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justwinginglife · 19 days ago

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Playing Pretend/Summer

25 Days of Simpmas: Day Six December 6th: Kiyoka Kudo, Rank 20 Anime: My Happy Marriage Event Masterlist I couldn't pick just one title so it has two because I'm indecisive.

“Don’t even start with me; you know why I’m here.”

Kiyoka scoffed at you, straightening his shoulders to encompass more of the doorway. With the way he was acting, like you were some enemy messenger, sent to wage war on his otherwise peaceful life, you were sure that by now he’d read the letter from his sister, explaining that she had sent you to aid him in the search for a bride. You resisted the urge to laugh, watching as he attempted to create a blockade in the doorway with nothing more than his slim, sulky figure. What did he think- that if he blocked the entrance, you’d simply turn around and go home? If he locked the door, you’d simply pick it. If he barred the door, you’d simply break it. Then there was the option of sneaking in through the window or shimmying down the chimney; after all, that was the reason she’d sent you, of all people.

Besides the fact that you’d always had a soft spot for her younger brother -and he’d always had a soft spot for you- more than anything, you were headstrong. Maybe she thought if you couldn’t convince him to see reason, you’d at least drive him so crazy with your stubbornness that he’d run straight into another woman’s arms. Either way, it didn’t change what you’d been sent here to do.

“Kiyoka, Hazuki asked me to come. So I’ve come. And I’m not leaving until we talk.”

“You may tell my sister that she need not send her spies; I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

“Kiyoka,” You exclaimed exasperatedly, “I’m not here to report on you to your sister.”

He raised an eyebrow, still skeptical of your words. “Then what are you here for?”

“To help.”

“I don’t need your ‘help.’ You may return home; I shall report to Hazuki that you tried your best so you need not be concerned that she will reprimand your failures. You may tell her that I am simply unable to be convinced.”

You rolled your eyes and slipped by him, entering his home unsolicited. As you showed yourself around, you examined as much of your surroundings as you could before you figured he’d interrupt. His living quarters appeared orderly enough, given that Kiyoka had always been an organized man, but it was obvious that a feminine touch was clearly needed. It was as if he’d made the place his second office. You’d heard of a home away from home, but this was his work away from work, and it had to stop now. You were here to make it stop.

His sister had been concerned about his disinterest in anything but work, especially when it came to members of the opposite sex, so you’d been sent to convince him to revisit the idea of marriage prospects as a favor to her. But it wasn’t just that. You’d grown up with Kiyoka and Hazuki, and though you saw Hazuki nearly everyday, it’d been awhile since you’d last seen her younger brother. And you missed him. Today’s visit was just one you were long overdue.

“I don’t recall allowing you permission to enter my home,” Kiyoka grumbled as he followed behind you cautiously.

“Kiyoka. I’ll put it bluntly: stop being such a stick in the mud.”

He froze for a brief second before recovering, a hint of a smile appearing at the edge of his lips. “There’s that smart mouth of yours; I was wondering when it would show itself. Apparently several years in a boarding school did nothing to curb your attitude.”

You snorted. “And apparently several years serving as a commander did nothing to train you on how to prevent intruders from invading your home.”

“So you admit you’re intruding?”

“Intruding and conquering. As of today, I’ve officially claimed my territory. And my first act as resident dictator is to demand you sit down. I’m making dinner.”

It was as though you’d spoken in a foreign language because suddenly Kiyoka’s gaze began conducting a thorough examination of you, as if the glimmer in your eyes or the straightening of your posture might give him some hint that would allow him to decipher your words. “You’re… what? I have a cook, why are you making dinner?”

You winked at him and his heart thundered in his chest. “So you can pretend you know what it’s like to have a wife.” You said in a teasing tone.

He followed you into the kitchen, cheeks ablaze, still protesting as you began to prep and cut vegetables. “I don’t need to pretend to have a wife, as I’ve no need for a wife.”

You deposited the vegetables into a pot. “You keep talking like that, and you’re gonna end up marrying me.” You didn’t look up to see his reaction, but his silence said enough. You smiled to yourself. Commands an entire army, but still shy around a girl, even if she is his childhood friend. Same old Kiyoka. “Remember?” You asked nonchalantly as you stirred the pot. “We said when we were kids that if we couldn’t find anyone to marry, we’d just marry each other.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “That was… a naive suggestion, proposed by mere children. We couldn’t have known the responsibility that would come with such a weighted promise. I have never held you to it and would never hold you to it.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did.” You continued to swirl your spoon around and around the pot, waiting for a response from him, waiting to hear more than just the sloshing of the stew hitting your spoon. Why was the sloshing suddenly so damn loud? Why could you hear the birds chirping outside the window and even the fire roaring beneath your pot, but you couldn’t so much as hear him breathe? You’d laughed to yourself about him being shy, but why were you the one who was now ready to shrink into a corner? Maybe you’d gone too far with your teasing- too far for the both of you.

“You’re stirring too hard.” Kiyoka’s fingers brushed against yours as he slipped the spoon out of your hand. “You’ll burn yourself if you keep letting the water splash like that.” With one arm, he gently guided you behind him as he proceeded to take charge over dinner.

You laughed softly. Yup. Same old Kiyoka. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one cooking?”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe you can be the one pretending you have a husband.”

Eventually dinner was served, dinner was had, and then dinner was a thing of the past. But even as you lay in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, you willed memories of dinner to replay in your mind, like you were watching your favorite play. Winter’s frost had started to seep into the weary bones of this house and yet you’d never felt warmer, remembering the way he had untied the strings of your apron, “pretending” to be your husband, and the way you had spoon fed him the stew, “pretending” to be his wife, and the way he poured you a cup of sake, toasting to your health, “pretending” to be your husband, and the way he’d chuckled when you dabbed at his cheek with a napkin, “pretending” to be his wife, and the way pretending didn’t feel like pretending anymore when it was with him.

You could go back to winter in the morning. You could go back to the real reason you’d come. You could help find him a wife, watch him be married off, and go back to the city, go back to your life, like nothing had ever happened between the two of you. You could go back to winter in the morning, but for now, in the dark of your room, in the dead of the night, it was summer. It was all warmth and light and Kiyoka. It was the way he tied your hair as thanks for tying his. It was the way he walked you to your bedroom, like some scoundrel might kidnap you on the mere journey down the hall. It was the way he said goodnight so tenderly, so fondly, like he’d lived his life just to be able to wish you sweet dreams and bid you well rest.

And when you woke in the morning, you discovered that even the impending threat of reality couldn’t diminish the joy of waking up and realizing he was just a door away. And then you wondered what it would be like to wake up and be only a breath away.

He interrupted your fantasizing.

“I’m going into town.”

You blinked away your wishful thinking. “Oh, alright. I suppose I’ll be here when you get back.”

He lingered by your door another moment more. “...You could… come into town with me.”

You just couldn’t help the smile that spilled across your face and he couldn’t help but smile back. “I’ll be five minutes!” You exclaimed excitedly, closing the door on him so that you could get ready.

He shook his head, amused, as he listened to you chaotically rummaging through your wardrobe. Just how much did you pack for this “short visit?”

“I’ll give you an hour!” He called through the door.

“Won’t take me that long!” You called back.

He chuckled to himself. Yes, yes it will.

59 minutes later (you didn’t want to give him free reign to tease you for taking the full hour), you looped your arm through his and sauntered off with him, ready to take on the town.

You should’ve been more focused on your image, should’ve been more aware of the people gawking at the two of you, as you giddily paraded through town with him, but even with all of those years learning how to sit and stand and speak like a proper lady, sometimes, when you were with Kiyoka, you were simply the girl he’d taught how to skip rocks or the girl who’d taught him how to wish on dandelions.

That girl was very dear to Kiyoka. But so was the girl who spoke many languages, who played many instruments, who wrote eloquently in her letters, who danced elegantly at balls, who sewed, who sung, who suddenly knew how to cook (as he’d always remembered her as the girl who somehow burnt his onigiri- you said it’d grown ‘cold’ and he’d chuckled into his hand before telling you it was supposed to be eaten cold.) The girl you had been and the girl you had to be both shared room in his heart, and he’d make even more room for even more versions of you that could ever or would ever exist.

So, as he watched the girl he held so dear prance her merry way from store to store, he thought he might allow himself to pretend a bit more.

“As your… doting ‘husband,’ I suppose I could find it in myself to purchase a few gifts for you. What would you like? You may name anything.”

You stopped in your tracks, eyes agleam. “Really? Anything?”

You discovered quickly that when he said anything, he truly did mean anything. After he agreed to buy you hats, gloves, and jewelry, you decided to further test the bounds of his graciousness. When, at your behest, he bought you sweets, gowns, a music box, a new instrument, and even a kitten, you realized that not only did he mean he’d buy you anything, he meant to buy you everything. All in the name of being a “proper husband.”

But you were not about to let him show you up. You bought him several new suits. A new sword. New belts. New robes. New cufflinks. New shoes. New ties. An extravagant lunch. All in the name of being a “proper wife.”

Of course, he tried not to let you, but you’d say it was his job as your “husband” to let his “wife” dress him up and stuff him full. You were just getting him into the habit of playing the part, after all- that was what you’d been sent to do. You’d accustom him to the life of being a husband and, little by little, the prospect of marriage wouldn’t seem so bad.

So, as the week went on, your little charade continued, and you reprised your roles as loving wife and husband.

You’d clean his house until it was spotless, until it was sparkling. He’d open doors for you, lead you forward with his arm. You’d fix his ties, brush his hair. He’d massage your shoulders, sear his warmth into your skin. You’d walk him to the door, wish him a good day. He’d come home from work, present you with a bouquet of flowers. It was all fun and games.

And then the pet names started.

He’d whisper his terms of endearment against your ear, murmuring “my dearest” and “my darling,” until you were flushed and flustered. And then he’d smirk, with stupid satisfaction sitting pretty on his lips. But, unwilling to be outdone, you’d then dance your fingers down his chest, purring “my lord” and “my love,” and it would be his turn to blush abashedly.

The cycle continued, and the line between pretend and reality was quick to blur. A day longer in this place, and you swore, you probably would’ve told even the mailman that you were now the lady of the house. A day longer and you probably would’ve planted a garden, ordered new wallpaper, started some project that only a resident of this house could see to its finish. A day longer and you might’ve caved, asked him to marry you for real, asked him to love you for real.

But no matter how pleasant the summer, the winter always comes. And you didn’t have a day more to spare. You’d spent a wonderful week by his side, but the days that had already passed only served as proof that your time with him was ending. And you were due back home. Due to report your failings to Hazuki.

“Sorry, I couldn’t set your brother up with someone; I was too busy pretending he was set up with me.”

“Sorry, I tried to imagine him marrying someone else and I think I almost puked.”

“Sorry, I love him. Actually, I’m not that sorry.”

As you packed up your things, you sighed. For Hazuki’s sake, you’d have to give it at least one more try before you said goodbye.

You found him in his office, like usual. You’d spent this whole week trying to pull him out of there, trying to get him to lighten up, live a little. And, for a moment, he was. He was living, he was enjoying himself. He’d spend his mornings watching you cook, his afternoons entertaining you, his evenings reminiscing with you, and his nights wishing to do it all over again the next day.

But then you told him you had to leave.

And it was as though all the progress you’d made with him was whisked away by the winter wind. And he was back in his office again. No more laughing. No more relaxing into your touch. No more crinkling at the edge of his eyes as he gave you a smile that made you want to kiss him. That made you need to kiss him. No more playing pretend. No more.

You knew it was coming. You both knew. It wasn’t a surprise. But what was a surprise was when you gave it one more weak attempt to suggest potential brides and he actually began to look over the files that you’d brought with you. Was he actually considering marrying one of these airheaded heiresses? And how rude would it be if you suddenly ripped up the papers in his hands? Would he laugh with you, thank you for saving him? Or would he rush to tape the shredded pieces back together, call up the first girl on the page?

Please. I beg you. Please, please, don’t pick her.

You held your breath as he read the first file.

He smiled. He actually fucking smiled.

That’s it. You were doomed. All was lost.

“Not this one.”

You blinked. What? But he just… he smiled? Why did he smile if he didn’t want her? You took the paper from him, confused.

He took the next paper from your shaking hands. When he read the sheet, he smiled again. This time, a little wider.

What the fuck?

“Next.”

Your brows furrowed. What was he playing at? How was he appearing so interested in these women as he read through their profiles and yet he was quickly rejecting them like they were nothing more than mud beneath his shoes? Not even beneath his shoes, beneath his horse’s shoes. You didn’t mind, but it certainly made you curious. You passed him the next paper, examining him warily.

This time he CHUCKLED. And then crumpled up the paper into a ball.

“Okay. Pause. What is going on right now, Kiyoka?”

He shrugged. “I’m going through marriage prospects. Like you asked.”

You raised a brow. “Are you though?” You slid the first candidate’s profile back onto his desk. “What was wrong with her? You smiled. Why did you smile? Doesn’t that mean you liked something you read? Why not choose her then? What’s wrong with her?” You bombarded him with questions, not stopping for breath.

“She loves cherries.” He said simply.

You rubbed your temples so hard you thought a genie might appear. “Okay… And why does that mean you can’t marry her?”

“You’re allergic to cherries.”

WHAT? “I’m sorry, what does that mean?” You asked politely.

“Well, she’ll want to have cherries in the house. And I simply can’t have them, not when you’re allergic.” He repeated, grinning slightly.

“But why would that make you smile?”

“I was remembering that time we discovered you were allergic to cherries. You’d confessed you’d felt the tingling on your tongue from the very first bite but still, you couldn’t help yourself and you continued to devour them until there was nothing left but littered cherry pits all over the floor and your swollen tongue to remember them by.”

You blushed at the thought. After that day, you never ate cherries again. Besides your cheeks puffing up and your tongue going so agonizingly numb, you’d stuffed yourself so full that you swore you felt the cherries bursting in your belly for days after that, and it made you so incredibly sick. You couldn’t believe he’d remembered it.

You shook your head and went back to the matter at hand, slamming down the next file on his desk. “What about her?” You pointed at the picture of the next woman he’d smiled at.

“She’s a violinist.”

You sighed. He was going to make you do all the work, wasn’t he? You’d really have to ask if you wanted him to explain. “And what’s wrong with marrying a violinist, Kiyoka?”

“Absolutely nothing, you’re a violinist after all.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Okay. So. There’s nothing wrong with marrying a violinist, but there’s something wrong with marrying this violinist. Am I getting this right?”

His teasing grin made an appearance. “That’s correct.”

“And what’s wrong with her specifically?”

“Well, she’s not as good as you are at playing the violin.”

“You’ve never heard her play.”

“Trust me. She’s not as good.”

You rolled your eyes but a hint of a smile tugged at your lips. If you didn’t love this man so immensely, you’d find him ridiculous. “So. Then. Why. Did. You. Smile. So. Big??”

His grin widened. “I was remembering why you’re so good at the violin, why no one will ever be as good as you. You practiced for days and nights, you practiced so long I thought your fingers might bleed. And you sound amazing. But you didn’t always.” He brought his hand up to cover his mouth. You discerned a slight shake in his shoulders. Was he laughing at you?? “Once, I… I thought I’d sneak into your practice room to see how you were doing. I thought you were attempting to murder a goose.”

“Kiyoka!” You exclaimed, ears tinting red. After a moment of excruciating embarrassment, you finally crossed your arms and asked, “Was it… was it really that bad?”

He chortled. “It was less like murdering a goose, and more like performing an exorcism on one.”

You pinched his cheek in annoyance.

He grinned and captured your hand in his. “But you sound like an angel now?” He offered up innocently.

“Meanie.” You grumbled. “Fine. What about her?” You uncrumpled the balled up piece of paper.

“Her? What about her? She’s not you. None of them are you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you pressed on. “So why did you laugh so hard then?”

“We actually ran into her the day we went into town. You don’t remember her because you were too busy loading up the car with gifts.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Anyway, she said something I will not repeat, and right as I was on the verge of chiding her, you attempted to drive the car over to me even though you’ve never driven a car before, because lord knows you’re a daredevil, and you drove through a puddle and splashed her -and me- with mud. Of course, you only focused on me, and rushed me home to get changed, driving like a madman the whole way.” His throat rumbled with laughter and he clutched his shaking sides for support.

You blushed. “Oh dear, I suppose I should find her and apologize.”

He wiped a tear from his eye as he lifted his head to look at you again. “My wife doesn’t apologize. Or rather, she only apologizes to those who deserve it. And I love that about her. So, you need not apologize.”

“Your… w-wife?” You coughed.

He nodded, gazing at you fondly. “We can waste the last of our precious time together, shuffling through these stacks of papers, trying to find me a bride, but I already know, in my heart, that no one will ever compare to the woman who stands before me now. I’ve already made her my wife once, I can stand to do it again.”

His words echoed in your ears, clashing with the sound of your hammering heart.

And then he smiled that same smile that always made you want to kiss him.

And then you kissed him.

And he tasted like summer.

Taglist: @pixelcafe-network @minasfwoopyponytail @ouiouimochi @inkytypewriter

#my happy marriage #kiyoka kudo #kiyoka kudo x reader #anime fanfic #my happy marriage kudo #lord kudo #han's library

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beaconfeels · 2 months ago

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Alpha Werewolf Chris Argent

Thoughts? 👀

(Also yes I'm throwing stuff at you that's kinda gnawing on my mind rn 😂

Also also yes I'm writing most of these ideas myself - or at least intend to 😂)

I’ve not spent a lot of time thinking about Chris being turned, and even less about him being an alpha werewolf, but there is certainly plenty to think about!

One of the things I think about right away is the fact that Chris wasn’t raised to be a leader, he was raised to be a soldier. He was raised to answer orders without question, to believe in the mission, to ignore anything he sees that doesn’t fit the narrative he’s been given. So it’s interesting to think about him as an alpha wolf with those alpha urges to build a pack.

I feel like I can’t fully trust myself in how I view Chris, because he’s probably the character I project onto the most. I grew up in a cult, so I tend to think about the aspect of him being raised in a certain belief system and then having that turned on its head. So this could be me projecting, but I do think that Chris thought he was doing the right thing, or at the very least, he did a pretty good job of convincing himself that he did. He learned early and often that asking questions and having doubts was frowned upon, if not deadly, so he refused to see anything that made him unsure of the black and white world he’d accepted as truth.

It’s interesting to think about the ways him being turned would flip that even faster and more intensely maybe. I also think whether or not he got turned before Victoria died would make a big difference. If she was alive, would she have convinced him to end his life like she did her own? Would she have even given him a choice?

If she was already dead, I have zero doubt that he would have done everything in his power to stay alive for Allison. Personally, I’m most interested in thinking about the idea in my head where his dad and sister are hellbent on killing him, so he ends up having to rely on the ragtag McCall/Hale pack to save him. Good lord. I’d have way too much fun tormenting…basically everyone in that scenario 😂 (one could also do all kinds of shippy things with it, if they so desired)

Anyway, I feel like there are so many directions someone could go with alpha Chris, and thank you for making me think about it more! It’s fun to put the blorbos on the spin cycle and just rattle them around for awhile sometimes.

#alpha!Chris #teen wolf #asks #I tend not to think about these types of things as much #because I know they’re gonna lead to plotty fic ideas #and my god I struggle with writing plotty fics #I know that means I just need to work at building the skill #but I don’t wanna :P #I definitely am the poster child for kid who got straight A’s and now doesn’t want to do anything she might not be perfect at immediately #not that my non-plotty writing is perfect by any stretch of the imagination #but at least I don’t worry as much that someone will read it and think I’m an idiot 😂

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supergirl000983 · 2 years ago

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The Rancher and the Pilot PT. 3 (maybe final)

Pairings: Jake Seresin x Dutton!Reader

Warning: Language, fighting, Beth being a bad bitch, talk of past trauma.

Also in this Lee didn’t die because I said so!

Y/n looked at Jake with angry sad eyes “There is so much more to life than that Hell Jake.” She said as she began putting her clothes back on Jake following her actions. “What do you mean? I thought things on the ranch were getting better.” He questioned as he finished buckling his jeans. “They are, but now that daddy is governor we are under a heavy watchful eye. I mean Rip and I can’t even take someone to the fucking train station without being followed.” Y/n said frustrated pulling her boots back on. “Come on let’s head back inside before they realize we disappeared.” She said grabbing Jake’s hand and pulling him out of the truck. “Plus I already talked to daddy and he agreed it was time for me to get out of Montana for awhile. He also said that being with you in fighter-town would definitely be best.” Y/n said smiling causing Jake to smile knowing that this meant her father wasn’t going to kill him now that he knew. Jake laughed spinning her around. “Ok so does this mean you are coming back with us once leave is over?” Jake asked smiling his million dollar smile. “Yeah I already have some bags packed and I was given permission to take my ranch truck, I know how y’all feel about flying in planes y’all can’t control.” Y/n responded as she leaned up kissing Jake happily. They separated when they heard a fighting commotion come from inside right as Beth burst through the door holding a blonde woman by her hair. “Hey baby sister a little help in here?” Beth said before slamming the blonde’s face into the door then leaving her there and walking back in. The two followed and were surprised to see people trying to break up the fight going on in the middle. They weren’t still long as one woman ran up to attack Jake, but before she could Y/n grabbed her arm spinning her around and slamming her on her back and commenced to beating to fuck out of her. That was all she really remembered while she and Beth were both being put into the back of the police Tahoe. “So…what happened Bethie?” She questioned her big sister that practically raised her. “Some California bitch put her hands on Rip and then came over and told me that they were gonna leave and have some fun with or without me.” Beth said in a straight voice before looking at her sister and both of them laughing hysterically. “Nice hits by the way. Those girls didn’t know what to think when you started beating the shit out of their friend.” Beth said as they both finally calmed down. “Hey Bethie? How are we gonna explain this to Daddy?” Y/n said as she looked at her sister with all seriousness. “You don’t worry your pretty little head about that ok? I’ll take care of it and I’m sure Jaimie is already working on making this all disappear.” Beth said looking at her baby sister who wasn’t a baby anymore she was now a 30 year old woman that had seen a lot of shit in her time on earth. From being kidnapped, shot at, stabbed, and blown up. Beth really didn’t know how her sister was still alive. All she did know was that her sister was one strong motherfucker

After booking they were both put in a cell and made small talk with another woman in there. After a bit they were both bailed out and on their way back to the ranch. “I still can’t believe that happened and that bitch didn’t get arrested.” Beth said walking into the house meeting the eyes of several people including: the Aviators, some of the ranch hands, her other siblings, and their father. “Well why does everyone look so surprised to see us?” Y/n said as she took Jaimie’s whiskey out of his hand. She then walked back over to Beth. “If I remember correctly I made you both promise to stay out of trouble tonight.” John Dutton finally spoke he stood and walked over and stopped in-front of his daughters. Before smiling and walking away to his bedroom. Kayce then stood and walked to Y/N. “You had to date one of my best friends?” He said smiling at his younger sister. “What can I say? He’s the one for me Kayce.” She said looking up at her big brother. “Ok as long as you’re happy than I’m happy.” He said wrapping her in a hug.

“Actually before everyone goes to bed Jake and I have an announcement.” Y/n said as she held her hand out for Jake to hold as he came to stand beside her. “After tonight I will be stepping down as head cowboy. Rip congrats you get to boss these ass hats around.” She said as she smiled at her group of close friends and family that were all family at this point. “ What do you mean your stepping down?” Ryan asked sharing a confused look with Colby. “I mean I will no longer be able to run things for the ranch from fighter-town. I am going to take a least a year off and start my new life with Jake. Yes we will pop in for the Holidays, but I really need to get out of here for awhile.” Y/n said looking at one of her best friends. “I love you all. You guys will be fine without me. Rip is just as much of a hard-ass as I am if not more.” She said laughing poking fun at her brother-in-law who smiled at the comment.

————————Time Skip———————

The next morning they had everything packed into the truck. Everyone was saying their goodbyes. Y/n looked around knowing she was gonna miss her home in Montana. She also knew that it was time to move on. “Hey you ok?” Her father asked coming to lean on the truck beside her. “Yeah I’m just thinking about how nice it’s gonna be not to hear Lee snoring from the other side of the hallway, how I won’t have to hear Jaime bitch about everything, how I won’t accidentally walk in on Beth and Rip anymore, or Kayce and Monica for that matter.” She said looking looking at her father. John laughed and pulled his youngest child his absolute pride and joy into a bear hug. As they pulled back he handed her something. It was her mother’s necklace that her father had given their mother a few days before her death. “Dad…are you sure?” She asked looking up into her fathers eyes. “She would want you to have just as much as I want you to have it.” He said leaving no room to argue. She handed it to him and turned so he could clasp it for her. It was a simple necklace a thin gold chain with a ruby in the middle and tiny white diamonds surrounding it. After it was on she turned around and bear hugged her father again “Thank you for everything. There were times when you could have given up on all of us kids and you didn’t. So thank you daddy thank you so much.” Y/n said with tears in her eyes. All of the other Dutton children stood in a group watching the interaction knowing that after the youngest Dutton was gone he wouldn’t want to talk about it. Everyone finished their goodbyes and the group of aviators loaded into the truck and waited for Y/n to finish her group hug and goodbye with her siblings. After she was done she loaded up and looked at her boyfriend and his friends and smiled. “Alright…let’s head out. Goodbye Yellowstone, Hello Fighter-Town.” She said as they started the drive.

Trying to decide if I want to continue the story, or start a new one.

#fanfiction #imagine #jake seresin imagines #wattpad #yellowstone ranch #yellowstoneimagines #john dutton #beth dutton imagine #beth dutton #rip x beth #rip wheeler imagine #hangman x you #top gun maverick x reader #rooster bradshaw imagine #natasha phoenix trace #bob floyd #javy coyote machado #yellowstone imagine #The Racher and the Pilot

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azacharie95 · 7 months ago

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When your SPM brainrot comes to haunt you and then gives you the best ideas but you’re stuck in freakin’ wRITERS BLOCK- So instead, here’s my take on all of the Count’s minions before they join him + headcannons and anything that comes to mine-

This is mostly just word vomit and it’s not proofread so sorry for all the spelling errors- started this at 3 am and now finishing 12 hours later- yIpPie- maybe some day I’ll have the energy to write all of these down into a story one shot thingy-

The first I want to start with is O’Chunks because he needs some love (and by that I mean I’m about to throw against the wall of ideas because OH BOI-).

O’Chunks suffers from nightmares of the day that all of his men were killed, which also led to him having a really hard time trusting anyone other then The Count thinking they were going to betray him before get got close with Nastasia

I like to think that O’Chunks have always had semi crushes on each other but have been very blind to it since Nastasia was mostly blinded by The Count

Before his life with The Count he lived somewhere near York Town in another town before he had gone to war and got he and his men sold out and murdered (did he watch? Yes. He had to as captain.)

He was then saved before he was killed by The Count but by then the damage had already been done and he was now blind in his left eye and his head had been slightly bashed in making him kinda forgetful about a majority of his life that didn’t come to haunt him in his dreams

Before his life with Bleck, he did in fact have a family that he had to leave behind but now he can’t remember what they look like or even how to get home (or an even worse option, his entire home was raided and ransacked so there was nothing to go back to anyway and he just couldn’t remember what he was missing forever-)

As for his family? I like to think he may or may not have had a wife but he definitely had a daughter who acts a lot like Mimi making him grow very familiar with her quickly

He also really likes grapes for this-

Up next on the chopping block is Nastasia herself, and I’ll be honest I didnt have a lot at first before it hit me like a train wreck in my sleep-

I like to think she was a halfblood of The Tribe of Darkness, her father being of the Tribe and her mother being a kind of vampire/monster that many people feared (hence the similarities of skin tone with The Count)

She was raised by her mother for a long time but was chased for most of her life for not being ‘human’ or the Ancients just really wanted to get her because they didn’t like halflings because it was a waste of their magic potential and dangerous- maybe they were just speciesest- idk

She was caught in a magical trap deep in the woods and left to starve there for awhile up until Count Bleck had found her and freed her (because this was weeks after the Timpani incident so he still had a heart to help others)

Being so grateful and having nowhere else to go, she tagged along with The Count where she was given her more human like bat from so she wouldn’t run into any trouble anymore (that and at first she was sure he was going to kill her for just being alive

Now Dimentio is a really really tricky one because I have some ideas based off of different things I really liked (the idea of him being younger like Mimi is one of them but as for cannon wise I wouldn’t be so sure-)

One things for sure though is I truly believe that he was The Magician’s son and Shadoo was his older sister

His mother and father were the original leaders of The Ancients and The Magician was one of the writers of The Dark Prognostics (it was handed down to each of the original leaders of The Ancients/he or his wife originally wrote it because of vivid nightmares of the future-)

I fully believed that Dimentio’s mom would be like Master of Time or something- making Dimentio call himself the Master of Dimensions (yes I just gave him mama’s boy syndrome- no I will not be taking it back-)

He and Shadoo were close as she was his older sister that took care of them and had very promising magical abilities leading his father to take her everywhere with him to try to make those powers stronger while Dimmy just mostly tried to help where he could seeing as his powers wouldn’t kick in until later and wasn’t as strong as hers at first

While The Magician and Shadoo were away, The Tribe of Ancients was attacked/a spell had gone wrong setting the entire tribe into a state of panic because no one could escape

As a last ditch effort, Dimentio’s mom (What her name would be? I have no clue-) sacrifices herself to save what she came of the tribe and kind of freeze Dimentio in time hidden away where no one could really find him and wake him back up

Now you can play with HCs and CC here and say that Count Bleck and his minions accidentally woke him back up or someone random did because they were looking around where they shouldn’t have been (leading him to either be a child when the game rolls around or he escaped and trains before going to look for The Dark Prognostics because he had no idea what happened to him over 2,000 years)

For cannon I like to think that he escaped and went to go and train to get back his father’s book before ultimately going bonkers because everything he ever knew and loved was violently ripped away from him and he was left alone (making it a big reason why he both despises and adores The Count as having The Ancients blood in him).

So he wants to create perfect new worlds to bring back the world he was forced to leave behind and kill everyone in the process since it’s the worlds fault he was stuck like this anyway

For Fannon tho? I like to think that maybe Bleck had been the one to wake him up and witness his mental break when he realized his entire family and tribe died over 1,500 years ago leading The Count to take care of him forcefully because his bleeding heart over his wife screams “DON’T LEAVE BROKEN CHILD TO GO CRAZY-“

The ultimate reason he betrays The Count is because he doesn’t want his new family to die twice and is willing to do anything to create a new perfect world where he can bring back his original family and bring his new one along even if that means manipulating them to do what he needs to do to “save them” and become the forced king of the new world

Mimi’s is one of the more darker ones IMO and was the main reason that I came up with any of these and decided to throw it onto the internet-

Mimi was raised by her mother and father in a kind of poor situation before being sold (or kidnapped- idk what to go with here) to a wannabe tribe of darkness who wanted to recreate the magic of the ancients no matter the cost

Fully 100% convinced Mimi is a minor (no sure exactly give or take 13-18)

So they started experimenting on her to turn her into a pixel and try to recreate the powers that they used a long time ago but they really messed it up and turned her into a kind of walking corpse

She still could use the powers of a shapeshifter pixel, she just didn’t look the part because they replaced a lot of her ‘human’ parts with metal gears and wires turning her into a walking zombie pixel corpse as a child who only wanted to go home

this is also the reason she kind of has to snap her neck to change from her OG form to her preferred ‘human’ form because she isn’t copying anyone so it hurts more to change into something she wants rather then copying someone else’s while they’re right there (or maybe it is a copy and she keeps a copy of every person she’s copied and it’s just more painful to change into someone else based off of memory or from a long distance? Up to you really-)

The Count had found her because he had heard rumors of people trying to copy after his people and figured maybe it was Timpani trying to find him again but it turned out to be so much darker and killed the wannabes to save Mimi’s life

Since she had no where to go, The Count brought her along thinking that maybe Timpani would like her just as much as he did like a daughter they never could have

She is the silent favorite amongst the minions and everyone knows it minus The Count who says he doesn’t play favorites (yes he does-)

Then we have Mr. L HC simply because he is part of the team and no one will let him think otherwise-

He kind of plays an older brother role to both Mimi and Dimentio (which is why they pick on each other so often and why Mr. L and Dimentio hit heads all the time)

He also gets along well with O’Chunks and they fight/train a lot (I saw this on another person’s HC list and I loved it so I had to add it here-)

Stepping into Fannon territory- He sees Count Bleck and a mentor and boss figure since The Count treats him more like a human then his parents and friends ever did

Even after he isn’t brainwashed anymore he can remember being treated with kindness by the other members and being brought along and invited to things more then his brother and his friends ever did

He doesn’t fully forgive Dimentio for what happened but slowly warms up to the idea of coming to peace about it since no one really wanted to forgive him until they knew why he was so desperate for it

He’s slightly frightened of Nastaisa even to this day because of what happened and that someday she might just snap and jump him again (even if he knows he could take her down perfectly well, he isn’t going try because she’s much faster then him)

Then the dear Old Count himself- picking up random people and children to fill in his broken heart no matter the cost-

Timpani and Blumiere knew each other for longer then the flashbacks gave us credit for (over the span of like 6 months to a year I would think-)

She’s also the reason he had so much light in his heart and hope for other people- to this day it’s her fault that he loves the stars so much and seems to have a child like curiosity about things he doesn’t understand

His father was also highly abusive into making sure his son would follow the right path into taking up the tribe leaving The Count to have many scars on his body along with his heart since Timpani was the only person who ever listened to what he had to say about things (he couldn’t have any friends since he was the chief’s son either so it was like a breath of fresh air to him-)

When his father told him what had happened he believed that his father sent her away while she was dying and so, Blumiere left the tribe to go and look for her before he ever came back to read the Dark Prognostics

5 years passed before he ever returned and his dad tried to convince him to come back only for The Count to murder everyone that was left in his tribe/in the castle they all lived in before reading the Dark Prognostics

As Blumiere died, so did his love for everyone and everything making it so that he was living from a 3rd person POV making him mentally and emotionally detach from his minions who had grown onto him.

It isn’t that he shows he doesn’t care either because he stopped caring about everything they did, only wanting the end of all worlds to come so that he didn’t have to live in the constant said of black and white that his father put him in all those years ago

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learning2fly05 · 2 years ago

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5/21/2023

Hello folks! Its been awhile since the last time I typed in this thing. Since the last post, a lot of things have changed here. I believe I did mention that I applied for another department and possibly was waiting to see if I got hired by them or not. Well, I got hired!! I already went through training and have been out of it for like 2 months. The work has been confusing, but I am learning a lot of new things every day. It was a blessing in disguise with being hired because I was expecting to be taking calls once I was done with training, but that’s not the case. First I got hired during this upgrade which made this department I’m in shut their phone lines because of how many emails we have in backlog. Currently, we are still working on that and no phone calls yet. I suspect by the end of May and or into the middle of June is when we MIGHT get our phone line on and running again. Why I say might like that is because of another surprise that came to me, well, us as a whole team. Since we’ve been doing this all without phone calls coming in, then it may seem we will be a complete offline department forever. Another blessing in disguise is that I thought I would be taking calls, but once I was told that I was in specific team within this team, this team does not take calls. I was dumbfounded by this and happy at the same time. It makes me very happy, on top of recent news that we might just totally be offline all is aligning perfectly since I got hired.

Due to the backlog and being offline, we were given incentives due to the overtime we all been given and told we needed to do. We have gotten a lot of incentives and some have helped with us here in buying things we have been needing to get to fix the house. Sadly by the end of this month, those incentives will be over, but we will still be able to do overtime, in which I have been doing during the week. I tried a couple of times doing overtime during the weekend, but that just didn’t cut it for me since it took me away from my husband and just having time to relax. So I just do over time during the week for 2 hours or so after my shift is over. Also, my husbands shift has changed tremendously to a crappy one from 12 pm to 9 pm while mine is what I had previously before I changed departments. So its been hard on us to have any relaxing time during the week with each other. We try to work things out due to it during the weekends, but errands get in the way as well.

Speaking of incentives, I decided to treat myself to getting a new camera and some accessories with my “pay raise” and the incentives I’ve been receiving and points from work. I upgrade it and now I have a Nikon Z50! I will still keep my old camera, but I already enjoy this new one and its extra features it has. I also just recently just purchased a domain name for my website. This was just sudden, but pricing and time was right. My website needed an upgrade anyways and I deserved a new toy as well.

Guess who’s back, back again?! -facepalm- my sister-in-law and her family are back living in Texas again. They apparently were not happy in Kentucky and decided to move back. They are not living with us currently, so that’s a relief for us. I believe they were attempting to contact us prior to ask us if they can stay with us again, but mother-in-law advised them otherwise. So far, I guess they are doing good living with my mother-in-law, but mother-in-law is now starting to see what we were telling her prior of them, so I’m glad she is now seeing it. You got to experience it to understand it of course.

I also have decided to work on my health. About 2 1/2 years ago I decided to go visit a doctor to do my yearly checkups because at the time I was thinking of leaving the company I currently work for due to the fact of my mental health just not able to bare it and almost broke me. I don’t like doctors and needles, mind you through all this I’m going to say. With this in mind, I thought finally, let me just get what I need done and leave. That appointment just threw me a curve ball in my life. I was told that I have Fibroids and one as big as a grapefruit size, with others smaller than the main large one. My heart sank. I knew something, prior to this, was going on with me and I didn’t know what it was. Then I was recommended one Doctor that I saw and then this Dr was leaving the practice and recommended me 3 other Drs. After seeing the last Dr then, life just got in the way and didn’t do much about it, plus it didn’t sound urgent by either Drs. Now, in April 2023, I took the courage to see one of the Drs recommended to me to only tell me that I shouldn’t be at his clinic since he can’t do much for me, surgery wise and the alike. He is more of a fertility Dr, if we were interested in doing that differently due to this news. So this Dr recommended me a surgeon and well I’m glad I’m doing all this now since its aligning with life now and work too oddly enough. Either way, this Dr examined me again and asked for images and as of now they have been done. She totally recommended me to see this other Dr that uses robots to do the surgery. I already have an appt scheduled for this other Dr. Now, I just need to wait and do the consultation in July and see when this can all be behind me. I will definitely need to tell my parents when I see them in July, all of this. That won’t be taken lightly by them since there will be tears during it. At least I don’t need to have a hysterotomy, the bright side of this all. Told some of my friends at work and they have been through this of removal, so I’m glad I told them just for a heads up of course, but they did tell me their stories and they were positive of course. Everything is aligning perfectly... which usually doesn’t happen. I fear that, too perfect. I hope I’m overreacting with this. Yes, I think I am.

#work #fibroids #surgery #website #digitalblu #photography #family #drs

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elderemorune · 5 months ago

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My Name is August

Before anyone worries, I'm not technically doxxing myself. It's a chosen name, and I wanted to examine it. For awhile, really, but I've been going through it and it took me awhile to figure out what I needed to say about it.

My given name is Christian. My mother, who had me at too young with a man who beat her for daring to carry me (who is not my father, that dubiously given title belongs to the bastard child of American royalty), named be after a terrible Robin Hood movie featuring Kevin Costner whose only redeeming feature is Alan Rickman threatening to cut hearts out with spoons. This name was chosen because she thought it was so cool how Morgan Freeman's character (whose name I cannot recall) referred to Robin as Christian.

Yeah.

I'm sure other people have naming stories that are just as stupid, but this is my blog and we're here to talk about me. Anyway, the choosing of my name rings as thoughtless to me. Just "That sounds cool". Being blunt, this is simply how my entire life has felt.

Proving that point, I was recently diagnosed with CPTSD. No, I have not told my folks, no matter how much I want to, because I know they'll make it all about them. Mom will wail about how it's her fault she was such a bad mom, and dad will stare angrily at me for a moment before recognizing that I'm right and then doing nothing to accept responsibility, let alone prevent future behaviour like it.

I was constantly abandoned. Left to my own devices because to quote my father directly "You were always fantastically independent."

I had to be. In so many goddamn ways, I raised myself. On TV, on video games, on movies and comics and of course, the Internet. As long as I wasn't causing trouble, you said. Unless of course my sister caused trouble but blamed me, and you grounded me despite my protestations of innocence. Often willfully, you later admitted to me. It was just fucking easier to ground me, rather than be a fucking parent and discipline your daughter. And you wonder why I hate her.

And mom, she isn't innocent in this either. See, I was raised on infidelity and harem anime, though both of them deny their charges. Dad saying "Well, that's an unfair characterization" of mom waking us up at 4:00 AM to pack our shit and leave because you were fucking a woman in Seattle? What else would you call that, father? And mom denying that she watched all that much only to buckle as I refer to several (Ai Yori Aoshi, Fruits Basket, Tenchi, etc.).

Beyond the harem anime, which is mostly a joke, she just didn't fucking leave him. She never once put my needs above hers. Desired the financial safety net. "Well, he could have buried me in legal fees" she said, "But I know he never would have done it." she says after some pressing.

My father was verbally abusive to everyone in the house. Physically abusive with only me, though my sister will insist he beat her despite even he himself admitting to only ever hitting me. When I didn't know a math problem's solution, it was a swift smack up the backside of my head. When I 'misbehaved' (didn't do what he wanted when he wanted) it was a smack. This kept on until I got big enough to hit him back. All it took was one punch to the gut to remind this obelisk of a person that he was indeed human, and so was I.

Mom knew about this, of course. She turned a blind eye to it until I hit him back. Then I was in trouble for not toeing the goddamn line. Grounded again for an amount of time that by then no longer mattered.

And let's not forget my fucking sister Amy! Oh boy, what a trainwreck! First off, I fucking hate my sister. My entire life, anything I had to work for, she was simply given because it was otherwise 'unfair' and my folks didn't want to listen to her bitch. She's even gone so far as to co-opt my trauma! We did a exactly one family therapy session, wherein she said, in front of the therapist, that she was scared of dad because he used to hit her. It was silent for a moment, then father coughed. "Um. No. I never hit you. I only ever hit your brother, because I was taught you don't hit girls."

The counselor then chimed in. "Amy, I mean this with kindness, but you and I have been working together for a long time. You've told me before that your dad never hit you. What are you trying to say here?"

Amy, incredible performer that she is, rose up, said "FUCK YOU" at the top of her lungs, and stormed out. A classic tactic from her teenage years, where she would do this, storm out of the house, often barefoot, screaming about how she hoped she starved to death in the woods and maybe then they'd understand how fucking awfully they treated her.

Frankly, I hate all of these people. The worst part is how they know about the ways in which their behaviour impacts me. They are all moving to Florida this month, with my folks moving Amy into their new home for "at most 30 days" (yeah right) and buying her a car.

Amy says the car's a gift, mom says the car has payments on it. I don't know who to believe, and at this point I don't care. I had to work for my fucking car. She didn't. It's the same shit on a brand new day.

Like with my goddamn house.

See, my wife and I got married on October 31st of 2020. It wasn't the wedding we wanted, but it was the one we needed. We got back from the honeymoon, and mom and dad are talking about helping us get a mortgage on a house. Well, Amy hears this, and of course, like the 27 year old woman she is, she pitches a fucking tantrum about how unfair it is that "They get a house and I'm stuck here".

Well, mom and dad can't go about being unfair to their kid, now can they? After all, it would be so unfair to give a married couple a normal married couple gift and not give that same gift to their seemingly single daughter.

So father had a bright idea. Start an LLC, buy a house, and rent it to us.

My wedding gift, reduced to an apartment, turned into a living nightmare, because anything else would have been unfair.

Let's expand on the living nightmare, shall we? Over the course of sharing a roof with my sister, she:

Told us if we got pregnant she'd kill herself. Mom asked us to stop trying while we live with her because of how triggering it would be for her.

2: Threatened to kill herself if we got another dog. Mom and dad asked us to consider how unfair it would be to her and her 'emotional support' dog that she hadn't trained.

3: Called my wife a fat bitch on multiple occasions, including in front of my mom, and then claimed amnesia. "I don't remember calling her that, I never said that. You're taking what I said out of context." She still won't apologize, even when confronted with a recording of her doing it.

4: When she moved her boyfriend in (without asking us, mind, she lied and told us he'd only be staying a few days), he asked for a space in their area. When we were asked to mediate, she said "Why should I have to give up space in my house?" and when reminded it wasn't her house, she stormed out after shouting fuck you at the top of her lungs, barefoot, marching down a very dangerous street in the middle of the night.

5: Did the same stunt again when we got back from apartment hunting in Seattle because my wife dared to tell her to shut up because we'd just got back in the door.

There's just so goddamn much. All of it awful.

So I'm fucking reclaiming me from this.

My name is motherfucking August Jones, and even though they couldn't do it, I fucking love me. I love who I could be, and even who I was, trapped in their cycle of abuse though I may have been. Shit, I still am, but we're working on that.

Mom, dad, if you find this blog entry somehow, and I hope you don't, don't fucking come to me about how this shit's exaggerated or I'm not remembering it right, I am. The axe forgets, you fucking morons, but the tree remembers.

Amy, if you find this, I hope your husband fucking leaves you, takes his kids, and abandons you in Florida. He may be a doormat, but he deserves better than a slathering narcissist maggot like you.

#sad enby hours #childhood trauma #emotions #blog #journal

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angelisverba · 4 years ago

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thinkin’ bout you

in which harry owns a flower shop and has a major crush on a girl who comes in to buy flowers every once in a while (and he’s too shy to ask for her number)

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

warnings: just some pinning and lustful yearning. m for mature...

author’s note: i’ve been working on this forever. not to pick fav’s but i think florist!h comes second to sl23... hes just so.......well, you’ll see!!

* * * * * *

When Harry was given the option to go on a playdate with his car-loving and dirty-nailed schoolmates or spending the weekend at his nan’s house, he would often pick the latter.

He preferred to spend his afternoons frolicking with her Siamese kitty in her wild-flower filled garden, sunbathing in the open grass, or napping on a quilted blanket under the large, round oak tree, with the kitty nestled into his tummy, keeping him warm. When he woke in the arms of his nan as she carried him inside the house for a glass of cool lemonade, he bore a band of pink sunburn over his button nose, and the blue and white striped Mickey shirt was sticking to the areas where his furry friend had provided an extra heat.

So, it was safe to say that from the start, Harry’s tastes weren’t what could be considered ‘average’ or ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ for a heterosexual male of his age in current society.

Not that he ever valued those opinions, but their impressions rang in the back of his loving head when the women who he brought to the comfort of his home made hurtful ‘joking’ comments on how ‘peculiar’ his choice of decor was or giving him prolonged strange looks before shaking their heads and yanking their clothes off so that they landed in a forgotten heap in some unimportant corner of his room.

Granted, he still got a good shag, but it wasn’t enough to fulfill his desires regarding any actions associated with relationships. He wanted someone warm and soft and kind. Someone who wouldn’t judge his home, his music choices, his clothing, or anything else about him. A girlfriend, not a fuck.

Long ago, he’d stopped caring about what others said about him. Adopting this mindset had given him some of the happiest and healthiest moments of his life (albeit occasionally, doubts merged with the ghastly shadows of his loneliness). Business at his flower shop increased as his charm increased with positivity, and a new life within him bloomed like a baby rose bud when he accepted that being single was okay. The ribbons of his bouquets bouncing with an added umf and the mist that landed on his skin when he changed the water in the flower buckets only enhanced the golden hue of his skin.

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit.

Coincidentally, his apartment was located on the floor above his flower stop, and contained a significant amount of singular flowers in vases or bouquets in empty corners to prove it. An array of pastel colors smeared on the once blank walls. Bambi pink in his bedroom, sage green in his kitchen, and a French blue in his living room. The couch was a suede papaya three-seater with black and white checkered pillows, and the coffee table was an emerald-tiled piece standing on top of a geometric lavender carpet, a soft contrast against the dark oak of his floorboards. Harry’s taste in pop-culture, art, and literature was displayed on the frames hanging off his walls. Pictures and posters of his favorite pieces like Matisse’s Blue Nudes and Goldfish and The Dance II. An enhanced, enlarged photo of maraschino cherries and a raven haired pin-up girl. Another glass table by the end of the couch held a silver candlestick and a small statue.

Sometimes, the miniature Greek statue he bought at a thrift store of a man with his nakedness pure and unobscured to the viewers' eyes made his dick bloat against the seams of his pants. If he stared at it for too long, his eyes drawn to the softened cock between thighs that looked so flesh-like even though it was carved out of some clay or ceramic material, his mind would travel to sensual, honey-red places that he hadn’t been in so long. Harry’s imagination explored- as cheesy as it sounds- the sexual aspects of the male genitalia, and therefore his own sexual expeditions and how much he missed giving or receiving a good fuck. More often than not, he ended up with himself in his fist, forehead sparkling with perspiration under the candle lights in his room as his thighs and abdomen clenched with every buck of his yearning hips.

The doorknob of his room was in the shape of an eye, the iris colored a brilliant blue. His king bed- no, frame, just a minimalist white base, pushed up against the wall with two tables on either side, both of them loaded articulately with vintage trinkets and ceramic ring trays shaped like seashells to hold his jewelry. His bedsheets were a stylish combination of pastel colors; lilac comforter, mint and sky pillows. Previously, they had been snow white sheets with strawberry print, but a woman he brought over said they looked like the sheets her five-year-old niece had.

He changed them the week after that.

On the windowsill, a pot in the shape of a white, blue-eyed kitty with vines of string of hearts kissing the floor. A mirror in the shape of a heart with a pink trim besides the lightswitch, above his brown dresser. In the corner, a bookshelf stuffed with books that spilled over the seams, and perpendicular to it, the home of his pet chameleon, Owen (he wanted a cat, but when he went to the pet store and saw the dehydrated creature, he couldn’t leave him there). A 16 x 16 x 30 inch tank filled with a branch that cut across halfway. It was full of all the things he might need, maybe even too much of it, but it didn’t matter because when Harry was home Owen spent most of his time hanging off the collars of his shirts or snuggled in the ruffles of his hooded sweatshirt on his shoulder. The small, color changing friend adored his owner, and only morphed into a mild red color when Harry didn’t feed him more mango.

The renovations occurred in his bathroom; a cherry-red covering the walls because it looked boring before (at least in his opinion). The gold piping of the sink accentuated nicely with the darker color, and the sun seemed brighter when it streamed in through the window above his ceramic claw-footed tub. Owen particularly liked the misty showerhead stall in the corner, and as long as he kept his eyes to himself, Harry didn’t mind it if his green friend wrapped around the showerhead and enjoyed the mimicked tropical atmosphere.

For awhile now, it had been just him and his chameleon (and maybe his mum’s cat if she was going out of town and needed a sitter) but he didn’t mind it.

He got to meet new people everyday within the parameters of H’s Garden, and they all tended to overshare when it came to buying a bouquet. ‘My wife just had our son, want to see a picture?’ or ‘my boyfriend and I have our anniversary on Saturday’ and even ‘my sister had plastic surgery so me and my dad need something that says ‘congrats you look like Kim Kardashain now’ how ‘bout it?’

Stories ranged from sweet, to grotesque, to sad, to funny, and sometimes even evil- Harry didn’t like customers that gave flowers as a ‘fuck you’. He thought it was a waste of beauty and sacrifice. Flowers were living things that had their lives cut short in order to provide momentary satisfaction and life long memories to the receiver, not bitter feelings of revenge. Although it was still business, it pained him that such a pretty arrangement be misused. It was one of the cons of his work. He created what he considered to be masterpieces, and had no control over where they would end up, whether it be as a centerpiece for a candlelit dinner, or in the trash after the apology for a strong argument hadn’t been enough.

However, Harry couldn’t deny that he didn’t love his job, because he did.

When he turned 16, he’d determined that he wanted a peaceful life with a job that wouldn’t bore him. He wanted to be as stress free as possible, with his spirituality as a prominent highlight in his lifestyle. When he turned 18, he had determined that he wanted to be a florist, and began to save up to open his own shop with the occasional help of his friends and sister. He refused to take anything from his mother because he wanted to be the one giving her gifts and money and everything good after all of her sacrifices in raising him. Call him a momma’s boy. Harry loved his mother.

Online seminars and college classes became his best friend, teaching him everything he needed to know about accounting, stocks, and how to keep his business going. He was a businessman first, florist second. During the slow seasons (the start of winter and an awkward half-week between summer and spring) he relied on his investments to triple-ensure that he had enough money to stay afloat.

On his 22nd birthday, as a gift to himself, he signed the lease to the building that housed all of the pretty plants in temporary buckets full of flower food and water, and hired a graphic designer to design the cursive, golden letters that spelled out the name of his shop above the front door.

Now, three years later, he lived as happy as can be.

And he wasn’t lonely anymore.

Well, if you wanted to be technical, his relationship status was still a checkmark over the box labeled ‘single’, but his heart couldn’t be fluttering any harder at the sight of one of his regular customers, and she was there, creeping around in his brain to keep him company.

She was the complete opposite of every girl he’d ever been with. She was sweet, kind, funny, and didn’t judge him for the way he dressed, or his profession. In fact, they bonded over things that previous women had… slyly berated him for. The color of his nails, the lace of his collar, the pattern of his flared pants, and even the sheep on his baby blue sweater vest.

She stole his heart the moment she walked through his door with a soft smile on her face, a sparkling gleam in her warm eyes, and placed it in her pocket the moment she said, “it smells lovely in here!”

Harry, awestruck and blushing because well, she was pretty and wore a shade of purple that somehow made her hair look so soft. Two strands of hair were pinned at the back of her head, essentially keeping the rest of it away from her face save for the few baby wisps that rested gently against her cheeks like a lover’s caress. The stuttering, stumbling cupid’s-bow-struck fool replied with, “thank you. It would be my pleasure to help you with anything you’d like,” and that had been his name, signed on the dotted line of a soul contract. Only she was not the devil. She was an angel.

But even then, it wouldn’t matter. If she was the devil, if she was an angel, something in between or something new entirely he wouldn’t care because he was half gone for her already.

“In that case,” she smiled, and Harry’s heart sang a melody it never had before. It was like the sun beamed from the spaces between her teeth and tickled the fuzzy spot beneath his earlobe. She had the most amazing voice, tranquil and clear and ethereal. “I just moved into a new apartment and wanted the place to feel like home. I thought maybe flowers would give it a little life.”

He vividly remembers that the color of her cheeks changed to that of what is called a ‘blush’, but he didn’t know if it was a trick under the light, or a product of his wistful imagination. Her fingers gently skimmed the petals of a rose from it’s bucket near her hip, and one of the straps of the tote bag on her shoulder disrespectfully dropped away from her shoulder. He wanted to simultaneously rush over and fix it for her, and yell at the inanimate object for not being grateful of the fact that it had the opportunity to cling to her shoulder.

But, before either of these inner-conflicts met a sound resolve, her delicate fingers righted what was once wrong, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed because he’d stared for a little too long. He wanted so badly to ask for her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning, but instead he said, “there’s nothing like a bit of something pretty to brighten your day. Did you have something specific in mind?”

He hoped that the meaning of his words wasn’t caught on her, or that would be totally embarrassing and ‘loser’-like.

When she walked out the door with a content smile on her lips, his own heart was beating faster than the flapping of a hummingbird’s tender wings. He was sure that he had never laid eyes on a pair of lips like hers, neither the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought that she might be smiling just for him to see and enjoy.

Of course, it was a silly crush. One that clawed and gripped onto his sweaty palms with no sign of letting go. Maybe, Harry thought, it was because he hadn’t wet his wick in so long, and the interaction he’d had with her had sparked irrational, poem-inspiring feelings within the love cavern of his ribs. Because how could he fall head over heels with someone he didn’t even know? Surely, the swarm of hormone-pumped butterflies in his stomach was the beginning of a dead-end infatuation.

Right?

Harry went that entire day, appalled at the apparent angel he had the fortune of being in the presence of in her short fall from the tender heavens. He wondered where she placed the flowers she bought (an arrangement he was particularly proud of, full of lilac, delicate stems of lavender, and puffs of baby’s breath wrapped with a white bow) and where that tiny extension of him was. At the entrance of her home, right below the place she rested her hand against as she tugged her shoes off? At the center of her table? Maybe besides her bed? Where she would see the purple petals and white of him as he wrapped it every time she woke up or went to bed? He hoped- as much as it was a romantic thought- that it wasn’t the last one. He’s been so awkward, so pink. A blush on his cheeks he hadn’t remembered being there since the time he yelped, startled, at the unexpected pain of a tattoo needle, the artist pointedly peeved. Acting like such a boy.

Right before crawling up the steps of his apartment, heart still bleeding with love-blood from the deadly tip of Cupid’s arrows, he made himself a mini version of the bouquet he’d made her, and placed it at the center of his tiled coffee table.

*********

A few days trickled by, and the memory of her face drifted in and out of his mind like a giant sway of fabric slowly billowing in the wind. He was just so… struck by a slab of awe, stunned by her kind of beauty. Natural, the kind that hooks you in it’s purity, like the golden beams streaming in through transparent curtains on a warm spring afternoon.

Her strawberry lips curved elegantly under her nose, and displayed a smile that leaked some sort of heady drug into the air because the air was sweet when he breathed it in. And when he handed the bundle of flowers over to her, the pads of her delicate fingers skimmed the rough ridges of his knuckles. He wondered immediately what kind of moisturizer she used, and if it smelled like honey or lavender or peaches. She smelled sweet. Sweeter than all of the flowers in his colorful soul shop put together. The colors that belong to her, on her person and worn by her, were more captivating than any of the tones that painted the petals on his plants.

Owen got a kick out of this whole ordeal, though. Harry’s passionate mood had him divulging in munching and nibbling on things that tasted the way he felt; ambrosial, fresh and pure. It resulted in the purchasing of endless amounts of fruit, with many bites given to the tiny chameleon. Mangoes, strawberries, oranges, grapes, pears (Asian pears, if the store carried them, they were Harry’s favorite), peaches and guavas. The sudden craving for fruit might be explained as just a casual craving, but deep deep down inside, Harry knew that it was because he wanted to replicate the feeling that coursed through his golden veins when she giggled at something she happened to find funny.

He wished that he had caught her name. The girl had paid in cash (and left a five dollar tip Harry fawned over), so he couldn’t have read it on her card, and he was halfway between charming and awkward that he didn’t even think of asking for it until the minute the door closed behind her, bells tinkling in announcement of her exit. He wished for a hundred different things, but he was not the type to live in regret. Not anymore. So after about a week of floundering in her memory, he meditated for an hour, tropical incense on one of his bedside tables, and cleared his mind as best he could.

The next morning, he did the same thing. Woke up with heavy limbs, plopped himself down on his blue mat and stretched in various positions, his white boxers hanging low on his hips. His lips and eyes were sticky with sleep, and the back of his nose ached with cold air that he must’ve breathed in throughout the night after forgetting to close the window (again) but the pleasurable twinge of stretching aches between his joints were the perfect way to start his day. They urged his mind to transform into the still surface of water, clear and collected from any unproductive-pinning thoughts towards a girl he would most likely never see again.

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

Harry donned his favorite pair of flared trousers in an earthy brown color, nestled snugly on his slender hips and around his thighs. The tight fit accentuated the way his back tapered into his waist, glutes shapely and sculpted. A maroon sweater vest that had a teddy bear embroidered on the middle of his chest, the small latte-toned stuffed animal seemingly childish, but on him it only directed attention to the spotlight daze of the velvety heart sheltered underneath his breathless plate. Underneath, a mustard long-sleeve shirt with tiny cherries printed on them. Some straight, some tilted or lopsided. His shoulders and biceps were hidden in the floofy bunches of cloth, anonymity given to the true thickness of his ink slathered skin.

He looked like a corduroy dream. A thick milkshake of patterns and colors, but he managed to pull it off.

A tiny gold hoop on his right ear gleamed under the morning sun coming in through the windows and a pearl necklace rested against the downy skin of his throat. Slender fingered tipped with a coat of pure white, with his ring fingers accented in a shimmery pink. Chunky rings adorning the base of his digits; a silver rose, a band of dancing teddy bears (a running theme with him), two gold rings with his initials H and S on one hand, and a simple ruby stud from his graduating class.

He looked good, he knew that he looked good, and was ready to begin a bright, healthy, non-pretty-girl-thought-polluted day. Even the old woman had pinched his cheek whom he had been assisting- a regular-had said he looked like a proper ‘nice boy’ along with ‘when are you going to her a lovely girl to help you run this place, Harry?’. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had momentarily sworn off women until his broken sentiments healed, and they had a long way to go.

In the middle of wrapping a smashing set of tulips and fern stems with a cherry red bow, the bells adorning the top of the door frame dinges, announcing the entrance of another pleasant customer and giving passage to a gust of chilly air. Harry looked up to greet the customer with his usual pleasantries of ‘welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!’, but the words died on his throat in a desperate hussle, just as the little mermaid had given up her voice to meet her gallant prince.

It was his own personal little slice of heaven presented to him on the black and white checkered floors of his shop. Hair loose against her shoulders again, eyes cast downwards to inspect a bucket of fresh daisies that tickled the space above her bare knees. How she could wear a skirt in this biting weather, he didn’t know, and it partially prevented him from continuing his pursuit of admiring her because the first thought his caring mind jumped too was, ‘is she cold? And if so, does she need a sweater? Because I will gladly give her one.’ His second thought, however, was ‘how could someone be that beautiful?’. The third was something along the lines of ‘all my yoga has gone to shit, and I’m okay with that’.

He cleared his throat, tightened the bow around the stems of the flowers in his hands and said, “I��ll be with you in a moment, love!” His head bowed, looking at his work because he wasn’t sure he could afford the medicals for the paralysis that was sure to take over his meek self if they made eye contact so soon. Harry needed a moment of homeostasis, his soul adjusting to her dulcet presence.

The woman he was assisting, Edna, spoke, drawing him out of his daze, but he had been so deeply in thought that he had not heard what she said.

“What was that?” He asked her. He grabbed Kraft paper from the roll by the register to wrap up her arrangement.

“The girl. You like her?” She was smiling at him, wagging a finger the way his nan used to do when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t lie to me, I recognize that look. I’ve given and received that look many times throughout my life.”

The woman was not wrong. With age, comes wisdom, Harry thought, smiling to himself at being caught. A dimple carves itself into his cheek, nestling onto the space above the corner of his mouth as if he had no choice in the matter. The apples of his cheeks were shadowed with a dusky pink, and the tip of his nose was twitching like a rabbit when it stood on its rear and sniffed the air, only he was coy after just being caught and wanted to avoid the question as much as possible.

“I’ve got no idea what y’talking about,” he chuckled, keeping his voice low so that the intriguing stranger in the store didn’t hear that their topic of discussion was her. He moved over to the register to ring her up, and even slid in a discount he applied to customers he liked.

“Next time I come in,” Edna said, passing Harry her debit card, “I hope to hear that you got her number, dear. Don’t let these opportunities pass you up. Life is short. And who knows? She could be the one.” Harry gave her the card back after charging her, and handed her the flowers, too. All the while Edna was grinning at him, shaking her head like she knew something he didn’t.

“Take care, Edna. And don’t forget to change the water every 2 days with the flower packets I placed at the stems,” he reminded her, sweetly wiggling his red-lacquered nails at her retreating woman as butterflies awakened in his stomach in a furious flood of nerves. The girl was looking around, her hands hovering over the up-turned faces of a bundle of lively sunflowers, browsing and quietly humming to herself as she waited.

There was no backing out of this, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t! He didn’t want to back out. The girl was a customer, and he would have to approach her no matter what. But she was so pretty it was also intimidating. He doesn’t remember ever being this nervous while approaching someone, especially one he harbored feelings for. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it was audible.

“Hello,” he wanted so badly to add ‘love’ at the end of his greeting. “Are y’finding everything a’right?” He asked her, his hands wringing themselves, palms moist with sweat from his unyielding need to impress her. The pink tip of his tongue poked out to swipe across his full bottom lip, and soon after that his teeth sunk down into it, nibbling with uncertainty. Harry made sure that he was standing straight, body aligned to face hers because in that psychology course he took once, he learned that it was a subconscious tactic to engage interest and pleasant replies to attempts at wooing another.

At the sound of his voice, the girl jumped, startled at the sudden vibrations of Harry’s husky voice. Her delicate feet, he noticed, skittered on the floor from her tiny jump, and her doe eyes widened, shouldered rising and falling at a quicker pace than before from the new rush of light fear. When she realizes that it’s just him her hand flattered over the base of her neck and her collarbone in attempts to soothe her racing heart.

“M’s sorry,” he whispers, his hand clamping over his mouth, and then lowering to his chin when he speaks again, “didn’t mean to scare y’love.” This time he can’t restrict himself. It comes so naturally, like the endearment was meant for her, and when a flush covers the bridge of her nose his first instinct is to coo at her for looking so cute. The second is a surge of guilt for having scared her to such an extent.

“It’s okay,” she says, a little out of breath. The blush on her face was partly because she was embarrassed at her own reaction, while the other was that she had let herself act so freely and uncoordinated in front of someone that looked like him. Handsome and sweet and eyes so green they refreshed you upon first glance. Like the cool burn of water going into a mouth that had just chewed a stick of minty gum. “I want to buy these flowers.”

God help him. Her voice alone was enough to make him melt. The lilts and melodies of her voice swarming all four of the ventricles in his heart with warmth, and every blood cell that passed contained a glowing heat, buzzing with her energy.

She points to the sunflowers, her gaze lingering on them with longing. A soft smile toying on her mouth, and Harry could see the tendons in her throat stretch as she inhaled to add another thought to her sentence, “Do you sell vases by any chance?” The girl looked at him shyly, her eyelashes almost twinkling as she blinked, and his heart soared, “I had a really nice one in the shape of a big Coca-Cola bottle, and I accidentally knocked it over, so now I have nothing to put them in.”

Harry is incredibly enamoured by subconscious gestures that take over her hands as she speaks, fiddling as if the vase she spoke about was in her hands, all in one piece before it was broken. He’s quiet throughout her tiny ramble, listening and taking note of her enticing antics. She’s looking down at the floor or the flowers or her hands, and when her eyes dance over to his steady gaze, “I’m rambling aren’t I?” she murmurs bashfully.

“No, no it’s a’right. I can look in the back for something if y’like?” He suggested, arrowing a thumb to the ‘back’ he mentioned. “Did y’want anything in particular?”

“Oh, I don’t wanna be a troubling customer!” She squeaked, concerned with becoming a nuisance she didn’t want to be.

“Y’not a bother, love. M’promise. I’ll go look f’you. What color did y’have in mind?” He asked her, tone calm and soothing to reiterate his sentiment. She was not a bother. The only thing about her that bothered him was the fact that he did not know her name, and even that was his own fault for not asking her.

His hands rest on his hips, tattooed cross momentarily hidden by the bunch of his sweater vest as he waits for her to respond, his eyes locked on her mouth, her own tongue subtly licks her lips, adding a sparkly sheen to it that only drove him crazy. Ever the jilted fool, his mind jumps to what it would feel like to kiss her, or what it would feel like if she kissed him in other places. What fruits she tasted like, and what kind of kisser she was. A timid one? With a patient mouth waiting to be broken open with the force of his own? Frugal? Opening her mouth and giving him everything she had to offer.

“Something pink, please. If you have it.” That smile again. One that told a million apologies it didn’t owe, with her eyes pinching at the corners with whatever nonsense culpability she felt. Her voice was sweet, Harry thought, like wind chimes on a summer morning.

Feeling guilty for allowing such dirty thoughts to gallop through his mind when she was so… so pure. Like an angel. Even her way of presenting herself was shy and sweet, yet he was thinking about kissing her. Was that perverted? She was a customer he had seen twice, and his mind was already running wild with luscious assumptions; a sunday topped with a red cherry of sensuality. How awfully dirty of him.

But! But those were not the only thoughts he had. He wanted to ask her what happened to cause her to drop her vase, and where she had bought it. If it was vintage, considering it was a Coca-cola bottle, and if she had any accidents while cleaning up the mess of broken glass. He wanted to hear her thoughts. No, better yet, he just wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to get to know her. To know if she was as nice as she looked.

“‘Course,” he mumbled, his eyes shamefully downcast to the floor. “Be righ’ back.”

Harry stalked off to ‘the back of the store’. Truth was, there was no back of the store containing vases. There was only a small closet with boxes of items he might need around the store, like flower food, rubber bands, and decorative paper for the bouquets. A crate of bottled water for when he got too lazy to climb up the back stairs and into his home.

His home.

Plucking the keys from his pocket, a ring that held a ceramic swan his closest friend Mitch had gifted him with a humble admission of ‘saw this at a thrift store and thought about you, H, I had to buy it’, and five keys: one to the front door of his shop, one to the cash box in the register, one to the mailbox, another to the front door of his apartment, and one to his car. The one to his front door was painted at the head with pastel pink nail polish, so it was easy for him to pick out when he was dead tired after a long day of being on his feet (spunky shoes that he liked to wear sometimes didn’t help ease the ache on his back, and neither did his posture).

The back door that led to the stairs had locks on both the inside and the outside. A deadbolt and chain on matching sides of the door to ensure comfortable sleep at night, and peaceful work time during the day. Not having to worry about curious children opening doors or nosy customers relieved him. It was a little amatuer, but the door made a loud noise when opened because it wasn’t quite level, and he had a tiny key so he could lock it from the outside, too.

A loud shucking noise resonated through the store as he pulled the door open, and then again when he closed it behind him. The delicacy of his dainty yet large hands were nearly comical around the tiny golden pin stud that hung from the chain, almost slipping from his hands with nerves as he slid it in place. Harry didn’t think that she was nosy or anything like that, bit if he was going up to give her a vase of his own personal collection, he didn’t want her to find out and feel even more intrusive that she already did.

He was a huge giver, and upon hearing her say that she broke her flower pot, his mind was already thinking about the perfect one to replace it. It just so happened to be sitting on his shelf with a bundle of dying lavender. Climbing up the stairs (the ache in his thighs was a mere twinge compared to what it was when he first moved here), Harry huffed and thought to himself all the ways he could ask for her name and number.

Listen, I really like y’and would like to have y’number?”

Do y’wanna have my number so we can go out sometime if y’feel like it?”

“Is it alright if I get y’number so we can go out sometime?”

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

Nothing’s making sense to him. The pick up lines he had stored in his head for the rare times he would flirt with a girl were slipping from him. None of them seemed worded right to use with her. Too abrupt or too brisk. Not sweet enough. He wanted to treat her gently and to be worthwhile of her time. Plus, it also had to be smooth enough that it made her forget she was paying him for flowers or it would be awkward. He was a twenty-six man for crying out loud, not a twenty-one year old smile at the bar looking for a good time. This wasn’t a ‘good time’. This was… a courting. An inquiry to a relationship. A rose rose in a candlelit room.

Harry opened his front door and moved in a quick jog to a table besides his hi-fi that held a translucent pale pink glass, fat at the base before twirling and widening a few inches at the lip. An image of a nude mermaid puffing out at the front like an engraving. Cuddling it into his breast, he grabbed the lavender, speed walked back to his kitchen where his toe banged against the metal of the trashcan as he pressed on the lever to open it. He hissed fuck under his breath and shucked the dead lavender into the bag before turning back to his door, closing it behind him, but not locking it because he didn’t want to keep her waiting. His feet moved quickly down the stairs, the one hand not holding onto the vase cupping a hand over the side of his hips that held his keys so they didn’t make much noise.

The button on the chain slipped from his fingers a few times from their repeated clamminess, and when he was ready to finally twist the knob, he paused to take a breath and collect himself. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fixed his collar, and dusted off his pants legs. He wanted to look perfect for her.

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured to himself. He had a good feeling about this. About her. And if he messed this up because he looked bad or said something weird he would kick himself into a muddy ditch.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and calmly walked back, “I’ve got the last one,” he said, tapping the tip of the vase with his pointer finger. It was a lie, right through his teeth, but he was happy to tell it in return for the way she was looking at him in that moment. His eyes rounded out as he approached her, like the curves of hearts that made up the heart-eye emoji, or the puppy-dog face. Just another physical display of his growing affinity towards her.

“Oh my god!” She said, “It's so pretty!” The trapped crystals in her irises twinkled with bewilderment at the treasure Harry’s presented her with. She’s got a smile on her face, and he can’t help but think, ‘wow, she looks like a freshly bloomed white lily’.

There’s a vintage print hanging in his corridor, a ‘flower language chart’ with different types of flowers and a sentence beneath them describing the messages they send. For example, red carnations= my heart aches for you. The description beneath white lilies reads ‘my love is pure’.

She asked him if it wasn’t too pricey, and he made up some fake sale he had going on about a hybrid BOGO in which if she bought an arrangement she would get a vase included in her purchase (he added “I’ve got a shipment of new ones coming in an I need the space cleared out before they get here” just to make sure his fib is believable.) And he explains this so shyly. Harry can’t keep his eyes locked on hers because she’s staring at him with an intensity that lets him know she's really listening, and it makes him squirm. The tips of his fingers tap against the vase, and he’s tripping over his tongue, which is ridiculous because he already talks so slow.

“I guess I was right in waiting then,” she said casually, waiting for Harry to finish ringing her up.

His finger froze over the touch screen of the sleek, modern device (he wanted nothing but the best for his store) and listened to the exciting roar of blood through his eardrums at her words. I guess I was right in waiting then? What did that mean? That she was planning on coming back to see him and didn’t? Of course, it could also mean that she was going to buy something else somewhere else, but he couldn’t stop the vine of ripe hope that swelled around his chest. And she looked so apprehensive while saying it. As if she was walking on glass and was looking for cracks as she stepped. As if she was waiting on him to catch on to something.

Harry cleared his throat and looked at her through the corner of his eye, trying to be as discreet as possible as his fingers continued their deliberate work on the screen, “What d’you mean, love?”

“I was going to stop by sooner, but I just got in my head about it,” the girl shrugged, and adjusted the ends of her cardigan so they wrapped around her torso. She had a different bag this time, one of those reusable market bags that was made up of holes, and it was filled with two books and a can of green tea from the vegan store down the street. Harry thinks he can make out one of the titles on one of the spines, which looks suspiciously similar to something that he has on his own shelf.

“Why would y’get in y’own head about coming to m’flower shop, hmm? It’s hardly that intimidating,” he chuckles to play off the dashes of pink and red that are painting themselves across the bridge of his twitching nose, “I don’t bite, either.”

And he hopes that his wistfulness isn’t meddling with his vision because he swears that he can see a matching reaction on her own doll face. “I know! I know, it’s just that I can’t help it sometimes. Talking to other people makes me nervous.”

Harry could coo at her right now. He doesn’t, though. He nods and smiles at her before reading her total out to her, “That I get, too. But y’doing just fine with me, love.”

Waiting patiently as she digs through her bag for cash, he tries to not stare. However, it’s impossible. His eyes had a mind of their own dragging against the forces of his will to feast on her image again. Her hands and the tip of her nose. The base of her neck and gentle swell of her clavicles. The swoops of hair that hung in a curtain from her shoulder as her head tilted in search, and the how her teeth bit down into her lip in concentration. Harry counted the amount of times her eyelashes met her waterline in those few seconds of comfortable silence. Three.

“I thought I had cash on me today,” something in her bag clicks, and she pulls out the rectangular card Harry’s become familiar with, holding it out to him between two deft fingers, painted with red hearts on a white base. “I guess I used my last twenty at the organic food store down the street,” she said.

“It is pretty easy to get lost in there, isn’t it?” He took her card from her, and tried not to make it obvious that he was eager to read her name off of it as he inserted it into the machine. The embossed letters into the plastic read y/n y/l/n, and when he turns back to look at her, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his boyish features.

Y/n.

Y/n, y/n, y/n.

This is what it must feel to be let in on a secret that’s worth millions of dollars. It must, because Harry’s heart is soaring with a closure he didn’t know he needed. Y/n, y/n. Her name tickled him. Stroked him. Lathered him with the honey smoothness of the beeswax shampoo he bought at that fateful organic store. It was a fitting name. Sometimes, one could tell a person ‘you know, I actually thought you were a Amy or a Jessica’, because their looks and style just didn’t match the strength or modesty of their name. But not y/n. It fit her like a glove. There was no other way to make sense of the way Harry’s brain was thinking. The name was her.

“What?” Her lips quirk up into a smile and her eyebrows dip in confusion. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she have something on her face? Here she was, opening up to a cute stranger and she had something on her face? This, she thought to herself, is humiliating. Her finger dusted off non-existent crumbs from the corners of her mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

“No! No, no.” Harry’s careful beam simmered down from it’s previous brightness, and his hand nervously filed through the swoop of chocolate curls sitting on his head like a cinnamon roll. “I just think y’name is pretty thas’ all.”

He murmured the last part so that it was practically incoherent, and lowered his gaze as a searing heat stretching like saran wrap around his head and the divot on the nape of his neck. Oh, God. He was fucking blushing. Great Harry. A normally favorite among the ladies had been reduced to murmurs and thick, uncoordinated movements.

Like dropping her card when she piped up again.

Voice as small and quaint as his had been, "you think my name is pretty?” Her fingers are wrapped around the frail straps of her bag, tight enough that her knuckles were white and Harry was scared that she’d bury her fingernails into her palm.

“I think y’very pretty.” He whispered back. He can’t even bear to look at her in fear that he’s totally fucked himself over once and for all. His logic was this: what girl wants to be told by the guy they’re buying flowers that they’re pretty after he reads her name from her debit card? Especially one who (if outside female sources are to be believed) dresses “the way my mother did when she was a girl in the seventies”? Jesus, fuck. He must’ve looked ridiculous.

Harry opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so unorthodox in his workspace, a breath sitting on his tongue with words ready to spew out, but the bell began to chime and it yanks his head from the register to the front and instead he said, “welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Flustered and full of regret, the flower connoisseur returned his wired gaze back to y/n, who… was smiling at him? The kind of smile that said ‘oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that. Now please say it again’? Was he… dreaming? Did he have to pinch himself in order to verify that he wasn-

“Thank you... what’s your name?” Y/n looked at the card from his hands and sunk her hand- carefully, as to not get her fingers stuck in any of the tiny holes- and there was another clicking noise before she took her hand back out. That angel-like smear of girlish happiness was still on her, decadently radiating positivity and secret affection. Goodness leaked from the seams of her bones; through the cracks of her breastplate, radiating from her chest to Harry’s. He could feel it now. He could feel that his previous assumptions about her nature were true. She was altruistic and tender, like the inside of a bird’s wing.

“Harry. M’name’s Harry.” This time, he didn’t hide his happiness. Even his eyes shone with a heightened, clear and sparkly shade of liquid evergreen. The joy that bounced inside of him like ricocheting metal balls in a pin game machine. His slender hand, fawn-skinned and graceful like the legs of a deer, stretched out between them. His mother had taught him that along with the first introduction of his name, a handshake must be present, always. Dipping his head slightly, and his words spongy with love-ditz, Harry rumbled, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”

She placed her hand in his, and was practically swallowed by only his palm. He curled his fingers around her, thumb and middle finger overlapping around the clammy center of hers. So she was nervous, just as he was. Y/n was trained on their embracing limbs, and he could feel a spot on his neck where the skin palpated from the rush of blood as she observed their entwined digits. Their hands moved up and down, up and down between them for longer than necessary until her chin twitched back up to meet his, and she blinked mawkishly, slowly, like the videos of rehabilitated barn owls Harry sees on his Instagram.

Then, suddenly, as if she remembered she was not the only one present, y/n jolts upright and shakes her head dazedly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry. I like your nail color,” she added.

He’s cheesing. A shit-eating grin too big for his face and it carves dimples into the flesh of his cheeks. His name on her tongue had never sounded so appealing, like it was made for her and only her to say. Not even the turtle-doves that cooed outside his window in the mornings sounded as beautiful as she did saying his name. And she complimented her nails! She hadn’t scrutinized him like others had, instead, she displayed her admiration for them. No one- well, actually he can’t say that without offending Mitch- no female of his age had ever received him with such open-mindedness as hers. If he didn’t have any self-restraint, he would giggle. Instead, Harry pulled his hand back so that their perfect moment wasn’t sullied with bouts of bad timing, “thank y’love. I like yours, too. You’ll have t’come over sometime and paint mine, yeah?”

Y/n laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been too bold, “I’d love too!” With glee frozen on her, she turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who was browsing the flowers Harry had in buckets, “I don’t want to hold you back from a customer for so long. I’ll stop by again soon, Harry. Thank you so much for your help.”

The moment her hands reached for the wrapped bundle of sunflowers and the mermaid vase, a metaphorical grey cloud of rain and thunder manifested in the space above his head, and blocked all of the sunshine from spanning across his toned, lithe body. Did she really have to go? He wanted to whine. Maybe even wrap himself around her ankles like a child that refused to leave the park. They were only just getting to a mutual spot of comfort! Forget the other customer, he wanted to shout. Harry would kick them out and flip the sign to ‘closed’ if it meant only a few more minutes in the presence of her candy-coated charisma.

But he knows that’s unrealistic, and settles with, “it was my pleasure, y/n,” a flirty wink (at least he hopes it is), “I’ll be waiting f’your next visit.” His taffy lips wrapping effortlessly around his smooth words, fueled by her welcoming receptiveness to his advances. It would be easy to be himself in the future, a little smoother and eloquent in his language and feeling. He was usually clear with what he wanted from anyone, and made it a pleasurable experience in all aspects for both parties involved (once it was three). Harry wanted to sweep her off her feet, and he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. Revel in that feeling of blooming emotions in a new relationship. A healthy one, in which he wasn’t receiving back-handed compliments all the time.

He wasn’t superficial enough to push anyone off the table based on looks alone, but it did help that y/n had the disposition of an angel. An ethereal voice, supple lips that looked so silky and soft they had to feel that way, too, and hands that felt so tender in his. Perfect for holding on a late night stroll, or over the center console of his car when -if they go out on dates.

What really hooked, reeled, and sinked him, though, was the fact that she was so nice to him. From the start, she’d been nothing but polite and sweet with him. Don’t even get him started on the way he swooned at the tone of her voice when he said that her name was pretty! So quiet and velvety, careful and calculated like she wanted him to know that it was okay. That she wasn’t thrown off by his comment. He nearly toppled over, clutching his heart with his legs jutting straight up into the air like a frightened goat.

It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing the sad notice of her exit that Harry realized he passed up the perfect opportunity to ask for her number, and as he kicked himself over it, he walked with the perfect customer service face he could muster to help the other person in his store.

***

Harry was having a shitty morning.

Not the kind of morning where every aspect of his routine is a terrible mishap, but like the water being too cold and the stove not working or the bottle of oat milk in the fridge being empty so he couldn’t make coffee. No, everything was fine and rolling smoothly, as it should.

His water was the perfect temperature and ran down the toned bumps and divots of his muscles like the relaxing thrums of a lover’s caress in the midst of prowling heat. As soon as it hit his back, he released a sigh of contentment, his shoulders hunching and head rolling back and his hands roamed his shoulders and the back of his neck, rubbing away any aches that existed. The branch of eucalyptus that hung from the golden pipe of his showerhead fused a thick minty scent into the steam that fogged the glass wall, and the calming aroma helped the tendons loosen like the deflating limpness of untied shoelaces. He spent a few minutes just standing there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and feeling his lungs open and stretch beneath his rib cage.

It almost made him wish that he’d opted to use his tub for a hot bath instead.

He was able to cook an egg just fine on his stove, with dashes of Everything Bagel Seasoning with a side of avocado and a slice of toasted cranberry walnut bread, the same thing he had every morning. The carton of oat milk was brand new from his trip to the market the day before, and his coffee tasted the same as it always did. But… he was just... sad. An melancholy soreness that eroded against the insides of his body, consuming him slowly but surely and leaving him with a lost feeling of emptiness and unimportance.

He thinks he might know why he’s feeling this way.

While he’s stirring his scrambled eggs, he’s wondering how y/n likes hers. Over easy? Sunny-side up? Scrambled, like him? Did she even like eggs in the morning? What did she eat in the morning? He knows that some people ‘aren’t hungry’ in the mornings, though that’s only because they’ve gone hungry in the mornings before for an extended time period, and after so long of not feeding their growling stomachs, their brain discontinues the signals of hunger. Harry hopes that isn’t the case with y/n, and that she’s eating the proper three meals a day every day.

And while he dipped a mini vegan chocolate croissant that he got at Whole Foods, he also wonders what she likes to dip chocolate croissants into, or if she even likes chocolate croissants. If she was a person who likes sweet treats, like strawberry tarts with powdered sugar over them or something lighter, like fruit cut into small squares in a bowl. When Harry was younger and would visit his nan on the weekends, she would pick fresh strawberries from her garden and cut them up for him when he’d woken from his nap. Sometimes, she would even sprinkle half a tablespoon of sugar over them. He wonders if she’d ever eaten strawberries like that.

It’s been a week and a half, he still hasn’t seen her, and his heart is yearning.

Harry knows he’s not in the correct headspace to assist other people with a cheery disposition about an hour before opening time, and decides it’s best if he writes a note on the door about how the shop wouldn’t open that day because he didn’t want to taint the reputation of his business by snapping at a customer for the only bundle of sunflowers he had, or dissolve into a puddle of love-sick tears in the middle of ringing someone up. Though really the notice just says ‘H’s Garden will not be opening today. Sorry for the inconvenience!’ followed by a frowning face and a lopsided, filled-in heart.

Harry drags his feet back up the stairs, his lower lip jutting out in a discreet but depressing pout, and grabs Owen from his tank so that the chameleon could curl into the shoulder of Harry’s hoodie while he moped on the couch to sappy rom-coms that would only make him think about her more. At least there was someone there with him, even if his small green friend only used him for mangoes and papaya. They sit together for the entirety of Romeo + Juliet, and when it’s over, Harry’s sniffly and standing up to return Owen to his enclosure and to clean because the riotous emotions that whirl within him are too much to process while sitting down.

Cleaning wouldn’t help him solve his problems, but it would help him cram all of his worries into a tight corner at the back of his mind- sort of like when dirty laundry began to overflow in the hamper and it requires extra force to shove it all in, only to come all back out like a memory sponge. His tormented thoughts on y/n could be compared to a dramatic inner monologue, very similar to how Romeo feels about his Juliet. But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and y/n is the sun. Harry has the play on his book shelf (the one with the side-to-side modern English translation because he was never quite gifted in the English department) and as he reaches for a bandana to tie his hair back, he finds himself resonating with a particular line: parting is such a sweet sorrow.

There was no need to change any of his clothing, since he was already dressed in one of his more impromptu outfits; grey sweats and a white t-shirt that read ‘women are smarter’ in black across his chest. He tied the red bandana into a knot at the back of his head, and lifted it over his chin so that it settled on his forehead, sweeping his hair back with a final push back. It doesn’t get in his way when he crouches to clean his various tables, spraying cleaning products with his shirt pulled over his nose, another organic product that’s supposed to be less harmful and smells like cinnamon and sandalwood. His shoulder blades begin to ache because he’s being a little more aggressive than he has to be, but the green tiles were sparkling so he was content.

He washes the dishes, mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the carpets, cleans Owen’s habitat, and tidies the mail that piled up on the table when he finally calls it quits. Scouring his brain for something to do, to keep him busy- his brain busy, Harry settles on the floor with his back to the edge of his bed. He’s shirtless now, and is in need of another shower but he’d rather not because he knows he might end up crying over the possibility that he’s scared y/n off. There’s a book in his hands and a Frank Ocean record playing softly in the background that mentions something about ‘I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?’ and it’s not helping his case at all.

It’s no use.

There’s a plague of darkness buzzing like cicadas in his ears. He fears rejection and criticism. That maybe, she was only pretending in order to make the situation more pleasant so it ended sooner. Most of all, he feared that it would always be this way. That he would never find someone who embraces who he is as a person. Always met with mean side-eye glances or second looks of displeasure and confusion. It isn’t always that way, though, because then that would mean he gets absolutely no action, and that isn’t true.

Harry is very… well-educated in matters that concerned sexual intercourse, but it was always a one-night stand ordeal. It was never ‘I really like you we should go out sometime’. In fact, he noticed that only time his approaches were well received were those in which he was dressed in a calmer manner. Simple, solid colors with sneakers or a t-shirt. Girls would flirt back, make good conversation, allow him to buy them a few drinks, and when he’d take them to his apartment they’d ask why he lived on top of a flower-shop, and if it was his sister or female-friend’s palace that he was crashing. Sex would ensue, but his heart wouldn’t be as present and engaged as he wanted it to be.

Wrong. It was always so fucking wrong, and God, if he didn’t get out of this apartment he’s going to breakdown and cry and there’s no one to call to come over because Mitch is on a trip with his girlfriend, Sarah, and his other friend Jeff is on his honeymoon in Sweden. They were the only two on his mental speed dial list during the rare occasions he had a crisis, as they were the two that Harry had ever really opened up to. Mitch was a bit closer to his heart. They’ve known each other since their school days and practically grew up together (at one point they had small crushes on each other, which were confessed years down the line). Jeff was the owner of Winsome where… where y/n had mentioned spending her last twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have an issue opening up to them. He liked opening up to them, but he didn’t understand why they were the only two that ever truly opened their arms to him.

A walk, he decided, would help him… air out his brain. Calm down. Breathe a little deeper, a little easier.

He threw his white shirt back on, and a forest green sweatshirt that donned the emblem of the school he went to earn his business degree that fit him wide around the shoulders and felt like a marshmallow. Putting on a pair of beat up shoes, he shoved his keys into his pocket, hobbling and nearly losing his balance because he was moving way too fast. The door closed behind him with a slam, and even though he was still wearing the bandana around his head, wispy stray curls framing his face in a wild mane, his distress palpable through his appearance, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out and feel the cool air against his skin.

There’s a backdoor behind the stairs that will take him to a small alleyway that leads to a back parking lot where other shop owners that live at the top of their stores on the same side of his street parked their cars. He unlocks it from the inside, and throws his shoulder into it, desperate to her out. When it shuts behind him, he doesn’t turn back because it’s the kind to lock from the outside when closed. His fingers curl into the ends of his sleeve so that the tips of his fingers (nails now changed to a sparkling silver color) are the only parts of his hands visible.

Rounding the corner, he whistled the cheeriest tune he can muster. His lips are puckered and his cheekbones high with the extension of his mouth. He’s not very happy on the inside, though he remembers reading something somewhere that if you pretend to be something long enough, you’ll eventually become it. If he pretends to be happy, then he’ll actually be happy.

Right?

Harry rounds the corner of the parking lot and turns on to the main street. It’s only two in the afternoon, so there's people crawling in and out of shops anywhere. He even sees a man and a woman peeking into the window of his store, and he would feel bad if he wasn’t in a shitty mood already. He’s so out of it, that he nearly yells ‘get your hands off my windows!’. He doesn’t though, because for a moment the woman becomes y/n and the man becomes him, wrapping a ringed hand around her waist and whispering in her downy ear ‘they’re closed, darling, let’s go somewhere else’ and she straightens dejectedly, pouting playfully and standing up and her tippy toes so that she could press a quick kiss to his lips.

That image fades though, and the couple continues with their stroll, hand in hand, and his heart is wrenching, writhing and trying to yank itself free from it’s place in his chest because it hurts too much to stay.

Cars whizz past, and he skirts in and out of people on the sidewalk, keeping his pace fast and focused. There’s no intended destination, he’s just moving with the intent to forget the pretty girl who haunts him. Her voice is all he can hear. Her smile is all she can picture. And the rest of her is all he can imagine, which is exactly what hurts the most. Imagination only goes so far, fulfils so much with uncertainty of what the truth was and what wasn’t. Harry could imagine her with her feet up on the lip of a bubble filled tub, a glass of wine in her hands, but then…what kind of wine did she like? Or did she even like wine? And did she even have a bathtub to stretch out in after a long day?

He curses the crimes he may have committed in past lives to deserve this torture. This unbearable pain that felt like he was being dunked in a slow-acting acid. He can do nothing about it but keep walking with labored will power. He passed his shop, and a bakery and a small thrift store that sells used clothing for way too much money. At the propped open double-doors of Jeff’s Winsome, he decides to talk in and browse. There’s so many items that smell good and taste good, that it was fun to just walk in and look.

“Back again so soon, H?”

Spinning on his heel, Harry comes face to face with Niall, a brunette, fit, Irish bloke with a chummy smile and a killer sense of humor. The two have brokered a sort of friendship, considering the amount of time (and money) that Harry spends there. Niall has even started calling him ‘H’ in silent homage to his flower shop.

“Y’know I can’t stay away,” Harry attempted to joke, his lips pulling up in a weak smile, “plus, I think I needed s’more of the peppermint essential oils f’my diffuser.”

“‘Course ya do! You're worse than the bloody vegan mums that come in asking for gluten free baby powder!” Niall cups a hand over his mouth and loudly whispers to so that only Harry catches his verbiage. There was a woman in the back of the store, looking through soaps in the limited kid’s section, the same exact kind that Niall was speaking about. “Go on and look around then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He said.

Harry only nodded his acknowledgement, and moved in between wooden walnut shelves. The entire store had a caramel brown color scheme, with only the inventory adding color to it. Macramé potted succulents and plants added to the natural, outdoorsy feel. Winsome had an interesting mix of smells from all of the aromatherapy based products it housed, but it only added to the appeal.

Currently, he held a packet of four lip balms that advertised to be ‘100% all naturally derived ingredients with no artificial additives' infused with ‘healing power of crystals’, two of them ‘citrine cherry' flavored, and the remaining ‘garnet guava’. The brand name is something in Italian that he can’t read, packaging thick and a triangle made of arrows in the corner signaling it can be decomposed and/or recycled. He had the same exact ones at home, only they were all misplaced and-

“Harry?”

A small, timid voice called his name from behind him, and he froze. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had repeated over and over in his head for the past week, waiting for her promised arrival with a hopeful heart.

His eyes go wide with recognition, body still and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. His heart begins to rump at a furious speed, loud in his ears like a million stampeding hooves. The packaged products in his hands shake, and then she speaks again, “Harry, is that you?”

Is this really happening right now? He’s embarrassed at having been caught with lipstick in his hands of all things, but he can’t put them back now. It was too late for that. He lets them hang at his side, and turns around. He hopes there isn’t perspiration dripping from his temples because all of a sudden he wants to yank his sweater off.

Harry turned, slowly. He feared that if he moved too fast she would fly away like a startled dove.

“Y/n…” He’s breathless, but he manages a pitiful quirk of the corner of his mouth, which he licks over right after, “hi.”

She’s wearing a dress this time, frilly at the hem which fell just above her knees. It’s pink and covered and lined with blood red trim at her forearms. A string of pearls glistens at the base of her throat, and her lips are covered in a sheen of lipstick. Her hair, however, is a tousled mess, pieces of it framing her face and untucked from her bun as if she had been jostling around. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold, and clearly that thin beige cardigan hanging off her elbows is doing nothing to keep her warm.

Y/n smiles at him, with the same shakiness, “f-for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong p-person.”

It’s quiet again, and they’re both fidgeting. Y/n’s knees knock together as she shifts her weight from foot to food, and Harry idly rubs his finger under his nose and sniffs boogies that aren’t there. She’s staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on her heels and he can’t think of anything to say because he’s so paralyzed by the fact that she’s actually standing in front of him, and looks as gorgeous as ever. Had he somehow manifested her presence?

While she’s hiking up the ends of her sweater so that they’re situated properly on her shoulders, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Aren’t y’cold?”

Her head snaps up and she peeks at him from under her lashes while flattening a hand at her thigh, “a little bit.”

Harry watches her tuck her hair behind her ears and wonders if she came walking from her apartment again. In the cold. Dress as she was. Not that he had a problem with the way that she was dressed! He understood that sometimes when people grew bored they used the smallest occasions to dress up and have some fun and get out of their homes. He did it too, sometimes. To clear his head. Hell, isn’t that what he was doing now?

“D’you need a ride home?” He stumbled over his tongue to backtrack, not wanting her to think that he was a wierdo or anything like that, “t-that is if y’walking, I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything like that. S’bit chilly out today.”

Y/n smiles shyly at him, a blush on the highest points of her cheeks, and rubs the side of her face against the fabric of her cardigan, “thank you, for the offer, but uhm… it’s my friend’s baby-shower-gender-reveal thing today and I came with my other friend to some last minute gifts and some flowers. I was going to buy some stuff from here because she’s crazy about the whole ‘no preservatives’ and all but, and I was also going to stop by your shop to buy some flowers, but I saw you were closed so I…I’m rambling again.” She sputtered out the last bit, and pressed the tips of her three middle fingers to her lips to stop the words from coming out.

Harry smirked at her antics, but it’s more of a repressed smile, and the rest of his humor gleamed in the sea-glass of his eyes like a message in a bottle.

“S’alright, love.” He’s still holding the lip balms in his hand, and he can feel the moisture that’s collecting on his palms dampening the Kraft like material as he gestured to her dress with the tip of his chin. “Y’wearing pink. I take it y’want the baby to be a girl?”

“Actually, I know it’s a girl. She told me,” y/n pips, shrugging smugly.

Harry laughs at her this time, “Did you finish with all your purchases here? I can make an exception and open up f’you.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t wanna bother you! Because if this was your day off then-”

He lifts a hand to get her to stop, and uses the opportunity to twist around and put back what he had in his hands. The conversation is flowing so smoothly now, that all of his previous worries are gone. He can only focus on her and the way her eyelashes fluttered and the crystalline sparkly in her voice.

“Y/n, it’s fine. D’ya finish here? We can head over to the shop now if you’d like.” Harry points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door.

“Uh, no. I just got here so I still have to go grab some things,” she said, pushing her hair past her ears again. He thinks that she can probably tell the disheveled state her hair was in, because she begins to pop off a pin in her hair to readjust it. He doesn’t mind it, though. He thinks she looks cute. Angel-like.

He nods, rolling his hands into fists within his sleeves so that the cuffs hang over his knuckles, and tries not to trip over his legs as he backs away. “A’right. I’ll wait f’you in the front, then. Take y’time, love.”

“‘Kay,” she gleams at him, biting down on her bottom lip, and Harry turns away fully before he starts whining about how cute she is or before there’s a dent in the heather grey fabric of his sweatpants.

At the front, Niall has his chin at the palm of his hand, and as he gets closer, Harry lifts his head to see that the brunette is wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. There's a shit-eating grin on his face that clearly points to a mountain of teasing in the near distance.

“A little love-struck, mate?” He said, as soon as Harry was within hearing distance. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down, he thought.

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.”

Silver glitter sparkling on his nails, and his gaze strays to the floor, bashful of how clear his affection was. He turns to rest his bum against the counter and pulls out his phone to appear busy as he waits for y/n, mindlessly opening Instagram to have something to do (and to stop him from glancing at her ever two seconds).

“Yup. I knew it. Have y’asked her out yet?” Niall doesn’t stop to let Harry refute his question, “y’know she comes in sometimes, after stopping by your place? And she just will not stop talking about how nice yeh were to her.”

Harry’s head snaps up from his screen so fast, something at the back of his neck creaks with the force. Instagram is long forgotten.

“What? Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come as aggressive as they do, but the thought of her speaking to someone else about him is… well, it’s thrilling.

Alarmed, Niall’s hands come up near his face in the motion of surrender, “no, man! Dead serious. Think she likes yeh, honestly.”

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

Niall is about to respond when a quiet voice breaks their stares, “I’m all finished.”

“Already, babe? I’ll rig ya up, then!”

He’s quick to slide the few products over the scanning square, and y/n and Harry stand beside each other silently, their height difference laughable. Niall’s gaze flickered between them with no commentary, and his lips pucker with a wiggling smile when he finally announces her total. A bit too much for a small changing blanket, oatmeal-based baby lotion, pacifiers with a lavender infused towel attached to ‘aid with goodnight night’s sleep’, and a bamboo hairbrush with a tuft of soft bristles.

Nonetheless, she provides the money with a pleasant smile. Harry can see a bit of tightness around her eyes that suggests discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything. Niall hands her a paper bag with her purchase, “there yeh go! Have a good day now, y/n! And be good, to Harry!”

Harry’s eyes widen at Niall’s last comment, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in him to not reach the other counter and whack him in the back of the head. Instead, he shakes and ducks his head in near shame.

Y/n, however, quips back with “I’ll be nice only if you’re nice,” and bumps her shoulder against his before walking towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Harry who’s smiling wide now, and trailing after her with no regard to Niall at all.

He shouts something after them about being rude lovebirds, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s floating after this heaven-sent like cartoon characters being led to a freshly baked pie with their nose on the scent. His rump high in the air like the Lorax disappearing into the light in the clouds, utterly ignorant to everything else.

When they’ve both stepped outside, they speak at the same time,

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-”

Harry and y/n giggle at each other,

“You go first.”

“Y’speak first.”

And then they laugh again. Harry pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key, and she says radiantly, “I’ll drop this off in my friend’s car really fast and we can walk to your flower shop.”

Watching her approach a car parked two spots away, a girl with blue, pink, and brown hair leans over to the passenger side, seat belt straining against her throat and when she sees Harry, she waves and it makes y/n push her back to her spot behind the driver’s side. Whoever this girl is, she and Niall have to meet, seeing as they can’t mind their own business. He chuckled and waved back, that girl laughing along with him and it made y/n cover her face with her cardigan covered hands.

“I’m sorry about Charlotte,” she said when she got back, “she doesn’t know how to mind her own.”

“A bit like Niall, it seems.” Harry said. He waits for her to catch up before beginning to walk down the street. Side to side, shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, Harry can feel the warmth of her body heat through the fleece of his sweatshirt. It’s cold, and she’s still this warm?

“Maybe,” her eyebrows raise, and her head tilts towards him, “they should meet.”

“Tha’s exactly what I was thinkin’!” His voice rises with his excited agreement, and the tip of his nose wiggles as he scrunches his nose.

As they get closer, to H’s Garden, Harry reaches into his pocket for his keys, fingering through them so that they wouldn’t have to stand in the cold for so long. He didn’t want her to get sick.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I feel really bad about this,” she whispered beside him, looking up at him with doe eyes as she worried her lip between her teeth, the sheen of gloss adding an extra allure to her image at that moment. “It’s your day off, and I’m bugging you.”

They stood in front of the door now, underneath the green umbrella cover that extended from the top of the door and down the side of the window. Harry waited for her to step into the little alcove created by the indent of the door before stepping in after her and jiggling the key into the lock. He resisted the urge to pull his lips down into a cooing frown at the look on her face. She really was worried about disturbing him. If only she knew that he spent the entire day moping (and nearly crying) over her.

He sucked on his teeth, “oh, love, please worryin’ about it. Don’t wanna see that frown on y’pretty face anymore okay?” His confidence was slowly coming back, “s’not my day off, I just didn’t feel like speaking to customers today.”

Shrugging, he opened the door, and took a step back to allow her to step through first. Y/n ducked her head as she passed him with a murmured ‘oh, okay’, and he followed right after her, wanting to get away from the cold too because he knew that his nose was probably pink at that moment, but what he didn’t anticipate was for y/n to stop right after breaching the threshold, and bend over at the waist to pick something up from the floor, causing Harry to bump into her at such an awkwardly sexual angle with all of his momentum.

Considering he was half twisted away from her and in the middle of pulling out the key from it’s slot, the amount of force in Harry’s push from behind was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward, a surprised whimper slipping from her lips. Harry, determined not to see her fall, lets go of the key and reaches out just in time to grasp her hips on either side, pulling her back towards him mid-fall so that she doesn't collapse on her face.

However, in the midst of all of this Harry forgets himself and uses a bit too much force. Not to mention, the implications of their position makes him hyper aware of every single place their bodies touched, her small frame against his lithe, tattooed body.

This moment only lasts for a few seconds, but he can feel everything.

He can feel the easy give of the skin of her hips underneath each finger that touched her, the softness of the flesh on her thighs against his sturdy knees. The fabric of his sweatpants is suddenly non-existent, and it’s almost as if he felt every taught tendon of her legs, frozen with efforts of helping catch or brace herself. The heat of her groin is flush against his, and it makes him want to scream with a sudden sensitivity. Her ass is practically seated on him, full and malleable against the points of his laurel covered hip bones. Harry’s semi-hunched, as her weight also pushed him back, and the position is doing nothing to help his frenzied mind settle. He feels like shit because he’s being a horny, pubescent kid instead of asking her if she’s okay, but then y/n moves back into him to straighten fully and their centers grind. Her dress is semi-bunched at the halfway point of her bum, and he can feel heat emanating from her, radiating back on his bloating cock. He has to stifle a moan when she pushes herself up with the tips of her fingers.

Just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Y/n is dusting her bum off so that her dress falls and covers her modesty, and she’s beet red in the face, not looking at him. Which was fine by him, he was too ashamed to look into her eyes.

He clears his throat (something he’s doing a lot around her) and asks if she’s okay.

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. This was on the floor,” she squeaked, holding up a neon yellow notice sheet in her hand. That damned thing was what caused all of this?

It’s a notice from the delivery men that said, ‘sorry! We missed you!’ with a time and date messily scrawled on the dotted lines. Harry had forgotten that he was getting a shipment of several plants that morning.

Cursing, he takes it from her, “t-thank you. Now how ‘bout those flowers?”

It’s awkward, obviously, but y/n is severely silent. Harry’s still stuffy in his pants, but he ignores it and doesn’t add any fuel to the fire because there’s more pressing matters at hand than a boner. Y/n is the most quiet she’s ever been around him, considering all of her word vomits and ramblings, and he’s suffering. Definitely beating himself up in his head for having ruined the moment. He held onto her for a second too long, frozen. She must feel so embarrassed, and he was self-endulging like a fucking asshole.

Harry asks her questions on what flowers she’d like, and she answers by pointing or bringing a stem to him, laying it on the counter without a word. A mixture of dahlias and baby’s breath with a handful of feverfew to make the pink in the dahlia’s stand out. He lays them out on his work table, cutting the ends at an angle where they need to be cutted and laying them out on a sheet of clear, dusty rose paper. Three packets of flower food are strewn at the corner, and y/n busies herself by fidgeting with them. He grows concerned when he makes a comment on the kinds of ribbons he had stored and she doesn’t say anything. Not even a nod or a hum.

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of her neglect, and pauses his work to devote her some attention.

“Love, I’m sorry about what happened,” he said softly, trying to catch her eyes, “I know it probably made y’uncomfortable, and I didn’t do much to make the situation better, but I just didn’t wanna see y’fall.��

Y/n’s head is already dipped, so he can’t see her face, but when her shoulders begin to shake, he knows he’s utterly fucked. She starts to sniffle, and his eyes go wide. The paper crinkled as he set down the baby’s breath he’s holding in his hands. He hates seeing people cry, not because he didn’t know how to deal with it, but because he often ended up crying along with them. Also, he just didn’t want to see her cry. Harry wanted her to be happy, glowing, and smiling. Not dull with dollops of woeful distress in liquid form.

He rounds the corner and spares a look out to the street, wanting to make sure that there is no strange onlooker eavesdropping on their interaction. His hand reaches out to stroke her back or shoulder comfortingly, but he thinks better of it and drops his arm. She most likely would not like to be touched, considering what just happened between them. He drops his head, seeking face-to-face interaction, and speaks as gently as he can, “y/n, what’s wrong?”

She avoids his search, and turns the other way while sniffling, “you probably think I’m weird now or something after that.”

“No!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck, and her words practically had. He can’t believe that she would think that and even go as far as verbalizing her thoughts when he worshipped the ground she walked on and didn’t even know her that well, yet. “No, no. I don’t think that. Y’tripped, that’s all. Happens to everyone. If anythin’ I’m the weirdo for grabbin’ y’the way I did, and I’m really sorry about it.”

Y/n dig the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “that was so embarrassing, I should’ve told you I was gonna stop or something. I always embarrass myself in front of cute boys and I never know what to do. I just-”

Harry interrupts before she can dig herself further another hole. He highlights a segment of her words, dropping everything else in hopes of changing the conversation and taking her discomfort away, and mostly because he was bursting with relief and happiness. She had said that she thought he was cute, just how he thought that she was adorable, and nice, and everything good. They were on the same level, their minds in sync. Did that mean…

His voice is airy and light because of what she had just admitted, “y’think I’m cute?”

She stills with awareness of what she’s just said, and a puppy-like noise seeps from the back of the throat before her hands sink further into her eyes, embarrassed. Harry tenderly wraps his fingers around her small wrists and pulls her hands away from her face, murmuring about ‘don’t rub y’eyes anymore, love, y’gonna hurt’ with nothing but kindness. A millisecond of distraction speeds through his mind at the softness on the inside of her wrists.

There’s a trickle of blubbering in her part, her bitten lips bumping against each other as she attempts to backtrack, “I mean- I- I-”

Harry decides that it’s now or never. It was a bit inconvenient, perhaps, but with her revelation his confidence soared and he was more prepared now to ask than he ever had been. So, he goes for it, “can I have y’number?”

A moment of semi-uncomfortable silence as the unknown tips the scale. Would she say yes? Would she say no? His head was spinning and he hoped his nose didn’t start bleeding or something because y/n nods slowly, smiling, and then, “okay.”

He’s elated. He was the polar opposite of what he had been that morning. If only Owen could see him then. He doesn’t waste any time reaching into his back pocket and handing her his unlocked phone. They don’t share any words, only coy glances and flirty quirks of the lips as the tips of her fingers move on his screen. Harry can’t believe that he’s finally getting her number, after nearly a month of pinning.

When she’s finished, she clicks it off and sets it next to him with an added pat to the back of his suspiciously clean white phone case while he’s tying the flowers together with a loose rubber band at the ends to attach the food packets. He’s fine with working in silence now that she's not crying anymore. He throws occasional glances in her direction, and catches her watching his hands while fiddling with her own. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was twitching.

“Will you text me?” She asked him.

He’s careful not to bruise any of the petals as he sets them down again, pausing with his ministrations to pick up his phone. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and types a quick ‘Hi. It’s Harry :)’. He hits send, “until you’re sick of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She shakes her head, and Harry’s reminded Rachel McAdams in The Notebook while she’s in complete denial of her feelings for Noah. The comparison makes his heart flutter, considering the romance of the onscreen couple. “How much do I owe you?”

Harry waves her off, “it’s on the house.” She begins to argue, but Harry stops her before she starts rambling again, “y’better go or you’ll be late, love.” He holds out the arrangement to her, tufts of baby’s breath poking out from between the vibrant dahlias like fluffy clouds, the feverfew looking like miniature white daisies in the center.

She looks at it, and back at him before huffing, “fine, but you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“Of course,” he smirks, “with dinner, maybe?”

They’re both gleaming at each other now, “okay.” Y/n takes a step back, her body half twisted as she walks away, but it remains like that for a moment as her eyes rake him up and down, a murmur following, “bye, Harry.”

His veins charge with electricity, and his dark taffy lips part at her actions. Had she just checked him out? He doesn’t recover quick enough to return her goodbye because the previous swirl of arousal in his navel was bristling back to life at the implications of that look. Calm, slow, steady, and her eyes remained doe-like and innocent.

She had to have known exactly what she was doing, whispering his name the way she had, looking over her shoulder and under her eyelashes the way she did. Deviously provoking his thoughts to begin a new with a reinspired fervor. The space in his underwear was growing tighter by the second, a blissful ache swelling.

Before any other customer stepped in after her, Harry locked the door, and jogged up the stairs to prepare himself a nice, hot bath, simultaneously cursing and thanking the stupid fucking delivery men.

********

Harry can’t stop thinking.

Obviously, this is a huge issue for him. He was constantly thinking, and well, who wasn’t? The process of thoughts wisping around in his brain was one that he often put an unnecessary amount of energy into because he had no one to filter these thoughts onto, releasing them through a conversation to prevent the exhaustion of his brain and heart. A prime example of these mishaps being the depressing slump that occupied his demeanor that very morning.

This?

This was different.

As soon as the apartment door was shut behind him, Harry pulled the suffocating sweatshirt off of his upper body, fingers hooking in at the collar and yanking it off with a swift tug. It landed somewhere on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t stop to take note of its final destination. Instead, his legs instinctively took him to his bathroom.

Chest heaving, Harry walked to the small window leaking sunlight and rolled the stick between his fingers to close the blinds. His thumb dipped into the waistband of his boxes and dragged them down lopsidedly, the tiger tattoo roaring as it became exposed. When the blinds are fully closed, the white extension clangs against the shutters from his aggressive release. His body was slowly being consumed by a raging fire stoked by the illicit images his brain conjured of the innocent, unsuspecting y/n.

His inner turmoil consisted of guilt for using her image that way and justification from the conspiring rake of her eyes along the upper half of him that was visible behind the counter. He was so fixated by her, that her look alone felt like a tempting caress along his skin. And it all happened in a matter of fucking seconds. That’s how gone he was. That’s how fucking gone he was. Harry guesses that the easy excitement also had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while (he only ever gets lucky when he goes out to the bars with Mitch or Jeff, and they’d been gone for a significant amount of time) and the strong affinity he had for the girl who bought flowers from him.

Explanation or not, he had to do something about the problem in his pants. He was painfully hard, and when he shucked his pants off fully, his underwear dragged with the movement and pressed against the tip of his swollen prick. A darkened patch of moisture bloomed where the head was, and he saw stars at the short pressure. He wouldn’t take his pants off just then, though. He liked to stall his pleasure as much as he could so that when he finally did cum, his stomach muscles contracted and his toes remained curled for more than ten seconds.

He twisted the golden knobs of his tub so that the water would come rushing out at a borderline scalding temperature, and opened the small cabinet above the toilet for a bottle of almond and coconut shea butter bubbles. He uncapped it and bent over the edge of the tip, the cool, porcelain lip touching his crotch and provoking a choked whimper to leave him. Jerking his hips back, he poured the soapy liquid into the spot where the water cascaded, and retracted his hand when the beginning of froth formed along the surface.

The heady sweet smell permeated the air with the rising levels of bubbles, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. Because he liked to torture himself, he closed his eyes and slowly dragged the hell of his hand over the outline of his cock, a groan ripping though the silence. It’s so painfully good, that he does it one more time, and he jolts forward. He removes his hand, slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, and lugs the fabric down his hips at an excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his member smearing precum all along as he moves and when he gets caught in the ripples of his boxers the muscles in his thighs flex at the ripple of pleasure that zips into his nerves.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. His mind was a spinning vintage reel of slideshow images of y/n. Y/n on bruised knees, her mouth wide open and her own drool on her tits, the tip of his cock flat on her tongue as she pleads with weepy eyes for him to cum down her throat. When he finally springs free of his underwear, a hefty slap rings out as his dick collides against his abdomen, right on the space underneath his belly button.

There’s a stripe of liquid on the trail left by the mushroom head of his prick, and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throat straining as he hovers over the bathtub. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this hard over a girl before, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last as long as he usually does. As he swings a leg over the edge of the tub, the hot water encasing his calf, he’s thinking about how soft she is. The inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. If she’s that soft on an external part of her body that’s used everyday, he can only wither away at the idea of what the inside of her thighs feel like.

Bubbles are swarming up now, swathing his thighs and buttocks as he sinks into the sloshing water. When he’s completely seated and satisfied with the belly-button level of water, he clumsily throws a hand in the direction of the knobs to shut them off, and reclined his head against the curved end of the tub with his eyes shut.

He hikes up his knees so that they’re resting against the porcelain walls, and mindlessly ruts up into the water at the filthy images he’s picturing, white foam collecting in sparse clouds over the math on his chest. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It’s as if his body is being transported back to the moment his hips clashed with y/n’s. At the recollection, his mouth drops and his eyebrows pinch in a silent moan. The feel of her flesh underneath his fingertips has him bobbing in the water, and the next ideation has him gripping the base of his cock.

Vividly, he pictured her on all fours, keening back onto him as her pussy enveloped him in warmth, a warmth that is almost replicated by the temperature of the water, dripping and making a mess of him but what’s turning him on most of all is the easy flushness of their bodies. He had felt the way her bum gave way under his hold, and he imagined the bounce of her flesh as he thrusted into her.

He moaned a broken call of her name with his eyes still shut, and heard the trickling of water as his fist rolled up his stiff prick, squeezing at the tip so that a few more droplets of precum dribbled out. With his thumb, he rubbed over the red mushroom head and lathered it in slow, leisurely circles, a throb pulsating with the beat of his heart as he returned to flicking his wrist over himself.

The way that he looked at him and the sound of his name on her lips seared into his memory. Airy and willowy, similar to it resonated in his brain with the fantasy of sinking into her for the first time, stretching her and having her preen and arch with desperate whimpers of his name for more. Harry considered himself to be ‘well-endowed’ and his size was a factor of what sent him careening over the edge as girls mewled over his size after he’d bottomed out. He wanted y/n to mewl under him, both of them falling apart at the seams at the mutual pleasures because if Harry’s this broken over just the thought of her, then he’s sure he’s going to lose himself beyond recognition after he’s buried himself into her velvety walls, slick with her arousal and so fucking warm.

Just as she had been earlier that day. There had been two layers between them- the fabric of Harry’s pants and her panties- yet, he was still able to feel an immense heat from the apex of her thighs against his cock. He needed more than this. He needed her, not just his hand driving him closer to the edge.

His jaw clenched as he bit back on a particularly loud moan, for no reason other than he enjoyed self-sabotage from time to time, and the speed of his jerking hand increased. His other hand gripped the side of the tub, and his legs flexed as he began to thrust up into his own fist, a trail of bubbles sticking to the tanned muscles. The cut rectangles of muscles of his abdomen glistened like freshly chopped cubes of apricot with the droplets of water that remained clinging to him. His breath came in labored, strained puffs as the palm of his hand twisted, tightening at the tip and loosening at the base.

For a moment, he paused and cupped his balls, massaging them as the fantasy in his head continued. His mouth wrapping around y/n’s nipples, her eyes glazed over from previous orgasm that he wanted so badly to give her. She’d whine something soft and quiet to match her personality, ‘please, Harry, please I want more. Need another Harry, please’, and he’d speed up the movement of his hips, driving deep into her and cooing into her ear about, ‘c’mon, darling. Give m’another then. Y’want it so bad, yeah? Give me a’fucking ‘nother’, and she’d release a peircing moan that explodes in his eardrums while arching into him. She’d squeeze impossible tight around him, gushing with her own cum.

The water in Harry’s tub sloshes around his ankles, and the muscles of his abdomen clench so that he’s closing in on himself, sputtering on an outrageously loud cry that he can’t contain and his hand increases the speed of his filthy ministrations because he’s right on the edge. He’s about to fucking cum and the back of his eyelids burns with the possible variances of y/n’s face in ecstasy provided by him with his nose deep in her cunt, lapping at the sweet honey that spills with every whimper of, ‘please let me cum, Harry. I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please let me cum.

He tensed violently, his face contorted painfully as white ropes spurt from the tip of his cock over his fist and onto his chest, blending with the white almond foam. His feet are braced against the edge of the tub and his head falls back and his stomach tenses even further, the final leaks of his cum dribbling out.

With the fuzziness that comes after an orgasm, his body melts back into the water that’s still warm, and his jerks with a pant as he allows his softening prick to sink into the water. The head on his hair is matted in a chocolate smear across his forehead, and his lips are a raging heart of cherry blossoms, parted with arduous gasps of recovery breath. His hands fall into the water at his sides, and with the lapping movement of the liquid against his sensitive member, he ruts into nothing again.

Reclined with his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Harry murmurs a final, “fuck me,” at the extreme sensations that had raked through his body.

Somewhere in the muffled distance, his phone dings with the notification of a text message, and with a tired noise of resentment, he sits up and reaches for his sweatpants that lay in a messy puddle besides the tub. His fingers drip darkening spots onto the grey material as he rummages for his phone, and then he finally clicks it on...

It’s her name, lighting up his screen, and the text reads:

y/n <3 : so… dinner?

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever crushed on a girl this hard before because even though he’s just completely physically spent himself, there’s something stirring in the depths of his tummy just at seeing the heart she put next to her name.

He couldn’t be happier.

* * * * * *

and here he is!! what do you guys think?? pls pls pls leave your feedback in my askbox! i’d love to hear your thoughts! and if you really really loved it, don’t be afraid to press that reblog button <3333

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countrymusiclover · 3 years ago

Text

1 - Life Changing Encounter

Part 2

Yoda's New Padawan

My sister Padme and I entered the Jedi temple. Queen Omidalla insisted we have warrior protection so there was no one better the Jedi counsel. Walking I hold up my green dress so I don't trip as we stepped up the stairs coming up to two boys I don't know. One dressed in Jedi robes and the other is a child who smiles at my sister waving. "Hi Padme." My sister bends down to his level as he gives her a bracelet that he made. "Hi Ani." My gaze falls on the other guy and to not be rude I stepped forward curtsying to the Jedi with a smile. "Hello Jedi master..." He bows to me addressing me with my title. "Princess Amidala, I'm Master Kenobi. Obi Wan Kenobi." He sticks out his hand and I shook it staring into his blue eyes. "Nice to meet you Obi-Wan. I'm Y/n."

Kenobi and I ended up strolling the halls when my sister had to attend a meeting. Growing up I was never into the politics. Some things couldn't be taken down with words. Anakin followed closely behind us looking around with child like curiosity. "I hope that being in the temple won't make you and your sister feel like prisoner's." Obi-Wan spoke his left hand resting on his lightsaber, keeping his eyes trained forward in case of a sudden attack. I glanced his direction always having a fascination with the Jedi and their ways with the Force as they called it. Foosteps approached the three of us and I tilt my head in slight confusion seeing a small person, colored green. Kenobi suddenly bowed when the green guy stopped looking at us. "Master Yoda, may I present..." This Yoda raises his right hand cutting him off. "Know who she is I do, Kenobi." Yoda walks forward bowing at me and I curtseye to him. "Master Yoda I am. Heard of your arrival princess I did."

"Something strong I sense in you, princess Y/n." Yoda stood resting his hand on his cane looking up into my eyes. I bend down to be at his level the best I can. I rest my right arm on my right knee while Anakin and Obi-Wan just watched behind us. Master Yoda taps his chin stepping closer to me. "Speak with you alone I suggest. When a moment you have." I simply nodded before Kenobi spoke softly to the young boy. "Anakin and I must be going princess. But please come find me if you need anything." He bowed again before walking down the hallway. Master Yoda headed for a door raising his hand he waved it opening it. Picking up the ends of my dress I followed the green Jedi and I press my hand to close the door behind me.

Master Yoda turned to face me as we now stand in the middle of the room of the Jedi counsel room. He moved his cloak to the side pulling out his lightsaber no doubt. "Weilded a Saber have you?" He questioned causing me to shake my head no. He places his in my right hand resting his hand over my right one. "Learn to use it you shall." Raising a brow I bend down on a knee to look in his eyes again I'm confused. "Master Yoda, forgive me for asking but what do you mean by I'll learn?" He removed his hand from over mine lifting his hand hovering it in the air. "Strong with the Force I sense in you. Like Kenobi's young one Anakin. Take you as my apprentice I shall." I part my lips twisting the lightsaber in my hands. A part of me thinks that this may be what I'm supposed to do. My sister is to be a woman of law, but what does that mean for me.

"I wouldn't want to burden you with a student Master Yoda. Kenobi told me you haven't had a Padawan in awhile." He shakes his head slowly walking over and taking a seat in his small counsel chair. "Age a concern it is not. Potential I see in you. Wise to take you on as my apprentice it is." Getting to my feet I bowed to him handing him back his lightsaber I voiced. "I accept, Master Yoda." The sun started setting as I walked the halls of the temple Yoda had given me a green lightsaber like his and my training would begin immediately. Foosteps approached behind me making me open my saber towards the person but I sighed seeing its Obi-Wan. "Careful with that. You could've taken my head off."

I close my weapon holding it nervously in my hands. "Sorry. I'm a little jumpy." He comes to stand beside me hands resting at his sides. "You will learn to control your emotions in time." He pauses looking into my eyes. "With Master Yoda as your teacher you will learn much faster." I smiled seeing Anakin not with him for once since my arrival. "Where is Anakin?" He responded with. "Packing. The counsel approved that I am to be his teacher." I smile knowing that his former master wanted to teach him to become a Jedi before he was killed. So he has taken it upon himself to train the young boy. The boy his master believes to be the chosen one. "Well I do hope to see you again Obi-Wan." He nodded with a smile still addressing me as a royal. "And I hope the same to you, princess Y/n. May the Force be with you." He turned to leave as I mumbled. "May the Force be with you, Kenobi."

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#yoda's new padawan #obi wan kenobi x reader fanfiction #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #star wars yoda #master yoda #yoda x reader #jedi #padawan #padme amidala x sister reader #padme anidala #star wars #star wars x reader #wattpad fanfiction #comments really appreciated

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sweetesthaaze · 3 years ago

Note

After reading a lot of opinions and reckon what was what I didn´t like about the end of season two, I realized that it´s the fact that, in my opinion, Kate NEVER stands up for herself and choose to be with Anthony She never confronts all the nonsense that her half-sister says 1/4

If Edwina would not have given her blessing, even after the fall from the horse she would no have accepted Anthony The (rushed and bad written) evolution and coming of age of Edwina is full of incoherences but at least she wakes up and told her truth 2/4

At some point Anthony decides that if he can marry the person he loves (he implies this to his mum at Lady Dambury´s house) he won´t marry at all Then the gazebo happens, he proposes for duty (and love but he didn´t mention) and we know the rest 3/4

However, Kate never defends herself in front of Edwina, who has the right to be mad after the wedding, but the days after Kate should have stopped her and say somethingAt the end, we have Kate still submissive to her sister will and only approach Anthony when have her permission 4/4

This is from awhile ago and I had talked to the gc about it because this ask kind of confused me. Zaira @jeanvanjer and Dani @hella-sirius helped me a lot (they basically formulated all the thoughts here tbh) with answering this (idk if they remember though), so thank you to them!

So something that people are forgetting is that Kate basically raised Edwina and is a mother, not a sister, to her. Kate has a mother's selflessness and whenever she's tried to be selfish, she's been shown time and time again by outside forces that she can't afford to be selfish. So of course she's super hesitant to go after what she wants, because she hasn't done it before or it's never worked out well for her.

And Kate does go after Anthony. She goes after him in episode 1 and look how that turned out. And that gazebo scene in episode 7 is her going after what she wanted. Anthony gave her an out (3 times to be exact) and she went after him every time. Yes she runs away after, but it's perfectly understandable why, since every time before this when she's acted selfishly, it's just ended up in hurt for everyone. It's why she assumes Anthony is proposing out of obligation the first time.

Diminishing Kate to simply being "submissive" takes away the fact that she was Edwina's mother, not her sister like she should have been. This is a direct quote from Zaira, "And Edwina loves Kate like she does a mother but expects a sister's honesty." That's the issue in their relationship.

And to quote Dani, labeling Kate as submissive "implies a lack of agency or strength to Kate's character which isn't true to her character".

I don't think Kate was waiting for permission from Edwina. This is evident when she asks if Anthony had visited her at all after she wakes up, with Edwina in the room! She was looking for evidence that he loved her. If Anthony had told her that he loved her when he first proposed, she would have accepted.

#anon #bridgerton #sweetestviscount #kanthony #lav answers shit #kate sharma #edwina sharma

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butwhyduh · 4 years ago

Text

Night Swim

Garth of Shayeris/Tempest x batsis!reader

Summary: pinning over him. I know like 7 people will read it but he’s too cute. Canon has no home here and timelines don’t matter.

Warning: dash of innuendos.

The apprentice of a justice league member that went on his own. That could describe almost all of your brothers but it also described the beautiful man standing before you. That currently didn’t even notice you were staring at him puppy dog eyed.

“So, are you ever going to do anything about it or just stare at him until he jumps back in the sea again,” Kori said beside you. You jumped and gave her a look. “Noise cancelling glass. He can’t hear us and no one is looking over here,” she reassured you.

“That obvious,” you asked turning to face her. She nodded with a little smile. Of course she thought it was cute. She had told Dick the first time she knew she was attracted to him. That’s how she was raised. No fear of rejection or shame in sexual attraction. You were raised by batman and had a healthy dose of both.

“There’s not like it would do any good. He’s never given me a second thought and I don’t even think he likes surface walkers anyways,” you deflected. She snorted.

“He dated Donna.”

“That shouldn’t count. She’s Themyscirian. They’re like perfect,” you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t know. I find Dick very appealing and he is human. Is his powers what attracts you to him?” She asked leaning on a desk. Her long curly red hair flowed over her shoulder in a way that only Kori could.

“No, of course not. I mean, they’re cool for sure. But it’s.. he’s nice and honorable and funny,” you said and she grinned almost proudly.

“And you can be nice and honorable and funny without any meta powers. Don’t put yourself down. And if you need help..” she started.

“No no no. No wing woman,” you said quickly.

“What do you need a wing woman for?” Dick asked behind you. Your eyes widened before you turned around.

“Nothing. Just some guy from college. That I don’t like,” you said in possibly the worst lie of your life. Dick narrowed his eyes at you.

“I can tell you’re lying but if I don’t know the truth, I can’t lie to Bruce about what you’re doing so don’t tell me,” Dick said. Wally, Donna, and Garth walked in the room.

“Wait, did I hear that Nightwing’s little sister is seeing someone? Is he ready to die,” Wally laughed clapping Dick on the shoulder.

“I’m not having this conversation,” you squeaked out before squeezing between the heroes, feeling yourself far too close to Garth for just a moment. Thank goodness M’gann wasn’t there to read your thoughts or feelings. Kori stayed mum on the subject and concentrated on the mission that Dick was prepping the team for.

You didn’t go on missions now. An injury that put an end to that. You just couldn’t maintain the level a vigilante needed. Sometimes you’d help with the computers but mainly you worked at Wayne Enterprise with Tim. You were just visiting on this trip and wasn’t involved in the mission.

“Wish us luck,” Kori said giving you a hug. You couldn’t help but watch Garth in his new blue suit that fit perfectly as the rest of the team walked by.

“Woah,” you said barely above silent but Kori hugging you caught it all and giggled quietly. You flushed and tried to stutter out some excuse.

“He is very handsome. Wish him luck,” she whispered in your ear. You made a little noise to disagree and she simply grinned at you while walking away.

“What was that,” Dick asked, suspicious.

“Nothing, just a joke. Good luck. Be safe,” you said to him and Dick didn’t argue but definitely didn’t believe you before joining his team.

As they left, your mind wandered to the first time you met Garth. It was a mission in a warehouse fire that had homeless people camping out on the second story. You walked carefully to the back office through dense fog with flames threatening any moment to see if there was anyone in there. The fire was getting really close and it was kinda dicey. But it was your first job away from Gotham and you were 14 and you felt the need to prove yourself.

You entered the room bent low with smoke overhead. You saw something move in the back of the room and you made your way towards it. But just as you crossed to the back half of the room, part of the ceiling collapsed, trapping you in the room and knocking you to the floor. You jumped back against the wall. There wasn’t a window and the movement? A toy.

You shrank against the wall and pushed your panic button. The fire was hot and you cursed wearing shorts. “Shit,” you breathed as it started moving closer. The air was starting to get thick. The flames jumped and you pressed against the wall with your eyes covered, expecting flames to hit you.

But instead you felt cool wet air and you opened your eyes to see water surrounding you. It appeared to float in air and you reached a hand out to touch it, confused. As soon as you felt the tips of your fingers dampened, the water crashed to the floor causing you to jump.

In there place was a teenage boy only a few years older than you, grinning. You stared at him in silence. He had just saved your life.

“Did you- how did you-“ you stuttered and his smile grew even wider.

“Aqualad, at your service. You wanna leave before it crashes on us?” He said and you took a step to wince in pain. Oh yeah, when you jumped you twisted your ankle. Your plan, like all the other bats, was to suck it up and hobble out. But Garth had other plans and he quickly scooped you up bridal style as soon as he noticed you couldn’t walk.

“Just hold on. I’ll carry you,” he said walked down the charred stairs carefully. You couldn’t take your eyes off his handsome face the whole time. Your heart pounded and your lack of experience with dating or liking anyone had you completely dumbfounded. “You can let go,” he said with a little smile.

You were out of the warehouse clinging to him past the time necessary and quickly moved away from him, feeling your skin flush. Dick gave you a look over before give Garth with a look you couldn’t recognize.

——————————————

“She’s catatonic, Bro.”

“Feed her something.”

“Wally, food isn’t always the answer,” Dick said giving your shoulder a shake. You jumped and knocked over a glass of water.

“Sorry!” You yelped reaching over to grab a towel.

“I’ve got it,” Garth said and with a flick of his wrist the water started to pour in the sink rather than off the counter. As you watched the water jumped before flowing down the drain. You laughed a little and looked up to see Garth grinning at you. Dick stared suspiciously at you both before being pulled somewhere by another Titan.

“So was the mission okay?” You asked, not knowing what to say. Your crush was more ‘stare across the room’ rather than do anything about it.

“It went well,” he answered grabbing a water bottle and chugging it. You tried not to stare.

“Cool suit,” you said and immediately felt stupid. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Thanks,” he said without adding anything else, leaving an awkward air to hang.

“Damn, you might be from the sea but are soo dry, Garth,” Roy said clapping him on the back on his way to his room. Garth looked at you confused.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been land side. Is being dry an insult now?” He asked.

“I mean, kinda. It just means boring,” you answered with a shrug. “You know Roy.”

“But you are dry. I mean, you live on land. Not that you’re boring,” he said with an awkward laugh. You smiled back at him before taking a sip of your drink nervously. “Does that mean you want to be wet?”

You coughed as you choked on the liquid. He tapped you on the back. “You okay?” He asked concerned. Donna walked by with a raised eyebrow but said nothing.

“I’m fine. No, that’s not how that works. It’s just we aren’t really dry. We’re like 80 percent water. Dry means like sand or something. Too dry,” you said and he nodded humoring you.

“It seems pretty dry here,” he said playfully.

“I can knock over more glasses. Get this place all wet again,” you quipped.

“Tempting. Or you can go swimming with me,” he answered back.

“Haha or I could- what? It’s nighttime,” you answered. “And doesn’t that do something to the currents or something?”

He gave you a dry look. “The currents come in at night? Yep. You’d be the safest person in the water swimming with me. I could navigate night swimming as a squirt. Come with?” Garth asked.

“I-“ you stared before mumbling.

“You what? I didn’t hear the last part,” he said.

“I... can’t swim,” you said and he stared at you and you felt like sliding under the counter and through the floor. Then Garth’s lips curled into a smile and he laughed a little. You looked down awkwardly.

“Oh you’re serious?”

“Yeah...”

“I’m sorry. I forget that swimming is learned skill here. I apologize,” he started.

“It’s okay. Really,” you insisted.

“Come with me. We’ll stay shallow,” he offered. You looked at him before nodding.

“This is a bad idea but let’s go,” you said pulling him along. Garth laughed as you pulled him out the back door towards the beach. “I forgot a bathing suit,” you admitted.

“I guess you could go insi-“ he trailed off as you pulled your shirt off and shorts to swim in your underwear and bra. He quickly looked away as you ran in the water to your waist.

“Coming in? Can’t believe I have to ask, merman” you said and he pulled off his shirt to quickly join you. You splashed him with water which quickly turned into a splashing war.

“Okay, you win!” You yelped as he bombarded you with water. He splashed you one last time and you turned away. Garth grabbed you by the waist as a wave splashed over you. You simply watched each other for a moment. You noticed your feet didn’t touch the ground anymore. You clung to him.

“I can’t touch,” you said a little panicky. He held on to you.

“Don’t worry. I’m right here. I won’t let you drown. It’s my job, remember?” Garth smiled. “Look around. Look at the moon.”

You looked up to see the luminous globe hanging above the sea. It lit a silvery path through the water, highlighting waves crashing. The beach seemed far away. The only sounds were the sea and a few night birds as well as Garth’s breath from being so close. You looked back at him and almost froze. He was gorgeous. The water truly was his element. His dark hair curled in the water and the moon glow highlighted his nose and collarbones. His purple eyes looked almost black in the darkness but the way he looked at you said a ton.

He looked down at your lips and you couldn’t help but lick them, tasting salt water. Garth bent a little and you turned your head up to touch lips softly. His arms wrapped closer around you as you kissed. Garth easily kept you above the water. Your brain was broken. You were kissing Garth, who you’ve had a crush on for a long time.

Suddenly water splashed over your head as a wave crashed on you both. You leaned away with a cough as water invaded your mouth and nose. Your eyes stung and watered a little.

“Sorry, I forgot to pay attention,” Garth admitted sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” you said with only a little cough. “Can we?”

“Get you on land? Yeah. You’re getting cold anyways,” Garth said before swimming towards the shore. It wasn’t a rough choppy swim the way people did. He seemed to simply glide through the water gracefully. So beautifully. Which was broken when he fell over on the beach.

“You’re the most graceful swimmer and trip on your feet when you hit ground,” you said with a laugh as you attempted to help him up. He was far too heavy to lift but appreciated the effort.

“Atlantean,” he shrugged. “Don’t make fun of me too much. You can’t even swim.”

“Yeah? You wanna take a dip in Gotham Harbor?” You asked and he laughed.

“Absolutely not. I don’t want to get some unknown cancer from whatever pollution they have. Or whatever rouge is living there,” he added.

“That’s why I can’t swim,” you answered. It really was cool in the wind and you quickly pulled on your clothing.

“But doesn’t batman have like multiple pools?”

“Yeah but I never used them. I was 15 when he took me in. Too old to learn,” you shrugged.

“You’re never to old to learn to swim. It’s important for safety,” Garth said. “Especially here,” he motioned at the beach.

“Especially if I keep kissing Tempest in the water?” You quipped.

“That’s just a bonus,” he said pulling you close by the hips. You grinned up at him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

And a spotlight shined glaringly at you both. You covered your eyes and looked away.

“Come inside,” boomed the voice of your brother. “Now.”

And that’s how you got a 20 minute lectures on the danger of night swimming and risk of hypothermia and Garth got the shovel talk. But despite the fact that Dick was really angry, you didn’t regret a thing and went to bed with wet hair and smile on your face.

#Garth of Shayeris #Garth DC #Garth of shayeris x reader #Garth of shayeris x batsis!reader #batsis!reader #aqualad x reader #tempest x reader #tempest x batsis!reader #dick Grayson is a big brother #Titans tower is on the beach #it’s pretty perfect

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rebrandedbard · 4 years ago

Note

number 42 for the drabble prompts please? :)

42. “I swear it was an accident.”

tw: death (not of main characters), kinda gross corpse descriptions

WC: 2456

Poet’s Sight

Jaskier keeps falling in with dangerous creatures and Geralt is starting to think he’s cursed. That is, until Geralt takes a contract for a noonwraith and Jaskier gets ahead of him. It is then Geralt remembers something important about the nature of rare poets.

That made the third time. Three monsters in as many months, and Geralt was starting to worry. Somehow, Jaskier had a habit of stumbling upon the creatures before him, even when he was doing his best to stay away from the fight. Though his medallion offered no hints, Geralt felt sure Jaskier had been cursed somehow. There was no other explanation for it. For two of the hunts, Geralt had not yet arrived in town, would not have been able to defend Jaskier if he got himself into any kind of trouble, and Jaskier had been entirely unaware of the contracts. But this had been the final straw. As things were, Jaskier ought not to be living.

“I swear, it was an accident,” Jaskier said. “The light was low and it seemed like any ordinary dog. I swear, it was an ordinary dog. It had fur and everything—nothing at all as you described.”

Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s shoulders, the corpse of the beast just yards away from where they stood. “It was a barghest. Do you have any idea how much danger you were in! It would have eaten you alive if I let it, torn you from the bowels out!”

“But it…”

“They don’t have a quality of mercy.”

Jaskier stared at the corpse. He wore a pinched expression, not quite comprehending the vision before him. The fleshy, mutated monster looked so much larger, so much more twisted than it had moments before. Its odd tongue, prickled and forked, flopped out from its foaming maw. That same tongue had felt the same as any dog’s before as it licked Jaskier’s face. It had been smooth and slimy and affectionate. And it had not had such large teeth.

He’d gone out to fetch more wood for the fire—really, he’d gone out to relieve himself in private—and he’d happened upon a dog among the bushes. It had looked perfectly sweet in the moonlight: a shaggy brown and white thing with a fluffy, wagging tail. It had followed after him on his way back to camp. Jaskier had always been fond of dogs, so he’d stopped awhile to pet it. Really, it had been friendly. It curled up at his feet and allowed him to scratch it behind the ears. Everything had been just fine, and he’d just picked up a large stick to initiate a quick game of fetch when Geralt came crashing out of the trees, sword raised.

“It was an ordinary dog,” Jaskier whispered. He still had the stick in his hand.

Geralt looked Jaskier in the eye. His nostrils flared ever-so slightly, as if scenting for a lie. The lines in his face smoothed and he sighed, prying the stick from Jaskier’s grasp. “I thought you’d seen it. The way you raised the stick …” He looked at it. It would have snapped in an instant in a true fight. He tossed it near the barghest’s corpse and turned Jaskier back towards camp.

“… You felt fur?” he asked.

Jaskier nodded. “Soft as anything.”

“I don’t understand it. To you, it was as if it were nothing more than a dog.”

“Perhaps I’m seeing things wrong. Was it … as it tasting me before the feast? When I pet it, was it simply waiting to size me up? Oh, Geralt, what if I’ve had my mind taken over by a witch? Am I seeing visions? Are you real?”

He reached up to grope at Geralt’s cheeks, pulling them and prodding at his armour, his swords, and his chest. Geralt pulled his hands away carefully and shook his head.

“There’s not a trace of magic around you as far as I can tell,” he grunted.

“Then we’ll have to find someone who can tell these things. I’m scared, Geralt. I already lack the ability to defend myself in other ways; if I don’t know when to run, I’ll surely wind up dead before the year is out, if not sooner!”

Probably sooner, Geralt thought. “We’ll consult a mage. There are curses strong enough to evade detection from the medallion. They’re rare, but not unheard of. A mage would be able to tell us more: what kind of curse it is and how to lift it.”

As they stepped into the safety of the firelight, Roach raised her head, flicking her ears towards Jaskier. He wobbled over to her and wrapped his arms around her neck. She sniffed him, then turned her ear to Geralt for answers.

Geralt was looking at Jaskier carefully. It would be too dangerous to stay in the woods another night. Where there was one barghest, there were bound to be others. He would keep watch until first light, then they’d set out for the next town.

“Jaskier,” Geralt called.

Jaskier uncurled from Roach’s neck.

“I want you to stay in town for my next contract,” he said. “You’ll under a curfew until this gets resolved: indoors between dusk and dawn. I want you on the inn grounds whenever I’m not present. Are we understood?”

Jaskier balked at being confined indoors. “Can’t I come along with you?” he asked.

“No. If this is a curse, you might be a danger to me on contracts. To me and yourself.” It would be a greater liability than merely getting underfoot. This thing seemed to attract danger, or else to pull Jaskier towards danger. Either way, he was staying put somewhere safe.

“But Geralt—”

“I won’t hear any argument,” Geralt snapped. He narrowed his eyes, pinning Jaskier with a glare. “Do you remember what happened two weeks ago? You heard a woman cry in the middle of the night. And what did you do?”

Jaskier sighed and flopped down on his bedroll. “She didn’t wail like a banshee. And I’ve told you a hundred times over: she looked human! I held her hand! You can’t hold the hand of a ghost,” he protested. “And what’s more, she spoke. It wasn’t nonsense. How was I to know what she was if I can’t trust my own eyes and ears?”

He lay down in a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. Geralt could feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves. “What I find odd is that none of them so far have hurt me,” he mumbled.

“That’s because I came in time to save your satin-covered ass,” Geralt replied.

“I was with the banshee for hours, Geralt. You didn’t arrive in town until the middle of the night. Why would she wait to kill me when she had me already?”

Geralt thought about it. A banshee was more often an omen than an outright threat, though still dangerous. He’d stayed close to Jaskier for the next three days to see what dreaded fortune the omen foretold, but he’d not come to any harm in that time. Then again, he’d never heard of a banshee speaking before. It was possible Jaskier had not been with her for hours as he claimed, for if his senses were betraying him, how could he know the passing of the time? His accounts were questionable until this was resolved.

When they arrived in town the next morning, it was just before noon. There was no inn, but they were given permission to stay in one of the farmer’s barns. Geralt went to the alderman for a contract and left Jaskier safely behind, composing in among the hay. It was a noonwraith, Geralt discovered, that had been withering the fields. He oiled his sword and returned to the edge of town to wait for it to appear.

On the way, he stopped by the barn to update Jaskier. He was surprised to hear no music within. When he looked, he did not see Jaskier dozing among the hay. He was not where he’d left him at Roach’s side. Listening closely, he heard no heartbeat within. Jaskier was gone.

Geralt cursed and tore himself from the barn. “Jaskier!” he called. But Jaskier was not about. Geralt followed the trail of his scent toward the fields, his feet pounding on the dry earth. He’d made Jaskier promise not to leave the barn. He’d damn well better be enchanted to wander off so mindlessly on his own.

“Miss? Little miss, would you please slow down! I’m not supposed to be out here!”

Geralt turned his head toward the sound of Jaskier’s pleas. There, down the hill, he saw a flash of blue among the yellow stalks. Jaskier was running along the edge of the field, one arm out as if chasing something. He was shouting in his worried voice. As Geralt watched, Jaskier paced in front of the boundary, hesitating before an opening in among the tall crops.

“Little girl?” Jaskier called. “This isn’t a game! You bring me back my ring this instant!” Then, he called out again, diving into the fray.

But Geralt had seen no girl.

Geralt charged down the hill and entered the fields full-tilt. He followed the trail, catching up from behind, listening as he did. His sword was at the ready. The sun was already approaching its apex, and soon the wraith would be out. If it wasn’t out already.

“Troublesome girl!” Jaskier gruffed. “First she steals my ring, then she drops it in the dirt like a seed among the ro—”

There came a pause, and Geralt heard a stalk break somewhere ahead by Jaskier. His voice came again from the same place. “Well, that’s an odd find. Popped up like a lucky charm. Did the thing grow through you?”

The wind stirred, carrying Jaskier’s words clearly, though he was still too far to reach. Geralt’s blood ran cold. His medallion was trembling against his chest, warning of the wraith’s arrival.

“Oh? Is it yours, young lady?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt felt the panic wash over him. A ring in a field. A token from the wraith. The idiot ought not to have touched it! She’d make him the target of her wrath, dry up his soul into a husk, and force him to waste himself away like the withered stalks around them with only—

“A dance?” Jaskier asked. He laughed, voice ringing clear above the wind. “Oh, very well, but only a very short one; I’ve still got to find that little girl, give her a lecture about respecting personal property.”

Geralt was almost upon them. He could see the clearing in the field ahead, the strong sunlight filtering through. Jaskier’s voice was clearer, and the wind had a strange quality to it. It seemed to lull in time to Jaskier’s speech.

“Sister? Ah, then I’d best go easy on her,” Jaskier said. He was moving away quickly now. The wind blew, and suddenly Jaskier was laughing, bright and clear. “Buried your mother’s ring? What a scamp! And you’ve been out here every afternoon liking for it since—and no wonder! It’s a lovely piece. May I?”

Geralt broke through the field in time to see Jaskier dancing with the wraith. She was a hollowed thing, burned by the sun, her hair bleached white. They turned once, then Jaskier lowered himself on one knee and, taking the wraith’s hand, slipped the ring onto her finger.

“There!” Jaskier said. “You know? Our rings almost make a pair.”

The wind blew and Jaskier appeared to be listening. He laughed, patting the wraith’s hands, and the wind stopped blowing. “Oh no, I’m afraid I’m spoken for. It would make a lovely engagement ring, but not to me. Even so, I don’t suppose a kiss would be amiss.” And so he leaned forward and kissed the wraith’s cheek, as if she were not a lifeless husk.

Geralt was stunned. It was … it was as if the wraith were speaking to Jaskier. He watched the two of them start up the dance again. He’d witnessed the dancing of noonwraiths before, and their victims screamed in horror until their final breath. The wraith made them dance in a mad frenzy until they fell to the ground, dead from exhaustion and terror. This dance was a frolic, full of laughter. It was unhurried as Jaskier allowed himself to be twirled round and round. When the dance came to an end, it had not been any more than the length of a song. Jaskier tilted his head, listening while the wind whistled in the field.

“So soon?” he asked. “Well, I thank you for the lovely dance. You be sure to tell your sister to mind her manners for me, won’t you? I’ve got to head back myself before I give my witcher a fright. I—oh, there she is now!”

Geralt turned to look where Jaskier was waving, but he saw nothing at all.

“You mind your sister,” Jaskier said, wagging a finger at the empty air. “You’re much too old to be getting up to these tricks.”

And at once, Geralt understood. Jaskier was a poet. There were poets in this world who were made of a different cut—who could see beyond the limits of the physical world. The banshee, the barghest, the wraith … and Geralt was sure even now that Jaskier was shaking his finger in the face of a ghost. They were all of the other realm.

He had sight.

Jaskier waved as the wraith began to fade through the field, disappearing. “Take care!” he called. “And be careful on your way. There’s a contract in town, so there’s trouble about somewhere. Have no fear, we’ll be sure to make everything safe, my witcher and I.”

At that, Geralt snorted, and Jaskier turned his head.

Jaskier turned pale at once, clutching his hands to his chest. “Ger—I can explain, Geralt!” he stammered. “I swear, I would have stayed in the barn, but this little girl came in and she stole my ring right off my finger! It’s my father’s ring, and I couldn’t just let … her …” Jaskier blinked, staring at Geralt, perplexed. “Are you laughing?”

Indeed Geralt was. All the stress from the last three months bubbled up and escaped as laughter, shaking his shoulders.

Jaskier chuckled along nervously. “I would have thought you’d be furious with me for running out. Erm … did you finish your contract then?”

Geralt clapped an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder. “I’d say you finished it for me today,” he corrected. “And I’ve just figured out the answer to your little curse.”

Jaskier perked up slightly, realizing he wasn’t in trouble just yet. “Is that so? Will you tell me then?”

“If you promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Geralt smiled and rubbed the ash from Jaskier’s lips with his glove. “Never,” he said, “kiss another noonwraith again.”

“Kiss a what?” Jaskier squawked.

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mackeydoodledoo · 4 years ago

Text

The Blacksmith Chpt. 2

Pairing: Dimitrescus x (Fem!)Reader/Daniela Dimitrescu x (Fem!)Reader

Summary: You are a human, a human who is in charge of the armory; polishing, blacksmithing you name it. You are strongly valued by the Dimitrescu family, specifically one that has strawberry-blonde hair. She’d always come visit you whenever you’d be working on a new piece of armor or weapon.

Warnings: Fight; ends slightly bloody, Fluff at the end

A/N: So, I’m obsessed with armor n such and hearing that there’s an armory when you fight Cassandra.... So, we are making a story about a Blacksmith falling for one of the Dimitrescu daughters! So this one’s short but stay tuned for part 3!

----------------------------------------------------------------

When you adjust yourself, you fall off the chair you fell asleep on. Falling off the chair makes you fully awake however, a headache surges through your head as you gain your bearings.

“You’re awake,” Cassandra says, from the other side of the room

“Lady Cassandra,” You groan in pain, trying to gain your eyesight again, “When did you get here?”

“For awhile now,” She says, “You looked real peaceful sleeping, so I decided to not wake you.”

“Oh, well- thank you,” You say standing up, “I was in the middle of the sheath for this sword but I guess I passed out on it. This is what I’ve been burning the midnight oil on.”

You sigh as the metal lining for the top and bottom of the sheath barely holding onto the base form you have made.

“This shouldn’t be too hard,” You talk to yourself, “We just have to clamp them down more...”

You find some clamps and clamped down the design and leave it. However, while you were waiting for the sheath to finish up, you turn to another table and there was the sword you had finally finished.

“Ahhh,” You sigh in relief

When you picked it up you began to do some practice swings. However, when you stopped swinging it, you noticed how the blade began glowing. It began creating some kind of engraving you clearly had not made.

“What-What’s going on?” Cassandra asks you

“Do you think I know?!” You ask back

The room began glowing slightly brighter than earlier. When you looked at the blade itself, you somehow began reading the engraving.

“Whomever shall wield this blade, shall be worthy of all,” You read aloud

As sudden as it came, the brightness went back into the blade and your surroundings go back to the way it was before.

“’Whomever wields this blade shall be worthy.’?” Cassandra repeats your words, “What is that supposed to mean? And how were you able to read the engraving? It looked to be in some ancient language.”

“Do you think I have the answer to that?” You ask her, “’Whomever wields this blade’... Lady Cassandra, try to lift the blade.”

“Why would I-”

“Just do it,” You say, not being able to put up with her arguing as well as wanting to end the arguing with her

She finally decides to not question you any further and grabs the handle of the sword. However, when she was able to move it however, she wasn’t even able to lift it off of the ground. She quickly puts the sword down and straightens herself out.

“Won’t Uncle Karl be here tonight for it?” Cassandra asks

“Yes...” You say, “But, if he finds out about that whole ‘you are worthy, you get to wield this longsword’ and the moment he will realize he ‘isn’t worthy’, he will have my head...”

“I won’t let that happen,” A familiar voice says

Both you and Cassandra turn your heads to see Daniela walking towards you. However she does not look very happy.

“This is my cue to make my leave, I will see you around y/l/n,” Cassandra says as she leaves

“Before you even go off on her and I, she was in here by the time I woke up,” You explain, “I do need your help my lady.”

Daniela’s scary demeanor drops once you explained the issue.

“I was going to pester mother today,” Daniela says, “But for you my dear, I will.”

You smile in relief. You begin guiding her through sword making. Although you only had so many hours before Heisenberg would come for his long sword. However, you didn’t realize how much time went by because You look at the door and notice Alcina in the doorway.

“My lady,” you gasp, dropping the newly crafted blade

“my daughter, I have been calling for you in the last hour,” Alcina states to her daughter, completely ignoring you

“Sorry mother,” Daniela says sorrowfully

“It’s not her fault my lady,” You interrupt, “I asked for her help.”

“And with what did you need help with?” Alcina asks, clearly frustrated

“Something happened with the blade that I had made earlier,” You started, “You may not believe me, but Cassandra had also witnessed it happen. The blade was engraved with ‘whomever wields this blade shall be worthy’... I’m worried that blade is only meant for me... And I have never seen combat.... But, I’ve asked Lady Daniela for her help to make the exact same blade before Heisenberg gets here. I believe I can take care of everything else at this point. You really have to give your daughter credit my lady. She’s a real help. Maybe yo should have her come down here more often.”

Daniela blushes at your compliment however, Alcina only gives an “hmm.” Before taking her daughter out of the armory. You and Daniela make eye contact and she blows you a kiss. You catch it and gently place it over your scar that Daniela had made the day before. You turn back to your sword and begin the leather work on it, making sure it’s pristine however done as quickly as possible.

As you finish the sheath, you hear the door open. You quickly place the blade into its sheath and turn to greet whomever had come through the door.

“Sir Heisenberg,” You greet him, “My Ladies.

“My gosh you look tired y/n,” He sighs, “Perhaps I had made you do too much...”

“You’re such a fool Heisenberg,” Alcina ridicules her younger brother, “If you had given y/n more time she-”

“Not at all sir and my lady,” you lie, “You’ve given me things to do and I’d much rather be doing my blacksmithing work.”

You hold the blade up to him as he takes it. You watch him draw the blade and do some practice swings with it.

“Perfectly weighted,” He mumbles, “Exquisite designing... Now we have to test its durability.”

Shit..

Whenever you’d make a new blade, you’d always test the blade’s durability first however you didn’t get the chance to yet because they all came in at the same time.

Heisenberg walks up to one of the armored stands and raises the blade. You hoped that no one else could see the sweat running down your temples as Heisenberg walks up to a set of armor and slashes it. The blade is bent.

I’m dead....

“What the hell is the meaning of this?!” Heisenberg walks up to you, “You are one of the best blacksmith’s in the region! How could you let this happen?! I shall feed you to my lycans!!”

No words were formed out of your mouth, however, being a protective mother of her castle, Alcina takes Heisenberg by the wrist as Daniela stands in front of you, all protective like.

“You do not make the rules in this castle Heisenberg!” Alcina snarls, “I say what’s to say with her.”

“Shut your damn mouth!” Heisenberg growls

He takes you by the collar and begins to practically drag you out of the castle.

“y/n!” Daniela yell, “Don’t take her away from us Uncle Heisenberg!!”

“You can find another plaything to eat,” He continues dragging you

Daniela yanks on your ankle in an attempt to get a grasp on you, Heisenberg yanks harder, making Daniela fall forward.

“Heisenberg you let go of y/n this instant!” Alcina scream as soon as she sees her daughter fall

“Then why don’t you try and make me?!” He taunts his older sister

As Heisenberg enters the main entrance to drag you out of the castle, all five of you begin hearing an explosion.

“Intruders?!” Alcina calls out, “I’ll have their head! Daniela, make sure they don’t lay a finger on y/n.”

“I’ll make sure she won’t be touched mother,” Daniela says, slightly angered

She yanks you form Heisenberg’s grasp and carries you over her shoulder.

“Daniela I can help,” You say, “I just need to get back to the armory and-”

“You are not to help us!” Daniela yells

“Why not?!” You ask

Daniela puts you back onto your feet as she looks at you.

“Daniela answer me.” You say, more firmly this time, “Why wont you let me help?!”

“You’re human and you need to be protected!” Daniela states

“I may be a human, but I’m also a blacksmith!” You yell this time, “I can for sure as hell handle myself out there!”

“You’re still not going to help!�� Daniela yells back

“Why the absolute hell do you want to lock me away knowing you might die?! Do you want to leave me here?! Why is it so important to you that you keep me safe?!” You ask all of these questions

In a quick motion, Daniela cups your face in her hands, lips crashing onto yours.

Chapter 3

#daniela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu x reader #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village #karl heisenberg #female reader

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snidgetwidgeon · 4 years ago

Text

Son of Hylia, Daughter of Farore

A roleswap Zelink AU

Art by @anxioussailorsoldier and used here with permission

This story is a one-shot inspired by the prompts from @drsteggy and was gifted to her in a fic exchange.

~~~

Link awoke suddenly, desperately trying to cling to the vision of a woman surrounded by bright light as it diminished from his foggy mind. Try as he might to enter back into the haze of his mysterious dream, sounds came louder and clearer to his ears, and he registered the rustle of the sheets sliding against his feet as he stretched, his senses slowly returning. Today would be a trying affair. He always remained fatigued after she appeared to him, ever speaking yet rendered frustratingly silent.

Perhaps he could try to lay low, hide in the library, and search yet again on the shelves he’d already scoured for something he may have missed; something to prove it was possible that he was having the visions vessels were known to have had. He just couldn’t interpret them. He spared a bittersweet thought for his late mother. She would have known, would have shown him. Or perhaps she would have bore a daughter, and there would be no question; and he could have supported his sister when they found out the Calamity was foretold to return.

But the Kingdom of Hyrule was left with a Prince at the precipice of doom. He’d never felt more useless, or more determined to do something about it. He would find a way. He would protect everyone.

Zelda shifted her feet, practicing her forms to warm up before training. She missed her scimitar. This new blade felt so different and she had to relearn how to make it an extension of herself. It was humbling when sparring partners she had previously bested came out on top. It just proved she still had much to learn and needed to become proficient with many weapon types if she wanted to be the greatest.

She recalled being a bit intimidated as her group of friends grew over the years. Where they used to be physical equals, they now towered above her; but she supposed she could be thankful for the challenge because it caused her to become an incredibly scrappy fighter, always looking for openings she could wheedle into.

This time she wheedled too far and forgot to watch her flank while in pursuit of one of her opponents. Another warrior swept in and bashed her ribs as she was on an upswing and it sent her flying. As she was pulled up, she couldn’t help but think spitefully that the same would not have happened if she were allowed her weapon of choice. She could have recovered with her scimitar but the swing on the Master Sword was different.

“Nice air you caught there,” her sparring partner teased in Gerudo. “Again?”

Zelda recovered her blade from a few paces away and declined, “I think I’ll just nurse my wounds and ego for awhile, thanks.”

“Suit yourself. I recommend you do solitary for a few days with your new acquaintance,” she pointed her chin towards the Master Sword in Zelda’s grip. “See if you two can make friends,” she winked and ran back to join the fray.

Zelda stared down at the sword with slight contempt. Urbosa had told her of the legends she’d learned from the late Queen of Hyrule, and her son, Prince Link- that the sword was wielded to protect Hylia, and how the blade itself chose its master and would even communicate. Someone being chosen meant that a shit storm was likely brewing.

Urbosa also mentioned that preparations were being made against some sort of Calamity. The word made Zelda’s blood run cold and she knew it was something to be feared. If the sword was not speaking to her, perhaps it chose wrong and she was not suited to the challenge. She had tried everything she could think of, even hours of meditation, which she hated because she didn’t like sitting still for long.

But it was all for naught.

She wove her way through the stalls and bustle of the marketplace, sword heavy on her back, and day after day it had only served to weigh her down even more. She could no longer stand it. She exited the north-western gates and ran along the outer wall. Heart pounding and sweating all over, she dug a rather shallow and pathetic hole, chucked the sword in and kicked sand over it before walking away in a huff, muttering, “Curse the day I found your infuriating silence!”

She’d been training in the desert when she discovered it, exploring further than she ever had over the dunes. Following the statues with their guiding swords, she finally came upon the last one and sheltered under her cloak at its base as a sandstorm passed. Thankfully, it was short and as she stood to shake as much sand as she could off her person, she noticed something strange in the distance. She could have sworn she’d reached the last statue of the warriors. Perhaps she’d miscounted as there stood another on the horizon, the reflection of its sword glinting brightly in its grasp.

Zelda took a drink from her ration, taking note of how much was left before deciding she could manage one more. If anything, it would improve her survival skills.

As she neared the solid figure rising out of the sands she noticed that the sword it held was elaborate. Oddly enough, a scabbard for it was slung over the shoulder which made it appear that someone had just left it there. She looked around but only saw a few cacti bearing voltfruits, perfect for carrying around extra moisture for the return trip. Some movement caught her eye behind a cactus and she ran over, pulling her scimitar, in case there was meat to be had, but she was met with a poof of sparkling petals and could have sworn she heard a childish giggle.

After investigating thoroughly, she cut the fruits and placed them into her bag before returning to the statue. It would be a shame to leave such a fine piece of work out in the middle of nowhere. She climbed the figure and slipped the scabbard off the shoulder, letting it fall to the sand before holding the neck and planting her feet against the torso so she could reach the hilt with her free hand. It did not budge. Hiking herself up, she wrapped her legs around the neck so she could use both hands to pull on the wings above the hilt.

She was straining when she heard the laugh again, accompanied by a rattle, and in her distraction, the blade suddenly came loose and they both tumbled into the sand.

She’d thought nothing of it until returning to Gerudo Town.

During a routine visit to the throne room, Chief Urbosa had nearly sent away visiting dignitaries when she spied the sword on Zelda’s back. After the meeting, Urbosa called her into her private quarters, which was very unusual. Perhaps she was to be given a special assignment.

“Where did you find that sword?” Urbosa asked with intense interest and a hint of concern.

Zelda stood at attention and replied concisely, “In the desert, Chief.”

“Zelda, have you any idea what you’ve found?”

Zelda began to doubt her decision to play finders keepers. Maybe it was a ceremonial sword or relic that should have stayed where it was. Though she had been raised with the Gerudo, she certainly did not purport to know all of their culture and was horrified by the idea that she’d deeply offended them.

~~~

Urbosa removed her bracelets and hair ornaments, letting the thick, red locks fall down her back. Making sure her tea would be in reach, she snuggled into her bed and opened a letter from her favorite Hylian. She always saved his letters for the end of the day when her attention could be undivided and she could imagine actually having a conversation with him. He was so bright and inquisitive, and optimistic- as his letter revealed. Just like her love.

~I have not given up my search. I keep thinking that surely, there is a pocket in the library I have not scoured. But then another duty and another day takes me away from it. I see her, Urbosa. It has to mean something. If only I could find evidence that there has been a son of Hylia. Why else would I be given visions? If only I could interpret them...

Do you know how mother did it? Did she ever say anything?~

He then went on to describe his involvement with the funding of the research at the Royal Ancient Lab as well as other gossip that he and Urbosa kept up on, including their inside jokes about stuffy nobles. He also wanted to hear more about the warrior who had pulled the Master Sword.

~Does the bearer of the Blade that Seals the Darkness fare well? The moment I learned of her, I hoped that it was a sliver of evidence to prove my case. If there is a woman as Farore’s chosen, then perhaps it lends weight to the fact that a man could be Nayru’s chosen. But I’m harping. Perhaps I will be able to meet her soon, though father keeps me tied up in social engagements. He has taken to parading me at events where there are ample amounts of young debutantes to vie for my attention. I’d much rather be studying.~

Urbosa wrote back early the next morning after skimming the letter again.

~It seems our chosen Hero is having trouble awakening the power within the blade. When you sent word of legends that say the sword speaks to a worthy master, she immediately felt inadequate. Zelda excels at any challenge and eventually overcomes all obstacles, so when she continually failed to connect with the sword’s spirit, she took out her frustrations in a childish manner. The other day she was witnessed burying it in the sand outside the town walls. She must have blown off all her steam because she did retrieve it later that night.

I think that learning her fate has been weighing on her. She puts on a stoic face but I can see she has reservations. Perhaps if you two came together, something will give?~

After reading Urbosa’s reply, Link laid the parchment back down on his desk and pondered her proposition. He had been wanting to expand his search outside the castle for sometime and though he enjoyed visiting the Royal Lab, it did not hold any answers for what he sought; they were just a bunch of rowdy mechanics who were a lot of fun to hang around with. But to understand his history and role, he wanted to go on a pilgrimage to the known spiritual sites of Hyrule, and perhaps discover unknown ones as well so he could be better informed on how to defeat the Calamity, and possibly awaken the power of Hylia along the way.

He would start making arrangements right away.

~~~

King Rhoam rapped his knuckles on the door of his son’s study. When Link answered with a curt nod and a polite greeting, he entered, leaving his guard detail outside. He thought it prudent to retain at least some privacy for this matter, considering the gossip it could generate.

“I hear you’re planning some sort of trip,” it came out as a statement more than a question.

“A pilgrimage. To try and find any proof of my suspicions-”

He was interrupted by his father’s large, dissatisfied sigh. “Link, you really must stop harping on about that nonsense. Hylia has only ever been reincarnated into the mortal body of a female, that’s just the way it is. A tradition that extends even far beyond what we have in written history.”

“Exactly. We don’t know everything. How do you explain my visions? Mother had them. She knew how to interpret them.”

“Perhaps they’re just dreams,” Rhoam offered again in a misguided attempt to engage.

Link smacked the book he was about to pack on the table in frustration. “I can’t believe you keep saying that, you just don’t understand.”

“What I understand is that you continue to foolishly insist on chasing dreams and fantasies rather than doing something tangible for your people. You’re wasting time, Link. You should be courting and choosing a wife so that you can pass on the bloodline to a potential Princess who will-” Rhoam saw the shock in his boy’s face and tried to change track, “We have no idea when the Calamity will strike, we should be doing everything we can to prevent disaster.”

Link clenched his jaw as a deep anger and loathing swelled in his breast. Voice trembling in rage, he rebutted, “I am not going to produce an heir just to send her to the slaughter. I will fight my own battles. This Calamity is coming down on us! I just need to figure out how to awaken Hylia’s power.” He grabbed his bag and stormed out before Rhoam could push his agenda further.

~~~

The next letter Urbosa received from Link outlined his travels. She grinned as she read through them, glad that he’d managed to get away.

~The Forgotten Temple was very difficult to access, and though it did not produce any results, it was a breath taking trip. It has the largest Goddess Statue I have ever seen and I felt a peculiar familiarity while standing under her benevolent smile. I think this is promising.

We’re now at the ruins of the Temple of Time on the Great Plateau. I’m no stranger to the place of course, but the Priestess has been most helpful in providing old texts to study that were not available at the Castle. She’s even offered to assign a scribe to make copies for me.

I hope to be underway again soon and I would like to visit the Seven Heroines. I want to leave no stone unturned. I shall send a dispatch for when we expect to be arriving in the desert.~

When the time came, Urbosa bid Zelda to be an escort for the Prince across the sands to Gerudo Town. “Listen carefully, Zelda. Being the Prince is more than reason enough to keep him safe, but there may be a chance that he is so much more. The fact that you wield that sword lends weight to his theory that he may be Hylia reborn.”

Zelda’s eyes widened but she remained silent, nodding dutifully.

“I’ll need you to deliver some supplies to him so that he may enter unmolested upon arrival.”

“Chief?” Zelda asked, uncertain about the order. Hylia possibly being in a boy she could handle, but in all her time there, she’d never heard of a voe entering Gerudo Town. For Urbosa to speak of it almost as if it were done every other day was- confusing, to say the least.

Urbosa raised her brow at the question. “He is my Oten’vehvi and knows how to behave within these walls. You need not concern yourself with the politics, just act as his personal guard.”

“Yes, Chief.”

She made her preparations and checked that all was secure with the ‘contraband.’ The idea of meeting the Prince was troubling to say the least. She felt completely inadequate, bearing a sword that considered her unworthy. Perhaps she could pass it onto him and he could find the most courageous person in Hyrule. With his resources she was sure it wouldn’t be that hard. Then again, legendary swords weren’t known for choosing incorrect Heroes, so what was wrong with her?

They would just have to work together somehow.

She rode most of the way at a leisurely pace behind her sand seal until she noticed a scuffle as she neared Kara Kara. “HUP!” she directed her seal to go a bit faster to investigate.

A couple of Hylian vai shrieked when they saw her. “The Prince! Please save our Prince!” they cried as they pointed west.

There were two Yiga chasing after a nimble blond clad in light blue. She sprung after them, tongue rolling in a call to let her mount know they needed to go as fast as if they were fleeing a molduga.

The Prince was doing well for himself until he fell, a prey disposition coming over him. He scooted back but could only stare at the assassins, frozen in fear.

Zelda used her inertia to whip across the sand and jumped to land between the Prince and his attackers. She drew her sword, imbued with courage and confident that she could easily protect the boy against the likes of this desert rabble. She almost become distracted by the sword’s sudden glow before exchanging blows with the masked Yiga. They soon realized they were no match for her and dispersed in pops of red and orange light, laughter echoing in their place.

Breathing heavily, she turned back to face the Prince who was still flat on his bum. They both ogled the glowing sword.

An ethereal, disembodied voice broke the silence, “Master, it is good to see you again.”

Their eyes snapped to each other and searched for understanding. There was an immediate and unmistakable bond between them. They’d both heard it.

“I see...” Zelda began. She glared down at the Master Sword, fist clenching the handle and shaking with anger. “So you only deign to speak when your charge is present?” Her voice rose, “I wasn’t good enough for you?! You picky piece of shit!” she yelled as she hurled the sword into the dunes.

Link gaped in disbelief that his protector was so uncouth when something profound occurred to him. He fell back into the sand laughing, a massive wave of relief washing over him.

She looked at him curiously. “What? What is it?”

His laughter died down and he gazed into the sky, moisture glistening in the corner of his eye. “She’s with me.”

Zelda’s eyebrows knitted in confusion, unaware of the turmoil he had experienced regarding his identity.

Link stood and brushed himself off then held out his hand in greeting. “You must be Zelda. Bearer of the Blade that seals the Darkness.”

She accepted his shake and added spitefully, “More like the blade that won’t open its trap unless its mommy is around.”

“You know, I find it very intriguing, my mother’s name was also Zelda.”

“Yes, my mother was a big fan. It’s kind of flattering, she was a great lady. But people always joke that I’m the lost, secret princess and other nonsense.” She started to move away but he touched her arm and she paused.

“Thank you- for saving my life; but also for revealing the truth. Now that I know she’s here,” he touched his heart, “I will find her.”

Zelda eyed him like a strange bug, still unsure as to what he was on about. She patted his shoulder as she walked over to retrieve her weapon, “Good luck with that.”

~~~

A few nights later, Link and Urbosa took a stroll just outside of town to enjoy each other’s company, catching up on their daily lives. The stars twinkled brightly and the moon shone pale on the dunes, a steady breeze drifting the sands away to the dark horizon. He’d just intimated what his father would have him do to stay the coming Calamity.

She touched his shoulder in support, “And what did you say?”

“That this was our battle. And I would absolutely not have a child just to-” he sighed deeply. “I mean, I know the legends. There will always be a vessel of Hylia and her chosen Hero, but to be so deliberate and unfeeling about it, I just...”

“It’s alright. Your father has always been rather blunt, and practical to a fault. For what it’s worth, I believe in you. The visions you describe sound very similar to what your mother shared with me.”

He looked up to her with a smile, “It’s worth a lot, you’re my Oten’baba; your opinion matters to me more than anyone else.”

They continued on for a short time in companionable silence when Urbosa stopped and lifted her head to the night, listening and placing a hand on her scimitar.

“What is it?” Link asked, only noticing after he’d taken a few steps ahead.

A raucous laughter cut across the desert and as quick as Urbosa had been to draw her blade and prepare a snap of deadly electricity over her foes, two of them grabbed the Prince and held their sickles to his neck causing her to stay her hand.

“What a lovely package we have here tonight. Not only can we bag the boy, we can finally rid ourselves of the thorn in our side, Gerudo Tempest!” a Yiga foot soldier, hidden amongst the rest, spat the last two words out in disgust.

They attacked and dozens fell upon the Chief, running head on and popping up behind. A dance of blades began and Link struggled to free himself. Urbosa tried to lead her foes away but Link’s captors followed, dragging his feet through the sand.

“You’ll not be using your lightning with the precious Prince so close, will you?” gloated the same antagonizing voice.

Link cried out in terror when he saw a Yiga succeed in cutting her arm. She seethed and decked them right across the jaw. When they fell she jumped onto their back and launched herself in the air so she could shoot off a bolt.

“Oh, no! Is the Tempest in distress?” the voice goaded, and the masks cackled.

Link couldn’t tell where the mocking was coming from, they were everywhere and nowhere at once. There were too many. Urbosa was becoming overwhelmed and aid may not arrive in time- a gash landed on her leg- he was going to lose her. The laughing was getting louder, the air becoming so thick with magic that it tasted like chalk on his tongue- a slice was delivered up her back and she cried out. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought of his mother. What would she do? There hadn’t been anything he could do for her then, but he was here now for his living mother.

Link’s eyes shot open just in time to see Urbosa drowning under the onslaught and his insides fell into oblivion. They were replaced by a warmth that spread through his body and beyond. He jerked his head in confusion as those that held him fell away. He was free. Sparks akin to those he felt when he fell asleep on his hand in the library spread through his fingers and he launched himself into the foray. He clawed through Yiga soldiers to get to her and did not see how each one he yanked was thrown back with a force of golden energy.

“Urbosa! URBOSA!?” They hit the ground.

The desert was lit with a false sunrise as Link crushed Urbosa in a desperate embrace. The light washed over her, healing her wounds as it cascaded around them in a dome, their enemies lying motionless on the outside.

After a few stunned moments, they opened their eyes and picked each other up. Urbosa held his face in her hands and wiped his tears. “Just look at you,” she said, smiling proudly.

“I- I couldn’t. I was,” he stumbled over his words as more tears fell, “I was going to lose you. I couldn’t lose you too,” he cried into her chest and she held him close.

~~~

Link was a natural at seal surfing. That’s what Zelda thought before she realized that he must have actually visited Gerudo Town previously and she just didn’t know it. They had left at sunrise and arrived to their destination mid morning. After taking a much needed rest, re-hydrating and snacking, Link took a leisurely walk around the place to get his bearings while Zelda tended to the sand seals. She joined him after they were settled for a long siesta and the two of them began their research of the Seven Heroines in interest.

There were orbs scattered about the place. Very large, Link noticed. He pushed one with his foot. And heavy. The sand seals might have to work after all. He tasked Zelda with collecting any she could find and in the meantime he studied the statues, picking up rather quickly that some had prominent corresponding symbols to the orbs on various parts of their bodies. Some he couldn’t make out as they were too high so there would be some educated guesses by process of elimination.

Zelda couldn’t help being drawn into his enthusiasm, the way he took notes- the face he made when he took those notes; it was all very quaint, and a bit impressive. Having spent most of her time advancing physically, she appreciated the mental gymnastics they were doing. Where most might sit back defeated, Link pushed through with a calm determination. They tried dropping the orbs in the pedestals in numerous combinations, each with a sound theory behind them. How was Link to know that if shrines had been activated, he would have succeeded in getting a result on the first try? A fact that they both wouldn’t learn for another 103-odd years.

After the sun set, Link scrawled until the dimming light rendered the page unreadable. Zelda had already set about making camp. They could head back to town in the morning, both were knackered. Even with the help of the seals, they’d heaved plenty of orbs around for hours. Eventually he plopped down on the rug with her and heaved a big sigh.

“Wow, you been working all day or something?” she asked in jest as she turned the vegetables in the fire.

“Yeah, something like that. It’s been a long while since I’ve been out in the field.”

She regarded him thoughtfully. “What’s it like up at the castle?”

“Stuffy.”

She chuckled and didn’t press but it wouldn’t be fair to leave it at that. For all its faults, it deserved more. “I loved exploring the halls as a boy. I’m fairly certain I found long lost passages even the castle historian didn’t know about. My favorite places are the Library and the Observatory. “

“Sounds about right,” Zelda smirked.

“Ha ha. But really, the Library has books as far as you can see, you’d never finish them in one lifetime. And my mother used to take me to the Observatory. I still go there to feel close to her.”

They sat in silence for a moment when Zelda touched his forearm. “I’m sorry you lost her.”

Link nodded in thanks and Zelda started to collect the hearty truffles from the coals. “I lost my father,” she began, and Link was a bit surprised she was sharing.

“He was a knight. We didn’t have any other family close by and mom didn’t fancy moving to Tabantha Village. She hates the cold,” Zelda added as she passed Link a stick laden with dinner.

“Thanks. So she just came to the desert instead?” Link asked before blowing generously and taking a bite.

“She had a close friend here who is practically my auntie. I think she was hoping we could just get away and start fresh from everything we knew before. But then I had to take after dad. Took her a while and a lot of arguments to come to terms with the fact that I was also a warrior.” She shook her head. “I feel bad. I’ve put her in a constant fear of losing me too but... you have to do what your soul tells you, right?”

Link closed his eyes and thought of Hylia, feeling a vibration in his core. “Right.” He agreed thoughtfully.

“Anyway, then this happened,” she said, unsheathing the sword on her back a few inches and letting fall back in with a shinck. “That was not a fun conversation.”

“I can imagine,” Link commiserated as he thought of his own recent rows with his father.

Zelda took a bite of her own truffle and regarded him up and down. With no tact for manners, she said with a full mouth, “You’re alrigh’ fo’ a Pince.”

Link laughed and his genuine mirth spread warmth through Zelda’s chest. “And you’re alright for a Hero.”

#breath of the wild #zelink #fanfiction #roleswap au #prince link #champion zelda #urbosa #king rhoam #Son of Hylia Daughter of Farore #snidgetwidgeon scribbles

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