics, Grace's adorable need to protect and defend her. Her sweet, sensitive, affectionate little girl. She knew Grace was feeding off her nerves, and that she had misread the bittersweet tears that the nostalgic memories of both seeing and hearing Jack again in the flesh caused.

But, Emily knew Grace hadn't been able to understand the reason, to her, Aaron and Jack were just causing her mother's tears once more. And she felt it was her job to fiercely defend the woman who was her whole world. Suddenly unsure why she ever wanted to meet her brother or father, Grace only knew she wanted her mom all to herself.

Yet, Emily knew she needed to smooth things over before Grace got the wrong idea and became wary of her father and brother. She lowered her voice slight above the decibel of a whisper, knowing Jack and Aaron could still hear her. "Hey baby, it's ok. I promise, I just missed your brother Jack so much. These aren't sad tears monkey, they're happy ones because him and your daddy are back home with us, where they belong."

She could tell her daughter still was hesitant, more so when the adorable features on the little girl's face transformed with the infamous Hotchner brow furrow, along with her own patented lip bite. Emily knew Grace didn't fully understand what she was being told, so she put it in terms the little girl might comprehend. "Monkey, it's like when you lost you Mocha, and you were so sad until Nonno searched high and low and found it, remember. You were so happy to have your favourite stuffy back, it's like that baby, mommy just missed your daddy and big brother, so much, they are happy tears honey."

Emily could feel her little girl listening, tentatively relasjng her grip, she slowly eased Grace back, planting kisses on her little girl's face as she wiped away her daughter's emotional tears that had appeared in her defence."I promise I'm not sad sweet girl, I'm so excited they've come to visit us sweetheart. Now baby we should invite our boys to come sit with us, I bet they are both worried now".

Emily looked up, seeing the emotions clouding both Hotchner males' faces, yet Aaron definitely looked closer to tears than his son. Emily tried to convey that they were allowed to approach, yet she could see how startled and nervous both boys were. Grace wasn't much better, obviously intimidated by both their statutes and presence alone.

Emily knew she needed to make the next move to help settle everyone's nerves after her emotional outburst. She somehow managed to stand with Grace still clinging to her like a monkey, knowing she needed to approach them. She slowly made her way over reassuredly rubbing more circles over Grace's back.

As she got closer, Emily could barely believe how much taller and older Jack was upon closer inspection. In her mind he was still the same sweet little 8 year old boy she'd last seen. But the preteen infront of her looked so much more mature and even more like his father than ever before.

Emily carefully pried Grace off of her, loosening her daughter's grip to settle her on her hip, knowing her monkey would have a meltdown if she let go now. "Hey Gracie baby, mommy is right here, I'm not going to let go. How about we say hi to your brother and father and then we can eat lunch and talk and play after. If you want mommy will even go on the swings with you and I bet you can convince Jack to go down all the slides too. Even the big ones, and if you ask him nicely he's really good on the monkey bars."

At the mention of her 3 favourite contraptions at the park, Grace settled more calmly into her mother's side. Emily readjusted her hold taking the last few steps to where the Hotchner boys were still silently standing. She smiled directing her gaze to both of them one at a time, seeing their nerves beginning to loosen as well.

"Ok baby this is your big brother Jack, can you wave to him for me." Aaron silently chuckled watching the familiar look of concentration and precious pout grace his daughter's face as she considered doing as her mother asked. There was no doubt in his mind she picked up that particular expression from her mother, who looked just as adorable making the same face.

Grace looked up at her mother, seeing nothing but warmth and a smile directed at her. Emily planted one more kiss on Grace's cheek and gave her another quick right squeeze of reassurance. The little girl quickly glanced at both boys watching her, taking one last look at her mother and seeing her nod in confirmation, before looking back at her brother.

Jack waited with bated breath not wanting to do anything that would startle his little sister. He couldn't get over how cute his baby sister is, or how much she clearly loved her mother. He couldn't stop the next words pouring out of his mouth "Grace looks so much like you Emily, it's like you cloned yourself."

Grace adored anytime someone told her she looked or acted like her mom. There was no one she wanted to be like more, Grace had always thought her mom was prettier than any princess from her movies. The little girl giggled and smiled wide at the compliment.

"Everyone says that Jack, but she's definitely got your father's frowny face, just wait until you see her grumpy at nap time, the resemblance is uncanny."

Gracie huffed and tried to defend herself wanting to make a good impression. "Mommy, I is not a grumpy goose, I is a big girl, I don't like nap time, unless I get to sleep with you mommy."

Jack and Aaron chuckled at Grace's antics and sassiness she obviously inherited from her mother. "I know Gracie girl, now how about we give Jack a high five, a hand shake, or a hug to say hi."

Emily didn't expect Jack to barrel into them for an embrace, so overwhelmed himself. She was about to say something to soothe the young man she so dearly missed when Grace spoke. "You don't hafta be sad Jack, mommy gives the best hugs. And we brought you cookies, she said there you fabourites, and I helpeded her make them. After we eat, we can go play, and feed the duckies if you want, that always cheers me up. Please don't be sad brother, mommy and I misseded you so much, her and Aunt Jessie tells me bedtime stories about you and daddy all the time."

Aaron could feel himself getting choked up, seeing his kids interact. Watching Emily's concern for Jack transform to emotions of pride at their daughters empathy and adorable attempts to cheer up the brother she seemed so worried about meeting moments before.

Jack sniffled pulling back, trying to hide the evidence of his tears. Yet Emily pulled him even tighter into her side, letting him hide his face in her shoulder. Jack could feel her kiss his cheek than his forehead, hugging him even closer whispering "Everything will be ok Jack Attack".

Jack felt instantly comforted by her words and embrace, just as he always had before everything fell apart. He wanted more than anything to believe she was right, knowing he couldn't handle losing her again. Emboldened by her actions and words, Jack released his death grip on her stepping back abit to kiss her cheek and whisper back "Thanks Emmy".

Emily responded a little louder "Anytime kiddo" proceeding to playfully ruffle his hair one handed in response, hoping to distract him. Knowing he had always hated crying in general, but even more so in public where anyone could see.

"Is we gonna tickle Jack now mommy, cause I wanna help, please mommy?" Emily responded by kissing Grace's cheek, replying "How about we go give your daddy a hug first, and then we can all eat, so here are no grumbling tummies for when we play after."

Aaron could feel his daughter's nerves revving up again as she sneakily glanced once more at him, clutching her mother even tighter in comfort. He knew how scary and imposing his stature could be, even to those who knew him well.

Aaron could sense both girls" nerves flairing up, knowing their emotions were just building, like his own. He took a step closer, waiting them out when he noticed Emily's protective stance emerge sensing his unauthorized approach.

While he expected her slow movements towards him, observing his reactions to her own. What he wasn't expecting was Emily to clutch onto him and bury he face into the crook of his neck. Yet he held on, refusing to let go, trying to soak in the moment.

He had never thought he would get to feel her in his arms again. And while he couldn't fully embrace her how he would have wanted, he wasn't going to take what he was getting for granted, especially knowing he might not get another chance to really be this close to her for awhile.

Aaron could feel the warm, silent, desperate tears escape from her eyes, slowly sliding, forming a trail down his neck. Knowing he needed to distract Grace before she noticed his presence was the source of her mother's discomfort, ruining what progress has been made.

Yet, when he glanced down at his daughter, he could see her peering shyly up at him. She cheekily half whispered half squealed a squeaky "Hi daddy" before throwing her arm around his neck and shoving her as close as possible to her mother's.

Emily chuckled immediately recognizing the familiar comforting warm breath of her daughter and her imperative need to be as close as possible when she was in same space. "Hey monkey, I love you Gracie girl." Her daughter immediately replying, "Hi mommy", hugging her tighter, smoothing Emily inbetween them.

Aaron was too stunned to speak, not expecting Grace to address him first, or to be so comfortable doing so. Yet knowing he trust in him came from seeing her mother take comfort and emotional release in his arms.

It was Jack's embrace, one arm wrapped around each adult, head resting just beside his little sister, that made Aaron finally weep, unable to care enough to even try to pretend to keep up his stoic facade. He wasn't sure if it had been a mere few seconds, or perhaps even minutes that had passed, when tightened grips started to loosen.

Aaron could feel Grace wiggle in between them, not wanting to fully release her, knowing that would mean Emily would let go as well. He was grateful when Jack seemed to sense his dilemma whispering "I got her Emily" feeling the warm, tiny, squirming body slide out their embrace into her big brother's arms.

Emily could feel her pulse beginning to settle, the usual comfort and ease she found in his presence still potent. She knew it would be easy to fall back into his arms and lose herself in his scent and the thump of his heartbeat.

She was also aware of Jack's intentions to give them a moment of privacy, momentarily occupying his little sister's full attention. Emily was grateful but didn't want to rush things and give the boy any false hope that everything was magically fixed between her and his father.

Both parents stood frozen in place, silently staring on. Watching the siblings interact with ease, comfort, and familiarity, like they had been doing so for years. Once he was sure the kids were suitably distracted, settled on picnic blanket, he couldn't stop himself from fully wrapping both arms around Emily.

Yet she couldn't risk losing herself again in him, it was torture being this near. Wanting to surrender herself fully to the love she wasn't sure she would ever feel again. But the dull ache of pain residing in the recesses of her heart and brain reminded her she couldn't indulge. Not without slipping back under the spell and control he had over her.

He felt her begin to protest and push him away, before he had her fully encapsulated in his embrace. Yet it wasn't anger in her eyes as he expected to see, it was pain and desperation. Aaron knew he couldn't force this on her, not when she was clearly at war with herself. It would be unfair to take advantage and try to push for more than she could give, with the chance of breaking her beyond repair.

He watched her subtly slip away from him as she carefully wiped her eyes, before approaching and starting up conversation with the kids when she was close enough. Hearing them excitedly respond to whatever she was saying.

Aaron stood wistfully observing how perfect a picture was being painted before him. A masterpiece for which he deserved no credit in helping to create. It was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen in his life and he knew he couldn't risk screwing it up.

Aaron knew this was exactly what Jess and Dave had been talking about before, he couldn't push her or try to pull her closer if she wasn't ready for more. It was obvious the attraction, feelings and chemistry between them hadn't dissipated in his long absence from her life.

It was obvious she was struggling with herself, her heart and mind at war, neither entirely ready to fully consider giving him another chance to hurt her. He needed to go at her pace and accept whatever parts of herself she willingly offered him.

And until then he would cherish and memorize every single second he had with the three people he loved most. Aaron carefully approached the blanket containing his whole world knowing he had already won so much, it was best not to push his luck while he was ahead.

#criminal minds #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #random edits #hotchniss #soulmates #twinflame #jack hotchner #true love

3 notes · View notes

mazuwii · 1 year

Note

Can you just imagine, you have this miraculous, once in a blue moon day off from work which gives you the time to go out with Reiner for a bit. You don't do anything too fancy, because for you both, you tend to enjoy the mundane little things like taking strolls and simply enjoying the talk that happens along the way. Now imagine that in one of these walks, you stop by a small flower patch that puts you in awe. Bending down and gesturing for Reiner to come take a look too. You tell him about the ones you know of, he sees how fond you are of them. So, he tries to pick one, but you smack his hand away lightly, telling him that he shouldn't pluck them so readily. "Reiner, don't. They'd wilt so quickly," you tell him. "See, aren't they beautiful like this?" you left the question for him, not expecting him to answer. Thinking about what you said, he thinks about it. Knowing you liked them, he wonders.

The next few days when you're away for work (give or take a week due to having to move to different areas) he goes to the local florist to learn about all sorts of plants and flowers. Studies up on them. Surely, even he can raise plants. How hard could it be? Apparently, it was pretty hard. Making sure the soil was right? To him, everything looked like the right soil. But as he learns, it's not. He'd do some weeding too. Make sure nothing stunts the growth of the seeds he purchased. He tilled a good portion of the backyard, a good chunk to grow a flower bed, the rest for some other crops. He was doing this, right? Might as well go all the way.

When you return, he's excited. Takes your hand, leads you to a surprise. The surprise being a clean backyard, primmed and sowed with different flower-bearing and fruit-bearing crop. You noticed the little scrapes on his hands and fingers, noticing by touch that they seemed to have grown a bit more calloused. But he looked contented, and so proud of himself. "What sparked this on? Were you that bored while I was away?" You asked him, jokingly.

"What, you just got home and it's already an interrogation? Not even gonna praise me for my hard work, huh?" He taunts in return. He's at the point where he can be cheeky with you from time to time. "But more importantly, you like them, don't you?" He doesn't even wait for you to answer, he just leans in after pulling you close, giving your temple a quick peck. "Don't stay out too long, dinner's almost ready." And he'd walk back in, leaving you there, and you're kind of stunned, really. To think he'd do something like this for you. And to be honest, you just haven't seen it yet. But he also has one more surprise for you. By the bedside window, on the table. A small potted plant with the flowers that you were so keen on raving to him about. He had purchased one that already had a spike/budling; and had been taking care of it, albeit clumsily at first. Because you liked them rooted where they can thrive. He no longer feels compelled to give you store-bought flowers that would wilt in days. Instead, he'll give you ones that'll grow and continue to flourish so long as the love for it exists.

No but imagine you and Rei have a small argument and when you go to sit by the flowers in guilt you realise their posture is slightly slumped. It’s almost as if they beckoned you to go to your sulking blonde man and fix this mess up.

(Me with this green witch stuff never ends)

But Reiner being good with gardening honestly makes so much sense, he’s taken lives with his hands and to be able to create life using those same rough palms eases the guilt up even just a bit.

And yeah it takes so much time, and sometimes he may cut himself using the tools but it’s all worth it when the garden bursts into different colours. The only downside being that you show more attention to the garden than you do to him 🤣🤣🤣

Also SIDENOTE, my father was a gardener and this was practically a huge part of the good side of my childhood, but do you guys know those really boring gardening shows? With the slow and British accent explaining historical gardens and different flowers and bla bla bla ???

Yeah just think about watching something at night and Reiner pulls up this British gardening show- you don’t mind all that much but you slowly drift off against him and he holds you close whilst the TV’s noise slowly muffles and drifts away with your consciousness

Just take in the presence, his scruff atop your head, his warm big hand resting on your shoulder, slow breath- JUST DUS HE ISHEJEIWHWHW I KNOW ITS ANNOYING OF ME TO DO THIS BUT HES JUST SO FATHERLY ?!?

#reiner braun #I love you so much for this #my beacon of light is Reiner content #what else has life to offer #well…#maybe I should touch some grass

10 notes · View notes

thatagenderfreak · 11 months

Text

Cabin

Deep in the lush green forests of Ravenvale there stands a dilapidated log cabin dripping in vines and moss. Much of the dark wood is covered in lichen and tree fungus. Sun-bleached roof tiles that look like they may have once been red contrast with the dark of the green trees at the edge of the clearing. A path of cracked, grey stones leads to a weather-worn door with a dull brass knob and bell. In the alcove by the door sit dirty plant pots and glass jars filled with dirt; rotted plant holders sway in time with a pair of wind chimes by the door. A set of lanterns hang on chains and hooks in the alcove, their glass walls cracked and sooty.

Tall grass wraps around a carriage that looks like it may have once been expensive, but now is little more than torn fabric and warped wood. Thistles add pops of colour to the seas of green and brown. What once was a group of raised garden beds is now just rotten wood and weeds. A large spruce tree stands proud in the center of the clearing, offering shade to any who sit under it. When the wind blows through its branches a sound like laughing children rings out, even when there is not a child in sight.

A large pond glitters in the sun. The white sand of its shore is warm and soft, the cold water glints blue and reveals the only clean area of the clearing. Along one side of the pond grows pond grass and reeds that sway in time with the trees.

Few have seen the cabin during the day, and even fewer have seen it at night. No one has seen it during both day and night, leading many to believe that there must be two cabins, for how else could the stories be so different? The Day Cabin is old and falling apart, and the Night Cabin is lively and well taken care of.

The Night Cabin is covered I moonflowers and wisteria. Clean wooden walls with glowing windows cast light over the clearing. Shadows dance and play in the windows, children and adults mingling. Outside, the clearing is filled with raucous laughter and smiling faces.

The dark wood of the house looks new, the roofing tiles a vibrant red-orange, none of the pathstones are cracked. The door’s intricate designs are no longer cracked and warped. Brass gleams in the lantern light, shiny and new. The mismatched plant pots and glasses all contain a variety of flowers and ferns, and the chimes sing merrily in the brisk night breeze.

The grass of the clearing reaches no higher than a child's ankles and is dotted with a colourful array of flowers. The carriage sits I the clearing, sleek wood covered with shiny black fabric. A spruce tree is being climbed by a group of children who laugh and taunt each other.

The pond water glints sapphire in the moonlight, endlessly deep and smooth. Occasionally, a pair of lovers will be spotted on the beach, embracing in the moonlight.

If someone goes missing from the village, usually a child or one of the elderly, the next time the Night Cabin is spotted, so are they. They wave their final goodbye, then turn and join the rest of the people there, disappearing from view. The village elders say it is the final resting place of the wistful and innocent, and that all in the village will one day join the people of the cabin.

#writing #atmosperic #cabin #fantasy #I genuinely got this idea from a kids writing promt omg #art #digital art #digital artist #art and writing #The art was an experiment #i dont like it #But it sort of connects so hey

3 notes · View notes

thevalleyisjolly · 2 years

Text

Some Celebrían headcanons:

She discovered a passion for architecture after travelling through Khazad-dûm, and maintained a lasting friendship with the Dwarven architects of Khazad-dûm until their kingdom fell in the Third Age.

Though she does not desire to rule any kingdoms, she can and will roll up her sleeves to take over when she feels things are not being done properly. This can mean anything from taking over the kitchens when the stove dies in the middle of a feast, to completely overhauling Lindon’s emergency response system (her mother was exceedingly proud and more than a little smug for centuries afterwards). She once said that though she might have small hands, they do more in an hour than the minds of the great in a year.

Compared to other Elves, her singing voice is considered breathy and not very strong, but she does have a talent for arranging music. No one is quite sure how she managed to arrange a Númenorean war march into a harp concerto that retained the essence of its rousing spirit, but she did.

She likes flowers as much as the next Elf, but could not tell you any of their names or properties if she tried. It took her about fifty years to realize that the pretty posies being left every so often on the windowsill of her guest-room in Imladris meant that she had a secret admirer, and it was only because her father caught a glimpse of one bouquet, raised an eyebrow, and was eventually persuaded to explain Iathrim flower language to her.

She’s an excellent baker, and once recreated Menegroth in gingerbread for her parents’ 1000th wedding anniversary.

Her first impression of Elrond was that he was oddly shy for an Elf-lord of such reputation, since he kept blushing and looking at his feet whenever she glanced in his direction. Then on a tour of Imladris, he began talking about his vision for what the hidden valley could become and she instantly recognized a city planner when she saw one. They spent the next three days engrossed in a conversation about landscape design and civic infrastructure and structural engineering, and continued to exchange letters debating their ideas for the rest of the Second Age.

Her favourite colours are lilac and orange. Those are difficult colours to make work together, but she pulls it off.

Her one youthful rebellion was to learn Exilic Quenya, which irritated both her father (for obvious reasons) and her mother (whose cradle-tongue was Valinorean Quenya). Both of them blamed Celebrimbor, although his only part in it was to speak it with her occasionally as practice, until he found it expedient to go and visit Narvi for several years.

Celebrimbor was her favourite cousin, and not just by default. He once made her a fine amber and gold filigree necklace as a birthday present, which she has kept all her life and still wears. She considers it his finest work.

Although generally a sociable and amiable person, she can nurse a grudge forever if she sets her mind to it. She never quite forgave Amroth for condescending to her when she asked about the construction of the tree flets in Lórien, and she spent a full thousand years being coolly polite to Erestor because she heard him make an inconsiderate jape about Dwarves once.

Since childhood, she has been very good at climbing and loves heights. Some of her earliest memories are of trying to clamber up her father (so tall and strong, just like a great big tree!) before he swung her up onto his shoulders and let her ride, giggling, upon them as he went about his day showing off his daughter to everyone within range.

She is very much a morning person while Elrond is a night person. Adjusting to each other’s rhythms at first took some time and a few spats, but they made for the perfect tag-team once the twins were born.

Whatever the opposite of a green thumb is, Celebrían has it. Even the hardiest, most stubborn weeds wither under her ministrations. However, she is quite good at cultivating fungi, and wrote a book of mushroom recipes. When Bilbo Baggins discovered that book in the library at Rivendell centuries later, he named her the most excellent queen among Elves, wrote an effusive ode to her wisdom, and copied down the recipes for his own collection which passed down to Frodo and then Sam. It is said in Shire-lore that when the King and Queen came to the Brandywine Bridge, the famous Samwise Gardner prepared a proper Hobbit meal for them himself and the Queen wept when the centrepiece mushroom dish was placed before her, and that is why the dish was known ever after in the Shire as “Queen’s mushrooms.” Other Shire scholars argued that the dish was already known as such because Old Mad Baggins had gotten it from an Elvish queen, a viewpoint which gained considerable support after Fíriel Fairbairn discovered a loose scrap of parchment covered in thin, spidery handwriting among her grandfather’s papers, which appeared to be an early draft of an ode to a wise Faerie queen by the infamous Bilbo Baggins. Seeing as the ode was never formally published however, the provenance remains in vicious dispute among Shire scholars to this day.

While Ost-in-Edhil was her childhood home, Khazad-dûm the great inspiration of her life, and Imladris the home she and Elrond built together, her favourite place she ever lived in was Dol Amroth, by the sea. It wasn’t Sea-longing, like her parents feared. She just liked living on the coast.

Healing comes slowly, even in Valinor, but it does come. She takes long walks beneath the trees with her uncle Finrod, speaking gently of the wondrous things they’ve seen and the joyous adventures they’ve had in Middle-earth. She sits by her grandfather Finarfin’s right hand as he holds court, and finds laughter again hearing him comment in her mind about some of the more banal or petty petitions. When the days dawn sad and grey, she goes to visit a white tower by the sea where her mother-in-law lives and understands quite a lot about despair and wounds that struggle to heal. She sits in silence at the top of the tower, looking out onto the Sundering Seas and feeling the cold sea breeze against her face, harsh and briny and alive alive alive. Then she goes down and helps Elwing with the chores, because she was raised properly with manners and doing the dishes, too, is living.

She starts designing their house on Tol Eressëa some decades before the Last Ship sets sail, but does not break ground until Elrond arrives. Mostly so that they can build it together, but also partly because he is sure to have strong opinions on the plumbing and they have not had the chance to really debate with each other since the boys were born.

#lotr #celebrian #long post

8 notes · View notes

seoultoseoultravel · 2 years

Text

Day 10, Pyeongchang 21st Sept

We have had some long days and early starts and packed a lot into each day. We are on the north east part of Korea now so high in the mountains. It’s a beautiful area. First stop was the Seokguram Grotto which was constructed in 751. We had a lovely walk through the forest to the Grotto. Lanterns are always found around Buddhist temples etc.

The Buddha is made out of granite which is a difficult stone to work with and set under a mould.

Originally it just looked out to the valley but over the years it was lost to people’s memories and only rediscovered in 1909. The Japanese were in control then and they tried to remove the Buddha to Japan but it was too difficult. To preserve it they built the colourful construction in front of the mound but that was detrimental to the structure. Now the Buddha is in cased in glass waiting to be properly restored.

No photos were allowed but the Buddha was very beautiful. This was the view down the valley.

Our next stop was to the Bulguksa Temple complex. Both the Grotto and this temple have World Heritage status. This temple complex was set in beautiful grounds high in the mountains.

All temple compounds are guarded by four fierce looking statues. Each one has particular meaning.

The main pavilions are built up high which is close to heaven.

The steeps are always so high and steep in these places.

More lanterns

There were three pavilions with Buddhas with different hand gestures. In this pavilion the Buddhas represented the past, present and future. You can see that Buddhists value the present the most, the middle Buddha. ‘Seize the day’ etc.

All the buildings are highly decorated.

More laterns

Looking down onto the rooftops.

Always have to take one photo just to say I’ve been there.

I love all the school kids around. There were a number of groups and some are keen to say hello to you to practice their English. I can say hello in Korean for the same reason but usually I say I’m from Australia which they get and then throw in BTS. That gets a big reaction. It’s a bit like saying Ricky Ponting or Steve Waugh when you are in India. I’m a bit over wearing masks. You are allowed to take them off outside but most people still wear them all the time.

Lunch at a basic restaurant by the way.

We visited historic Hahoe Village in Andong after lunch. It’s a world heritage site, also. The Ryu family has lived here for over 600 years. There are both tiled and straw roofed houses which have been well preserved.

Interesting roof decorations

In the middle of the village is the Goddess Samsin tree which is 600 years old. The goddess is in charge of pregnancy and child birth.

Houses tend to be behind high walls with solid gates in front.

It was a lovely area. The village is built on the bend of a river so is almost completely surrounded by water.

Old wooden troughs for the cattle.

The Queen visited here in 1999 and planted this tree which looks very healthy. The Duke of York also visited here in 2019 but we won’t mention him.

The village was the birth place of Ryu Unryong and Ryu Sengryong. They were brothers and the former one was a great Confucian scholar of the Joseon Dynasty, the latter was Prime Minister during the period of Japanese invasion in 1592 to 1598.

The river and cliffs surrounding the village.

I thought this was a field of pretty flowers but afterwards we decided they might just be weeds.

Not far from the village is a statue of Confucius which we were going to see but when we got there it was closed off as they were making a movie. These guys were extras just having a rest. They couldn’t tell us who the main star was in the movie. Ts going to be a historic movie.

We drove through more mountainous areas to get to our hotel for the night. Another great day.

0 notes

sussex-nature-lover · 2 years

Text

Saturday 27 August 2022

Mixed Bag Pics

A mixed bag of photos from a mixed bag week, especially weather-wise. As we’ve had some heavy rain, my potted birthday roses have perked up. Above is Roald Dahl, which has about 14 other buds formed. Dame Judi Dench and the Lady of Shallot have 16 and 10 respectively. Lovely, especially as the rest of the garden is looking so Autumnal and the geraniums and nicotiana are pretty much over now. I’m going to have a serious count of my pots and planning for next year.

We do have got some other colour from the huge hibiscus, but a second, darker pink one isn’t doing too well really. I must look at it and see if it might benefit from pruning, or at least the surrounding shrubs cutting away.

We’ve only heard early hours drumming once I think and it looks like the bug hotel survived it intact. There is activity, but nowhere near so much as down by the pond where it looks like wasps have made a nest near to one of the log piles. I must’ve taken twenty odd photos but of course, not a single one with a wasp, if that’s what they are, in it. Typical. Of course they could be a kind of bee, I can’t see them clearly enough to tell, but I do know that under the eaves by one of the bedrooms there’s an awful lot of wasp activity, so we know there’s going to be a nest there.

Best I can offer is a view of the big hole in the middle of the photo. There’s a steady stream of them in and out all the time. As the giant rhubarb’s all died back now, I wanted to clean up the area, maybe put more bark down and finish off the pond area now the water level’s much higher, but I’m keeping my distance, particularly as I’ve had several big bites this week. No idea what’s been biting me, but it’s been through my clothes and some of them are quite nasty looking, not to mention the torment of the itching.

A couple of photos taken from a distance into the woods. My plant app says the one above is giant cow parsnip, which can be a tricky customer, causing burning and blistering on the skin but I haven’t been close to inspect it

Cow parsnip resembles giant hogweed but is much smaller, lacks the red spots on the stems, and is far less dangerous. Giant hogweed stalks are mottled red like its close relative poison hemlock. Cow parsnip stems are solid green.

and of course, below is one of our very many blackthorns sporting sloes already. Over the years there are more and more springing up. They’re not a gardener’s friend for sure, but they do make a very effective security cordon. Those thorns are vicious.

Not much of a photo here but I’m so pleased my new delphinium’s put out some flower spikes after the first ones were chewed off by an anonymous marauder and Crow accidentally dug up the ones I used to love.

My bird seed sunflowers never did make it into the ground because the heat wave struck and I didn’t get around to it, but they’re still coming on in formation.

My plan to move all the stones and put more weed-proof membrane down fell prey to the weather too and of course now the little cyclamen are blooming again I’m going to feel very mean when we get around to that job.

Two things have really caught my eye this week. The first is this repurposed cat litter tray which has been adopted by the house sparrows and the blackbirds. They absolutely love it. It’s been the hit of Summer. Sometimes there’s a queue waiting to hop on to the stones to drink and bathe and they fly off to the nearby obelisk to watch as they dry off. It’s just so sweet. I’m really pleased I did it.

No evidence of the other event. I was lying on the bed and Crow was looking out of the window. He’d said something funny and we were both laughing when there was a WOOOSH past our eyeline, accompanied by a deafening cackle. Turned out it was Inspector Pritchard flying, yes proper flying like a witch on a broomstick. He landed and continued a weird honking for quite a while. I think something next door must’ve frightened him and of course without his long tail feathers, he can take flight more easily. It was very impressive and absolutely cracked us up. That last, annoying, broken, stubborn quill, has gone now too, so he’s looking very tidy again, especially as he hasn’t lost his crown as yet like he did in last year’s moult.

In other family news, the newest member of the Nature Watch clan is doing very well indeed, growing and giggling, she’s an absolute joy. And the eldest of the next generation is going to be celebrating her wedding next month. It’s suddenly coming around so quickly. We’re keeping our fingers firmly crossed for a beautiful day as we know she’s going to be a very beautiful bride. We’ve pre-ordered our wedding meals from a tempting choice and am looking forward to the feast already. Looking forward to all of it actually, it’s going to be a second spark of pure joy for 2022.

More random bits of nonsense on my other Tumblr page called Sussex Nature.

#garden flowers nature birds peacock rurallife

1 note · View note

horsedadgeralt · 2 years

Text

and what should be over is burrowed under my skin

Having fled from Kaer Morhen to the coast, Jaskier has built a new life for himself. One day, he gets an unexpected visitor.

@widevibratobitch asked for post season 2-Yennskier hurt/comfort + “pinky promise” — I hope you enjoy it <3 Also thank you to @witchersgoldenbard for letting me borrow your OC Ewa 💕

wc: 2.9k cw: mentions of torture, scarring tags: h/c, post season 2

Read it also on ao3!

There was a soft breeze in the air, and Jaskier was glad that he had put on the thicker shirt that day. It wasn't cold, but the wind combined with the sweat from working was enough to risk catching a cold, and the scratchy brown fabric would keep him warm.

A lifetime ago, a cold would have meant no voice. It would have meant no performances, no money, no food.

A lifetime ago, Jaskier wouldn’t have been seen dead wearing anything close to that shade of muddy brown, only dressing in frizzly, lacey chemises with colourful vests to match.

Now, a cold only meant slight discomfort for a few days, but still, Jaskier would much rather stay comfortable, even if it meant wearing the wearable version of a potato sack.

He kneeled down to inspect the fruits of his labour, and a smile spread across his lips.

The tomatoes were coming along nicely, slowly turning from green to red. Soon, he would be able to turn them into a delicious soup, something he had been looking forward to ever since he had first planted them.

All around him, nature was in bloom — the birds were singing and the sweet smell of flowers filled the air.

When he had first arrived, this piece of land had practically been dead, nothing but a few weeds growing in the soil.

It had taken weeks of work to turn it back into actual soil, and more often than not he had cursed himself for taking on such a project.

But every time he was about to give up, throw away the shovel and the seeds and leave this piece of earth to lay barren, he reminded himself of why he had come here in the first place: to heal.

He had arrived after weeks of marching, always on foot and barely getting by, using his reputation more than once to get a free meal or bed.

It was shameful, but just this once he had had to put himself first, to ignore the voice in his head that constantly told him to turn around, to find his way back up the snowy mountain, back to—

No, that was then. A different time. A different him.

Now, he was someone. A poet, maybe. A bard, certainly not. Not without his lute, not with his right hand aching every time he so much as moved a finger.

He needed something to occupy his mind, a reason to keep pushing forward, a reason to not look back.

And so when he had finally arrived at the coast, the sea dark and mercilessly crashing against the shore, it had taken him but a few days to find a small abandoned house not far from the village.

A bit of asking around revealed that it had once belonged to an old lady who passed away a few years ago, and no relative had claimed it since.

"It is going to need some fixing up, but it's yours if you want it," the alderman had said, and Jaskier had all but jumped at the opportunity.

It was in rough shape — the roof had a few holes in it and the windows weren't closing properly, but for Jaskier, it had been love at first sight.

There was only one room, but it was big enough to comfortably fit a bed, desk, wardrobe and small kitchen area. No one had dared enter it since its former inhabitant had died, and so Jaskier was left with more pots and pans than he could ever possibly need.

"I won't rest until I have you looking your best."

It felt a bit stupid, talking to a house. But there was no one there to judge, and for the first time in a long time, Jaskier felt free.

Both the roof and the windows were an easy fix, especially because the townspeople were more than willing to assist Jaskier with supplies and a few additional pairs of hands. Before he knew it, the renovations were finished, and the house was starting to look like a real home again.

"I don't know how to pay you, my financial situation isn't exactly the best—" he had begun, but he couldn't even finish his sentence.

"Nonsense," Ewa, the closest thing he had to a neighbour, had answered. "In this village, everyone helps everyone, no questions asked. We take care of each other, Julek, and that includes you!"

That was that, and soon she became a regular visitor, watching Jaskier as he worked in the garden and giving him advice on which seeds to plant when to make sure they would be ripe when the season was right.

It was a peculiar friendship between the two of them, but Jaskier was all the more thankful to not be completely alone, voluntary as his exile had been. He needed the solitude more than anything, yes, but at the end of the day he was human, and sometimes that simply meant needing someone to talk to.

Somehow, Ewa always knew what was needed — a reassuring pat on the back, a shoulder to cry on or a stern talking to. Usually, though, she just listened. Listened to Jaskier mutter as he pulled out weed after weed out of the ground, listened as he hummed a soft melody but never asking him to sing for her.

He was thankful because even though he had never told Ewa exactly what made him come all the way out here, she knew there was more to him than he would admit.

Today, though, he was alone in the garden. He took in a deep breath before continuing to work his way through the rows of vegetables, plucking dead leaves here and there wherever needed. Everything was looking the way it was supposed to, and he felt accomplished at the sight in front of him.

He had created this. He had planted the seeds, kept the first buds safe from hungry deer and snails and worms. He had nourished the ground, carrying bucket after bucket of freshwater to keep the soil hydrated when no rain would fall.

This was his. It belonged to him, his little safe haven at the coast, just where he had always wanted to end up.

Exactly like this.

Nothing like this.

In a different lifetime, he would have shared this with somebody. In a different lifetime, he never would have come here in the first place.

There was another gush of wind rustling the leaves of the trees surrounding the garden. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and Jaskier was once again left alone in silence, the only noise the bird's chirping and his breath.

That, and someone desperately trying to be as quiet as possible.

He chuckled.

"You can come out, I know that you're there."

He heard a sigh from behind the trees and then someone was approaching him, their steps quick and light even on the slightly muddy ground.

When he stood up and turned around, Yennefer almost bumped into his chest.

"Bard."

"Witch."

They both smiled before Yennefer pulled him into a hug, though Jaskier was careful not to touch her coat with his fingers, the tips stained dark with soil.

When she pulled away, he quickly wiped them clean on his pants as best as he could, the dirt barely visible on the dark fabric anyway.

She looked well, her face full and almost no dark circles underneath her eyes. Her sickly thinness was also gone, a healthy colour to her skin and curves to show that she was well-nourished.

She looked absolutely beautiful, and Jaskier felt his stomach flutter at the realization.

"How did you know I was here?" Yennefer broke the silence, her head cocked slightly to one side.

Jaskier started walking towards the house and gestured for her to follow him, stopping when they had reached the small bench next to the front door.

Usually, this was Ewa's spot when she visited him, but today he asked Yennefer to sit with him, their thighs almost touching as he looked back out into the garden.

"I always know when you're here," he answered, and even though he couldn't see Yennefer's face, he could picture the surprised look on her face.

"You are sneaky, I will give you that, timing your portals with the wind — I still don't know how you do that — but, call it human intuition, I can feel your presence when you arrive. It's like something in the air shifts, and I can sense that someone is watching me."

Yennefer shifted in her seat, crossing one leg over the other before speaking up.

"Why didn't you say something before?"

Jaskier paused for a moment, thinking about her question.

"I don't know," he finally answered. "I don't know why I decided to say something today, either. It just felt right. Besides, it has been far too long since we last spoke, and I just needed to know how you have been doing."

He turned his head to look at her, a smile on his lips.

"From what I can tell, you are doing well. I'm glad, I hope the same can be said for Ciri."

"I am," she said. "We are," she added, but it's what she didn't say out loud that hung heavy in the air between them.

We. Me, Ciri and—

They were doing well. That was all that mattered.

"Give the princess my best wishes when you see her again, will you?" Jaskier asked, and Yennefer nodded in response.

Neither of them made a move to mention the Endrega in the room. Jaskier was thankful for it.

"So," Yennefer began, "how are you doing then? The garden and the house look great, my compliments."

Jaskier ran a hand through his hair, not worrying about getting it dirty. Another thing he had stopped caring about.

"I'm doing well, all things considered. The people are lovely and I love living so close to the sea. It is very peaceful."

Whenever things became too much, he would wander out there, no matter the time of day or the weather, just to be able to feel the sand in between his toes and the water hitting his skin.

Nothing else was able to ground him like that, remind him of what was really important and just how small and insignificant certain things were.

"I'm glad. How is your lute holding up, though? I can't imagine this to be a good environment for an instrument like that, with the humidity and all."

At that, Jaskier looked down at where his hands were resting on his thighs. Even the dirt still sticking to his skin wasn't able to hide the scarring on his right hand, his thumb and index finger bumpy and red.

It had taken him weeks to be able to somewhat comfortably hold a quill., only trying to do so when moving his fingers didn’t make him cry out in pain anymore.

He hadn't dared find out if he still had the strength and dexterity to pluck the strings of a lute. Not that it mattered, though, he wouldn't have been able to afford a new one either way.

"No lute," he answered, his tongue suddenly feeling dry and making it difficult to speak. "I've been writing, though. Filled several journals since I've arrived here."

"How wonderful! Are you going to publish them?"

Yennefer sounded earnest, but the question felt like a dagger through the heart.

"No, I—" he hesitated. "I've learned my lesson with that."

His voice had turned bitter, and he only noticed that he had clenched his hands into fists when he felt Yennefer's soft fingers gently prying them back open.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I shouldn't have brought it up."

She was still holding his hands, drawing random patterns on his palms with her thumb. It was mesmerizing to watch, and a small part of Jaskier hoped that she would never stop doing it.

"You couldn't have known."

Yennefer squeezed his fingers lightly before changing the topic.

"If you want, I can help you with the scars. I imagine that they are quite painful, and whilst I won't be able to have your hands looking as they once did, it would certainly be an improvement."

Jaskier swallowed and thought about her offer.

How often had he laid awake in night, pain radiating through his hand and up his arm, wishing for an opportunity like this?

How often had he cried himself back to sleep, hoping that the pain would go away if only he wanted it badly enough?

Eventually, it had gotten less, no longer keeping him up at night and turning into a manageable throbbing during the day.

It was always there though, an ever-present reminder of just how far he had been willing to go for—

"Maybe," he interrupted his own line of thought. He pulled his hands out of Yennefer's grip and tucked them underneath his legs, effectively sitting on them. Out of sight, out of mind.

"Maybe?" she asked, the disbelief visible on her face.

"Yes, maybe," Jaskier repeated himself. "For now, I think I still need them."

There wasn’t any practical reason to keep them. Jaskier knew that logically — in fact, they were more of a hindrance than anything else, making even the most basic task such as closing the buttons on his shirt unnecessarily difficult.

And yet, he needed them. Because as much as working on the house and garden had distracted him, Jaskier was still far from done with healing.

He still flinched every time he had to throw a log into the fire in order not to freeze to death at night, keeping as far away from the flames as possible.

And if at first, the pain had caused him to lose sleep, now it was the nightmares making him afraid to close his eyes.

Because once he did, he could hear it all. The snap of Rience's fingers. His own scream, eventually blending into the Witchers' screams he had watched die at Kaer Morhen. He was completely helpless, paralyzed back then and now. Nothing more than a bard. Now, he wasn't even that.

Getting rid of the scars would mean running away from it all, and he had done enough of that by coming here.

This was something he had to face head-on, however long it may take.

And just as the pain in his hand had turned into a mere throbbing, Jaskier knew that eventually, his nightmares would go away. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Maybe in a few years.

Then, and only then, could he accept Yennefer's offer.

Her hand on his cheek pulled him back into the moment. The flutter in his stomach turned into butterflies as he fought the urge to lean into the touch, to be closer, to feel more.

As if she had been able to read his thoughts, Yennefer pressed her hand to his skin, using her thumb to continue drawing the same patterns she had created on his hands just moments earlier.

She smiled at him, a slight blush on her cheeks, and his hand searched for hers, the one still sitting in her lap, interlacing their fingers.

He didn't question why he did it. He didn't question why it felt so right, why his heart was beating so hard that he feared it might jump out of his chest.

Maybe it was because he hadn't been this close to anyone in such a long time. Maybe it was because of the way Yennefer was looking at him right now, still smiling and a stubborn curl hanging into her face.

Maybe.

But none of that mattered, not right now. Jaskier simply enjoyed the moment while it lasted, trying to capture it in his mind as best as possible.

Part of him wished that he had his notebook with him, giving him the chance to create a simple sketch of her. Part of him was thankful that it was just them, no distractions, no one to watch, no one to share this with but her.

He didn't know for how long they were sitting there like that, just watching and holding each other. Eventually, though, Yennefer pulled away, and the loss of physical contact felt cold on his skin.

"I'm sorry, but I have to get back." Where to, she didn't say. Jaskier didn't have to ask to understand.

In one fluid motion, she got up from the bank, running her hands across her body to smoothen any wrinkles that might have appeared in her clothing. Once she was satisfied, she turned around to look at him once more, opening her arms. He took the invitation without hesitation, wrapping his arms around her waist as he pulled her close.

Just for a moment, he buried his face in her neck, taking in the smell of lilac and elderberry that told him that yes, this was the second time he was hugging Yennefer of Vengerberg today.

How he had missed her.

When they broke apart for good, he asked:

"Would you like to stay for dinner next time? Maybe the tomatoes will be ripe by then, and I make a mean soup."

"I would love that, yes."

"Promise?"

He watched as she waved her hand in a circular motion, summoning a portal behind her. Before she stepped into it though, her hand touched his one last time.

"Pinky promise," she answered, interlacing their pinkies for one second and stepping into the portal the next, gone in the blink of an eye.

For a moment, he stood there, staring into the empty space. He could still smell her. He could still feel her, his skin tingling where their hands had touched.

The throbbing was gone.

Jaskier smiled.

tagging @natilieal @herostag @luteandsword @clarebear66 ✨

#yennskier #yenskier #yennefer x jaskier #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #yennskier fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #kathi writes

75 notes · View notes

gasolineghuleh · 3 years

Text

Little Orchid

Commission for @fried-potato-13 for “something soft with Primo”. A lil bit o’ thigh riding and some fingering!

NSFW Below, No Minors.

It’s warm in the gardens and you tilt your face up towards the sun, squinting against the sharp rays in an attempt to see some of the clouds that float by lazily. When you were a younger Sibling you spent most of your time on the lawns with the Ghouls and their kits, watching the clouds and picking shapes out of them. A small smile manages to spread across your face when you remember those days of leisure, cut short by the quickly demanding classes and rote memorization. Still, you think to yourself as your smile fades slightly, there’s nowhere else on Earth you would rather be than here at the Abbey— no matter how challenging things got, the Papas always seemed to have ways to make you feel at home.

The smell of the tea curls around your senses and snakes its way down your back, untensing your muscles as it goes and relaxing you more than you expected it to. Papa Emeritus the First leans over you with a welcoming smile on his face as he pours the aromatic mixture into your tea cup, stopping just a finger's breadth away from the rim of the cup. It’s only when he sits down and gestures towards you with a regal hand that you take a small sip, your eyes closing briefly as the full bodied taste of the tea washes over your tongue. There’s a definite taste of berries there, as well as some cloves and cinnamon.

“Did you make this yourself, Papa?” you ask, opening your eyes again to look at the older man. He’s picked up his own tea as well, wafting it in front of him as he watches you with delicate and careful eyes. Papa Emeritus the First has grown considerably older since you came to the Abbey all those years ago, but his eyes have never lost their shrewd scrutiny that made him such an enduring leader in his time at the head of the church. They pierce through you, the white one still as clear as the day he ascended, the green one slightly cloudier with age. Something inside of you stirs in apparent interest— something you never really lost from your teenage years, when you had a crush on the man. Something he knows as well.

“Si, from the gardens. You are feeling stressed? The Cardinal has told me that your grades have fallen in Latin, and you can’t focus during Incantations and Rituals.” He leans forward a little bit, pushing a plate of warm buttered scones towards you from their place on the table. When you don’t take one immediately he narrows his eyes at you, only nodding in approval when you snatch one and take a quick bite. “When a Sibling goes from being his star pupil to suddenly forgetting their books in their room eh… We take notice. I thought it apt that I have this conversation with you, considering our past, hm? You are comfortable speaking to me, still?”

“I know, Papa.” You swallow hard, chasing the scone with a sip of tea— it really was delicious, even if your nerves made it sit like a stone in your belly. “I’m going through a lot currently. Just… I feel like I don’t belong here sometimes. Some of the other Siblings are special, and their talents are being utilized by the Church. I haven’t been given a specialty yet. I feel useless here, and it gives me a lot of mental agony.” As soon as the words are out of your mouth his face softens, becoming lined with empathy and worry. You almost instantly wish that you could take the words back, wincing inwardly as you reveal your inner thoughts to him.

The First always has a way with getting the Siblings to open up to him, whether through confessionals or through candid tea parties, like this one. Something about his presence around you is enough to make you spill your secrets, shameful and all. Your eyes slide from the cup in your hands to the cobblestone ground at your feet as you blink hard, trying to keep your sudden tears from overflowing. You focus your gaze on a small clump of weeds that has managed to make its way through the cracks in the stone— a lone splash of verdant green against the dark red cobbles, an enduring sign of life amidst the Abbey.

“Sister…” Papa leans forward and sets his cup on the table with a soft clink before readjusting his robes and shuffling forward to the edge of his own chair. His gloved hand comes out to rest on your knee, patting you gently until you lift your eyes to his again. “We all go through things sometimes, yes? I have gone through many. My brother, the Third, you know he deals with these things often as well.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, holding back a sniffle as you take another sip of your tea. The warm liquid is encouraging, and the soft spices in it make you feel a bit better. It blossoms across your tongue and you roll your shoulders a little, sitting up a bit straighter and looking at Papa once more. “I didn’t want to say anything to the Cardinal. I didn’t want to seem weak.”

“Weakness does not come from admitting things, Sister. This is important to know.” Papa sits up, taking his hand off of your knee and folding them in his lap. “Admitting that you are feeling negatively once in a while does not make you weak. It makes you stronger. You see this?”

“I’m afraid I don’t, Papa… It seems to me that admitting weakness is… Well… Weak.” The eldest Papa nods his head at your words, his eyes closing briefly as he considers his own times of weakness. When he doesn’t speak you forge ahead, the words tumbling from your tea loosened lips before you can stop them. “I always thought that admitting when I’m struggling with something would only give someone cause to take pity on me, or think I’m inferior. I came here to find the power inside of myself, and I’m afraid that I’ve lost it.”

“Oh, Sister. I know how that feels.” Papa nods his head once more and opens his eyes to look at you. You take another sip of your tea and try to still your heart as he frowns for a moment, looking at you with a question in his eyes. “Have you seen the flower I cultivated recently? The one that failed to thrive.” As you shake your head he smiles at you, standing with a loud groan as his knees crack. “Old bones, Sister, scusi. Come with me.”

“Yes, Papa.” You hurry to obey him, setting your tea cup back onto the saucer on the table and standing, smoothing your habit on reflex as you fall into step beside him. He walks slowly and you find yourself taking much smaller steps than usual as to not out pace him. Still, the walk is soothing and you find yourself smiling softly as you watch him, his robes gliding imperiously across the well swept path towards a cultivated patch of earth. He had obviously uprooted whatever laid there previously, replacing it with a large pot that draws your attention as the two of you approach.

“When I inherited this flower, it refused to bloom.” He stops in front of a large clay pot, gesturing towards a flower. You look at it briefly, doing a double take when you realize what the thing actually looks like— a long stick pokes up out of the dark, rich soil, and the stem itself is a dark colour of brown, almost bordering on necrotic black. If you didn’t know any better, you would think the thing was dead already. “Tell me what you see, child.”

“I see a dead plant, Papa.” Your voice is flat, toneless. Papa tsks in annoyance at you and tugs you closer to the thing, his hand looping with ease around your wrist as your heart rate speeds. He urges you to look closer with another wave of his hand and you humor him, crouching in front of the pot on the ground and staring at the plant. “I see… A dead stem with a single blossom. A bulb hanging towards the top. Drooping. Dead,”

“Ah, you are still not noticing, Sister. Or perhaps you are noticing, but prefer to be contentious? Look beside that dead stem, if you would.” A deep sigh leaves you as your mind flashes back to long hours in his study where he used the same tone, a stern but encouraging teacher instructing a less-than-willing pupil. Still, you do as he says, squinting slightly at the dirt. There’s another stem beside it, just peeking up out of the soil— a soft green colour, and laced with dark red. So dark against the soil that you missed it entirely when you looked at it at first.

“Is it that?” you ask, pointing towards it. You stand up as he starts to speak, folding your arms across your chest as you look between him and the plant. It’s a small thing, but the look on his face is serene and full of a love for it. You feel your heart melt slightly at his own display of emotion, softening your face as you listen to him speak.

“Si, sorella. You are using your eyes now, it seems. This plant is called an orchid. It’s alive and well, and blooming quite nicely. To the outside world it appears ugly… Weak.” Papa turns himself towards you, his two toned gaze cutting to your heart. “It appears weak until you know what it has to offer. Then, under a guided and trained hand, it appears beautiful. Powerful. Strong.”

“I see.” You nod, chewing on your lower lip.

“I do not think that you do.” Papa steps forward slightly, his forefinger and thumb gripping your chin as he tilts your face towards his own. “You think that you are like an orchid, it seems. Weak on the outside when people who do not know you view you. But I can cultivate you. I can make you strong.”

“Papa, are you saying that I need a tutor who isn’t the Cardinal?” You can feel a flush forming under your habit, quickly rising up your neck. His eyes never waiver, locked onto yours with a purpose— instead, they narrow slightly as his grip on your chin grows tighter, forcing you to hold your eyes to his as he’s done so many times.

“Perhaps. Perhaps I am merely saying that a tutor who knows you would be more apt to drawing out your strengths.” His eyes flicker between your own before he stops, nodding to himself and smiling. “There it is, Sister. You have a hunger in you. A hunger that I saw years ago when I taught you as my own. A power that you feel coursing through your veins when you gain the knowledge that I have. Do you remember that?”

“I do. Long nights in your office. Hot fires. Dark words. Black books.” Despite the sunny day, you feel a cold finger trail its way down your spine. The things that Papa taught you in his office were things that the Clergy didn’t trust to most of the Siblings housed at the Abbey. For the longest time, you had thought he had given up on you as a student— the thought of doing it again sent a thrill through the core of you. “Am I meant to learn that again?” Excitement clenches your throat, makes your words tight.

“I think, given the circumstances, I should take you on as my personal student again. The Cardinal does not have the necessary skills to draw out your, as you say, weaknesses.” His eyes finally leave your face as his hand drops, shielding his eyes as he looks up towards the sun. “At nightfall, you make your way to my office. The old path. Do you remember it?”

“Yes. With ease, Papa.” You nod fervently, not willing to say anything that may jeopardize his sudden choice to take you under his wing again. The possibility of power- of beginning what two of you had last time- makes your knees tremble with excitement that’s quickly becoming difficult to hide.

“Very good. Tonight, Sister.” Papa inclines his head towards you as he would any other Sibling of Sin and strides past you with ease. You turn to watch him go, marveling at how much smoother he appears to be walking since your conversation. Perhaps his frailty really was an act.

Dinner is an anxiety laden affair for you as your thoughts keep casting back towards the time in the gardens. Not only did it feel good to get your feelings out of your mind and into the open, but the acceptance that Papa heard it with had settled that part of your thoughts. Now the anxiety came from what may happen when you go to him tonight. Your relationship as teacher and pupil was fraught with unspoken tension, only released when you finally fell into bed with him. Words that you couldn’t say spilled forth as secrets across his skin, whispered into the hollow behind his ear when you thought he was asleep.

It’s only now, standing in the middle of the hallway alone, that your heart begins to race. The other Siblings say their usual goodbyes in the small antechamber outside the mess hall, leaving you as they practically run back to their own rooms to sleep. Your pulse beats against your temples in a staccato rhythm that makes you dizzy as your feet find the all too familiar path that you used ages ago. It’s still well kept, clean and swept of any dust that seems to linger in the Abbey. The tapestry is still tacked to the inside of the wall just as you remember it, and you give yourself a quick countdown before you tear it aside.

“Sister. You came.”

Papa Emeritus the First sits in his customary chair by an already stoked fire, dressed in a pair of matching pajamas. The red silken material seems to shimmer and move in the crackling flames from the hearth, and your eyes can’t help but linger on the illusion. You allow the curtain to drop back into place as you walk into the room with a gait that’s surely more confident than you feel. As you approach him, as if by habit, you reach up and pull off your hair covering, allowing it to drop to the floor with a quiet sound.

“Of course I came, Papa. Did you think I wouldn't?” Even as the question leaves your lips he’s already shaking his head, dropping his leg from his knee and patting his lap for you. You pause for a moment to pull your shoes off before slipping with ease into his lap, as though you’ve always belonged there. Instantly his arms wrap around your middle as he pulls you closer to him, pressing your back against the still strong planes of his chest.

“Never in a million years, my little bird.” His lips brush just against your ear lobe with a touch so faint you could have imagined it. Already you can feel the heat rising from your core to the surface of your skin, blushing you with faint red kisses. Papa’s arm tightens around your midsection for a moment before he presses a more firm kiss to your neck. “I think we should start with a bit of emptying the mind. Especially if I’m only going to fill it with more information later.”

“Is that what you think?” you ask, your voice still coy and taunting even as your hands shake with nerves that you haven’t felt in ages. You feel like you’re young again, with a man for the first time. You know all of the paths that his hands are going to take but it takes your breath away even still.

Papa doesn’t bother with words.

His hand, ungloved, slips under the hem of your habit and crawls slowly up your thigh. You spread your legs for him with ease and he allows you to slot your leg between his own, effectively straddling his thigh as you do so. Even as you sink back into the familiar feeling of his body you can hear him chuckle to himself, his lips tracing a heated path across your neck until he turns your face towards him gently. Papa captures your lips in his, for the first time in what feels like forever, and you can’t help the sigh that slips past.

Your body melds against his like no time has passed at all and your hips start to move unbidden across his leg. Papa groans behind you as you start to move yourself across his thigh, pressing your cunt down into the strong muscle of his leg. You can feel his chest reverberating with his own deep groans of pleasure, his free hand dropping down to grip his cock through his pajama pants. When his hips roll up against yours you stifle a moan, grinding yourself harder against him momentarily.

“Sister,” Papa says through a deep breath as he breaks the kiss. Papa rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily as he squeezes his cock in one hand and pets the soft skin of your thigh with the other. “You are sure that this is what you need right now? This will make you feel happy?”

“Nothing would make me happier, Papa. To do this, and to be your student again.” Satisfied, he kisses you once more, finally dipping his fingers below the hem of your panties. When the pad of his index finger finds your clit you jump, moaning sharply when he doesn’t recede— instead, he pushes himself against you harder, dropping his hand from himself to further pin you place as he rocks his cock upward. His finger rubs the soft bundle of nerves in a tight circle, pressing you against him with his now free hand as you gasp and writhe in his arms.

“Give in to me, hm? Like you used to, Sister. We had so much fun together here, in front of the fire. Do you remember the time I made you see God? Or was it Sathanas that tickled your fancy that evening?” His words curl across you like smoke, going in one ear and out the other before you have time to register what he’s said to you. You nod anyway, your eyes slipping closed as the pleasure intensifies. You’re only barely able to grind yourself down onto his leg anymore and you gasp loudly when he jolts you, bouncing you roughly on his leg for a moment.

“Papa!” you groan, your hand flying out to grip the arm of the chair in a white knuckled grasp. His lips only curve in a smile against your skin as his finger dips lower. Papa teases your entrance lightly, running his finger through your slick folds as he continues to whisper to you, hips moving under you all the while.

“It has been so long since I touched you like this, little bird. Like I used to. Do you know how long I laid awake after we ended things, wishing that your warm body was on my lap again? Wishing that you were knelt in front of me, wishing to receive Unholy Communion?” It’s all you can do to gasp and nod, the muscles of your core starting to tense as you get closer to your climax. As if sensing it, Papa pulls his hand away from you with a speed that leaves you dizzy. “Show me. Show me how much you missed this.”

You don’t need to wait for instructions. You know what he wants.

Reaching out your other hand to grip the arm of the chair on the opposite side, you grind your hips down onto his thigh, letting out a shuddering moan when the friction manages to rub perfectly along your aching clit. It feels good, and you know that you can get yourself there with ease. His warmth underneath you, hard cock pressing against the small of your back, is more than enough for you to focus on as you press yourself down again. This time, his other hand falls to your waist, his fingers digging into the soft skin there as he guides your movements. Soon enough you settle into a rocking rhythm along his thigh, gasps and moans falling from your lips with every movement.

“You’re so good for me, little bird. Can you cum like this? I want to feel you shake with pleasure on top of me. Cum for me.” Papa’s words are move than enough to tip you over and you lean back against him, writhing on his lap as you shudder and gasp your way through an orgasm.

He barely gives you any time to come down before his hand is at your waist again, diving beneath your panties as his fingers fumble for your entrance. Both of you groan in tandem as his fingers slip inside of you with ease, his hips jerking with the sudden feeling of your slickness along his fingers. When Papa tilts his fingers inside of you, crooking them upward until he finds the sensitive spot inside you, you fold backwards against him, your hips jerking upwards to meet his hand.

“You always loved this, didn’t you?” he asks, pulling you against him as he peppers your neck with soft kisses. You nod and murmur an agreement as his hand moves faster, eliciting lewd sounds from where the two of you are connected. “Does it feel nice to be back in the arms of your Papa? This is where you belong, you know. You are so strong, Sister… So strong that I think it scares you sometimes, hm?”

“Wh- what do you mean, Papa?” You squeeze your eyes shut tighter, your hands aching as you dig your fingers into the arms of the chair. Satan only knows how many times you’ve been in this position before.

“You can feel it. When you cum for me this time, remember how strong you are. This feeling. It comes from inside of you, si? Knowledge and power… And the strength to seduce the oldest Emeritus. This takes… work.” With this, Papa seals your lips in another kiss, softer than the last one as his hand moves faster. When his tongue sweeps across your lower lip you keen, cumming hard against his hand and rocking your hips against him.

The two of you sit there for a moment, both breathing heavily, and it’s only now that you realize that he’s cum as well. You can feel his cock still hot and heavy against the small of your back, throbbing just lightly with his heartbeat as it slows after his climax. Papa leans forward and lays his chin on your shoulder, leaning his head against yours as he holds you tightly to him— no words are needed between the two of you. They never have been.

It’s only later when, curled up with Papa in his cavernous and red sheeted bed, that you think to ask about his proposal.

“You truly want to teach me again, Papa? You weren’t just trying to bed me?” You reach up and poke his nose lightly, laughing when he snorts awake from where he was drifting off.

“Yes, Sister. Of course I do.” His face splits in a large yawn and his arm pulls you closer to him before he resumes speaking. “Everything I said in my gardens I meant. You are my orchid. I will make you see yourself as one.”

“An orchid…” You trail off, thinking for a moment. “Papa?” you finally say, piping up after a few moments of silence. His deep breaths stutter once more and you can practically hear him roll his eyes at the ceiling.

“Yes, Sister? It is past 10. I would like to be sleeping now.” Papa’s words are clipped, and you know that you’re beginning to press your luck. He has a hard 9:30 pm bedtime, and you’ve already pushed him well past that in front of the fire earlier.

“This will be fast,” you promise.

“Then what?” His tone is grumpy, but only on the surface. You know that he’s beyond thrilled to have you back in his chambers in the most intimate of ways, and you wouldn’t trade your current position for anything in the world. Papa’s orchid.

Except…

“Is there any other flower I could be?”

#lorraine writes #fic #ghost #the band ghost #ghost bc #fanfic #papa emeritus #primo #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus the first #ns/fw #commission #papa 1 #papa i

76 notes · View notes

sanghyukstattoos · 3 years

Text

next door neighbours!SF9

A/N: Read more here~~

Youngbin:

The grass on his lawn is neatly trimmed, no weeds in sight and the tiles are sparkling white

Definitely stands on the lawn in the morning with his hands behind his back, probably in contemplation of life or whatever wearing those white jeans and stripped t-shirt as he did in their Into The Night performances

Dad! Youngbin vibes

Says ''Hi'' to you the first time around but says nothing and even though you shouldn't feel the need to affiliate, it feels very awkward.

Turns out that the inside of his house is a chaos, his kids are running everywhere first thing in the morning, there's probably also some scribbles on the wall and it's like, you finally understand why he needs a break (kids are a handful)

Will give you a ride to school if you don't have a car, regardless of how close the school is

Inseong:

You don't see this guy all that much and when you do, it's mainly the back of his head as he leaves for work.

Works so hard that he comes back sweaty and out of breath and you can hear it because he's loud about it.

If you have thin walls, I'm so sorry because you can hear him practice his singing.

At first you think about how beautiful he sounds and sometimes you still enjoy listening to him but at important times like on a zoom call, your colleagues hear him singing and because of this, you are frequently interrupted when you speak.

You are so frustrated that eventually you wonder if you should just ask him to sing in your ear while you sleep because that's what it feels like

One day you meet him in the elevator and you wonder, 'He's that tall?' and he's all awkward with his shy little smile and bow

Takes you a little while to notice that he's just like that with the suspicious puns and laughs but yo eventually grow over some drinks.

Jaeyoon:

The one that all smiles, you can immediately tell that he's a loving guy but he'll be shy about it.

When's he's around you, he tends to smooth his hair down a lot even if it is okay. There's also a faint pink tinge on his cheeks when he speaks to you (it's because he ran to get the elevator, nothing else)

He works as a florist, arranging flowers and writing cards during the day and when he's done, he works out at your local gym.

He has got good endurance, even when he's tired and his muscles are begging for him to stop. Is an admirable person considering how much effort he has put in to keep himself fit, even when he doesn't feel like it sometimes, he always shows up.

He likes to hold hands, especially when he's tired, or link arms evens and really, it's kind of cute.

When he's drunk or just tired from whatever he's come from and he sees you, he always puts his hands in his pockets, stifling the overwhelming urge to hold yours.

Dawon I Lee Sanghyuk:

You'll instantly become friends with him and he'll invite you over to the parties he has.

When you are there, he'll show you a side of him you haven't seen before. Somehow he's more confident when you aren't meeting near the stairs, outside your apartments or in the elevators.

Then he's shy with his hands together, fingers fumbling around and pressing the wrong buttons when he's only trying to press it for you and he's an exceptional character.

He smiles as if he's over the moon and he's journeying with you, hand in hand when you two are only neighbours and he's not sure what you know about his feelings for you.

When you are at his apartment, he's doing things like kissing you on the cheek, giving you hugs, staying close to you and occasionally looking for where you are in the party.

Sings when he's drunk which serenades the life out of you

Rowoon I Kim Seokwoo:

On most nights, he comes home drunk and you can hear him stumbling into his front porch as his friends drive off after he makes it past the door and closes it.

He fumbles, almost landing into the garden, array of plants screaming in disgrace at their owner and you have to hold back your chuckles as you see this scenario from the window, as if he can hear.

On cue he turns and before he can completely see you, you dash behind, heart racing.

Next day, when he's sober, with his hair looking suspiciously clean, he tells about his drunk self encounters with you staring out of the window which you deny and he says, ''Yea, I've been dreaming''.

The ultimate contrast is when you both leave at the same time and walk to the same stop and he's dressed his best self, he's attractive

He starts a conversation and you settle into this routine of waiting for one another before leaving and telling each other that you aren't coming the day before.

You've become accustomed to his reasons, they are the same time and time again, as a result of what occurred the previous night.

You've also slipped into this routine of calling each other, at dawn and having this little snippet of conversation about your day, laughing at each other's encounters. At the end, you say whether you'll be coming, just to affirm.

However, when you take an off, it's rare. He's concerned, by the fact that his voice had raised a little

He guides you on what medicine to take and leaves you sleep and the next morning, you are woken up to him standing at your door with food in one hand and some DVD's in the other.

Zuho I Baek Juho:

Can only start a friendship by coincidence, like purely

Always tired, stretching his limbs when he takes a short break by walking outside.

The type to leave his keys outside and then wonder how they got there when you come from out and knock on his door to tell him

Very thankful, will pay you back in courtesy through some form, carry something heavy for you

Maybe, he might just point out how heavy it is and then realise that he could help you with it. But it's over the fence so he's struggling, you are struggling and you just wonder why he's doing this in the first place

Soft soul will play with your kids if you have some

Yoo Taeyang:

The neighbour that you won't speak to, ever

Smiles at people and greets them in the hallway, so he's cordial, but other than that, it's a full dash till he's in the safety of his house where he can bake what he's going to be eating

Carries like a hundred bags and you and your neighbours think he's going to drop but then he grows an extra arm and unlocks his door, safely tucking his groceries away.

Extra awkward at gatherings, hesitates to say anything, looks at everyone cautiously and you don't even know what he's seeing when he's that tall

One day you see him bopping his butt along to some song called ''Wild Wild West'', definitely is a good dancer but why he's dancing like that is beyond you and your neighbours.

Kind soul, bless him, he tries

Hwiyoung I Kim Youngkyun:

He's shy around you, not used to speaking to new people every now and then but he comes around and when he does, he's the cutest friend you've met in a while.

Occasionally, you go over or he comes and you drink beer or whatever, having conversations in your living room or balcony.

He loves sitting, drinking something and watching the light fade away into colours of purple and red or what's on today.

He listens to music or sings and you love to hear his voice, albeit he's a bit shy at first so you join in and there's days where you don't have to join in anymore, he'll sing if he wants to because he's that comfortable.

Otherwise, you put in earphones or air pods and sit there, playing your favourite songs for one another

If you're restless, you can dance with him, he'd do it with you but stop because he's shy and wondering why you're staring at him like he's good at dancing.

Pulls out the funniest moves though, very easy to feel comfortable around

Will take you along to buy groceries with him because he wants to know what you want to eat, a fan of barbeque but can't grill to save a life.

Chani:

Doesn't like to be disturbed, works extra hard so takes plenty of rest on the weekends

Is a very quiet neighbour, only sounds you may hear is when he accidentally trips over himself

Thinks he had bad knees because of it, you always see him clutching his knee in the same way that someone clutches their pocket because they think that they've forgotten something

A real sweetheart though, his smile is pretty enough to generate electricity for the whole hallway and his walk is broad enough to separate the Pacific Ocean, which he'll deny because he's humble

Has some wild friends that make horrifying noises when they come over and he tells them to keep it down but then falls asleep and they take over his apartment like those creeper plants.

He'll carry stuff for the elderly or volunteer somewhere cause he's cute like that

Won't tolerate if you are loud, he'll tell you off, ''Think you are the only one who lives here?'' but in that really nice way that will make you respond with, ''No, hehe''

#sf9 headcanons #sf9 writings #sf9 fanfic #sf9 fluff #sf9 fantasy #sf9 imagines #sf9 scenarios #sf9 x reader #youngbin #inseong #jaeyoon #dawon #rowoon #zuho #yoo taeyang #hwiyoung #chani

79 notes · View notes

gingermintpepper · 3 years

Text

Gloxinia and Meliodas' First Meeting.

Time Period: Sometime during the Holy War

»»————-　♔　————-««

He remembers the Lord of the Faefolk.

Elizabeth lays limp in his arms.

The world explodes around him, typhoon’s cacophonous touch laying waste to the landscape but he does not feel the slice of the wind. Raindrops pierce through the clouds, bullets of water that seem to attack the thin veil of his cloak but he cares not for them. All he knows is the gellid flesh pressed against his chest, the drooping wings whose feathers seem to swell with water, bright white eyelashes slack from exhaustion, delicate eyebrows devoid of that determined furrow.

He’s running out of options, had gravely miscalculated during his battle with Calmadios and now was left without a place to return to, without a roof with which to weather this storm under. He had no place where Elizabeth could rest and recuperate from her wounds.

Even amongst the wanton destruction Meliodas had wrought in his time in the physical realm, the memory stands stark in the backdrop of his mind. A routine perimeter sweep after they had managed to gain new territory from beating back the Goddess Clan in the south. The normal agenda after such events - visiting the human nests, establishing the new order, weeding out dissenters and surviving pests, setting up scouts; it was all necessary yet monotonous activity so no one particularly fancied running such errands. It was only because Meliodas had drawn the short lot that he had to do the grunt work himself.

He hadn’t expected to find Fairies in the human nest, small creatures with their delicate wings healing humans and helping repair their odd little hutches. He’d not so much as heard about encounters with Fairies since coming into the realm - only knew of the whispers of the so-called Fairy King’s Forest and the great magic that was contained within. Meliodas thought it all nothing more than the mangled stories of drunk demons. He hadn’t felt any significant magic in the physical realm besides the heavy cloud that was the bestial Giant Clan and so he had dismissed even the notion of Fairies as such.

Yet there they were, smaller than even him in their diminutive stature, little faces scrunched in joy and determination even as the nest around them was razed and half ablaze.

And so Meliodas thought, ‘If the Fae are real, then surely their King is no illusion either.’

Zeldris must have heard by now he thinks. Would know that he made good on his word to abandon their people for the sake of Elizabeth and, ultimately, for ending this useless conflict.

Was he laughing at him? Was he gleefully watching his heinous older brother suffer for choosing a lover over the future of their clan only to immediately lose her to his pride? Meliodas alone had made the decision to defect while surrounded by his troops and three Commandments. His confidence in his strength had cost him dearly, but with Elizabeth at his back, he had felt invincible.

The rain continues to pour around them, but Meliodas cannot feel its freezing touch. Elizabeth’s warm blood is beginning to seep through her clothes. He doesn’t want to hold her tighter, fears that squeezing her will only make her bleed out faster. What good is his strength if he cannot help those most important to him in their times of need?

Lightning tears the sky asunder, thunder racing so close to its heel that the world around him seems to quake. He’ll have to land - he can’t risk attracting the bolts with Elizabeth in his grip. He is a demon but he can’t help but pray.

Prays that the chill descending on Elizabeth’s skin is only the rain. Prays that Zeldris finds some way to end the conflict too. Prays that he hasn’t ruined the only thing that could save Elizabeth’s life.

It surprises him even now. The ease with which the Fairies revealed the location of their home to him. Meliodas was quite aware that they knew him to be a demon. Even without knowledge of the rank or class that he occupied, his magic alone was nothing but purest, deepest black - yet, even as they trembled with their breaths caught in their throats and their little fingers halted in their actions, they dutifully told him what it was he wanted to know.

He remembers thinking then that the Fairies were a weak bunch - that they were a naive people who surely teetered on the brink of extinction for the easily exploitable trust they so readily gave.

Then came the fog.

He’s not surprised that even during this tempest, the fog is thick.

The last time he entered, the mist showed him illusions that confounded him for hours. The road disappeared beneath him, he’d ended up on a mountain and then at a lake and throughout it all quiet laughter echoed in his ear, disorienting him. Angering him.

Today there is only the quiet of deep, deep fog and the dampened splashing of rain as it struggles to cut through haze.

Meliodas lands on the muddy ground and takes off sprinting. He slips in an errant puddle, the ground slick and treacherous but even then he does not let go of Elizabeth. The air’s knocked from his lungs as he lands on his back. His shoulder burns but he cannot heal himself. He does not know what effect his miasma would have on Elizabeth in this weakened state. He does not want to find out. With trembling fingers, he adjusts her, frowns as the muscles beneath her fair skin refuse to twitch even when he lets his touch linger on the plush flesh of her lips, her cheek, the puncture in her stomach which gushes, gushes, and was he always able to glimpse the pink of her stomach? Was it wrong that he found that healthy colour as beautiful as the rest of her? But her skin is cold, cold too cold and her blood runs hot and Meliodas curses even the rains, roars his frustration so the lord of the lands knows that he is in no mood for games.

“Gloxinia!”

A part of him wondered if the Fairies had conned him; if they had only pretended to be shy things and had taken the opportunity to lead him to his death instead of guiding him to the Forest like they claimed they would. He’d think much higher of them if that was the case.

As it stands, Meliodas only wishes to tear the heads from their breakable bodies for the tasteless jest. Already, he’d found himself at the bottom of a lake, in which swimming in any direction only dragged him further down, a mountain trail which had led to him being apparently attacked by some manner of beast and a desert which stretched for so many hours that Meliodas had begun to sweat through the leathers of his gear. Terrible caterwauling the likes he had only heard in the deepest annals of the Underworld dogged his steps, and when the screeching stopped, the laughing began.

In each direction he was met with nothing but a wall of fog so thick that he could not even see the colour of his shoes and with each step without a discernible goal in sight, his resentment only grew.

And then, oddly, he caught the strong smell of flowers.

An unmistakable flash of red like spider lilies blooms in the corner of his periphery.

The tumultuous rain quiets to a mere whisper and the fog dissipates leaving only a dew laden field of bright, bright flowers.

The Fairy King is no less spectacular the second time around, celestial wings aglow with multicoloured magic which seems to glitter even in the midst of this gloomy, terrible squall. He stands with his hands at his side, thin lips pressed into a fine line. He is unarmed, alone. Unimpressed.

“You have returned,” he says dully and Meliodas does not have time to be offended at the lack of respect.

He tightens his grip on Elizabeth’s thigh, does his best to keep from snarling. “Heal her!”

A perfect eyebrow threatens to scrape scarlet hairline. “I beg your pardon?”

Meliodas growls, refuses to rest Elizabeth against the forest floor yet cannot risk jostling her for the sake of emphasis, “She hurt herself protecting me. I want you to heal her.”

Gloxinia’s neutral expression becomes a faintly bemused smile. “Is that a request or a threat, Demon Lord?”

Meliodas glares (and Elizabeth is growing cold in his grip, cold, cold, he is running out of time-) “Both, Fairy.”

The fog begins to creep in not unlike storm clouds on the placid horizon. The sound of thunder begins to descend upon them, red and purple flower buds disappearing beneath the cloak of the Fairy King’s enchanted mist. The fae smiles and it is a cold, cruel thing which sits comfortably on cherubic features, “Then I bid you farewell.”

Meliodas feels the wrath overflow, feels it in the way his vision goes black at the edges, in the way he can hear Elizabeth’s failing heartbeat. Anger at Gloxinia for refusing him, for dooming Elizabeth to death. Anger at himself for being unable to protect her, for failing her, “I will raze this forest to the ground, Gloxinia! Help her or I will slaughter every one of your kind!”

And that despicable Fairy only looks down at him, golden eyes more damning than any bolt of heavenly lightning, “It matters not, Demon Lord, she will already be dead.”

Then he is alone.

Elizabeth’s heartbeat grows so frail that Meliodas cannot hear it over the rain that has rushed in. Fog blinds his eyes, anger stifles his mind and the breaks and creaks in his bones finally overwhelm him. He crumples, mud splattering all over Elizabeth’s once white battle silks. She will die. She will die and it will have been his fault. Is this how Zeldris felt he wonders? This despair - this deep, gaping emptiness as the warmth of his lover cools to ice beneath his numb fingers.

Meliodas has never cried. It is a foreign concept to one as high born as he but his heart sinks to his stomach and threatens to slip free from his chest altogether. He bends his head, furrows his brows, squeezes Elizabeth’s flesh as he listens to her slowing heart.

‘Please,’ he wants to whisper. ‘Please, please have mercy on a sinner. Just this once.’

A pungent scent like foreign herbs fills his nose -

“[Droplet of Life]”

There is a glow, some bright unfathomable light and Meliodas sits up like he’s been burnt. Elizabeth’s heart suddenly beats in her chest, loud and melodic and it is the sweetest sound Meliodas has heard in years. He looks up to find cold eyes looking down on him, the Fairy King’s red hair spilling over his shoulders like reeds against some sheer cliffside.

He frowns, squints at Meliodas then appraises Elizabeth. Without so much as another word, he straightens himself and makes a gesture with two of his fingers. The fog lifts entirely, revealing a twisted up pathway between massive, primordial boughs. Flowers of every specie litter the ground preceding the entryway and Gloxinia turns his back on them. “Spend the night here,” he says and though Meliodas twitches at the unmistakable authority in that light voice, his gratitude and surprise renders him mute. “This storm will rage for four days and five nights. Regain your strength then leave.”

And then he disappears into the forest, leaving Meliodas and Elizabeth in the stillness of his eden.

#This has so much headcanon in it it's not even funny #But it's also completely up for debate how Glox Meli Eli and Drole met soooo #Yeah I'm exploiting that #gloxinia #gloxinia of repose #gloxinia nnt #meliodas #elizabeth liones #melizabeth #nnt #seven deadly sins #nanatsu no taizai #ginger writes #long post #Meliodas was a complete tool as a Commandment and you can take that hc from my cold dead hands #zeldris #he's mentioned too so that's fun #I love writing for the holy war y'all it's not funny

68 notes · View notes

blissfulescapee · 2 years

Text

Little Flower - TDBM

Surrounded by flowers, a little Blake family fun in the garden leads Lucien and Jean to realise just how special their own little flower is.

I had the idea for this little one shot when I was just about to fall asleep and I had to get it written down before I forgot about it, so I hope you all like it!

One-shot starts under the cut!

Sitting on the grass with his shirt sleeves rolled up, the book he had once been reading forgotten about as it lies beside him, Lucien shakes his head as he watches his little girl explore the garden. He has always said that Lynette takes after her mother in every way, shape and form. For starters, she's her double with her untameable brown curls that he always struggles to get into a ponytail and her lovely blue eyes that never fail to get her exactly what she wants. She has also picked up on some of her mannerisms over the past two years, some endearing and some not so much, and he's lost count of the amount of times she has stood in front of him, hands on her hips, and tutted at him when he's made a mess or done something quite idiotic.

He adores those things about her, he really does, but there's one thing he loves more than both those things combined and it has to be the deep, genuine love she and her mother share for nature and the outdoors. For as long as he has known her, Jean has dedicated Saturdays to gardening and Lynette has spent every Saturday out there with her since she could crawl. In the beginning, all she had been able to do was sit and watch and have the odd tantrum whenever her mother refused to let her eat the weeds she pulled. Nowadays, however, she helps her out with most tasks and it always makes him chuckle when she tries to move the wheelbarrow since she can barely see over the top of the thing. She is everything to him, his little girl.

Approaching footsteps pull him from his thoughts a short while later and he looks over his shoulder, giving his wife a smile when he sees her before he waits for her to sit down beside him on the grass and puts an arm around her. When she hands him his lemonade, he presses his lips to her temple through her hair and lingers for a little longer than necessary, taking the opportunity to breathe her in. He can tell she is a little unsure as to where that came from when he pulls back, but she says nothing and he simply sips at his lemonade and holds her tighter when she cuddles up to him. "Has she been doing that all this time?" She asks quietly, resting her head against his shoulder as she sips at her own drink and watches their girl explore.

"Jeannie, your garden fascinates her," He tells her. "All the plants and bright colours. It's like she has her own little jungle."

Jean laughs at that, watching Lynette make her way over to where the primroses were growing before she takes hold of one and leans in to smell it, and the love she has for her deepens when she sees her face break out into a smile. She doubts that she'll ever truly understand how precious she is to her and Lucien, no matter how many times they tell her as she grows up. Before she came along, they were both blessed with daughters that they were forced to miss out on seeing grow up for one reason or another. It had been agony for them both, so to say that they had been thrilled to find out they had a little girl on the night she was born would be an understatement. She gave them both a second chance and they love her so much for it.

"Pretty present, mama, pretty present," She looks up when she realises Lynette is speaking to her and smiles when she holds out a hand with a very crushed primrose caught in it. Normally, it annoys her when she picks flowers because she is forever telling her to leave them be, but she can't find it in her heart to be annoyed with her this time. Not when she has the most beautiful smile on her face and looks so pleased with herself. Besides, this is the first real present she has ever received from her and she can feel warmth pooling in her chest. Setting her lemonade down, she draws her into her lap and circles her in her arms before she thanks her as she accepts the flower and lifts it to her nose to smell it. "Mama like? Mama like present?"

"I absolutely love it, darling, this is the prettiest present I have ever gotten." She replies, running a hand along her back.

"Get another?" Lynette asks, pointing over at the flowerbed.

Jean shakes her head, smirking. "Let's leave the others to grow a bit more, shall we? Besides, this flower is the most special."

"Special?" Lynette frowns with confusion.

"Mhm…" Jean hums. "This one is special because you gave it to me and you're the most special thing to your daddy and I."

Lynette's eyes sparkle and she cuddles up to her mother, curling a hand into her cardigan as her eyes close when she presses her lips to her crown through her curls. "I go and play now, mummy." She smiles when she pulls back to look at her again.

"Okay," Jean nods. "But only for a little while and then it's time to come inside and wash your hands for lunch."

Wordlessly, Lynette leaves her lap and runs down the garden again before she takes the flower in her hand by the stem and blinks back tears as she twirls it around for a second. "I couldn't love her more, Lucien, I really couldn't." She tilts her head back on her husband's shoulder to look up at him when he pulls her closer to him, a solitary tear trickling down her cheek.

"She feels the same way about you," He whispers, brushing the tear from her skin before leaning in to tenderly kiss her lips. "You know; all your flowers are absolutely beautiful, my love, but I think our own little flower is the most beautiful of all…"

#lucien blake #jean beazley #jean blake #doctor Blake #mrs beazley #lucien x jean #jean x lucien #lucien and Jean #jean and lucien #the doctor blake mysteries #tdbm #tdbm fic

9 notes · View notes

1a-imagines · 4 years

Text

Forget me not

Fairy!Izuku x reader

A/n: It’s here!! The post I've been making every one worry about for the past week, I hope you all enjoy. :)

This is Day 3 of the Izumonth collab!! You can find the announcement post here.

If you squint there is angst.

Word count: 5500+ words.

Overview: You've waited years for him to come back, when you find him again; what secrets will you share under the moonlit sky?

Laughter echoed in the open air, the sun peeking up over the horizon signalling the start of morning. Most of the world was asleep, but this back garden was as lively as ever. Little feet raced around the garden with purpose. A child, no older than 10, chased a ball of green light around the grassy terrain.

You jumped over toys, crawled under the slide, hid behind trees and bushes to trick your opponent into a false sense of security. Anything to win this game he had challenged you to.

You stood as still as you could from behind the tree trunk, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Finally, a green glow entered your peripheral vision and you jumped for it.

Your chubby fingers outstretched, both hands clasping around the light as you captured the target.

"Gotcha Izu'!" You laughed, opening your hands as you brought them up to your face. The glow from his wings bounced off your skin, accentuating your cute, childish, features.

The fairy rubbed his head sitting in the middle of your palms, giggling, "I was going easy on you!"

He flew up, getting level with your face. You hummed in a mocking tone, not believing him. He pressed his lips together, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "Well, if that was so easy for you then how about you try catching all of us!" He exclaimed.

More glowing lights emerged from beyond the bushes in your garden. Each one a different colour, red, blue, yellow, white. Only when they got up close could you see the outlines of their bodies. You had expected fairies to be smaller than they were. They were about the size of your palms and according to them, they were still growing. You wonder how they would compare to you when you got older.

You huffed, stomping your foot on the floor with a pout. "Fine! I'll do it! But after we're paying hide and seek, ok? We only have one hour until my family wakes up!"

Izuku nodded, flying over to his friends with a grin. "I promise! Now come catch us!"

You smiled at the memory. Remembering how that night was filled with laughter and games. Even as a ten year old staying awake all night, you never got sleepy. Whenever the moon was up, you and your friends went out to play. It was the only time they came to visit you. All night you would be awake, laughing, singing and playing with them in your secret garden.

It surprised you, the memory was so vivid in your mind, like it had happened merely a day ago. As time went by, childhood memories started to fade, making them feel more like dreams than reality.

You bent down, your eye peering through the door of the little mushroom house. Just as you had expected, it was empty. You sat back on your knees, letting out a hefty sigh.

The handcrafted house brought back so many childhood memories. Memories that in one way made you happy, and in another way stung your heart like a thousand wasps.

You used to see the fairies everyday, hiding around your garden, in bushes, behind mushrooms. They particularly liked your flower beds and vegetable patches. It was where you often found them sneaking around, as if playing a never ending game of hide and seek.

Eventually, they approach you, and they become your mystical secrets. There was one in particular, your little forest haired fairy. Even before you became friends he would smile and wave at you from behind flowers and leaves.

He was too shy to talk to you at first but with time he made his way to you. His friends soon followed his suit and began talking and playing with you. As much as you adored all of them, there was just something about Izuku that made you feel more attached to him. He came to visit you almost every night, sometimes flying through your bedroom window, where you would read him stories or vise versa, until you fell asleep.

There were so many fond memories he had left you with.

You reached out a hand, caressing the petals of a nearby snowdrop, more memories flashing through your mind.

They always adored your garden, how it was filled with different flowers and vegetables. In honour of them you continued to upkeep it. Never a day went by that you weren't in your garden, pulling out weeds, watering the colourful array of flowers, tending the vegetable patches. You wished to create the perfect human-made fairy garden in the world, for them to come play and relax, laugh and dance just as you used to in your childhood days. You even went as far as making houses for them, each one filled with miniature furniture you had hand crafted yourself.

You had dedicated so much time to them. Put your heart and soul into everything you made, not a leaf out of place in your perfect garden.

So why haven't they come back? It has been six years and you haven't received so much as a goodbye from them. They just stopped coming to see you.

Your family had always brushed off your claims of fairies visiting the garden as just your childish imagination running wild, but you were much older now. Your obsession was starting to worry them. You mother thought it was nice you had such a big imagination, the rest of them called you crazy and childish.

Despite their words, you couldn't bring yourself to believe that it was all just mere imagination. They were real, you talked to them, you played and danced with them, and you were going to prove them all wrong!

Your beliefs had stood strong for six whole years, but after reciting the same old routine of tending your fairy garden and checking the small mushroom houses, everyday single day. Your beliefs were dwindling.

Where had they gone? The more days that went by, days without signs of your magical friends, days that consisted of you being mocked and ridiculed by your family. You couldn't help but lose a little faith. Fears starting to invade the cracks left in your heart, fears of never seeing them again, fears of them never having existed in the first place.

Despite the ever growing shadow on your face, you continued your weekly routine of cleaning the mushroom houses. Even if they never came back, it would be a waste to let all your hard work catch dust. You couldn't even begin to guess how many hours you had spent on this project.

You grabbed a cloth and unclipped the roof from the walls so you could clean all the nooks and crannies, Beginning with the first house you had ever crafted. It was rounded like a fat mushroom, the roof was a dark green with lighter green polka dots decorating it. It was your favourite design, Made carefully and with a little green haired friend of yours in mind.

It had taken you months to finish this house alone, your face scrunched up remembering all the cuts, bruises and burns you had gotten in the process. It hadn't been easy, and a few times you almost gave up completely. However, seeing the fairy-sized bed, with small sewn duvets on top of it, an actual working fireplace, a kitchen with running water and a stove. It was all worth it. Who else could say they had tiny, fully functional, homes in their back garden?

You wrapped the cloth around your index finger, it was slightly damp, you used it to clean the floor first. Removing some of the furniture so it would be out of your way.

You picked up the couch, but once it was out of the way you noticed the floor was shining. Not from your careful cleaning but it looked like tiny green glitter had fallen to the ground.

Your heart stopped.

Tiny green glitter? Could it be? You used your finger to poke at the glitter, it clung to your skin and you brought it up to your eyes. How could something so small feel so familiar? They were like tiny green sparkles of hope.

Had he been here recently?

Your head shot up and you looked around for any more signs of life, rummaging through the other houses, the flower beds, the vegetable patches, anything you could think of.

As usual, you didn't find anything, yet you stood, grinning from ear to ear at the thought of not being crazy after all. Maybe they had been coming back and you hadn't noticed!?

You placed all the furniture back and put the roof on top of the house. If he had been coming back, then you had to find him! Just like when you were younger, you were going to play a game of hide and seek, but this time you were serious.

You were going to prove to everyone that you weren't crazy. You were going to prove that fairies are real! Most importantly, you might get to see your old friends again!

That very night you sat, curled up, by the window. The log fire offered a dim glow across the room, you didn’t want the lights to be on, fearing it could dissuade them from coming back. You draped a blanket over your shoulders, watching the mushroom house, your eyes not daring to move away in fear you would miss something.

Your family had tried to talk you out of this, telling you it was unhealthy to be so obsessed over this after you shared your findings over dinner. You still remembered the twisted frowns on their faces, even your mother looked worried for you. You sighed, head dipping down. Maybe they had a point, but after dedicating years to these fairies how could you just give up on them? Especially not now that you had a sign of their existence.

Hours went by, the log fire burning out along your hope, leaving behind nothing but a pile of blackened ash.

The moon was high into the sky, illuminating your garden. It looked exactly like it used to when you would stay away with the fairies all night. Except now, instead of toys, there were more vegetable patches and flower beds scattering the grass floor. As you looked out at it, ghosted memories flooded back to you. You could almost see your childhood self running around with them again.

You felt your eyes droop. What time was it? You weren't sure, all you could do was battle with your body for the ability to stay awake.

Your head was snug in the crease of your arm, the blanket falling from your shoulder. When the blanket finally fell off and hit your feet, it startled you awake. You gasped, your body jolting up as you slapped yourself awake. How could you almost doze off?! What if you had missed something!? You pulled the blanket back around you and leaned onto the window. The cold glass against your skin made you shiver, but it helped keep you awake.

The moon disappeared above your house, but your garden stayed illuminated by its light. It looked enchanting, like there was a spotlight on your garden and the audience was the universe. Through the beam of light your eyes caught sight of something, you rubbed your eye, wondering if it was just your imagination.

You gasped, diving behind the couch, your eyes the only part of you peeking out behind your cover, like an animal waiting to pounce on its prey. A trail of green dust danced in the wind, enticing you to follow it. You shot up from your seat and walked to the back door, as you pulled it open you prayed it wouldn’t creak too loudly and alert your visitor. You bit your lip, creating a gap just big enough for you to slip out of and walked across the garden, the grass tickling at your bare feet.

Your eyes widened, seeing the lights in the house on, you knelt down. Your legs were shaking so you steadied yourself with your hands. The door was shut, you knew this was your only chance to know the truth, to prove you weren’t crazy, and if it really was him, you could finally get some answers as to why he left. your hands were shaking as you were overcome with emotion, you hesitated to move, what if the answers weren’t going to be what you were looking for. Ignorance is bliss as they say.

You sat there, unmoving, knees tucked under your body and the chill of the night air caressing your skin. You could hear the sounds of pot’s clanking from behind the door. Had you any courage you would have peered in already, but your anxieties were holding you back.

After taking a shaky breath and mentally hyping yourself up, you curled your index finger, it hovered above the doors surface as you pushed against an invisible barrier. You closed your eyes and knocked on the door. Everything went silent. The feeling of wanting to slap yourself grew as the seconds ticked by and not a movement was made. The pit of your stomach churned, it felt like you had been sat there for an eternity.

Much to your delight, the door was pulled open and out poked a familiar face. “Izu..” You breathed out, tears pricking at your eyes. You hand flew up to your mouth as you choked back a sob. He hadn’t changed much, he was bigger now, but still only around the size of your palm. His jade curls fell around his face, sticking up in all directions as if he had just rolled out of bed, his rounded eyes filled with inner conflict. The door wasn’t opened fully but you could still see his wings peeking out from behind him, glowing brighter than ever.. Leaves were sewn together to create clothes on his body. A creative yet uncomfortable way to avoid nudity. His eyes were staring up at you like you were a three headed monster, come to end his life. He was frozen in place.

Your lips parted, words threatened to spill from them. You weren’t sure what to say, you had thought about this moment so many times, about what you would say, and yet your mind was blank. As you wrecked your brain to form a sentence a slam brought you from your thoughts. You blinked, the door was shut before you even got to say anything. It felt like a giant slap to your face. After years of imagining the moment you would see your friends again, this was never an outcome you expected. Your hands slipped from your face, trembling in front of you.

You didn’t understand, didn’t he remember you? You still lived in the same house, your looks hadn't changed that much apart from getting taller and your chubby child features melting away, you were practically the same! Maybe he hated you? Maybe that's why he stayed away from you all these years. Thoughts swirled around your head like a whirlpool, your bottom lip quivered, tears rolling down your face.

No matter how much you were hurting, you were insistent on having a conversation with him. You finally had him back, the least he could do was give you some answers. You lifted your hand to knock again, but before your finger could tap on the wood it opened, revealing a much more bashful looking fairy than before. Instead of his usual green glow, he was now glowing pink. How strange...

“Sorry, I panicked.” He chose to look at his feet instead of your face, he couldn’t see. You let out a dry laugh, you tried to relax now he was in front of you again, but you could barely hold back the sobs. “Do you remember me?”

He nodded, his curls bouncing as he did so. You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It felt like a dream but you knew it was real. The cold night air on your exposed skin, the sound of his voice as he admitted to panicking; Not even your imagination could be this vivid, he was here, in front of you.

“How could I ever forget you Y/n?” He rubbed his arm, holding himself for comfort. The blanket fell from your shoulders when your body finally relaxed. “You are real.” you breathed, gaze fixed on him.

Your outspoken confirmation had sent yet another slap to your face. You felt like you were being thrown into a frenzy. You swirling thoughts were making you dizzy. They were real, if your family could see him they would finally believe you! All those jokes about you being crazy would be put to an end! You’d be free from ridicule! All you would have to do is take him inside, “I- I have to show you to my family! They think i'm insane! But you’re real! You were all real, and-” You shot up from the ground, stumbling in the process from the erratic movement. “Please! You have to come with me-”

“No!” He panicked and flew up from the stone steps on the mushroom house to be face level with you. It had been so long since you were able to see him up close. “No one can know about us!”

“But-” You wanted to argue but one look in his eyes and you saw how scared he was. You looked down, biting your tongue from saying anything else. His eyes had always reminded you of the forest on a sunny day, peaceful, filled with warmth. So seeing them filled with sorrow had, theoretically, stabbed your heart. “Why did you show yourselves to me then?”

He expected you’d have many questions.. He sighed and slowly fluttered forward so he was closer to your face. It felt like you two were in your own personal bubble, the rest of the world trapped outside of your secret space.

“When we were children, my friends and I found you playing alone in your garden. Our parents never found out about it, we were interested in humans and didn’t see the harm in approaching you. We watched you for weeks, you were always alone but you seemed so nice. We were only going to do it once but, eventually, one day turned into everyday but what we did was stupid and very forbidden by our people. We had to stop before our parents found out if they had, they would have erased your memory using their magic. I didn’t-.. We didn’t want you to forget us.” He corrected, mentally kicking himself for the slip up

You hadn’t caught his slip up, your brain was trying to process the new information. At least you finally had the answers you had been looking for. It finally made sense, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You sat back down on the grass, pulling your legs to your chest. They felt like jelly, and you didn’t trust them to support the rest of your body right now. Izuku flew down with you, hovering just above your legs. He took the break of silence to study your features. You looked a lot more mature now, as he assumed he did to you. You were both only 10 last time he saw you, now it had been about 6 years, a lot had changed yet you were still just as beautiful as he remembered you to be.

You remained silent, did you really have nothing to say to him? Or perhaps you were mad? The look on your face said otherwise, your features were relaxed yet your eyes seemed so distant. As if you were in another world to his. You weren’t sure how to feel, you had more questions now than ever before.

“Did you make these?” He finally found a way to break the silence, he gracefully glided down to the mushroom houses you had hidden amongst the blooming flowers. It was the perfect height for him, which was surprising. It was a beautifully designed house, he noted all the little details you had, each carved design was a pattern of passion. The fact you placed them into your flower beds made it even more perfect, it kept them surrounded by nature and beauty just like fairies loved to be. He wasn’t sure how you were able to know all of this, but it was the perfect fairy home, he really wished he would stay and live here in your garden. Not only for the beautiful environment you had created for them, but to see you everyday, to play and dance just like you used to do.

Your head lifted, a smile gracing your lips. “Yeah, I made them for you guys in case you ever came back.”

Your words struck him through the heart without the intent. He was facing away, his hand placed onto the frame of the door, caressing the hand carved design. He was guilt ridden, he had been for years but seeing this, how you waited for them to come back, it tore him up inside. He knew he should’ve said something before leaving you, he really tried to. His friends convinced him that he should be the one to deliver the message, you two had always had this unspoken bond as children.

However, when the time came, he couldn’t do it. He was nothing more than a coward. The words wouldn’t come out no matter how hard he tried to force them, like there was an invisible force squeezing at his neck, trapping the words in his throat. He didn’t want his last image of you to be a sad one. He didn’t want to have to fly away to the sounds of your cries. The thought crushed him, so he ran away from it, and now he was stuck regretting it for the rest of his life, he knew he couldn’t make up for what he did to you.“You have to leave again don’t you?”

Your voice ripped him from his thoughts, he dared not turn around. The sorrow in your voice was enough to make him wince. Just like the day he had left without warning, his voice failed him. He could barely manage a nod but you caught it. “For good?” Another nod, his head hung low, shoulder trembling. Suddenly feeling grateful for being sat down you hunched over. Your hair covering your eyes as you breathed out. Perhaps you would’ve been better off if this was a dream after all.

Another silence hung between you two, it was painful. The air felt heavy, a pressure weighing down on both of your shoulders that had built up over the last six years. Izuku shook his head, he couldn’t let things end like this. He couldn’t do it to you again. He may not be able to stay but there was something else he could do.

Tear’s silently escaped your eyes, falling onto the grass floor beneath you like sorrowful raindrops. You kept your eyes and mouth shut tight, you didn’t want him to see you crying before he left, but how could you not be upset by such a cruel fate? He had always taken up such a big part of your heart, and now he was telling you he was going to leave and you’d most likely never see each other again.

A pair of smaller hands cupped your cheeks, lifting your face up. Your tears soaked his hands but he didn’t mind. He smiled, rubbing at the wet trails on your cheeks with his forearm. Without a word between you, he flew down and grabbed one of your hands with both of his. He tugged at it and you stood up, allowing him to silently guide you. He took you out of your back garden and into the forest that resided on the other side of your fence. The thought of going into a forest at night scared you, even with a trusted friend guiding you. The further you strayed from home the darker it got, trees obstructing the moon's light as you stepped into the forest. Izuku's green glow acted as a torch, keeping you safe from darkness.

After 5 minutes of walking in silence, your lips pulled into a frown, “Where are we going?” You finally asked with a bit of hesitance, one of his hands held onto your index finger, pulling you through the maze of trees with expertise. You stumbled and winced as stones and twigs poked at your bare feet like tiny needles. You had to rely on the glowing of your friend and what little of the moon's rays peaked through the trees to light your surroundings.

He didn’t reply to your question, but he didn’t need to. He guided you around a giant oak tree, and once you did your jaw dropped.

Fireflies danced around the open space between the trees, gathering together to create a soft golden glow in the cloud of darkness, like a million little lanterns floating in the sky. Flowers and vines decorated the trees wrapping around like snakes. There were no more stones and twigs for you to worry about as your feet hit the grass. It felt like a soft blanket under your sore feet. It was a grassy stage, the moon hit down on the open area like a spotlight, much like it had back in your garden. There were no overhanging branches that blocked it's path with shadows. It was enchanting, like something right out of a fairy tale.

Subconsciously you stepped forward into the light, your breath knocked out of you. You were so entranced by what you were seeing that you didn’t get to see the way Izuku was staring at you. It was something that you would never be able to see again. The way his lips curled up, eyes sparkling with fondness for you. The moon's light hit you perfectly, giving you a white glow, like an angel. Maybe you were an angel in disguise, he wouldn’t be surprised.

“It’s… amazing.” That was an understatement, but how were you supposed to put this into words? It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. He smiled and flew in front of you so he could take in your expression, your lips were parted and slightly curled at the edges. He could see the reflection of dancing fireflies in your doe eyes.

He couldn’t care less about the fireflies behind him. In his eyes, you were way more breathtaking, and to see your smile again after so many years, it made his heart melt.

"There's something else." He brushed past you, making you finally snap from your trance. He flew over to a particularly large tree, there was a small circular hole in it, showing its hollowed out insides. He disappeared into, and when he came back he carried a vial with a strange blue liquid inside. "I was saving it for something special and I suppose there's nothing more special than being here, with you, right now." He pulled the cork out and drank the strange liquid.

You watched silently as a blue light circled around him soon engulfing him in a blinding light. You turned your head away and closed your away in fear of being permanently blinded. You didn’t know when it would be safe to turn back, so you waited until a hand cupped your face.

A much... larger hand. You opened your eyes, gasping when you saw your fairy was human sized, he was just a touch taller than you. The increase in his size made his features more prominent, you could finally see how handsome he really was. You could admire his freckles, the way his hair brushes against the top of his eyes, you even got a closer look at this leaf clothing. They were skilfully stitched to fit his body, you wondered if he did it himself.

He smiled, watching you lean into his hand, nuzzling into his hold.. "Care to dance?" He asked softly, the pad of his thumb brushing over your cheek. Such a simple action, yet it held so much love, you felt breathless. Your heart was beating too fast for your lungs to keep up with.

You nodded and stepped forward. His hands placed themselves on your waist as your hands went up to his shoulders. His hands trembled, his touch feather-like, as if he was scared to break you.

The lack of music didn't bother either of you, with the orange glow of the fireflies, the moon's lights shining down on you, and the blissful sounds of nature, it was perfect the way it was. You followed his lead as you swayed back and forth together, this offer to dance had been nothing more than an excuse to hold you close one last time. It didn't matter that neither of you knew how to slow dance, or that you were in your nightgown, barefooted. You were in each other's arms and that was all that mattered.

Before he knew it, your head was resting against his shoulder, a melodic light humming filled his left ear. It sent shivers down his spine, his wings fluttering behind him as you hummed a secret song. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against yours, your hair tickled his nose as he tried to memorise your scent. He wanted this moment to be engraved into his brain forever.

You slow danced for so long, he had lost track of time. Neither of you were willing to let go, it was too hard to do this again. Everything felt so perfect, so tranquil. like you were the only two people in the world.

He finally got the willpower to peek his eye open, the sun's rays peeking over the horizon and disturbing the moon's glow. The stars, that were witness to your dance, were disappearing from the sky. It was time to go, yet you were blissfully unaware of this as you continued to hum into his ear. You hadn’t opened your eyes a single time since you’ve been in his arms, you were too scared to open them and have to face reality.

With every ounce of strength he had in his body his hands trailed up to your shoulders, memorising the feeling of your skin, he hesitantly pushed you away. He held you at arm length, your eyes opening and staring into his.

You looked scared.

He smiled at you, moving forward to rest his forehead against yours. "Close your eyes." He whispered, and without hesitation your eyes fluttered close. Your hand gripped onto his, as a way to make sure he wasn't going to disappear.

He released a shaky breath as he took your hand into both of his. Cupping it protectively. After a few seconds of nothing but shuffling, you felt something being placed into your palm. It was thin and light, you almost peaked an eye open but one hand came up to cover your eyes.

You patiently stood there, not daring to question what he was up to. A few seconds went by before you felt a feather-like kiss being placed onto your lips. You sharply inhaled through your nose. His kiss lingered for a long time, silently telling you he loved you. His hand squeezed yours when you kissed back, eagerly leaning into the affection. Lips moulded together, with no haste to pull away anytime soon.

When his lips reluctantly left yours, the hand covering your eyes didn't move. You smiled, your heart racing at the sweet gesture. His hand fell away, but your eyes remained closed, you felt another kiss be placed on top of your head, his nose bumping against your skin.

“I love you.” He whispered, a quiet confession confined to your shared bubble.

He pulled away, his hand releasing yours. You waited for him to do something else, to tell you to open your eyes now, but there was nothing…You figured he was done and so you opened your eyes. You gasped for breath, placing a hand over your heart. It felt like a knife had stabbed through your chest.

He was gone.

The fireflies had disappeared, the moon had disappeared, and so had your beloved fairy. The only sign that he had really been here was the lingering feeling of his lips on yours, they tingled with leftover electricity.

Looking down to the gift he had left you, you found a flower, a forget-me-not to be exact.

You swallowed, eyes stinging as pools of tears gathered in the corners. You used your fingers to gently caress the petals. It figures that he would choose to leave you with this of all flowers.

You held it close to your chest, staring up at the newly lit sky, the sun cast orange hues over the forest, it was beautiful, but you couldn’t admire it, too bitter at the star for ruining your night. You wanted to see the moon again, to dance under the stars for hours more,

"As if I could forget you." You let out a breathy laugh, closing your eyes so you could pretend it was still night. "I love you too."

718 notes · View notes