#There's a lot of Primrose this time around | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darlingpwease · 1 year ago

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primrose

If stars are lit // It means there is someone who needs it // It means someone wants them to be ©

2 drabbles (~3000 words) + 5 headcanons (~4500 words)

♡ unhealthy behaviour (clinginess, obsessiveness, possessiveness, mutual dependency, overprotectiveness, stalking if you squint, elements of forced relationship if you squint), mention of emotional breakdown, mention of blood, poly relationship

♡ nsfw warnings in the end

You have always been loyal to Xie Lian, even back when you followed His Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Xianle, full of the bloom of youth and ambition, who wants to make the common people happy, but does not understand, does not know the realities that he was going to correct. He has always been like this — "run, because His Royal Highness is already going to make your life better, it doesn't matter if you want it or not, and as a result your life will get better, but nerves will have to be treated for several more years."

... After all, you have known him since childhood, always following his radiance like a shadow, as if your place is in the darkest place, which is right under the lantern. You couldn't tell if it bothered you or not — you've been known as the Crown Prince's loyal companion for as long as you've known yourself, and you couldn't say that his radiance ever darkened you or made you uncomfortable. Rather, it seemed that his very light was aimed at making you shine even brighter, as if he was the light of spotlights aimed at you as the main star of any time of the day or night, and you didn't want to do anything about it, allowing him to just hide behind your back and look at the world from there. But even so, sometimes he was especially... incredible, and not only in a good or bad way.

(Once it was suggested that "yes, of course, we should inform His Royal Highness about this, but, to be honest, it's somehow safer to be without him," and although it was half-joking, everyone understood that there was only a fraction of a joke in every joke, even when he showed royal restraint and calmness, keeping his back perfectly straight, slightly lifting his nose, and was like a straight but flexible bamboo.)

Xie Lian was always like this — passionate, ardent, almost capricious, full of innocence and kaleidoscope, and it seemed to you that there was a lot in him: charm, emotions, ambitions, words, strength, hopes, intentions, beliefs — there was a lot of everything and stormy, like a fast-flowing river or the blooming of the whole forest glade. It was as if he could not and could not help being passionate, absorbing and loud; loud not with sounds, but with emotions, especially when he looked at you with pure burning eyes, like the scorching summer sun, from which you could not hide under any shadow.

Xie Lian was not insane, even if everyone recognized his extravagance — but he was a beloved, happy and passionate, and even if you saw his naivety and ignorance in matters of everyday life, how could you blame this individual of royal blood, which is destined to fly like a butterfly, from flower to flower, untouched no "base", "earthly" problems?

In the end, his potential for ascension only convinced you of this thought — unlike you, if Xie Lian does not make any mistakes, then he will spend his whole life without knowing sorrows and disappointments, like the most luxurious songbird.

And when he calls you again, asking you to be with him....

... He's so cute that you sometimes want to cry.

Xie Lian does not deserve misfortunes and troubles, even if sometimes his slight royal arrogance, ardor and impulsiveness cause a headache, especially when you walk behind him, closing the formation, but he always turns around at you, smiling playfully, always glad that you are here, as if he believes that you can go somewhere. You believe that it is only the 'springtime' and the crown prince wants only the best, worrying and asking about you, gently taking your hands in his jade-soft, and eyes shining like precious stones, gently saying that you can always turn to him, and you dare not answer anything but consent and a gentle bow, because even then he won't let go of your hands.

It is obvious to everyone that Xie Lian, His Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Xianle, adores you, and this does not bring you anything good, especially when stories about the "eccentric, but adoring prince and his faithful, cold lover" are spreading more and more often among the people every year, but Xie Lian only dismisses them, assuring you that there's nothing to worry about — 'ordinary people need fairy tales, and these stories sound decent', although you are sure that he understands what 'prince' and 'lover' they are talking about — and you can't go against him, seeing that he is adamant in things in which you don't want to see inflexibility.

Xie Lian was never 'persistently strong-willed' — he sought to bring good, and there was a core in him, but, unlike you, his leading others behind him never carried such a strong aspiration. He was closer to the 'follower' and following in the footsteps, believing that you would lead him to where he needed to be, obeying your decisions and words, — and you also always found it natural until the eyes of others were riveted to you and you were not obliged to obey the official understanding of your positions.

But when it was principled things, like the stories that went around among the people, or your thin ribbon tied around his ankle, he was adamant, and the softness became a diamond that it was useless to try to break or scratch. Even if his obedience to you and willingness to follow you were from childhood, you also more than knew about his stubbornness and firmness, which will not disappear even if you break him.

And no matter what, no matter what the words of others, no matter what rumors are going on, no matter what views, you obeyed him — and his capricious, desperate desire that you never go anywhere, no matter what.

... After all, you were and will be his companion, no matter if it's the His Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Xianle, Martial God, army leader, 'demon', teacher, 'traitor' or a wandering immortal living in garbage. Your place is nearby.

And so it will always be.

“Never leave me. We will always be together. Always... Say it. Please.”

The child in your arms is small, like a tiny fox cub that has fallen out of a hole, and when he lands in your hands, you can feel as if you are holding something even more fragile than porcelain and more delicate than jade, even if he looked like an ordinary street child with an awkwardly bandaged right eye.

His Royal Highness brings the procession to an end, despite the excess, while you hold the child in your arms, waiting for him to be released, feeling how the tiny creature lies silently, not even twitching, like a frozen herbivore in the arms of a predator, and you want to calm him down somehow, but you know what will do it Xie Lian, who will definitely be interested in learning about this child and why he was in such a situation and why you were so lucky to be around, especially considering that it was you who asked to change your position to be at the wall.

You have nothing to answer to such accusations, however.

It's just... 'instincts'.

You can't find an answer to his accusations or his questions, no matter how hard you try. It was as if you just knew it was going to happen and acted on that knowledge, even if you couldn't find any logical or rational explanation. After all, you saved the festival in some sense, so it's not that your actions are a problem, right?

(Xie Lian looks incredulously, flashing eyes like the radiance of a thousand lightning bolts, but can't find any words that could prove that you are deceiving him or hiding something.)

The child looks like a 'mongrel', which are often found if you move closer to the south, but for some reason you can't help but feel emotion and regret, looking at his childishly round, but dirty face. However, you cannot go against the words of Xie Lian, who found out everything that was needed — just like about his request to hand over the dirty, fragile lump to Feng Xin while you go with him, since the most interesting thing is yet to come, as if you are not his bodyguard or helper, but some kind of companion (as if the current rumors about the closeness between you and the Crown Prince are not enough).

(However, you can't help but secretly give this child your little accessory, which should not attract a lot of attention to him, but will also give him some money so that he can afford food and water for a long time with a small consumption.)

(You don't know why the fact that the Crown Prince has all the earrings in place gives you a strange feeling, especially when Xie Lian looks at you with a strange bewilderment mixed with hope.)

(And the fact that he gives you one earring in the evening as a sign of 'friendship' while wearing the second one does not help too much.)

(Of course you're not so silly to wear it properly.)

... You don't know what you feel when you see this small, dirty child again and again — or when you gently comb his hair, washing, as if trying to express everything that you feel but can't show, feeling how you are moving away from His Royal Highness, although it should be the opposite.

Perhaps you are simply not... cut out for your job — especially when you braid the child's hair the same way you did it for Xie Lian once.

Undoubtedly, you are still as loyal to Xie Lian as your Crown Prince and childhood friend, but perhaps, perhaps, you have already... outgrown these sympathies — especially after you have remained on earth, preferring to move according to the circle of reincarnation, if you cannot reach Heaven on your own without being his 'helper'.

You deserve to be something more.

Hong'er, sweet precious child, convinces you for a moment that it is dangerous for you to be with him, but you do not hesitate to brush it off — after your childhood with Xie Lian, you are sure that nothing can kill you anymore. You yourself doubt how you managed to survive.

Hong'er looks on with a mixture of interest and amazement while you comb his hair, feeling the experience of the 'wrong time' receding. As if you really do not belong to this era or the world.

Using a child as an anchor is wrong, but it's the only way you know.

You also know that Mu Qing would definitely judge you silently, looking at you with his face of a chaste, irritated maiden, as if you are not just doing your own thing, but harassing him simply by the fact that you can't stop, — you don't know what exactly to 'stop' — and that Feng Xing doesn't approve too much of your, it makes no sense to take a principled position, even if he tries to understand, but you don't mind.

Spending time with Hong'er, who is shy from such attention but does not mind at all, it's like talking to a little kitten or a fox cub — and he does not mind this unexpected closeness, especially while the kingdom is beginning to change, and not at all for the better.

You are still living in a bubble, finally feeling comfortable and safe, spending everything you can on a cute child who still naively believes that he can ruin your life, but still clings to you, looking with a huge eye. When you first remove the bondage from him, exposing a blood-red eye, more like the same bloody wounds that you received while you were training to be worthy, you can't help but tell him that he is the most worthy and beautiful, even if you are sure that your words are not enough — people are like dogs, and that you praise a wild puppy for the thing for which he was constantly scolded, will not do any good.

For the first time in your life, you are glad that you are wrong when he cries in your arms, trembling like an autumn leaf, and spring moisture fills his eyes.

Your good boy. Your most beautiful boy.

If you could, you would stay in this 'reality forever, ignoring everything that happens...

... Of course, you can't stay away.

Of course you can't stop him when Hong'er follows, joining the army, and you know that if it wasn't for your duty and your devotion, you would have stayed with your Hong'er, who will forever remain for you a tiny fox cub that fell into your hands, as if marking your new life, bursting into your life like storm and letting you know that everything will change. In the end, as soon as it seemed to you that you had a family, they take it away from you again — and when it's not your blood dripping from your sword yet, you don't understand what you feel inside.

What will happen when the war ends? What happens if your army loses? What will happen to Xie Lian if he brings not victory, but defeat?

You have never liked comparisons with a faithful dog, but you know that you will follow him to heaven and hell, no matter what. For you, he will always be your Xian, full of innocence and naivety, who wants to do what he considers right and bring happiness and well-being, 'so that no one leaves offended', and now, looking at how you win or lose, you do not feel anything, although you would have felt pride or annoyance before.

You may have outgrown that, too.

Perhaps you have outgrown too much.

... You follow your duty even when your heart demands that you find Hong'er — but you know that it is useless and hopeless, you don't even know if he is alive after that incident and where he is now, and your helplessness poisons you when you see what the person you promised to protect at the cost of your life.

Perhaps Hong'er was wrong — perhaps you were the one whose destiny it was to destroy your loved ones, not him.

In the end, the King and Queen feel no better, and although you don't understand whether you are angry or feel despair, at the same time realizing that Xie Lian would have gone down anyway, he couldn't help but do it, even if it would lead to his fall, but at the same time feeling angry that everything had to to happen exactly when you finally found a person whom you could call a 'family', with whom you were not because of duty, but because of the desire of your heart, who found an equally lonely and abandoned child, to whom you were ready to give yourself just to keep warm.

And when you see how the one whom you considered your infallible idol and perfection, despite all his actions, sinks to the very bottom, looking for a way to continue to exist even when your kingdom, your home is no more, and instead you live in a completely different world, seeing how people throw off statues of Your God, refusing from faith, — you gently hold his hand, remembering for a moment that Hong'er's palm was colder and smaller, but just as fragile.

And there's nothing you can do.

Nothing.

Even when the spiral of madness pulls him even more, while the young man hiding behind the mask for some reason seems too familiar to you, impermissibly familiar (Hong'er?), but you can't pay attention to it, even if the thought that he is now dead, never returning home, not returning to your little pretty home, squeezes your heart even harder, as if threatening to break it.

You have lost everyone you can, and when Your God is looking for something in your eyes, you don't know whether he finds it or not.

You have followed your duty, and you will follow him to the end until your life ends, no matter whether your heart, your mind or something else dictates it to you. Xie Lian has always been the most precious thing in your life, and the fact that your attempt to start living with someone other than him was only shattered only confirms this.

Perhaps you were never destined to be with anyone but him — perhaps you were destined not to be with anyone at all when your Crown Prince squeezes you in his arms, looking for something that can be his anchor, and you try to be him for him, to be his support and pillar, until then until your heart stops and you disappear from the circle of reincarnation.

No matter where, you will follow him — save the way back if he realizes that he has gone the wrong way, and follow him into the thick of it if he says that this is the right way.

The darkest place is under the lantern, but sometimes 'being a lantern', hiding it and protecting it from the world that was not ready for it, becomes your task. And the fact that you have to protect this 'lantern' to keep it in undisturbed safety is your duty. After all, Hong'er, your sweet sweet Hong'er, will definitely meet in the future, in his next reincarnations. Definitely.

You will not call yourself a zealous fatalist, but you know that such meetings are not accidental — you just need to wait.

Wait and think. About many things. And about your precious.

... Your Hong'er's hands are small, narrow and a little rough, but when you took them in your palms in the past, they seemed the most gentle and affectionate, even if he looked up like a little fox cub or a puppy that you managed to tame by giving only 'home' and 'affection'.

Xie Lian's hands are warm, smooth and soft, but when he caresses your face or hair, you cannot restrain a gentle loving smile.

To realize that after all the forks, all the choices, all the paths, all the decisions, you are here — repairing your cozy house, you can't even believe how much you've been through.

And you know that everything is just beginning.

For the three of you.

𔓘 Despite the fact that you have known one since childhood, while you have partially raised the other (even if you never managed to become a 'real family'), you still learn from each other various little things and behavioral patterns, as if looking for something in the dark while standing in the light. They are not radically different, but they are not at all similar — even if they have much more similar qualities than differences inside, especially when it comes to the attitude towards you, the fanaticism and obsessiveness of which they do not 'divide', but multiply.

There is more mutual understanding between HUA CHENG and XIE LIAN, — an unpleasant thing, of course, as if they have a multi-year history with each other, and not 'they communicate less than the fifth time in their lives, but for some reason they understand each other on the fly, especially when it comes to you', — but you are not sure on what it is built, taking into account that they both have an extremely anxious type of attachment that requires you to look and want only them, which makes their clinginess even stronger and sharper, surrounding you from all sides.

Perhaps this is for the best — given your "fatal attraction" quality, it would be problematic to attract someone else, but when you can't dismiss any of them, since he will receive the support of the second, then you begin to doubt how closed a relationship was a good choice, even if you see that two of them more than comfortable, despite the need to share your attention and affection. Perhaps this is because they are surprisingly compatible by themselves, despite the moments when their needs and views simply do not converge on some things in which each of them does not want to give in, — and you do not know whether it is 'stubbornness' or some kind of internal growing problem that in the end she has shown itself in this way, — which is why you are forced to intervene and be a peacemaker if you do not want the relationship to become complicated. XIE LIAN can be unnaturally stubborn, HUA CHENG can be hot-tempered in flashes, and their general acute sensitivity, when a vulnerable spot is touched, leads to rare and quickly disappearing conflicts, which, however, still leave tension and the ground for a new conflict.

This is especially true of the dynamics of the relationship with you and the search for satisfying passion, the absence of which leads to the problem of jealousy, which neither of them raises explicitly, and therefore you can easily skip it until it's too late. And you don't know which is worse — when they are jealous of each other (which is very rare) or when they are both jealous of you for others (much more often) and unite to return you to the 'home nest', considering the possibility of your exit as unnecessary. And despite your usual dominance in a relationship with comfortable subordination of both, when they unite, not just 'cooperate', there is little you can do — whoever you are, fighting with the strongest Martial God and one of the Four Great Calamities is a lost cause in which it is easier to just agree.

In a relationship with them in general, you get a huge amount of experience in the form of 'it's easier to just agree', because this is actually the easiest way to deal with them when there are too many of them, and their obsessive tendencies from 'cute and soft' becomes 'sharper and darker'.

𔓘 They are very affectionate and sticky — to an unhealthy degree, where it seems that if they leave you for more than a few seconds, they will immediately die without taking a couple of steps. With HUA CHENG'S absolute, unconditional loyalty, which cannot even be questioned unless you want to attract very extreme consequences when he will feel that you are questioning his love and devotion, since from the very beginning he feels 'unworthy' of you, and XIE LIAN'S obsessive addiction, which over the years has become even closer and stronger to rely on looking at you as the center of his life, entrusting the need to make decisions and point to you, you find yourself in turbulence between balancing between their desire to constantly be around and your personal freedom, even if your own traumatic experience has made you much less independent and prone to finding time 'for yourself', — you had more than enough of it, — but the usual desire to sometimes think about life and what happened has not disappeared.

XIE LIAN likes to just lie next to you, sometimes falling asleep slightly, enjoying your warmth and hugs, and in general has a more modestly tenacious and shy nature at the same time, where it is enough for him to just cling and snuggle up to you to be happy, although you know that whenever you look down, you will see the brilliance of his adoring the eye, although it did not even show signs of any movement.

HUA CHENG is different — you will never feel that he is 'not there'; even if you are lying peacefully, he almost always tends to move and fidget, constantly pressing you closer to him, unless you tell him that you want to lie down quietly. But when his hands tremble slightly while you hug him or let him hug you, it seems even nice to you with how touching he tries to be respectful — especially when he tries to captivate you with what he is good at, like creating your sculptures or creating paintings with you, as if trying to immerse you in the atmosphere absolute acceptance and unconditional adoration, giving it all to you and only to you. Everything he has is for you and only for you, and you cannot help but feel this exclusive and absolute fixation, in which there is no possibility to move away or refuse, since there is no space where you could move away.

But even in those moments when HUA CHENG straightens the sleeves of his clothes, constantly tries to look attractive and shyly takes a step back or forward, trying to adjust to your pace and not rush or delay, at the same time wanting to devour you and stay within the 'bounds of decency', concluding an unspoken pact that he will follow you everywhere, as long as you allow him to follow, but also allow him to penetrate into every corner of your life, as if trying to close you into the bubble of himself and always know what is with you to protect and protect, supporting at any stage — and immediately returning to the role of a flirtatious but modest admirer.

XIE LIAN is much less modest — and you yourself do not know what this is due to, given that XIE LIAN is much more quiet and calm, but his courtship is more manifested in service, and has a more almost shamelessly physical character, like strong hugs from the back, lying down together, working together, eating together, creating for you, the ideal physical environment is through the preparation of a bath or treats, bringing (usually together with HUA CHENG) gifts — as if in an attempt to make up for all the time that you were apart, XIE LIAN becomes your free supplement, even if you can't say that you're 'uncomfortable' because you don't feel uncomfortable.

There's just something about it that makes you want to carry it with you and say that if someone offends your little crown prince, you'll break that person's arm.

It's not that it's 'not mutual' — although XIE LIAN is less prone to open confrontation and aggression, preferring to solve everything in a peaceful way, his parental instinct and a very clear manifestation of hyperprotective nature, which became even more noticeable after the kind that HUA CHENG can calmly show it and you don't mind, lead to that in moments of aggression or the need to defend, he can be even more savage and ferocious than HUA CHENG, and the fact that he is the strongest of your three does not brighten up the situation too much.

You're fine anyway — although HUA CHENG'S mania for watching you to make sure you're okay goes too well with XIE LIAN'S hyperprotectiveness about you, while XIE LIAN'S silent clinginess resonates with HUA CHENG'S love-starved soul, from which their tendencies are only further strengthened and fueled by each other. to a friend, leading to the fact that they strive for even greater isolation and the creation of an "ideal home" where you will only be with them and no one else will distribute, when you are close to feeling almost discomfort from too aggressive and melting adoration — they immediately move away before you have to show that you want to stop, as if their very needs are tuned to you to perfectly match.

And although HUA CHENG is definitely the most passionate and shy, while XIE LIAN is the softest and wildest, you prefer to just call them your 'beloved husbands',

not that you have at least a chance to escape from them, however.

(Ruoye and E-ming madly adore you too, and when you realize that, you need to sit down and think about what you've done with your life.)

(It's like you've got two more, but this time smaller and more manageable puppies. Although Ruoye regularly tries to wrap itself around you, while E-ming vibrates enthusiastically at any of your manifestations, at some point you even begin to like it.)

♡ heavy petting, hypersexuality, discipline, rough sex, crying + drooling, dommale elements, free use, consensual noncon/dubcon, group sex / threesome, light bondage (xl, hc, reader), body worship (xl, hc, reader), praise kink (xl, hc, reader), loss of virginity (xl, hc), hyperstimulation (xl, hc), breeding (xl, hc), light degradation (xl, hc), lingerie (xl), orgasm denial (hc), nipple play (hc), oral sex (reader), using Ruoye as a sex toy with consent

𔓘 XIE LIAN is on the more 'shameless' side regarding his sexual desires than HUA CHENG, and moves much faster from foreplay to sex, needing emotional and intellectual stimulation rather to try to seize the initiative and in your expression of desire to immediately intercept and react — and when XIE LIAN saddles your hips for the first time with a ruddy face, hastily taking off your robe, you can't believe to the last that he is serious, constantly waiting for him to stop — but as he remains more and more bare, letting the fabric slip off his broad shoulders, you realize that no, he is absolutely serious, and more than calm, even if you can easily feel a slight tremor when you put hands on the soft thighs, warming, encouraging him not to stop, although you yourself no less excited, looking at his slender waist, strong legs and arms, easily able to even playfully press you to the bed or floor to such an extent that you will not be able to move.

It's not that your shock is not justified; after all, his path involves chastity and the absence of any sexual relations, but to think that this will somehow stop him from what he wants — you — is very naive and even a little silly. You've known since childhood that XIE LIAN was very strong-willed and persistent when he wanted to, but the last thing you thought about was that his persistence would be relative to 'I WILL fuck my spouse no matter what the cost!!!', because if your past self found out that you had caused His Royal Highness' cultivation to deteriorate, you would definitely strangle yourself.

After all, why did you suffer for so many years, following him and living in the temple — just to fuck him and these many years of work because he is a 'very hot thing' and does not mind at all that you let him ride you, drool while you drive into his sensitive body, experiencing such intense sensations for the first time, from which he cum already at the moment when you drive in, and in the end can only bury his nose in the pillow, whining while you praise him for what a good boy he is, you move your hips so good, Your Highness, while your fingers firmly hold smooth long hair, part of which sticks to his wet hot back?

XIE LIAN does not like — quite strongly — when people remember that he is a royal person, especially when you do it, since the very thought that you are with him only because of 'duty' drives him crazy in a bad way, but he does not mind at all if you do it when 'Your Highness kneels in front of with this servant', when you stroke his hair and face, gently explaining, looking into his darkened pleading eyes and at his beautiful face, wet with tears and heat, telling that this is his new duty to you — after all, he is so gorgeous, so charming, so perfect, that this is not a problem at all, right?

... And even knowing that the desire for your absolute power over his body, to the same extent as your power over his heart and mind, is his desire, you can't help but allow yourself a few almost humiliating, laudatory words about how he looks, being in such a pitiful and submissive state, having completely lost all royal dignity. You also deserve a reward for your faithful service, don't you? And the minimum he can give you is to give you all of himself, even if your desire is his body — "Your Highness, let me undress you", which quickly turns into almost-compulsion, especially at the sight of his red and confused expression, if not for the sweet trembling in his flexible you and a feverish gleam in his eyes when the 'faithful servant and childhood friend' forcibly takes his Crown Prince, who is unable to resist and fight back.

"In the end, Your Highness behaves like a lustful needy young man from an entertainment house" — when your palm shuts his mouth, not hiding a laugh when you feel him trembling, more than obviously not intending to resist, withstanding only the necessary minimum in the form of attempts to leave soft weak thighs squeezed, but easy to lift up and throw on your shoulders.

His short nails scratch you to bloody scratches; XIE LIAN squirms under you, mixing pleas for continuation and for 'mercy on him' while he watches you drive into his wet weak body, taking advantage of your advantage over him — or when you let him ride you, watching from the bottom up as he moves his wet hips with squelching sounds and moans, breathing heavily, with a bright ruddy shame and excitement on his tender cheeks, but not slowing down the rhythm, while whispers how good it feels, putting your palm on his stomach, letting you feel how much he is filled, stopping only to let you see how petite and tight his body is, as if XIE LIAN is not a Martial God, but really nothing more than a depraved young man from the spring house — only your young man, who can serve only you, as if his body itself has become addicted from this and from you.

... If XIE LIAN could, he would spend time only with you in an embrace, connecting as closely as anyone could ever with him or with you.

𔓘 HUA CHENG is more shy and needs a lot of foreplay, even if his attraction is more stable, even 'permanent' — but if you want the initiative from him, then you will have to wait until he warms up and stops walking around, hitting the bush instead of directly talking to you. HUA CHENG is much less confident in his right to your attention and love, especially the right to receive your love in such an intimate way, and willingly follows any of your desires and words, but for a long time he warms up to the idea of his own desires and the opportunity to express them, preferring to serve you, feeling much more comfortable when he worships you on his knees, dissolving, and getting only what you want to give him than daring to ask for anything.

After all, his place is next to you, even if you have always been in his access zone — but you have never been someone he could really touch, even when you lived almost as a 'family' during his childhood.

You have always been the sun, which HUA CHENG does not dare to even look at without squinting, let alone touch you without permission, and even when he became the Ghost King, having the opportunity to throw everything he has at your feet, he still did not dare to look at anything except from the bottom up — and do not hesitate to get down on his knees for this, worshipping you as a Deity even if you are not, always remaining the only one in whom he believed and asked for a blessing when he went through the most difficult periods of life, hoping that in the future he will be able to be there not just as someone who needs to be protected, but as the one who can protect you and be useful so that you never have to be left with a broken heart because of him again.

When he was dying, he had only one regret.

And now, kissing your skin, letting your hands get tangled in his hair, ideal for combing and braiding your favorite pigtails, HUA CHENG looks out from under his covered eyelashes with barely restrained servility, finding his meaning only to stay where you need and be the one you can always lean on and have who will you seek protection from.

It doesn't matter how long and painfully he will have to go and fight, if in the end he earns a place next to you, even if for this he will have to use claws and fangs, tearing out his victory and right with blood, — just like when HUA CHENG tries to lie motionless under you, breathing heavily, feeling his head spinning at the same time with delight, feeling euphoria from thoughts of unreality and excitement, trembling slightly while the body feels completely jelly, obeying any of your movement and desire, letting you easily wrap his legs around your hips, gently asking is he comfortable just to hear a soft meow as consent; breathing deeply while you hold his hand, gradually letting his body get used to you, even if it is not such a necessity for someone like him — but you can't help but be affectionate, kissing his face and whispering so that he doesn't rush things, even if he breathlessly whispers your name as a prayer while you gradually fill him with yourself — the last part of his body that is not yet full by you.

When you gently rub his chest, giving him pleasure, assuring that you feel good when he looks so defenseless and vulnerable, even if such a position is unusual and almost uncomfortable, — but you speak and he obeys without question, no matter what exactly you say and what your desire will be, even if HUA CHENG almost cries from stimulation while his eyelashes tremble and sharp strong teeth bite his own palm; feeling painfully pleasant waves while you rub his sensitive nipples with undying interest, from touching which his toes curl, — but he's still silent, letting you just see how the tears shine in his eye, threatening to slip from the corner down his face, leaving a shiny transparent path, but the thought that you made him feel this way at the same time excites you and him, not daring to bother you even when his body becomes so responsive to an obsessive caress, as if you are trying to make him become so sensitive that every movement will cause him to stifle a groan.

You don't try, however; you do — and the fact that HUA CHENG gives himself completely into your hands, letting himself lie submissively under you, accepting everything you want to give, everything you want to fill, makes his body tremble from a mixture of excitement and anxiety, from which he can only strive to give you more and also, taking everything you have with the same insatiable greed. Even if he is usually nothing more than a 'cozy nest' in which you can find what you want, he is also prone to outbursts — when you accept him for what he is, especially when you let his more aggressive side find a way out, fixing on you, almost digging sharp teeth into your flesh, growling when your nails dig into his skin, helping to move, even if he does more than well, purring hoarsely with a mixture of cooing and irritation while you take him closer to you, not letting him slip out anywhere but your strong embrace.

Isn't this happiness?

And even when he's breathing heavily, drooling, feeling like his mouth is full of you and saliva, but just not daring fight somehow, knowing that this is your desire and aspiration, even if his head is completely empty by the new round, — such a good boy while you use him again and again, enjoying completely destroyed appearance, as if you were almost able to fill an immense black hole before it managed to absorb and want more. Your hand looks perfect on his neck — but even without it, he suffocates when you push inside again and again, not letting him hide his face from you, demanding that he look into your eyes while writhing under you, trying to move away from the painfully pleasant touches to an overly sensitive body, — but it's easy for you to bend him to he couldn't move anywhere at all. HUA CHENG does not resist — never, even if his arms are wrapped around your neck while he meows and mumbles something pathetically, hiding face in your shoulder or trying to cover with hands with shame.

Because no matter what, he will accept everything.

𔓘 You can't tell if you have sex together 'often' or not — it just happens when you are together, especially considering that they get along well with each other and don't see anything 'special' in joining forces, even if it's not exactly what you expected from them, lazily lying before see the interested burning eyes, clearly already tacitly agreed on something with each other and now watching your reaction to their more than straightforward hints. Talking about whether you are better off with such a combination or worse is problematic, because although they are both exhausting, needy and demanding, when they are together, they are much freer and brighter to take the initiative, repeating after the other, mutually pushing each other and themselves forward — but this is exactly where part of the 'exhaustion' lies, especially if there have been outbursts of jealousy and anxiety about your loyalty and devotion before, which makes them completely focus on you, demanding more and more, and their mutual support turns into an obsessive desire from 'satisfy you as best as possible' to 'mark you as much as possible brighter' so that no one dares to claim you.

If XIE LIAN decided to surprise with some 'beautiful lingerie', hearing the advice that it brings a spark in bed — even if you see him blushing and looking away, — then you can expect HUA CHENG to support the initiative, although he is more likely to take a female form (especially if you have a thing for certain female behaviors and appearance) and will abuse it to let you know how much smaller and lower he is than you, shamelessly flirting and emphasizing it. XIE LIAN can take a female form if he sees that HUA CHENG was successful in this and your reaction was positive, even if it is unusual and very exciting for him to look like this in front of you, letting you touch his body in this guise — and while HUA CHENG coos in a sultry voice, saddling your hips, XIE LIAN shyly hides your face in a lush soft breasts, almost trembling with blush, much less confident (but no less excited) than HUA CHENG.

And yes, they both melt when you tell them how great they are — and if HUA CHENG is always sensitive to praise, although he especially reacts to him in his 'real' appearance, especially when you and XIE LIAN accidentally "catch" him at the moment of sex and start talking about how good he looks or how sensitive he is and gorgeous, such a cutie, completely leaving him dumbfounded and red in an attempt to cover up only to have XIE LIAN catch his hands and not allow it, being much stronger and indulging you even when it comes to driving his 'ally' crazy. It's not that HUA CHENG easily turned a blind eye to it afterwards, but XIE LIAN has always been easy to make blush from any proximity, so you prefer to think that HUA CHENG does not intentionally put him in situations where XIE LIAN does not know whether he should snuggle or hide, remaining frozen in place while HUA CHENG watches with pleasure how XIE LIAN twitches in hands like a butterfly in a spider's web.

Perhaps, with the same pleasure, you are only watching when Ruoye (who does not need much persuasion to agree to any of your adventures, especially if you rub it and call it a 'good little thing') wraps around XIE LIAN'S hands when he least expects it, giving you full access to his body, whining when you ask Ruoye to also wrap around his legs and raise them — or when Ruoye tightly wraps around HUA CHENG'S mouth, not letting him make a sound until you let, whining weakly even when your hand rubs his cock or clit red from excessive stimulation again and again, encouraging the two of them to 'calm down' and 'stop lashing out at you', arranging an almost-punishment, giving them not only a sense of 'what an obedient pretty thing Ruoye is', but also keeping them next to each other as an example of what you will do to the other if he does not obey. When HUA CHENG whines from rubbing and caressing for too long, trembling, unable to even move or beg, while you pump him up again and again, purring that he deserves it, being such a restless and naughty boy, while XIE LIAN drools, not hiding tears, whining when you leave sticky slippery traces of another orgasm on his hot inner thigh, — it will definitely help His Highness get rid of excess energy, — and use it as a lube for HUA CHENG.

After all, you don't have many ways to stand up to the two of them at the same time, and even if you can somehow be stronger than HUA CHENG, but being stronger than XIE LIAN is impossible and practically was not possible even when he was human — but when it comes to cunning, then you are quite good at that in order to at least control your husbands in this way, who easily become completely uncontrollable and wild, like a flower garden that will instantly overgrow with weeds if you do not pay attention every day.

(However, Ruoye does not mind at all and wrapping his arms around you, rather even gladly using any opportunity to be close, clearly preferring to touch your thighs more, changing the compression force and reluctantly getting away while red XIE LIAN tries to force him to let you go (with almost the same blush with which HUA CHENG irritably looks at E-ming who vibrates at the sight of you), but also readily agrees with the ideas to wrap around your body when XIE LIAN or HUA CHENG suggest it, restraining them, giving them the initiative, even if Ruoye shamelessly reacts to your command to untie you and easily indulges, which, among other things, leads to situations when you knock them down while they are not expecting it and seize control. No, Ruoye is not ashamed.)

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year ago

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"Embroidery" - Kaz Brekker x Reader

SUMMARY: Gloves are important to Kaz - it's the only way he can relatively safely interact with the outside world. They are also slightly more privileged than you as they can accompany him anytime and anywhere. To aid this inequality, you stitch a white primrose onto one of his gloves: Someone waits for you to come back.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.2k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

☽ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ☾

There was something wicked in your patient anticipation for this moment like a predator that seems to have all the time in the world while waiting for the prey to breathe its final breath. But contrary to a pouncing lion, you had to remain inconspicuous until your plan has been brought to life. That shouldn’t come as a surprise - Kaz Brekker is a lot more wary than a dying gazelle.

You’re used to Kaz being somewhat restless and uneasy but today he’s jumpy. Usually, when he comes to visit you at your home, he allows you to come incredibly close to him and he doesn’t shy away from touching you. This time, however, something’s wrong. Unintentionally, he’s holding one of his hands away from his body - the same way one does upon cutting their finger. Hanging his coat and hat, he’s using mostly only one of his hands as though he did hurt himself earlier that day. Then, when you reach out to help him, Kaz suddenly flinches away from you.

With eyebrows knitted close together, you’re watching his bizarre act. Over the time you’ve known him, he’s come to you bloodied and beaten but never… averse. That’s when you notice the tiniest detail that, truthfully, you’ve been waiting to appear but maybe without this whole strange change in his demeanour: his left glove is pierced through, revealing pasty skin underneath.

“There's a hole in your glove,” you state. You’ve imagined this very scene so many times, you simply have to play your part perfectly in spite of the excitement bubbling in your chest.

Kaz gives you a quick glance but it's enough for you to notice the nervousness and uneasiness in his eyes. He’s clearly on edge, barely clinging to sanity. “I’m aware,” he answers in a shaky voice.

“Let me fix it for you.”

“I can do this myself, thank you.”

“Come on, I can tell you’ve been through a lot already. When was the last time you ate? Or slept?”

Kaz clenches his jaw. Reluctantly, he takes off his left glove and hands it to you. In a vain effort to appear a lot more laid-back than he truly is, he puts his bare palm into the pocket of his pants.

“It’ll be over before you know it.”

You disappear around the corner, leaving him to his own devices. Without anything better to do, too restless and shaken up, Kaz just sits down on the edge of the sofa. He rests his elbows on his knees and places his chin atop his fists, staring into the corridor you have just disappeared in.

After a moment, his eyes begin to wander around the living room. What caught his eye the first time he came here is the amount of knick-knacks gathering dust. Windowsill, table, mantlepiece, windowed cupboards - items he’s never seen moved or used. For the longest time he couldn’t understand why you’d leave this clutter around but the better he’s got to know you, the more he understood. All of those useless things are like postcards sent by the people you care about: ‘Life goes on and maybe we don’t talk as much as we used to but I’m thinking about you’. There was a time when Kaz felt envious of the knick-knacks as their immovable character is to your life like a scar is to skin. But then he realized his position is much better. He’s here, after all. His presence in your life can not be limited to a porcelain doll or a cross-stitch of the port in Os Kervo. Kaz is not a scar but more a knife that’s still slicing open a wound. Maybe he’s even more than that - maybe he’s a blade piercing and penetrating your body. And the only way to live is to leave the knife in to stop the bleeding, despite the pain it brings.

Thinking about knives and porcelain dolls, he doesn’t notice you come back at first. Only when you speak up does he shake away from his slightly macabre thoughts:

“I fixed your glove.”

In a strangely panicked manner, Kaz almost snatches back his garment. He’s quickly putting in on and when he turns his wrist to examine your sewing, his breath hitches in his throat.

He recognizes the flower almost immediately. The white and yellow petals make him remember a painting he’s seen somewhere, although Kaz can’t be sure where exactly but that doesn’t matter. What he is certain of, however, is the scenery presented on the canvas: an army marching out of Os Alta. Women run after men in uniforms, shoving white primroses in their hands. Silently, they beg the Saints, generals and kings to let their husbands, fathers and sons return home safely. Maybe a frail flower is nowhere near enough to protect a soldier from a Fjerdan or a Shu Han highlander but it’s the only thing they can do for the men they love so desperately.

“A little silly, I know,” you interrupt the tense silence. “I just wanted you to have something to remind you of me.”

What a stupid thought, that he could ever forget you.

Kaz clears his throat. “Thank you,” he answers slightly awkwardly. He wants to say something meaningful to you, make it known that not only does he understand your thoughtful gesture but he also shares the sentiment: ‘As long as you’ll have me, I’ll always come back. Even if I have to cross the world tenfold or fight death itself,’ he wishes to say, ‘The days I spent without you are mere existence, not living.’ Nonetheless, Kaz can’t force words of vulnerability past his lips.

For a moment he thinks a shadow of disappointment dances across your beautiful face. It pains him, even if untrue. If only he could make his doting known…

“Anytime,” you say casually with a slight shrug of shoulders.

Time seems to slow down significantly as he’s watching you smile softly at him and promptly leave the room, heading to the kitchen to make tea. If he could, he’d spend entire days just watching you calmly go about your life. Sometimes, when he’s staring at you doing mundane things, he swears he can almost figure out why he’s so drawn towards you as though his downfall began with the way you hold the bread knife or carefully stir your coffee. One day he’ll know how come you’ve tied and bonded his very soul to you, he’s sure of it.

He looks down at the glove again. The small, white flower makes his chest sting. Maybe there is, after all, a way for him to show you his devotion without using words.

If Kaz Brekker was a better man, he’d think of the white primrose as a reminder to be careful and wary, to choose his battles wisely. Alas, he’s nothing short of a crook and the flower begs him to be callous and merciless, to become feral and willing to do absolutely anything to find his way back to you; like raging seas that relentlessly wash tall cliffs until the soil gives in and landslide falls into the deep, dark abyss.

He can’t be a lighthouse so he settles for a wildfire.

#kaz brekker fanfiction #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x you #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfic #six of crows imagine #six of crows x reader #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows fanfic #six of crows #shadow and bone x you #six of crows x you

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screamintoad · 3 months ago

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TWST oc Blanche Primrose

“I believe we’ve met before. Perhaps…once upon a dream.”

Voice claim: Nobara-Jujutsu Kaisen

Character info

Blanche is a typically headstrong girl. Her temper isn’t as bad as some of the other students but she’ll call out others wrong doings. If she’s not doing anything too important or tedious then she’ll often be found day dreaming.

The summer before she started attending NRC, she was told by her grandmother that Blanche is expected to be enrolled at a stuffy all girls private school that her grandma attended. Later that night a raven delivered a letter to her windowsill that spoke of how she was recommended to be a student at NRC by a few upperclassmen. She knew that night that she was going to choose her own fate rather than a path that her grandmother curated for her.

Fun facts: She used to live in the same town as Jack and Vil and was even friends with them when they were kids. She spent her first few months at school pretending to be a boy since, as far as her grandma knew, she was at that stuffy private school. That same summer before coming to NRC she would frequently dream of meeting a young man with silver hair.

Basic info

Age: 16

Height: 162cm, 5’4

B-day: September 7th (Virgo)

Dominant hand: Right

Family: Unnamed grandmother

Nicknames: Petit Rouge (Rook), Harp seal (Floyd)

1st year

Class B

Club: Light music club

Best subject: Herbology

Hobbies: Baking, day dreaming

Pet peeve: Selfish people

Favorite food: Berry muffins

Least favorite food: Seafood

Talent: Quick thinking (does not equal smart thinking)/singing

Unique Magic: Thorny Heart, she can grow thorny vines around her and even grow various plants from the vines. Such as ones that are just pretty or ones that have medicinal values. Sometimes when she’s startled she just SPROUTS the thorns and freaks everyone out for a second.

Character dynamics

Vil: Childhood friend number 1. He’s like a mother hen towards her, constantly fretting over her grades and appearance. It drives her up a wall but she knows he means well. These habits are especially prominent when she first starts attending.

Jack: Childhood friend number 2. They first met when Jack was playing outside and he found her picking berries in the forest while she was wearing a hooded red cape. As classmates they’re both striving to help the other. That could be studying with the first year squad or timing track runs.

Rook: Creepy dorm mate. Honestly, she doesn’t like him, like at all. She knows he possibly means well but he still unnerves her.

Epel: Hot tempered classmate. They fought a lot when they first met but eventually realized that they’re actually kind of similar. They bond over not wanting to be in Pomefiore in the beginning.

Silver: Love interest. Despite the dreams during summer, they didn’t recognize each other until way later, like Book 5 later. After that it was nothing but sweet sweet slow burn but one thing’s for sure. Everyone loves silver and gold.

Malleus: They both get a weird sense of deja vu when they’re first getting acquainted. They met one night when they stumbled upon each other walking routes. Neither could place it but they felt as if they had met before. Maybe in a dream, maybe a different time entirely. They got along and taught each other a lot, eventually Malleus joined in on Lilia’s teasing when it came to her and Silver together.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #oc #art #This is so scuffed #first post #new to tumblr #digital art

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headspace-hotel · 2 years ago

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so, in regards to your recent posts on kane-tucky and usa food industry, do you / how do you keep active hope and not slip in into apathy and "looking out for my own" get out of dodge mentality? im having a hard time articulating this, but what makes you not curl up into a shaking mess in anger resentment and a deep desire for change that likely, if ever, wont happen in our lifetime.... any advice is appreciated

The short answer is "getting out and doing stuff in the real world, educating, volunteering, whatever is within your ability"

I will add that "looking out for your own" is not...bad. Like I don't know precisely what you mean by this phrase, but it's actually very important to come to terms with the fact that your impact is strongest where your feet touch the ground, and you have a responsibility and relationship to the people immediately around you, the place immediately around you.

This has not been a popular opinion of mine in the past, but...you can't and shouldn't care about literally everything on the planet. There is of course huge global disparity with access to resources and aid networks, and the largest communities we belong to are: all of Earth and the whole human species.

However: your level of agency is so low with issues that are happening on the other side of the world from you, compared with issues that are happening in your home town. And we're seeing people just get completely burned out from compassion fatigue without ever doing shit because the global responsibility is pushed on us and the local responsibility is not.

I hated my hometown for a decade. In high school I wanted so badly to leave. It's one of those desolate-feeling towns that's developed enough for a shopping center and big chain retailers but not enough to have a sense of community or a single bookstore. I've never been able to place myself precisely along the urban-rural spectrum because I feel isolated from even isolation: there's nowhere to go that doesn't feel razed by human development, where you can't hear the noise of traffic on roads, but it's all cattle pastures, sprawling storage facilities, auto parts stores, big, empty churches. One wrong turn will put you in a dark valley where there are rotting, derelict trailers on cinder blocks hidden back in the woods, and this place has that same feeling of "nowhere to go."

And I felt paralyzed by everything bad happening around the world and the fact that I was just one person, and I had gotten the horrible impression that the only thing I could do about anything was vote and donate money to links I saw online. The worst lie the internet taught me was that in saving the world, nothing matters except Power, Money, and an unclear third category that involves throwing bricks at cops.

But I touched grass. And the weeds taught me something. Do you see the parking lots, the harsh pavement and gravel and brick? I saw. I was surrounded by this landscape of brutal, totalitarian surfaces, impermeable concrete locking the soil away. But in the cracks in the surfaces, dandelions, purslane, and spurge were thriving.

I observed that the spurge stretched out like a shaggy rug and padded the concrete surfaces. The old leaves of the dandelions, as they withered, caught bits of dirt as it flowed into drainage ditches after rains. Soil was forming, and the sprawling structure of the early weeds seemed specially adapted for the task. In older cracks, more plants moved in; I found a wild ruellia blooming in a paved road, an evening primrose. And in some places, seedling trees.

Have you seen what happens when a sidewalk is left unmaintained for years? It disappears. The roots slowly buckle and break it into pieces, and it vanishes beneath lush leaves and moss. A tree growing in a crack in concrete will slowly pry the slab apart.

This is how my IRL rewilding project got started—just pulling plants from the pavement cracks, raising them in pots. I was surprised and awed at the resilience of the plants. I found little trees in concrete with at least two years' growth on them, that had survived being mowed down multiple times.

The weeds changed my viewpoint on the world forever. Up until that point, certain facts about power and politics and money had seemed like law, but I'd suddenly seen that there was a deeper magic.

The dandelions' survival made it possible for others to survive, which in turn made even more life flourish. They could not demolish and remove the concrete and pavement, but they could overcome it by refusing to be destroyed, because the power to take care of each other is in their nature.

People have made fun of me for telling others to go plant a tree. I think culturally we have this ingrained dismissal of things like that due to the twee, cutesy associations of "tree hugging" environmentalists, except in this instance it's because planting a tree is pointless in light of something something systemic issues, not because climate change isn't real, or...whatever reason people have for finding environmentalists cringe. (That is kinda sus now that I think about it.)

And I'm not saying planting a tree will fix climate change. I'm saying that something in my brain had broken and planting a tree unbroke it.

Go outside. Touch grass. Do the work in the immediate community you belong to, in the place you are in, where you have the best and most impact. We have the power to take care of each other, and that power grows stronger the more we are cared for.

The internet is a good place to share information, but that's fucking it. The real stuff, the stuff you can touch with your hands, the stuff that will heal despair, is out there in the real, touchable world. You need to see and feel what you are doing. Don't just give help—accept it. The power to take care of each other is in our nature, and by nature we can give more when we thrive as a result of others' care.

I hope this helps.

#plants #gardening #dandelions #rewilding #plantarchy

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littlemarianah · 6 months ago

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Non-repead AU wip - Katniss Everdeen is in love

When my bag gets empty I have to find another way to distract myself. I put on my soft leather boots and go down through the forest. The cool breeze stings my cheeks and I huddle into my jacket. I hoping to find something for lunch, It's not good luck to go home empty-handed. I was going to bring the strawberries, but I already ate them all.

So I start digging deeper into the forest in search of finding something new. I keep my eyes peeled.

In a clearing there is a small garden, flowers blooming. The season has just started, so the flowers are still shy. I don't want to ruin them by harvesting them too soon. I only take the primrose buds, because my mother likes to extract the oil from the young buds and not from the mature flowers. She says it yields more.

Right next to it there is a long branch of lilac lavender. If I wait just a few more days it will be completely perfect to be harvested and made into ointment. My mother sells them a lot to miners because lavender relieves the pain of tired muscles. But other than that, lavender has an incredible smell.

I run my nose through the lavender flowers. It tickles me. The smell can be much stronger as it matures, but even without its full potential already is extraordinary good. That’s why some women from the merchant area come to my mother's house just to get some. They rub the ointment on their skin as a perfume.

When I was young, I didn't understand. I thought it was a useless whim of people with too much money to spend. Today I know why they apply the ointment precisely on their necks. It was because that's where boys' noses go when they hug you. At least mine does that, every time. He puts his arms around my back and breathes a long sigh into my neck every time we meet again. I remember that I will see him today.

My fingers glide over the petals damp with dew. They are extremely delicate and soft to the touch, they almost seem to fall apart with my rough fingers. For some reason, I feel the urge to feel the soft sensation with my lips, so I touch the petals gently to my mouth. It's so velvety.

My stomach turns when I smell them once more. A cold runs down my spine, and I feel my legs go weak. Lavender really does smell divine and he would probably love to smell it too. So I pluck a branch and put it in my bag.

#non reaped #the hunger games #thg #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark #fanfic #headcanon #Mari writes #wip #au

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waywardangel-wilds · 6 months ago

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Inspired by this post by @littlemarianah and this post by @mellarked-katnisseverdeen :

Katniss propped up her father’s frameless shaving mirror, watching herself in the setting sunlight as she anxiously rearranged her hair. She brushed her fingers down the front of her dress. It was ironed, clean, and never before mended. It was the nicest piece of clothing she owned. Was it alright? She turned herself to profile in the mirror. Would he like it?

“Birdie, what are you puttering around in there for?” Her father hobbled towards the bathrooms doorway. His bad leg usually gave him a harder time on rainy evenings, like the one they were having. “My,” he paused to smile, “aren’t you a pretty picture?”

She smiled. “Oh daddy, don’t tell me you forgot already.” She reached over to put the mirror away. “You promised you’d be on your best behaviour.”

“For what?” He asked, but his slight smile gave him away. Katniss rolled her eyes while she straightened the collar of his shirt. “I’m just joking, ‘course I didn’t forget. What are you messing with my shirt for? He's not coming to see me!” He laughed.

“This is important to me,” She met her father’s smiling eyes with her own nervous gaze. “I want him to like it here. I want you to like him.”

“We’ll see about that,” he chuckled at his daughter’s stricken expression. “Don’t give me that pout! I just want to know if he’s good enough to be on your arm, is all.”

“Daddy,” Katniss shook her head. She glanced out the window at the sun. He’d be by soon. “I need to finish getting ready!”

“You’re beautiful already, birdie. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” He was laughing as she pushed him out of the bathroom. “Alright! Alright! I know when I’m not wanted.”

“Please don’t let mama say anything embarrassing!” She begged before she shut the door in his face.

“You heard that? Your daughter thinks we’ve no self control,” he snickered into the kitchen where his wife offered him an amused tweak of the brow. “You’d think the boy was the prince of Panem or something.”

“Hm, I think it’s sweet.” His wife replied, lifting the lid of the stew she’d been working on for the better part of the evening. “Young love, remember it?”

“You’re calling me old?” He pulled her into the circle of his arms. “These Everdeen women sure are difficult to impress.”

“Spruce,” she shook her head. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and help me with this food, huh? Your daughter put a lot of work into tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He walked over to their makeshift ice box. “I promise to keep the commentary to a minimum.”

“Mama! If Katniss marries the baker do we get free cakes forever?” Prim little head stuck into the house from where she sat on the front steps. “Cause that’d be really neat!”

“Primrose Everdeen!” She said around a laugh. “Don’t you have to get dressed for dinner?”

“He’s not marrying me,” the girl replied sullenly as she shuffled towards the bedroom.

“No one’s marrying anyone!” Spruce called out. “In fact, what does anyone need boys for?”

“You’re a boy daddy,” Prim replied.

“Now that’s an entirely different thing,” he replied. “I’m your father. That makes me better than the rest.”

“Mmhm,” his wife replied sarcastically. “Taste this?” She placed the spoon before his lips.

“Sour,” he coughed. “What have you been doing over there?”

“Well you could fix it if you know so much,” she handed him the spoon. “I could use a rest, you know. It takes a lot to look like this.” She fluffed her hair.

“Yes, I noticed. You look lovely, dear.” She smacked his shoulder. “I mean it!”

“Uh huh,” she replied.

“Mama! Could I borrow your lipstick?” Katniss’s voice came from the bathroom still. “Is it in your room?”

“Yes, darling.” His wife replied, shooting him an amused look. “In the drawer!”

They didn't hear anything else before they saw her zoom by to the bedroom, her hair trailing behind her like a river of molasses.

“Don’t sprain something now!” He called after her. “This kid better be the best thing since sliced bread. I don’t remember you putting this much work into making me happy.”

“Hush,” his wife tried to peek into the bedroom before the door shut behind their daughter’s back. “She’s nervous enough as it is.”

A thudding noise from beyond the closed door caught their attention. “Hey!” Prim yelled.

“Oh no, now they’re fighting.” She patted his arm. “I’m going in there.”

“You have my thoughts and prayers,” he replied sarcastically. She didn’t spare that a response, but she smiled, so that was a win.

He set about fixing the stew, adding some extra water to try and counteract the excess vinegar. He was cutting up some wild onion when a tentative knock befell the open door.

"Ah, there he is," He glanced towards the doorway with a friendly expression. "The man of the hour."

At the threshold, a shy-looking eighteen-year-old boy peeked halfway into the house. He smiled self-consciously. "Good evening, Mr. Everdeen."

"Mr. Everdeen? That was my father. You’ll call me Spruce. Come in! What are you doing hanging out in the rain?" He waved him over. "Do you know much about cooking?"

"The basics, I think." He shrugged good-naturedly, taking a moment to wipe his feet on the cheerful mat his wife had laid out there ages ago. He walked in strangling some unfortunate daisies. "These are for Katniss."

"We've got a vase somewhere," He ducked to check the cupboard, his back protesting the whole time. "Here we are. One chipped jug, close enough." He smiled over his shoulder. "It's Peeta, correct?"

"Yes, sir." Peeta accepted the old milk jug and went to fill it at the sink. He quirked a brow at that. "Uh, Mr. Spruce, sorry."

"Whatever floats your boat." He accepted, "Is that for us?" He looked at the covered dish in the boy's other hand.

"Yes, of course!" He awkwardly set it down on the counter as his hands were full. Spruce was starting to feel bad for the kid, he'd never seen anyone so nervous. "Katniss loves the bakery's cheese buns so I figured it might be nice to bring some."

"That she does. Do you think she'd mind if I took one?" He asked cheekily, removing the dish's lid.

Peeta smiled. "Maybe a little."

"I think I'll risk it," He took a big bite out of a nice warm bun. He nodded in approval, "This is good."

Peeta's smile widened, "thank you, Mr. Spruce."

"You're here!" They turned towards the sound of his daughter's voice. She stood in the doorway to the bedroom, looking as lovely as she'd been since the day she was born, but this time she had a light touch of lipstick on her cheeks. "You met my dad."

Peeta nodded, "I did." He started blushing. "I-uh, brought you these." He extended the flowers in her direction, which she leaped across the room to accept. "You look beautiful."

Katniss glanced over her shoulder self-consciously. Spruce averted his eyes to give her some privacy. "Thank you," she said with a voice as sweet as honey. "You look nice too."

Peeta's face took on a love-dazed look and Spruce shook his head. Oh man, that's why his mother had constantly made fun of him back in the day.

He turned his back on the kids. Might as well spare them the extra embarrassment. "We're having a big dinner tonight. Katniss caught all this game all by herself." He returned to the stew, "Right, birdie?"

"Yep," the awkwardness seemed to be a common denominator. "You brought me cheese buns?"

"Yeah, I know how much you like them," Peeta replied with an awkward little chuckle.

"Thank you, I do-- like them, I mean. Yeah." Katniss spoke haltingly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Oh!” His wife finally made it out of the bedroom. “Prim, come say hello!" She called back into the bedroom. "Peeta! How are you? Did the rain give you a hard time?"

"No, no, not at all, I'm great" Peeta replied. "Thank you for inviting me over tonight. You have a lovely home, Mrs. Everdeen."

"Thank you, and it's no trouble at all. We've been curious about you." She walked towards the table with Prim following close behind, a curious look to her. "And please, you don't have to call me that, Lily is fine."

"Lily," Peeta repeated with a smile.

"So since you're the baker and all, do we get freebies when you marry my sister?" Prim challenged.

"Prim!" Katniss chastised. “You don’t have to answer that. We’re not even engaged Prim.”

"And I'm not the baker. I just work there." Peeta answered with an amused smile. "My dad's the baker but I can still make you anything you'd like."

"You don't have to," Katniss said.

"Great! My birthday's coming up." Prim went on shamelessly. She pulled out one of the dining chairs and sat down. "Could you make it a heart-shaped cake? Oh! And cover it in pink frosting?"

Lily put a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter, meanwhile, Katniss looked mortified. Spruce tsked, joining his youngest daughter at the table. “Don’t scare him off, you’ll cost us our in at the bakery!”

“Daddy,” Katniss complained. She picked up her boyfriend’s hand and tugged him towards the table. “They’re just joking. They do that a lot.”

“I really wouldn’t mind making it though,” Peeta smiled gregariously. “It’s not every day you get an order for a pink and heart-shaped cake. It sounds like fun.”

“In that case, could it be tiered too?” Prim interjected.

“That’s enough, Prim. Don’t disrespect.” Lily said. To Peeta she added, “has Katniss offered you something to drink?”

“Oh wow, I’m sorry I forgot. Do you want some water?” Katniss smiled her embarrassment.

“No, I’m okay, thanks.” Peeta and her seemed to have some sort of secret conversation which resulted in Katniss laughing.

“Should we eat?” Spruce stood. “I can serve the stew.”

“I’ll get the bowls,” Lily readily added. Once they were a sufficiently far away from the children she stage-whispered, “what do you think?”

“I think we’ve got ourselves a problem.”

“A problem? What do you mean? He seems perfectly nice to me.”

“No, he is. Problem is we’re gonna lose our kid.” He peaked over his shoulder. The kids were all seated at the table and having a normal conversation. “This looks permanent.”

Lily’s face grew sentimental. “We weren’t that much older when we got married.” She bit her lip. “ironic, huh?”

“How’d you mean?”

“You and me, town and seam. I chose the coal miner over the baker. Now, our daughter and her boyfriend, still town and seam, but she’s choosing the baker. It’s almost by design.”

“You’re reading too much into it,” he said. “What we should be worried about is how this affects me and the actual baker. First his girl and now his son? I can't go back there.”

“Spruce,” Lily laughed. "You and your jokes. Would it kill you to take this seriously?"

"Yes, it would." He grinned shamelessly. "But you knew that when you married me."

"You're terrible." She handed him a bowl. "Hurry up."

"So demanding," he shook his head. "This is cripple abuse."

"Cripple," Lily snorted.

"Thank you," Peeta smiled winningly as Lily deposited his bowl in front of him.

"So Peeta," Spruce interlaced his fingers. Time to look serious. "If you're not going to be the baker, what will you do? I'm assuming one of your brothers is the next baker, right?"

"Dad," Katniss complained.

"It's an important question." Spruce leaned forward slightly on his forearms. "Peeta?"

"That's right, Mr., Uh, Spruce, I'm not the next baker." Peeta managed to maintain eye contact with him. Good. "I'm apprenticing at the justice building for the rest of the year. My mother's side of the family has connections there."

"Interesting. What will you be doing?" Spruce cocked his head. "It pays?"

"Dad," Katniss groaned. "You know I'm sitting right here right?"

He put up a placating hand, "Peeta?"

"It pays," the boy nodded. "It should be enough, for um, multiple people." He blushed then.

"Please, I could probably provide enough for all of us." Katniss rolled her eyes and muttered. "Talking about me like a goat up for auction."

Spruce stared hard at them both for a long moment. Peeta looked like he was sweating. Katniss looked like she wanted him to keel over. He nodded. "Alright."

"Alright?" Katniss asked derisively.

"I'm giving you my blessing, birdie. Don't spend it all in one place." He smiled as Katniss gave in and softened. "That's my girl."

Part 2

#i don't know what else to add #if you have any ideas let me know and ill add another part #the hunger games #everlark #thg #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #fanfic #of fathers and families

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brights-place · 9 months ago

Note

Branch x country rock troll

Branch X Country Rock! S/O

Pairings: Branch X Reader

Warnings: Country Slang, Fluff, Angst, and Mild swearing

A/N: Sorry for the late post I've been kind of busy hon! anyways take the request! <33

- Branch was following poppy to help get the cows that they had lost from pop village and poppy new one perosn Delta Dawn who could help them! - That's when you two first met of course, The country architecture makes use of natural colors with patchwork fabrics, using of a lot of wood and natural structures like cactuses being in common use. Colors tend to be beige, with use of sandy colors like yellow, pale orange and brown as the air smelled like BBQ and an mix of smell of spring, wild flowers, primroses and bluebells, honeysuckle, and blackthorn. - Delta nodded listening to poppy as branch raised an brow when hearing Delta call behind her to an F/C Troll fitting with all the other trolls... Well to poppy (name) did but to branch he couldn't help but purse his lips - As soon as you now stood beside Delta Dawn you chuckled smirking tipping your cowboy hat towards Branch who froze staring at you - "It's darn good ta see some awful new folk!" you said laughing crossing your arms beside Delta who rolled her eyes playfully "Meet my friend (name) queen poppy... They are the best roper in our town" Delta said placing an hand on your shoulder as you chuckled "Done heard y'all fancy pop trolls need some help" poppy squealed as branch eyes you suspiciously

- Branch didn't trust you for a bit but he can't believe eyeing your figure. - You looked like the common Country Troll you had the basic troll body type from the waist upwards, save their choice of attire, with the lower half of their bodies being that of a horse, complete with hooves and tails. - He noticed you have large front teeth at the front of their upper jaw and either rounded or pointy ears. Your hair was puffy, but does stick up. They tend to have a beigetone coloration. -Your Colors vary per individual and they either wear full-body outfits that cover everything but their head, hooves and tail, though some are seen wearing typical 10 gallon cowboy hats and trucker caps, or just a jacket or shirt around their chest area. Their legs are quite small, and their overall body tends to be the biggest part of their physical build, with a lot of it taken up by their centaur-like part. Their upper area often is comparable to other Trolls despite this, and isn't much different in size at all. Despite the differences, they physically stand about the same height as other Trolls from head to feet, though their overall size is smaller due to how they keep their hair. At first glance, they all appeared friendly but you? He couldn't help but pause - "Ain'tcha pretty as a peach" You said bending down towards him as his eyes wiened gone from his thoughts as he raises an brow as you chuckle lightly - When you three left to help Poppy asked you everything about yourself which you laughed an enjoyed unaware that Branch was noting all the information down... He didn't know why but he just did - But when poppy asked about your genre of country you told her you wrote country rock which branch was invested in asking you about it out of nowhere taking out an note book and pencil from his hair as you explained to him. - "Country rock is a style of music that fuses traditional country music with rock 'n' roll. While country rock bears close resemblance to some folk rock and rockabilly, it is considered a genre unto itself!" you explained with an smile as Branch nodded - After helping them out and he couldn't help but watch you easily lasso all the missing cows back towards the fenced area - He couldn't help but be fascinated about how you appreciate the simpler things in life like natural beauty and spending time with those you cared for.

- Would listen to your Country rock songs and how you were able to mix the two together - You told him how The Country Trolls love Country music, and their life is one big shindig. Although all of you appear friendly at first, these Trolls can be mistrusting towards strangers, especially towards Trolls of other Tribes, and can show aggression like before they made peace - You told him that Country Children might be expected to work from the moment they're born by their parents. The typical Country Troll is simple and laid-back, but can be highly-strung when angered or things go wrong. - He wanted to be one of those people he didn't know why but he needed. - They also have a strong sense of family and community, and value traditional values. - Dating you had given branch and small break of pop trolls as when he goes hanging out with you. - Branch soon started to hangout with you on the country side when he gets to sick of everybody - He likes to sit on this tree beside you as he talks about his interests and plans he had about safety that you listened to as you tuned your guitar

- You two would start visiting each other more then usual some times staying over at eachothers people starting to suspect your dating - Branch learns country slang and had gotten used to your accent was wheezing and laughing when you curse someone out who seemed rude - He fell first and you fell harder for him

- You two would confess to each other when you made an new country rock song - he's been tryiing to confess for awhile but gave up last minute so when he was lucky and relaxed he confessed. He's so romantic and would confess to you with an huge relaxed face as you turn into an flustered mess "Heavens To Betsy! Branch" You said laughing covering your face abit

- You too would officially date after like 5 dates

- when you two are together and your speaking in slanged words in annoyance or arguing with someone. Poppy and the other pop trolls have to turn to eachother then turn to branch who has to explain with an bored expression about teh slang words or go to other country trolls who were chuckling at the scene. - You love eachother so much and when he takes you to meet his family for the first time in ever... it was whoa... so much

- When he introduced you to his brothers your jaw dropped so fast your boyfriend was in the famous boy band but you didnt care and just kissed his cheek - You would call him by weird southern pet names like baby, sweetheart, precious, buttercup, princess, love bug. The list could go on. You loves how flustered he gets whenever you call him any of these names.

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

©brights-place 2023 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact!

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frodopotter7 · 3 days ago

Text

The memories of Edwin Payne

(Or an interactive fanfiction)

Note: I had the headcanon that Edwin‘s notebook contains all his personal writing including the writings from his life as an Edwardian boy. So I wrote those entries in his notebook. Now this book is obviously all of Edwin‘s personal thoughts and I thought it would be fun to do a collaboration. So if you are a writer yourself or creative in any other way, feel free to use this entries as a starting point for another fanfiction. For example Charles finding the notebook and reading it or Crystal reading it or anything else. The only rule that I set is that you clearly mark my text and tag me, because first of all it was a lot of effort to write it and secondly I want to see what cool things you came up with. And if you don’t want to creatively interact with this fanfiction, then you can obviously just enjoy it by reading it.

Summary: Edwin Payne‘s most treasured item is his notebook, because it contains so much private information that no one else knows about him. Not even Charles. Including the struggles of a posh, gay, autistic Edwardian boy and his times before hell, in hell and shortly after hell.

Triggers: bullying, implied suicide, dolls

Shipping: Payneland, but you could also include other shipping in your part

The song that I thought of while writing:

One of Edwin’s most treasured objects was definitely his notebook. He had it all the time and he used it for every case they had. It meant a lot to him, since it was with him when he died. It was with him in hell and it was with him in his detective career. The reason why he never gave it to anyone, not even Charles, was that it had been with him even as a child. Well, back then he had several notebooks, but as he died every personal writing of his got transferred into it. The notebook always had enough pages and was still not getting thicker and his pen was always full of ink. And still even though it contained so many different notes, Edwin navigated through it without any problems. It was his own writing after all. His family sigil was carved into the black front cover and the word ‘Payne’ was written underneath it.

If anyone would open it and tried to start from the beginning, he would be greeted with Edwin’s signature under the printed words. ‘Family member:’ After that the handwriting would be harder to read. Scribbly, crossed out spelling mistakes and spilled ink from a little boy, who was writing for the first time. If you manage to identify the words it would read:

1905

Greetings,

my name is Edwin Payne. I am the only child of the family Payne. My father says, that mother wanted more children, but just failed every other time. You probably have heard about my family’s name. The family with the best lawyers of England. When I’m grown up, I will be a lawyer too. Lawyers are like detectives says my father. I like that. I like detectives.

My nanny told me to interact more with others. Why would I need to talk if there is no one to talk to anyways? My parents are often absent and my nanny is just not understanding me. My father says that I am too slow for my age. My motion skills too clumsy. My spoken words only contain information from detective books and I cannot properly respond to people yet. I know a lot of novels by heart though. Others just don’t seem to like talking about crimes as much as I do. Father sometimes lets me have a look in his older cases. They are interesting.

We visited a doctor again today, because of my slow development. We visit him quite often. Actually since I can remember. I don’t feel sick. He says there is nothing wrong with me. Still I know that something is wrong. I overreacted at loud noises. A lot of things stress me out.

1906

I haven’t writing about Cordelia Primrose Surname-von-Hovercraft. She is annoying, loud and a restless soul. She runs around the house and breaks rules just to get the attention. She is a bit younger than me, but that doesn’t justify her actions. I don’t like her. Although sometimes she be helpful. Like the time she stole the biscuit jar and gave me one of the special biscuits. They had to expel one of her nannies for this. But Cordelia had plenty nannies anyways. No one stays long with her. I had my nanny since I was born. I don’t like changes. Cordelia sometimes scares me with ghost stories. She says she would see them and that my fortune says that I will die a painful and early death. I don’t believe in this unscientific nonsense.

I take piano lessons now. It’s is fun. My mother seems to enjoy it. It is somehow the only way to get her attention for me.

Additionally to my regular private lessons I go to school now. Simon obviously needs to be in my class as well. I don’t like him. He bores me and he is too clingy. And sometimes he says mean things to me.

I had an outburst in class. Everything was just so loud and I was frustrated. The teacher hit my finger with the ruler and send me in the naughty corner. I don’t see why I get punished, when the other boys are clearly the distraction. Overall I am a good student. So it will probably not affect my grades.

My favorite subject is Latin and literature. I love books and translating old languages. It is like solving a code or a riddle. I don’t like maths, since it is all just numbers and no words.

1907

I had another outburst in class after Simon tried to touch me. He kept tapping my arm and I don’t like that. The teacher called a nurse, but I was too overwhelmed to respond to any of her questions to my health. I wanted to go home and I told her that again and again, but she didn’t understand. They called a priest. He said something in Latin. I think, it must have been biblical words. I tried to focus on translating them, but there was so much panic around me that I barely focused on anything. But I managed to calm myself after what felt like hours due to exhaustion.

My parents had a talk with the priest. He says that I am possessed by a demon. So now he straps me to a table and mumbled something in Latin again and again once a month or whatever I have an outburst. The robes around my wrist hurt. I am afraid. It is scary to know that there is something inside of me.

1908

I hate being possessed. Although I start to doubt that I have been in the first place. I did some research in the library and the real demonology books aren’t describing my symptoms. Even Cordelia, who usually always tells spooky stories, agrees with me. She said, if I was possessed she would have been the first one to know. She is a mystery to me.

1909

Today I saw a nice looking man across the street. I told my nanny that he looks like a basket full of oranges. My father uses that term a lot when he talks about young women, so I thought it is just a term to use if you think someone looks nice. She gasped and hit me lightly with the newspaper. It didn’t hurt but I didn’t understand what I was doing wrong. She told me that a man cannot say that to another man. I guess the saying is reserved for women then.

1910

I started to mask my uncomfortable feelings in public. It is difficult, but it helps. My parents and the priest both think that I am healed.

1911

I got called a Mary Ann for the first time. I asked my nanny and she started to mumble to herself how she must have failed. I told her that she did a really great job, since I would consider myself very well behaved and educated. She ignored me and told me to not tell my parents. How should I tell them if they are never there in the first place?

I did some research again, which mainly was asking Simon. I know, getting down on his level is a hard sacrifice. He told me that a Mary Ann is a boy who behaves like a girl and isn’t manly enough so they love other men. I thought about that for a long time. What is it about me that makes me a Mary Ann?

The writing in the book started to get better and appeared way more elegant. You could find little drawings here and there. Edwin was quite a good and realistic artist. Drawings of flowers, buildings, his nanny, his mother or Sherlock Holmes.

1912

Mother is constantly coughing loudly. It is irritating. Not even cocaine will help. They don’t let me in her room. They fear I would catch it too. Not that I was ever close to her before.

Mother is in a special hospital now. She took the train far away in a hospital in the mountains. No one ever returns from there. I know it. Everyone does. I will not see her again.

Mother died of tuberculosis. I miss her, I guess. I don’t know what I miss. It is a change. I hate changes.

1913

Father is sending me to a boarding school for boys. He says it’s for my education. I know, he just wants to get ride of me.

I hate the new school. Simon is here and people are still calling me a Mary Ann. Simon started to join them. I guess he sees it as a new opportunity to mock me.

I take fencing lessons now. It is nice, since it is not required any sort of touch with other boys. Nothing that I can be blamed for.

1914

I found a hideout in the school attic. It is a great place to read in peace.

The world has started a war. It worries me. They tell us that we are save in the school. But in the end all you can do is pray.

I came back home on Christmas. My nanny was gone. Father said they would be no need for her any longer, since I am in school now anyway. He looked like he knew something, but wasn’t going to tell me.

1915

The next page had some blood drops on its pages.

I want to go home. I want to be back in my room with my detective books. I want to be healed from this darkness inside of me. My nose is bleeding from another attack by the other boys. They started to get more violent now. Simon isn’t joining them, but he watches.

I came home on Christmas, but it wasn’t my home anymore. Just a house. My father didn’t speak a word. I asked him, if it was about the war and he looked up towards me. I could feel his cold gaze from across the table. He took out a letter and slammed it on the table. It was from my headteacher. I was confused. I am class best and the best behaved student in class? The only reason why I get to stand in the naughty corner is if I got caught reading in my comics or books. In my defense I am usually already finished with the exercises if I read in class. What could possibly be a problem with me? The letter was about the other boys calling me Mary Ann. And that they didn’t wanted a boy like that in their school. That I should stop whatever was wrong with me. My father told me in his absent voice, that he was not having a son like that either. He had exchanged letters with the headmaster for quite some time now and I didn’t seem to get better. I asked him that I had no idea. He interrupted me as always. Told me that the only way to make me a man would be to send me to war. I started to cry and he continued holding a speech about heroism and that his generation had understood this so much better than mine. I am too young for war, he knows that too. He told me that the only thing rescuing my life is my good grades. He sees potential in me as a lawyer. He has talked to the Surnames-von-Hovercrafts they agreed that I should marry their daughter as soon as possible. I mean I knew that I would be married to Cordelia one day, but not already when I turn 16. That’s only some months away.

As the train brought me back to the boarding school and as I saw my father standing in the doorway of the house with his usual expressionless face, I knew that this was the last time I would see him and that he wished to rather have no son than me. I just knew it.

1916

Simon stole my hat. I wouldn’t mention this minor form of his bullying, if it hadn’t been a special hat. My mother and I bought it, when her disease hadn’t been noticeable. It was too large back then, but it suits me now. Or rather suited. I don’t think I will see it again as Simon comes up with the best ways to either destroy or hide it. I cried about it. Childhood is over, but honestly I don’t think it ever started in the first place at least not for me.

The numbness is spreading inside my body. I think about the military and the forced marriage daily. I am too young for this. I cannot even properly cope in a classroom. How am I supposed to cope in the war? My hands are to soft. My brain is too precious. Please, spear me. They won’t. It is just a question of time.

I went to the lake today. It is spring and still fairly cold, but I went inside non the less. It was cold. Ice cold. I went under water and yelled out some poetic nonsense. I thought about staying under water. Turning into Ophelia. But I reminded myself, that this is something a coward would do. A Mary Ann. I would proof everyone’s suspicions as correct. Scared to live. Scared to die. I got out of the water. My gaze landed on my clothes and the letter. My father had written me that the marriage would be held in some days, since I am 16 now. I ripped the paper in half and tossed it into the ocean. Letting the water destroy the writing on the paper. Of course this would make nothing undone. I would still need to marry. I would still need to go into the military. I would still need to die. I am frightened. The other boys seem unbothered. They laugh and play like the world isn’t ending around us. Well, their world is probably not ending anyways. They will live. Their parents are rich after all. They have the privilege. I would have had this privilege as well, but they took it from me by putting this name on me. I took it from myself with my impure thoughts.

Cordelia sent me a telegram that just read that I would need to be careful as death was approaching me in the worst way. I hate her for that. As if I wouldn’t know that. As if I wouldn’t know that I needed to go into the army soon. Not a single word about our forced wedding. I thought we had always agreed to both be against it. But then again she isn’t even trying to love me. Not that I would try. Not anymore. I tried when I was younger, because I was told to. But Cordelia has just no idea how to react appropriately to a gentleman. Her behavior makes it hard to believe that she is from such a high rank.

I saw Simon with a weird book today. He told me it is from his brother and that it is about demons. I told him that this was total nonsense and that he should get a grip on reality. He didn’t spoke to me again after that. Weird for someone who is as annoying as him. I am going to put my notebook in the pocket of my sleeping clothes tonight just to make sure Simon cannot steal it. I have a bad feeling in my stomach. My heart is aching for absolutely no reasons. I am afraid as I try to sleep tonight and the worst thing is that it is irrational. I am going to die alone, this is all my head produces right now.

Now every page was covered with blood at the side of the pages and sometimes even on the writing itself. There were no drawings to be found anymore. Just drawings for the escape plan and hierarchy of hell.

I don’t know if my dates are correct. I don’t know how time works in here. I don’t even know how long I am able to write without this thing waking up. This thing with the many doll heads. This spider like creature that kills me every time I move or make a sound. I sometimes wonder what happened to the other boys.

I try to change my perspective. It is hard when you are in so much pain. My brain learned to be sharper now. I can think and act quicker. I need to see this as one of my old detective games or as the times that I had to run away from my bullies. Everything is achievable with logic. Although I would say after being in hell for such a long time that might be a delusional optimism.

1988

I think I made it out fairly well. I am still uncontrollably shaky when I hear any noises. I fear that this demon might comeback to get me. I am back in the old school attic where they strapped me down on the table and sacrificed me. I learned a lot from hell and from the books in the attic. Like the basic ghost rules or that my death and the death of my bullies were labeled an act of god. I compared hell to the war a lot. After all I would say that hell was definitely the worse death. Much longer torture than war would have been. In the war you die just one death after all. But maybe a Mary Ann like me would have ended up there anyway.

I finally was brave enough to get out of the attic. I figured out that the year is 1988 from a newspaper that one of the teachers was reading. 72 years of torture. I wonder how often I was torn apart in this time. But I shouldn’t think about that. That reminds me of the pain and of the times when I tried to count my own corpses. The school hasn’t changed a lot. The teachers are less violent, but still rather strict. They have more lower class people here now. I can see it by the ways they behave and by the clothes they wear. That is especially confusing for me. So rude, so explicit, so freely. It is not a boarding school anymore. Luckily that gives me the freedom to have my peace after dark.

I started to watch a specific boy. I am not a stalker. At least I wouldn’t use this therm for a ghost. He is just interesting for my scientific research about this time. The boy has a darker skin. Some children in this school have this skin and get picked on, but somehow he isn’t the one who gets pick on. He wears very interesting clothes. Especially the golden earring. Something I would just see a woman wear, but it fits him so much better than it could ever fit a woman. His clothing is mostly black, though I would say that the red shirt he once worn fits him best. His lips have always a smile on them and he cracks loud jokes. But I see the sadness in his eyes. I recognize my own sadness in his eyes. His name is Charles Rowland. I heard the teacher yell it at him. A little trouble maker in class. He seems to never be able to focus. Maybe he is also possessed like I was when I was a young boy. But after experiencing hell, I doubt that the priest back then had any idea what a demon was really like.

The following page is filled with a very realistic drawing of Charles, who is smiling so iconically and his eyes seem to be filled with emptiness and some smaller doodles of Charles playing Cricket or talking to others.

Charles Rowland. His name repeats itself in my brain. I am not obsessive. He is just the best way of distraction I can find in this school. Distraction from the fear of hell. The fear of death coming back for me. Analysis and observation keep me away from those horrible thoughts. I have less panicle outbursts since I started my observation of this boy. Although when I am alone at night in the school attic I often start to cry in silence and my breathing races again.

Charlie. That is what his friends call him. It doesn’t suit him. Charles is his name. Not Charlie. I don’t like his friends. They are rude. They remind me of the boys in my old life. I wonder why I like Charles then. Maybe because he points out obvious misbehavior of the group even if they mock him.

The most interesting time is when Charles thinks that he is alone. That is mostly in the dressing room, when he gets ready for Cricket. As a short notion he is a fabulous cricket player, but he always waits till the other boys have changed and are out of the room. He pretends to struggle with his shoes or shorts. Even if that sometimes means that it is getting really dark outside. His smiles fades completely then. I saw the scars on his body. I feel bad for even looking at him in that state. Seeing a boy my age without a shirt is clearly inappropriate and it triggers the Mary Ann inside of me, but sometimes my detective senses is taking over too much. Especially after I saw all the scars and bruises. You don’t need to be that clever to understand that his family probably his father beats him. Although beating may be a too mild verb for those scars. I appreciate the absence of my father when I see him. My father and teachers used to beat me as well. With a ruler or the flat hand though not as much as my classmates. And after being through hell, that all seems like nothing in comparison. But even in my time no father would have mistreated their sons like that. I speak from a higher class, maybe it had been different in the lower class, but they were happy if their sons made it through childhood without a disease or scars so they could work properly. Although maybe they did this with the child workers. Is Charles secretly a child worker? Is there still child labour? Why would someone bruise their son like that if their son could provide a great income for the family? Or how many things was Charles doing something seriously wrong?

1989

His friends talked about me last night. They had cricket practice until the sun had settled and on the way back home I heard them talking about a school ghost. The janitor must have heard my weeping last night. My hysteria yesterday was indeed a lot. Too much to handle for myself. I think I was shaking till dawn. This vivid fear must have crossed over into the living world. They told Charles, that this had scared the janitor and he quitted. Then they told him of Mary Ann who was sacrificed 1916 and killed all the boys that night. Charles questioned this logically, since it was an all boys school, so there probably was never a girl. I certainly appreciate his thinking, but this just triggered a lot in me. Being called a Mary Ann even after all this years. Being remembered only as a Mary Ann. Being blamed as the murderer. Those boys clearly had no idea of what the term Mary Ann actually meant, but it just triggered me so badly that I started to panic again. My panic must have bursted through the worlds again, because the boys suddenly turned white and ran home. Charles stayed a little longer. Looking in my direction. I know he couldn’t see me, but maybe he could sense my panic more than the other boys could. Again we are much a like if you observe closely. After this strange second of him just starting into nothing and me starting back, he ran away as well.

I need to leave this place. But I am too scared. Too scared of the outside world. Too scared of the changes.

I wanted to leave today, be brave enough. But I heard Charles ‘friends’ talking bad about him behind his back. How weird he behaved. They had no idea about his scars. Then again if I would be his friend, which is rather unlikely, I wouldn’t confront him. I know how horrible I panic if someone says the word Mary Ann, I imagine that it is a similar situation for him with his scars. I stayed. I don’t know why. Again irrational fears.

I wish I would have left. I saw Charles defending a boy who got bullied by his so called friends. I felt tears in my eyes, because this was the kind of protection I had wished for when I was alive. I definitely feel too many emotions at the moment or maybe it just feels like more emotions because I was mostly numb in hell. The younger boy could escape with only a few bruises, but his friends still were in this blood lust. In this moment of still wanting the fun even though there was nothing funny about the action in the first place. I have seen those faces before. The faces of murders who only realize their actions when it is too late. They stoned him in the cold water. The water of the lake in which I once thought about killing myself a long time ago. I wanted to help. I wanted to stop them, but I had no idea what I could do. I am too new in this ghostly body. I tried desperately, but I ended up only pausing them by holding them back for a short time. It gave Charles time to ran away to the school building. He hid in the attic. I wanted to help him. The least I could do was by giving him a light. He was in a state where a floating light probably was his least problem. It turned out that he could see me and that was the moment I knew it was too late for him anyway. It was a strange sensation to properly speak again. I had never spoken in hell and in my ghost form I had only weeped. Hearing my own voice was odd. I was shortly surprised that I still knew how to use my voice. Reading to him from one of my old comics in the attic calmed him and gave me the opportunity to adapt a bit to talking for a longer period of time. He stayed with me, which honestly stresses me out a lot. I am not made to be a friend. I have been isolated for too long to be a good friend. I have been in hell for so long that I am probably a horrible person myself. I haven’t talked in so long. I am just adapting to just have conversations, how should I teach him to be a ghost, if I haven’t figured it out myself? Even if that all would not be the case and even if we would not be from different times, still I never have been good with other people. I never had friends. The only person a bit close to me was Cordelia and she was always more a sister for me. And still he chooses a stranger his own afterlife. From my observations I would blame his intentional behavior. He sees something and does something without thinking long. Although this decision might be too big for only this explanation.

I really can’t understand why Charles is choosing me over his afterlife. I just read to him once and gave him a lantern. He barely knows me and now he follows me everywhere. I showed him some ghost tricks and somehow I can really impress him by everything I say or do. But he made me smile for the first time in my life. So I am impressed by him as well. Whenever I read in this book, I just tell him that I like to keep record of things. That I would plan were we can go next as we no longer can stay in the school and waking around without plan is never good for too long. It is partly a lie I really am making a plan. But I do this in my head rather than writing it down, but it is an excuse for not letting him see my private writing. I tell him that it is rather boring planning and he believes me. I feel bad for lying to him, but if he would know about my past he surely would leave me and I would be all alone again.

We mirror traveled together to London. Charles felt a bit sick after it. He seems to still need to adapt to his ghost body. I was a bit overwhelmed with his sudden mood shift. I have been too selfish all my life and in my death so much that I don’t know how to help. He didn’t notice or he just didn’t say anything. But we had to mirror travel, it was too dangerous in the school after Charles died. Besides Charles is a talented and athletic boy, he will get the grip of it. In addition death could have caught me in the attic. I didn’t tell him why I am on the run. Not yet. I fear that once I tell him that I was in hell, he will think I am evil. Maybe that is true. Maybe I am just doomed. I feel like it was my fault that he died. I watched him so long with this incorrect feelings of mine. Maybe this cursed him like in a Greek tragedy. For now I just want to make sure that Charles is not alone. I had been alone for too long to know how dreadful it can get and he is much more social than I am.

We visited his family in London. A real rural area. His mother was crying over the loss of her son. His father just seemed to see it as a natural thing to happen to those who aren’t careful enough. I made a mental note to haunt this man every year to Charles’ death day without telling Charles. The school, once again, swept the problem under the carpet and made it appear like an accident. How can someone possibly stone himself while being in the water and then run in an attic? No clever detective would see that as the solution. I said that out loud and it turned out that Charles and I both share a passion for detective stories. That was something to make him smile. But he started to cry again as he saw how desperate his mother and sister were. He hugged me, which was a lot. I never have been hugged before and at first it felt like this demon from hell was gripping around me again. I froze in place and pushed him away in a reflex. Charles stopped. I didn’t tell him about the hell part, but I told him that I am not used to hugs and touches in general. He took it in surprisingly well, but for his own sake I added that I might could get used to it. I hope that I am able to get used to it. Charles sees it as something that he can teach me.

It was just a matter of time till my hell trauma wouldn’t be able to keep hidden anymore. We were in an abandoned apartment, since we both are not staying out the whole night. We don’t have to sleep but it is just too awkward. He usually talks through the whole night and I like his voice even with his weird way of talking. He likes me reading to him. He even carries all my books for me. But as we explored the abandoned house, I discovered an old doll. I overreacted I know. But there was just so much panic inside of me all of the sudden. My fight or flight mood was activated again. I don’t know what Charles did. I don’t know how he managed to stop me from repeating the word ‘Please spare me. I don’t belong in hell.’ I vaguely remember his hands securely holding my head and his shining dark eyes and his calm voice, but I don’t remember his words. He was confused by my sudden changed behavior, but he tried to not show that whole calming me. Once he had calmed me, I obviously had to tell him the truth. I gave him the opportunity to leave me again, but he stayed and he understood, said that this is probably the worst thing someone could have been through. We didn’t speak the rest of the night, but we continued the next day as if nothing had happened.

It is harder to continue my writing as Charles could find out and I don’t want him to know about this. He is so lively. He is jumping and sprinting around, while telling me things and just appears from behind. I cannot risk that. We have a detective agency now. We don’t want that others have their deaths so badly twisted as ours. Another reason was that he had introduced me to a game called Clue, which is basically a detective game, and then we both came up with the idea of starting our own detective agency. He is the brawn and I am the brain. It fits perfectly. We even managed to get a abandoned flat in London. I probably have no time to continue this memoirs, but I will make sure to use my notebook as a case lock book from now own.

I will never tell him about the real meaning of the word Mary Ann. I will never tell him that I had been in the school for a whole year and not just shortly before his death. I will never tell him that I have watched and observed him. I appreciate him now too much. I don’t ever want to lose him.

After that only a whole lot of cases and notes and questions on them followed.

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #dbd #dbd fanfic #dead boy detective agency #dead boy detectives fanfic #payneland #crystal palace #niko sasaki #Spotify #payneland fanfic #fanfic collab

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

Hidden Treasure 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your quiet life is interrupted by a tempestuous man. (reader is Blair from Follow You Anywhere)

Characters: Thor

Note: I just did it, okay?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You lay out the hand-sewn coin purses along the left side of the table, completing the array of your hand-made and repurposed goods. It’s a good day to sell, sunny but not too hot, the early days of spring when people are eager to get out. At least it should be. Despite your selection, you’re not the most personable vendor along the square.

The last detail is the hand-painted wood sign. You did it yourself; an antique frame you added a gold hue to and filled with a thin sheet of board. It isn’t much but it tells people what they’re looking at; handmade and renewed goods.

You fold your hands and hover behind your table. You’re a one-person operation. It’s your own table, your own money, your own everything. It brings in enough for you to live. Just you and your cluttered apartment.

The coin purses and the sleepers you sew by hand are the more popular sellers. Anything for children goes first, you notice. Everyone seems to be having them. The older crowd radiate towards the old candlesticks you polished to a shine or the glass-shaded lamps you tediously re-wired. Most try to haggle but your prices are fair enough.

You peer around at the produce stands, the soap and candle makers, and the crocheted stuffies of your fellow sellers. You do a bit of window shopping but never follow through on your wandering eyes. You don’t need to waste the money on the pretty new things, you have lots of lovely old things.

The traffic picks up and you busy yourself with the browsers. A woman with a stroller buys several of the infant dresses and headband, a group of older ladies peruse the aged hardcovers and pick out a few, while a couple comments on the brass-based lamp with the dangling chain. You do your best to smile through the transactions.

The rises higher in the sky towards its apex. The steady flow keeps you busy, with some time in-between to work on fixing the binding of one of the old editions. You like to keep yourself distracted, thinking can be dangerous. With how much time you spend alone, it’s hard to avoid.

As you lock up the cash box and tuck it back under the table, a shadow passes over, large than any other. For a moment, you think a cloud’s passing over the sun. You look up at the sky as a broad figure stands across from you.

You don’t know how you didn’t see the man’s approach. He’s huge. Tall and wide. He doesn’t seem the type to be interested in your selection. Still, he leans in to eye the embroidered coin purses and gives a rumbling hum that sounds like distant thunder.

He picks up one with primroses sewn into it. His thick thumb brushes the threaded design and his large hand makes the coin purse look even smaller. You tap your fingers on the table as his eyes flick up and meet yours.

“Hi, uh, how can I help you?” You whittle out of your tight throat. It’s not often a lone man finds interest in your things. You cater to a more femme audience.

“This is nice,” he remarks, “do you make these?”

“Uh, yes, I do,” you give a tight-lipped smile, “I just embroider old used purses.”

“Just? That’s splendid work,” he brings it closer to his face and looks down his nose at the little flowers and leaves, “my mother would love this... mother’s day is coming, eh?”

“Oh, um, yes, I suppose,” you agree. “It’s five dollars. Cash only.”

“Mm,” he traces his thumb over the metal clasp as he taps his back pocket with his other hand, “don’t think I’ve any on me. Could you hold this for me?” He offers the coin purse, “I’ll find the ATM.”

“Sure, I could do that.”

You take the coin purse, fingers brushing his rough skin, and you set it aside.

“Thank you,” he smiles broadly, blue eyes twinkling as lines creases around them and across his forehead.

He reluctantly trails away and you watch him go. His golden hair is longer than most, twisted into a low bun behind his hand as a few strands dangle freely around his face. He wears a denim jacket over dark red tee and grey jeans, along with a pair of scuffed brown boots. He stands out even in his casual attire.

You shrug off the encounter and turn to your next customers. More baby clothes. The women chat about a baby show and you point them to the newborn sizes, telling them about the fabrics you use for each. They buy a few bibs along with the sleepers and diaper covers.

You back up and sit in the folding chair, drinking deeply from your bottle of water. You don’t know if it’s the interactions or the sun making you dizzy. It’s close to noon. You always start to feel it around this time.

The hours surrounded by strange faces and buzzing voices are clustering in your head and chest. Only a little longer; the market only runs until two. If the world didn’t require money to survive, you might never leave your apartment. Yet your table is the only means you have to keep walls around you.

You sit a bit longer and get up again. You’re okay. You should’ve eaten before you left the apartment. How silly of you to forget the overnight oats you had put in the fridge just the night before. You do forget quite a few things.

The market thrums with the late morning rush and you brace yourself for the final stretch. If you can clear off half the table, you might not have to come back next weekend. You’d be all too content to stay in your own little world, the one beyond is too loud and too bright.

🕰️

You fold your table up and push the hook around the peg to keep it shut. You fold up the chair as well and lean both with your boxes. As the market clears out, you pull up your small two-door and load your wares into the back hatch.

You peer over at the other vendors and their vans and trucks. Crews of half a dozen or more pack away goods and chatter just as loud as the previous crowds. It’s an isolating moment. You don’t mind going unnoticed but sometimes you feel so small.

As you put a box in the back of the car, your keys slip off your finger. You bend and feel around the tire to retrieve them and sense a shadow above you. You clasp your hand around the keyring and stand-up suddenly, turning to face the figure behind you. There’s no one there.

You peer around but find nothing out of the ordinary. You return to your task and pause. You don’t remember putting that box away yet...

You shake your head. You’re just tired and forgetful. Your cardinal vices. Your mind wanders too much to rest, too much to keep order.

You put the last box away and close the hatch. You get in the driver’s seat and turn the engine. It putters softly but it runs well enough. The old car has gotten you through the years just fine. There was a time that tiny thing was your home.

You pull away down the lane parallel to the edge of the market square and pull out into traffic. You drive without seeing, led by habit as you stop at signs along the way, turning around corners mindlessly. You stop and wait to pull into your building’s lot and notice the large storm grey jeep behind you. It strikes you as peculiar; you enter from a back street to avoid the rush.

You steer into the lot and the jeep continues down the street past the building. You forget it as quickly as it rolls beyond the faded brick. You find your spot, parking pass dangling from the mirror, and shut off the engine. You linger and take a breath. You're hungry and tired.

You leave your things in the car and go upstairs. You slow as you pass your neighbour’s door. You saw her yesterday, she was in trouble about something. The police came as she hid from her boyfriend in your apartment. You didn’t even know she had one. You tried not to be nosy but she seemed real upset.

Your cheeks tinge as you stare at the numbers on her door. She’s the only person who’s ever been inside your apartment. You don’t welcome people in, not into your home or your life. You hadn’t meant to let her in but you were so tired and confused, you couldn’t stop her.

You cringe and continue down to your door with one last glance over your shoulder. You put the key in the slot and turn with a grind. You scurry inside and quickly lock the door, afraid she might once more emerge and follow you inside. Or that man, the big one with the beard.

You twist the latch back into place and put your keys in the tray on the cramped shelf. The apartment is dark, the windows shrouded in black fabric, and you flip on the overhead light to guide you down the hallway. The walls are made tighter as their lined with endless shelves and tables, all filled with your collection of curiosities.

You go to the fridge and take out the mason jar of steeped oats. You sit and eat the soft, pasty oats and the berries. You didn’t add enough cinnamon. It doesn’t matter, your stomach greedily mulches it. You put the kettle on and wait for it to steam.

As you pace around, you hear a loud rumble. An engine. You don’t think much of it but you go to the window to peek out around the dark fabric. A woman walks a large dog past a grey jeep parked along the curb. Is it the same one you saw before?

The question doesn’t pique your mind much. That’s the way of the world, you find. It’s a lot smaller than it seems, yet to you, it’s inexorably vast. It’s too fast, too unpredictable. You retreat as the kettle whistles.

Your apartment is small and warm and safe. The world can’t follow you back here. Not if you don’t let it in and you won’t be doing that again.

-🕰️

You decide, against your better instincts, to go to market. The weather is nice and it wouldn’t be so bad add a few extra bucks to your nest egg. You never know what might come up, or what you might find! Too many times you stumbled upon an antique you just couldn’t afford.

You go through your usual ritual. You set up the table and the chair, and arrange your things in the same way around the wooden sign. As you put your boxes to the side, you hear a rattle at the bottom of one. You look into the crate and notice the silver ring. How’d that get in there? You didn’t bring any jewelry.

You put down the box and reach inside. You take out the ring and turn it. You’ve never seen it before. There’s a strange stick symbol on the flat face. Maybe another language or a run of some type. You turn it in your hand and tuck it in your pocket. You’ll have to give a closer look at home.

It’s early and a few stragglers trickle in, but they all walk by your table without pause.

You sit and take out the jar of oats. You remembered today. You’d woken up with a hunger so deep, you almost ate before you left. You know better than to eat too early. Instead, you had your tea and got yourself moving.

You stir the blueberries in and eat slowly, trying to measure your bites so you don’t feel sick after. You watch the other vendors, some still setting up, and lazily swallow down the thick oatmeal. It feels like it might rain after all, there’s a touch of damp in the air.

You finish up and put the jar away. As you wipe your mouth with your sleeve, a woman’s voice trills and pricks your ears. Silver hair with a few wisps of gold peak out from her silk headscarf. The teal fabric matches the pattern of her blouse, tucking into a finely pressed skirt. She’s not alone, she has her arm hooked through another.

Her companion is younger than her. His golden hair is pulled half up at the crown of his head as he towers over her lithe frame. You squint, they might be related. As they approach, you get a whiff of deja vu.

“Yes, it was this one, mother,” the man’s voice is deep.

“How lovely, look at all these treasures,” she slips her arm free as she approaches, “hello, dear, is this all yours?”

“Mhmm, yes,” you stand up, “are you looking for something in particular?”

“I think we’re just browsing,” she smiles brightly, her lips painted a gentle shade of rose.

“A coin purse,” the man says, “with prim rose? Do you recall?”

You look at him. Faces aren’t easy for you but his voice strikes something in your mind, and his size. You haven’t seen a lot of men that big, only the one in your neighbour’s apartment. You think you remember holding something but the customer never came back.

“This one,” you point to the coin purse, set back in the row.

“Yes, that was me,” he chimes, “mother,” he pulls the primrose purse to the top. She takes it and he looks back to you, “I apologise that I didn’t return, there was an emergency and I had to be off.”

“It’s okay,” you shrug, folding your hands together.

The woman is looking at you. There’s something in her gaze that makes you squirm. Her eyes linger just a bit longer before she aims them at the purse, admiring the embroidery as she feels it beneath her thumb.

“Yes, I do like this one,” she says.

“I brought cash this time,” the man booms and reaches into his pocket, “five, I believe you said.”

“Yes,” you accept the bill from him, his skin rough as his fingertips touch yours, “thanks. Erm, did you need a bag?”

“For this? No,” she wiggles the purse playfully and reaches for the man, her son, with other hand. She caresses his knuckles as she faces him, “you were right. Very beautiful.”

He smiles broadly, proudly almost. It’s just a purse. You hide your discomfort as you grip your arm at your elbow.

“Thank you,” the woman chirps back at you, sending another grin in your direction, “you might see us again.”

She hooks her arm once more through her son’s and leads him to the next booth. You peer after them as her attention clings to the purse as she continues to feel it between her fingers. She leans into his arm as she speaks to him quietly. They seem close, it’s sweet. Your own mother had never been so affectionate.

You look away before the scene can pluck in your chest. It doesn’t matter. You’re grown up now. That’s all behind you.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #fic #dark fic #series #dark!fic #au #marvel #avengers #mcu #hidden treasure

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