#among us daffodil

[emsartwork]

ALL OF DAPHNE'S TRANSFORMATIONS. INCLUDING UPDATED NYMPHIX.

Previously Fairy of the Dragon Flame now Fairy of Embers. She doesn't have any transformations others than these because she was fast tracked into the nymphix path, and unlike the winx the majority of fairies don't pursue additional transformations past enchantix. (i think Daphne would be interested in Dreamix tho, so maybe I'll draw that eventually.

Her major color shifted after dying and being revived, which is shown in her winx and enchantix.

other lore and design notes below!

I changed her major color from orange/yellow to more of a teal/green because. she just doesn't look good in yellow I'm sorry I really tried but it wasn't working. Also little updates to her hair color, nothing huge tho. Daphne's primary motifs are a branching "Y" shape and a double oval/tear drop. She's a pants when possible girlie and a one set winger(yes her nymphix looks like it have multiple wings but they all merge into one stem on each side) . Her scars from her Sirenix being ripped out of her caused her winx/enchantix to change a little to cover them(mostly seen in the arms) due to insecurity. Her Dryadix/nymphix flower is a daffodil! because pun Daph-Daff, and Daffodils symbolize rebirth and new beginnings (also creativity, energy, resilience, forgiveness and vitality). Her Harpix wings aren't super specificly patterned, but she has darting wings common in small song and seed birds (robins, finches, brown birds etc.) the coloring is referential of a Shrike (also called a Butcher Bird), because Daphne was. incredibly dangerous and if she had sided with the ancestral probably would have been given a moniker similar to Butcher of Domino or Daphne the Slaughterer. (some people do call her these but its mostly among people who dislike Domino/The Royal Family.)

Lore! Daphne doesn't have a great sense of self, she was planned as a necessary successor to Marion/the dragon flame in a period as the ancestral witches were escalating their attacks and search for the dragon flame. Bloom was a back up baby in case both Daphne and Marion got dead and basically worked as intended haha. Daphne was also much more publicly involved in the kingdom than many of the other royals in winx (Stella, Aisha, Krystal and even Galatea to an extent all had rather sheltered upbringings) in a way Daphne is much more like Sky and Thoren in the since that none of them really had the space to develop their own personality outside of their familial duty.

Daphne's 1st winx and enchantixes are as direct a copy of her mom's Enchantix as you can get with transformations, right down to the more greenish tint of her major color. Growing up Marion used her fairy form liberally, so that, combined with being the next Dragon Flame holder left a deep impact on Daphne's subconscious. Daphne was also heavily influenced by Faragonda during her Alfea and Nymphix Quest years, but since she was older this isn't as deep an influence. After being revived, Daphne's years of defining herself as her connection to Bloom causes her major color to shift more blue in response to her trauma. Daphne is slowly starting to develop a sense of self outside of her titles/connections but it's unlikely her major color will shift again unless she has another major trauma.

(for the record the Winx do have trauma over the timeline I have laid out that would potentially cause their major colors to shift but I didn't do that for a couple reasons 1, their colors are iconic and make them easily recognizable as characters; 2, I'm a tired bitch. )

[hunnylagoon]

Right Where You Left Me

Pt1: Coming Down With Me

Ellie Williams x reader

I once met a girl with skin like kiwi. Even the butterflies were drawn to her, landing on the top of her nose, the dip in her palm. But the kiwi stung my tongue, scarred my lips and made me bleed. I do not care. Cover me in your kiwi kisses, burn my mouth and scar my flesh. Bleach my eyes and dip my heart in lemon juice. Sing your sickly sweet words until my ears bleed.

Premise: You and Ellie were childhood best friends until you grew up. Funny thing about soulmates is that they tend to find their way back to each other.

Warnings: Angst / reader has religious issues / people are mean lol / best friends to enemies to lovers / roommate! Ellie

Part two here!

Part three here!

Part four here!

I know everything about you,

You know everything about me.

I had always been bound to the earth while Ellie danced with the stars in the night sky among delusion and dreams. Though, more so than anything, we were bound to one another.

Our parents were friends, even before we were born. They met at summer camp when they were teenagers, the same camp that Ellie and I were eventually shipped off to every summer. Of course, I have no recollection of when I was an infant, only stories that my parents shared with me; My dad told me that I learned to crawl backwards before I learned to crawl forwards. Joel kept a photo album of his girl.

I can't remember days of crawling around and babbling incoherently, but I can tell you what I remember.

Five years old- Kindergarten

Despite the air being unbearable hot, it was infused with excitement as Ellie and me set foot in the petting zoo. I had never seen so many animals in one place, my little brain was going nuts. Accompanied by the gentle hum of content animals, the aroma of straw, and the distant melody of joyful chatter, the petting zoo rang true to its rustic charm.

Ellie, with her auburn curls bouncing in the breeze, led the way, her eyes widened at the sight of a fluffy alpaca lazily grazing in the sunshine. I giggled as we approached a pen filled with adorable piglets, their tiny snouts sniffing the pure air far away from the dirty stench of the city.

Our parents, watching with affectionate smiles, guided us to the lamb enclosure where soft, woolly creatures nuzzled against tiny palms. Ellie's fingers gently traced the contours of a lamb's ear, and she couldn't resist a delighted squeal as she felt the velvety nose of a goat.

As the afternoon sun cast a warm glow on the scene, the families strolled through the meandering paths, passing by a pond where ducks quacked merrily. Ellie and I, hand in loveable hand, marvelled at the wonders of the animal kingdom, our hearts brimming with the pure joy of discovery and a blooming friendship.

Seven years old- Grade Two

On this particular day, Ellie and I had been messing around in her backyard; that's all we did on the weekends at that age, you couldn't get us to go inside. We spent the morning entwined in daffodils and hyacinth that Joel has so tenderly nurtured, careful not to crush the dainty flowers beneath our wild flailing bodies. 

We had the brilliant idea to paint rocks so we had been searching her yard for the perfect flat stones we had in mind. Ellie picked up a rock and immediately threw it back down, jumping away with a shriek.

This had piqued my curiosity (As well as Joels who sat on the back porch, watching us), I went over to where she stood petrified and found nothing more than a little snake staring up at her. I dropped the stones I had been carrying and bent over to get a better look at it, it was brown and had a few white vertical stripes cascading up its thin body. 

I slowly moved my hand outwards to touch but was swiftly interrupted by Joel scooping me up "That's enough of that kiddo." 

Nine years old- Grade Four

Joel's house garnered an expansive backyard and just past the old fence that Ellie and I had thrown one too many softballs at was a lush forest. I would always clamour up the wood fence and poke my little head over it to try and gather a glimpse of wildlife, Ellie usually had to give me a little boost. "Hold still!" She hissed with her arms wrapped around my torso to help lift me, my scrawny arms shook as I tried to pull myself up even further.

The wood rot of the ancient fence finally set in and with the both of us pressing our mighty weight against it collapsed with the fence. We heard the splitting of wood, I got the worst end of the stick, toppling over and putting my hands out to protect myself. I could've sworn that I heard my wrist break like a crunch.

While I did what felt like a three-sixty frontflip over the fence just for my small head to come down on the end of it with a solid smack, Ellie had just flopped on top of it, green eyes widening in shock when she saw my once straight arm now had an abnormal bump coming out from my wrist. "What's wrong with your hand?"

"I don't know I'm probably dying!" I screamed as loud as my voice could carry, that was the first time I had felt adrenaline run through my veins. "You killed me!"

"No, I didn't!" She retorted, scrambling off the fence and back up to her feet. She was clad in a Jurassic Park T-shirt that she practically was swimming in and those pink and orange plaid Bermuda shorts that any kid in the 2000s owned. "Dad!" Ellie yelled, calling for Joel.

I felt the tears welling up in my eyes and finally, I released the sob that had been building up in my throat. She was almost dumbstruck and just ended up kneeling and wrapping her arms around me in a hug.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." She muttered.

10 years old- Grade Five

Ellie had been practicing guitar the entire time I was at her house, Joel had gifted her his old guitar and she was so set on perfecting every cord, every half-hour she would ask for a song recommendation and then flip through the songbook she got to find it.

I was curled up in her bed reading The Hunger Games over again "Els, are you team Peeta or Gale?" I was always at Ellie's house, mine was too busy all the time; I had three siblings, Naomi and Aaron who were twins and two years younger than me and my brother Elijah who was three years older than me. I loved going to her house on Saturdays so I could sleep in and wriggle my way out of going to church. Even though her house was right across the street from mine and my parents would bang on Joel's door, he always covered for me.

"Uh," She was distracted by something in her songbook "Team Katniss?"

I nod in approval to myself as she isn't paying attention "You know who Gale reminds me of?" I ask and without Ellie giving me a response I answer anyway "Luke, I think I kind of like him."

Those are the words that get her to look at me "Ew, he's so weird."

"He's nice to me."

She wrinkles her nose in distaste then shrugs, returning to her guitar which sits awardly in her scrawny frame.

12 years old- Grade Seven

"Fuck!" I yell, kicking the grimy green dumpster in the graffiti-covered ally out of anger, though I kicked it a little too hard now my foot hurts I refuse to admit it "Fuck I hate them!"

Ellie leans against the brick wall on the opposite side of the alley, our bikes discarded on the ground while I hopelessly rant to my friend about my parents. She doesn't say much, just little nods of agreement. My parents had caught me skipping church and they laid into me, saying that I had no respect for them or god and whether that was true or not didn't matter, I was full of pre-teen angst and needed to call my friend to go for a bike ride around town.

"She fucking tore my room apart, I never see them get mad at Aaron or Naomi!" I drag my hands down my face before I look back at the dumpster and kick it again "Ow, cunt!" I'm now hopping on one foot while my knee bends my other leg and I hold my beaten red Converse, covered in doodles, to soothe the pain of my poor toes. It's moments like this that remind me why I love Ellie, because as stupid as I look hobbling around and cussing, she doesn't laugh at me even though I know she wants to.

After a little bit of me aimlessly yelling I finally wind down. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to remember those breathing exercises that we were taught at school assemblies. "Thanks for listening to me talk shit, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," She shrugs "I've seen you do worse."

This cracks a smile on my face, I turn my head and am met with the Jackson skyline, a beautiful pink sunset on the horizon "Sun's setting," I say.

"Sleepover?" Ellie asks.

"Sleepover," I confirm.

13 years old- Grade Eight

We were thirteen when our parents shoved cash into our hands and dropped us at the mall to go back to school shopping by ourselves for the first time. Every parent's nightmare was a busy mall so when they figured us old enough to venture into the dreaded foodcourt on our own, believed they were taking that opportunity. 

Ellie had bought a couple of T-shirts and hoodies here and there, not too particular about what she was buying, though I was very nit-picky over what I wore so I forced Ellie to judge every single outfit that I wore and rate it, she gave the same answer every single time "It looks fine."

"Cool but I don't wanna look fine, I wanna look pretty," I say in frustration, walking back into the dressing room to try on another outfit. Ellie is sitting in the fitting room on a pink velvet couch, arms crossed and waiting for me to finish. "How's this?" I ask, walking out of the changing stall and giving her a little twirl.

"It looks fine- I mean good, everything looks good on you." She sounds almost exasperated. Ellie's hair was still that vibrant auburn colour that my mother was obsessed with, it had yet to fade out into a duller brown with age.

"Really?" I perk up just the slightest.

"Yeah, you look really pretty." She gives me a little nod of confirmation. I know that she's only saying that because she wants to go to the food court and get a cinnamon bun but I believe her anyway.

14 years old- Grade Nine

We were just nearing the end of the second half of our soccer game. It was the tournament and we were only a point away from placing first in the league, the thought of it had kept me up all week I was running off of Subway sandwiches and Gatorade. 

Riley (the midfielder) swiftly passed the ball to me before she was surrounded by the other team's defence, I looked up to the clock and there were only seconds left in the match. I let my instincts take over, my parents forcing me into soccer since elementary school was not going to wind up useless. My footwork took me up the right wing just before the penalty box. 

I wasn't paying enough attention to notice the tall blonde girl in a slick back ponytail closing in on me. I hear Ellie shout my name and that's all I need to make this last pass, I barely even looked up before power-driving the ball to Ellie who was merely six metres away from me. I slipped onto the muddied field with that kick, watching Ellie waste no time to score our final goal the second her cleat touched the ball. 

The clock deadlocks and I drag myself off the ground running towards my best friend, I jump on her almost taking her down with me though she manages to steady herself. "I fucking love you!" I scream hugging her with all of the force I can muster. She hugs me in return, unable to get any words out between her laughs. The team is quick to swarm us, everyone is shouting about our well-deserved victory but not one person is louder than Joel in the stands.

15 years old- Grade Ten

Snow was falling as I stood in the foyer of the high school, still waiting for my date for the winter formal to arrive. Conner had asked me out weeks ago, we hadn't talked much since though I just figured that was because he was shy. I even left school early to get ready and spent hours meticulously pinning every hair into place and adjusting my navy blue satin dress so it would drape across my body in just the right way.

My sister, Naomi was an aspiring makeup artist so I let her dust my eyelids in silver glitter, I forced Warren to drive me. All of that was just for me to get stood up. Conner hadn't texted me all day, I knew he wasn't coming that didn't stop me from forcing denial on myself. "Hey," I heard a soft voice sound behind me, I wasn't surprised to see Ellie. Even though our parents were no longer friends, we were close as ever.

"Hi," My voice was hushed and feeble.

"The dance started an hour ago," She said, that night she had been wearing a white button-up with a pair of jeans and her hair half up. It was clear the dance wasn't as big a deal to her as it was to me. All she had done was ask Riley to go with her and call it a day. Despite her lack of effort, she looks beautiful as ever "I don't think he's coming," She said bluntly.

That's the exact moment I felt myself crack, tears welled up in my eyes and I lurched forward to hug her, flailing my arms helplessly to search for comfort "Then why did he ask me to go with him?" My sobs were drowned out by the sound of Kesha blasting in the overcrowded gym.

"I don't know, but he's an idiot for standing you up," Ellie holds me close and I never want her to let go "I wouldn't have ever done that to you."

16 years old- Grade Eleven

This is where things begin to fall apart. I found Ellie on the back porch of some random guy's house at a party. "I figured I would find you out here," I say, taking a seat next to her on the wooden steps, I hug my knees close to my chest.

"What's up?" Beside me, Ellie is unnervingly calm, she nurses a joint, taking a long hit and letting the smoke turn to clouds. 

"Conner kissed me," I say cutting to the chase

I can tell she doesn't like the thought, she hated Conner, ever since he stood me up at the winter formal but she bites her tongue "You guys gonna date?"

"I think so."

"Good for you."

"I don't know if I liked it," My eyebrows are furrowed, and I pull my knees in even further, inhaling the crisp autumn air and the smell of Ellie, she smells like cannabis, firewood and bar soap. 

"What do you mean?" Ellie puts out the end of her joint and tucks what remains of it into an empty Altoids container.

"Nothing," I dismiss it, "It doesn't matter, I just wanted to talk to you," Ellie had softened every burden for me since we were girls. "Um, so, my parents are sending me to boarding school next year."

"No, they're not-

"They are."

Ellie doesn't seem so calm anymore, she adjusts her body to face mine and she's so close I swear to god I could've counted every freckle on her face. "Why, what did you do?" The way she looks at me makes me wish that she was a boy.

"Nothing!" I retort "They think I'm straying from god, it's a Christian school." That was my code for 'they think I have a crush on you and I rather not get disowned by my super religious parents!'

"come stay with me and Joel-

"Ellie, please," I place a hand on her thigh "I don't think I can get away from this one."

That was at the end of September, it only got worse from there. I partially wished that I didn't tell Ellie that I had to leave, every time we hung out it just felt like words were hanging between us like birds on a wire and neither of us could say what we wanted. I forced myself to distance myself from her, I didn't know how else to handle my feelings. 

She would blow up my phone and come by my house even visit my work but I just told her that I was busy. I could tell that she didn't believe my excuses for a second, she had English with my new boyfriend, Conner and would get him to relay messages and notes to me.

It didn't get easier to ignore her, my family prying about where she had been. I never told my parents that Ellie was gay, though I know they had always had a suspicion and that's why they could never love her all the way completely, the way Joel loved me and looked out for me. My mom and dad liked that I swapped out Ellie for Conner, by February, my dad even started to call him son. 

In March Ellie and I had stopped talking completely, she gave up on texting me and coming by my house just for my siblings to lie about my whereabouts. It hurt to see the resentment gleam in her eye every time she passed me in the hallway. 

She didn't speak a word to me until the start of the summer bonfire which was custom in our town. If I had known she would be there I never even would have thought about going. I rather not rehash this awful night, not right now just know that it ended with some alcohol, a bit of blood in the sand and me telling Ellie 'I would pick him over you every single time.' Yikes, that's not a good look for me. I spent the rest of my summer burying her in the back of my mind until boarding school finally came upon me and I graduated with friends I didn't like in a place that didn't feel like home. 

I was sixteen then now I'm nineteen, no longer a girl but not yet a woman. Those were some key moments of our friendship. I'm not so sure why I felt so mature at the age of sixteen. I had taken a gap year and loved every minute of it, I backpacked in Australia, worked as a camp counsellor in the summer then left to work at a turtle conservatory in Bali, I was making pennies but the experience was worth it. 

I arrived at my new home sunkissed with Ellie far in the back of my mind. I didn't know much about who I would be rooming with, I had only spoken to Dina over a Zoom call who was a friendly girl with warm eyes and ink-black hair spilling over her shoulders. I just prayed that none of them were Craigslist killers.

It took me entirely too long to find parking, when I finally did, I grabbed two of my suitcases, unable to hold anything else, the rest of the boxes jammed into my car would have to wait. I read over the text that Dina sent me what seemed to be a million times to make sure I had the right address. It was a small-ish one-story flat with brown walls that had white accents along corners and the doorway with a wood-panelled gable roof. As far as college housing went, I was happy. It looked like something I would've made in the Sims when I was a teenager. 

I walk to the front door, the entrance is framed by intricately carved moulding, its details telling a story of craftsmanship and tradition. The wood, polished to a warm, inviting glow, exudes a sense of richness and history. I knocked on the door and heard a voice shouting that she would get it.

The door swings open and I'm met face to face with Dina "Hey!" She smiled "It's nice to meet you, I think you'll like it here," She held the door wide open, motioning for me to go in, and I obliged. "Let me give you a tour." Dina is clad in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt and her hair has been pulled back into a messy ponytail.

The layout of the house seemed somewhat odd to me, there was a corridor straight ahead when you walked in, the first room was the laundry room and contained the washer and dryer with some hampers and shelves of detergent and laundry freshener. "This is the laundry room, we have a wash schedule along with a chore schedule so we will put you on that tonight," Dina told me, I just nodded politely in response feeling a little too awkward and out of place to say anything. 

"Alright so this is the kitchen, there's a half bathroom beside it," She says, swinging her arms wide open for exaggeration I can see the chore chart hanging on the walls, it's written in chalk, and it is the laundry schedule. There are little laminated tags with each person's name on them, though I can't quite make out the names from where I am standing. The fridge is covered in postcards, magazine cutouts, polaroids, and bright magnets of papayas and flowers, I automatically assumed this was Dina despite not knowing the other roommates. The kitchen is open with no walls to hide it, the oven and dishwasher are built into counters against the walls as well as the sink which i spotless at the moment, there isn't a dining table but a kitchen island with stools. Past the island you can see the living room, there are two grey couches with decorative pillows and fuzzy throw blankets, a coffee table that looked handcrafted with care and of course a TV. 

Have I mentioned there are plants everywhere? Like everywhere. "Okay, so," Dina keeps on moving and I trail behind with my suitcases, over there is my room and Cat's and Abby's," She points to the left of the living room where there is a short hallway with three doors, one on each wall of it. "There's Cat now," She waves at her roommate.

Cat is relatively tall, she has black hair that's tied into a bun, and she's wearing plaid pyjama pants and a black tank top, I can see her abundance of tattoos. She has one sleeve of laurel cascading up her arm and the other is patchwork done right, each separate piece blends almost seamlessly into the next. "I like your tattoos," I say, not wanting to sit in any more silence.

She grins at me "Thanks, love," I nod in response to her, Cat looks down at the suitcases that I'm lugging around "Dina, take this poor girl to her room already."

"I was just getting there," Dina teases and motions for me to follow her "So over here is the bathroom and of course your room, I left your copy of the house key on your mattress," She opens it up. The bedroom is completely blank aside from the boxed bedframe, shelf, vanity and mattress that I had to send over prior. There's a built-in closet in the wall. 

I put my suitcases on the ground "I'm gonna grab the rest of my stuff from my car," I offer up a tight-lipped smile.

"Wait a second," She takes my hand and then knocks on the bedroom door parallel to mine. "I'm coming in!" Dina announces pushing the door open, there's a brunette girl hunched over her desk. My breath hitches in my throat when she turns around "This is Ellie."

I can see the panic that momentarily takes over Ellie when she spots me before it's replaced by a false coolness, "Hey," She says before turning back to her laptop and putting her headphones back on. It felt like my heart had shut down, why the fuck did I sign the lease?

"Sorry," Dina shuts Ellie's door "She's not the friendliest of the bunch but she'll warm up to you eventually," Dina walks to the front door with you Abby should be around here somewhere."

I had gotten so frustrated trying to set up my bed frame that I sheepishly left my room and asked for help, god bless Abby. She was putting everything together so easily, I watched her in awe as she finished adding the final screw to my bedframe. "Want help setting up the mattress?"

"Yes, please," I say, I grab one end of the mattress while Abby gets the other, she tells me to lift on three and I listen, she carries the majority of the weight but it still feels like an accomplishment on my part. "So does everyone here go to Northridge?"

"Yeah, except for Cat, she's a tattoo apprentice."

"Cool, cool," I search for words, "What are you majoring in?"

"Kinesiology," It makes sense, I could've called that by looking at the fit gym rat who was now sitting on my bed. "You?"

"Wildlife biology,"

"So you like animals and conservation and stuff?"

"Mhm," I nod "It's honestly kind of hard to not have any animals in my life." I was missing all my pets back home, when I wasn't with them I was working at a conservatory or at a summer camp where I took care of all of the horses, and Ellie's dog, Achilles.

"You'll get used to it, living with Dina is the same thing as living with an animal," She smiles and for the first time, I feel comfortable. Abby watching me with her blue eyes as I begin to unpack my abundance of boxes, I kind of just dump everything onto the ground because I can't remember which box has what, the first thing I search for are my coat hangers. I dump out a box with a bible, wall cross, and rosery and golden cross necklace from a box of random knickknacks. "You religious?"

"Kind of?" I question it myself "Not really, it's just my family, I packed that stuff to make my mom happy."

Abby nods "I get it."

"You do?"

She backtracks "No, but I can try to."

I shake my head, "I wouldn't try if I were you, I spent nineteen years trying to get away from it." I was sure other Christian homes were healthy but mine wasn't one of them, the way my parents obsessed over Jesus was honestly frightening.

"Hey, do you wanna come watch a movie when your done unpacking?" Abby asked, "Get to know your new roommates a little better."

I don't entirely want to, I wasn't ready to talk to Ellie. I still hadn't wrapped my head around the fact that I was living with her and that she was pretending she didn't know me, despite this, my words betrayed me "For sure."

I sat on one of the couches beside Abby, I made myself as small as I could, thinking that maybe I could make myself disappear. Cat and Ellie crammed themselves on the other while Dina took the plush armchair. I felt so out of place everyone here had relationships, I had one with Ellie before I severed it 'Grown Ups' was playing on the flatscreen though it seemed I was the only one paying attention.

The four girls all laughed and talked their way through the movie, Abby, Cat, and Dina would ask me a question here and there but I didn't know them well enough to pitch in. I kept telling myself that I needed to push through, if Spiderman could do it, so could I.

I didn't even finish the movie, halfway through I excused myself saying I was tired which wasn't necessarily a lie. It was difficult to fathom how well Ellie was playing it off, acting like she never met me. I walk into the bathroom, clean towel in hand, ready to scrub off the stress of today. Beside the mirror, I see a cardstock poster decorated with bright markers and doodles.

HOUSE RULES

#1 No underwear left in the bathroom

#2 Wash your dishes

#3 Break it? Tell Abby

#4 No smoking inside

#5 Privates are private!

#6 Pls don't drink and drive (We have a couch)

#7 Give your beloved roommates a heads up before having someone over

#8 This is a residence of women so the seat goes down!!!

#9 Respect the bedrooms

#10 Having sex? Keep it quiet

#11 NO DRAMA!!!!!!!!

#12 Follow chore and wash chart

#13 Don't eat what's not yours! (Without asking)

I finish reading the last bit and mutter to myself  "Wasn't planning on it." I run the water so hot that it feels cold and I'm quick to not use all of the hot water and have my roommates hate me on my first night here. Everyone has their little drawers in the bathroom, mine is empty aside from some floss and cotton pads that the girl before me left behind. I make a mental note to make use of my bathroom drawer tomorrow and fill it with makeup remover or conditioner, or something like that.

Brushing my teeth and wrapping myself in a strawberry towel that I had purchased at a craft fair, I open the bathroom door, I can see the light of the TV and the sound of chatter from the living room. However, I ignore it and make a B-line to my bedroom. Even though I had spent hours unpacking and pinning up posters it still didn't seem homey.

I slip into shorts and a t-shirt, leaving my hair as is and throw myself onto my bed. My towel is discarded onto my bathroom floor. When I turn on my phone I am bombarded my messages from my parents, my mother has probably sent me twelve Google pins to the closest churches, I answer her with a thumb-up emoji and settle into my bed to scroll through social media and see how much fun all of my friends are having. 

Fucking Ellie. She's plaguing my thoughts, I think of what I said to her and it makes me cringe, I want to smother myself with my satin pillow. I don't even have food to eat, grocery shopping wasn't something that I put on my priority list and right about now I was but Ellie, god, why was I such a dick? Because I didn't know what else to do- whatever, I was a scared teenager. What would you have done? Probably kiss her you lesbo.

Lord, it makes me sick to think about what could've been.

15 years old- Grade Ten

Ellie and I were sitting at a fire pit at her uncle Tommy's lake house. It was a Fourth of July party except we were the only teenagers there; everyone else was friends of Tommy and Maria or some distant relatives of Ellie's or children of said people.

After five years of practicing day and night, Ellie had just about mastered the acoustic guitar, she played and I sang, wrapped up in her flannel, I was tucked close next to her. 

She struck every cord perfectly and I began to sing absentmindedly, the song that had been carved into my brain. Ellie looked so insanely beautiful illuminated only by fire and the stars that hung in the sky, if it hadn't been a sin I would've kissed her.

Talking to her felt as holy as praying to god but I knew it was as sinful as worshipping the devil. 

If it was so wrong why was I born in God's image?

Her gentle hand strummed on the chords of the guitar, the same calloused hand that had once turned water into wine. Her laughter was the sound of a church choir 

I wish I told her how much I liked her but what would've happened if I did? What would my parents think, they would kill me. 

Part of me didn't care how my parents would react, if I spoke up, I could say goodbye to my inheritance and having college paid for. Maybe that was an unfair assumption to make on my part. Ugh. FUCK, I don't know, let's get to the next part of the story.

I couldn't sleep that night, I thought maybe a glass of water would soothe me, well I didn't really think that but I was hungry and thirsty and water was the only thing in that house I had the right to ingest. I figured that I could fill myself with water and zip to Denny's in the morning then grab some groceries.

Poking my head out of my door, I checked to see if anyone was still awake before gingerly taking hushed steps towards the kitchen, I was trying to be as light as Thumbelina. I hadn't noticed Ellie bumming on the couch, scrolling through her phone. 

"You cooking all of that non-existent food you brought?" She jeered. Oh, now she wanted to talk to me.

"I was gonna have some warm water soup for dinner and chew on pistachio shells from the cup holder in my car for dessert," I answer "I'm treating myself tonight." She didn't think it was funny at all, a few years ago she would've been cackling at my subpar joke, but now she just seemed unamused. "Sheesh, tough crowd."

She stays silent.

"You used to think I was funny," I say.

"I also used to think the tooth fairy was real."

"Harsh," I mutter. Turning the tap on and sticking a finger underneath it to test the temperature. I put my hummingbird mug underneath it and let it fill. "Hey, Ellie," She doesn't answer "Have you told them any bad things about me?"

She nearly scoffs "No, believe it or not, I don't talk about you, I don't even think about you," There's venom in her voice "You haven't crossed my mind since you walked through that door."

"Why are you pretending you don't know me-

"Because I don't fucking like you," She says it like it's so obvious and it honestly is in this moment "Just because you're pretty and you act like a sweet little Christain girl, that doesn't mean shit."

"I'm not trying to act like anything-

"Yeah, well it seems pretty insincere to me," Ellie seethed and I could feel a sting in my heart, I would do some pretty horrendous things for a time machine right about now.  I can tell that there won't be any salvaging for this, she hates me to death and rightfully so. 

This is where I give up "Okay, sorry," I grab my hummingbird mug and retreat to my room.

I endured four months of that.

Ellie was pushed to the back of my mind while I ran through classes and got a job as a waitress at a stake house. I did everything in my power to keep myself busy, to keep her out of my head but she was always there, she hung around like a song I can't shake, like I'm haunted by the melody. 

Some nights when the city decides to quiet down I can hear her play guitar, and I'll quietly hum along to it. Songs she used to sing for me, she now sings for another woman, another soul. I knew that she had girls over, but I never got to meet them as Ellie did everything in her power to pretend I didn't exist.

The only communication I got with her was in the roommate's group chat, and it was always brief.

Ellie: Having a friend over tomorrow night

D-manz: Friend? With benefits??????????

Kit-Cat: Nah they're hardly even friends, just benefits

Abs: Don't get her pregnant

Me: 👍

As long as I was with the girls, Ellie was not. She avoided me like the plague, it was like she despised my existence. If we go clubbing, she takes a separate taxi, petty if you ask me. The girls knew something happened between us but they couldn't pinpoint what it was. It was Dina's conspiracy that Ellie used to date one of my friends and broke her heart. While I bonded with Cat, Dina, and Abby, Ellie would pretend to like me. She would occasionally laugh at my jokes or ask how my shift was when Dina was in the room. 

Trust me when I say I would rather forget than dwell on it but it was impossible. I know that I'm nothing more than an obstacle to her, a stain on her bedsheets, a sore in her mouth, but she was still my diamond in the rough. I will willingly ignore all of her cutthroat words and her jagged edges. 

Because I know everything about us.

[tranquilskies2]

Rozfink Parenting Headcanons

We know that Brightbill mimics Roz's behavior by making beeping noises, walking stiffly and initially speaking in formal dialogue. Since Roz is the primary parent, it's not brainer that Brightbill is a mama's boy and thus-takes up her behavior more than his father. However, that doesn't mean Fink doesn't influence him in some way. Brightbill can hiss, snarl and even pounce like his father. He doesn't exhibit those traits often since they're usually expressed from specific emotions.

Since Roz needs to conserve as much energy as she could during nighttime, this typically leaves Fink to take of Brightbill during this time. Whenever Brightbill has a nightmare, Fink comforts him by letting him hug his fluffy tail. Fink also tells Brightbill funny jokes & stories to lighten his mood. Heck, sometimes Brightbill sleeps close to Fink for this reason.

Brightbill's wide range of knowledge in stem of course comes from his mother (who also is his primary educator). He's fascinated with environmental science, robotic tech, mechanical engineering and various types of mathematics such as calculus, trigonometry, ect. For the most part, he's a fast learner with a photographic memory. On the flipside, Brightbill gets most of his survival skills from his father. This may seem bizarre since his father is a predator, but foxes are omnivorous and it's helpful for Brightbill to know what predators look for. Fink taught Brightbill various survival skills such as stealth, foraging, and how to escape from predators.

Which parent wakes up first? Roz since Fink absolutely needs all the beauty sleep he could get. She usually wakes up Brightbill in the morning and helps him get ready for the day such as bathing him, helping him get breakfast and daily morning meditation. Fink typically gets up during this time of the day. In the morning, Roz would provide Brightbill with all of the information she has in her database.

For the most part, Brightbill is a well-behaved child who rarely needs to be disciplined. However, he is by no means a "perfect" child. Like most children, he has rare his moments of making messes, throwing a fit and being defiant. As you can see, Roz is more active in discipline compared to Fink, who is more lax. Both parents never once yelled at Brightbill or take out their frustration on him, even if they're in a massively horrible mood for that day.

Like many parents, Roz & Fink aren't perfect parents. Roz can be overprotective & overbearing while Fink doesn't always take parenting seriously. Roz sometimes gets frustrated with Brightbill being so unpredictable at times (especially in his early childhood) and Fink sometimes have difficulty getting Brightbill to listen to him. Their highly contrasting parenting approaches does sometimes lead to conflicts & disagreements. They are days when either parent gets overwhelmed with Brightbill. They are both clearly first time parents who initially never planned to be parents.

Sometimes Roz & Fink sought parenting advice from Pinktail (who has multiple litters as clear indicators for experience). Pinktail would invite the family over for playdates and use this time to give parenting advice to Roz & Fink. She also gives them helpful self-relaxation techniques so that they'll avoid lashing out at their son. Eventually, the two families created a babysitting deal where they take turns babysitting each other's kids (with the deal being somewhat void once Brightbill is old enough to stay home by himself).

In the spring, one of the favorite places for the family to be are meadows. Sometimes, they'll get up early in the morning to listen to song birds chirping. They'll craft flower crowns and wreaths out of flowers they liked. Their favorite flowers are lilacs, daffodils, pansies, and sweet peas. They'll also chase and observe butterflies and bees among the fields.

During the summer, Roz has built a boat for her, Fink & Brightbill to cruise around rivers & lakes. As per usual, other animals never went near the boat, believing it's a "predator" as well. On the boat, they'll play "I spy" with their curroundings. At night, they'll observe fireflies over the lake and try to capture them. They'll also listen to frogs croaking and crickets chirping nearby.

During the day, the family would play games together such as hide and seek, tag and cloud watching. During the night, they'll do shadow puppetry (ofc with Roz being the master of it), stargazing and tell bedtime stories. Day or night, their favorite hang out spot is the cliffside.

Brightbill never questioned his parents not looking like him or his parents not looking any similar to each other. That is, until he migrated for the first time. He couldn't bear to hear members of his own kind insulting his parents for wasting their time raising a "runt". Some goose mothers said that they're glad that none of their children turn out to be "defects" or "mistakes" like Brightbill. Some even straight up told Brightbill that Roz & Fink aren't his "real" parents because they're not related to him. Brightbill's own kind mocking him for his parents are one of the reasons Brightbill initially started to develop resentment for the animals on the island.

After Roz left the island, Fink & Birghtbill shared their favorite memories they have with Roz. Brightbill finally called Fink:"Dad" for the first time after telling him how much of a great job he did helping Roz raise him.

[a-deep-ocean-of-secrets]

Home Is Where I Want to Be (But I Guess I'm Already There)

Summary:

The thing is, Buck didn't mean to move in with Tommy.

Read below or on AO3 (3.8k words)

The thing is, Buck didn't mean to move in with Tommy.

Those first few giddy weeks and months (like bubbly champagne buzzing through his veins every time he saw Tommy’s smile, kissed Tommy’s full lips, found himself tangled in Tommy’s bed sheets) of staying over in his boyfriend's cozy, Venice bungalow have him living almost exclusively out of his trusty duffle bag. Which isn't a big deal. He's used to lugging that ratty thing back and forth from the firehouse to his apartment. 

Can it be annoying sometimes? Sure. His clothes are constantly wrinkled (which majorly sucks when he's trying to dress to impress on date nights) and he's always forgetting or running out of one toiletry or another. If it’s not his deodorant then it’s his mouthwash. If it’s not his aftershave then it’s his moisturizer. Minor inconveniences, really, but worth it every time to wake up in Tommy's king-sized bed with Tommy's strong arms wrapped around him and Tommy's hot breath on the back of his neck.  

It doesn't take long for that to change. Like a seed beginning to take root, Tommy, as he’s done since the very beginning, makes room for Buck in his life. Just as he opened his helicopter to Buck and his friends and flew them headfirst into a raging hurricane on nothing more than an outlandish hunch. The same way he took time out of his busy schedule to grant Buck a private tour of Harbor Station and answered all his jumbled questions as Buck nipped at his heels like an overeager golden retriever, tail wagging a mile a minute, wanting nothing more than to be closerclosercloser to the cool guy with a megawatt grin, who called him ‘Evan’ and had his heart skipping a beat even if he couldn’t identify the why of it all at the time.  

So it’s not a surprise at all when he carves out precious space in his closet and lets Buck's colorful and patterned button-ups and polos blend in with Tommy's neutral henleys and shackets. They’re two big guys with a penchant for working out, so their wide array of tank tops, sweatpants, and basketball shorts become indistinguishable from each other. Their LAFD-issued shirts are so interwoven that they've given up trying to tell them apart and frequently go to work wearing the other's name branded on their backs, much to their coworkers’ loud and endless amusement. 

Buck’s grapefruit shampoo and citrus body wash relocate to the shower niche alongside Tommy's own sandalwood and frankincense-scented products. On the vanity, Buck's red toothbrush is a companion to Tommy's green one. 

All these minute modifications to Tommy’s home are simple and understandable ripple effects of Buck regularly spending a few nights a week there. 

The offshoots of that single seed deepen into winding vines without Buck even noticing. 

First, it's Buck's lucky set of boxing gloves hanging innocently alongside Tommy's Muay Thai gear in the garage. After a frustrating and tedious shift, he enjoys nothing more than a few vigorous rounds with Tommy’s punching bag. Then, Buck's large and varied assortment of books (ranging from biographies on famous figures such as Marie Curie to The Book of 10,000 Incredible Facts to the new YA fantasy series that is all the rage among Christopher and his friends) slowly but steadily find a home among Tommy's WWI & II aviation history collection on the shelves of the reclaimed redwood bookcase Tommy crafted by hand. 

His favorite cast iron skillet and Instant Pot take up permanent residence in Tommy's kitchen, alongside his garlic press and waffle maker. His 'Buck Off' coffee mug (a gag gift from the 118) is always ready to go for lavender and daffodil-colored mornings spent on Tommy's front porch overlooking the canal as kayaks and paddle boards drift by in the early morning light. The sinfully soft, ocean blue afghan Carla knitted for him during the pandemic is draped over the back of Tommy's unfairly comfortable sectional. Christopher’s US History textbook is lying open on the coffee table, left behind after a pizza and study session. The newest season of The Bachelor (the combined forces of Maddie, Chimney, and Josh got him hooked. What can he say? He loves love.) is TiVoed on Tommy's flatscreen TV. His Jeep has its own designated spot next to Tommy's ’71 Bronco. 

The roots of their budding relationship grow deeper and extend farther than the eye can see. 

Buck's most cherished brand of coffee is readily available in the kitchen cabinets. His all-time favorite blend just so happens to be named The Beast. A fun fact that never fails to stop him from leering at Tommy and waggling his eyebrows every time he brews a cup. His favorite cereal is stocked in the cupboards and his favorite yogurt is in the fridge. The same fridge that is currently plastered with Jee-Yun's vibrant crayon drawings alongside pictures of Tommy’s nieces and nephews in Chicago. A true collage of sparkly princesses and menacing dragons beside Polaroids of beaming faces on the sandy shore of Lake Michigan and sitting in the stands of Wrigley Field with messy hotdogs and giant foam fingers. 

Even food Tommy turns his perfect, aquiline nose up to but Buck loves (like quinoa and chirimoya) are now staples in his pantry. His most treasured cookbook, battered with stained, dog-eared pages with the margins filled in with his own corrections in his scratchy scrawl, holds a place of honor on Tommy's countertop on a wooden stand Tommy scrounged up at the local flea market. 

He has to rack his brain to remember the last time he spent a night at the loft. The last time he had been there, to pick up some clothes from his rapidly depleting wardrobe, it had looked even emptier and barer than usual with hardly any food in the fridge, the bed sheets stale and unloved, and a thin layer of dust on his kitchen island. The industrial, modern space had felt cold and clinical and nothing like a living, breathing home. 

It lacked the wooden floors Tommy had spent weeks refinishing as he lovingly sought out the perfect stain. It lacked the extra-long, extra-wide hammock hanging off Tommy’s back patio where Buck delighted in taking the occasional catnap on sunny afternoons. The loft hadn't inspired even a fraction of the warmth that Tommy's home did every time he walked through the door with the key Tommy had given him three months in, dangling from a helicopter keychain that made him grin like a dope whenever he pulled it free from his pocket. 

Buck doesn't realize any of these very important and essential truths until one morning when he nearly trips over his running shoe that was lying discarded by the front door. At the sound of his clumsy stumble, Baron, Tommy's five-year-old Shepkita ("That's not a word, Evan. He's an Akita Shepherd.”), raises his head from where he's lounging on his overstuffed dog bed, exhausted from their early morning run at the beach. 

At the sight of Buck being Buck, Baron lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and puts his head back down to resume his beauty sleep. Kicking the offending sneaker out of the way, Buck stops dead center in the living room, hands on his hips and wearing Tommy’s faded USC sweater that’s been worn soft from years of washings and smells tantalizingly of Tommy’s laundry detergent, and can't help but survey the terrain and take stock of how much of himself is residing in Tommy's space. He's visible in every nook and cranny. 

He has completely, and totally, infiltrated Tommy's home. 

The thought instantly fills him with indescribable joy that blossoms like radiant sunflowers inside his chest. For all of ten seconds. He then remembers the last time he unknowingly moved in with someone and the heartbreaking consequences of it.

Abby.  

She had been so terribly sad and broken in the wake of her mother's death. It had been as easy as breathing for Buck to step up, to prove himself, to try and do everything in his power to fix her with his love and devotion. So he stayed with her day and night, and his things had steadily trickled into her apartment. It had been easier back then to do, he had had so little to his name other than the Jeep and his clothes. And he can't lie, it was a relief to get out of that glorified frat house filled with Connor and the others. 

It had seemed natural to move in with Abby (even if she had been unaware of it). He thought they were building something special together, something made to last. He hadn't known at the time that while he saw a new beginning, she saw entrapment. For her, she would be trading one role of caretaker for another. Going from a sick mother to a young punk (at 26, he had still been a kid) who was stumbling like a newborn giraffe through his first serious relationship. Had she stayed, there would have been so much handholding on her part as he continued to figure out all the volatile nuances of life and commitment. And that hadn't been fair of him to ask that of her when she was so vulnerable, he understands that now with valuable time and distance. She had been so lost that the only thing she could do to find herself again was travel halfway across the world and leave him behind in the process. 

He had lived (however briefly) with Abby. He was living with Tommy, even if he hadn't clocked it until just now. 

And he wants it, he realizes with a jolt not unlike the bolt of lightning that had struck him. He wants to live with Tommy. He wants to wake up with him every morning and come home to him every night (demanding schedules permitting, of course). He wants their high-energy workout sessions that always turn into a different kind of workout and their sunset strolls through the canals with an enthusiastic Baron (complete with goofy selfies in front of David Hasselhoff’s house from Baywatch). He wants their weekends at the Venice Farmers' Market. He wants their monthly meetings of the LGBTIQA+ book club that Hen and Karen started and that Tommy and Buck have hosted twice now inside this very house. 

He wants Tommy. Plain and simple. He always��wants Tommy. Tommy, who has the world’s worst fake mouth static, but jokingly brags all the same about winning a medal for it. Tommy, who acts big and tough on the job and up in the air, but he never fails to shed a tear whenever they watch the climax of a romantic comedy. Tommy, who always has a heating pad and massage waiting on standby for rainy days when the pain in Buck’s bum leg flares up like relentless flames. 

Tommy, who has no idea that they're living together. 

An icy sliver of fear sluices down his back at the terrifying thought that once Tommy learns they're essentially playing house with each other he might turn tail and run away, just like Abby did. Or, perhaps, even worse, he won't run, but he won't want Buck here anymore either. He can already see it in crystal clear HD: Tommy's handsome face shuttering to stone as it does when he's uncomfortable but doesn’t want to show it. His blue eyes darting away and his lips thinning into a brittle line as he tells Buck that this is all moving far too fast, that maybe they should take a step back and put some space between them, and then Buck will be banished back to his sad, pathetic loft that doesn't have Tommy waiting for him in it. 

He cuts the catastrophizing off at the knees before it can spiral into something far more treacherous. Tommy, for all his flaws — he drinks orange juice straight from the carton like a Neanderthal and he doggedly believes that his directions are better than the GPS ("I spend most of my time in the air, Evan. I know all the shortcuts throughout Los Angeles County.") — isn't the kind of man who runs away from a fight when the going gets tough. He's the kind of man who digs his heels in and comes out swinging the next round. And he's been nothing but kind to Buck the entire time they've known each other. He enforces tough love when he deems fit, but it always comes from a place of kindness and gentleness. 

They love each other. And they live together. It's time Tommy knows it. 

So, screwing his courage to the sticking place (Jee-Yun loves Beauty and the Beast), Buck shuffles his way into the kitchen where his boyfriend is manning the stove and making their breakfast. In the oven, a frittata bakes away in Buck’s cast iron skillet and on the stovetop, turkey bacon sizzles as it fries. Tommy, hair curly and wet from his earlier shower, flips crispy pieces while humming along to The National playing softly in the background on the radio. 

God, Buck adores this man with everything in him. 

Tommy catches him out of the corner of his eye hovering there like a massive dweeb and flashes a dazzling smile his way. 

“Hey, babe. What was that noise I heard?” 

He can feel an embarrassed blush rapidly bloom across his cheeks until his face is as pink and splotchy as his birthmark. “Oh. That was just me. I, uh, tripped over my running shoe,” he lamely explains. 

“They can be quite the menace,” Tommy says with his usual brand of wry humor. He chuckles quietly to himself as he turns his attention back to the mouthwatering bacon. For a tempting moment, Buck just wants to forget the stunning revelation he’s had and instead stay in this blissful, domestic bubble that seems to exist whenever the two of them are alone together. It doesn’t matter where they are or what they’re doing, there’s just an undeniable ease to the two of them existing in the same space, breathing the same air, hearts beating in tandem. 

But, alas, he’s a man on a mission. 

Reaching up and rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, Buck thinks through his options. He’s come to learn, through many a messy trial and error, that honestly truly is the best policy. The last time he had so thoroughly ignored the elephant in the room was when he had asked Taylor to move in with him for all the wrong reasons. 

That had been a train wreck of epic proportions, even for him. He had well and truly bucked that situation up beyond repair. 

But that was then and this was now. And the only things Tommy and Taylor had in common were their initials and their partiality to cruising around LA in helicopters. His feelings for them were night and day as well. He had loved Taylor, but by the exhausting end of their relationship, he hadn’t genuinely liked her anymore as a person. They were too different, their morals too misaligned to exist harmoniously together. It isn’t like that with Tommy. He both loves and likes practically everything about his fellow firefighter, even the traits and bad habits that annoy the ever-living shit out of him. 

“So, hey, I, uh, kinda just realized something…pretty important.” 

Smooth start. And to think, before he met Tommy he had honestly had game. But something about the self-assured pilot, from the moment they met on the tarmac at Harbor and he introduced himself as Evan instead of his standard Buck, had him tripping over his tongue in both the best and worst ways. His foot-in-mouth syndrome had ruined their first date and nearly all chances he had had with Tommy, but it was that same unfiltered nature of his that had Tommy granting him another shot and scoring him as his plus one to Maddie and Chimney’s wedding that never was. 

Which reminds him: he owes Tommy a dance. He files that tidbit into his mental to-do list for another day. 

Tommy looks at him with a quizzical raise of his brow as he lazily twirls the spatula in his hand. “What? Found some more facts about that jellyfish? What’s it called? The spotted—“

“Chriodectes maculatus,” Buck corrects automatically. “Or more commonly known as the spotted box jellyfish. Only the rarest jellyfish in the world, I might add.” 

The corner of Tommy’s lush lips curl up into a fond half-smile. “Yeah, that’s the one. I thought you exhausted all knowledge on it last night when we watched that documentary.” 

“In the words of Chinese philosopher Zhuang Zhou, ‘Life is finite, while knowledge is infinite.’ So, no, I’ll never know enough about jellyfish, rare or otherwise, to exhaust myself, Thomas.” 

Tommy mouths ‘Thomas’ to himself and looks to be gearing up a quippy retort of his own when Buck realizes with tightening dread that he’s on the road to derailing this potentially monumental conversation with talk of jellyfish, of all things. Honestly, he can’t even believe himself half the time. 

Time to pivot. 

“Forget about the jellyfish. They’re not important right now.” 

Swiveling his broad-shouldered body, Tommy gives him his full attention as his eagle-eyed gaze slowly sweeps over the entirety of Buck’s 6’2” frame. Buck, for his part, staunchly fights the urge to fidget as he knows it would give him away in an instant. There’s something almost surgical in the way that Tommy, without ever saying a word, can expertly peel back all the layers of bone and marrow of Buck’s psyche down to his bleeding center where his festering insecurities and crippling self-doubt reside. 

If it were anyone else it’d feel violently invasive. But Tommy has only ever treated these undesirable parts of him with the tenderest of care, delicately stitching up invisible wounds Buck hadn’t even known existed until the moment Tommy kissed him in his kitchen and completely shook the bedrock of all his pre-conceived notions about himself. 

“Sounds serious,” he says after a moment of contemplative silence. The only sound in the kitchen is the hiss of the bacon roasting away on the stove. Through the window over the sink, a beam of sunlight shines in and bathes Tommy in its golden rays. 

Buck heavily exhales a breath out between his teeth. “It is. Or, it could be. Maybe. It really depends on how you look at it, I guess.” 

“Look at what?” Tommy asks, even-keeled as ever. It’d be infuriating if it wasn’t such a damn turn-on. 

It’s now or never. 

“Look at the fact that… We kinda, almost…sorta, seem to be living with each other?” 

Tommy freezes to the spot, his eyes going wide as he blinks, coming off as a perturbed owl for a moment before he schools his features back into his usual calm facade. He looks back down at the bacon and quickly flips some pieces before they can turn into a charred mess of meat. 

Composure regained, he asks, “Was that a question or a statement?” 

He’s always lightning-quick to toss the proverbial ball back into Buck’s court. Always willing to let him take the lead in their relationship and set the parameters and boundaries. Without fail, where Buck goes Tommy follows. It had been a sweet relief in the early days of their relationship when Buck was stumbling around blind, but nine months in and Buck needs Tommy on equal footing with him. It’s the only way forward. 

“It’s, uh, a statement.” Damn. That didn’t sound convincing at all. Closing his eyes and centering himself the way Dr. Copeland taught him, he slowly takes a deep breath, and then another, and then one more for good measure, opens his eyes, and looks Tommy square in the eye. “It’s a statement. We’re, for all intents and purposes, living together. And I want, no, I need to know what you think about…that.” 

Tommy’s gaze slides away and catches sight of Buck’s mug already topped off with his second cup of coffee for the day as swirling mist rises off of it. He sees Buck’s LAFD hoodie hanging off the back of one of the stools situated at the island. He spots Jee-Yun’s drawings on the fridge, giving the stainless steel appliance so much color and joy. He spies the Fokker Dr. I triplane chew toy Buck specialty ordered for Baron lying on the floor near the dining table. 

Tommy’s home hasn’t just been Tommy’s home in quite some time. 

He spots every single change that Buck has brought into his house with his very presence, and he gathers them to him like they’re the most precious of jewels. He turns to Buck and smiles at him. 

It nearly stops Buck’s heart for a moment. 

He loves all of Tommy’s smiles. He loves his smirk when he’s said something particularly snarky or deadpan. He loves the closed-mouth grin he does when Buck is batting his eyes and pouting and Tommy is steadfastly pretending he isn’t endeared by the silliness. He loves the smug curve of his lips when Tommy moves just right inside of him, hitting that elusive, perfect spot that has him seeing stars and clutching Tommy tighter to him until he can’t tell one limb from another. 

But this, this is his favorite Tommy smile by a far-flung mile. 

It is simply radiant. His smile is wide and open, with his straight, white teeth brilliantly on display. It stretches broadly across his rugged face, exposing his deep-set dimples on either side of his ample mouth. His nose adorably scrunches and his eyes are squinty with unbridled happiness. At the corners of his eyes, his crow’s feet spread like tiny estuaries spooling into the grooves of his tan skin. 

He looks boyish and carefree. And so very in love. 

All because of Buck. He was the cause of such boundless euphoria. No one has ever loved him the way Tommy unashamedly does. 

“What I think is,” Tommy says clearly and concisely, “I think we should make it official. What do you say, Evan? Will you move in with me?” 

Buck feels like he was socked in the gut, but only in the very best of ways. His breath is stolen from his body and he doesn’t even know if his feet are still on the ground or if he’s simply floated away with how incandescently lighthearted he feels at this very moment. 

“Y-You really mean that? You want to live together?” 

It never hurts to double-check. He does that every time with his faithful clipboard. It is truly the only way to be efficient. 

Tommy’s smile only widens further. “Evan. You’re my favorite person in the world. Of course, I want to live with you.” 

The sunflowers inside Buck’s chest come to full bloom. 

He and Tommy live together.

[venusphoriia]

— Maybe In Another Life

;; ₍ # ₎ ⁀➷ Clarisse La Rue x Reader

─ she honestly would’ve loved you.

cw ཿ⠀ not proof-read, major character death, description of coping with losing a loved one, angst no comfort, (written with a female reader in mind, but honest no pronouns are used (I think??))

ପ a/n ; literally a quick dump (it’s been sitting in my drafts for about a month) because I’ve been super busy. I’m still working on Lovesick Denial Part 2 and another request, so one of those may be released next. Thank you so much for the support and I hope you enjoy! (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃♡︎

Clarisse stares blankly at the gravestone. The flower gently twirls in her hands mindlessly. The sun felt warm against her skin, the wind—a perfect breeze. The weather was calm, mellow like the calm after a storm.

The sky was bright, much too bright for Clarisse’s liking. Especially now, but she knew this weather is something you enjoy. Everything looked so alive, free—perhaps even a bit happy. She felt so out of place. Nothing felt right, like something was missing. She knew, but she wanted to deny it a bit longer.

She sinks deeper into her thoughts—memories that she treasures. For a moment, she allows them to completely consume her senses, reliving them as if they were the present. She can hear your heartfelt laughter from afar, drawing closer as you approach her.

You quickly quiet your movements, sneaking up on Clarisse from behind. She closes her eyes, pretending not to hear you (like she always does). She feels you creep closer, you hand slowly reaching out towards hers. A soft chill runs up her spine as your fingertips brush against her skin.

She waits quietly for the sound of your voice, but it never comes. Clarisse brow furrows softly, she closes her eyes tighter in concentration. Your hands slip into hers, but they aren’t as soft as they used to be. Still, she imagines your smile as you slowly trail your hand up her arm, carefully tracing her scars as you alway did, until your hand rests along her neck.

Again, she listens carefully for your soft laughter, but again, she’s left waiting. She feels your hand cup her face and again the touch feels odd. It’s warm, but so foreign. Even the way you held her felt so…different. She tries to correct the mistakes in her mind, wanting to indulge deeper into her fantasy.

Again, she waits. Yearning to hear your voice, she waits as her eyes desperately remain closed.

“Clarisse?” Again, she is left disappointed. She breaks away from her daydream, her eyes slowly opening. Tears slip past her eyes as she meets a look full of pity and concern, “…You alright?”

The question is hesitant as if scared to provoke Clarisse’s anger. Clarisse looks away, down at his hand that carefully holds hers. The flower in her hand was tight in her grip as if she was afraid to let go.

“I’m fine,” her tone is rough as she wipes away her tears, pulling away from Chris’ touch.

Chris Rodriguez, son of Hermes. Someone she had grown close to since—no, she doesn’t want to think about it. She places the flower among the many others on the gravestone. A beautiful Daffodil among the many others. Clarisse smiles softly to herself as she sees the gifts others have left behind in your memory. She knew you would appreciate them all.

Your greatest fear was being forgotten—or worse being remembered as someone who never did much with their life. It brings Clarisse a little comforting knowing that your anxieties would’ve been put to rest if you had realized how much you are truly loved.

Clarisse wipes away her tears again, clearing her throat before standing back up. She walks past Chris, not being able to find the strength within herself to even spare him a glance. He doesn’t comment on it, following behind her, but also being mindful to keep his distance.

She looks down at her hand, the ring feels rather tight around her finger. A wave of anger, hurt, and disappointment hit her as she swallows the bitterness in her throat. She looks away. She pretends it’s your ring, your engagement—that she’s your fiance.

She truly would’ve married you. If only you’d been able to stick around, maybe you would have said yes.

© venusphoriia 2024 — do not copy or repost any of my works on any other platform, please and thank you !! ( ˘ ³˘)♡

[minhosimthings]

A La Folie ft. Jay - The Vows

Synopsis: Wounds came and went. All in the circle of life am I right? The greatest warrior among all the kings, Park Jay. For him, seeing blood was like seeing the sky. It was a daily routine which he could not escape. Yes sometimes he had grave injuries, which he wouldn't stop to take care of, with him being a workaholic. But sometimes healers do more than heal physical wounds, and for Jay, you did exactly that.

Pairings: King!Jay × healer!fem!reader

Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, mention of bruises, VOWS BITCHES YAYYY

A/N: and with this, Jay's fic is officially done for the French Quotes Series! Now we move onto Jake. Please enjoy the vows everyone!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || The Wedding

The French Quotes Series Masterlist

You had never attended a wedding before Heeseung's wedding with his Princess. She was from the Kingdom of Witchelm...you think. Either way, you couldn't remember much from the wedding, except the fact that the bride looked stunning and Heeseung looked stunned.

And all the dancing of course. You were worried that your toes wouldn't adjust to the fast pace of Jay's spectacular dancing skills, but, being the lovesick man he was, he managed to help you.

And he promised that you'd be the best dancer in all of Vadronia by the time of your own wedding.

Time flies fast and it indeed did race across and suddenly it was your wedding.

Never in a million lifetimes would anyone have thought that a mercenary king would fall for a mere healer. But as you admired your carefully woven dress in the mirror, with Heeseung's wife (who was now your best friend) giggling behind you, you laughed at the thought of Jay's fellow kings losing their bets with each other.

And then suddenly you were on the aisle. Flowers in your hand, flowers in your hair, and tiny painted flowers decorating your shoulder, perfectly merging in with your bruise, Jay thought that this was heaven.

"L/N Y/N of Vadronia," Jay cleared his throat before speaking, looking nervously down at his parchment, your smile being the only thing that could stop his tears from flowing down their barricade.

You could see Heeseung, trying not to stare at his wife, who was behind you holding the ring, and you smiled. Love was truly in the air today.

"I used to think love was poison, a darkening thing, meant to rage all and turn everything to horror." Jay took a shuddering breath, before looking up at you. Her smile, he thought, focus Jay!

"Love, to me was the worst thing in this world, at some point I managed to convince myself that it didn't exist. Hell, I wanted to convince myself that I didn't exist. The pages of my diary were rotten to the darkness. Just ask these idiots standing behind me." He motioned towards the silently crying kings behind him.

"Perhaps that's the thing I want to thank you for today, my love. I don't think I've ever understood what love actually is have I? And then you stepped in like some guardian angel, ready to seize me by the collar of my shirt, shake me into pieces and scream at me about what love truly is."

Had you truly done that to him?

"Maybe I'm exaggerating, you haven't grabbed my collar until the day before yesterday, the colour of the flowers were genuinely not my fault." That elicited a laugh from your lips.

"I would like to thank you for making me see the beauty in the little things in life. In all the daffodils, or carved rubies, or even baking powder to calm a bubbling liquid down."

A love-sick giggle escaped your mouth.

"Thank you for sharing your dreams, and your nightmares with me.Thank you for showing me what life truly means again.Thank you for making me feel wanted, needed and most importantly, loved. Thank you, for teaching me to see love not as it is but as it could be. Because I realise now, more than ever, that love, it isn't something which stays constant, like forged metal. It's an ever moving, ever changing thing, like the waves of the sea, like a lavender in the breeze, or maybe a scar or a bruise which heals as time goes on."

A scar. Your scars or his scars?, you thought. Whichever one it was, you knew Jay meant to talk about some old red string tied to a pinkie.

"You know, there was this thing my mother used to say. To love a person means to love them to absolute insanity."

A la Folie.

"She always told me she would explain the meaning of it to me when I grew up. She never got the chance to, but I hope she knows today, that I understand what her engravings of a la folie means. Would you like to know why?"

He leaned forward, raising a hand up to cup your cheek ever so gently.

"Insanity is a meagre price to pay if it meant I could have you for the rest of eternity, even if I was a madman and you were the figment of my imagination. Then you'd be the best thing I'd have ever imagined."

Insanity.

A common topic among healers. Apparently no one knew how to heal it.

But at this moment, when your lips pressed against Jay's in a bittersweet moment of longing, loss and love, you felt that insanity would truly be a coin to pay for the man in front of you.

Maybe he truly was the actual healer out of both of you.

Love's an insane thing don't you think?

Tags: @amazzwon @heeseungshim @kvmariii @mwahvvis @hottiewifeyyyy @sacrificeatmeup @perfectnighttt @yawnzzhoon @niinjo

[callmesel]

Are you doing ask box trick or treating?

I didn't reblog the original post but i don't mind sharing a bit of my WiP, I think it was about that? Can't really remember, but o well.

Here is a bit of that Flosrist AU I have been postponing since forever

“I think I have the perfect flower for you. I will be right back.” As he turned over to the storage room, seeing Penny, who was carrying a few flowers and among them there was a small, bright purple flower with a cup shape. “Perfect.” Percy murmured. “What the heck are you talking about?” a very confused Penny asked, but he didn’t really care. He grabbed the few flowers to make a small bouquet and headed to the front once again.

He quickly made a hand-tied bouquet with the flowers he had chosen. It was a mix of white and purple,  using the crocus as the main flower and the freesia and daffodils as a filler. It was an odd choice, he normally would use lilies or peonies for the common folk but something was telling him to do something different. He hadn’t really thought much of it, he promised, it was just gut feeling and nothing more.

“I have chosen the colors for you, hope it doesn't bother you.” Percy handed the handsome man the bouquet he had made, carefully looking at his expression to see any signs of disgust or rejection. He found none.

“It is stunning! What do these flowers mean?” The bright smile that he gave Percy made him feel something turn in his stomach. Now, he couldn’t be acting like that with a customer, no matter how attractive they were. But damn, he couldn’t help it.

“All these flowers symbolize a new beginning in different ways but the crocus, the purple flower, symbolizes youthfulness, cheerfulness and faithfulness. It also signifies joy and hope of love and friendship. Thinking that she is moving, all those meanings are something that you would wish for a friend, so… yeah. Crocus is it.” He didn’t notice when he started smiling, but he now knows it after looking up to look at him reflecting the same cheeky grin from before. 

“Sweet! Did they pay you to say that because, boy oh boy, was that poetic! How much is it?” The smile faded a bit as he was grabbing his wallet to pay.

“It would be 40 pounds, sir.” He opened the register to get the change of the 50 pound bill that he was handed. However, when he looked back up the man was already leaving with the bouquet in hand. “Keep the change! You deserved it!” And before he could reply, he was already gone. 

Was he day dreaming or did he wink at him? 

It's my first ever long fic so it's kind of bad :p

[neathyingenue]

Drew this a while ago but just now getting to post it!! Here's a sketch of Silvia's Parabola reflection. I'm calling her "the Daffodil Maiden." For an overexplanation of the Yucatec Maya, Welsh, Spanish, English, and Catholic visual references-- look below the cut :)

Also I *am* working on the OC gouache portraits (got one done and two sketched out) but my hip is injured or something?? making sitting down painful so I can't paint :/ As soon as I can, I will get to work on those again!

The majority of the reflection's garment is based on the huipil of the Yucatec Maya, specifically the versions worn in the jarada, the national folk dance of Belize. Silvia's is embroidered with daffodils, the national flower of Wales. The flared hem is ruffled and gathered, trimmed with ribbon, a nod to European textiles/sewing techniques and Spanish folk-dance costumes. The ribbon sash thing is also part of the jarada costume--here I want it to constrict Silvia a bit.

The long unstyled hair is taken from the pre-Raphaelite painters, who depicted idealized versions of Victorian youthful femininity. Specifically I'm thinking of Waterhouse's 'Lady of Shalott,' because that poem is about a mirror and a forbidden glimpse of a desired reality. It's too perfect for Parabola! The halo, though, moves us into the more austere Catholic ideal of the virgin saint, most notably Mary the mother of Jesus.

I specifically took inspiration from the Virgin of Guadalupe, the patron saint of Mexico and the Americas, who legend states appeared to an Indigenous peasant, St. Juan Pablo. There is a lot of debate among Latin Americans about how the story of the Virgin of Guadalupe should be interpreted. Is her apparition the Church's attempt to redirect and control Indigenous goddess-worship? Or does it represent an important step toward inclusion in Christianity for Mary to appear to an oppressed non-white person? Does she represent colonial control, or the resistance to it? Although Silvia was never Catholic, Catholicism is one of the most recognizable impacts of Spain's colonialism in the Americas, so I wanted to visually depict that tension in this design.

The daffodil rod references iconography of St. Joseph, Mary's husband. Legend states that his walking-stick flowered with lilies to show everyone that he would be Mary's husband and Jesus's legal father. Joseph is the patron saint of fathers, immigrants, exiles, and workers, so that's also relevant to Silvia's backstory.

With this design, I'm trying to convey Silvia's complicated relationship to her cultural identities, as well as her deep desire to be seen as morally pure and good. I think she would be uncomfortable with how European and maidenly her reflection is--because it would force her to confront the fact that her moral code, no matter how radical, still smacks of European philosophy and Catholic ideals of "purity."

[luluv98]

Happy Heavenly Birthday, Freddie Mercury!✨⭐✨⭐

Today we celebrate the birthday of the greatest singer who ever lived on earth. Happy 78th birthday to the wonderful Freddie Mercury. Words are not enough to describe this amazing man who has brought us joy with his incredible voice. ⭐✨

Dear Freddie, you were, are, and always will be a rock legend. You will always shine with great brilliance, like the star that you are. You, your music, your voice, and your compositions have brought us joy in both the best and worst of times.⭐⭐⭐⭐✨

This drawing is very special to me because I always wanted to draw Freddie among yellow daffodils. I hope you like it! ⭐✨❤️✨

Happy birthday, Freddie Mercury, we still love you!❤️❤️❤️

[headlightsforever]

All is tumultuous and transitional. Therefore, so people say, there can be no relation between the poet and the present age. But surely that is nonsense. These accidents are superficial; they do not go nearly deep enough to destroy the most profound and primitive of instincts, the instincts of rhythm. All you need now is to stand at the window and let your rhythmical sense open and shut, open and shut, boldly and freely, until one thing melts in another, until the taxis are dancing with daffodils, until a whole has been made from all these separate fragments. I am talking nonsense, I know. What I mean is, summon all your courage, exert all your vigilance, invoke all the gifts that Nature has been induced to bestow. Then let your rhythmical sense wind itself in and out among men and women, omnibuses, sparrows - whatever comes along the street - until it has strung them together in one harmonious whole. That is your task - to find the relation between things that seem incompatible yet have a mysterious affinity, to absorb every experience that comes your way fearlessly and saturate it completely so that your poem is a whole, not a fragment; to rethink human life into poetry and so give us tragedy again and comedy by means of characters not spun out at length in the novelist's way, but condensed and synthesised in the poet's way - that is what we look to you to do now.

Virginia Woolf, A Letter to a Young Poet, 1932

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Curtis and Honey Autumn This or That 🍂

Week Six: Misty Mornings or Golden Afternoons

Summary- Short Drabble. Curtis Everett x Plus!Sized Reader. You are daydreaming in the golden afternoon.

A/N- Thank you so much everyone! I have loved sharing these little moments with all of you. Happy Reading!

Curtis and Honey This or That Masterlist

Life Is Short So Make It Sweet Masterlist

Tuscan Sun, Daffodil, Bumblebee? 

None of those quite fit what hue you were feeling right now, the sun’s golden warmth reminding you that with autumn comes sweater mornings and tee shirt afternoons. The grass beneath you was still soft with late summer greenery and laying among the roots of the old treehouse behind Curtis’s house nestled you comfortable as you let the book fall to your lap, your face tilted up to let the afternoon light soak into you. 

“Honey.” 

Ahh, there it is, its honey, golden drizzles making you feel warmth and affection build in your chest. 

Curtis’s deep tone broke you from your whimsical daydreaming, your tall boyfriend striding across the yard towards you. His long black jean-clad legs ate the distance between the house and the tree, the leaves at his feet briskly dancing before the loud crunch of his boots got to them. 

“Hmm?” You slipped a colorful leaf into your book, using it for now to mark your place and maybe later, when you stumbled across it again, you would tack it to your wall, your own personal memory that only you would know about. Curtis motioned for you to shuffle forward a bit, allowing him space to get between you and the old tree. When he pulled you back into him, this time nestled between powerful thighs and a big broad chest at your back, you relaxed in his embrace, his arms coming around you in a loose hug. 

“Nothing, really just wanted to come see what you were doing and ask if you wanted to go for a ride later.” 

“My car or your truck?” you pondered out loud, although you loved going for drives in either, you had a fondness for the truck. It would be easy to convince Curtis to take you to your first date's destination, parking once more in the field to stargaze, the night sky would once again be just like the one he first showed you. 

The memory of your first kiss makes your toes curl and a new kind of warmth simmers through you, a yearning for another recreation of that and probably more now. It was hard to resist just kissing Curtis. 

But not till later, right now you were soaking in this moment. This golden-hued afternoon. 

With a tilt of your head, you captured Curtis’s mouth, kissing him slowly, lazily like honey dripping into a jar. The both of you explore each other with tenderness reserved for lovers. 

“In the truck Honey, tonight might be a clear night.” 

[muntadhir]

I wrote about some of the stuff on Geppetto’s blackboard months ago, and now that I have since learned how to actually look at the game’s files and manipulate the camera better, I figured I would take another look, starting with the “Daffodils and Narcissus” paper. There’s one on Geppetto’s blackboard, as well as on his desk and in various other parts of the game (perhaps notably, Lorenzini Arcade).

Initially I wasn’t super interested in this because I figured it was just a “lorem ipsum” sort of thing, and I still think it is, but conversely: the text comes (paraphrased, and otherwise mixed and added to) from an actual book published in 1923 that you can take a gander at online: Archive.org | some related images on Flickr from the Biodiversity Heritage Library

The full Lies of P text is below, but some notes: 1. I wasn’t sure if “forcing” and “flanged” were the right terms, but it’s used in the original so I assume it’s correct. 2. “We/our” from the original text has been changed to “I/my” in the game version. Maybe one of the devs just really likes flowers or they thought it was funny. Either way, valid. 3. There are undoubtedly errors, and I’ve intentionally kept some misspellings.

⬇️

Miss Ella V. Baines, The Woman Florist, Springfield Ohio. 11

Daffodils and Narcissus.

Sweet harbingers of Spring, that jump from old Winter’s lap, with cheeks of gold and silver and bedecking the earth with beauty, filling the air with delicious perfume. The wonderful creations in the way of new varieties have awakened an interest and enthusiasm among the lovers of flowers that has placed this, “The Flower of the Poets,” in the front rank of popularity and they merit all the praise that can be bestowed upon them. Appearing as they do, just after bleak Winter, they turn our gardens, lawns, and woodlawn walks into gorgeous masses of gold and silver, with a fragrance that is enchanting.

Note. — I wish to say my friends that the different varieties of Narcissus force into bloom in the house during Winter as readily as the Hyacinths. There is nothing finer in the flower line for this purpose. Indeed, they are my choice of all Winter flowering bulbs. They are so graceful and pretty. I can especially recommend for house culture the following charming varieties: Golden Spur, Porticus Ornatus, Orange Phoenix, Sulphur Pheonix, Von Sion, Horsfieldii, Giant Princess, Paper White, Chinese Sacred Lily and Golden Sacred Lily. Try these variations. They will not disappoint you.

Henry Irving. — Long, beautifully frilled trumpet nearly two inches wide at the mouth of rich golden yellow color. Petals of perianth very wide over lapping bright yellow. Received first class certificate. 10 cents each; three for 25 cents.

Hale’s Beaten Gold, or Maximus. — Large flower, rich yellow, elegantly twisted perianth, trumpet deep golden, large, well flanged. 10 cents each; three for 25 cents.

Obvallaris. — Tenby Daffodil. Elegantly formed, medium sized flower of rich yellow. Splendid for forcing. 8 cents each; four for 25 cents.

Large Trumpet Narcissus.

Two Colored Varieties — White and Yellow.

Grandis. — Flowers of the largest size, with broad, snow white petals and a magnificent yellow tube. Very beautiful. A flower of great substance and grand for cutting. 10 cents each; six for 50c.

Horsfieldii. — (Empress) The Queen of the Daffodils. This variety is considered the best of all Narcissus. Try it. Very large flowers, pure white with rich yellow trumpet. Very stately and beautiful and one of the most elegant for ladies’ corsage wear. This magnificent flower was raised by a Lancashire weaver — John Horsfield — and it has made him famous. 10 cents each; six for 50 cents.

Scoticus. — The Scotch Garland Flower or Large-Flowering Lent Lily. Large flowers of creamy white, bright yellow trumpet, elegantly flanged and serrated. 6 cents each; 50 cents per dozen.

Giant Princess. — (Ajax Princeps) A magnificent flower. One of the finest specimens of the Trumpet type. Cream perianth with golden yellow trumpet. 5 cents each; 50 cents per dozen.

Moschatus. — White perianth. Trumpet opens creamy white and turns to pure white. It is very large and showy and it never fails to please everybody. 10 cents each; three for 25 cents.

All White Trumpet Narcissus.

Pallidus Praecox. — The White Pyrenees Daffodils. One of the earliest and most beautiful varieties. Both trumpt and Perianth are clear, sulphur white. Was awarded a first-class certificate by the London Royal Horticultural Society. One of the best for forcing. 6 cents each; 60 cents per dozen.

Albicans. — The White Spanish Daffodil. Creamy white, with a silvery white trumpet, slightly flushed with primrose and elegantly recurved at the brim. 10 cents each; three for 25 cents.

The True Poet’s Daffodils.

Narcissus, with Miniature Saucer-shaped Cups.

Poeticus Ornatus. — Large, beautifully formed, pure white flowers with saffron cup, tinged with rosy scarlet. A magnificent cut flower. Very early. This is my special favorite of all Narcissus. Try it. 5 cents each; 50 cents per doz.

Poeticus. — The “Pheasant’s Eye or Poet’s Narcissus.’ Pure white flowers, with orange cup, edged with crimson. Splendid cut flower. 3 cents each; 25 cents per dozen.

Poeticus Poetarum. — The flowers of this splendid variety are much larger and the orange rim more distinct in the cup. This beautiful variety will be welcomed as a decided improvement over the old Poeticus. 5 cents each; six for 25 cents.

Chalice Flowered or Semi-Trumpet Narcissus

Including the Incomparabilis Barril and Leedsil Types.

The trumpet in these varieties are only half the length or less of the other varieties of trumpets, hence called chalice flowered. They are very beautiful and desirable.

Barril Conspicus. — (Barrii) Perianth yellow. Short orange scarlet cup. Extra fine. 5 cents each; six for 25 cts.

Frigaro. (Incomparabilis) Perianth bright yellow, large orange scarlet cup. A very beautiful variety. 5 cents each; six for 25 cents.

Amabilis. — (Leedsii) Perianth pure white, cup or half trumpet primrose yellow fading to pure white. Very desirable. 5 cents each; six for 25 cents.

Duchess de Brabant. — (Leedsii) Periant white, cup or half trumpet a beautiful shade of canary yellow. Very fine. 5 cents each; six for 25 cents.

Albus Stella. (Incomparabilis) Large white perianth with yellow cup. This is an old and fashionable standby. 4 cents each; 40 cents per doxen.

Sir Watkin. — (The Giant Incomparabilis) Perianth rich sulphur, cup yellow, tinged orange. The best of all. Very beautiful. Extra. 10 cents each; three for 25 cents.

(Left column)

Giant-Flowered Narcissus or Daffodils.

Note. — In describing Narcissus I have referred to the “perianth” and “trumpet;” the latter is the long center, funnel-like tube, and the “perianth” is the surrounding row of petals, or leaves. All Narcissus on this page are hardy for garden planting. Also excellent for Winter flowering indoors.

Large Trumpet Narcissus — All Yellow.

Ard-Righ, or Irish King. — (Trumpet Major) — Earliest and most vigorous “Giant Trumpet Daffodil” in cultivation. Fine, bold flowers of immense size. Perianth and trumpet full, rich yellow. Extra fine sort for port culture and forcing. 5 cents each; six for 25 cents.

Emperor. — The Giant Narcissus. Largest of all. Flowers of richest yellow, trumpet immense, petals of perianth so large they overlap, and measure three and a half inches across. Petals a shade lighter than the trumpet. 10 cents each; six for 50 cents.

Golden Spur. — Extra large, bold, rich, yellow flowers. Foliage very broad and striking, unusually robust habit. Unsurpassed for gardens, pots, or forcing. 10 cents each; $1.00 per dozen.

[bhaal-battle-beer-bard]

Perfume for Devana 💜.

Race: Human. Class: Wizard ~ Divination School. Favorite colors: white and red. Favorite flower: papaver rhoeas. Favorite daytime: afternoon. Favorite food: bigos and pierogi with meat. Favorite season: summer, she loves when the sun warms her skin. Favorite animal: European bison, she loves how strong and majestic these animals are.

Devana is very shy and loves studying magic. She is very helpful and tries not to start arguments - she is very peaceful and patient. Because she grew up in a settlement among forests and fields, she loves nature and hates cities. Devana likes silence, peace and a good book. She dreams of becoming one of the strongest wizards on the world, so she's still studying magic very hard.

💜

🌞🌻🍎🌼🍊🌻🍑🌸🍎🌻🌞

Devana smells like the warm summer sun.

The blue sky above.

Freshly mown fields and meadows. 🌾🌲🌾

Her scent is like a warm summer breeze, which carries the scent of the sea and the forest with its trees and green grass. The slightest breath of blooming wildflowers, surrounding you gently.

Cornflowers, daffodils, carnations, violets, hyacinths, hay flowers, daisis.

When you are near her, her scent reminds you of a field of sunflowers and somewhere in the distance, freshly baked bread and apple pie. Fresh baked bread, packed for a picnic in the fields. While feeling the warm rays of sunshine on your skin.

Light and warm. Like summer and the sun, itself. Like the blue sky above you.

And what ingredients do you use to create such a fragrance?

🍏🍯🍃🍎🥧🍎🍃🍯🍏

head notes: sunflower, beeswax, orange blossom, wildflowers, honey blossom, apple blossom, wheat barley heart notes: fresh wildflower hay, warm apple pie, red poppy, wild roses, pear, apricot, orange base notes: honey, amber, calendula, lavender, oak, roasted chestnuts, tonka, cardamom, hornbeam, birch, hazelnut, osmanthus

🍏🍯🍃🍎🥧🍎🍃🍯🍏

Some will stay my bardic secret 😉🤫

What would you like to name it? Let me know!

May I suggest:

Summer Sun Wildflower Honey Blossom Flower Valley Midday Bride Summer Solstice Noc Kupały Lady Midday

Or let me hear your name ideas.

🌞🌻🍎🌼🍊🌻🍑🌸🍎🌻🌞

[spacecasette]

Bolt the Horse — p r o l o g u e

The morning her Mammy died, the birds stopped singing. When she thinks of that day, years and ever after, she suspects it was the silence that woke her up. No feet in the hall, no gurgle or hiss from a coffee pot, no click or shush of cabinet doors, nothing to indicate the day had even begun. Her internal clock was never to be fully trusted, but it had been nearly synced with her Mammy's for over a decade– she had no reason to suspect its failure now. So when she got out of bed and outfitted herself in slippers and a hand-me-down housecoat, Dani went out in search of her grandmother. There was no answer to her name being called through the house, and the downstairs was empty of putzing old ladies; they had, however, gotten into the brandy last night, so she thought it possible Mammy was still sleeping. Walking quietly back up the stairs and down the hall to Mammy and Papa's room, she opened the door slowly, so as to not spook her if she was awake. Mammy did, in her experience, really hate being given a fright.

Danielle stood at a headstone in late April in her bare feet, listening to the birds. The dirt was uncomfortably warm, and more than a little damp after the last few days' rain; which she thought strange, in the way that most things were strange during that time. Mammy had been dead 12 days, and Papa for 344– she found that the least strange of all. Everyone assumed her grandparents were so inextricably linked that when one stopped breathing, the other would follow suit just after, like an echo. Of course, she had her suspicions about why Mammy had outlasted Papa– chief among them being that Dani were sure to fall all apart without one of them to dote on. They had raised her and loved her, and in turn and time, she loved and cared for them until there was no one left to care for. She felt only the customary, "usual" amount of loneliness in the months following her grandmother's death, mostly because there was no one left to smoke on the porch with her and offer dead wrong answers to the daily crossword. In many ways, her life had prepared her for this eventuality, so when the check came due (as it always does), she could figure out what needed done without losing her mind in the process.

There was a will, of course, which her grandparents had insisted upon as early as their 50s, and which left the house, the truck, and a sum of about $20,000 to one Danielle Reagan Caydel. As such, Dani had not the slightest fucking clue what to do with the money except to squirrel it away in an account and carry out business as usual.

For every day in May, she fills every flat surface not presently occupied by tchotchkes with daffodils. They were a favorite of Mammy's, and she could never bear having them wilt and die without first being displayed and fawned over. "Like God's many little trumpets," she called them, "gold as silk-lined shoes in Heaven." Dani was not too fussy about God; could understand why people loved Him and feared Him, but couldn't be bothered with more than service on Sundays (mostly she liked the singing), and the occasional holiday.

What she loved most about God, and thinking about Him, was that He could be mean and then He could be sweet, and lots of people still called Him good.

She herself hadn't ever really been called "Bad" except by girls at school who knew her mama had run off and her dad was too twacked out to care. She did, however, sometimes feel very Bad. When she was younger, she used to steal away into the closet and push her Mammy's sewing needles under the nail of her left thumb, because it felt like hot irons. She felt then like someone had to be punished for the error of her birth, and since there was no one left to receive it, she figured it should be her. It was never nothing "too bad" to her mind, just that sometimes she'd get carried away and scratch the skin on the back of her hand till it bled. She worried a lot back then, about being right.

But when Papa and Mammy noticed, they weren't mad. No one yelled, or grabbed at her, or held her too tight like the boys on the jungle gym. They just said to her, "Honey, you're not nobody's fault. We love you just like you came to us, and however you'll be until we ain't around anymore. You don't need to do all that." And Papa kissed her head, Mammy kissed her cheek and brushed their noses together which meant "i love you", and eventually she didn't feel like going into the sewing kit except to mend her school shirts.

Sunshine coming through the tree canopy onto the surface of the creek turns stones into greengold disco lights. Bucket in one hand, ziploc of bacon strips in the other, she ambles about looking for a halfway decent rock grouping to find something for her dinner. Already this week, she has caught 3 bluegill and is of the mind they should be off the menu for a while. The thing about crawdads is that they they're pretty dumb & extremely grabby. This far into summer they're still in season– and it was a wickedly wet winter, which means they'll be out and about clear till the end of June if she's lucky.

An hour later, her shop bucket is near full and her knees are aching, so over slippery stones, Dani goes back up to the house for supper. The light and air of the refrigerator is cool on her sweat-damp face when she reaches for a beer. The stove clicks, the gas lights, and the thin aluminum stock pot clatters loud and stark in the empty house when she sets it down.

Her evening unfolds, and the sky spreads its ink everywhere all over it like a soiled rag. After the washing up, then clears the counters and puts the laundry in the machine on the back porch. She then finds herself alone in the dim light of the living room, restless and bored for the first time in weeks. The line of her life lately felt too straight, no story, no interruptions, and she finds it might need a little tangling– if anything, to provide the challenge of undoing something– and her heart is a bit sore, and the Budweiser's gone. Nothing much better to do, she figures, with her idle hands. She walks to the bar.

There's almost no one inside the bar when she arrives, but then again, it's quarter to 8 on a Tuesday, and she imagines not much of anything too exciting can be got up to at this hour. The bartender looks almost insulted when she lifts a finger to order, and his contempt seems to increase when she orders a tall boy of Lonestar. He does, to his credit, redeem himself by letting her smoke inside and mumbling from under his mustache, "you can do that in here, we're not a bunch of assholes".

So Dani finds herself on top of a barstool at Doumain's Domain for the first time that summer. She works diligently at the crossword book perched on the bar with a pen borrowed from the bartender because she felt like being a piss ant. It makes her feel like Mammy isn't so far off after all, because there's people around if she wants to talk, but she doesn't have to if she doesn't have much to say. Plus, she figures, it's nice to just share company without being expected to behave any certain way.

Things do eventually get exciting around 11, though, and the bar man has to throw out a couple of 20-something boys, liquored a little too far up and getting rowdier with every passing minute. When the pool table is no longer enough to keep their attention, they turn it on her, tugging at her braid and asking her if she wants to play a round with them. She finds she doesn't miss the sidelong looks the bartender gives her before he throws them out, or how he stands, interrupting their line of sight on her when he finally does. She sets her cash on the bar and leaves shortly after, unweaving her hair the whole way home.

[starcaller-senni]

TS4 Horse Ranch: daffodil / narcissus eyes (default + heterochromia acc)

mein Gott, sometimes it feels like this mod will never comes to end ^^'

this is a continuation of my biggest CC yet - [ daffodil / narcissus eyes (default + heterochromia) ]

[more info and download (no ads) under the cut]

if you want to know the diffrence between daffodil eyes and narcissus eyes I want to introduce you to the [ original post ]

for horses and foals there are 12 eyes' colors (+ heterochromia acc found under clothes/accessories)

DOWNLOAD:

(zipped files with packages which you can choose from or just one merged *.package file with everything I have done for daffodil / narcissus eyes so far)

[ SFS ] / [ GOOGLEDRIVE ]

MODS USED:

edited for personal use: [ CAS lighting ]

on my to-do there are rabbits, foxes, cows, llamas, chickens and roosters, goats, sheeps dolphins, "blind"/light pupil eyes for people and overall more colors... (not exactly in that order)

.

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and many other cc/mods. This will never ends, lol xd

A bit of privates:

sorry for my long absence. I had a bit of health problems, a depression relapse among others. But it's better now, so no need to be worried about me

[sea-owl]

Part two to the Iris Council. Find the original part one here, and the edited one here.

AO3: Link

Just as Penelope and Sophie said King Anthony had not gone to Kate's room that first night, or any night after since she's came to the Garden Palace. He actually left right after their dinner with Penelope and Sophie that first night to go back to Aubrey Hall. There was a kiss though.

As the king was leaving Kate was shown one of her duties that others will expect of her as part of the high-ranking concubines. It was simple, seeing the king off, and of course mid and lower ranked concubines could also join them, but of course the high ranked ones were the ones expected to actually see him off.

"It's technically practice since we have the highest chances of becoming queen," Penelope explained. "Gotta make sure we're prepared if we send him off to war!"

"And he dies under mysterious circumstances," Sophie joined in. "Leaving us all alone!"

Anthony rolled his eyes at their dramatics. Kate joined in on their laughter.

Finally, they reach the steps that lead towards the entrance where the concubines were not allowed to travel beyond without special permission. One by one the king kissed his concubines as was expected. They were quick kisses, nothing more than a peck of the lips really. Penelope and Sophie were quick to hide the lower half of their faces with their fans after. Kate could see both of them either pursing their lips or holding back a shiver.

Then it was Kate's turn. Just like with the other two, it was nothing more than a quick peck. Kate wasn't sure the shiver that went up her back wasn't for the same reason the other two had though. Kate wasn't sure she was having that same weird feeling the other two had as well. Why were her lips tingling? Is her face heating up? Kate quickly, and a little clumsily, hid her face just as the other two did.

After that it was down to business. Under Penelope and Sophie's advice Kate began to set up her new home in the Lily Pavilion. Currently the three of them were in the Snapdragon Pavilion where Penelope made her home.

Kate was finding out there was a lot of secret compartments in the Snapdragon Pavilion, some she thinks she will never remember how Penelope opened them. Upon Kate's request Penelope was gathering documents that contained information about the staff, guards, and most importantly the concubines of the Garden Palace.

"First things first we'll need to find you a head lady in waiting," Sophie said. "Someone you can trust to keep your secrets."

Kate's mind flashed to Felicity and Posy, the head ladies in waiting to Penelope and Sophie. The head ladies in waiting who were a little too young in Kate's mind to be in such a position.

Penelope plopped down a bunch of documents in her hands. "Your sister might be an option," Penelope suggested. "It's what Sophie and I did."

Kate snapped her head up. Now that she thought about it she could see a resemblance between the two red heads, not so much between the two blondes though.

Sophie glanced up at Kate from one of her financial reports. An understanding was on her face. "Posy and I are stepsisters."

"Oh." Kate nodded. "But I could hire Edwina?"

"If you trust her enough," Sophie replied. "While our head ladies in waiting don't know everything, they do know enough to know there is something else going on, but they also trust us enough that we can continue the ruse."

"So it's best if I pick wisely," Kate said as she skimmed over some of the documents on the other concubines. They must've been Penelope's personal notes, each one was written in her hand.

There were several different flower markings on the documents. A common one she noticed, especially among the lower ranked concubines was a rose. But there was a mixture of roses, hyacinths, daffodils, and poppies. The least common ones were an iris, and a lily. Kate could guess what the iris flower was supposed to represent, but the lily was an interesting one. She could only find it on two other concubines' information besides her own.

"What do these represent?" Kate asked as she pointed at the flowers.

Penelope looked at the documents. "Oh that's how I keep each girl organized. As you know not all of us are here as concubines, but we can't let other know that. Roses are for the actual concubines like those two." Penelope pointed out the window where two brunettes sat.

Kate dug through the papers to find their information. Sienna and Maria Rosso, cousins who came here at around the same time. According to their paperwork they both are singers. Kate noticed that Maria had a daffodil next to her rose, while Sienna had a poppy.

"Daffodils are to mark girls who have expressed desire to leave when the time comes, while those marked with a poppy have no such desire or they haven't expressed it," Penelope explained. "Hyacinths are for girls who are here out of protection more than anything else, they're the ones Anthony wouldn't touch. The iris marked girls are a little more obvious."

It was simple but effective, and should anyone accidentally come across these it would give nothing away.

"Huh, this is all so elaborate, " Kate said as she looked back at the documents. "How did this even start?"

Penelope sat down. "Well, at the time I was about two months away from turning fifteen."

-

"No Eloise."

"But Anthony Lady Hazelwood has brilliant ideas that could-"

"Eloise, I said no."

Penelope stayed silent as she watched the two siblings argue. She really wished Eloise would stop dragging her to these impromptu meetings with the king. This is the third time Eloise has tried to convince him to have a private meeting with Lady Hazelwood and much like the other two times it was not successful.

The open-door policy the king has for his siblings may not be lasting that much longer Penelope thought to herself.

Eloise huffed. "Why won't you even consider it?"

The king sat down his pen. "Eloise may I remind you that Lady Hazelwood is married to Lord Hazelwood? The same lord who is infamous among the court for his schemes of influence?"

"That is her husband," Eloise argued.

"Who she would have loyalty to." There was a finality to the king's voice. "My answer remains the same."

Eloise let out another huff and stormed out of the room. Penelope felt herself slightly pout. She cannot come and go as freely as Eloise does with her position as princess. Penelope was only a baron's daughter, proper etiquette demanded she stay put until she was excused by one of the royals. She picked at her skirt.

"Um, your majesty?"

The king looked back over to the seated area where Penelope still found herself. He looked tired. Penelope has known Anthony since he was prince and she was in leading strings due to their mothers' friendship. She remembers when the messengers informing every lord that they were required to travel to the ancestral home of the royal family, Aubrey Hall, for the coronation of the new king. She remembers thinking it was a mad house as each lord fought to be the leading influence over the new king who had yet to go to university and looked too young to be wearing the crown on his head.

Penelope could see Anthony about to wave her off, but he paused. "Penelope be honest with me, as a family friend, do you think this Lady Hazelwood to be genuine? Or is she like the others and trying to use one of my siblings?"

Penelope bit her lip, her brown eyes drifting towards her lap. Thinking back, if she was to be honest, Penelope shook her head. "In court Lady Hazelwood is always by her husband's side, or she is close enough to have him in her eyesight while he mouths the words she says."

Anthony nodded. "Thank you, Penelope, you may go."

Penelope bowed and took her leave.

Over the next few days, Penelope found herself following her mother around the court as usual, but something had shifted.

She couldn't quite pin point what it was. The rumors were the same as usual. No new schemes among the lords, no newcomers, and no one has announced an engagement recently either. Maybe something happened at one of the parties? While Penelope was old enough to start attending the day court, and technically she was old enough to marry with her mother's permission as soon as she was fifteen, she was still too young to attend the night parties. That had to be it honestly.

Satisfied with the thought Penelope settled herself in a corner as she watched yet another lord try to butter up their king. Marquess Stratton, according to the rumors he's been trying to weasel his way into the royal family's inner court even back with King Edmund had been alive. Unfortunately for him King Edmund held strong in his belief of those he was raised with were the only ones allowed into his inner court. This limited it to his siblings and the Rokesby family who has been close with the royal family for at least four generations now. King Anthony has refused to build an inner court at all, which was quite odd. Most believed he would follow in his father's footsteps and have an inner court made up of his siblings.

"Marquess Stratton is making a fool of himself," Portia, Penelope's mother, said with a shake of her head.

Other lords and ladies murmured in agreement.

"The king is just like his father. Just you wait his inner court will be nothing but his siblings."

"The Duke of Hastings might also be a member, they are best friends after all."

"He's just waiting for more of them to debut. Watch as soon as Princess Eloise is old enough to attend the night parties the inner court will be formed."

Penelope tuned out the whispers, it is nothing that has not been said before. Instead she refocused on the marquess. His back stood straight, but his arms were overly animated as he spoke. There was a shine on his palms like they were wet. Penelope could also see a slight limp in his walk despite how hard he tries to stay in one place. How odd, according to all the reports the battles at the border have all been successful, and there have been no rumors about injuries to the officers.

Penelope glanced up at the king, and flinched when she met his eyes. She was not expecting that, nor was she expecting for the king to have her stay back while the rest of the court dispersed. Not that her mother noticed she wasn't following.

Penelope bowed to the king who still sat on his throne. "Your majesty."

"Penelope be honest with me, as a family friend, what do you think of Marquess Stratton?" Anthony asked.

Penelope hummed as she thought back on the older gentleman. He certainly wasn't as calm as he pretended to be. Which was odd, Marquess Stratton should be ridding the highs of won battles right now. But instead he's hiding a limp.

"I think his reports of the battles are not as truthful as they should be," Penelope said.

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Really? What makes you think that?"

"According to the rumors he's been successful in battle, but he walk with a limp he did not have before this current battle. Oh! He is also skittish when talking to anyone too!"

Anthony nodded. "Thank you Penelope. You may go."

Penelope bowed and made her leave. That was strange.

Two weeks later Penelope receives an invitation to tea in the royal family wing. It wasn't unusual for her to receive such an invitation. After all Eloise was her best friend, and hopefully Penelope can be her lady in waiting when they are older. What was unsual though was that only the king was waiting for her in the tea room. She didn't see her friends, the princess Eloise and Francesca, nor the prince Colin, none of the royal siblings are here. Not even their mother the Dowager Queen was present, who would never miss a tea time.

Penelope started to shrink in on herself. She was alone with the king. "Your majesty." She bowed, stiff.

"Penelope, I invited you here as a family friend, no need to be so formal," Anthony reassured her.

Penelope's shoulder loosened. She took her seat, busying her hands by making a cup of tea. "Pardon me Anthony, but where is the rest of your family?"

"I have sent them and my extended family on a trip for a few months this morning. I didn't want to risk them interrupting."

Penelope paused in her tea prepping. Interrupting?

Anthony sat down a folder. It was full of reports that have been edited, some even completely different.

"You were right, Marquess Stratton hasn't been truthful in his reports, as had other lords." Anthony scowled at the folder. Turning his eyes back on her they softened in a way she has seen when he looks at his younger siblings. "I can not trust them with the responsibilities I need to entrust to others."

Penelope furrowed her brow. "If you can not trust the lords Anthony, then why not air your concerns with your family?"

"They are too easily reached. Benedict, Colin, and Daphne are all attending the balls now. Eloise will soon start attending the day court, with Francesca following next year. You've seen it Penelope, some of these lords are like snakes who will say or do anything to get in their good graces."

Penelope sighed. She knew that was true. All too often she will see a lord or lady try to flatter Eloise to either gain her favor or find a way to get to Anthony through her. And with Eloise so vocal about her passions how often did she give others the exact words they needed to stroke her ego?

Anthony continued, "You observational skills have proven to be good use Penelope. You have not lied to me, and you genuinely love my family as if they were your own. I want to see you flourish those skills, starting at the balls."

"But your majesty-" She was cut off with a look.

"Anthony Penelope. We are speaking as family friends, not king and subject," Anthony reminded her.

Penelope took a breath. "But Anthony I am not yet of age to go. The only way for me to attend if I was married."

"Or a concubine."

Penelope whipped her head around towards Anthony. "A concubine? Me?" Penelope felt her face flushed. There were so many reasons she couldn't be a concubine, one that she'll never say aloud was her love for the third prince.

"That would be your public title, and how you would be perceived in the kingdom" Anthony said. "What I really want from you though is to be part of my inner court, my spy mistress."

Penelope's mind clicked. "Being a concubine would also keep untrustworthy lords away as well since I would be living at the Garden Palace when I wasn't with you. But um . . ." Penelope felt her face flush again. There was one major aspect that comes with the whole concubine territory that would be hard to ignore.

Anthony chuckled. "Penelope I swear on my father's grave that I will never force you or anyone."

Oh he was serious about this. Swearing on the previous king's grave was the strongest oath any member of the royal family would ever make. They would rather die than go back on their word sworn on the late king.

Penelope found herself nodding, ideas flying through her head. "We'll have to find a way to cover my face. If they can't confirm my identity they'll never know 100% if they are truly talking to the concubine. Also if we bring back the royal harem then we can bring others into the inner court, though perhaps we should call it something else?"

"Any suggestions?" Antony asked.

Penelope looked around the room until her eyes landed on a painting of an Iris flower. Benedict must have been working on it. Penelope turned back to Anthony. "The Iris Council?"

"It has a nice ring to it," Anthony said. "Alright Penelope first things first, we need to learn who we can truly trust to bring in. Learn the lords secrets and see if we can potentially bring anyone else in."

After that Penelope kept meeting Anthony for tea until two days after her fifteen birthday Penelope put on her mask for the first time and was presented to the kingdom as King Anthony's first concubine.

-

"It didn't take too long after that for word to spread through to the kingdom and eventually reach the ears of the Dowager Queen," Penelope said. "She stormed home with the rest of the royal family, demanding an explanation from Anthony. None of them would even look at me and I was standing next to him."

Kate's eyes widened. "Truly? None of them?"

Penelope shook her head. "Not a single one. It hurt at the time, but honestly it made things easier in the long run. I got to focus on building my life's work."

"Them refusing to learn our names or even hearing them also helps," Sophie added. "Confuses the lords in our favor."

"Their parent's love story was sacred to them," Penelope said. "Anthony taking a concubine and restarting the harem probably felt like one of the biggest betrayals to them."

Kate could see it. Mary was always talking about how precious love was, and lucky she was to experince it with her husband. The harem is just to extend the bloodline, it must feel so cold and impersonal in their eyes, even if no children have been born from it yet. But still that treatment isn't fair to the concubines. "Do you think that will ever change?"

Penelope picks up one of the files. "Maybe if Anthony takes a queen. But we're not quite there yet."

The light reflected through the paper, Kate could see the outline of a lily.