#the sunflower looks at the sun and says i am what i worship………. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunnyrealist · 6 months

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Chapter 7 of The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars is here! 🌶️

It starts getting spicy and earns its Explicit rating in this chapter. MINORS should not interact! 👀

Aged-up, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x female OC (Kate Mayflower)

Chapter features body worship, teasing, fingering, cunnilingus

Again, minors, do not interact! 🌶️

The full chapter is available below the cut, along with the AO3 link. Feedback would be greatly appreciated, as I am new to writing smut!

Chapter 7: Leave It to Me

Kate surveys her appearance in the bathroom mirror, having left Sebastian in the living room on the loveseat. She splashes a little water on her face and pinches her cheeks, in an attempt to appear lively, even though she has been up for almost 24 hours now. She brushes her long golden hair, which has gone just a bit frizzy and gotten tangled over the course of the night, and dabs perfume on her pulse points. Merlin. The most attractive man I’ve ever beheld is waiting out there for me, like a belated birthday present.

As she finally meanders back to the living room, Sebastian seems to be looking around in amazement, taking everything in. The room is tiny, reflecting the small size of the cottage. A fireplace crackles, close to the front door. He relaxes comfortably on the small brown couch, his legs spread out behind a wooden coffee table. Plants are scattered throughout the room, hanging from the ceiling and sitting in pots of various sizes. An open doorway next to an empty wall leads into the kitchen, and Kate herself wanders in from the other direction - a small hallway that leads to the rest of the cottage.

“Kate, your cottage - it’s so cozy and welcoming. I love it,” Sebastian tells her genuinely. “It’s charming. This might sound stupid, but it feels like a real home.”

His eyes roam over all of the plants, and he feels a surge of warmth as Kate sits directly next to him on the loveseat. Then, he looks directly at her, leaning over to get even closer. “What is your favorite plant?” he asks softly with a smile.

“In this room or in general?” Kate pauses, and when he simply nods, she chuckles and speaks enthusiastically. “Well, in this room, I suppose I would say my Christmas cactus. I just love that it blooms in the winter! It’s so cold and dreary, but the cactus flowers bring color - a bright pink - to the dead world. Despite everything, it thrives.”

Sebastian listens attentively and notices her excitement as she describes the plant she loves. Her explanation was adorable. “It is a nice one, even when it’s just green. I’ve never seen a Christmas cactus bloom. I will take your word for it that it is beautiful.” He looks in her eyes still as he encourages her to tell more. “What about your favorite plant in general?”

“Sunflowers,” she answers without hesitation. “I have always loved sunflowers. Well, any flowers, really. Anything colorful and pretty and fragrant.”

Taking her hand in his, he replies softly and romantically, “Kate, you’re like the flowers. You bring color and life anywhere you go.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, her heartbeat quickens. “That’s very sweet of you to say.” She blushes, her cheeks turning pink. “I love plants. My father taught me how to garden, how to tend to them all. He owns a business based around, well… tending to rich people’s gardens.” She quietly laughs, then asks, “Do you have a favorite plant or flower in general, Sebastian?”

“I’m a simple man,” he replied with a small grin, his arm brushing against hers. “You can call me boring, but I like roses. They’re classic and elegant. You can’t go wrong with roses.” Sebastian figured this would be an answer she would appreciate.

“Roses - interesting. They’re so delicate and require precise care. Their fragrance is one of my favorites and part of my perfume,” Kate notes. “You know, I actually thought that you might say something like a cedar or pine or some kind of fir tree. I hope it isn’t weird to say, but I noticed that scent on you earlier.”

“Did you, now?” Sebastian smirks. He pauses, thinking about something. “I like trees, yes, and roses, but most of all, I like flowers that have meaning to them.” There was a deep sincerity in his voice that made it hard to look away from him. “I can see a sunflower being that flower for you.”

Kate contemplates what he said. It was rare to find a man who knew anything like that. “Do you… actually know a lot about the meaning of flowers? What makes you think the sunflower is symbolic for me?” Her curiosity is piqued, wanting to know his reasoning.

Sebastian moved his arm around Kate’s shoulders and leaned a little bit further into her space. “Sunflowers… They symbolize cheerfulness and joy. They represent the warmth of the sun. And that’s what you bring to the room. Sunshine.”

As soon as he says the word sunshine, a look of wonder appears on her face. “Did you just say sunshine? That was my nickname growing up…”

He felt something stir inside of him; it felt as though lacewing flies were lighting up and fluttering around his stomach. He didn’t know what to think or say. It was as if the gods were watching down on them and their chance meeting. “Sunshine? It’s your nickname?” he asks in a hushed tone.

“Yes. It’s a strange coincidence you said that, Sebastian…” Kate trails off, her eyes not leaving his. “One of my grandmothers gave me that nickname when I was very little, and it stuck. She said that when I was a toddler, I was always running around, smiling and giggling. I was a happy little girl, spreading joy everywhere I went. I also had very light blonde hair, just like the sun.”

Sebastian nodded appreciatively. “It’s still true. You have an energy to you - warmth and cheerfulness.” Her bright smile, her contagious laughter - he felt it all. She was just like a ray of sunshine. “Can I call you Sunshine?”

Kate’s cheeks turn pink again. “Um, sure… that’s fine.” She shyly plays with her hair.

“Shall I tell you my nickname as a child?” he asks.

“Absolutely! Please do.”

He chuckles. “Prince. I was always pampered by my parents when they were still living. I was spoiled. My mother always called me her little prince, and Anne was called her little princess. The little twin rulers.”

Kate bursts out laughing. “Seriously? That’s adorable. You must have been an incredibly sweet and spoiled boy, then. Or a little brat!” She giggles. She isn’t sure if she should ask about his parents and their passing right now. It seems like the wrong time, so she tucks it away. It’s too heavy. Later.

Sebastian could not help but laugh with her - it was infectious. “Yeah, I was kind of a handful. What about you? Is Sunshine your only nickname?” He asked sincerely.

“Well, that was the main one. But my parents also happened to call me Princess, believe it or not. They spoiled me rotten. I pretty much always got whatever I wanted and was always ordering people around - even adults.” She stops to try to remember any other nicknames. “I can’t think of more at the moment. But I love that you were called Prince and that I was called Princess.” Suddenly a thought strikes her, a huge smile crossing her face. “Perhaps since my other nickname is Sunshine, maybe I’m the princess of the sun. You can be the prince of the moon and rule over night and darkness.” She chuckles, enjoying the idea.

“I like the sound of that. The prince of the moon and princess of the sun. It suits us both.”

“You know, I’d like to know so much more about the moon prince.” Kate gives Sebastian a sweet look. “I happen to find him handsome and romantic and intriguing…”

Did she just call me handsome? She’s adorable. He felt the need to make a witty comment back, but his brain was short-circuiting in pure bliss. “Intriguing? Why do you find me intriguing?”

Kate doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, she searches his eyes. “There’s an aura about you - you’re secretive, I think. I feel like I am compelled to uncover the mystery and… maybe solve it? I don’t know, maybe that’s just cheesy.” She blushes. “I guess what I’m actually trying to say is… I like you, Sebastian. There’s something about you that pulls me in.”

“I like you, too, Princess,” he replied without hesitation. “And it’s not cheesy. I understand what you mean.”

Sebastian thought about the aura that Kate said surrounded him. It was true. He tried to remain a mystery to most people. He had so many secrets. Ones that would probably scare Kate. He liked her very much, but he didn’t want to hide - couldn’t hide - who he really was forever. She would eventually have to know. But if he said anything now, he might not get any further. He once again decides to keep his lips sealed tight. “Well, I will allow you to uncover and solve any mystery of mine. I’ll only give you clues, though. It would be no fun giving you my entire life story right off the bat,” he teased.

“Oh, so you’re going to make me work for it?” Kate asks playfully. “What might make you share your secrets with me? How shall I find any clues?”

Sebastian smirked. “If I told you all of my secrets right now, we wouldn’t have much to talk about in the future, would we? But… maybe if you tell me a secret of yours, I will tell you something, too.”

“A fair trade,” Kate replies, pondering what to share. It’s difficult to concentrate, being so close to him. Flirtatiously, she whispers in his ear, “What if I told you that I am dying to kiss you right now?”

The lacewing flies pick up again. He wants to do it. He wants to kiss her right now. He couldn’t stop a grin from flashing across his face. He leaned in even closer yet, his heart pounding and excitement pumping through his veins. “Then, I would tell you that I want that, too.”

“A shared secret,” she murmurs suggestively, her eyes on his lips.

Sebastian’s mind was already made up. Without any further estimations, he leaned in and went for it. His eyes fluttered shut, and he slowly brought his lips to hers, enjoying every second of the sweet and romantic moment.

“I don’t ever want to stop,” he whispered, his voice gravelly, when they pulled apart. His breathing was heavy; his heart kept beating wildly.

“Is that another secret?” Kate asks in a quiet voice. “Because that’s one of my secrets, too…”

She leans back in and kisses him again, deeper and longer and more tender this time. As Kate throws her arms around him, he locks his arms around her waist and continues to kiss her. All he wants is to hold her and kiss her, for the moment to never end, but he was still a little afraid that if he kept going that she might think he was moving too fast. “Princess…” he whispered, his voice soft. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? With me?” His fingers grazed her back.

“Yes,” she replies. “I wouldn’t have brought you home otherwise, Sebastian.” Kate pauses, now worried that she is coming off too strong.

Sebastian felt her soft and delicate touch on his back. He thought he might go crazy, his mind racing with emotions. “Do you want to… go further?” He brushed his fingertips over her back as well.

Kate takes a deep breath, then eventually nods. “Only if you do.” She looks into his eyes and kisses his hand softly, then puts it back around her waist.

Sebastian bit his lower lip. He couldn’t believe he was in this situation. He pulled her closer, giving her another small kiss. He was starting to feel more comfortable with Kate in his arms. Asking for permission, he softly asks, “Can I…?” but his voice trails off.

“You don’t need to ask,” Kate whispers in his ear. “I only ask that you listen if I say no. And I really doubt I am going to say no to you. I’m not sure I could,” she admits. “There’s something about us. I need to see if it’s… real. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“I feel it, too,” he replies, taking a deep breath. “I want to see if it’s real as well.”

Sebastian slowly leans in for another kiss, a much deeper one. Kate completely surrenders to his lips, meeting them over and over again. She presses a hand to his chest and curls another around the back of his neck. Her body feels so awake right now. Every sensation sends electricity coursing through her veins.

What started as a flicker is now a roaring fire in Sebastian’s body. He cannot help himself, the flames so wild that they could not be contained by the strongest magic. His lips are pressing against hers bruisingly, his fingers weaving through her hair. His tongue tries to find hers as the kiss becomes more intense. He is ready to take her to the ground if she asks him to.

Sebastian finally pulls away and takes a deep breath, needing air. They stared into each other’s eyes. “It is real,” he whispered, smiling softly.

“Gods, it’s real…” Kate replies, catching her breath.

She gives him a seductive look, and then she climbs onto his lap, folding her legs around his on the loveseat. With fiery passion now in her eyes, too, she moves her arms to his back. “Is this okay?” She kisses him.

He smiles as he observes her red, swollen lips. “Of course it is. I couldn’t ask for anything better.” He gives her the same flirty look.

Sebastian starts to trail kisses from her lips to her ear, then down her neck. Kate leans back, breathing heavily, as his lips start moving lower. She gasps as he kisses a sensitive part of her neck over and over, teasing her. Her hands slowly move from his back to his shoulders, to the back of his neck, and finally to his head. She pushes her fingers through his chestnut-colored hair, discovering how thick it is. Sebastian groans in delight.

His hands travel to the front of her dress and begin to unbutton the bodice. Sebastian’s lips work in sync, kissing her the entire time. His mouth then returns to the point where her shoulder and neck meet, hearing her little moan.

Exhaling sharply, she pulls his head back up to her face, pressing her lips to his again. His hands release button after button as they deeply and passionately kiss. Her body temperature is rising to an exorbitant level. She nips at his bottom lip, then slides her tongue over it. He mirrors her actions, moaning and feeling his heart race.

Finally, Sebastian has successfully unbuttoned the entire top half of her dress. He pulls back a little and looks down at Kate before pulling it down slowly, letting the fabric pool at her hips. She trembles as her corset is exposed, her large breasts heaving underneath. She slowly brings her eyes to his. Sebastian’s heart pounds faster and louder as he trails his hands around her body, pulling her closer to him. His frame presses against hers as he looks right into her eyes.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. “So bloody gorgeous.”

Kate’s breathing is heavy as Sebastian reaches around to the strings of her corset. As he unties the bow and loosens the strings little by little, she begins to kiss his neck as well, leaving little nips at times. She starts to unbutton his vest, and once that is open, she works on his collared shirt. Her mouth explores every new piece of skin she exposes. When her work is complete, he slowly shrugs off his shirt and vest, dropping them on the floor, exposing his toned, strong, and freckled body. His fingers return to her corset as he kisses and lightly bites her neck. Her mouth falls open, little noises dropping out, as she surges upward in delight.

Feeling that her corset is finally loose enough now to take off, Kate raises her arms for him to lift it up and off of her. It is a real pleasure when the awful contraption is off of her body, but she also flushes, turning pink as she feels exposed. Sebastian stares at her breasts for a moment before leaning forward and kissing them with a moan. She cannot help but let out a groan as well when his lips discover a nipple, licking all around it. One of his hands begins to cup and caress her other breast.

“Oh, Sebastian…” Kate whimpers.

He couldn’t contain it any longer. Sebastian gently pushes Kate down, to the point where she was laying on her back on the tiny loveseat with her legs dangling off of it. He hovered over her, feeling powerful, and began to kiss down her body, taking his time and savoring every inch. There was no rush - only pleasure. Only he had the power to make her squirm and whimper like this.

“Sebastian… should we move… somewhere else?” she whispers breathlessly. “This couch - it’s not comfortable. It’s too small…”

Kate is right - the space is too cramped. And this is not where he wants their first time to take place. She deserves better.

“Oh. Um… do you want to go to your room?” he replied, his face flushed.

“Yes,” Kate replies quickly, pushing herself back up.

She kisses him hard in an attempt to keep the sensuous mood going before they move. Kate slowly stands, keeping her mouth on his until she simply cannot anymore. When Sebastian stands, his hands go to the small of her back, untying the bow of her dress and loosening it. Finally, the dress falls to the floor, leaving Kate in only her lacy knickers. She steps out of the dress and gives him a seductive look. Her hands reach forward to run over his chiseled chest and torso. Sebastian leans down to kiss her again. She only pulls away to take him to her bedroom. She grabs his hand and leads him down the short hallway, taking a left into her room.

Once they are in her room, the moment feels even more intimate. Sebastian looked around and noticed more plants, hanging and on the ground. He doesn’t have much time to observe anything, though. He suddenly moans as he feels her hands gliding from his chest to his abs and then lower yet. Kate begins to work on his trousers, unbuttoning them and unzipping his fly. She pulls his slacks down quickly, then appears unsure of what to do next. They are both practically naked, standing before each other, with Kate in just her knickers and Sebastian in just his shorts, though it sure seems like there is something rather large underneath. Kate gulps, understanding his size.

“Sebastian… it’s… um, it’s been a while for me. I just want you to know that before we go any further,” she explains, feeling the need to warn him now that she has seen how big he is. She knows it’s going to hurt a little. She’s out of practice.

“It’s okay. I can be gentle for you,” he whispers, his tone soft and low. His hands moved around her waist and back to her breasts. He smiles gently, and looks down for a moment. “Can I… Can I do something first?” he asks in a raspy voice.

Kate whispers back, “What do you want to do?”

“Can I… Can I taste you?” His face turns slightly red. He feels something far more for Kate than just lust; he wants to be sure she is satisfied as well.

Kate’s eyes go wide. Her mouth drops. “I… oh, gods… uh… erm, this is embarrassing.” She pauses, looking away from him. “Alright, I am just going to say it. I hope you don’t look at me any differently. Sebastian, I am pretty experienced, but… no one has ever done that for me before.” Kate blushes. “I don’t know if I’ll like it or not…”

He lets out a small moan at her words, his fingers teasing one of her nipples as the other hand kneads her breast. “That makes me want to do it even more.” He pauses, leaning down to kiss her lips. “I’ll make sure you enjoy your first time with me. I promise.” He winks, putting his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“But… What about you?” Kate asks, searching Sebastian’s eyes. “Don’t you find it… disgusting? My ex-boyfriend never even wanted to try. He said that ladies were just… dirty down there. But I’ve heard that most women really like-” She stops herself from chattering on, closing her eyes in embarrassment when she realizes that he is gazing at her in surprise.

Sebastian takes a few seconds to respond. “I don’t find it disgusting at all. It’s exciting. I want you to experience that pleasure. And I’m sure you will taste delicious.” He caresses her cheek, brushing her hair away from her face. He focuses on her with a gentle smile. “I want to make you happy, Kate,” he whispers into her ear.

“You - you do? Truly?” Kate’s eyes widen. “My ex-boyfriend - to be honest, he never really made me feel…” She trails off, biting her lip and looking away. “He just - well, he just cared about himself when we were in bed.” She finally meets Sebastian’s eyes again. “I’m sorry. I know this is stupid. He just… kind of messed things up for me.”

Sebastian kisses her on the forehead, holding her tightly. The feeling of her skin against his is overwhelming and intoxicating. “Kate, you don’t have to apologize. Some guys are just selfish and don’t care about how their girl feels.” He pauses. “You don’t have to worry about me. I care about your needs and your emotions. I’m not just going to use you and ignore your feelings. You deserve to feel good.”

Kate nods, appearing hopeful. “Alright…” She takes a nervous breath. “What should I do, Sebastian? Should I lie down?”

He smiles, kissing her softly on the lips. He runs his hands through her hair, letting out a breath. “Yes, lay down and relax. Just leave it all to me,” he whispers in a soothing voice, trying to calm her nerves as he gently pushes her onto the bed.

As Sebastian lowers Kate’s body, he follows her down the entire way. He captures her lips in his again, and then begins kissing his way down her body, focusing on the most sensitive areas - her neck, her collarbone, each of her breasts, as she moans and whimpers. He sucks on each of her stiff, rosy nipples before journeying on to her belly button and below. His hand softly glides up her thigh. He slips his fingers under the waistband of her lacy pink panties, dragging them slowly down her legs and finally throwing them to the side.

Now, Sebastian clambers off the bed. For a moment, he hungrily takes in the sight of Kate’s entirely nude body. By the gracious and merciful gods, he was somehow granted permission to glimpse and caress and ruin. It’s enough to make him twitch uncomfortably beneath the underpants holding him back.

Sebastian kneels and settles himself on the rug that covers the floor around the bed. He spreads her legs wide and encourages her to scoot her body until, directly in front of his face, lies her sweet cunt. For several moments, he greedily gazes upon his unwrapped present, untouched for so long but now completely and willingly open to him and him alone. She is well-groomed, with only a small, trimmed patch of brown hair leading to her pink, arousal-moistened center, where she wants - no, needs - him the most.

Kate gasps when she suddenly feels the sensation of Sebastian’s hand gliding up her leg all the way to her thick thigh… and then between her thighs. Getting exactly what she craves, Kate moans as he palms her pussy. Then, he causes her entire body to spasm as he uses his index fingers to trace circles around her sensitive nub. She shakes erratically, her legs moving on their own accord, alternating between stretching and folding. Feeling intense pleasure, Kate begins to whine as he takes his time, doing nothing else. It feels so much better when it’s him doing this; satisfying herself when she is lonely and longing for a non-existent lover at night would never be as fulfilling as having a man she adores between her legs. Not even getting inspired, hot and wound up, by the most erotic of texts could compare. Sebastian smiles, increasing the pace while observing each reaction she gifts him, experimenting and learning and memorizing for further study. He begins to touch her clit directly but gently, moving his finger up and down over it, pressing lightly, as she whimpers loudly. Her legs flail; her back arches. He continues to do what she clearly likes, teasing her in all the right places as she makes high-pitched vocalizations of ecstasy.

“Are you enjoying yourself so far?” Sebastian’s voice was slightly raspy. He was clearly having a grand time himself, ready to progress.

“Oh, gods, yes. Sebastian, please don’t stop,” Kate chokes out, her voice needy.

He smirks, then switches hands. He moves one index finger through her wet folds, preparing, while his other hand works at her clit. He finally slips his finger inside of her, feeling her tight walls cautiously accept him. When he is sure she is ready, an additional appendage joins in a moment later. He pumps his long fingers in and out of her - slow at first, just like a little fire gaining momentum. Then, as it turns into a roaring bonfire, she begins to whine uncontrollably as he increases his pace. Then, he curls his fingers inside her body, and she practically explodes, as though someone is using Confringo on her very soul.

“Sebastian! Oh, gods!!!” Kate cries out. Her hands search desperately for something to hold on to and eventually grab onto the quilt, twisting the fabric up in her fists.

He smiles at that, concentrating on her pleasure. She continues to whimper and moan his name in desperation, mewling more and more.

Then, Kate observes that he is changing positions. He removes his slick fingers from her sopping wet cunt and wraps his strong hands around her thighs to make sure her legs are wide open for what will come next. The anticipation causes her to shiver as she feels his breath between her legs.

Sebastian is already turned on, his erection straining against his shorts and dribbling in a liquid plea, but he cannot wait to make Kate reach a breaking point, to see her unravel and give in to the chaos he is thrilled to provide. He wants to make her feel so good that she will never desire any other man but him. With that goal in mind, he starts to slowly kiss and lick her inner thighs, moving his lips and tongue everywhere, worshiping every centimeter of her skin, guided by her moans and cries. He loves hearing her this way - it is so satisfying and maddening at the same time.

Kate does her best to rid herself of her nerves, trying to get out of her head and simply feel, just like he said earlier. Then, Sebastian licks a long, lingering stripe through the center of her folds, causing her to cry out and her eyes to widen. His hands bruisingly hold her legs open as he licks and kisses her wet pussy.

“Oh, my gods…” she whines at the long, slow line his tongue traces, straining against his grip and squirming in delight. Then, he moves to flick his tongue over her clit. Almost instantly, her hips buck and her back arches. She cries out his name.

“You’re so wet, Kate. You taste so good… so sweet…” Sebastian moans out between long tongue swipes over her cunt, lapping up her nectar.

Kate continues to whimper as he gives open-mouthed kisses to her pussy. Her whimpers are replaced with gasps as she feels his tongue at her entrance, pushing in slowly. He moves his tongue in and out, mimicking what his fingers did earlier, noisily drinking in her slick arousal as though it is the secret potion for immortality. Kate throws her head back, moaning his name over and over like a chant to the gods.

He moves his head to the side to take a breath and tell her how bloody beautiful she is like this, all laid out for him. Then, he returns to her cunt and places his lips around her clit, sucking gently.

“Oh, fuck!” Kate cries out, shouting.

Sebastian removes his arm from one of her thighs, plunging his fingers into her depths as his tongue and mouth simultaneously work on her sensitive nub. Kate can’t help it - she begins to writhe about, so many extraordinary feelings invading her body all at once. The sounds she makes are unfamiliar and new even to her as Sebastian brings her to a high she has never achieved before. She is an absolute mess as he sucks and licks and even slurps down there.

Kate’s face is beet red as she shouts out in pleasure, looking down to see only his thick brown hair, his freckled forehead beaded with sweat, his focused dark eyes. “Sebastian - oh, Merlin… I’m so close…”

Spurred on by her admission, Sebastian’s fingers push deeper and harder, moving in tandem with his mouth. He licks tight circles around her clit, then flicks his tongue again. She is completely lost to the most incredible feeling she has ever experienced - it is indescribable. Kate screams his name over and over as her walls contract around him. He continues to fuck her with his fingers even as her pussy tightens, eventually moving more and more slowly as she floats back to earth. She finally begins to settle down from her climax, panting, her breasts heaving.

Kate’s reaction was everything he wanted to hear and feel. Sebastian felt proud that he had made her feel desired and delicious as she was devoured for the very first time. He couldn’t help but grin.

“Was that good for you?” he asked. “Are you feeling good, Kate?”

Sebastian moves himself up to sit on the bed, looking down upon her naked body. He wipes his shining mouth, cheeks, and chin. He then kisses her lips before caressing her thighs softly.

She is dumbfounded, her mind still processing this turn of events. “I - I don’t even know what to say, Sebastian!” Kate starts to laugh, a tingling sensation enveloping her body. “I’ve never felt like that before - never! No one has ever been that good to me before.” She is still trying to catch her breath as he lays down on the bed beside her, turning to look at her face. She does the same, rolling to her side and noticing a wet spot on his shorts, where he is still rock hard and straining to be free of the confines of the thin fabric.

“I’m glad that you are feeling so wonderful,” he beams, now caressing her cheek.

Sebastian’s eyes twinkle as he smiles. He moves his head closer to Kate’s. He placed a finger under her chin so that he could kiss her deeply. In a tender, gentle tone, he says, “We are going to make each other very, very happy, Kate. I can already tell.” Then, with a cheeky grin, he leans in, and with a low voice, adds, “I hope you know we aren’t done yet.”

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow x oc #hogwarts legacy sebastian #sebastian sallow #post azkaban sebastian #hogwarts legacy smut #sebastian sallow fanfiction

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wysteria-clad · 2 years

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Hello Wys, how's everything 💫?

I would say for your ask game that you are a flowery field in the middle of the country side, and we go there to have a good time and smell the lovely flowers and, from time to time, some new ones will grow and we can worship those too 🌺 some times is sunny but others it's cloudy, and rarely barely rains, but when it does we can come inside the cottage, which is field with books and aesthetic paintings (mostly of the bois 🌜) and there's confortable couches and rugs to seat and chat, also, I think there would also be some nice lemonade and cupcakes 💖

Some sweet thoughts 🌟

-💖

I can be poetic too haha I wished

Hi love, i'm okay, thank you. How are you?💕

I'm speechless-

I love that you added the boys 😭💕

What do you mean you wished you you can be poetic? Miss ma'am, you are poetic 💖

I'm deadass jealous of people who gets to hang out and friends with you irl 🚶🏽‍♀️

You didn't ask, but I'm gonna tell you anyway

You are the soft pinkish orange sky after sun bids Earth goodbye to rest, but it's still warm like a cozy blanket.

You are the ladybug a sweet child puts on his nose, eyes wide with pure joy in a meadow full of grass and wild flowers. The earth is muddy with puddles from rain water and children jump in it, chasing frogs, their heavenly laughter hangs in the air, even the passing gentle wind pauses to hear it for few more beats.

You are the sunflower on that lights up the tiny gray cement pavement. No one stops to look directly and make comments openly. But they secretly glance whenever they walk past, their hearts eases, just for a few heartbeats. They believe in all good things in the world and hope life has to offer.

Tell me what type of person I am to you

#tysm <3 #as always you light up my day/night whenever you send me ask #asks #answered #ask games #💖anon #serotonin pills

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beauty-and-passion · 3 years

Text

Time to talk about the flower shirt

You read the title. Time to talk about this.

This is the infamous flower shirt Thomas put on in his store and, since the fandom is the fandom, everyone started to speculate about those flowers.

At first, I didn’t want to do it. They’re just flowers and other people already talked about them, so what could I possibly add to the conversation?

But while I was writing about Orange, I had to talk a moment about the orange flower. It was supposed to be a small parenthesis, just a couple of words about that.

But then I looked at the other flowers and what other people told/not told about them and how some didn’t find Patton’s flower... so here I am, adding my two cents to this theme.

You needed it? Probably not. Well, I’m writing it anyway.

So let’s take a closer look at those flowers and see each one in detail:

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Roman: Red rose

Should I really explain why it’s perfect for Roman? Red roses are the universal symbol of love. Basically in all cultures red roses symbolize passion, true love, romance and desire. Also, according to this website, even the shade has a meaning! In fact, the deeper the red shade is, the stronger is the passion.

And even the number of red roses has a meaning! In this case, we have only one single red rose and that "represents love at first sight, or if it’s coming from a long-term partner, they are saying “you are still the one”.”

You know what that made me think? About Thomas telling Roman “You’re my hero”. A perfect symbol that he was “still the one” for Thomas.

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Orange: Lantana camara

This is an incredibly peculiar flower.

Lantana Camara symbolizes severity and rigour. And this alone can be analyzed in all possible ways, but there are other interesting details about this plant I think it's worth mentioning.

Lantana is toxic for livestock, such as cattle, sheep, horses, dogs and goats. According to Wikipedia, previous studies suggested it could be toxic for humans too, especially the green unripe berries. However "other studies have found evidence which suggests that its fruit poses no risk to humans".

Lantana is a freaking invasive plant. In some areas, it's so predominant, to reduce biodiversity, because its presence "can significantly slow down the regeneration of forests, by preventing the growth of new trees". Also, as if this isn't enough, this plant can also produce toxic chemicals which inhibit other plant species.

Lantana has also a great adaptability, that helped it to be so invasive: it can live in a wide range of different environmental conditions, it can survive long periods without water, heck it's even resistant to fire. It's not a plant you can underestimate. Like Orange, I assume.

But Lantana isn't just an invasive plant. Lantana has always been used for medical purposes, because it showed good antimicrobial, fungicidal and insecticidal properties and its extract helps against respiratory infections and ulcers.

Also, since it doesn't have many pests or diseases, lantana became a common ornamental plant. It even attracts butterflies!

In other words: isn't that the perfect plant to symbolize the double nature of a dark side? It can be a threat, change the environment, destroy and even kill. But it can also be a medicine, something useful, something beautiful.

Whoever Orange is, Lantana camara tells us that, whithout a doubt, he’s a dark side.

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Janus: Sunflower

Do you think Janus isn't perfect enough as he is? Do you think there's not enough husband material in the snek?

Well, you’re wrong and the sunflower is here to prove it.

Sunflower symbolizes loyalty, adoration, longevity, vitality, worship. Now add this up to the sunflower’s behaviour and how it follows the sun... and you’ll get Janus. Janus literally acts like a sunflower: Thomas is his sun and everything Janus does is for him. His whole existence is centered around Thomas.

But we already knew that, because it's the same message that shone through his playlist. Everything about Janus tells us how much he adores Thomas, from his canonical behavior in the series, to his playlist, to this flower.

Oh, do you need another proof that this is flower is perfect for Janus? Some societies use sunflowers as religious symbols. Ah, some good ol' reference to religion: it’s like being in his playlist all over again.

And, of course, sunflowers are used for a variety of reasons, like cooking oils, skin care and so on. Even the flower says self care.

This man is perfect.

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Remus: Green chrysanthemum

Here's another interesting flower.

Chrysanthemum symbolizes death and it’s the typical flower used for funerals. And I thought this was its universal meaning. It was perfect for Remus just like that.

But then I found out that Europeans use chrysanthemums for funerals and to honor the dead. This flower actually has a whole lot of meanings, some completely different from this.

In China, for example, chrysanthemums are associated with wealth, prosperity and long life. Also they're symbols of new life and reincarnations, so they're the perfect gift for old people or newborns.

While in Japan chrysanthemums are symbols of power and royalty. And that's even more fitting for Remus, because he's a Duke, so he is royalty.

But chrysanthemum also symbolizes friendship - and not just "a friendship", but a meaningful one. It's a symbol of loyalty, devotion, romantic/platonic love and, in general, positive energy. It's a flower with an incredibly strong meaning, so it can't be given too lightly.

And this makes it even more perfect for Remus. It's a flower with a huge plurality of meanings, it's both associated with life and death, it's powerful and it's royalty.

Also, you can eat it. Isn't that the perfect Remus flower?

(On a side note: please notice how chrysanthemums and sunflowers are both associated with joy, loyalty and devotion. I would have never considered "joy" a common trait between Janus and Remus while loyalty and devotion... well, they both care about Thomas and his career and they both work for him despite not being accepted, so I can see why those are common traits.)

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Patton: Nemophila

Surprise surprise, this flower wasn't easy to find. I’ve never heard of it, so I had to search among endless lists of blue flowers, hoping to find one that would perfectly match the one on the shirt.

And that’s how I found nemophila.

First of all: nemophila is also known as "Baby Blue Eyes" and it's an extremely rare color to find in nature. It’s very famous in Japan, thanks to the Hitachi Seaside Park. Open this link: it’s a literal sea of blue and it’s absolutely gorgeous. Of course, it attracts people every year.

Nemophila represents prosperity, congratulations on success and victory. Not the first things you would associate with Patton, right?

Well, while I was searching more informations about this flower, I found out this website about the essence of Baby Blue Eyes and the passage I quoted down below has the exact same words you can find on that link:

With its pronounced affinity for water, the Baby Blue Eyes flower essences addresses qualities of tender sensitivity, innocence and trust associated one’s early childhood relationship to the father, or other significant masculine figures that are in some way disturbed.

Very often the father was absent, or there was a lack of support or genuine presence. The Baby Blue Eyes type attempts over time to cover this wound of vulnerability with a false “hardening,” such as emotional distancing, mistrust, cynicism or spiritual alienation. It is a flower that can be equally helpful for men or women, although it is especially needed for many men who struggle to become strong, by disowning their pain.

So nemophilia’s essence has qualities associated with childhood, to the father figure and attempts to “repress” and hide emotions.

That’s Patton. That’s him, period. The childhood-related emotions, that are linked to Patton’s longing for “a simpler time”. The mentions of a father figure - who migh be absent or showing lack of support (like, idk, suggesting you should die so your friends live?). And the attempt to “cover the vulnerability” doesn’t remind you anything? Like the Nostalgia episodes?

This flower is Patton.

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Logan: Blue petunia

I would like to say, from the bottom of my heart, a huge "FUCK YOU" to this flower, because I spent TWO DAYS searching all the blue flowers in the world and all possible variants, asking myself why this goddamn flower looked so familiar and why it was so hard to find. Blue isn't even a common color in nature, so why couldn't I find it?

I've learned more about blue flowers in these two days than in my entire life. I've searched among flowers I never saw before, like glandora diffusa, leschenaultia and omphalodes verna. I was so desperate to consider this flower a new species, with the petals of a bellflower and the corolla of a morning glory. I even found a goddamn chinese variant of the morning glory that was somehow similar but not that much and why, WHY this was so hard to find?!

And then, after two days and a lot more desperation, I remembered: my dear friend @reptilianwithscallions told me about a post they made, regarding this shirt and the flowers. Maybe they had some idea about Logan's flower?

Well, let's all thank my saviour and this post, because otherwise I would've kept searching until the end of my days.

Long story short, Logan's flower is a fucking blue petunia.

And it's a very peculiar choice, because petunias have multiple meanings, several of which can be contradictory.

In general, petunia symbolizes anger and resentment. It reminds someone that you're still angry or disappointed by their actions and you haven’t gotten over the things that caused these feelings.

Oh my, I didn't know we were back in Logan's playlist. It's basically what he kept expressing towards Thomas with his songs: that he was angry at Thomas for his decision, that he doesn't approve that Thomas hasn't "a real job" and so on. Petunia is a flower that screams passive-aggressive, so it's perfect for Logan.

But petunia's meaning deeply changes, depending on the color of the flower. And while petunia in general symbolizes anger, a blue petunia is a symbol of peacefulness, intimacy and deep trust, shared between two or more people. It's so wholesome, because the deep trust reminds me - again - of Logan's playlist and how it ended: no matter what, he and Thomas are always best friends.

Also, petunia flowers have even a secret meaning behind. Since they’re also gifted to new neighbors or to people who have just moved into a new home, they represent a perfect welcome and a way to express affection and kindness to others.

You’re lucky to be so wholesome, you tricky flower.

__________________________________

Virgil: Perennial Geranium

Geranium is a confused flower.

Some of the other flowers have conflicted meanings, but not as much as this flower. These are the most common meanings I found:

Folly or Stupidity

Gentility and kind nature

Clever minds

Ingenuity

Melancholy

Perfect gift for a bride

You can gift it to someone with whom you have planned a meeting

You can gift it to someone with whom you haven't planned a meeting, just to make them feel welcomed

True Friendship

See? It’s confused.

Aside from jokes, this variety of meanings is due to its great diffusion: since geraniums grow everywhere, every culture gave them a different meaning. And sometimes these meanings depend on the situation too.

Awww, isn't it perfect for Virgil? He can be good and bad at the same time. Anxiety can be bad for Thomas and detrimental for his life, but it can also be the alarm Thomas needs. It depends on the situation.

And, just like geraniums in general symbolize positive emotions, happiness and friendship, so Virgil is in general a good guy. All he does is for Thomas' wellbeing, not against him.

And this is confirmed by the vast use of geranium's essential oil. It's one of the most popular and it has a ton of properties: anti-viral, anti-bacterial, anti-inflammatory, anti-depressant, decongestant, relaxing and so on. Just like our Virge boy can be incredibly useful under the right circumstances. (Did someone say "Flirting with social Anxiety"?)

Also, geraniums are simple, humble flowers that usually grow outside, but then we take them and make them part of our homes. Once again, it’s Virgil: he's an outsider, he's humble, he talks bad about himself - but Thomas and the others took him and made him part of the famILY anyway.

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Thomas: Cherry blossom

I searched this flower everywhere and the only one that looks like the one on the shirt is the cherry blossom. Why did Thomas make a cherry blossom with eight petals, when they all have five? I have no idea. Is this a different flower, maybe? Maybe, but I’m done: I've looked at enough flowers and I don’t have any strength left.

As you probably already know, cherry blossoms are extremely important in Japan. They're beautiful, they're everywhere and they're meaningful.

Why? Because cherry blossoms are considered the perfect metaphor for human existence. When they blossom it's a pink ocean, a party, people go to admire them - but they’re short lived, because in two weeks, the blossoms start to fall. It's just like human life: a small, rich, glorious parenthesis in the void. Something little and precious that ends soon.

But cherry blossoms also symbolize rebirth, optimism, hopes and dreams. When they bloom, it means springtime is coming and spring has always been associated with renewal.

That’s a very good choice for character Thomas. He’s basically a cherry blossom, the whole series is: something that reminds us how beautiful life is, how multi-faceted, how important. Just like Thomas' single being encompasses seven different sides of himself, so life presents a wide range of choices, of aspects, of flavours. All beautiful, all worthy of appreciation, no matter how different they can be from you and your experience.

And this becomes even more important, in relation to the passage of time and the transience of life. Because life is short and, after that, there won't be any more time to appreciate anything.

In addition to that, I would like to point out how the theme of passage of time is something we already saw in the series. And not just one time, but several. Since the first season, we have episodes all around the concept of growing up, growing old, not being a child anymore, becoming an adult. And the last Aside keeps going in this direction. It's clear this is a big theme and its connection with the cherry blossoms proves it.

But why is the flower so different on the shirt? Because Thomas wanted to mess up with us? Probably. Almost certainly. Once again, thank you Mr. Sanders for making me question everything.

The floor is (figuratively) yours now: if you have any other information, thoughts or opinions, feel free to share them.

_______________________________

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roger-that-cap · 3 years

Text

doubt comes in

orpheus!bucky barnes x fem!eurydice!reader

summary: a retelling of orpheus and eurydice for an extremely late entry for a mythology challenge!!

warnings: uh- yeah i was not playing with this myth lol… fluffy beginning, uh, that’s all imma say about that and ALSO i haven’t edited this so haha, i am running on fumes but had to post this jeez

word count: 11.3k good god

There were gods that were unexplainably strong. There were some that could bend fire and metal to their will, some that could string up love and cast it upon others, and others that knew more of war and how to win more than they even knew themselves. Others were the faces of glory, like Zeus and Hera and the sun god Apollo and so many others. There were many that were worshipped by humans every day of every week, and others that were forgotten until they were desperately needed. There were some that lived immortal lives and demanded respect from humans and gods alike, and then there were the ones invested in their art, in themselves, in the beauty of life itself.

That was Bucky. He was so immersed in song, in the gift that he had inherited from his mother, Calliope, that it was all he could think about. It was what made him different, it was what made him stand out from the boys that he grew up with that were just plain old strong. He had a talent, he had a mother that was a myth and a legend alike, and he had a lyre. He had a lyre, a lute, his voice, and a bit of speed, and that was all that he would ever need in life. That, and a pretty landscape to look at while he strummed his golden strings. But that was all he ever thought he would need- which was why he was knocked right off of his planted feet when he saw you walk by.

You were a human. You were a beautiful girl, probably the most beautiful being he had ever seen in his entire life. He had met goddesses and nymphs and princesses alike, but never had he met someone who had such a sweet face, such a gentle aura, and even more, a beautiful voice. You had only said a few words to someone else that were delivered with a gentle smile, but he could have sworn that your words were a melody. Before he knew it, your entire being was stamped into his mind, and he knew that he would never be able to forget you.

It was by complete chance that the next day, he decided to wallow in his sadness by a fountain in public, strumming his lyre too quietly for anyone else to hear. Anyone who knew him knew that he was devastatingly off. And coincidentally, the only ones who truly did know Bucky were Steve and Sam, two forest nymphs that had been his best friends since he taught them the ways of the lute years and years ago. They were sitting by him in silence on the marbled fountain, waiting next to him for the second shoe that they doubted would ever drop. But then, like Bucky was a sunflower following the sun itself, his back straightened, his head perked up, and his mouth dropped, his eyes wide and swirling with admiration as he watched you- the same human woman he was enamoured with- walk through the square again, a woven basket full of fresh fruits on your arm and your lilac dress swishing in the wind.

“No way,” he heard Sam mutter, and Steve poked his side.

“You were always such a doubter,” Steve mumbled, but the smile on his face was audible through his tone. “There she is, in the flesh.”

Bucky could hardly hear anything but the soft melody stirring up in his mind, louder than his racing heart, and just as tender as the feelings swirling inside of him. He saw you wave to the older woman you were talking to and then start to walk away, and he knew that he couldn’t let you go, not when the Fates so obviously gave him a second chance. Without a second thought, he slid off of the fountain, leaving his friends and his lyre, striding towards you with the brightest smile, trying to cover the fact that he was nervous.

His clumsy feet were carrying him a little too quickly, and he could hear the snickers of Steve and Sam from behind him. He craned his head backwards to look at them and laugh too, but he tripped over his own left foot, barreling right into you and knocking you flat onto the ground. His half immortal heart beat heavy and hard in his chest as he watched you wince under him. He scrambled up, cheeks flushed and hand shaking as he watched you sit up and brush the dirt off of your dress. He was looking down at you with a look that he prayed wasn’t as desperate as he felt. But he had to know you.

“I’m Orpheus,” he started, and when you turned your bright eyes to him with your brows furrowed, he shook his head like he was trying to get water from his hair. “No, I meant that I was sorry- I’m so sorry. For knocking you over, miss.” He extended his hand to you again, and he swore that he saw your lips quirk up a bit at him. You took his hand and stood up, brushing the fabric of your dress once again. He caught a trail of your scent, and he was immediately overtaken by the scent of fresh flowers and lavender.

That was when he really got a good look at you for the first time. The first time he saw you had been brief. You weren’t even looking anywhere near his way, and he only caught a look at your stunning side profile before you walked away. His vision had been practically blurred from excitement while he walked up to you, and he was so embarrassed about crashing into you that he was subtly trying not to look in your eyes. But… damn, he had been missing out.

He swore that time stopped. His own heart stopped beating, even the sluggish beat leaving for a few moments. The noises from the town square were so dull that they seemed muted. The stares of Steve and Sam felt so far off that he didn’t even notice them. All he knew was that he was utterly entranced by you, and for a second, he could have sworn that by the look in your eyes, you felt the same way. But like the blaring of an alarm, something knocked you both out of it, putting you in the present, with present problems.

“Oh, the fruits,” you muttered, looking at the peaches and apples that tumbled right out of your basket, bending over quickly to collect them despite the fact that they had gotten bruised. Bucky’s heart jumped to his throat with guilt when he realized he had ruined the fruit you had either picked or paid for, and then he was rushing to get them even faster, praying to the gods that you didn’t automatically hate him.

After looking into your eyes, he doubted he could live with himself if you even so much as disliked him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I don’t have the best footing,” he apologized again, gently placing the fruits back into your basket.

“It’s okay,” you said, and your eyes trailed behind him to look at his friends that were howling with laughter, holding onto each other. He saw your displeasure, and his heart dropped when he understood that you probably thought they had sent him over just to mess with you. Your eyes whipped back to Bucky, and he blushed something fierce. He felt his cheeks warm up under your scrutiny, and then there was a smile creeping back onto your face. “I'm Eurydice.”

Oh, Gods. Eurydice. He swore that he had never heard something so beautiful in his life. He had grown up with the Muses, even had a mother as one, and was surrounded by music and poetry and epics every second of his childhood. Music was imprinted in his mind, every note embedded in his everyday life, yet still it was the most beautiful- “But I go by Y/N.” No. Eurydice was now second. But your name, the one he knew you had chosen for yourself, was the most beautiful thing that life had ever offered him to hear.

His brain was going many miles a minute, as quick as Hermes on a mission, but all he could do in the end was blink and offer his true name first, like politeness called for. “I’m Orpheus,” he extended his arm again to you, and you shook it twice. Your hand was soft, so soft that he didn’t want to let go of it. He would never forget the feeling of your hand in his, and the way he swore that the nerves under his skin were alight with the gentlest and sweetest of fires. “You can call me Eurydic- I mean, Bucky. I’m Bucky.”

You could both hear the laughter coming from Bucky’s friends, and while you were cracking a small smile, Bucky was dying on the inside. “You like to be called by other people's names?”

“I wouldn't mind being called by yours,” he blurted softly, his words coming out as a quick and uncalculated slur. He blinked abruptly when he realized that he was truly having the worst first introduction he had ever had in his life, and it was the one that somehow meant the most to him. “I- only because Eurydice is such a pretty- so is Y/N- I… I’m sorry.” He shook his head, knowing that he was so close to just having to walk away. Instead of embarrassing himself further, he just gave you a short smile and waved, turning on his heel.

“I’m Orpheus, then. Maybe Bucky, too.” He slowly turned back around, a shocked look on his face. Had you really spoken to him again with your own free will?

Bucky knew that he wasn’t ugly. No god or demigod was ever ugly, other than poor Hephaestus. He knew that he had his own sort of charm and that he could bring the roughest of people to tears and the saddest of people to joy with his music, but he didn’t know anything else. He had three redeeming qualities that swirled in his head constantly- he was pretty, he had music, and he had a famous mother.

“Are you a singer?”

“Huh?” So much for eloquence.

You bit your lip. “You speak… you speak like you have a song in your heart. Are you a singer?”

He was stumped. Most knew at least of his music if nothing else. He was the most famed god or man to ever strum a lute besides maybe Apollo. Most knew nothing of his personality and nothing about him other than the fact that he was born to play and sing, and you didn’t? Where had you been living? “Well, I’m Orpheus.”

There was a grin on your face, and Bucky knew that he never wanted to see anything other than that for the rest of his life. “And that makes you a singer?”

He opened his mouth again, ready to talk about who he was born from and where he learned to play and who taught him, but when he looked deeper and saw the spark of mischief in your eyes, he leaned back and held back a small smile of his own. His heart fluttered and grew two sizes. “You know who I am, don’t you?”

“Maybe I don’t,” you said, obvious teasing in your voice, and somehow it still stayed kind. “Maybe I do, and just wanted a free song out of you.”

She knows me, he thought, and his heart may as well have let out a lovesick sigh from within the confines of his chest. She has never heard me sing before, but she will. I’ll sing her a thousand songs.

“I’ll sing you all the songs you desire if you marry me,” he blurted, and while his mind was scolding him for uttering those words so quickly, his heart was steady on beating and so sure of itself that he told his mind off.

To his subtle surprise, you didn’t look shocked. You weren’t disgusted by his rather bold approach and most importantly, you weren’t laughing at him. He held onto your silence in limbo, waiting for you to say something that would either crush him to bits or send his soul rising so high that he reached the cloudy gates of Olympus.

“If you can make me a song that can make the skies open up and weep without singing a word, then I’ll marry you.”

His heart soared. His hands shook. He could have sworn that even his toes clenched. But all you could see were his wide, boyish eyes, and the hopeful look that dawned across his face. He nodded quickly. “I’ll do anything.”

He saw your lips pull up into a smile, genuine and even a little shy, and he couldn’t help but want to step closer. But he knew he had already been up front and abrupt, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare you away.

“Okay,” you said, nodding your own head slowly. “I’ll see you soon, then, Bucky.” You took a step back, eyes still connected to his blue ones until you finally turned around and walked away with the same basket on your arm, same dress swaying with the tuneless song of the wind.

The three of them stood in silence, watching you walk away, taking pieces of Bucky’s heart with you in your cradled arms. The bustling of the town was loud, moving about like nothing of significance had happened right where they were all standing, and Bucky found it nothing short of insane. Did no one else just see how the world stopped turning for that one girl? How the Fates put a pause on the clock just so that they could meet?

Steve’s voice brought him out of it. “Did you just ask for her hand in marriage?”

He didn’t even have the energy to shrug. All the swirled in his mind was love, passion, music, and you. You, you, you. “I had to.”

“How will you even find her again?” Steve asked, his logic once again being the only thing that held Bucky down to the ground.

“I know the work of Eros when I see it,” Sam said to Steve, shaking his head somewhat fondly at the pale boy with brunette hair who was still staring off in the direction you left in, like you would miraculously appear again. “They’ll find each other again soon enough.”

The hours went by and then the daylight turned into night and back to day again, and Sam’s words couldn’t have been truer. Your spirit and your face and your voice found Bucky with every few seconds that passed by. He couldn’t blink without seeing you. He couldn’t listen to anyone without hearing you. He couldn’t breathe without smelling your beautiful scent. Everything tasted bland, looked plain, and sounded like white noise after he met you. He knew that until his last (and unlikely) breath, his heart would ache for nothing more than to be yours. He wanted his ring to be on your finger, and yours to be on his.

So he began to make a song.

§§§

He worked tirelessly. The hours below the sun that used to be spent laughing and playing with Steve and Sam were exchanged for hours of composing. His normally perfect posture was hunched over as he tried to find the melody that had stirred in his heart when he first saw you- because he knew that was it.

By the end of twelve days of pure struggling, most of the song was finished. He was a fast worker, so fast that it made everyone else’s heads spin, but he felt it was going too slowly. But then again, he was fast at everything. The melody was as stuck with him as his skin was to his body. He was sure that it would never leave him, even if he wrote a thousand more songs. And part of him never wanted it to go, because it was so you.

He had only held one conversation with you, and it wasn’t long enough, but he felt like he had known you for years. He felt like he had sung to you hundreds of times and danced with you a hundred times more. Your soul felt so familiar yet so foreign that he had to chase after you, and had to discover anything that he could have missed. He knew that you were his destiny, and he had a feeling that you knew he was yours.

The song he was writing wasn’t sad, but it brought tears to his eyes all the same. It wasn’t about longing or loss or chasing after something that would never come to you, but it made Steve and Sam wipe their eyes all the same. It was about your beauty, your inherent wit and kindness, and the way that you set his soul free from chains he didn’t even know of. It was about a love he had never dreamed of finding or even thought to be true, and that was enough to make the three of them weep.

“I think it’s finished, Buck.” This came from Steve after he wiped his eyes again, sitting through the full song again even though his heart aches for a love he had never felt before. “Sam thought it was done days ago.”

Sam had left the two of them alone days ago, claiming that he couldn’t stand to hear the melody and cry each time, claiming that it was beautiful but too much. It made sense. Even Bucky himself was starting to feel the effects of it. But Steve was a stubborn thing, and he would sit through it for as long as Bucky would play it.

“You think it’s enough to make the skies open and cry?” Bucky breathed out, loosely quoting the words he had heard from you not too long ago.

“Even if it’s not, it will surely win her over,” Steve said. “She was already wooed by you, you’re a fool not to see it. She was excited enough that you even agreed to make the song in the first place, anyway.”

Bucky sat there for a few minutes as his fingers tingled, expecting to be used again to pluck the magnificent strings. But he set his instrument down on the log he sat on, sighing and placing a hand under his chin, his thoughts trailing over to you for the thousandth time. “I hope she accepts it.”

Steve just looked at him. “I think that if you came empty handed and told her half of the words you tell me and Sam, she’d follow you anywhere.”

Steve was right. Steve had to have been right, or he was going to wilt right in front of you. He had to be. The brunet nodded, biting his pink lip before opening his mouth again. “Where do you think I’ll find her?”

§§§

It didn’t take long to find you at all. Bucky went to find you alone, finding you because something inside of him told him to search the flowering fields nearby, and there you were. There was a hat made of straw over your head to cover your eyes and face from the sun, and you had the same basket on your arm that you had the other days. It was empty this time, and he had no doubt that you were looking at the flowers for fun before going to look for fruit. He couldn't help but smile fondly at you from across the field, and then he was gripping his lyre and taking a deep breath.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice full of emotion instead of being the strong sound he wanted it to be. Nonetheless, it caught your attention, and then your pretty eyes were wide on him. Immediately, your feet turned in his direction and you made your way across the meadow, and he followed suit. He met you in the middle, so nervous that the grin that was deep inside of him wasn’t coming out at all.

You were both at a loss for words as you stood close to each other. His hands shook at his sides, aching to hold your hands in his. He wondered if they were as soft as your voice, or as smooth as the petals flowers you admired. “You came?”

He blinked. Of course he did. It was all he could think of doing. “My only regret is not coming sooner,” he admitted, and he watched you angle your eyes downwards, and he smiled at your shyness. “Would you like to hear it?”

Your eyes were connecting with his again, and he could have sworn that your smile could have put him in an early grave. He was momentarily stunned by you and your brightness, so stunned that he hardly even heard what you said. “Of course I would.”

“So then you’ll hear it,” he said softly, his heart and mind completely taken over by you in your presence. He fixed his lyre into position, his fingers already fixed into the correct spots as he began to play your song.

His eyes were shut as he strummed just as he had practiced thousands of times, but he knew it felt different. His body was buzzing with excitement and something else he couldn’t identify, but he loved it. It made him play stronger. His eyes shut even more as he felt the music, swaying side to side a bit as he felt his heart open up to you, finally content with you hearing the song.

He didn’t even realize that he was done until all he could hear was quiet sniffles. He pried his left eye open, almost too scared to look for your reaction, but when he saw that you were just looking up at him with watery eyes and a wobbly smile, he opened his other eye, ready to spring into action.

The only thought going through his mind was that it was impossible that you liked it. The way you were looking at him reminded him of the way people looked at sculptures of ancient monsters— a muted type of awe, but also a sense of discomfort. He brought you to tears, and not in the way he wanted to. He ruined it.

“I- was it bad?” He blurted out, and he cursed himself at ruining his own chance. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you didn’t like it-”

“How long have you been playing that song?”

You were too beautiful. Too gentle. You were melting his brain into mush, and he doubted that he would be able to pick up his lyre for another round even if you begged him. “I… I just made it. For you, I made it with you in mind.”

Your facial expression didn’t change. “Where’s the ring?”

He blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The rings we’re going to wear when we wed,” you said, almost teasing. “Do you have them?”

His eyes widened. “You want to marry me?” He asked, leaning forward a bit in shock. “The sky didn’t- the rain never came.”

“I cried,” you said, a small smile on your face. You still hadn’t wiped your tears, and he watched them frozen on your face, stuck in time. “I didn’t expect the work of the gods. I just wanted you to play for me.”

He was bewildered. He had half of the mind to ask you if you truly meant it again, but he took his excitement and ran with it. “And you… you feel this too?”

You took his right hand into yours, and he swore that his souls ascended to the gates of Olympus and waltzed right in. “I felt it the second I saw you, Bucky.”

He blushed something fierce before looking down at the ground, shame overtaking his sheer admiration for you. “There’s something I should tell you before you say you want to be with me.”

“Tell me anything,” you encouraged softly, one of your hands coming up to brush his warm cheek.

“I don’t have much.”

And he didn’t. He had Sam and Steve and a nomadic lifestyle. He never stayed in the same place for long, and he didn’t have a roof over his head. He didn’t need one. Rain and wind and fire didn’t bother him. He preferred to live under the canopy of trees and the protection of nature. But he knew humans didn’t. He knew humans— especially women— liked when their partners brought things to the table, and he had nothing but strings and whistles. He had nothing materialistic. He had no gems, no coins, no house, and fancy clothes— nothing money could buy. But he looked at you and saw that you deserved it all, and even more he saw that he had no way to even provide it for you.

“I live in many different places, I don’t have a home. I don’t have money. I don’t have… I can’t buy you dresses or shoes or any of the stuff you would probably like… and I’m sorry. I know that will probably change everything, but I just wanted you to know.”

You took a step forward, strong and secure, and then your chin was tilted upwards. “Like I said, where are the rings?”

Bucky grinned.

§§§

The day of your wedding was blessed by the gods, whether they admitted it or not. You married each other in the meadow Bucky found you in with a small crowd of people, and when you kissed as man and wife, peace washed over the both of you, and it felt like your marriage had been approved by all far and wide. The kiss that you shared to make the wedding official was short and sweet and full of the most innocent of passion, and he felt so adored by the soft touch of your lips that he felt a singular tear cross the terrain of his pale face for the first time in years.

He didn’t even deny it.

He didn’t deny the way that you danced together was perfect. He had never guided you, had hardly even danced with another woman, but it was perfect. It was like he had practiced with you before a hundred times, and the feel of your hands in his was what kept him sane. He was convinced that you could do anything new with him and it would feel like you had done it before, just because you were so familiar to him as a whole.

He had known you for what felt like seconds in the grand scheme of things, but you knew him inside out and he knew you better than he knew himself. He could find you in the dark, you could identify him with just a whisper of his voice, and he could fall in love with you over and over without even touching you. He would perform the Sisyphean task of falling in love with you over and over again if it meant that he could be next to you.

And luckily, it turned out that you didn’t need the things that Bucky was sure you were going to. He got you a small house just for the two of you to come back to, and he still roamed around in the area. Steve and Sam would walk off and come back weeks later, just like they used to when it was the three of them together. And there would Bucky be, at the house he made possible for you, and happier than ever.

Bucky lived an extremely modest life with you, and he liked it. Farming and getting water from wells and working for the food that was on your tables, cutting wood to feed the flames in the pit in the middle of your main room. Life was somewhat repetitive, so repetitive that he was scared he would lose you to your wild imagination and beautiful, adventurous heart. But it had never been as fulfilling as it was with you.

The little things were what made his day. It was waking up with you at his side, tucked into his arms and still sleeping soundly while he made songs up in his head dedicated to you that made him smile. It was listening to you hum to yourself while you washed corn and peaches and squash in the buckets of water you had carried down the hill that served as your property. It was the way you would pull him out of a funk by taking his hand and leading him out of his chair, dancing to music that didn’t exist, or the way you would coax him to sing to the moon because you wanted a longer night. A longer night meant more time spent with each other.

When you woke up after your long nights, sometimes you would coax him out of bed for some daily challenge, a challenge that usually he would end up beating you at. Part of him believed that you just wanted him to show off, but you always said otherwise. You would challenge him in singing only to have him go first and not even sing, claiming you had already lost. You would tell him you wanted to race him to the stream and back, knowing that you would lose by a long shot. He could run circles around you if he hardly tried, and that was just in his godly blood. But there was never any jealousy, never any animosity, never any bitterness. It was all just sweet, it felt.

You were just so magical. It was so simple, the things that made him happy, but he knew that just one call from your soul to his was more than just communication. He craved it. He knew from the moment that he met you that his soul would always seek yours, even into the afterlife. He knew that every day with you would be as beautiful as you were on your wedding day, shining brighter than any gem or any star in the night sky. And none of it would ever change.

§§

Things changed. Just as the sun rose and set, so did time. It cranked on without a single hint of Bucky aging, and you were still as youthful as you were the three years prior. Life was still beautiful, and that was all that mattered.

You had traveled around the world with him, kissed in so many different cities with different kings and different cultures and different music. You had met so many different people, lived so many different lives, just to go back home and settle there. It was wonderful. He loved you, and you loved him. It was the kind of love that was never at risk of fading or thawing away. It was the kind of love that was only spurned on as the years crawled by, the days acting as twigs added to an already strong fire. It was such a beautiful thing that he had with you, and every day with you felt like one that was blessed by the gods themselves.

Until it didn’t.

Bucky had never felt fear in his heart like he did when he heard your scream travel across the meadow. He didn’t even put on his shoes before tearing off to find you, torn between begging you to make another sound so that he could hear you or pleading the gods to make the sound of your distress stop and never happen again. His chest rose and fell with the exertion, and he knew that he had never been so afraid in his life.

The scream was all that echoed in his mind when he ran through the woods, and as he stumbled upon fallen fruits and flowers that he just knew were yours. He realized he was at the end of a ravine almost too late, and when he looked down, following the steep curve of the slope with wary and partially-knowing eyes, he immediately doubled over.

There you were in all your fallen glory, legs bent unnaturally and neck twisted even worse. The light yellow of your dress was stained with brown and dark green, and in some places a deep red that made him sick to his stomach. Your eyes were looking up at the sky, staring right into the sun as it shone down on your figure, taunting him just like the breeze that began to make your dress look so lively.

Bucky fell to his knees right on the edge of the ravine, his heart not even lurching when he lost his balance. An arm reached out to you, like it was stuck in the moment before you fell and he could reach you. Tears were coming down his face slowly, steadily as he fought to get breaths in. He called your name.

He didn’t know how many times he called your name, or how far the sadness in it traveled. It must have been loud and long enough, because before he knew it, there were hands on his shoulders. They were warm and familiar and even the smallest bit comforting in that moment, but not enough. He wanted your hands.

“Let’s get away from the edge, Buck.” It was Steve’s voice, strong and gentle and the backbone of the situation. Bucky’s eyes pried open at the feeling of Steve’s sturdy hands pulling him backwards, and he retched in his mouth at the sight of your broken, soulless body at the bottom. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten so close to it himself.

“I’ll go down to…” Sam started, trailing off with a soft and distraught look on his face when he caught sight of Bucky again, and Steve nodded at him.

“Let’s get you up, Buck. Up and Washed off.” He hadn't even realized he was dirty at all. His hands were covered in dirt and under his fingernails were the same earthy brown he was used to. He had been pulling up grass from where he grieved without even noticing.

His sobs were so loud that they hurt Steve’s ears. His dragging steps were causing such a disturbance to the land around him that animals seemed to crane their necks at him and cast their glances his way, as if wondering how on earth a person could be that distressed. His mouth was moving, but it looked and sounded more like babbling and trembling as waterfalls came down the canvas of his pale skin.

“Buck, you have to calm down. You’re about to have an attack.”

He didn’t know if he meant heart attack or a panic attack, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were dead, all twisted up at the bottom of a ravine. Your soul had left the earth, left your body, and you were just laying there like you had never been alive. Like you had never held his hand, or kissed his cheek, or wore his ring or laughed or sang or read fine poetry while eating the fruits you had picked. Seeing you down there with your open and dim eyes felt like you had never lived at all.

“Keep walking with me, buddy. You’re going to be just fine.”

But he wasn’t. Every step he took away from you made bile come up in his throat. He wanted to be as far away from your lifeless body as possible, but he didn’t want to ever let you go. He wanted to hold you close to him until it felt like you were alive again. But as his heart beat seemed to freeze up but race like a horse all the same, he realized that you would never be alive again. You were only as alive as your last few moments, whether they were filled with the joy and freedom of having the wind on your face or the fear of falling. He could do nothing to change it.

But he would try to do everything.

§§

He spoke to everything and nothing. Steve and Sam would take turns coming to him after they celebrated your life. It reminded Bucky of the way that his mothers friends used to come watch him while his mother was off and away somewhere, and how it felt like they thought of him as a cute little burden. He knew deep down that his friends cared for him more than anything and that he cared about them just as much, but he couldn’t think about anything but you. He wouldn’t.

It was a service that made the skies open just like you said they would for his voice. The day lilies that surrounded you and Bucky seemed to be weeping with him. The wind came from east to west and west to east, spinning around and throwing in the scent of the flower with the smell of oncoming rain, reflecting the turmoil he was feeling on the inside. He could have sworn that the earth had trembled just like his hands that held your cold and still ones. But if the world had caved down under him at that moment, he wouldn’t have moved. He wouldn’t have opened his mouth to scream, or even say a word. He would have only held your hand tighter.

He spoke to the moon more often than he did Steve and Sam. They hovered, but it was the kind of hovering that Bucky felt he would appreciate sooner or later. He would sit every night and talk to the moon with his legs pulled into his chest, small and in such a vulnerable position that it would have made him feel uncomfortable at any other time. But he was vulnerable. He had been knocked off of his feet and winded. The world kicked him while he was down more times than he could count, and they had opened his chest and peeked right into his heart before seeing it was unworthy and walking away from him. It left him bleeding out in the forest while he listened to the birds eventually go on back to chirping, and watched the flowers push through and grow, and people laugh and smile and talk like nothing changed.

He was doing just that. He was lying in the flowering fields that he would always swear belonged to you, the both of you, when he heard soft footsteps. He didn’t care to look up. He knew it wasn’t Steve or Sam, but why would he care? He had nothing to be scared of now that you were gone.

“You’re Orpheus.” It wasn’t a question.

He didn’t even blink, but an annoyance he couldn’t shake bubbled up inside of him at hearing the name his mother granted him coming from a stranger. As much as he wanted complete silence, he couldn’t help but say- “Bu- sure. I’m Orpheus.”

“Everyone heard, you know.” The voice was of an old, frail woman. Bucky knew that without even looking, He ignored the fact that pity was strong in her voice, and that he knew exactly what she was talking about. He ignored the way he knew that she thought that she had the right to talk about his wife, about the way he had lost you far too soon. She knew nothing. But he let her speak. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t say a word. He didn't even recognize words as an option. He would stay silent and wait until she left. Maybe if he was quiet enough or stared up at the sky in such a still manner that it scared her, she would leave him. If he pretended to be as dead as he felt, he was sure she would leave.

“There hasn’t been a good song since you’ve stopped playing.” He heard rustling, and then he dared to look off to the side to see the old woman struggling to sit, cane wobbling in her hand as she finally plopped her frail bones onto the ground near him. He sighed heavily and looked back up to the sky. “You know, you’ve gotta be the most moving musician to ever walk the earth, from both god and man.”

It was a compliment that would have had him blushing years ago. It would have had his young mind fumbling for his lute or lyre and clearing his godly voice, asking if she wanted to sing with him or just listen. Now, it incited nothing. It meant nothing. “I doubt I’ll ever play again.”

“You pleased god and man,” the old woman carried on, almost like she had never heard him open to speak with that raspy voice of his that was so uncharacteristic of him that it hurt to hear. “Anyone would have done anything to hear your music.”

He finally turned to the side to look the old woman in her face, and he blinked at her. “I’m grieving.”

“You could persuade anyone with seven strings and five notes, don’t you understand that?” Her voice was almost angry. It was hard and nearly pleading, so different from her previous tone that Bucky snapped his head her way. “If I were you, I would have been at Death’s gates.”

They were staring at each other. Bucky was looking at the decrepit woman with curly gray hair that looked like she had dodged a visit to the Gates of Death herself more than once with shocked eyes. His heart started to beat again, like her words were arousing some kind of vicious hope that he never even knew could exist.

“The gods blessed your union. They won’t ever say, but they did bless your marriage. What makes you think that if you beg, you won’t get a blessed reunion as well?”

She disappeared within seconds of her final words, leaving a revelation swirling around in his mind and haunting his every thought.

§§

His feet ached. His hands were beginning to blister from stroking the strings of his tired lyre, and his throat was even beginning to strain. He had been singing for hours, pouring his heart out at the hidden gates of the Underworld, begging for an audience. But above all the physical pain ranked the ache in his heart, the unbearable feeling of your death sitting on his shoulders and ripping him apart from the inside. His grief was destroying him.

Hades might as well have had ears plugged up with the same wax that was used by Odysseus and his men. Usually he went undisputed, because just as life was certain, so was death. There was no questioning the decision of it, or the Fates, or the rule of Hades and his acceptance of his dear Eurydice into his kingdom. Everyone was allowed to plead and beg, but no one ever went down to the gates of the Underworld to ask for the release of a loved one, whether they were man or god. But there he was, standing in dirtied pants with fingertips plucked pink, and tears running down his face.

He didn’t know if he would ever gain the strength to leave. He didn’t know what he would do if someone even bothered to humor him. He wasn’t going to be able to have you back. He was never going to be able to bring you back up above, have you under the sun and shining beautifully like you were born to do. What would he beg of them? For them to let him see that your soul ended up in the Asphodel Meadows? For them to let him hold you one last time before you drank from the Lethe and forgot everything that happened? What if you had already drank from it? Each thought made his stomach lurch more, and his music grew louder and more desperate, like the final battle cry of a warrior.

His back was up against a tree as he sang out again in the night, praying for someone to hear him and take pity on his poor soul. Strike me down and send me with her, if you cannot give me the gift of seeing her again. The same tears that had been steadily pouring down his face were gathered in a puddle at his unmoving feet, yet he didn’t mind. He couldn’t.

“You have woken my wife.”

Bucky’s playing stopped immediately. “What?”

The man before him was dark. He was tall and seemed to take up almost the entire space even though he was only a bit wider than Bucky. His shoulders were broad and his chin was strong, and his eyes were sharp even under the gloomy look they had to them. His cheekbones were sunken in and his eyes had a ring of black around them, like he hadn’t slept in a thousand years. His lips were set in a hard line, but he didn’t look displeased. Most notably, he had a dark aura surrounding him, even black most coming from behind him and nearly encasing him.

“I don’t repeat myself, and luckily, it looks like you heard me the first time.” His voice was deep, enthralling, like a song that Bucky would never dare write himself.

What was a man this terrifying, this powerful, doing in the forest? How had Bucky woken a soul when he was in soulless territory? He hadn’t seen houses for leagues.

Something inside of Bucky begged him to apologize. It begged him to get into his knees and look downwards towards the growing grass and hope to be spared. If this was before he lost you, maybe he would have listened to it. But what did he have to truly live for now that his darling was gone?

“I’m sorry to have brought you out of your dwellings because of my grieving.”

There was a certain kind of silence that would have made Bucky’s skin crawl if he even dared to look the being’s way. “Grieving?”

“My wife.” He breathed out, finally letting his arms loose as he let his trust lyre fall down to his side. “She… has fallen prey to death.”

“Ah,” the man said, his voice nearly a scoff. “I see. The circle of life.”

“And now my life shall go in circles, on and on and down the same miserable path without the woman I love,” Bucky stated, resting his head back against the tree. “I wish I knew a man that grieved. Me… I live amongst gods. We don’t grieve. We don’t die. I have never met a man who had an inch of grief in his heart. I feel like the first to ever feel it.”

“We can lose people in other ways than death,” the man said. “Death is the most absolute, but it seems to hurt a lot less than voluntary abandonment.”

“This is my first brush with death, and I have to admit that I’m not the biggest fan.” What an understatement.

“That’s a shame. My wife is quite the fan of you and your… grief. She says it’s the most moving thing she’s ever heard.” Bucky just nodded, eyes far off. “She wants to meet you.”

“I don’t really want to meet anyone.”

“You don’t want to see my wife? You don’t want a two way ticket to the world you’ve been singing about taking passage to for days now, Orpheus?”

His head turned slowly, eyes widening as he tried to piece thoughts and facts together with his sluggish mind. “What?” But he knew. He knew with another glance at this man that he was no man at all, but one of the original gods. He was Hades, in the divine flesh, standing right before him with a glint in his eyes that meant he was satisfied by Bucky’s shock. He went to his knees, kneeling as a sob piled up into his throat.

“Your Excellency,” he began to plead, recalling back to the times he was a young god, listening to his mother explaining the way that he should speak to all the gods who came before him- especially one as powerful as Hades. “I apologize. My mind is not set right— the loss of my wife has taken a toll on me. Please forgive me.”

“Your grief blinds you.”

There was no point in lying. “It does.”

“I, too, was blinded by grief. In fact, it happens every other six months, though I suppose you young gods and humans call it winter and fall. My wife would leave, gone with a stroke of wind and then come back only to wilt again. But she, just like your own wife, will learn that there is nothing we can do about the situations we are in. Destiny will have us where she has us, and your Eurydice’s path above has ended.”

Bucky wanted to scream at him. He wanted to refuse him and tell him that Destiny and the Fates would have to bend to his will, because there was no other way. He couldn’t last another day without you, let alone a lifetime. But the god he was speaking to was Hades, and Bucky was just Orpheus, a low level demigod.

“However, my wife still wants to meet you. She wants to hear your song clearly, where it’s not muffled by distance.” His heart began to race. His hands were shaking. His eyes were wide as he tried to take in a deep breath, waiting for the gloomy god’s next words. “If you agree to see her and play her that song of yours, I’ll let you see this wife you speak of. Does that sound fair?”

Nodding was all Bucky could do to stay awake.

§§

The Underworld was just as gloomy as it was in the stories. Black and grey ran together to create a shadowy world, dismal and dark. It was full of strange sounds, like the whistling of thick wind that almost sounded like wailing humans. The air was so heavy that Bucky was finding it hard to breathe, and there was a mist so hard to cut through that Bucky could hardly see more than three feet in front of him at a time. Hades led him, and the only reason he could see him was because of his true height showing, and the fact that his dark smoke was even darker than the mist.

His hands shook. Both of them held onto his lyre for dear life. It was close to his chest, strings facing away from him, but still it felt like he could feel the vibrations of it, like the air was mocking him back by playing a song of its own. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and fall to his knees, the environment putting him in near shock.

But he had to find you.

Hades stopped in his tracks, turning his sunken face towards Bucky, who had to fight to not flinch. “If you play for my wife and she likes it, I’ll take you to see yours.” He nodded his head quickly, putting his lyre into position, his arms trembling with anxiety. The double doors opened without the old god even touching them, and then Bucky was faced with an ancient throne room, elegant and dark all the same.

The first thing he did once he got near the sitting Queen of the Underworld was kneel. Tears were already swirling in his eyes, and his throat was lurching. If he were a human, he was sure that he would have been throwing up. He prayed silently to his mother, calling upon the strength of the Muses and their talents into his blood once more.

It was silent until the queen finally spoke. “So you’re the musician?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

“I expected you to be much older,” she said, her soft voice a plain contrast from her husband’s, and the dark setting of the Underworld. And then, Bucky understood that the stories weren’t embellished. At first thought, she didn’t seem to belong down there, least of all with Hades. He didn’t dare look up at either of them. “Your grief seems to be centuries old.” It felt like it was. The hole in his heart felt older than he was.

“This is Orpheus, son of Calliope,” Hades explained. “He can’t be more than a few thousand years, if I remember correctly.”

“Young, very young.” Persephone mused, the tone of her voice almost curious. “And what causes you to play this song?”

He explained it. He explained all of it. Your death, his need to see you, his stupid hope of bringing you back home where you belonged. He left it all on the table for them both to hear, even though he knew that the odds were unlikely for him. He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he got ridiculed or thrown back out of the gate, all that mattered to him was that he tried his hardest to get you. And that you knew, deep down in your forgotten mind, that he tried.

“Your music has moved me so, truly.” Persephone said, and then Bucky looked up. She was beautiful, flowers all over her body. She was the brightest thing down there, no doubt, and she still had that godly glow that all the other gods had, a golden rim around her body. She turned her face toward her husband without taking her eyes off of Bucky. “And I want to give you a chance.”

Bucky’s heart stopped. “Your Excellency?”

She was facing Hades now. “Give him a condition.” She muttered, her hands gripping the arms of the throne she sat on. “But let him try.”

Hades frowned. “If I let her go, how many humans do you think will hear of this tale and try to do the same?”

“None.” The goddess answered quickly. “They’re afraid of you. This boy is not. And unlike gods, humans accept death. They know that it is a part of the cycle, and they wouldn’t dare dispute it. This is just a confused young god. He hasn’t seen death before. This will be the only time anyone will ever ask this of you, Hades.”

It was pure silence. It seemed to stretch on for eons as Hades contemplated his wife’s words. The lyre had fallen to the ground minutes before, and Bucky felt himself reaching for it. Tears were streaming down his face now. “I’ll play for you again. I’ll play for you for a decade straight if you let me take her home at the end, if you let her remember me.” He added desperately, body trembling with anticipation.

Hades had dark eyes, and those dark eyes were full of uncertainty and something close to anger while he stared at Bucky, with a look on his face that was so blank that it frightened him. His wife’s hand was on his chest as she pleaded with him on Bucky’s behalf, yet he only stared Bucky down.

“If you can walk your way out of my domain without turning back to look at her, you can take her with you above ground.” Bucky sobbed. “If you look back, boy, she stays in the Asphodel Meadows.”

Bucky sobbed again.

§§

His back faced everything. He couldn’t hear anything except for the beating of his own heart, the heartbeat that seemed to extend all the way down to the fingertips that gripped the infamous lyre in his hand. He shook with every breath, and every blink was harsh on his eyes as he tried not to cry.

He wished he could hear you. He wished he could hear your soft voice reassure him, tell him that you remembered everything, that you were right behind him and that you would follow him everywhere, just like he would follow you. Just like he had followed you. He wished he could hear you.

He wished he could feel you. If your warm hands could just ghost over his shoulders and push him forward without quite letting go, he would have made the trek a thousand times. If he could feel your hands brushing away the hair out of his line of sight, he would have been walking before Hades even gave permission. He wished he could feel you.

He couldn’t. But he would walk anyway.

He hardly heard Hades give permission, his ominous tone echoing through the otherwise empty cavernous area, or the sound of Persephone’s whispers. But he could feel it in the air, suffocating and burying him.

Every lift of his foot was agonizing, every step far heavier than he ever imagined he could bear. But he would do it for you. He would push. Every whisper of doubt that crossed his mind, he would throw away.

It didn’t matter that at times, he wasn’t sure if you got what you needed from him. It didn’t matter that he felt like you weren’t fulfilled by the life you had with him. He had faith. It dwindled with every step, but he had faith. He would keep it and nurture it with every breath he had inside of him on the long journey back home.

Seconds started to feel like minutes, and minutes started to feel like hours. He hated it. His throat was closing in on itself like his voice was his enemy, like the voice everyone thought was so golden was the voice that would be the final nail in his coffin.

His feet were still aching, but the ache had become dull. Louder and more painful was the feeling of the cold biting his skin, like it was a reminder to stay conscious, to stay alert and thinking. Thinking was his vice and virtue. The silence was too loud. His mind was in pain, his heart even worse as he started to feel like the cold was his antagonizer. It was cold up above. It was in the cold where you suffered the most, where you struggled to stay positive. It was in the cold where he could hardly provide for you. It was in the cold where he had to hold you so close to him that air didn’t stand a chance between the two of you because every other man had already chopped the good wood.

But at the same time, he began to feel warm. It felt so warm to his skin that it felt like he was about to step into Tartarus. And it was in the warmth that you dressed in that pretty, short dress that got you harassed by men without humanity. It was in the summer that he found he couldn’t defend you. It was in the summer that he had a flash of realization that he wasn’t strong enough. It was in the summer that he got an even more fleeting flash of the thought that he wasn’t enough at all.

It was in the spring, in the months where there was sun and soft breezes, that he realized again that he was of no help. He had gotten a job one spring that was honest work, but brought in a lot less for the household than you did. He was working with the hands that were already calloused over to help men far more experienced than him craft things to sell to the town. He worked hard to come home tired just to know deep down that for all his work, he had not much more than chump change and a positive outlook to his name.

It was one autumn that he realized how much he had failed you, and he swept it under the rug like he did every other season. One autumn, he walked in on you crying in the arms of your friend- the local plum vendor that Bucky always used to buy from- about how you were terrified of being pregnant. As he walked through the Underworld, he asked himself how he could have ever forgotten that moment. Because what you said had shaken his heart to the core.

“There’s no way I would be able to take care of it.”

It wasn’t the certain doubt that was plants in your mind. It wasn’t the fact that neither of you had noticed Bucky hovering in the door because you were sobbing so hard. It wasn’t the way the woman comforted you better than he thought he was ever able to- because with him, you just never addressed the bad. It was as swept under the rug as dirt was. It was the way you said “I”. Alone. By yourself. Him and his contributions weren’t even in the picture. Were they even contributions?

It was never his voice that was his greatest feature and his worst. It was his mind. His mind was his killer. His mind was a killer, his poison and his weapon, and he was turning it right onto himself. His legs trembled as he fought the urge to look, to crane his neck and get his disappointment over with. Were you following him? Did you even remember him- or had you already drank from the river that would steal all of the life that you had before? Had Hades tricked him into leaving quietly?

And if you did remember him, why on earth would you follow him? You would be following him back to a land that was full of struggle and making it through day by day. You would be trudging after him this time only for him to bring up the rear in everything else. He would be the one smiling at you after you came from working to the bone, providing for him and yourself. That was all he ever had to offer, a smile and a song. What could he truly trade for a smile and a song? What could he get you?

Nothing.

What could he do if you got hurt again?

Nothing.

What could he do with his life when he surfaced and found you not there, far behind in the Underworld?

Nothing.

The doubt piled up. It replaced the faith like the faith was a forest and doubt was a wildfire. Every footstep added to it. He was convinced. He was sure that the result of him turning around at that one moment could be no worse than him turning around when he got to be above ground and away from the suffocating death. You weren’t going to be there. Whether he turned right then or in a hundred years, you weren’t going to be there. If you were in your right, beautiful mind, you would have seen him begging and turned your eyes from him and pretended like you hadn't known him.

He couldn’t tell where he was. His breathing was too shaky for him to think about anything else but breathing and thinking about you. It was too dark. His feet hadn’t touched grass yet and he knew he had to try to keep pushing, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He was bursting at the seams to confirm something that he already knew was coming for him.

His feet dragged. His steps sped up but it felt like he was fighting quicksand. He was struggling to walk through it, fighting to take breaths in it. The shallow breaths were somehow pitched high, bouncing off of the rocky, cavernous walls he began to hate. The only thing on his mind was doubt, doubt, doubt. It was a fever he couldn’t sweat out. A tremor he couldn’t shake away. A dark color he couldn’t paint over. A shadow he couldn’t run from. And just when he couldn’t fight it anymore, he saw light.

He never ran so fast in his entire life. He wanted to escape the feeling clawing at his throat and chest, the dread and preparation for pure disappointment. He wanted to step into the light, step into something he knew, before he allowed himself to collapse in grief again. It felt like the light was getting closer, and then it would fade again and come back lighter. He didn’t register the sound of sobbing until the sound faded out and stopped echoing, and then he was aware that his feet were touching the grass.

His feet were touching grass.

His hands shook as he raised them to his face, cupping his cheeks as he came to the realization that he was out of the nightmare that was the Underworld. Emotions were rushing into him faster than he could understand what they were, and then his mind stopped. His face was dry. His head whipped around.

Your eyes were wide and watery. Your dress was torn and bloody, just like it was when you had died. Your hair was a mess, and you were shaking from crying so hard. You stood there like a ghost, transparent and out of place, but crying real tears all the same. The sobs he had been hearing weren’t his own. They were yours. And you were still encased by the shadows of the Underworld.

You had been trying to catch up to him.

“Oh!” His exclamation was more of a dying moan than anything else. His trembling hands cupped his mouth again as he watched you cry again, crying even harder than that one time where the leaves were falling. He uttered your name once, and then once turned into four times, and as your cries got louder, his muttering turned into a shout, your name the one word he was calling out over and over again.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry baby.” He watched as you opened and shut your mouth over and over, shaking your head as silence was all you could produce. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He was drawing blood from how his fists were clenched. “Baby, my sweet love, my darling,” the names were dripping from his tongue like honey, like it was a balm that could soothe the both of you. His apologies were just as tender, as quiet and disbelieving as the language his eyes were speaking. He couldn’t help but reach out to you with a dying apology on his lips, his foot crossing the barrier you would be stuck behind forever, and just before he touched what must have been your cold skin, there was nothing but air.

Nothing but your lingering presence and his poisonous mind.

§§

He never thought that life could be so meaningless. Even before he met you, he felt like he had a purpose. He was an entertainer, a traveling man, a man who brought joy and music with him effortlessly wherever he went. Not anymore.

He was empty, and he felt like an empty glass jar. He wasn’t even an empty box— he was something anyone that had eyes could see right through. Everyone saw him and knew he was the one who had lost a wife and in turn given up all his divine talent. They looked at him through lenses that were wet with pity. He hated it.

He hated himself for doing the same to the humans who had lost loved ones. He felt horrible for giving them those looks, for telling Steve and Sam their stories without really knowing it. Now he was going through the unimaginable.

Nothing mattered, he learned. He thought that thought over and over again every time he woke up and every time he was going to sleep. He thought it while he sat in the cold on one winter night with no fire in the fireplace. It was something that would have made him worry a bit, or made him irritated at himself. Nothing really caused him to get angry or sad anymore. He was just there. It was like he was living yet another death by extension. The world gave him his cards and he played them in the worst way possible. But that’s what he did. He couldn’t change it.

He couldn’t change anything. All he could do was pray that you forgot the way that he failed you time and time again, and then where it was most important.

He would remember enough for the both of you.

****

hi guys! i feel like i literally have come back from the dead with all the time i’ve been in and out of here. it’s been so hectic and busy that i’m proud i got this out so soon lmao- i worked hard on this, so if you were feeling it please like and reblog!!

#mythology au #greek mythology au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #nexsgreekmythchallenge #IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE JESUS #bucky barnes x you #orpheus! bucky #my fics #god i am so sorry this is trash

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rosemariiie · 3 years

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A3! Flower Meanings: Natsugumi

Hello Everyone! Here is part 2 of this A3! Flower meaning series.

Part 1: Harugumi

Natsugumi’s flowers were a bit harder to write about since Muku’s flower had two different types of bellflowers tied to it, and Kazunari’s flower had a bunch of weird kanji that I wasn’t sure how to gracefully (?) translate (since the literal translation sounded a bit weird... 🙃)

Warning: Long Post Ahead!

1. Tenma - Sunflower

Sunflowers are a happy spring/summer flower!

Sunflowers represent, love, worship, and saying to someone “I am only looking at you” (since sunflowers turn to face towards the sun!)

I feel like this is a pretty suitable flower for Tenma? since he is a celebrity and has a lot of fans, and wants to be a worldwide known actor.

Fun Fact - Sunflowers are the birthday flower for July 20th, aka Kumon’s birthday!

2. Yuki - Lily

Lilies have several meanings since they come in several different colors!

I went through his cards and it seems white lilies are his official flower, but i’m going to throw in red and pink as well since they also pop every now and then.

Lilies general meaning: Purity, dignity, chastity. White lilies represent dignity and chastity. Red and pink lilies both represent vanity.

Lilies are a very iconic summer flower which is why I think Yuki got assigned this flower, but I feel like this fits him a bit? Since Yuki dresses differently from his peers I would say he has a lot of dignity since he always stays true to himself, and the vanity could play in with how he cares a lot about his clothes, appearance, and the costumes he makes.

3. Muku- Chinese Bellflower (?)

Muku’s flower is listed as “Chinese bellflower” but I couldn’t find anything for that specific flower name??? Of what I have researched, bellflowers are native to Asia which is why here in America they are called “Chinese bellflowers”, but I guess in Asia they are just “Bellflowers”?...

But then one of Muku’s cards had “桔梗” in it as his flower, which seems to be called then “balloon flower” here in America and not really the “Chinese Bellflower”????

Since I am kinda confused what version of the flower Liber is trying to associate with Muku, I will be including the definitions for both types of bellflowers just to be safe.

Definition 1. The “Kikyo” bellflower (桔梗)

This was the flower kanji I found this in his premonition of blooming card so I am going to assume this is the flower they want to associate for him?... This flower also is noted to have both purple and white color variations and Muku is holding purple and white flowers in his card. This flower is a type of bellflower, but seems to be more commonly listed as the “balloon flower”?

In both Japanese and Western flower language this flower represents honesty and eternal love. Japanese flower language also adds in the additional meanings of “neatness” and “obedience”

Coincidentally, this flower and morning glories (Kumon’s flower) seem to be related/variations of each other! (Just like how Muku and Kumon are cousins! Idk if this was intentional by Liber but I thought this was such a cute touch 😭💕)

Definition 1. General (?) bellflower - (ベルフラワー)

Bellflowers represent honesty, gratitude, and when given as a present saying “thank you”. It can also mean “lighthearted/fun conversation” which came from the fact that the flowers face each other when blooming (?...)

4. Misumi - Dahlia

(Fun fact: I have been playing A3! for over 456 days and I still have yet to unlock this misumi card 😭 Misumi never wants to come home.)

Dahlia’s have a lot of definitions! They mean both “brilliant and elegant” but also “constantly moving and unstable”.

In my personal opinion I feel like dahlia’s don’t really suit him? I really think they could have picked a better flower for him...

I guess I could see how they reference his personality though? On stage he is a very brilliant and talented actor, and off stage I feel like the constantly moving and unstable part could be referencing his personality and how he is always looking for triangles and parkour-ing everywhere? So it ties in to both sides of his personality.

Fun fact: Dahlia is the birthday flower for June 5th and Misumi’s birthday is June 6th. Kind of a funny coincidence 🙃

5. Kazunari - Hibiscus

This flower had a lot of weird kanji for its definitions, so I tried my best to make sense of it 🙃

The general meaning of hibiscus is new love and delicate beauty.

Red hibiscus, which is what Kazu is usually seen with represents bravery and another word that I am interpreting as “everyday/endless new beauty” (常に新しい美. 🙃) . White hibiscus i am interpreting to mean shining beauty? (it gave me 艶美, 艶 = glossy?? /美 = beauty.)

If there are any translators or people who know Japanese reading this and have a better translation for these kanji please feel free to leave a comment. I am kind of stumped with how to translate this... 🙃

Hibiscus is another iconic summer flower which is probably why Liber wanted at least one of the summer troupe members to have this, but I feel like this suits Kazu really well!!!! Kazu wants to be a master of many different art forms/things and is always willing to start something new, so I think the “new love” and “endless new beauty” tie into this!

6. Kumon - Morning Glory

Morning glories stand for Ephemeral/fleeting love, Love in general, and when given to someone it represents having a tight-bond!

I feel like the definition for this flower kinda contradicts itself since it represents a short-lived love but also having a close bond 😅

None the less, I feel like the “tight-bond” aspect of it fits him since he is close with both his family (Juza and Muku) and his troupe mates!

As a said before, it seems morning glories and bellflowers (Muku’s flower) are related to each other! Just like how both of them are related.

Fun Fact: morning glories is one of the birthday flowers for August 1st, which is Kazunari’s birthday! (Usually a birthday will have 2-3 flowers associated with it.)

_______________________________________________

Next up will be Akigumi!

If anyone has any questions or comments or wants to know what is the flower for their birthday or anything feel free to message me 🤷‍♀️

#a3!#a3! game #a3! act! addict! actors!#Natsugumi #tenma sumeragi #yuki rurikawa #muku sakisaka #misumi ikaruga #kazunari miyoshi #kumon hyodo

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sweet-sammy-kisses · 3 years

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Harmonized Souls

So I was blessed with getting to create a story for the @wincestsoulmateszine Pairing: Wincest Author Notes: Soulmates, soul songs, au no Angels, Sam’s powers. Summary: Everyone is born with a tune one that grows as you do until it becomes your very own song waiting to find its matching one. You can also read it on AO3

Dean felt himself go hollow as Sam's matching cords went silent. He couldn't breathe it was as if part of his soul, part of him had withered up and died the moment Sam took his final breath in his arms.

He couldn't live like this.

If it could even be considered living.

He had seen firsthand what losing a soulmate could do to someone, his dad, Bobby and Rufus just to name a few. Dean didn't want to live like that, hollow and waiting for death to claim him so he could join Sam.

"So let it end!" Dean heard himself shut at Bobby when he said something about the world ending. It was like he was underwater hearing things muffled and he didn't care about the world not when his had just ended.

There was nothing left that mattered to him.

He wanted others to feel the agony that was ripping his soul apart at this moment staring at the lifeless body of his soulmate Dean let himself be pulled into his memories anything was better than this.

Everyone is born with a tune one that grows as you do until it becomes your very own song waiting to find its matching one.

At four years old Dean Winchester didn't care much about soulmates or soul songs. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of that. He had much more important things to focus on like his new baby brother.

Samuel Winchester was a happy baby but there was no missing that he was happiest when being held by his big brother.

There were nights though, rare nights when Sam would act up and cry and until he was placed in Dean's arms and Dean began to hum the song that only he could hear, his soul song.

Sam would stare up at Dean completely entranced as he sang softly and Dean felt like nothing could top this moment.

Sam was four when he finally began understanding the tune he was hearing, the one that grew louder when Dean was around.

Still, at that innocent age, Sam began humming the tune under his breath as he pranced his teddy bear, that Dean had given him, across the sheets of the bed in Pastor Jim's house in the room that he and Dean shared.

"Sammy, where did you hear that song?" Dean asked as he stared at Sam wondering if he remembered him humming that tune all those years ago.

Lifting his head Sam studied his brother and Dean knew if it had been anyone else that had interrupted Sam's playtime he would be pouting and giving them his full puppy dog eyes but when it came to Dean Sam would give him his full attention.

"It is the song I hear in my head." A thoughtful look appeared on Sam's face, "It gets louder when you are around."

Dean didn't understand how could Sam hear his heart song, the only other one who was supposed to hear it was his soulmate. At the age of eight going on nine staring into the beaming face of his baby brother, the one person that Dean loved more than anyone on Earth was his soulmate and when he accepted that knowledge something seemed to settle in him and he felt whole for the first time.

Taking a seat beside Sam he began to hum his song and it didn't take long for Sam to join in and the room was soon filled with the joyous music of two soulmates finding one another.

+*****+

Dean was Sam's first.

His first kiss. Sam remembers how shy and awkward he was when Dean smiled that smile that is just for him as he stroked Sam's lower lip with his thumb before lowering his head and pressed his lips against Sam's.

Sam felt his song burst to life as it entwined with Dean's, the two of them moving in complete harmony.

That first kiss leads to their first night where Dean laid Sam out beneath him and took his time worshiping every inch of Sam's body, laying claim to his soulmate and making sure that no one could ever doubt that they were meant to be.

Whispered I love you were exchanged as their jointed bodies moved in time with the song that they could only hear, the song of their two souls confirming they are one.

Now just because one finds their soulmate doesn't mean that everything is perfect, it doesn't work like that. Soulmates still have their fights, their doubts and worries. Sam and Dean had their fair share of them.

Time and time again their bond was tested but never was great as when Sam went to Stanford.

Sam wanted out of the hunting life but it was everything to Dean. Stanford was Sam's dream school but as he looked at the acceptance letter he knew he wouldn't go if it meant giving up Dean.

Slowly closing his fist and crumpling the letter Sam chose to let that dream go only for another hand to wrap around his own and Sam found himself staring into the green eyes of his world.

"Where you ever going to tell me?" Dean asked in a low voice as he took the letter from Sam's hand and began smoothing it out.

Sam could hear the hurt among their soul cords and his heart ached for the pain he caused Dean. "I was. I wanted to tell you. I did!" Sam cried when he saw the disbelief mixing with the hurt in Dean's eyes and he needed to make things right, "I just didn't know how."

"Were you planning on leaving me, Sammy?" Dean hated how hurt he sounded as he asked that question but he needed to know the answer.

Sam moved with all the skills he had learned as a hunter and before Dean could register what was happening Sam had him pinned to the wall, "Never." Sam hissed out his sunflower eyes shining with unshed tears. "I could never leave you, Dean, you are my everything. I had this foolish dream where we could leave the hunting life behind, I could go to school and you could follow your own dreams. Where we could settle down as normal people and just be us."

Pressing his forehead against Dean's, "But that wouldn't be us. I know how deeply you love being a hunter and I couldn't take that away from you. I couldn't rip something you away from the life you love for my selfish wants."

"They aren't selfish Sam," Dean whispered. He loves hunting it is a part of his life but he loves Sammy more and the fact that Sam was willing to give up his dream because he loves him more made Dean fall deeper in love with Sam. "You know there are probably hunts in California." Dean drawled out.

Sam's head snapped up and he stared at Dean in pure awe and a little bit of hope, "Dean are you saying what I think you are saying."

"I am Sammy, if you want to go to Stanford then I am coming with you. After all, we are a package deal." Dean reminded him before he pressed his lips against Sam's in a deep kiss.

It hadn't been easy telling their dad but in the end, John understood, he didn't want his sons to go through the pain of living without a soulmate.

Jessica Moore had been sunshine on a cloudy day and in another life, another time Sam might have fallen completely in love with her but even though they were apart their heart songs still hummed in the back of his mind a part of Dean was always with Sam.

Of course, that didn't stop their friends from talking and hinting about when they were going to start dating.

Sam felt himself panicking he didn't know where he gave them any idea he was interested in Jess, he talked about Dean all the time.

Jess could see the panic in Sam's eyes, "I like you Sam Winchester but I can see that your heart is taken and I am still waiting for my soulmate. I'll make sure our nosy friends remember that you have a soulmate." Sure Jess thought Sam was hot but he was so deeply in love with Dean, she could hear it when he talked about him, it shone off of him and his Dean smile outshone the sun.

+*****+

Tossing his keys into the small bowel by the door of the apartment Sam shared with Dean he let out a small sigh he missed Dean something fierce but Dean was on a hunt and he wasn't sure when he would be back. Sam was just glad that Cabal was free to go with him.

Moving throughout the dark room, he couldn't be bothered to turn on the lights Sam sensed he wasn't alone, he might have taken a step back from hunting but he remembered everything he had been taught.

Sam waited until the other person was in the room then he struck soon two bodies were dancing a familiar waltz.

The moment he heard his song cords burst to life Sam knew who he had pinned under him before the cocky voice drawled out, "Whoa there tiger."

"Dean." Sam could feel his heart pounding in his chest, Dean was here, at last, he was once again reunited with his soulmate he finally felt whole.

"I missed you too baby boy." Dean purred before kissing Sam deeply on that Sam happily returned it had been too long since they felt each other's bodies. Even if Dean had only been gone for a week.

Once they were the desire to relearn each other's bodies was sedated Dean uttered a sentence that would drag Sam back into the hunting world, "Dad's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home for a while."

+*****+

Pulled out of his memories Dean knew what he had to do. "I know you are going to hate me for this but I can't live without you, Sam. If I can't have you back I am going to end up joining you." Dean knew it was the truth without Sam there was no point in him living.

+*****+

Azazel the monster that had destroyed their family was finally dead.

"How long did you get?" Sam asked in a broken voice.

"One year and it was worth it. I couldn't live without you." Dean knew that Sam wasn't happy with the deal he had made with a demon.

"And you expect me to be able to live without you? To know that you are trapped in hell, being tortured because you sold your soul to bring me back!" Sam could understand why Dean did what he did because if it had been Dean he would have done the same thing. But he only had a year, one year to save Dean from his deal and if he had to he would walk into hell itself and pull Dean out.

"I'm going to find a way to save you, Dean, no matter what," Sam vowed and Dean could feel it across their bond Sam meant every word.

"Just don't do anything that would damn you, Sam." Dean pleaded.

Sam's eyes blazed, "Then I will happily damn myself if it meant saving you."

+*****+

One Year Later

Sam felt the matching cords growing stronger the deeper into hell he went. He nearly crumpled at the sheer pain Dean was going through at that very moment and it filled him with even more rage.

He had failed. He hadn't been able to break the demon deal even with the help of Ruby and her training. He had been powerless as he watched Dean be torn to shreds by hell hounds, hearing him scream.

Something powerful in him had awakened as Lilith stood above him gloating about Dean's fate and Sam had enjoyed pulling her essences out of her host body and ripping her to shreds until there wasn't even a wisp of her left.

He had lost count of the crossroad demons he had summoned forth to make a deal only for them to end up the way Lilith had. Sam had felt nothing as he tortured demon after demon to find a way into Hell. He saved their host but each demon met the same end.

It wasn't long before word reached even the deepest part of hell that Azazel's chosen Boy King had embraced his powers completely and was on a vengeance-filled one-man war on all demons until he was allowed into hell.

Demons always thought of themselves first and there were those who didn't want to feel the wrath of the Boy King of Hell and they helped him find away if only to gain mercy from Sam.

Sam, who had felt Dean's pain along their bond, whose song was filled with nothing but agony and pain, had no mercy left and they met the same fate as all of those who crossed Sam's path.

Even the mighty Alistair, head torture of Demons and breaker of souls was no match for Sam. He knew that this was the one responsible for Dean's suffering.

"S...Sammy?" Dean managed to get out as he stared into Sam's smiling face, "Please no. Don't use him." Dean didn't think he would survive if Alistair used Sam to torture him.

Sam's heart ached at the fear in Dean's voice and the fact that Dean was begging, Dean never begged - well unless they were in the middle of some fun times - Sam wanted to bring Hell down around them and make sure that no other innocent soul went through pain like this. "I'm real Dean. I am here and I am getting you out. I promise." Sam vowed.

With utter gentleness, Sam gathered Dean's soul into his arms and a piece of his heart unfroze as Dean snuggled into his hold and he spotted the amulet around Dean's neck. Even in Hell Dean carried the symbol of their bond.

Demons and souls cowered away from the power coming off of Sam in waves, not since Lucifer himself had they felt anything like this. Like the Red Seas, the demons parted as Sam moved towards the entrance.

Just as he reached the entrance Sam stopped and looking over his shoulder he announced, "All innocent souls here because of the demon deals they made are to be released and never again shall an innocent be brought here."

The demons could only nod they didn't dare go against one of Azazel's chosen, they were powerless against the likes of Sam Winchester.

+*****+

Touches full of tenderness and love were what Dean awoke to.

"Sammy?" Dean didn't want to believe it, didn't want to open himself to a new trick from Alistair.

Then he heard it the soft humming of a tune only he and one other knew. He had tucked his soul song deep within him, in a place that no demon could reach.

"Sammy, is this real?" Dean asked in a hoarse voice.

Sam's beautiful face came into view and his eyes were full of love as he wrapped Dean's hand around the amulet. "It's real Dean. I told you I would save you and we never have to worry about demons coming after us again." Sam promised.

Using what little strength he had Dean tugged Sam down onto the bed, it had been so long since he last held Sam. Nuzzling his nose into Sam's neck Dean breathed in the scent that was distinctly Sam, he felt Sam's song cords wrap around his and once again they merged and sung in harmony.

"I think we have earned a long vacation," Dean commented and Sam's laughter filled him with warmth, it would be a long time before the memories faded but he had Sam by his side and that would help in the healing.

Smiling Sam ran his fingers through Dean's hair as he hummed their soul song out loud just for them.

#Wincest #otp: you can't lose him #epic love story of sam and dean #soulmates #sherri writes #my fics

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passivenovember · 2 years

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(more prose from jaz)

i suppose in less than twelve hours i will forget that, in this moment, i was too far within the folds of a gleam to care much what my body looked like in that diaphanous moment of worship.

arms outstretched. wobbling and aching to separate and take flight. neck squalid and arched, eyes brown brown brown and lifted toward the heavens, waiting for the stucco to crack open and say you are here, there is no need to wet the clay and mold yourself into anything else or anything other.

i recognize that i was born. i worship the hips that cracked. love is elusive, an empty bowl on the placemat that is cleared away, piece by piece, until i’m unsure of many things.

everything you taught me to mold for myself shatters in the kiln. the therapy isn’t working. pearls don’t make the pie taste better. drinking sun tea straight from the mug isn’t the same as letting the rain wet my skin and this night will stick in my memory as the one that took me to that place.

i’ve been longing to feel it again. weeping on the floor of the train station while adults only hours wiser than me ask where my mother has gone.

in our living room, with you, i am safe in my childhood home. laughing in the dark with my two soulmates long after the rest of the world had gone to sleep.

it was you who put on my long shirt and put on my favorite pair of high heels and told me that love would come if it weren’t for the hole in my stomach.

they brought me back down from the hill, wrapped in my ceremonial garb. a respectable woman will wear them three times in her life. when she is born, when she is married, and when she dies choking on a handful of sunflower seeds.

only one of these is certain.

#jaz speaks #prose

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

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But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 2: Accept The Fucking Offer]

Series summary: You are an overwhelmed and disenchanted nurse in Boston, Massachusetts. Queen is an eccentric British rock band you’ve never heard of. But once your fates intertwine in the summer of 1974, none of your lives will ever be the same...

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug

The floor is quiet. Your patients—all except one—are sound asleep and mercifully keeping their call buttons at a distance. Patricia is camped out in the nurses’ station at the other end of the hall, chomping noisily on sunflower seeds and wailing along to Tammy Wynette on her portable radio. Queen is enjoying their fourth late-night picnic of the week. You close the door and check your watch; you have seven minutes left before your break ends.

“Let’s kill her,” Freddie suggests casually, hanging his smoldering cigarette out of the open window.

“You know that’s extremely bad for you.”

“What? Committing felonies?”

“I don’t think you’d do well in prison, Fred,” Roger says, popping a Cheeto into his mouth. “No sequined leotards. No cats.”

“Smoking,” you correct. “Smoking is extremely bad for you.”

Freddie takes a drag, exhales a fog of smoke, and grins at you beneath gleaming sunglasses. “Possibly. But darling, the aesthetic is divine. And you’ll take care of me if I get sick, won’t you? Ensure I get all the best drugs, procure new lungs for me on the black market?”

Brian rolls his eyes and nibbles a violet plum, then gestures for John to pass him a napkin as juice dribbles down his stubbled chin. John flaps the napkin just outside of Brian’s reach, yanking it away each time Brian swipes. Roger snickers, observing their exchange from his place on the floor, before eventually advising John to have mercy. Brian snatches the napkin and promptly whips John across the face with it.

“So now you have me committing felonies,” you tell Freddie with a smile.

“Keeps things spicy.” Freddie peers over at you, brow crinkled, studying you like an abstract painting. “Do you like your job, dear?”

Brian groans. “Fred, please, don’t interrogate her—”

“I’m not interrogating, I’m inquiring—!”

“It’s fine, seriously, Bri, it’s fine,” you say. Brian raises his hands in surrender. His coloring has improved, he’s gained five pounds, he’s being discharged tomorrow. Then Queen will be whisked across the Atlantic back to London...and that’s a truth you’re struggling to grasp. “I love what I do. Just not necessarily where I do it.”

Freddie nods, puffing on his cigarette. “Because of Nurse Queen of the Underworld.”

“Not just her.” You can remember being a child and worshiping at the altar of familiarity: your home, that old maroon Queen Anne-style house at the intersection of Apple Avenue and Arcadia Street; inhaling New England autumns; burying yourself in your mother’s soft, cream-colored knit sweaters that were dusted with the scents of homemade pies and Chanel No. 5; the creaks of that uneven, tobacco-stained wood floor of your father’s study beneath your bare feet. Whatever existed outside of your comfortable, commonplace universe—whatever monsters or treasures or undiscovered ringed planets dwelled there—held no interest for you at all. You wanted to live here, die here, raise your own family here, take your children to play under the same weeping willows in the Public Green that your grandparents had met beneath. And then one day, in the purging heat of the summer after your sophomore year of college...you woke up and realized that all those comforting things suddenly felt like a cage, that your fingers were threading bars made of your family and your friends and every grain of soil in Boston. Patricia is dreadful, of course, and has been since you arrived at Massachusetts General nine months ago; but she’s not what you’re running from. “It’s this hospital, it’s this city, it’s Boston. I was born here and I cherish it, don’t get me wrong, but I want to see the world. Mountains and lakes and cathedrals and castles and...and...you know. All the rest.”

“That’s how I felt about Cornwall when I was a kid,” Roger confesses. “I’d take my little acoustic guitar out into the backyard and look up at the sky as I played and think, ‘Is this really it? Am I ever going to get beyond all this to something more?’”

“Yes, yes, well no one asked for your autobiography, blondie,” Freddie quips. Roger chuckles, entirely unoffended. “Continue, dear.”

You think before you respond. When you do speak, it comes out heavier than you mean it to, more serious, more pained, whispered, your voice splintering. “I guess I just don’t want to die without really living first.”

The boys watch you for a while: Brian poised and pondering, Freddie seeking, Roger empathetic, John very quiet. John has spoken—at the absolute most—five words to you since you’ve met him; but you know he can get chatty with Freddie or Rog on occasion, and so you’ve held out hope that you can still win him over. Now you’re almost out of time.

At last, Roger raises his beer, smiling, showing the tiny points of his canine teeth. “Cheers to that.” And it sends something through you like a one-way ticket into a brand new world.

You laugh nervously. “Okay. Wow. Enough of all that, I have to go save lives now.” You wash your hands in the sink and pull on a new pair of gloves, dodging Roger’s large, affecting eyes.

“Do you have a boyfriend, lovely Clara Barton?” Freddie asks. They know your actual name, they’ve known it since night one, but they’ve taken to referring to you as whatever famous nurses they can recall from high school.

“Freddie,” Brian admonishes.

“What, I’m just asking—”

“No, actually, I don’t,” you tell Fred. “Why, do you want a Green Card?”

“Darling, no offense, but if I was going to marry for strategic purposes I would aim for someone far older and astronomically richer. With life insurance.”

“Thanks, Freddie.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

“Are you single? Since we’re all sharing our life stories.”

“I’m not,” he replies, somewhat cagily. “None of us are. Well, Brian certainly isn’t, and Deaky wasn’t last I checked, although he’s tricksy and awfully quiet about the whole affair, so I ought to confirm that at some point...how about you, Rog?”

Roger chokes on his beer and wipes his dripping nose with one fuchsia sleeve. “Uh, I, uh, yeah, yeah, uh, I’m single. Yes.”

“Oh?” Brian says, eyebrows raised. “Someone should probably inform Josephine.”

“That’s a casual thing. Super casual. Not exclusive.”

Freddie and Brian exchange a glance: an amused, smirking, what else can you expect from Roger? glance. You try to smirk at Roger too; but he shrugs guiltily, endearingly, with some mesmerizing spell of danger and innocence and wildness and beauty, angels and demons that you didn’t know could coexist without clubbing each other to death. And you mean to file this away as a warning, a reminder to keep your distance; but it feels more like blowing on embers until they leap into flames.

Bad idea, lady. Really, really, really, exorbitantly bad idea.

“Alright, I’m out. Brian, you have the call button if you need it. There’re extra cups and napkins in the cabinet and—”

You open the door. Patricia is halfway down the hallway and approaching quickly, glinting-eyed, stone-faced, keys grasped in her hand. A glimpse at your watch informs you that your break ended two minutes ago. You swing the door shut.

“Get out!” you whisper urgently, and Roger bolts for the window. He pitches his beer outside and helps John climb through the opening and drop safely to the ground below.

“Fred!” Roger hisses, waving, and he lowers Freddie out of the window next as you kick snack wrappers and empty bottles beneath Brian’s hospital bed. Bri smooths his blankets, turns off his lamp, shakes the peanuts out of his hair that John lobbed there. You rush to Roger as you hear keys rattling against the door.

“Here, I’ll help you...” Without thinking, you take his hands as he hesitates in the open window and steady him as he crawls out. You can see Freddie and John down in the darkness, reaching up to catch Roger when he falls. A sudden wave of mourning grips you. I’m never going to see them again. “Bye,” you say, without any cleverness at all. But Roger smiles like it’s the best thing he’s heard in weeks, maybe months, maybe ever. He glances to where your hands hold his.

“Bye,” he replies in that raspy, radiant voice. And then he’s gone.

You sigh shakily. You turn around. Patricia stands in the open doorway.

“Oh,” she says, grinning like a shark, almost gloating. “You are so fired.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“We’re sorry, we’re so sorry, you have no idea how—”

“It’s fine, Roger.”

You’re standing under a lamppost just beyond hospital property at 7:15 a.m. Your shift is over, your very last shift at Massachusetts General; Roger waited outside to meet you all night. There are swollen shadows beneath his eyes, his cheeks are flushed with fury and mortification, he’s edgy and pacing and chain smoking. The sun is bright and already hot, the Arctic terns cawing and swooping overhead.

“It’s not fucking fine,” he flares. “We got you fired—”

“Roger, I was miserable there. I was jaded and complacent and I felt trapped, I felt like I was standing in cement, I felt like I was suffocating and I didn’t know how to bail myself out of it or how to explain any of this to my parents. But now...thanks to Queen...I’m free. I got the shock I needed. I can move on.”

“You didn’t deserve to leave like that,” he insists menacingly. “That bitch isn’t going to write you recommendations. You were good at what you did, you were really fucking good, Brian was despondent before you took over. You deserved better.”

You shrug. “Life’s not fair, Rog.”

“That’s the truth.” He takes a drag off his cigarette and you hold out your hand. He stares at you, perplexed, but passes the cigarette. You smoke a few puffs, then give it back. Roger smiles. “I thought that was extremely bad for you.”

“Most of the best things are.”

“Well.” He shuffles his feet anxiously. “I have a proposition.”

“Yeah?”

“Since you’ve successfully untethered yourself from all your unfulfilling earthly obligations...come to London with us.”

You feel your jaw fall open, feel all the tension in your muscles unravel as the numb shock rolls through you. “Uh. I was thinking maybe the Peace Corps or joining a travel nursing agency or something.”

Roger winks and nudges your shoulder with his. “Transatlantic flights to London count as travel.”

“That’s...accurate...”

“No, seriously!” Rog presses. “Look, every time a band tours, the company hires a medic or a nurse to go with them. They stitch up busted faces, sanitize infected tattoos, prevent us from dying of alcohol poisoning, ice knocked-out teeth until we can get to a dentist, the works. We’re going to be recording as much as possible in London, but Brian will be on bed rest for most of the next few months. You can take care of him. Keep his spirits up. You’re good at that. We’ll all chip in to pay you if the company won’t, Freddie and John have already agreed to it and I know Brian will as soon as I ask. Then, when we inevitably go on tour again...you can be our travel nurse.” He grins confidently, electrifyingly, like he’s figured out all of life’s thorniest questions.

“Rog, I really appreciate the offer, but...uh...this is really too much, and I have no travel nurse experience whatsoever, and...and...look, you are all really talented, I mean that, but you have some seriously chaotic energy and I’m not sure global fame is in the cards for Queen—”

Roger interrupts you brusquely. “You said you love what you do. So you like taking care of people, right?”

“I do, yeah.”

“And you want to see the world.”

“Absolutely.”

“And you think we’re fun, don’t you? Exciting? Audacious? Reckless enough to keep you busy with the fallout of frequent near-death experiences?”

“That sounds about right.”

“So...” He waggles his blond eyebrows. “Come with us.”

You look up into the mid-June sky, as blue and churning as the Boston Harbor, and try to imagine it: packing your suitcase (you really don’t need to bring all that much), digging your passport out of your jewelry box (you know exactly where it is), telling your parents that you’re jetting off to Europe the next day (they would accept it, maybe they’d even be proud; you’d finally be striking out on your own), renting some cheap little apartment in London (you have enough savings to get you started).

“Accept the offer,” Roger says.

“I really don’t think—”

“Accept the offer.”

“—I just couldn’t impose like that, I mean you’re not making any money yet and—”

“Accept the offer.”

“—You guys shouldn’t feel like you owe me this just because I happened to—”

Roger cradles your face with rough hands, gazes fixedly into your eyes, and smiles blindingly. “Love,” he says. “Accept. The fucking. Offer.”

Bad idea, terrible idea, literally the worst idea in the history of human civilization.

“Okay,” you reply softly.

“Okay, like, for real okay?”

“Yeah.” And entirely against your will, you break into a grin. This is the start of the rest of my life. This is the graveyard of familiarity.

“Yes!” Roger cheers. He takes your left hand, raises it to his lips, bites you lightly across the knuckles: some feral, ludicrously on-brand vision of Roger as a Disney hero. I’m the Lady and he’s the Tramp. I’m Sleeping Beauty and he’s the Prince who’s going to finally wake me up, even if it means slaughtering a dragon or two.

“Cute,” you say sarcastically. But, actually, it sort of is.

“Can I walk you home?” Roger asks. “You live around the corner, right? I can help you pack. Oh, wait, maybe I should shower first, I don’t want your parents to see me like this...I am a literal ashtray...my hair is ridiculous...I think I still have some eyeliner on...is the fuchsia jacket too much...?”

You watch Roger as he scrutinizes himself fretfully, his words fading out of the picture, the world becoming a silent film. You can’t look away. If Brian’s a willow tree and Freddie’s a lightning storm, what is Roger? Wildfire, you decide.

He follows you through breezy, shaded Boston streets to the house at the intersection of Apple and Arcadia, with the solemn promise that he can borrow your shower and an old pair of gym shorts. You know he’ll charm your parents instantly, that they’ll fall in love with him. Everyone does.

When you look down at your left hand, there’s a vanishing silhouette of a bruise where he bit you; and if you really think about it you can feel that it still burns.

#but you can never leave #but you can never leave fic #but you can never leave series #queen fanfic #queen fandom #queen fic #queen #borhap #borhap fandom #roger taylor #roger taylor fic

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thepotentialof2007 · 3 years

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Viewpoint by Mahmoud Darwish

The difference between narcissus and sunflower is a point of view: the first stares at his image in water and says there is no I but I and the second looks at the sun and says I am what I worship. And at night, difference shrinks and interpretation widens.

#poem #mahmoud darwish #translated from the Arabic by #fady joudah #palestinian poetry #in a row #pm013

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xyloophones · 4 years

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oh, id love to hear your dvd commentary on the moonflower scene in moonstruck!! i absolutely love it every time i reread it 💙💙💙

friend !! heck yeah i can do commentary on that !! (also hi i see u leaving comments again sdlkfaj ur so sweet to me thank u for keeping my fics alive u are the beeesssstttt <3)

under the cut because it got too long aahhhh

Send me your favorite scene/chapter from one of my works and I’ll post a DVD commentary on it.

The garden is beautiful. They don’t have much space in the backyard, which they’ve made up for with floating garden beds, the wood painted bright colors as they hover peacefully in the air. It’s like a small bubble in the middle of a city, lush and overflowing with life. Viktor forgets that if he walks twenty feet in any direction, he’ll meet concrete. He feels a wave of calm wash over him.

This is directly inspired by how golden gate park in san francisco just goes from rows of houses on cement to super lush redwoods and gardens within like 10 feet. All of the scenery in my fics are just love letters to the bay area/ california in general. The california academy of sciences has a living roof with a bunch of california native plants and grasses and it’s super magical

“Feel better?” Yuuri smiles knowingly. “It’s the lavender. Celestino started planting it after I was diagnosed with anxiety. It’s supposed to be calming.”

Viktor smiles bitterly. “More magic, huh?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “Lavender isn’t magical. It’s actually one of the few plants with no magical properties at all.”

I love magical realism/ urban magic aus but my fav things in them are just when something super mundane works better than the magic itself. example: why use quills when pens are so much more convenient??? I will never understand

“Oh.”

“But it’s also one of the most widely used plants.”

“Is that supposed to be a metaphor? For… me?” Viktor frowns. “But I’m not non-magical. There’s nothing wrong with being non-magical, it’s just… my career–– my fans have expectations.”

It’s really easy to forget that people are like… people when you look up to them so much. I tried to put myself in victors headspace of having so many people that basically idolize and worship you but knowing that if you messed up they would turn on you instantly. I think that’s probably very scary.

“Viktor, the only person who matters in this situation is you.” Yuuri nods his head towards the back of the garden. “Come here, I wanna show you something.”

Yuuri weaves his way through the floating flower boxes and pots, ducking to avoid stray vines. Viktor follows. The plants all seem to lean towards Yuuri when he passes, like they’re reaching for the sun. It’s fitting.

The sun/moon dynamic in ships is my fav thing in the universe so i really like leaning into the “yuuri is made of sunshine” thing which is the WHOLE reason behind this scene

“Solnyshko,” Viktor whispers.

“What was that?” Yuuri looks over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Viktor says. “A nickname.”

I !! love !!! pet names !!! all of my close friends have at least one or two mushy petnames from me !! i am under the name “sunshine” on my friends phone and it is the cutest fckin thing pls call me cute nicknames !! anyway this is me projecting onto vitya lol

Yuuri takes him to the back fence bordering their neighbor's. There are a row of sunflowers there, planted into the ground instead of in a flower box.

“Sunflowers,” Yuuri says. “They’re my favorites.”

sunflowers are my fav flowers so once again i am ✨ projecting ✨ onto yuuri lol

The sunflowers drip golden light onto the soil below them. Like the rest of the plants, they all seem to turn towards Yuuri. Yuuri reaches out and plucks a petal off of one.

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “I know what sunflowers are.”

“Yes, but––” Yuuri takes his hand and uses it to pull Viktor back towards the small shed in the corner of the garden–– “I’m willing to bet you’ve never seen these.”

Yuuri opens the door to the shed and ushers Viktor inside, shutting the door behind them, plunging the shed into darkness.

“What––?”

“Just watch.”

Yuuri holds out the sunflower petal, glowing golden in the pitch black. The shed gradually glows lighter and lighter, until Viktor can see well enough to make out the smile on Yuuri’s face. But, the light isn’t just coming from the sunflower petal anymore. Viktor looks around and sees the shed is lined with boxes of tall, silvery plants. They look like sunflowers, but their stalks are pitch black and their flowers have no petals, only a glowing, silvery head of seeds.

So moonflowers are an actual thing but they’re just white morning glories and anyway i wanted the whole moonflowers/sunflowers thing to run parallel to the whole victor not really “growing” in the light (fame) until he meets yuuri who teaches him to love magic for himself and not for any public expectations/fans. Like i really wanted to make it clear that victor needed to work on himself and his own health and that things (moonflowers) can have value even if they don’t live under the sun (fame)

“Moonflowers,” Yuuri says, pleased. The sunflower petal in his hand glows brighter when he brings it closer to a nearby moonflower. “They’re sensitive, so they can’t be out in the sun. But, if you put them near sunflowers they glow. It’s the only plant that grows without sunlight. It’s also the only plant that supports sunflowers. Sunflowers can’t grow without moonflowers nearby. ”

I didnt really get into it in this fic but yuuri learned just as much from victor as victor did from him

Yuuri sends him a look. “This is another metaphor, by the way.”

“I think I get it.” Viktor leans forward and gently touches one of the moonflowers. His hand comes away with a silver streak glittering on his finger.

“I’m going to keep helping you look for your heart, but I think you need to start loving yourself without your magic,” Yuuri smiles at him gently, looking ethereal and achingly gentle in the moonlight. “You’re still Viktor, even without your magic. You’re still Viktor.”

Again ! its not about victor meeting the love of his life, it’s about victor finding himself and learning to love himself and also falling in love along the way !!

“Vitya,” Viktor says, his voice thick with emotion. “Call me Vitya, please.”

“Okay,” Yuuri whispers. “Vitya.”

Viktor looks back at the house, before he gets into the car. The paint is bright yellow.

Fun fact: this scene was like the very first or second scene i wrote for this au (and the whole halloween week thing) and it was actually something i wanted to do as a stand alone but it didn’t end up long enough (HA i know its like…, 8k but STILL) i think i thought about making it its own series but i just got too busy :((

Also while working on this i listened exclusively to a halloween playlist (i love halloween!!!! Spooky season is my fav!!!!) so if you want maximum “xylo’s headspace while working on this” effect listen to i put a spell on you by nina simone on loop

#xylo speaks #ask #asldkfj you picked the best scene because even tho it's been like 3 years i remember every second of writing this fic #if only bc i did it inbetween classes a lot #also i hope this formats okay on mobile sorry it got so long alsdkfj #also i thtink i say this a lot but kathe ur comments genuinely keep me going sdklfj #ur so nice 🥺 luv u lots pal #luka-button

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ladylillianrose · 4 years

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Extraordinarily Star-Crossed a Max Richman/Zoey Clarke fanfiction

A/N: Hello everyone and welcome to this daring and epic collaboration between @clarkemanotp and me! We have been planning this for quite a bit and are very excited to finally start sharing this with you all. So buckle up everyone it's going to be a wild ride!

Summary: “...and when one of them meets the other half, the actual half of himself....the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy and one will not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment...”-Plato, The Symposium

Rated M for Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death and Language

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

“Η ιστορία μας ξεκινά πολύ καιρό. Στην εποχή των ηρώων, των ημίθεων, των θεών και των θεών. "

*cricket noises*

“Is this thing on?” Mo tapped the translator.

“Who knows, it’s all Greek to me,” Tobin shrugged.

Leif groaned, “Dude, just no.” He flicked the switch on the bottom of the microphone and gave Mo a thumbs up.

“As I was saying….” Mo glared at the other two. “Our tale begins long ago. In the time of heroes, demigods, gods, and goddesses.”

“Psst…. You’re supposed to introduce us!” Tobin stage whispered.

“I was getting there! Haven’t you ever heard of pausing for dramatic effect!” Mo rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Amateurs…We are the Fates. You may know us by other names and faces, but our purpose is the same. We are the keepers of destiny, let no man or god interfere with the fates we spin.”

“Oooo, that’s good. You have a real flair for this,” Tobin grinned.

“Seriously? We’re never going to get to the story if you keep interrupting!” Leif scolded.

“Just appreciating the art and the artist bro!”

Mo loudly cleared his throat, “AS I WAS SAYING! This is the tale of two lovers, whose threads of fate were cut before their time.”

*muffled noises* Leif covered Tobin’s mouth with his hand, to prevent any further interruptions.

Mo nodded his approval, “Our story begins….”

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 1

Zoie and her mother were in the garden gathering flowers.

“Mother?”

“Yes?”

“How did you know that you were in love with Father?"

Her mother stood up, looking at her daughter.

"Well, it was when he first sang me a song, he had written just for me." She smiled at the memory. "It was so beautiful that it made the gods weep, and I knew then that I would never love another."

Zoie nodded, turning her attention back to the garden.

Her mother placed her hand on her cheek, tilting her head up to look at her. "Why do you ask, my dearest?"

Zoie blushed, turning away. "I think I understand how you feel for Father."

Her mother smiled, "And who is the lucky man? It wouldn't happen to be that charming young farmer from down the road, Maximos?"

Zoie gasped, turning quickly to face her mother.

"Hhh… how could you po…"

"Dearest, I am your mother, I always know." She grinned, tapping Zoie on the nose. "You don't think I've noticed the amount of times he stops by on his 'way into town'...which is in the opposite direction of our house?"

Zoie giggled, "He does come by quite often, doesn't he?"

Her mother shook her head, smiling, "Has he told you his feelings?"

Zoie bit her lip and nodded, "He loves me, and I love him. He wants to ask Father for permission to marry me, once the harvest is in."

"Oh, my dear girl," her mother embraced her. "I offer you both my blessing, for a loving, happy, fruitful relationship."

Zoie felt a breeze rustle against her hair and cheeks in a soft caress. Her mother placed a kiss on her forehead, causing a slight tingle along her skin.

"Oh Mother, thank you!" Zoie cried with happiness. "Will you prepare Father? I need to go fetch Maximos."

Her mother nodded, watching as Zoie sprinted out the gate and down the path as though she was wearing Hermes winged sandals.

A sunflower began to grow where she had stood, growing into its full height in a matter of moments. The flower leaned, brushing its petals against the mother's shoulder. She smiled secretively and reached over to pat the sunflower affectionately.

"Maximos!!!" Zoie called excitedly as she ran down the path to the field he was plowing.

He held up his hand to shade his eyes from the sun, just in time to catch Zoie as she launched herself into his arms.

He chuckled as he staggered under the momentum. "Now, that's a greeting a man could get used to."

She grinned, eagerly kissing him. "Mother has offered us her blessing and is speaking with Father now."

Maximos looked at her in shock, "You mean, I can speak with your father today?"

Zoie nodded, still smiling.

Maximos let out a whoop of joy, beginning to spin around excitedly, his arms full of the woman he loves.

Zoie laughed, tapping his shoulder to be let down.

"Come on, no time like the present!" She eagerly began to pull him towards the road.

He chuckled. "Hold on, Zoie. You go on ahead, and I'll get freshened up and meet you there."

Zoie nodded, giving him one last kiss. "Don't be too long."

Maximos watched the woman he loved attempt to walk steadily up the path. She turned at the gate and tossed a wink over her shoulder before breaking into a run.

He chuckled and walked into his house to change his tunic and clean himself up.

He had just unclasped his tunic when he heard a voice from his bed.

Greece 382 B.C.E. Chapter 2

Maximos spun around surprised, quickly crossing his arms to cover his chest. "Who in Hades are you? And how did you get in here?"

The blonde woman smirked as she eyed what she could see of his bare chest. "You may address me as Aphrodite."

Maximos gawked at her wide-eyed before kneeling before her, bowing his head and averting his eyes in respect. "Pardon me, my Goddess, I was not aware whose presence I was in."

Aphrodite clucked her tongue, as she walked towards him. "No need for such formalities…for now…." She placed her hand under his chin, lifting his face to see her.

"I'm here for a more…. personal reason," she purred.

Maximos looked confused, what could the Goddess of beauty want with him.

She laughed, caressing his cheek. "Oh, my dear sweet boy. I'm here for you."

Maximos' eyes widened in understanding, he swallowed nervously.

"Me?!" His voice cracked. "Why me?"

Aphrodite raked her eyes along his body, "You are far superior to other mortal men. Which makes you worthy to worship my body." She unclasped her toga allowing it to fall at her feet. She moved closer to him, reaching to run her hands along his shoulders.

Maximos took a step back from the naked Goddess, refusing to look anywhere below her chin.

Aphrodite grinned, "Don't worry, I won't bite…. until you beg me to."

Maximos shook his head, continuing to back up until his back hit the wall.

"My Goddess," he began.

She placed a finger against his lips, "You may address me by name."

"A-A-Aphrodite," he sputtered. "I am flattered at your attentions…. but you see….ummm…"

She waited for him to continue.

"I am promised to another," he explained.

Aphrodite scoffed, "What she doesn't know won’t hurt her. I shall offer you blessings on your marriage should you accommodate my desires. Surely, that will appease her?" She ran her fingers along his jawline, as she leaned towards him.

He frowned, moving slightly to the left the goddess missed her mark and bumped against the wall.

"OW!! That hurt!" She exclaimed furrowing her brow at him. "Did you not hear my offer of marriage blessings in addition to the joys of my flesh?"

Maximos nodded, "It is a generous offer, Goddess, however it is not one I can accept. My heart is not my own to give."

"I don't want your heart, merely your body." She explained, patience beginning to wear thin.

"I am sorry, but that also belongs to her. Heart, mind, body and soul are hers," Maximos smiled, thinking of Zoie.

Aphrodite's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You dare to refuse me? Have you taken leave of your senses?"

Maximos began to inch towards the door, away from the slowly angering, naked goddess.

"I have told you why I must refuse you. And now, I must take my leave. Forgive me, Goddess." He bowed briefly before sprinting out the door and towards Zoie's house.

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katzuyas · 5 years

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In, through the window high up on the guard tower.

In, past the sparsely lit courtyard.

In, up the vines covering the wall on the far eastern side of the castle, and up, to the balcony five stories above his head.

In, finally, through the glass doors, left ajar just for him and the night breeze.

In – into the arms of a prince, who waits for him under the silken sheets and the lonely glow of a single candle, which plays with shadows on the walls and in the beautiful, brown eyes that never stop looking at him with such warmth, such love, such–

"I thought you weren't coming," the prince whispers, lips against his lips.

"Only death could stop me from returning to you, my love," Victor whispers back, just as hushed, just as sweet, and his heart swells when delighted laughter spills from his beloved Yuuri's lips.

"Such big words for someone who barely made it before dawn. The candle has almost burnt out."

"Barely made it, but still have," Victor insists. "Like I always will."

They both know it's a lie, a promise that neither of them will be able to keep, but spoken just between them in the quiet of the deep night it's enough to fool them into a single moment of blind hope.

Victor takes the elegant hand, barren of the rings and the glove that always adorn it, and rests a kiss against the slim knuckles to mark his words with affection. He moves down with his lips, drags them over the delicate skin, trails them lower, until he can rest a kiss against the fingertips, and then does the same thing again – to rest another one in the middle of Yuuri's palm.

"You should reward me for my efforts instead of scorning me, my prince," he mumbles against the wrist, where he feels the strong pulsing of Yuuri's blood.

His excitement, his desire, it's all there under Victor's wet lips. It's always there, whenever he reaches for it, because Yuuri's body responds to him like sunflowers do to the sun: desperate, starved, worshipful. It should feel sinful to receive such a thing from someone of royal blood, it should feel wrong, but there could never be anything wrong with something that makes Victor feel so loved.

And he speaks those words, as devoted to his Yuuri, as his prince is to him:

"I am but your humble servant, my lord, always eager to earn your praise. Don't you know the truth of my intentions?"

Yuuri must, because the moment Victor's tongue tastes the skin on the scent gland on Yuuri's wrist, his mouth blossoms with the aroma that has brought him to his knees many a time. It would do so now as well, if only Victor wasn't already kneeling. But he is – perched between Yuuri's legs, where not many can boast of ever being, yet Victor has been invited to often.

Every night, ever since they met... Every night, ever since they found each other on that godforsaken forest road to nowhere...

"Vitya," Yuuri sighs, like only he can say his name, "tell me then, what do you wish for as your reward? You know I will give you anything. Just ask for it and it's yours."

He must know what he does to Victor, must know the state his innocent question has put him in, it's that obvious. But when Victor drops that precious wrist, allows his body to settle on that of the other, and reaches for the thin, vulnerable royal neck, he knows that Yuuri hasn't thought about it once.

He is always, above all, earnest and kind-hearted, even as Victor greedily pulls him into a kiss.

"You," Victor rasps against those plush lips that speak his name like the sweetest bird sings his morning song. "I want you. Always and forever."

Yuuri's thighs rub up against Victor's when he shifts, soft, thick, yet strong, and Victor is slightly dizzy when the scent of Yuuri's willing submission to his own will reaches him.

"Then have me," Yuuri tells him, flushed and open. "I'm yours. Always and forever."

Victor doesn't know which gods have been smiling down upon him all these blissful months, but whoever they may be, he offers them his prayers as he dives for Yuuri's lips once again. The bedding rustles, the wooden boards groan, but he ignores it and presses into Yuuri like he's the only salvation to the ache in Victor's heart.

And he is.