#chickadee in the apple tree!

[occasionallybirds]

Chickadee in the apple tree

Carolina Chickadee (Poecile carolinensis)

April 23, 2024

Southeastern Pennsylvania

[madameisaacpereire]

the five times you almost kissed henry winter (and the time it finally hit you that you never actually would.)

❝My troubles are all over, and I am at home; and often before I am quite awake, I fancy I am still in the orchard at Birtwick, standing with my old friends under the apple tree.❞ — Anna Sewell, Black Beauty

Each time you almost kissed Henry Winter before he died.

oh angel's sweet, sweet henry. the man you are not. rewritten, so if you're a returning customer you may not recognize it.

read on ao3 + guardian angel masterlist.

                          1.

     The first time you almost kiss Henry Winter, it’s on purpose. You sit side by side on the front steps of his large red brick house, the short brown dress you wore to your Brownies meeting still perfectly wrinkle free. You slouch despite this, uncaring as you itch your ankle over the uniform standard high black socks. A bee drunkenly stumbles through the flower garden, bumping into flower after flower. Seated beside you is Henry, gripping a yellow hardcover between his hands, incredibly disinterested in every facet of the outdoors.

 It’s technically your book— a parting gift from your troop leader as you’ll finally graduate to Junior Girl Scout at the end of the summer— but you’ve graciously endeavored to let him read it first. At seven, he reads faster than you. Oftentimes, he prefers more advanced books than you can stomach, but he’ll read anything if he’s desperate enough— and being made to play outside does, in fact, qualify as desperate in Henry’s mind. You reach up and toy with your new, still slightly sore earring. A gift for your ninth birthday— gold heart shaped studs that are real rather than clip on, given to you along with the matching holes they rest in. You twist it between your fingers and watch as a little brown chickadee hops along the grass.

   “Stop that.” Henry grumbles, not bothering to look up from his place in Harriet The Spy. 

   You unintentionally ignore him, too busy thinking about a conversation you can’t seem to shake. Another girl, cheeks flushed, had gushed in low tones about a kiss as you waited to be picked up. One stolen from her between tea and a game of croquet at her mother’s garden party only the day before. You don’t understand, really, the appeal of pressing your lips to someone else’s. Even if that someone isn’t necessarily bad to look at. You think the only person you might like to kiss someday is Henry, solely by virtue of how well you know each other; an unsettlingly pragmatic approach to romance, perhaps, but you haven't been overtaken by inexplicable emotions like love yet.

    A hand grips your wrist, firm and gentle as it tugs your fingers away from your ear. It only startles you until you recognize it as Henry. He’s big for his age, strong as an unfortunate result, and has taken to physically stopping you from fidgeting in his presence now that he knows he can. 

You scowl and yank your hand away, which only serves to spread the small prick of an ache through it— despite the fact that he lets go of you at once. When you look at him, his gaze is still trained on his book, usually neat hair blowing in the hot summer wind. 

     “You’re not supposed to do that anymore.” Your voice comes out haughty.

     “I asked first,” Henry turns a page, “Your moving about so much is disturbing.”

     “That’s my book you’re reading. You’d really better be nicer to me.”

     He sighs and shuts his book with a harried little ‘Evangeline,’ as though he’s grown sick of your childish antics. You resent this. You are a child, after all— acting like one ought to be allowed, especially in the presence of someone two full years younger. But Henry's never behaved his age that you can recall; as a baby he never even cried

  “What’s bothering you? You’re being unusually difficult.”  He pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers, a carbon copy of his father after a long day.

   You cross your arms and lean forward to rest your elbows on your knees. You love sitting this way— shoulders and back rounded forward almost boyishly— but your mother hates it, tries constantly to break you of the habit. You're far too stubborn to oblige.

  “I’m not bothered, I’m considering.” You correct him as though the distinction matters.

   He waits for you to continue. A warm breeze brushes through your hair, tugging at the bobby pins that hold it back neatly. It takes you a while to find the right words, but he doesn’t mind. He’s one of the only people you know with whom silence is seldom uncomfortable.

   “Sherry was just talking today, about how Allen Martin kissed her. She seemed pleased, but I fail to see the appeal.”

   Henry considers this, lying the book on the steps beside him.

   “I don’t think you’re really meant to, yet,” He says after a moment, “I’m sure you will at some point.”

    “It’s weird. And slimy, I’d imagine.”

    “I don’t think people’s lips tend to be slimy.” 

    You brush your fingertips against your lips softly. They're smooth, dry- though, not too dry. 

    “I guess not.” 

    Henry looks around before turning back toward you, expression solemn.

   “If you’d like, you can kiss me.” His suggestion widens your eyes to the size of saucers.

   “Why would I like to?” You turn to face him, cheeks flushing brightly.

  “So you stop thinking about it and I can read.” He shrugs and adjusts his glasses.

   You pinch your ear between two fingers again. Annoyance flashes across his face like lighting, but he doesn’t correct you again, even as his hands twitch like it physically pains him. You nod sharply and sit up straight again, decision made.

  “May as well.” You fold your hands in your lap.

 He shifts down a step, then over, to sit beside you. You cross your ankles and turn to face him. His eyes look owlish and frigid as he studies you intently. His brows furrow and he reaches to rest a soft hand on your cheek as if he, too, is deciding something.

You squeeze your eyes shut and wait, hands drawn into fists so tight that your nails leave crescents in your palms. Each second stretches longer than the last as he moves closer at a snail’s pace, his hand going clammy against your face. You don’t know how long you sit this way before the front door opens and you jump apart as if burned.

   “What are you two doing out here?” Margaret sounds amusedly suspicious as she asks, as if she’s trying not to laugh. 

   Henry's hand disappears beside him, then holds up your book.

  “Reading.” His cheeks are ruddier than yours.

   “Well, there’s cookies in the kitchen,” She holds the door open wide, “I thought you might like some before they cool.”

    And with the promise of cookies, kissing is completely forgotten.                                                                  

2.

   The second time you almost kiss him, you’re both drunk and lying on the deck of a boat in the waning late August heat, thick black sky pressing in like a hug. You’re laughing about something, a half drank bottle of Morlach sitting between you. 

   You wear a white cotton tee tucked and belted into shorts— it's supposed to be tucked in, anyway, but over the course of the evening it has wrinkled and ridden up— and pair of pristine white Keds lies somewhere in the distant dark, waiting patiently for you to slip them back on. The stars glow phosphorescent above you, as though someone long ago violently thrust a paintbrush soaked in white paint against the sky until it was covered in helpless smattering of tattooed pictures. The sailboat rocks back and forth gently, reminding you of an old nursery rhyme.

“Baby’s boat the silver moon, sailing in the sky,” You murmur to yourself, “Sailing o’er the sea of sleep, while the clouds float by.”

The waves lapping the sides of the boat are metronomic as you reach out for the bottle, just barely nudging it with your fingertips. Henry slides it closer with the side of his hand. Your fingers curl around the neck of the bottle, deliciously cool against the heat still radiating off your skin. You sit up some and lift the bottle to your lips, dry from the mix of sun and salt you’ve been marinating in for days. 

This whiskey is sweet in comparison to the others you’ve taken from your parents bar cart over the years, yet still pricks tears into your eyes as it rolls down your throat. You can no longer tell if you’re dizzy from the boat itself or from the liquor— but then again, you hardly care. 

“Sail, baby, sail; put upon that sea. Only don’t forget to sail back again for me.” Henry sits up, too, and holds his hand out for the bottle.

 At sixteen he’s still incredibly large for his age, as well as wickedly intelligent. He keeps his hair shorter now, as advised by a friend from boarding school, and the scar down his forehead takes center stage as his defining feature as a result. He reminds you, quite a lot these days, of the villain in that new James Bond movie. The only difference is that Henry has decidedly better teeth.

   “Is that a song, or a poem?” You hand him the bottle, which he tips up to his lips in one unending motion.

 Henry drinks for a long time, almost concerningly so, before the bottle meets the ground again with a soft click. He clears his throat.

   “A lullaby.” 

   You hum and lean back on your hands to watch the stars again. Henry’s pinky brushes against yours. It’s tentative, questioning, and yours flexes back toward him on instinct.

   “There’s Lyra.” He speaks up again, voice softer than you’ve heard since he was a boy.

   You glance over at him and momentarily appreciate the way night shrouds him like mist, as if he was born solely to sit in the dark like this. He has a finger pointed up toward the sky, angled in such a fashion that it ensures you have to lean closer to see where he’s pointing. You know this is intentional but you lean forward anyway, hair brushing against his shoulder as you look. The stars wink at you cheekily.

   “It looks more like a tie.” 

   “It’s Orpheus's lyre, actually.” He sounds faintly amused.

  “I always forget he was supposed to be a musician.” 

   He huffs derisively, closer to a laugh than anything you've heard from him all summer.

  “His most defining trait, and you just forget it?”

   “Isn’t Eurydice more defining than that?” You pose the question like you’re teasing though she is, truthfully, the first (if not only) thing you think of when you consider Orpheus.

  “Of course you’d think that.” His nose brushes against the side of your forehead as he turns to look at you. 

   Goosebumps trail down your neck and arms, sprouting from that fleeting contact. The soothing sounds of the waves seem to fade into the background. All you can focus on now, is the sound of his breath and the electrically charged space between you. You tip your head up slightly and find yourself entranced in his gaze; stunned by his attention being fully tuned in to you alone. Your eyes fall shut, breath shallow and shaky.

   “Posse pati volui, nec me temptasse negabo; vicit Amor.” He whispers into the thick silence, latin curling and falling effortlessly from his tongue.

   Your stomach swoops. What he’s said, you’re less than certain— something about love that you might be able to work out, if your mind were less clouded by alcohol, or if you bothered to finish studying today—  but you shiver all the same as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear and traces the curve of your jaw with his fingers.

   “I longed to be able to endure this, and I will not deny that I have endeavoured to do so. Love has proved the stronger.” He translates himself without your asking.

 Your confusion must have shown but there’s no derision in his tone; there is only a confession too big for one drunken evening, especially with freshman year at a liberal arts college in Vermont looming ahead of you in only a few short weeks. Your lips part open anyway, a hand finding his shoulder as you sway toward him on instinct.

 Your lips come so close to touching that you can taste it as his breath catches— the sugar sweet dryness of the cigarettes his mother also smokes, the liquor that lingers behind his teeth— but this makes your stomach swirl again, more violent and insistent than before.

Your body curls in on itself until you’re slumped against his chest, a thin stream of alcoholic bile beginning to soak the front of his shirt.

He gathers your hair in his hand, holding it out of the way, and runs his free hand up and down your back soothingly when you begin to cry apologetically.

“Don’t worry about it,” His voice is calming, “It’s just a shirt. I do have others, you realize.”

 It occurs to him, briefly, that you’ll hardly remember any of this in the morning. But then again, he isn’t sure he will either.

                                            3.

   The third time you almost kiss, you’re home for Thanksgiving Day your junior year at Hampden. Your mother isn’t pleased with how short this trip is set to be, but that can hardly be helped. You flew in early this-morning and will fly out even earlier in the morning, seeing as you’ve only been given a few day window for the holiday and Vermont is a 7 hour flight away with the unavoidable layover— you’re honestly surprised Henry’s even bothered to come back home for Thanksgiving himself, considering how tedious and pointless it feels to you. 

You sit on the sofa in Henry’s parents parlor, thumbing through his newly published translation of Anacreon’s complete odes. An ambitious undertaking for someone so young, yes, but he's always been the ambitious sort.

You laugh softly as you pass Ode 20, eyes flicking up to look at Henry. He sits in an armchair across the room from you, a glass of neat scotch in hand. To some he may look utterly disinterested, but to you he looks incredibly nervous.

   “This one reminds me of you and Bunny some,” You lower the book and cross your ankles.

   “Which of them?” He takes a sip of his drink, cold eyes never leaving you.

  “The rosy harbinger of joy, who, with the sunshine of the bowl, thaws the winter of our soul;” You read aloud, “He’s just so brazen and bright comparatively. It’s good for you— thaws you some.”

   His eyes narrow, though you know him well enough to know that there’s no malice behind them.

“I hardly need to be thawed.”

You shrug one shoulder and turn back to the poems. You skim through them, mostly, because although you adore poetry, all you’d like to be doing presently is drinking. And maybe eating. It doesn’t take you very much longer to look over the rest of it as a result and you’re soon up from the couch, handing it back to him. It’s good. You like it very much, honestly— you know you’d adore it if you took the time to really read it through. 

   “I know this is not your specialist subject,” Henry pinches the book between his fingers and thumb while he tugs it from your grasp, “That being said, I’m interested to hear your thoughts.”

   His attention always feels like a blinding white spotlight. 

    “It was enjoyable. I’ve never really read Anacreon before, but from what I can tell you’ve translated beautifully.” You answer as you make your way to the antique bar cart across the room and busy yourself with making a fresh drink. 

   “I’ve another copy if you’d like to reread this one,” His shoes tap lightly on the floor as he follows you, “Maybe pay attention to it this time.”

 “That’s not necessary.” The back of your neck prickles when you see that he’s set his glass down beside the one you’re working to fill with ice, tonic water, the lightest drop of orange liqueur, and a healthy dose of gin. 

  “It’s no trouble.” He stands directly behind you, too close for you to think.

  You pick up a fresh glass, ignoring the one he’s handed you, and begin mixing a second drink. You don’t imagine he truly enjoys his whiskey neat— he has the biggest sweet tooth you’ve yet encountered, after all— so you drizzle a half shot of whiskey over top of a mountain of ice and fill the cup the rest of the way with soda water.

“I think you might find this a touch more suitable.” You turn, holding both glasses. 

 Your knuckles brush his suit jacket when you face him and your cheeks heat in a way that is both unwelcome and traitorous. His eyes seem to sparkle this close up. You haven’t noticed before, even as a girl who stood this close to the boy version of him all the time.

“You presume to know, better than I, what sort of drink I prefer?” As monotone and judgmental as he sounds, you know him well enough to read this statement as more teasing. Curious.

“I do.” You take a sip from your own drink, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremble in your wrist.

His hand brushes against yours as he takes his glass from you, sending a flood of warmth, not unlike melted chocolate, up your arm. You do your best not to move. He must know the way this is making you feel, you’re sure of it— especially with that amused, almost smug look in his eye. The look he always gets when he wields power over you and knows it. Enjoys it.

 His eyes trace the outlines of your face, studying you as though he’d very much like to memorize the way you look today. Your long lashes coated in black, the way the lip gloss— you’re sure he can smell the cherry-like Dr. Pepper scent of it— dug up from your childhood vanity glistens in the light, the soft white satin of your dress.

He looks at you like he’s resigning himself to something bigger than either of you alone; deciding to accept the way your fates will inevitably intertwine forever. There’s something unguarded in his expression, something you haven’t seen in eleven years or so.

Your glass begins to sweat cold beneath your fingers, but you hardly notice. You hardly notice anything but the tilt of his body toward yours, the cautious way his hand lifts to hover along the dip of your waist, and the way his face moves closer. You aren’t certain you’re breathing anymore.

 The seconds seem to crawl by, slowing even more as he inches closer as if there’s a rubber band between you and he’s trying his best not to snap it. Your face tips up as if it has a mind of its own because you want this, you realize with a start. You want to kiss him so badly it makes you stupid.

You laugh softly and look away, sidestepping him. If he’s surprised or disappointed, he does a masterful job at disguising it. Then again, perhaps you only think so because you wouldn’t like to see the truth, bubbling steadily beneath the surface.

                                                   4.

 A fuzzy white puff of soap clings to the hem of your dusty rose sweater, swinging back and forth stubbornly as you wipe dish after dish. You don’t even notice. Suds streak up your bare forearms like bright white bite marks, disappearing where your rolled up sleeve begins. It’s April 1982. You graduate at the end of next month, so the kids, as you so affectionately refer to them in your head, have dragged you out to Francis’s aunt’s for the weekend: one of the very few remaining weekends you’ll spend in their company. 

They insist on cooking for you three times a day this trip. Roast chicken for dinner last night, a spread of cut fruit, cream cheese, jam, and toast for breakfast this-morning, cold chicken sandwiches for lunch. You’ve heard Charles and Camilla whispering about the lamb chops they intend to make for dinner tonight. It’s bittersweet. 

As ready as you are to be finished with your studies, you wish you could stay longer. Continue on with showing Camilla how to iron shirts (you taught yourself when you first arrived and found yourself overjoyed to pass the knowledge on,) and playing cards with Francis and Henry when they’ve tired of Go Fish— the only game Bunny knows.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Henry asks from beside you, where he’s drying each dish as you wash it.

 “I’m going to miss this.” You don’t feel very much like mincing words today.

 “Washing dishes?” 

“You,” You pull the sink plug, “Everyone, I mean. All of you. I’ve grown impossibly fond of Francis and Bunny and Charles— even Camilla, which surprises me some.”

“We’re all just as fond.” Henry says this like it’s the most obvious fact.

Perhaps it is. Perhaps the group’s love for you shows in the apologies you’ve received for the mere occurrences of drunken brawls, in the way Charles fills your glass with wine before anyone else's at every dinner; in the way Bunny has grown uncharacteristically respectful of women when you’re around. It’s as though you’re only a half step or so below Julien, in their minds. An omniscient sort of goddess status etched in copper beneath your feet. 

You dry your hands on the white of your skirt. Henry looks beautiful today, you think. Sunlight dances across his button up and kisses the skin visible around his neck and forearms. His suit jacket has been discarded on the back of a chair, crisp white shirt sleeves neatly rolled to help clean up. It’s an incredibly domestic scene so you look away, because you’d like to inch closer; you want terribly to lean up and press your lips against his, to finally let his hands clutch the waist of your skirt, strong and greedy.

 He looks at you as he sets the last plate in the cupboard, and you could swear he’s thinking the same thing. It’s quiet in the kitchen. Henry’s glasses slip down his nose. You could reach up and fix them so effortlessly. What’s more, you want to even more than you wanted to climb into his lap in the car back in ice cold February, when said he’s never told you something he doesn’t mean.

It takes everything in you to behave, to stay a safe distance from him instead of throwing yourself into his arms. You think he feels similarly, based off the way he swallows and the tension he carries in his shoulders. The tension you want to melt beneath your fingers, the throat you want to press your lips to.

 “Henry,” A loud, nasal voice booms through the house, “I’m tired of playing croquet with Camilla, old boy.”

Henry’s mouth twitches with amusement, despite the quirk of his brow you could almost believe is disappointment.

“I’ll be out in a minute, Bun.” He unrolls his shirt sleeves as he answers.

“And tell your little Guardian Angel to come, too. You’ll need all the luck you can get.” 

You laugh and shake your head. 

                                    5.

The fifth and final time you almost kiss Henry falls on the Christmas Eve after you graduate. You’re both stood on his front steps in the dark, long coats buttoned tight over your bodies. You press two cigarettes between your deep red lips, both Lucky Strikes, and Henry obediently strikes a match to light them. 

He takes his from your mouth directly when it’s lit, impatient. His thumb wipes a small kiss of lipstick from your mouth as a result. You study the snow as it gleams and sparkles in the streetlights. It isn’t as deep as last year— a whopping 24 inches had fallen then— but snow is snow; a white Christmas has always been your favorite.

   “So tell me more about this Richard fellow.” You prompt, cigarette between thumb and forefinger as you exhale a hazy blue stream of smoke.

   “He’s from California.” Henry says this as if it explains everything.

   You nod because it sort of does.

“Did anyone ask if he’s been to the tar pits?” You ask.

Henry’s mouth twitches some.

“He hasn’t.” 

You scrunch your nose in disapproval. You don’t understand living so near something like that and never once paying a visit— you visit the Gateway Arch every time you’re home and visit Times Square once a month at least when you aren’t.

 “And you’ll be off to Rome with Bunny in a matter of days?” 

 He nods, lifting his cigarette back to his mouth. You chew your bottom lip a moment. Silence with Henry hasn’t felt awkward to you before— but this feels tense, in a way. He feels changed. 

That alarms you, because Henry never changes. At least, he hardly ever has before. The last change you remember was due to personal tragedy. You inhale deeply, embracing the weighty, aching stretch of smoke in your lungs, and avoid thinking about what that might mean. You won’t worry about him, not now. It’s Christmas. 

 “It’s still strange,” Henry says after a moment, “being at Hampden without you.”

  You find this revelation pleasing.

  “You’ll get used to it.” You say brusquely.

   “I won’t.” You feel him staring. You don’t dare return it.

 You bring your cigarette back to your lips. The snow in the yard is pockmarked, lightly, from whichever tiny animals are still roaming the neighborhood, and the hedges remind you of overstuffed pillows. It’s still out here. Calm and serene.

Henry’s touch ghosts along your elbow, singeing your skin through your grey woolen coat. He doesn’t touch hard enough to tug, but your body leans toward him and turns as though he has anyway. He drops his cigarette to the ground and the orange embers fade to nothing beneath his heel.

 “I do regret worrying you, angel.” He says after a moment, adjusting the white and pink knit cap you’ve pulled snug over your hair. 

  Your brows draw together.

“Worrying me?” You take one last drag of your cigarette before allowing it to meet the same fate as his.

“I’ve been quite… distressing, in the past. I’ve troubled you.” 

“Is this an apology?” You tease, lips twisting into a wry smile.

 “I thought that was evident.” He gives your hat one last tug, as though checking that it’s secure, and smooths his hand down to your shoulder blade. 

He’s more beautiful than you remember up close, grotesquely so. It’s difficult to look at his face, though you find it somehow more difficult to look away. Your hand lifts and runs along the sharp angle of his jaw as if it has a mind of its own. His eyes flutter closed for a moment, breath hitching.

“I am truly sorry and repent with all my heart for all the wrong I have done, and for the good I have failed to do." He murmurs as if this is confession, as if you are priestess and Holy Spirit in one.

 “Remember, we shall all have to be judged according to our works, whether they be towards man or towards beast,” You stroke your thumb along his cheek sweetly, “It’s not for me to decide whether you’ve done right or wrong.” 

His eyes open once more, hand coming up to hold yours like he needs you to anchor him in place. It’s impossible to deny, in this fleeting moment, just how strong your feelings for him are. The ones that took root in your bones years ago, that are now sprouting leaves. They threaten to spill like bubbles from a hot bath overfilled. 

“You’re absolved, anyway.” You don’t bother to disguise the feelings you know are showing on your face, but you don’t let yourself consider those three words yet. You don’t think you can bear it.

He leans into your touch, features softening so slightly that even you almost can’t tell. You push up onto your tiptoes and curl an icy hand into his coat. An electric thrill tumbles down your spine and gathers in your stomach, filling it with the crackling, hollow ghost of butterflies.

“Thank you, Evangeline.” He doesn’t often use your name anymore— he never truly has, often opting to call you Evy,— and it comes out so fond that you ache. 

You let him pull you closer and closer until your noses brush. You share breath for a halting moment, lips so close to slotting together. You’re weak with want as you stand in wait, this moment a phantom echo of the first time he tried to kiss you. 

And right when you think he’s finally about to kiss you, after all this time spent dancing around it, he cups your cheeks and pulls your forehead to his mouth. He presses his lips to the space between your eyes instead. A perfect kill shot. 

Before you know it, the front door is creaking open, and you’re left alone in the cold. 

                                           6.

  ‘My troubles are all over, and I am at home; and often before I am quite awake, I fancy I am still in the orchard at Birtwick, standing with my old friends under the apple tree.’

You read and re-read the quote that's printed on Henry's funeral program in a neat, calligraphic font. The photo above it is, you're sure, no less than two years old. In it he doesn't look all that different from how he had in the hospital— white gauze covering the bullet hole on the side of his head— but he likely does now, as he lies inside of the mahogany box at the front of the church.

 You haven't seen him since the life left his body. You couldn’t see him like that— waxy, empty, makeup powdered on as if it’ll make him look any more alive— so you don't know what he looks like in there. Your dress feels too tight around your chest, the black lace seeming to constrict your breathing like a noose. The program creases in your clutch. 

   Margaret sits to your right, your own mother to your left. They wear similar dresses— black, lace, well tailored— their delicately aging faces somber as they give the proceedings their devoted attention. 

It feels wrong. You aren’t deluded enough to believe he wouldn’t have killed himself had you been there— you’re more than certain he’s been pondering his own suicide for as long as he’s known what it was. This has never shown overtly, but rather appeared in the way he used to drive and in the way he always read the last page of a book the moment he obtained it, just in case. It showed in his vices, greetings, and endless goodbyes said as though each one might be the last one he'd ever give.

You shuffle to the front to collect communion— a dry wafer, red wine puckering the inside of your mouth— and try not to think about the last time you saw him before the hospital. He’d almost kissed you then. You had wanted him to. It hadn’t occurred to you that you may not see him again; you’d thought your lives would sprawl out before you, long and languid. 

You thought your paths would intersect again and again. They were supposed to. You always believed you’d marry, at some point— a thought that startles you to recognize. Henry Winter was always a certain future in your mind, one you didn’t even consciously recognize. How naive. 

If you had known he was to die, you would have followed him inside that Christmas. You would have used all your strength to pull his mouth to yours before he could even take his coat off, and you would have kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him again. You would have bought the train ticket to Connecticut in April even though he didn’t ask you to. 

You would have stayed in his apartment after the funeral and made him toast and let him break in your arms the way he always did as a boy. You would have kissed his eyelids. You would have told him that there is nothing he could do to make you stop wanting him. Even death can’t stop it, it seems.

 The pew digs into your spine and tailbone as you sit back down. It's harsh as it pulls your thoughts back to now, to the service continuing on in front of you like a sick play. You don’t cry because you’re too numb to and even if you weren’t, you’ve only drank coffee and scotch the last few days. Not enough to be drunk, of course— you’re very much sober, though it doesn’t feel like it with the way time pools and jumps around you— you’re simply too dehydrated to cry by now. Life and water are only afterthoughts.

Henry’s mother slips her hand into yours. It occurs to you, dimly, that she should be holding his father’s hand. That his father should be here, rather than away on business. But when has Henry ever been able to count on his father to be anything but a disappointment? You don’t see why death should change that.

This is the first mass in your entire life that you and Henry have ever attended at the same time, without sitting beside each other. This is the last mass you will ever spend in the same church. Time marches on.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Christmas fic please?

☺️

The Blue Hour This is somewhat of a sequel to my other 18th-century fics 'When the Heart is Full the Tongue Will Speak" and "The Prison Ship," but it also stands alone. Valley Forge was arguably the worst winter of the war. Alfred's having a bad time. Matt tries to help. He has something for Alfred. This was supposed to be longer, but I had to say fuck it and put it in the queue, or it wasn't happening, so I'm so sorry for inflicting it on you. Apple pie reference is from the HC that Alfred's pie recipe comes from a nice Pennsylvania Quaker lady who took him in in the late 17th century when he was little after the Massachusetts witch crazes. This isn't a happy fic, but it is deeply loving. Also on ao3

Valley Forge, Christmas 1777

Alfred’s legs didn’t feel quite real as he approached the clearing. It was silent here. No animals. No people, either. Even the last chickadees, so faithful through the winter, had disappeared behind him as the previous winter sun faded from a depressing grey to pitch dark. He was a bit numb and more paranoid as he rounded a copse of trees and found himself staring at a pristine clearing. He recognized this house, grey stone with a heavy slate roof. There was no glass in the windows, but cheery, flickering firelight escaped through whatever slight cracks there were in the shutters. He hefted his rifle, bayonet attached, closer and approached, wary. The forest held its breath, and the fire crackling became louder as he approached. There was smoke from the chimney but no shadows of movement inside. He gripped his rifle. He should go home to his haphazard tar paper and log shack, but it was dark now, and Valley Forge was 30 miles behind.

He pushed open the door with a bang, rifle to his shoulder, and heard a surprised shout. A figure twisted, axe in hand, poised to hook it into Alfred’s neck and remove an arm at the shoulder like a branch from a trunk. Then, a note of laughter, and he was embraced.

Warmth hit him. First, Matt’s entire body was warm, and his clothes were fire-toasty. Then the smell of roasting meat floated, so solid it was almost visible, into his senses. Then, dizziness. Dizziness struck like a blow to the head. Alfred might have passed out on the floor if Matt hadn’t already had his arms around him.

Matt squeezed with more strength than Alfred had ever known his baby brother to have. The rifle was tugged from his hands, and he was suddenly sitting, sodden clothes and boots pulled off, feet stretched towards the fire. He might have vomited if he wasn’t so hallowed out. Matt was gone for only a moment, but Alfred grabbed a hold of him as soon as he was back.

“Have you changed your mind?” He grasped Matt’s sleeve with a shaking hand. “Did you come to your senses?”

“Have you?” Matt said, derisive even as he pressed a mug into Alfred’s hands. “Drink that, and the world will stop spinning.”

“Matthew---” He didn’t let go of Matt’s sleeve. “You haven’t come to—.”

“Bend the knee?” Matthew’s eyes flashed, and Alfred was all too aware of the axe on his belt and the rifle against the wall. “No. I’m not.”

“What are you doing here then?” He let Matt go and sipped on the contents of the mug—broth, salty and rich beyond belief. Matt was right. The world did stop spinning.

“It’s Christmas.”

“Is it?”

“It is,” Matt said with a watery smile. “I take it you got my note.”

“Pie at sundown,” Alfred recalled. “I got it. I could hardly believed you remembered that.”

“First apple pie you ever made me. I’ll remember it til the sun goes dark.” Matt was before him with a blanket and a stack of clothes. “Finish drinking that, put these on and then we’ll talk.”

They were his own clothes, what he’d left in the chest of drawers in Boston after he’d slipped his guards and disappeared across the border and into Quebec. He wanted to toss them back. They were the clothes of a crown subject, a boy with a British boot on his neck. Not the free man he wanted to be. That he was, but he hadn’t had a fresh shirt since his baby brother had dragged his corpse out of his shallow grave on the Hudson. He could wash it as often as he liked, but the linen was still wearing thin. His former things were practically new, the linen fresh and clean, the wool still warm. Alfred ran a hand over the fabric, still so chilled he hardly considered his pride as Matt turned away to tend to the bird slowly roasting over the fire and dressed. He glanced over his shoulder when Alfred slipped the shirt over his head. There hadn’t been a mirror to look at himself in months, and he didn’t want to. He knew his ribs were stark; he could feel them. Matt looked that kind of devastated that, if he hadn’t turned away, might have made Alfred cry.

“Have you had a decent meal since I saw you?” He didn’t look over his shoulder again until the shirt was over his head, and he’d buttoned the blue waistcoat over his chest. Everything was so ill-fitting now.

Alfred ignored him. “Does Father know you’re here?”

Matthew snorted. “It’s Christmas; he’s so deep into the officer’s nog when I left he won’t realize I’ve gone unless I’m not there for epiphany morning with tea going. So I shot a turkey and pissed off south to find you. Looks like its a good thing I did too.”

“I’m fine.” Alfred scowled. “There’s a camp of thousands of men 2 miles from here with nothing but rice and vinegar for Christmas dinner. Next to them, I’m all right.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt said, and it damn well looked like he meant it, narrow shoulders bowed as he sat heavily onto one of the overturned logs he obviously meant to use as a kitchen chair for the occasion.

“You could feed a lot of people if you stayed. You’re a good hunter.”

“Don’t,” Matt said. “We’ve had this conversation. Look at you. You know I wouldn’t survive another war like this. You’re kissed by God himself and you look like death.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Rice and vinegar, eh? Yeah well. Try some turkey and see if it compares.”

“Why do you keep coming to see me if you won’t pick a side, Matt? You’re committing treason and you know it.”

“You’re my brother.”

His shrug was simple, unemotional. The sky was up, the Earth was down, the snow was cold, and Matt would haul and shoot a turkey and walk four days just to sneak him a decent meal. He teared up. Maybe it was the cold, the deprivation or just how much he missed home and heart and heart. Throat working, shoulders shaking even if he wasn’t crying, he grabbed Matt by the shoulders and squeezed for a third time, kissing him on the forehead about a dozen times and just feeling something so desperately affectionate he had to ride it out like dizziness.

“I missed you.” He said.

“You too.” Matt had clamped himself around Alfred, playing as if he just held on; he wouldn’t feel how much weight he’d dropped since summer. After a long moment, he made Alfred sit on one of the logs and tossed the rucksack while he struck flint and steel and put tinder to kindling. “Have you been sick? You look terrible,”

“Everyone is.” He said. There was no point in hiding it. “You know what it’s like. A moving army is a healthy army. A camped army is a sick army.”

“Why do you think I like the woods so much? I could run from the British as easily as from the typhus.”

“Yeah, well, they’re my people. I can’t leave them.”

“Do you have scurvy yet?”

“Gettering there.” He poked his tongue at his teeth. He had all of them, but he was always so tired. It couldn’t be far away.

Matt pivoted and took an orange in each hand, shoving them at Alfred. “Father... he’s in the habit of buying two.”

“I can’t take these!”

“Think of them as reparations.”

“Won’t you get scurvy?’

“I get lime juice twice a day. Just take anything you want out of my pack and eat it. Take the rest tomorrow. I’ll get a rabbit on my way back if I get hungry.”

“Why do you have to go back?”

“Stop asking me that. Pick something for me to make out of what’s in there, all right? Anything you want tonight, and you can take the rest tomorrow.”

“I want you to stay.”

Matt leaned against the wall by the hearth, arms crossed. “And I don’t want to die. So stop asking. That’s the agreement. Stay alive. Not stay with you.”

“You should be my right hand. It should be me and you against the world.”

“You’re the one fighting with the world, Alfred. I already have. I lost. Pick a vegetable, eat an orange, have some wine and stop trying to sentence me to death because you’re lonely again.”

He was tearing up, and so was Alfred. They looked away from each other, and Alfred went to the pack.

He opened food like he had once opened pewter inkwells at the apothecaries, looking for the blue ink he liked better than the quickly fading walnut; there were cranberries, potatoes, apples, stalks of celery, onions, cabbage, carrots, mushrooms, honey cakes, tea, coffee, a jug of wassail and a smaller bottle of Madeira. Smaller quantities of sugar, flour, oats, rice, raisins and rye. There were more of his clothes that he hadn’t taken when he’d fled Boston nearly two years prior. And under all that, a length of blue cloth with shining brass buttons. 

“Mattie.... What is that coat?” 

His brother froze. He’d been dragging his knife down the side of the roasted bird and onto a rough-hewn platter. For one long moment, Alfred thought he might burst into tears. 

“It’s for you.” He said. 

“Whe did you get it?” 

“General Montcalm.” He said. “It was too big so I hid it under the floorboards. Thought I’d wear it too the victory parade someday. It’s... it’s your colour now, isn’t it?”

“It— Yeah it is.” 

“I hope its luckier for you than it was for me.” He said quietly. “I hope Lord Bonnefoy is better to you too.”

“Mattie.” Alfred said quietly. 

Matt was standing there, eyes shut against tears, until he looked up at Alfred with those same big, hopeful eyes he’d always had before all this. Full of all the softness and warmth of Canada that may not have existed elsewhere that winter. Words stuck in his throat, and suddenly, so homesick he wanted to burst, Alfred opened his arms. Matt gave up on carving the bird, put down the plate, and allowed Alfred to pull him in again. If Matt had grown, it was only a little, and Alfred could still easily rest his cheek on Matt’s crown, which he did for a long moment.

“Thank you.” He said. 

“It was meant for you,” Matt replied. “You’re... tall and capable like that. It will fit you, even when you fill it out again.” 

“You’ll grow.” Alfred said. “Someday. And then we'll be fine."

Someday. 

[overwhelmedfernfrond]

writing prompt: too many butterflies

(bonus points if you can integrate a complicated sibling relationship and/or flower symbolism)

I loveeee prompts like these! I hope you like the direction I took the prompt :)

Without further ado,

-

Theodora couldn’t picture Rainy’s smile. It had been that long since they’d last laid eyes on each other.

She could, however, remember her sister’s laugh, that chickadee giggle, and that feeling of solid rightness when they held hands, silently reassuring Theo: You’re doing this right, you’re protecting her.

But she couldn’t visualize her little sister’s gap-toothed, guileless, beaming face, her warm brown eyes, not like Theo’s. Six years had come and gone since they’d been separated. Six times the apple blossoms had bloomed in the springtime, and Theo had witnessed all of it. She watched them devotedly from the Temple until the sun set, knowing she had to appreciate the trees’ beauty for two, now.

All the while, Rainy had been imprisoned underground, kept away from the wind and the sky and safety. Theo was meant to keep her little sister safe. She had failed.

Something jabbed the inside of Theo’s stomach, erratic and flappy and cold as silk. Her nerves were twisting themselves into knots. Gulls and waves and twinkling stars warred inside her, a spiralling cloud of everything little Rainy must have missed in the past years. Mostly, Theodora felt as if a kaleidoscope of butterflies was trying to escape her insides, by literally eating their way out.

Theo pushed through lilac-coloured curtains and saw her sister, rescued by the Temple women. Now a mere eleven years old, the same age Theo had been when she’d failed to save her, Rainy was not smiling.

Theodora clutched a blooming apple blossom branch, her gift for Rainy. As she held the flowers stiffly out to her sister, Rainy’s gaze, somehow both sharp and dull, broken glass weathered by the sea, remained fixed on the thorns along its stem. She made no move to step forward, did not take the offering.

“Theo…” Rainy’s voice was fractured from disuse. Her eyes refracted the candlelight, hollow in a way they hadn’t been when Theo had last seen her. Her warm brown eyes had dulled to a cold cedar shade.

“Rainy, oh, baby…” Theodora cast aside the flowering branch, moving to cup her sister’s too-pale face in her hands. She blinked back tears, trying to keep it together, to stay strong for Rainy.

Rainy was no longer the artless toddler she’d been; her limbs had grown long and lanky like Theo’s, listless and bone-white from her years away from the sun. She stood like a clipped-winged bird, skittishly alert but anchored to the cold earth by something incomprehensible to Theo. The skin of her face was ashen, like wet paper, and as Theodora ran her thumb along Rainy’s undereye, they both cried.

The butterflies swarming in Theo’s stomach chose that tender moment to break free. The sharp stabbing pain of guilt incapacitated her, and she doubled over, sobbing.

“Rainy, baby, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”, she cried.

Rainy stared down at her older sister, confusion lighting her eyes.

“What? What did you do?”

Theo blinked at her. “... Don’t you remember? I failed you, you’ve been stuck down there all these years because I—”

Rainy interrupted her. “Theo, I’ll admit, I don’t remember much from… back then.” She winced, something sharp flashing in her gaze. “But what I do remember? Hearing them drag you away from me, four grown adults literally having to pry you off the door, I remember you screaming for me, offering to switch places with me, pounding on the wall. I know you tried, how couldn’t I?”

Stunned, Theodora took a slight step back. All she remembered from that day was a whirl of overwhelming guilt and shame that Rainy had been taken from her. She had never actually taken a moment to wonder what she realistically could have done to protect her sister more than she had. They’d been overpowered from the start, she realized in her contemplation.

She doesn’t blame me.

“Rainy, come outside with me,” she said suddenly. Theo drew her sister gently by the arm, and they stepped through the draping lilac silk of the tentroom. Finally outside, Theo’s gaze was fixed on Rainy’s shining eyes as she felt the warm sunlight and wind on her face, breathed in honeysuckle air, and saw swirls of bright butterflies, dancing free.

-

Hope you enjoyed!! :D

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Thanks for reading, and thanks for the ask! Thoughts?

[path-of-grass-and-leaves]

Creating a Backyard Land Spirit Profile

Working with land spirits can help connect you with your local ecosystem, and for some practitioners is a crucial aspect of bioregional magic. Some folks, like myself, consider themselves to be initiated by one or more land spirits.

When I use the term land spirits, I am referring to a few different things. First are the collective spirits of various plants, animals, and insects present in a specific bioregion. An example of collective, in this context, means that if I'm petitioning help from the spirit of violets, I am working with the spirit of all violets present in that area rather than a singe flower that grows in my yard.

The next is the land guardian, which in my practice is a more powerful spirit with claim over a specific territory, like a forest, river, or neighborhood.

Sometimes these two concepts are separate and sometimes they're interchangeable. It all depends on personal practice, culture, local folklore, etc.

One thing that has been extremely beneficial to my practice has been creating a backyard land spirit profile. This method has been useful for spirit work and "green" magic, but more importantly, it's helped me immerse myself in my local ecosystem and I get to meet a lot of cool animals and plants.

Here is an over-simplfied example of my backyard land profile:

Ecosystem: Central Interior and Appalachian: Mixed woodlands, close to possible floodplains

Soil Type: Clay in garden bed, Loamy near/beneath shrubs, Sandy in sunny areas of the lawn

Flora:

Cultivated- Paradise Apple, Highbush Blueberry, Rose of Sharon, Dog Rose, Black-Eyed Susan, Sundial Lupine

Native - Bloodroot, Wild Strawberry, Common Violet, Wrinkle-Leaf Goldenrod, Blue Wood-Aster, Horseweed, Fireweed, Deer-Tongue Witchgrass, Common Milkweed

Invasive - Round-Leaved Bittersweet, Yellow Toadflax, Creeping Bellflower, Common Mugwort

Naturalized - Dandelion, Broad-Leaf Plantain, Deadly Nightshade

Notes - Various mosses, unidentified mushrooms growing on lawn and lichens found on some trees/shrubs.

Fauna:

Mammals - Raccoon, Opossum, Striped Skunk, Grey Squirrel, Chipmunk, Feral Cats, Deer mouse, House Mouse

Birds - Cardinals, Chickadees, Catbirds, American Robin, Downy Woodpecker, Turkey Vulture, Crow

Reptiles and Amphibians - N/A

Fish - N/A

Invertebrates - Dotted Wolf Spider, Leopard Slug, Tiger Bee Fly, Monarch Caterpillars, Peach Root Weevile, Narrow-Winged Mantis, Fireflies

Ecoregion and Soil Type

The first thing I did was determine what type of ecosystem my yard used to be. In an urban/suburban area this was a bit challenging.

I started by identifying a few wild plants and finding out where they usually grow. Most of them seemed to prefer shady woodlands and rich soil. There were also a couple of pioneer species present in the sunnier and more disturbed areas of the yard.

Next, I took a look at surrounding wild areas. We are close to a mountain and a large river. There are woodlands near and within the city made up of mostly hardwood and conifer trees. I knew from memory that certain areas close to my home are likely floodlands.

After that, I found a bioregion map of my country which showed that my state fell under the category of Central Interior and Appalachian. I searched this region on landscope.org and was able to determine my specific ecoregion (not shared here for privacy reasons).

From there I started making educated guesses. I determined that my backyard was likely a mixed hardwood and conifer woodland sitting very close to what might have been a floodplain.

For my soil type, I took samples from different areas of my yard and used an online guide to determine what kind of soil I had. Most of it was sandy or loamy, but my flower beds seemed to have some clay.

Using all this information, I had a general idea of what kind of plants and wildlife would be present without human intervention. It also helped with deciding which native plants to start growing.

Plants

Throughout the year, I went out to the yard with a wildlife field guide and a couple identification apps and identified every plant and insect I found. I grouped the plants into four categories: native, invasive, naturalized, and cultivated. This isn't shown in the example, but I also grouped them by season and the time of year they appear.

Naturalized refers to plants that have integrated themselves into the environment without inflicting damage to the local ecosystem.

You'll notice that under the cultivated section I included a few native plants. This is because those plants were introduced by me and would not be present without my intervention and I wanted to make that distinction.

The importance of native and naturalized plants is obvious, but what about cultivated and invasive? Keeping a profile of invasive plants helped me keep a record of which noxious weeds I need to remove. From an ecological perspective, their removal is crucial to the survival of my native plants and garden crops. From a spiritual perspective, this can be an offering or act of service to the local land spirits. Some of these plants, like Common Mugwort, are both valuable for workings and fine to harvest in large quantities since they are invasive.

Cultivated plants are also important. Many of these plants, like my Blueberries, Apples, and Rose of Sharon, were here before me. The importance of plants introduced by humans is greater than you'd think. First, they are usually crops and flowering plants and provide food for both humans and the local wildlife. Secondly, I live in an urban area, and my land spirits are likely very closely associated with people.

I researched all of my plants and took note of growth patterns, toxicity, medicinal uses, ediblity, native region/habitat, ecological significance/impact, etc. Then I moved onto folklore and symbolism and started working with the spirits of a few plants, performing divination, leaving offerings, harvesting them and including them in rituals and spellwork. I did this in groups to avoid feeling overwhelmed.

Please note that you should always properly identify plants and be aware of potential toxicity before harvesting, especially if you plan on burning or consuming said plant. Also steer clear of protected or threatened plants and keep harvest to a minimum even for abundant native species.

Wildlife

My next project was writing down every species of animal and insect that I had encountered in my yard. I grouped them into several categories: mammals, birds, reptiles, amphibians, fish, and invertebrates. In real life my invertebrates section is separated into several subcategories (orb weavers, beetles, etc.).

Next, I used basically the same system I did for plants, researching their native range, preferred habitat, behavior, diet, ecological importance. Then I started looking into folklore.

Finally, I started integrating them into my practice and working with their collective spirits. This involved using animal symbolism in rituals, leaving offerings, and performing a lot of divination.

Remember to never interact with or directly feed wildlife. If I'm making offerings outdoors it is usually fresh water, scattered birdseed, and acts of service like creating habitats and growing plants that a specific species enjoys. If scattering birdseed, do so in the morning to keep too many animals, like raccoons, from entering your yard at night.

Side note: Keep a record of what appears in your yard each year! For example one year we had several chipmunks and one year I saw none. One year we had no fireflies and the next our backyard was covered in them.

Tying It All Together

Once I had my backyard profile completed, I started working with the collective spirits of select species. I have an offering schedule, perform communication, and petition these spirits regularly in spellwork. I use certain plants that I harvest for offerings and use for tinctures, infusions, cooking, and crafts. I use symbols of local animals in crafts and spellwork.

After working with the "smaller" spirits, you can start seeking out specific land guardians by using a combination of divination and research of local history and folklore.

On a mundane level, I am now able to cultivate an appropriate ecosystem for the local wildlife and start projects to support it. Examples of this are pollinator gardens, stick and brush piles for fireflies and small animals, growing seed-rich and fruiting plants for birds and mammals, winter shelters and TNR plans for feral cats, and more.

I also like to take notes on plants and wildlife that I encounter in my general area that don't usually make it into my backyard. For example there have been coyotes, foxes, bobcats, and black bears spotted in my neighborhood.

I want to stress that I live in a semi-urban and relatively populated neighborhood and I have a small yard. The brief example of of my land profile doesn't cover even a fraction of the wildlife I have encountered in my backyard. There is so much life in urban and suburban areas in need of our support.

[allmichigan]

The Chickadee and the Apple Tree

The Chickadee and the Apple Tree by Michigan Nut Photography Some gorgeous springtime pics from John along with a reminder to enjoy it while it’s here! See his latest on Facebook or Instagram and for sure view & purchase his work on his website.

[integrityvictim]

« "C'mon, Kage! It's hard ta keep walkin' when yer lookin' at everything! »

﹝The shadow had perked their head up hearing Starlo's voice call out to them, and they soon followed. Luckily the trees were thick enough to provide a trail of darkness for Kage to move through. Normally they'd be tailing behind Starlo via his shadow, but he was carrying a few things and so they wanted to be careful.﹞ ﹝That, and because they were constantly curious at the littlest things in Snowdin. The snow, the birds, the trees, the people... They've seen all of it before, but they never interacted with such things. Like a child drawn to a starry sky, they just HAD to touch and look at everything. ﹞ ﹝Starlo turned back, chuckling and watching Kage quietly examine what looked like a mother bird leaving its nest to feed its chirping children. They looked so entranced in such a little thing, almost a bit too entranced.... The cowboy cleared his throat, Kage turning towards him and nodded. ﹞ « "Smallleee.... Birrdbbdb....s?" » Kage pointed at the next, causing Starlo to chuckle and walk over to get a better look. « "They're baby birds, Kage. I think they might be Chickadees? They could also be Flickers..." » Kage turned back to the baby birds, watching them chirp and cry out for the mother bird to return with their food. They feel... abandoned. « "We can go an' look at the baby birds when we're done with Dalvs', alright Kage?" » Their attention snapped back to Starlo, and they nodded with an unsure expression. The cowboy smiled and readjusted their grip on what looked like a small picnic basket. ﹝After a bit more walking, the both of them finally made it to where Dalv's house was. Starlo approached the door and gave a gentle knock, while Kage curled their body up in Starlo's shadow to wrap around him. ﹞ - 🌟 (@passingthroughthenorthstar)

╔.៚. .═══════════════╗ 〈 • .. It was quiet. -But before you can reach the door to knock again, you heard a thud from inside, followed by the sounds of what sounds like stumbling before the door very slowly comically creeks open. 〉 ❝ ..Ah, good morning you two! ❞ 〈 • ......It was the middle of the afternoon??? Dalv rubbed his eyes as he stepped back to let the pair inside. Was he SERIOUSLY sleeping at THIS hour? 〉 ❝ ..I wasn't exactly sure what specific literature Kage would be interested in, so I collected a wide variety of genres. Horror, Kids books (though I know NOW it isn't), Poems.. -The usual sort.❞

〈 • Closing the door behind them, you can definitely tell he's been cleaning. But then again either he did all this before he took a nap, or his definition of mess is just a spec of dirt on the floor. You'll probably never figure out the answer. 〉

❝ Do you two need anything before we start? Food, Coffee, Tea? I have this new Crab Apple tea I picked up from Waterfall, actually..❞

╚═════════════════. .៚.╝

[rowannightway]

Cider

Each drunk off one pint of cider Under faded Christmas lights, Face to face and side by side, We spun my room into a carnival ride.

It felt good and pure and wild and right— A twirling music box delight. Glowing copper, verdigris, old and green, Holy and clean.

To be childlike was wise. The best of my life Sacrificed to that night. It sparkles in my mind, Dripping down the sides— Colder now I'm on the outside.

Makes my teeth hurt when I bite, Like the November Apple, picked too late— Sour and spice. When the leaves are raked, The bees displaced, And "Snow?" is the first question you ask each day you wake.

Peek out between the blinds— No need to step outside. We never did too much walking anyway.

I'm the chickadee, The cardinal, The blue jay, Free to be me now. I can be free.

So don’t think twice All is right When the bed shakes but stays made, When the sweaters and denim remain Like a canvas stretched in its frame. The best pictures are never taken, Candid perfection, blurred at the edges— Accidental fame.

The stars once spelled our names, Like the tree at Whittaker Lake. I wonder if your wife knows That one is mine.

[thesugarclubs-blog]

Mirror Mirror - AU Bucky Barnes x OC

warnings: reverse snow white au, fairytale au, snow white Bucky & princess OC, pure fluff

word count: 9k

WP: https://www.wattpad.com/1381215967-mirror-mirror-florence

Masterlist

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away, nestled deep within the tall evergreen trees sat a small stone cottage.The roof was made of wood and straw with a garden of wild flowers lining the dirt pathway heading towards a large wooden front door. White smoke billowed from the chimney and the smell of fresh apple pie wafted through the forest with the faint sound whistling. 

A man spun by the open window, singing softly to himself as he moved the broom over the grey stone floor. James smiled softly as a small chickadee landed on his shoulder and whistled along with him. 

“Do you mind? I have to finish sweeping while dinner rests! The boys will be home from work soon,” he commented, using one hand to take the small bird onto his finger and set him onto the window sill. 

With a small shake of his head, James balanced the broom on his shoulder in order to scoop his long dark hair into a bun that rested on the back of his neck. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the edge of his white tunic and moved over the dark ceramic pot hung over a smoldering fire. 

Looking into the pot James checked to make sure the stew was simmering nicely. Taking the long wooden spoon that rested to the side of the pot he stirred the stew around to make sure that none of it got stuck to the bottom and got burned. Taking out a little spoon from the pocket of his tunic James took a taste of the stew.

“Hmmm. Just perfect, I think it will be finished just in time for them when they come home” James smiled, turning to smile at the bird that was still resting on the window sill. It chirped in response.

"No," James shook his head, "there's enough salt this time."

The bird stomped on the sill, trilling into the air. 

"That's nonsense," he rolled his eyes and tasted the stew again, keeping his eyes on the bird who watched him. A long mocking birdsong filling the air as James brows pinched together. "Okay, it needs a little more salt."

The bird chirped again. “I know, I know.” James sighed, “You were right. I was wrong.” James agreed to his little friend in defeat as he turned around to place eight little bowls onto the big wooden table. 

As if he could tell, he heard his friends arguing from a distance.

Their familiar voices and playful bickering were unmistakable, and it brought a warm smile to James's face. It was a comforting sound, a testament to the strong bond they all shared–

“I can’t believe you ruined my favorite dungaree,” the door suddenly swung open, startling both James and the small bird who, huffing and puffing, flew out. “Your damn giant hands, Steven!” 

“C’mon, Tony! Don’t be dramatic, it’s not like I did it on purpose!”

"It might as well have been! Why did you pull me back so hard?" Tony whined.

James saw Sam hold back a laugh at his brothers' argument as they all slowly trickled in, to which James shot him a playful glare. 

"The rocks would have fallen over your giant head, otherwise!" Steve huffed in annoyance. He always meant well but his brother was not able to always see reason. Tony was as stubborn as the rocks of the mines they dug.

"Oh my god, will you two shut up? We get it," Clint rolled his eyes as he dropped his sack to the ground and moved around his bickering family. 

Sam strolled over to the fire, lifting the lid of the stew and took in a big whiff, "Leave them alone, they're always like this when they're hungry," 

James smacked the wooden spoon onto the back of his brothers and shook his head, "All of you go wash up first and then we can eat" 

The chaos that ensued everytime the family got home was one of James' favourite moments of his day. Sure, the quiet cottage was nice during the day when he needed to get things done but eventually it grew too quiet around him. Thoughts of the nights he'd spent alone in the forest before they took him in crept in from the edges of his mind but once his boys were safe at home, those memories disappeared once more, allowing a soft smile to tug at the edges of his lips.

A throat cleared behind him and he looked down to find Thor standing there, his hands hidden behind his back and a knowing smile on his face. 

“Found another one for you,” he rumbled from beneath his thick blond beard and brought his clenched fist forwards.

James held out his hand and Thor deposited the heavy crystal into his palm. James almost squealed with excitement and leaned over to wrap his arms around Thor’s stout frame.

“Thank you Thor!” He breathed excitedly and hurried over to the window.

Finding a place on the frame for the clear crystal, James sighed happily as the sunlight refracted through it, casting rainbows across the opposite wall of the cottage.

Chairs scraped across James’ freshly cleaned floors as the seven of them finished washing up. They settled at the table, leaving the seat at the top for James. 

“This looks delicious,” Steve beamed, as James set down a steaming loaf of bread in the center and turned back to the stove to dish up more stew. 

“You think everything looks delicious, Steve,” Clint grunted, rolling his eyes. 

“Because it does, James is an excellent cook!” 

James grinned in thanks across the table where he was setting down a bowl in front of Natasha, her cheek smushed into her hand as her eyelids drooped. Tony nudged her gently with his elbow. 

“Look alive, Nat.” 

Nat shook her head quickly, swatting her hand out at Tony. “I’m awake, I was just resting my eyes a little. “The stew looks delicious as always. James,” Nat yawned as she leaned across the table and grabbed the knife by the bread and cut off a slice. 

“Can we please eat… I’m really hungry” Loki said, playing with his spoon looking down at his bowl of stew with a longing look in his eye.

"Go on then," James winked at him, knowing that if he didn't give the okay Loki would sit pouting. 

They all dug in without hesitation, the sounds of spoons scraping bowls and the soft satisfied moans filling the cottage. 

"Breathe Thor," Steve warned, as Thor inhaled his stew in four disgusting bites. "There's always more!"

“It’s so good, though!”, Thor said, his mouth full with stew. “I could bathe in this food.” 

“That’s disgusting.” Clint looked annoyed to his left, where Thor was seated with a big smile and remains of stew on his face.

“Language!” Steve pointed his finger at Clint happily. 

“That’s actually not a bad word, Steve.” James leaned in and whispered into Steve's ear.

“Oh,” he responded a little embarrassed but continued eating

With their bellies full and the cozy cottage illuminated by the soft glow of candles, the family's evening continued in a familiar rhythm. After dinner, they gathered around the hearth, where the flames crackled and danced in the stone fireplace.

James began to tell one of his incredible tales, weaving a world of knights and magical creatures, some forged from fantastic metal. He recited the story of heroes battling incredible evil as all seven brothers found themselves captured by the grand gestures of his wrists, the dramatic flair in his voice and even Nat that night took her time trailing off on her usual spot on the armchair.

As the night wore on, and the firelight flickered, they all felt the deep contentment that came from being surrounded by the love of family and the magic of their kingdom far, far away. The enchanting forest whispered its secrets in the moonlit night, a silent witness to their cherished moments, a testament to the extraordinary life they had created together.

***

The forest was peaceful and serene, the warmth of the morning light shining through the trees and bathed the path in an emerald-tinged glow. It was exactly what Florence needed.

Clicking her tongue and tugging on the reins, she urged her horse, Alpine, deeper into the verdant greenwood. She breathed deeply once, and then again, letting the tension drain from her shoulders. Long had she yearned to escape the confines of the castle and the burden of royal life.

She tilted her head slightly as a sound filtered through the trees, one she would not have expected to hear. A deep, resonant voice carried a melody so sweet it piqued her curiosity and, tugging on Alpine’s reigns once more, she guided her noble steed in the direction of the alluring voice.

As she ducked beneath branches, traveling further into the blanket of green, the voice grew louder, stronger with each note. 

Shielding her eyes from the sun as she came to a small clearing, Florence searched the area until she found the source of the voice. Crouched beside a hedgerow, plucking berries with careful thought, was quite possibly the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. 

His dark hair glistened in the sun, loose and draping across one shoulder, giving her a glorious view of his stubbled cheek and sharp jaw. 

Florence slowed Alpine, staying hidden a little behind the trunk of an old oak as she watched the man work, filling a wicker basket by his feet.

She watched him picking through as he bent over searching through the grass and occasionally pulling something out and placing it into the wicker basket. He continued to sing as he worked. The birds in the trees seemed to know the tune that he was singing and began to join in. Soon the branches were filled with birds chirping along. 

Florence watched in amazement as she saw a rabbit hop into the clearing getting slowly closer to the man. The man noticed the rabbit and slowly held out his hand. 

“Why hello there. How are you doing today?” he asked as the rabbit came up and sniffed his hand.

A smile played on her lips, the grown man was barely contained beneath a white tunic and dark blue vest. His yellow trousers strained about his thighs in protest to his knelt position and his dark hair pushed back by a thick red ribbon. 

"Would you like to share?" He asked the rabbit, who seemed to curl into his touch.

The small rabbit seemed to respond to his words, moving towards the basket and plucking out a few of the berries that sat nestled into the whicker, pulling another soft chuckle from the mans plump lips. 

"Not to many," she heard him say, shooing the small creature lightly, "These have to make pies for the boys and you know how they can eat" 

The boys Florence thought, tilting her head to the side. Were there more mysteriously good looking men trasping around this far into the forest? Maybe that had been her problem. Only being presented to men in the kingdom instead of looking farther out. Not that she herself has been looking, but her father always made it seem like she needed someone to take care of her. 

Urging Alpine slowly forward, the dark haired princess made her way out into the grass, clearing her throat softly so as to not startle the man before her, "Hey!" Florence called, "what are you doing out here?" she asked, curiously.

The man looked up sharply and the little gray rabbit darted in between his feet, peering around one of his shapely calves with a curious expression, it’s whiskers twitching nervously.

“It’s alright, Rocket. I’m sure this lady means no harm,” the man reassured, although he eyed the sword fastened to Florence’s hip with no small amount of suspicion.

“I am simply collecting berries and plums, Lady. They make the best pies and my family does tend to need a lot of feeding,” he replied, his voice rumbling deliciously through the clearing.

"You live in the woods, you and your family?" Florence asked, tilting her head curiously. The man nods, eying her with a wary gaze still despite his soft, confident words to the creature at his feet. 

"Yes, a little cottage not far from here. My family, brothers and sister, they work down at the mine."

Florence nodded, a gentle smile on her lips, as she studied the man. There was no denying she wanted to know more about him, to learn what else made his blue eyes shine the way they did as he spoke to the rabbit. 

"What's your name?" 

"You ask a lot of questions," the man replied, his tone teasing as he stood to his feet, "why should I tell you?"

“Well normally when someone asks you your name the polite thing to do is to tell them.  At least that’s what I’ve been taught” Florence responds stepping a little further into the clearing. Alpine followed closely behind her lightly nudging her shoulder.

The man chuckled a little and smiled, the smile reaching his eyes and his nose scrunching up a bit.

Florence couldn't help but smile at his own. 

"I tell you what," he leaned down to pick up the basket of berries and folded his hands over the handle as he squared his shoulders, "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." 

It was then she noticed how broad he was. His shoulders were wide with arms that would put any other woodsman to shame. The front of his tunic seemed to strain over his chest as he stood watching her with curious lake blue eyes. Alpine huffed behind her, nudging his nose into her back forcing a soft chuckle to leave her lips. 

"I suppose that seems fair." She smiled, "you first." 

The man tilted his head back and laughed, "I may have been raised in the woods, but I'm not a complete fool. Ladies first," he waved his hand out in front of him, gesturing for her to go. 

"A baker and a gentleman," she quirked a brow. 

"I do more than bake Sunshine." He grinned cheekily.

Florence tried to bite back the smirk that tugged at her lips, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest, "Down boy," she cocked her eyebrow, "I'm Florence. Your turn." 

"Florence" the man repeated, tilting his head to the side, his blue eyes scanning over her features, "I'm James, but my family calls me Bucky"

The small rabbit appeared once more, tapping it's small paw onto James' leg, causing him to glance down and huff, "And this is Rocket"

Florence beamed even wider and crouched down, holding her hand out and rubbing her fingers together.

“Greetings Rocket, it’s an honor to meet such a fine looking rabbit as yourself.”

The rabbit hopped  over to Florence’s outstretched hand and touched his little nose tentatively to the tips of her fingers. 

A huff from behind her elicited a chuckle from James and she looked up to see him leaning over and whispering in Alpine’s ear whilst stroking a large yet gentle hand down the horse’s neck. 

“I apologize,” she began. “This is…”

“Alpine, yes, I know. And apparently you two haven’t eaten since dawn.” James raised an amused eyebrow at her dumbfounded expression.

“Well, it seems you’re already acquainted with my hungry friend.”

Alpine huffed again, head butting gently against James’ hand. 

“Yes, yes. I’m getting there,” he laughed. “Florence, would you be so kind as to join me for lunch?” 

Florence met James’ gaze, a smile spreading across her lips. She was sure she was taught something about strangers as a child but when one was as endearing and handsome as James, well… 

“That depends,” she replied, “will I get to taste this delicious sounding pie you’re going to make?”

James grinned at her in response. “Of course” he said 

“Our cottage is just through the trees back here. My family are down the mines at the moment, but they will be back soon for some food. They are a bit of a rowdy bunch just letting you know.” James said turning around and walking across the clearing with rocket hopping along beside him. 

Before Florence could respond Alpine began to follow behind James with a slight spring in his step. It hit Florence then what James had known her horse’s name and that they hadn’t eaten sine dawn.

“Wait… can you actually talk to animals!?” She called racing to catch up with James. “Like understand what they are saying?”

“Yeah…you can’t?” James asked, a frown forming on his face that turned into a light grin. Even though he was being sarcastic, Florence had to admit that his smile was addicting. 

“How?” Now she was the one smiling as she caught up with James, Alpine, and Rocket. 

James shrugged in response, “I don’t know, actually. I like to believe it’s a gift. I feel some kind of trust between us like I have a special bond with animals. It’s hard to explain.” 

Florence nodded as she understood. “So you are a crazy person?” she said, making James stop. He looked at her like she said something wrong, but then he burst out into laughter.

"Crazy about sweet berries maybe," He smiled at her, running his hand along Alpine's neck, "but mostly sane in every other way." 

"Mostly?" 

James smirked, "I live with seven siblings, would you be completely sane?" 

Florence's eyes bugged wide, "Seven!? How do you get anything done?" 

"They spend most of their days down at the mines, gives me some quiet time during the daylight." James said with a beaming smile, "It's my responsibility to take care of them and there's a great pride in growing and cooking delicious food for the ones you care for."

“That’s a nice sentiment, how you care for your family,” Florence could see how much he loved his family with all his being. That love radiated from him every time he mentioned his family. 

They fell into a lovely silence as they walked towards his home. Her stomach grumbling loudly enough for it to be heard across the forest.

“Hungry?” James says laughing at her and her stomach. “Luckily for you, we’re here.”

As the small stone cottage came into view, Florence allowed herself to pause and take in the scene before her. The contrast between her palace and the house nested in the trees before her took her back just for a moment. A sense of peace and comfort washed over her and a small smile found its way onto her lips. 

"So eight of you live here?" She questioned, following James' lead up the pathway. 

James hummed and nodded, chuckling lightly, "It's a bit tight but we make it work. Honestly, there's no other place I'd rather be" 

Florence took in a small breath of the fresh pine air, and hooked Alpines reins over the wooden hitching post that sat to the left of the front door. Aside from the woodland creatures, she found herself wondering if they had many visitors or horses hidden somewhere. Maybe it was a habit of his bringing women he met in the woods back to his cottage, claiming he had pie and a deep love for his family. 

"It's cozy and sweet," she smiled once more, following him through the lard wooden door.

The main room of the cottage was a refreshingly cool contrast against the heat of the morning sun and Florence sighed deeply. It smelled of pine, soap, and…home.

There was a large wooden table with eight chairs around it, right easy chairs surrounded a large stone hearth, and a wooden staircase led up to what Florence assumed was a second floor.

She gasped in delight at the twinkling rainbows that were cast across the back wall of the room and she found herself lifting her arms and twirling slowly around. Laughing in delight as the spectrums danced across her skin she halted as Alpine let out a deep whinny.

“Don’t be mean, Alpine,” James admonished quietly. “Everyone needs moments of joy in their life.”

He quieted the rambunctious horse by reaching over to the vegetable bin and pulling out a carrot. He offered it to an eager Alpine, who snapped it up with a huff of thanks.

"Yes, Alpine, don't be mean," Florence repeated, coming to a halt and standing with her hands on her hips. She heard James chuckle softly behind her and flashed him a beaming smile over her shoulder. 

"Make yourself at home," James offered, gesturing to a cosy looking armchair in the corner. It looked well-loved, like the rest of the cottage, rough around the edges but so well cared for. 

Florence made a beeline for the seat, sinking into the soft cushion as she watched James separate and wash the freshly picked fruit.

He moved through the small cooking area gracefully, like he'd danced his way through it a million times before and she got the feeling that he probably had. Every once in a while those blue eyes glanced up at her with a soft smile when he found she was watching and it only spread the soft thrum of butterflies in her chest throughout her limbs. 

"I don't see many women ride through these woods alone," he blurted after a few moments, "matter of fact, I don't see any women ride through these woods." 

Florence smiled, "So there's no secret lair teeming with damsels in distress you've saved?" 

James huffed out a laugh and shook his head as he moved on to inspecting a batch of plums, "Even if there was, you think I'd give away my secrets?" 

"Crazy and possibly murderous," She grinned, "I've hit gold with you."

She could see the faintest blush spread across his cheeks and beneath his stubble at her remark.

"I don't know 'bout gold, but I'd like to believe that I'm good company," he told her with a hint of shyness in his tone. She watched as he put together a plate of berries and plums and turned to walk in her direction and extended it to her.

"At least before I lure you to my secret lair, m'lady," he ended with a mischievous smirk and a wink thrown her way.

Florence couldn't help the huff of  delighted laughter that left her at that, relishing in the light feeling filling her as she shared a light banter with James. Even more so when he laughed sweetly along with her with a red tinge still tinting his cheeks. 

“Oh, so this isn’t your secret lair, then?” Florence couldn’t help going along with this playful banter. She didn’t really believe that a person like him, that had the ability to speak with animals, would do something bad to her. Unless, you know, he used said ability to ask the animals to be part of his craziness and lure damsels in distress to his lair. 

“Now, why would I lead a lady into this cozy cottage where my family lives only to murder her?” James had a twinkle in his eyes while he said that.

With a light chuckle, Florence shrugged and shook her head, "I'm note sure, you're the criminal mastermind here, not me" she joked, popping a berry into her mouth. 

James' laugh echoed out through the cottage as he moved back through the kitchen to assemble the pie he kept bragging about. Silence fell over them once more, her hazel eyes watched him worked, taking note of a small red cardinal that sat perched in the window. 

"She's just a guest," she heard him mutter before the bird chirped back at him, "you can go now, Redwing," he muttered once more, moving his gaze over towards her as drifting sunlight caught his ocean blue eyes.

“Where do you hail from, Florence?” James asked, breaking her out of her reverie.

“I, umm, I live on the far edge of the forest,” she replied hesitantly, and James’ eyes narrowed slightly before he smiled at her once more.

“Then you must definitely be hungry, having traveled so far,” he said, and with a courtly swoop, placed a plate before her piled with bread, cheese and some of the berries.  “We’ll have to wit a little longer for the pie,” he admitted, although the enticing scents of warm berries and sweet pastry were already creeping through the cottage.

“Thank you,” she said, gratefully, and pushed the plate between them in an offer to share.

She took some of the bread and placed a piece of cheese on top of it. Taking a bite she sighed. “Hmmm, this bread is amazing. Probably some of the best I’ve ever had. Did you also bake this?” She asked, taking another bite of the food. The bread was light and fluffy and the crust had a satisfying crunch to it. 

“Thank you, yes I also baked the bread. Since we live quite deep in the forrest I make a lot of our food. We rarely head to any of the surrounding villages… when we do it’s mainly for delivering what my brothers and sister collect from the mines. I mostly stay here though” James said, taking a seat across from her and picking up a plum from the plate and taking bite out of it.

"What were you doing so deep in the forest anyway?" He questioned, as he examined the purple fruit in his hand. 

With a soft hum, Florence shrugged unsure on how to actually answer that question without giving away her status. The truth was she wasn't built for the life her father wanted for her. She wanted to do more than sit around and look pretty when she knew the kingdom across the dark forest was suffering. The king would tell her how dangerous it was in the woods and how that kingdom had fallen under evil rule when the prince disappeared, yet still, deep within herself, Florence knew there had to be a way for her to fix it. 

She sucked in a deep breath and shook her head once, realizing she had been lost in thought, " I just went out for a morning ride. Alpine needed to stretch his legs and riding around our village wasn't really cutting it, so we went a little farther than expected but it seems to have worked out for us," she smiled, taking another bite of the bread.

“I think not just for you,” James said, a soft blush painting his cheeks.

They stared at each other a moment before James cleared his throat and looked bashfully away.

“I…I need to check the pie,” he stammered, rising from the table and heading over to the oven as he wrapped a cloth around his hand for protection.

When he opened the door a waft of spiced heat filled the room and even Alpibne whickered from his place at the window.

“Be patient, big fella,” James laughed.  “It’s still too hot, even for you.”

Florence watched in admiration as James placed the large pie dish on the table and cut two slices and then a third small sliver, which he put onto plates.  He collected an earthenware jug from which he poured a generous helping of cream over the two lives and then set the third plate at the window.

“Blow on it first,” he instructed and Alpine did so, huffing on his little treat so dramatically that Florence feared he would blow it clean off the plate.

At a nod from James, the horse snaffled down the pie and James then joined Florence at the table, still chuckling at the horse’s antics.  He slid one plate in front of Florence and then handed her a spoon.  She took a generous scoop, making sure to blow on the steaming mouthful although not quite as dramatically as Alpine and then placed it in her mouth.

She took a bite and let out a satisfied moan. “Oh my… this pie is amazing” she said before digging back into the pie.  She heard James chuckle as he watched her eat her slice of pie. 

“So what about you? Where are you and your family from or have you always lived in the woods?” She asked looking up at him after eating a good portion of her slice. She noticed how he stilled at her question before slowly putting his spoon down his eyes darting to look out the window.

“I-”. James sighed, “I’m sure you don’t want to hear that.” He slowly shook his head and looked down at the wooden floor.

“I do,” Florence said, slowly taking James’ hand into hers. She didn’t want to overstep a line, but she could also feel that James needed some sort of comfort.

“Okay,” he smiled softly. “I was younger when I came here. I don’t know much about that night it all happened, but…one day, a man brought me into the woods. We walked until the sun had set. I didn’t know who sent him, and at that time, I didn’t know why, but the older I got, I knew his purpose. He was out here to end my life.” James paused before he continued, “He couldn’t do it, so he left me to die in the woods. I survived day and night before finding this little cottage. At first, I thought it was an old empty house, but then I met these six boys and one girl, and it almost felt like all of this happened for a reason. Because if that man hadn’t let me live, I wouldn’t have found my family.” He smiled as he looked around the cottage, his eyes stopping at the eight chairs around the kitchen table.

“Oh, James,” Florence mumbled. She didn’t know what to say other than ‘I’m sorry’ but those words cannot convey anything other than emptiness. Because how do you express that you are sorry that the person didn’t die-that they survived- a situation like that? 

“It’s okay,” James whispered, as if knowing what she wanted to say.

“Do you know who sent that man? Florence asks with determination in her voice, as if she might go this instant and punish the person that tried to take away a soul as pure as his.

James looks away from her, but she catches the sadness in his eyes. It’s a sadness so deep that it tugged at her heart, “I don’t know. It’s heartbreaking to think that there is a person out there that has the type of hatred to want another person to just take away like that.” 

Florence knew he was struggling to come to terms with that because this man, who clearly is the most fairest person she has ever encountered, has lived through unimaginable things and, despite everything, still wants to believe that there is still some goodness in this world.

A comfortable silence fell through the cabin as the two of them sat there, in the confessions. The afternoon sun brought a certain glow through the crystal and illuminated everything in it's path. James' company mixed with the fresh pine air drifting in with the breeze was a new experience for Florence. She could stay in this moment, in this place forever if she was given the option. To not have to return to the confinds of the palace walls was secretly what she'd wanted for a long time. 

Florence cleared her throat and moved to stand up, catching the orange glow in her hazel eyes as the sinking sun brought her attention to how late it had gotten. "I should go," she said quickly, bringing her plate into the kitchen. 

James followed her movements, and grabbed her hand lightly before she could make it out the door, "Wait, will I see you again?" 

With a small sigh and a soft smile, she looked up to meet his eyes as she nodded, "Tomorrow. In the clearing we met in this morning," 

The man nodded in response and brought the back of her hand up to his lips, kissing it gently, "Tomorrow it is," 

With that, Florence made her way out to Alpine and untied his reins, mounting him quickly. She glanced back at the handsome man leaning in the doorway of the stone cottage before kicking Alpine into a gallop through the trees on their way back to the palace.

The next morning Florence rushed out of the great hall and down to the kitchens with her mouth still stuffed full of bread.  She threw some food and a ceramic bottle of ale into a sack and almost ran to the stables.

“Woah there, Princess, where are you going in such a hurry?” The Head Steward asked as she nearly ran him down.

“Iiiiiit’s such a nice day I thought I’d take Alpine for a ride,” she squeaked breathlessly, bouncing impatiently on her heels.

“You have duties to attend to, your Highness,” he admonished, but the Princess pretended not to hear him as she bolted off.

She felt a little guilty for pushing Alpine as hard as she did in her eagerness to reach the clearing where she had met James the day before.  She knew she was early but there was still a pang of disappointment when she arrived and James was nowhere to be seen.  There was a little red bird however, who looked remarkably like the one she’d seen the day before.  Feeling a little foolish she cocked her head and spoke.

“Redwing?” She asked and almost laughed in relief when the bird twittered and hopped over to her.

“Hi, hello, I, ummmm, I don’t know if you remember me from yesterday but I’ve come to see James.  Is he around?”

The bird looked at her and tilted its head this way and that but made no response.

“You know, James?  Tall, blue eyes, sings, bakes? Ummm, oh, he said his family called him Bucky?”

At the last the bird let out a series of whistles, bobbed up and down a few times, before taking off in what Florence thought she remembered as the way to the cottage.  It wasn’t long before she heard footsteps and a melodious humming hurrying along the path.

James looked up at the sound of her approaching, the brightest smile blooming across his face, eyes glistening in the sun.

“There you are!” He called cheerily, tucking the handle of his basket into the crook of his elbow. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.” 

His words were laced with a chuckle and he bound towards her as Florence stepped forward to meet him. 

“What delights have you been picking today?” She asked, peering into his basket. 

“I noticed there are boysenberries growing on the bramble through the clearing,” James explained, “I was just about to finish up with this hedgerow of raspberries before you arrived.” 

James offered up the basket and Florence plucked a raspberry from the wicker, popping it into her mouth with a delighted hum. 

“Well, I would love to help,” she replied softly, “I don’t forage much but it seems like a lovely way to spend the afternoon.”

“I’ll show you how to find the best berries then. Just follow me” he smiled leading the way down a narrow path that was lined with boysenberry bushes. 

“So what you need to do is look for the berries that are dark purple and fall right into your hand when you gently tug at them. I always pick from the middle branches of the bush because the top branches are for the birds and the bottom branches are for the rabbits. And I always make sure to leave enough for any other animals that might come by.” James smiled at her showing extremely how to pluck the most scrumptious berries.

“That’s very thoughtful of you. I don’t think anyone would think about leaving some for the animals,” she said with a hint of wonder in her voice, while plucking the berries just as James taught her. 

It felt natural to do this with him, something that she could see herself doing for a long time to come. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see James sneaking some berries into his mouth. James catches her looking at him savoring the delightful flavor of the berries and chuckles, “Do you want to try them? They’re good, I swear.”

“Don’t mind if I do, kind sir,” Florence picked up some berries from the basket and popped one into her mouth. Relishing the flavor of the berry, she goes to pick up more from the basket when the basket is suddenly taken away from her. 

“Woah, there. Don’t eat all of them now. Leave some for later!” James chuckled.

Florence laughed and tossed another berry in her mouth with a playful smirk, "I can't help it! You introduced me to these," she commented, earning her another deep chuckle from James. 

"Go try the bushes over there, I've got these ones," He pointed to a space a few feet away from where they were standing. 

Her smile remained on her lips as she nodded, taking one of his spare baskets and heading to where he told her. There was something about his presence that brought a certain feeling of peace and happiness to her soul. She was beginning to understand what it felt like to have someone genuine in her life. 

It was nice, picking berries in silence. Doing some manual labor and taking her day into her own hands instead of strolls through the garden or sitting in the throne room for meetings. The quiet chatter of James' voice drifted through the breeze and floated through her ears. For the amount of animals that were around and who James liked to speak too, it didn't even cross her mind to look over and see what it was. There was a higher pitched second voice that softly mixed with it, but Florence assumed she was either going fully crazy or it was a mockingbird playing off a conversation it had heard. 

"Hey look at this!" James called, pulling over her attention to a rip purple plum that flew through the air as he tossed it and caught it again in his fingers. 

Florence hummed and her eyebrows kissed together, "I didn't know there were plum trees around this clearing?" 

"There's not! Some nice woman gave it to me," He smiled sweetly.

“Nice woman?  What nice woman?” Florence asked with suspicion, having never seen another soul in these woods before, not even James.

“She seemed like a nice old lady,” he shrugged, tossing the plum into the air once more.  “I mean, she only found one plum and she gave it to me because she said I looked like the kind of person who would appreciate it.  I gave her some boysenberries in return!” He protested, as if Florence would think *he* was the one taking advantage.

“James, I don’t think you should eat that,” she said carefully, making her way across the clearing towards him.

“I don’t see why not,” he countered.  “It looks so ripe and juicy and…” his voice tailed off as he looked at the plum.  

His eyes grew wider, seeming to glow with an eerie hue, and he stared at the plum as if mesmerised.  He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and began to bring the plum towards his mouth.  Florence felt as if she were wading through molasses as she tired to reach him.

“No, James, don’t-“ 

It was too late.  James brought the plum to his lips and took a large bite.  Florence watched as his lips curved up into a satisfied smile and a rivulet of juice made its way down his scruff-covered chin.  His eyes crinkled in delight then they widened in surprise.

Florence could do nothing as James’ jaw fell slack and his arm dropped to his side, lax fingers spilling the plum from his hand.  His knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground, his eyes rolling back in his head before closing.  The plum rolled insidiously across the space between them and knocked against Florence’s foot before she finally freed herself from the thrall she was under and launched herself across the clearing towards the fallen man she had come to care for so much.

"James? James!" Florence panicked, heart thudding hard against her ribcage as she fell to her knees beside him. "Please, please. James, can you hear me?" 

She brushed her fingers delicately over his cheek, sweeping tendrils of chestnut hair from his face. Timed seemed to slow as she sat beside him in the grass, covering James with gentle touches and murmuring softly in an attempt to rouse him. She didn't know how long it had been before she heard a rustle, the thump of tiny feet on solid ground and she looked up to see Rocket, snuffling around the plum. 

"Oh, Rocket, no! Don't touch that!" She cried, and the small rabbit peered up at her, nose twitching as he made a small timid sound at the sight of his friend sprawled out on the ground. He hopped over, burrowing in close to James' side. "I'm so sorry, Rocket, the plum -- it must have been poisoned. Do- do you know the way to his cottage? Maybe his family could help?"

The small rabbit seemed to nod his head at Florence in understanding. “Perfect, now all I have to do is figure out how to get him there.” Florence said standing back up. Alpine came up behind her and nudged at James’s side then looked over at Florence. The horse then knelt down and rested on the forrest floor next to James and turned his head to her. 

“Alright Alpine, let’s see if we can make this work” she said grabbing James under the shoulders and slowly lifted him up and draped him over her horse. Once she was sure he was on properly she stood back up and Alpine followed suit. Taking hold of Alpines’ reins in one hand and holding James in place with the other she looked down at Rocket.

“Ok, Rocket lead the way” she said and the rabbit began to hop into the forrest. Florence followed quickly behind hopping that someone would be at the cottage when she got there. Rocket seemed to understand the urgency of the situation because the little rabbit was moving fast through the wood. It was not long before the cottage came into view and she could hear people talking from inside.

The closer she got to the house, the more scared she became because, what would she tell them? 

She didn't want them to think badly of her. From how he spoke of his family, they mean the world to him and she had hoped to meet them under better circumstances. Becaise she knew, deep down, that James had come to matter to her far more than she could have expected in the short span of time they had known each other.

With her heart in her throat, she came to a stop in front if the cottage door and knocked once. The chatter inside immediately stopped and steps thuded on the floor before opening the door.

"Hello– oh I'm sorry.." her voice trailed off as she saw who opened the door. A dwarf. Much shorter than she'd expected given James stature, small in size with kind eyes starring at her expectantly before drifting off behind her and widening comically at the man laying on her horse' back. 

"James! What's happend to him?" He rushed out the door to his brother before the sound of many more steps came barreling down the door at his raising voice.

"What have you done to him?!" He shouted angrily at Florence, making her both frightened to respond but angry with how she was being treated.

"Nothing! It wasn't me!!" Florence tried to assure them men before her, with slight frustration in her voice, "we were berry picking and James said this nice old woman gave him a plum! I tried to tell him not to eat it but he went into this trance and then he just, collapsed." 

His family moved around Alpine and managed to get James down, carrying him with the seven of them into the small cottage. Florence wasn't sure if she should follow them or if they still assumed it was her fault. Maybe it had been. The ominous red glow in the middle of the plum should have made her work harder to stop him from taking a bite. Or maybe she should have just looked over when she heard him talking and she would have seen who it was. There had to have been something she missed.

"James!" The blonde man called, kneeling down beside his brother and putting his ear close to his face, "he's breathing," he assured his siblings before glancing up at the doorway where Florence now stood, "what did this woman look like?" 

"I - I don't know, I just heard him talking to someone, but I thought it was one of his creatures so I didn't think to look," Florence breathed, pulling her lip between her teeth and looking down at the concrete floor, "But I did see a flash of red hair when she walked away," she pointed out. 

The redhead female looked at her brothers, "Wanda. We should have known she'd find him one day. But he should have been more careful,"

“We told him again and again about talking to strangers,” a shorter, blond-haired, dwarf grumbled, casting a disparaging eye over Florence.

“Easy Clint, she brought him back to us. She didn’t need to do that,” the first dwarf replied, stroking a hand through James’ hair.

“Who is Wanda?” Florence asked, subconsciously clutching at the hilt of her sword in a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by the seven dwarves before her.

“You’re up Steve,” Clint grumbled, folding his arms in a huff as the dwarf that held James cleared his throat.

“Wanda is James’ step-mother. She married his father when James was but a babe and, as he grew, she became convinced that he would take the crown from her.”

“She’s achoo a witch!”

“Aye Tony, I was getting to that,” Steve said, offering his brother his handkerchief.

“She knows that as long as James lives then her power will weaken. When he was but a boy she commanded her huntsman to bring him into the forest and take his heart!”

“That’s horrendous!” Florence exclaimed, her hand reaching out to cup James’ cheek, a gesture not lost on any of his found siblings.

“The huntsman took one look at him and couldn’t go through with it. He abandoned James in the forest knowing we would find him and take him in,” Steve finished.

“But now she’s found him and tried to finish the job!” Another, dark-haired, brother cried.

Florence couldn’t stop the tears that tracked down her cheeks.

Never had her heart ached so much for someone. She glanced down at James, serene and soft in his sleep-like state. Florence didn’t understand how this had happened to someone like him, James was so kind and gentle, how anyone could try to harm him the way the— 

“Wait, did you say crown? He’s… he’s royalty?” 

Tony nodded, “his father was the king. James should have been next in line to the throne if Wanda hadn’t… well, you heard the story.”

Florence could do nothing but stare at them all, shocked by this new revelation. 

The silence was broken by a soft trill sounded from the windowsill, and Florence turned to see Redwing, perched on the wood with several other birds. Behind them, a doe and her fawn peered into the cottage, while Rocket sat solemnly in the doorway. 

“They care about him,” Florence whispered, “he made a life for himself out here.”

“We all care about him,” James’ sister stepped forward, a yawn stretching out her words, “he’s our brother.” 

Florence nodded, steadfast as she swept the last of her drying tears from her cheeks. There had to be a way to wake James, surely.

Florence looked from James’s family gathered around him where they laid him on the table to the assortment of animals all peering in to see their friend and back to James. The story his family just told him sinking in… James was the missing Prince from the Kingdom from the other side of the forest. Hadn’t she just been thinking that there was a way that she could fix that? Somehow, whether it be fate or destiny or her horse she had stumbled on said Prince. 

Looking down at James who seemed to be in a deep sleep she took a deep breath. “There has to be something that we can do. There is always a way to reverse magic… maybe, if I ride back to the palace I can bring back our healer. He knows some magic… maybe he can help” Florence said looking back to his family.

“Palace achoo you live in a palace?”  The one called Tony asked 

“Yes… My father is the King of the Kingdom on the other side of the forest. And if James is really the Prince from the other Kingdom then it is our duty to help save him. His Kingdom has diminished since he disappeared. I’ll go right away” Florence replied about to head out the door, but before she felt she turned back around to James and knelt over him.

“I’ll ride as fast as I can James, I promise” she whispered in his ear before placing a soft kiss on his lips. She stood back up and headed back towards the front door his family stepping to the side to let her through all watching her silently.

Her heart felt heavy in her chest as she went to climb atop her horse, the family and the animal's hopeful gazes following her every step.

Florence didn't know for sure if her family's healer could help James, the Queen's sorcery being much more powerful and darker than anything they'd ever heard of. 

It was fueled by hatred and greed.

She couldn't imagine anyone wanting to hurt people– especially James, so willingly. 

He was the last person she'd ever wish harm to. So sweet and kind and caring. And selfishly, from the moment of brief contact their lips had moments ago, his lips so soft and plump under her own. She wished to have the opportunity to kiss them again and again.

She would do everything in her power to help him, and maybe, to return him home. If he wishes so. 

Alpine hooves were heavy as they began to move, stopping abruptly and just as she was about to question why, a few shocked gasps could be heard before the birds birched on the cottage window started chirping excitedly.

The birds began to fly in circles around her head and Florence had to resist the urge to bat them away. She dug in her heels and to move Alpine onward but he remained stubbornly in place.

“Come on, boy, we need to go. We have to help him!” She demanded, her voice cracking.

“Princess!” A voice cried. “Come quickly!”

She turned to see Steven beckoning her madly from the door of the cottage and she leapt from her horse and hurried towards him.

“What’s the matter?!” She cried, worried that the witch had found a way to deliver James some greater torment.

Florence entered the cottage once more but halted abruptly as she took in the scene before her. James was propped up on his elbow, one hand rubbing across his forehead, his brows drawn down in a frown.

Like a magnet his eyes found hers and his face erupted into a smile so joyful that Florence could do nothing else but return it.

“You’re here!” He exclaimed, though his voice was hoarse.

“Of course I’m here,” she replied, striding over to his makeshift bed on the table. “I was only leaving in search of help.”

“Please don’t leave,” he whispered, reaching his hand out towards her.

She grasped it and he pulled her closer, managing to drag himself upright.

“I don’t understand.”Florence murmured. “You were under a spell so strong…”

“It was you!” One of the dwarves replied.

“Loki is right, Princess,” Natasha confirmed with a yawn.

“Princess?” James mumbled, not able to tear his eyes away from Florence’s face.

“Aye,” Loki said with a dopey grin. “You woke him with your kiss.”

“ I did not,” Florence protested, but could not help the way her eyes flickered down to James’ lips and back, nor the way he gazed back at her with such emotion.

“Only true love’s kiss can break a witch’s curse,” blushed Thor.

“I am not sure of the truth in that statement,” James muttered as his arm wrapped around Florence’s waist, “but I would very much like to test the theory.”

Florence  flushed a deep red as he leaned upwards but at the last minute she turned her head to the seven pairs of eyes that stared intently at them.

“Turn around at least!” She exclaimed, and with some shoving and jostling, the seven dwarves turned their backs to at least give some semblance of privacy.

“Where were we, your Highness,” Florence smiled, turning back towards James.

“From what I heard that title belongs to you,” he replied, leaning ever closer.

“There are still some tales to tell,” she whispered against his mouth as their lips finally met in a sweet, soft kiss.

[farlane]

The Chickadee and the Apple Tree

The Chickadee and the Apple Tree by Michigan Nut Photography Some gorgeous springtime pics from John along with a reminder to enjoy it while it’s here! See his latest on Facebook or Instagram and for sure view & purchase his work on his website.

[vampirejuno]

saw a black-capped chickadee in a crab apple tree by my home and stopped to talk to it and thought of you 🤍 birdwatching mutual 🤍

Oh my GODDDDD dude life's aspiration reached . I'm the bird guy

[broomballkraken]

Title: As in Coffee, As in Life Chapter 8: Kiss You Goodnight

Fandom: Octopath Traveler 2

Pairing: Osvald/Partitio

Word count: 6573

Warnings: None

Fic Summary: “A bit o’ sweetness helps everythin’ along. As in coffee, as in life.” That was the mantra of Partitio and Roque Coffee Company. Partitio’s first customer on the opening day of the café, however, very much disagreed with this philosophy…well, the coffee part of it anyway.

After learning more about Osvald, Partitio is determined to bring a little sweetness into the crestfallen professor’s life, whether he is ready for it or not.

Chapter Summary: After trying and failing multiple times to ask Osvald on a date, Partitio was worried that he would never work up the courage. Fortunately for him, Osvald beat him to it, and before he knew it, they were finally going on their first date.

It was an average day at Partitio and Roque, and Partitio was really in his element, slinging drinks and serving them up with a smile on his face and a skip in his step. He really counted himself lucky to be among those that could say that they were working at a job that they truly loved.

“Thankee kindly, have a nice day!” Partitio said as he handed a customer their drink. The door chimed and he looked up to see who came in, and it seemed that his already great day was destined to be spectacular.

“ Howdy, Osvald!” Partitio beamed and gave him a wave as he stepped inside. He felt his cheeks heat up and a nervous pit form deep within his gut. Ever since that day when he told Pops and Roque that he wanted to ask Osvald out, he had been trying to do just that. However, that was proving to be much easier said than done, and Partitio had chickened out in every attempt so far. Maybe today would be the day he didn’t screw it up...

“Good morning, Partitio,” Osvald said with a smile, and Partitio noticed that he wasn’t alone this time. Glancing down at his side, Partitio saw a young girl standing next to Osvald, gripping his hand and hugging a book to her chest.

“This is my daughter, Elena.”

Partitio’s eyes went wide, and they softened as he moved out from behind the counter and crouched down in front of her. He had heard a lot about her from Osvald, and she was just so darn cute!

“Heya Elena!” he said, ruffling her hair and grinning when she giggled, “My name’s Partitio, it’s great to meet you!”

“Hello, Mr. Partitio,” Elena said, letting go of Osvald’s hand and holding it out to Partitio, “Nice to, um, meet you too.”

Partitio gave her hand a shake, feeling his heart melt at her adorableness as he rushed back behind the counter. “What’ll it be today, partner?”

“The usual for me,” Osvald said, and the soft smile that crossed his face when he looked down at Elena made Partitio’s own lips curl up with fondness, “What would you like, Elena?”

“Um...Can I have a hot chocolate, please?”

“You sure can!” Partitio beamed and ducked behind the pastry case, returning to the counter with a strawberry danish on a plate, “And it’s your lucky day, lil chickadee! You just so happen to be my one-thousandth customer, and that comes with a free treat!”

“Wow, really?” Elena’s eyes went wide as a toothy smile crossed her face, and she tucked her book under her arm when Partitio handed her the plate. “Thanks so much!”

“Haha, you’re welcome!”

“Go pick out a seat Elena, and be careful not to drop that,” Osvald said, and Elena nodded, her brow furrowing as she slowly walked over to an empty table, her eyes never leaving the plate in her hands. Setting the plate down, she sat in the chair and immediately opened up her book. It seemed to Partitio that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in this case.

“Partitio...” He turned to find Osvald staring at him with an eyebrow raised. “She wasn’t actually your one-thousandth customer.”

Partitio barked out a laugh and winked. “Naw, I don’t really keep track of stuff like that.”

“Really?” Osvald crossed his arms over his chest, and the way that his lips curled up slightly caused a light blush to rise on Partitio’s cheeks. “You never seem to forget about your very first customer. Curious.”

Sweat started to bead at the back of Partitio’s neck, and he shrugged before busying himself with making Osvald and Elena’s drinks. “Well, er, that’s different. You turned me into a real bonafide barista that day.”

“ Plus,” Partitio winked when he handed Osvald his drinks, “You’ve stuck around for so long that I could never forget ya, even if I wanted to.” Partitio wouldn’t even entertain that idea, mostly due to the big ol’ crush that he had on him.

“I...That...does make sense.” Partitio greatly enjoyed watching Osvald stumble cutely over his words as he fumbled with his wallet. When Osvald did manage to finally pay, Partitio gave him a little wave before turning around to grab a cleaning rag.

“Well, enjoy your drinks, partner-”

“Er, w-wait.”

Partitio turned back to Osvald, a curious glint in his eyes as he scrubbed down the counter between them. “Something wrong?”

“Partitio are you...busy, after your shift today?”

“Hmm...Nope, don’t think so!”

Partitio tilted his head, an eyebrow raised as he watched Osvald’s cheeks turn pink. Clearing his throat, Osvald took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled slowly, and when his eyes locked with Partitio’s, the intensity of Osvald’s gaze gave him pause.

“Good, good. In that case, would you like to, possibly, go out to dinner...with me?”

Time seemed to stop while Partitio went wide-eyed and slack-jawed as he tried to process what he had just said. When he had finished with his internal screaming, he slammed his hands hard onto the counter, making Osvald flinch.

“A-Are you askin’ me on a date?!” Partitio blurted out, loud enough to cause a few heads to turn their way, but he didn’t care.

Osvald’s face flushed from pink to deep red, and he averted his gaze as he tugged at his beard. “...Ah, yes, I s-suppose I am.”

“I’d love to!” Partitio exclaimed, and the beautiful smile that crossed Osvald’s face was enough to make him swoon. “I-I’m off at 5!”

“Ah, well, I can meet you here, I assume?”

“Yes!”

Osvald let out a sigh, and the fond look in his eyes sent Partitio’s heartbeat off to the races. “I am...looking forward to it. I can finally buy you that drink that I owe you.”

“Hehe, can’t wait!” Their gazes lingered on one another for a moment, before Osvald finally turned to join Elena at her table. Partitio bit his lip and was barely able to suppress the excited squeal that threatened to burst out of him. Instead, he let out a startled yelp when someone grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the kitchen.

“ Oh. My. Gods! ” Agnea shrieked as she took Partitio’s hands and bounced on her feet. “I heard everything!”

“Yay Parti!” The wind was knocked out of him as Ochette launched herself onto his back, her arms wrapping around his neck and she squeezed him tight. “You’re finally going on a date with Pops!”

“Yeehaw! I sure am!” Partitio couldn’t contain his excitement anymore and let out a whoop as he punched a fist into the air. “I reckon I haven’t been this riled up since the café’s opening day!”

The trio hugged and continued to be vocal in their delight, until Thurston poked his head into the kitchen. “Um, you all are very loud. Everyone can hear you out here.”

“...Oops.” Partitio’s face burned with embarrassment, and after celebrating with Ochette and Agnea a bit longer with more restraint, Partitio and Agnea returned to the front. Partitio’s eyes flicked over to look at Osvald, who was reading while Elena enjoyed her danish. Osvald gazed at him over his glasses and chuckled, causing Partitio to smile and feel like the luckiest godsdamn man in the world.

“Hehe, this shift is gonna drag for you, you know,” Agnea said with a wink. Partitio let out a deep sigh, and then cringed as he gave his forehead a smack.

“Shoot, what am I going to wear? I don’t have time to run home...”

“Don’t you worry about all that.” Agnea whipped out her phone and quickly typed something. “I’ve got you covered.”

Partitio opened his mouth to protest, but he trusted Agnea so he decided to let her handle things. “Thankee kindly!”

After Osvald and Elena departed, Partitio was left to endure the excruciatingly slow rest of his shift. His eyes flicked to the clock every few minutes, and he groaned when he realized that ol’ Father Time wasn’t moving things along as fast as he wanted. Bastard.

When the clock read 4:30 and Partitio thought that he was going to lose his godsdamn mind, he perked up when Hikari and Throné entered the café.

“Howdy, y’all!” Partitio’s gaze fell to the bag that Hikari was carrying. “Whatcha got there?”

“Agnea told us about your date with Osvald,” Hikari said with a smile, “Throné and I brought you a change of clothes.”

“And some stuff to help you freshen up, of course.” A sly grin crossed Throné’s face as she winked. “Wouldn’t want you to stink when you lean in for that kiss at the end of the night.”

“T-Throné!”

Partitio’s face flushed beet-red as his two friends laughed. Well, that certainly would be a damn fine way to end the night, but he had to make sure that this date went well first. He sure hoped it would, anyway…

“Oh good, you’re here!” Agnea came out of the kitchen and gave Hikari a kiss on the cheek. “See Partitio, you had nothing to worry about.”

“I sure didn’t, thank y’all for lookin’ after me.” Partitio beamed and let himself be dragged off to the bathroom by Hikari and Throné. With ten minutes to spare before Osvald was supposed to show up, they emerged and Partitio felt like a million bucks.

“Shoot, I haven’t even worn this outfit yet,” he said, twisting about to get a good look at himself. His pops had gotten him a nice vest, tie, and slacks that matched perfectly with his favorite yellow coat. Now that he finally had a reason to wear it, Partitio was thankful that everything still fit him like a glove.

“Wow, Partitio, you really pull off the color yellow!” Agnea said as she clapped her hands, before helping him adjust his tie as he slipped into his coat.

“Yeah, you’re lookin’ pretty handsome!” Ochette hummed as she circled Partitio while nodding her head. “You’ll knock Pops’ socks off for sure!”

Partitio put on his hat for the finishing touch, and looked between each of his roommates, and dearest friends. “Thankee kindly, y’all. I reckon I’ve got the best friends in the whole wide world.”

“Heh, that’s pretty cheesy,” Throné teased as Partitio pulled all of them into a group hug, and he tensed up when he heard the front door chime. Thurston peaked into the kitchen with a smile on his face.

“Osvald is here, Partitio. Good luck.”

As Thurston returned to the front, Partitio swallowed thickly, sweat beading at the back of his neck. A pit of nerves had formed in his gut, and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He wanted this date to go well so badly, but maybe he was getting his hopes up too much...

“ It’ll be fine, Parti.” Ochette gave him a pat on the arm. “I know that Pops really likes you, so don’t worry and go have fun!” Her sincere words were enough to ease Partitio’s worry a bit, and he gave his friends another quick hug before he turned to head up front.

“Thanks again, y’all, see ya at home!”

“Good luck!”

“Have fun!”

“Wahoo! You better have a blast!”

“Use protection!”

“Throné!”

Partitio snickered when Agnea swatted at Throné’s arm, and he left his friends to their banter. Taking a deep breath, he finally moved to the front, and when his eyes met Osvald’s, the breath was stolen from his lungs.

“H-Hello, Partitio.”

Osvald smiled when Partitio came out of the kitchen, and he was given pause at how handsome he looked. Yellow wasn’t a color that just anyone could pull off, but Partitio looked rather dashing, and that made Osvald’s palms start to sweat.

Even though he was about to finally go on a date with Partitio, he was still trying to come to terms with the fact that he had actually gone through with asking him out. It had taken an embarrassingly long time to work up the courage to do so, and Elena asking why he was acting so weird was the tipping point that finally caused him to act. Given their rather obvious mutual interest in each other on Valentine’s Day, Osvald had expected Partitio to say yes, but he was still reeling from the complex mix of emotions that he was feeling right now.

“You clean up rather nicely,” Osvald said, and Partitio’s heart was beating so hard that he thought it might burst from his chest.

“ You too!” he blurted out, his face heating up considerably as he gave Osvald a once-over. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Osvald to dress nicely, but hoo-eey did he really go all out tonight! He had on a long, fancy trench coat over a vest and slacks, and his hair was pulled back neatly and tucked under a top hat. His facial hair was trimmed perfectly, and Osvald tugged at his beard with a glove-covered hand. Anyone else might have called his look a bit old-fashioned, but Partitio thought it suited him perfectly, and he looked damn handsome to boot.

“Ah, t-thank you.” Osvald felt his cheeks flush as he brought a fist to his face and cleared his throat before adjusting his glasses. He was going to keep the fact that he had torn his closet apart in order to meticulously put together the perfect outfit for tonight. Osvald wasn’t too confident that he had succeeded...that is, until he noticed that Partitio had been staring at him unblinking for a concerning amount of time after his blurted out compliment.

Turning towards the door, Osvald gestured towards it with his head. “Shall we?”

Partitio snapped out of his stupor and let out a nervous laugh. “Sure thing, Osvald!”

Osvald chuckled as they left the café together and started walking down the sidewalk towards downtown. Partitio’s heart was hammering hard in his chest, and his head was spinning with his excitement and anticipation for the night ahead. He hoped that he could keep his cool and not make a complete fool of himself.

“So, whatcha got in mind for dinner?” Partitio asked, his heart racing when he not-so-subtly brushed his hand against Osvald’s.

“There’s this new Italian place that opened up a few blocks away that I’ve been wanting to try, if that’s okay with you?”

Partitio gave Osvald an enthusiastic nod. “Sounds great to me!” A cheeky grin crossed his face as his hand brushed Osvald’s again, but this time Osvald grabbed it before it could swing away, and Partitio was not prepared for that.

‘Ohhhhh he’s holding my hand!’ Partitio thought, and he had to turn his head away and bite his free fist to keep himself from letting out a delighted squeak.

Osvald watched Partitio with an amused smile on his face; this was certainly an interesting reaction to hand-holding. His intentional hand brushing had not gone unnoticed, and Osvald made the bold decision to give him what he wanted. He just hoped that Partitio wouldn’t notice how sweaty his palms were…

After a few moments, Partitio finally looked back at him, and Osvald found the shy smile on his face to be rather...adorable. “Is this okay?”

Partitio’s eyes flicked down to their cupped hands, and he beamed and gave Osvald’s hand a squeeze. “Sure is, partner! I’ve, um, been looking forward to goin’ on a date with you like this for a while now, you know.”

Osvald felt his cheeks heat up at that, and he was relieved to hear that they were of the same mind. Clearing his throat, it was his turn to turn his face away when Partitio’s fingers entwined with his.

“I...feel very much the same.”

With both relishing in their newfound closeness, they continued on until they came upon the restaurant. Luckily for them, it wasn’t too busy, and they were seated in no time at all.

“Hello!” Their cheery server said as she brought them two glasses of water, “My name’s Ophilia, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Would you like anything else to drink right now?”

“Sure thing, Ophilia!” Partitio said, tipping his hat at her before taking it off, “I’ll have whatever IPA you’ve got on tap, please.”

She gave him a nod as she wrote his order down and turned to Osvald, “And I will have a whiskey on the rocks, please.”

“I’ll be right back with those for you.”

“Thankee kindly!” Partitio said as she left, and he turned his attention to the menu, “Shee-oot! This all looks mighty tasty!”

Osvald let out a chuckle as he took off his hat, and Partitio thought he looked really handsome with his hair pulled back. “I agree. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to enjoy a night out like this. I’ve been so busy with work and taking care of Elena.”

“How is she doing?” Partitio asked, quickly thanking Ophilia as she served them their drinks, “She seemed pretty happy at the café today.”

“Yes. She is getting better every day, it seems.” Osvald breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “Her doctor thinks that moving here has done wonders for her health. She’s been able to make friends at school and is very enthusiastic about trying all kinds of extracurriculars. I admit, it’s a bit hard to keep up with her sometimes.”

“That’s great to hear!” Partitio said, beaming as he held up his mug of beer. “Cheers to your daughter’s recovery!”

Osvald chuckled and held up his glass, clinking it against Partitio’s and they both took a drink. A content hum rumbled through his throat, and Partitio let out a long sigh and wiped his mouth.

“Ah! Nothin’ like a cold one after a long work day, eh?” Partitio tilted his head when Osvald averted his gaze and adjusted his glasses.

“I actually don't drink often. Only on...special occasions.” Osvald’s gaze returned to Partitio’s as he swirled his glass, and Partitio’s mouth hung open as he watched Osvald lift it to his lips and take a sip. His eyes flicked down to Osvald’s throat as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion, and Partitio’s face grew hot when Osvald slowly licked his lips.

“Hoo-eey...” Partitio squeaked out when he found his voice, and he let out a sheepish chuckle as he tugged at his collar. He wasn’t used to this flirty side of Osvald yet, and Partitio was in danger of turning into a flustered mess.

He was saved this time by Ophilia returning to take their orders, with Partitio ordering the chicken parmesan, while Osvald got the goulash.

“Oooh, I haven’t had goulash since I was a little chickadee!” Partitio said, and a wistful look appeared in Osvald’s eyes.

“It is one of my favorites. Rita’s...was always the best.” It was a hard topic for Osvald to talk about, but just being in Partitio’s presence seemed to make it much easier.

“Shucks, I bet it was.” Partitio offered him a small smile. “My ma used to make it for me too. It always made me feel better when I was sick.”

Something was hanging on the tip of Osvald’s tongue as he wrestled with whether to voice it or not, but he was quick to make up his mind. “You’ve never mentioned your mom before.”

��Ah, right...” Partitio shrugged and rubbed at the back of his neck, and Osvald frowned at the sadness that he saw in his normally bright-like-sunshine eyes. “She died of cancer when I was a kid. It was pretty devastating, for both me and my pops.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Partitio let out a sigh as he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Yeah, it was really horrible losing her, but seeing the toll that it took on Pops really made it so much worse.”

“But...” A small smile returned to Partitio’s face as he opened his eyes and looked at Osvald. “He luckily had someone to help him get the both of us through it, and I’m happy to call that man my stepfather now.”

“You...had someone to help you through Rita’s death, didn’t you?” Partitio’s voice was soft and hesitant, and Osvald offered him a reassuring smile and a slight nod.

“Yes. Clarissa is one of my oldest and dearest friends, and she was instrumental in my recovery. Her husband died years ago, so she could offer the kind of empathetic support that I desperately needed to keep going, for myself, and more importantly, for Elena.”

“I’m really glad she was there for ya, Osvald.” Partitio’s smile was beaming, and even though Osvald had seen it countless times, it never failed to take his breath away.

Their somber conversation was cut short when their food arrived, and Osvald chuckled at the way Partitio’s eyes lit up and he licked his lips.

“Thankee kindly, Ophilia! This looks great!”

Ophilia smiled sweetly as she took their empty drinks to refill them, and Partitio was quick to dig into his food. “Hoo-eey! This really is great! How’s yours, Osvald?”

Osvald took a bite of his goulash and closed his eyes, savoring the taste of bittersweet nostalgia. “Very good. Would you like to try it?”

“Oh, sure thing-” Partitio started to reach his fork across the table, but froze when Osvald’s goulash-loaded fork appeared in front of his face.

“Hurry and eat it, before it falls onto the table.”

Partitio’s felt his face flush as he blinked slowly a few times, before his mouth opened just enough for Osvald to fit the fork inside. He hummed with approval at how tasty the goulash was, and he couldn’t help but think back to the time that he had fed Osvald at the Fall Fair. He remembered thinking that feeding each other would have been embarrassing even if they were more than friends, but Partitio now knew that he had been dead wrong. He loved it.

“That sure is good, thanks!” Partitio gushed, batting his eyes at Osvald when a cute blush rose up on his cheeks, “You wanna try mine?”

“Ah, y-yes.”

Partitio bit his cheek to keep himself from giggling at Osvald’s bashful answer, and he eagerly fed him some of his meal. He found himself not caring that they were in public this time, and from the way that Osvald hadn’t hesitated in the slightest, Partitio figured that he felt the same way.

“ It’s good.” Osvald cleared his throat as an attempt to hide his blush and calm his rapidly-beating heart. It was a bit odd, being so openly affectionate with someone after such a long time, but Osvald found that he liked it, a lot .

A comfortable silence fell over them as they ate their meals, but it quickly became uncomfortable as Osvald’s mind wandered to a topic that he was hoping to keep buried. He thought about that day at the gym often, and the guilt he felt about lying to Partitio about why he had suddenly left gnawed at his heart, so he decided that he needed to come clean.

“Partitio...” Osvald said after he had finished his meal, “I have a confession to make.”

Partitio winced and smacked a hand to his forehead. “Uh-oh, you’re not gonna tell me that you’ve been lying about being a professor and have been using your chemistry smarts to make meth in your basement all this time, are ya?” A cheeky grin crossed Partitio’s face, and Osvald stared at him for a moment before he burst out laughing.

“W-What?” Osvald wheezed, pausing to remove his glasses so that he could rub at his eyes, “Aha, I think you’ve been watching too many tv dramas, Partitio.”

“Hehe, yeah. Throné’s into that kinda stuff. I think her questionable taste is rubbin’ off on me too much.” Partitio brought a hand to his mouth to stifle his snickering, and he cleared his throat. “Er, but seriously, what’s on your mind?”

“Well...Do you remember that day at the gym? When I had to leave unexpectedly?”

Partitio’s chest tightened, and he nodded slowly with a frown on his face. He did remember that. It was so sudden, and the fact that Osvald had been absent from the café for a long time afterward made it seem that it was something that he had done. Osvald had assured him that it wasn’t though, but he set his jaw and braced himself for the worst as Osvald continued.

“I told you that I was kept away from the café due to work and trying to keep up with Elena’s extracurriculars.” Osvald paused as he folded his hands on the table in front of him and took a deep breath. “That...wasn’t the truth.”

“Oh, I knew it.” Partitio groaned and covered his face with his hands. “I was too forward when I asked to workout together again, wasn’t I? Damn it, I knew that was a bad idea-”

“Wait.” Osvald reached out to take Partitio's right hand and pull it away from his face. Partitio peaked at him with one eye, and he slowly lowered his left hand, while keeping a hold on Osvald’s with his right.

“I admit that you asking that was the trigger for it,” Osvald continued as he gave Partitio’s hand a squeeze, “but - and sorry if this sounds cliché - it wasn’t you, it was me.”

“Frankly, it...scared me when you said you wanted us to become closer.” Osvald's voice was soft, and Partitio’s heart hurt at the way his pained gaze fell to the table. “It broke me completely when I lost Rita, and I haven’t felt anything close to a spark for someone else...until now. I was worried that if I acted upon my feelings for you and it didn’t work out, I would revert back to that dark place.”

“Oh, Osvald...” Partitio felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He had no idea that he had felt like that, and he felt a bit guilty that his affection for Osvald might have had a negative effect on him. “I’m sorry-”

Osvald shook his head and offered Partitio a small smile. “No need to apologize, Partitio. Clarissa was able to knock some sense into me, and made me realize that I was sabotaging my own chance to find happiness again. I’m not afraid of getting closer to you anymore.”

Partitio’s face lit up at that, and Osvald continued: “That being said...I would like to take things slow, in regards to us. I need adequate time to sort out my...complicated feelings about dating again.”

“Oh, that’s fine with me!” Partitio blurted out, “I like ya a lot, Osvald, and I wanna make you happy in any way that I can!”

Osvald tilted his head at Partitio with wide eyes. He was a bit surprised that Partitio had taken his request so well, and the amount of compassion contained in this one man never ceased to amaze Osvald.

“Thank you, Partitio. I...also like you, er, a lot...” Osvald cleared his throat and averted his gaze, and Partitio couldn’t help but think that he looked so cute!

Ophilia had returned with the check, and after a bit of back-and-forth, Partitio relented and let Osvald pay this time, but he insisted on paying the tip, which Osvald reluctantly agreed to.

“Shee-oot, I’m stuffed!” Partitio let out a satisfied sigh as he rubbed at his stomach with his free hand. His other was holding Osvald’s, and the latter chuckled as he laced their fingers together as they walked down the sidewalk.

“That place was nice, and it was pretty reasonably priced as well.”

“We’ll have to go again sometime for sure!”

Osvald shared a glance with Partitio and nodded, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’d like that.”

Partitio beamed at him, and tilted his head when he heard music coming from somewhere ahead of them. He knew that there was a park in that direction, and he excitedly tugged Osvald towards the source. “C’mon, let’s go see what the commotion is about!”

“Alright.”

Osvald chuckled as he let Partitio drag him into the park, where the source of the music appeared to be a jazz band playing a show. A small crowd had gathered around them, and many people were dancing to the beat.

“Oh hey, that’s Gil’s band!” Partitio said when they stopped at the front of the crowd. Gil was jamming out on a keyboard, and when he spotted Partitio, he grinned and shot him a wink.

“They’re very good,” Osvald commented, nodding his head as his foot tapped along with the beat, “He must have been an excellent teacher.”

“Sure was!” Partitio flicked up the brim of his hat before tugging Osvald to the middle of the dancing masses. “C’mon, let’s dance!”

Osvald hesitated and worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m, er, not a dancer by any means.”

“Me neither!” Partitio barked out a laugh and took both of Osvald’s hands. “But, it doesn’t matter as long as you have fun!”

Osvald smiled at Partitio’s unbridled enthusiasm, and he felt his hesitation melt away completely. “You make a fair point.” He let Partitio take the lead, and as they awkwardly flailed about together in something that vaguely resembled dancing, Osvald felt...genuinely happy, for the first time in a long, long time.

After they had danced the night away and exhausted themselves completely, they returned to the café where Osvald’s car was parked and he gave Partitio a ride home. Partitio felt bittersweet as he stepped out of the car and they walked up to his porch; he wished that this perfect night would never end.

“I had a really great time tonight, Osvald,” Partitio said when they were standing in front of the door. He could hardly hear himself speak over the roaring of his heartbeat in his ears, and there was one thing that would make this perfect night even more so. However, Partitio remembered that Osvald wanted to take things slow, so unfortunately for him, he would probably have to wait a bit to find out what it was like to kiss him...

“I did too. Thank you for coming out with me, Partitio.” Osvald felt his palms start to sweat as his hand lingered in Partitio’s, and he wasn’t sure what the right course of action was at this moment. Maybe it would be best to wait to go any further than they had already and take things slow.

“Well, I should be going. I have to pick up Elena from my parent’s place.”

“Ah, right...” Partitio’s heart sank when Osvald hand slowly slipped from his own, but he managed to keep a smile on his face and waved when Osvald turned to head back to his car. “Have a good night!”

“You too.”

Halfway to his car, Osvald stopped mid step, biting his lip as he waged a silent war in his head. The aching longing in his heart was overwhelming, and much too powerful to ignore. This wasn’t a sufficient way to end this incredible night. There was something else he needed to do, or he would surely regret it.

Spinning on his heel, Osvald walked at a brisk pace back to Partitio, who was still standing on the porch, but was now looking at Osvald with his head tilted and an eyebrow raised.

“Somethin’ wrong, Osvald?” Partitio asked, his feelings of disappointment morphing into confusion.

“No, it’s just...It seems that I’ve forgotten something important.”

“What do you-?” Partitio started, but the rest of his words caught in his throat when Osvald’s hand moved to cup his cheek. Their eyes locked, faces so close that Partitio could feel Osvald’s breath against his skin. All Partitio could do was nod slightly, giving Osvald silent permission to press their lips together in their very first kiss.

‘H-Holy shit...’ was the only thought that passed through Partitio’s mind, surrounded by lots of internal screaming. Osvald was...kissing him. Osvald was kissing him!

Osvald’s face was hot and his breath was stolen from his lungs as he continued to kiss Partitio. The warmth that flooded through his chest was overwhelming, and when butterflies erupted within his gut, he knew in that moment that what he felt for Partitio really was something special. Partitio wasn’t reacting much, and Osvald pulled away, hoping that he hadn’t made a terrible miscalculation.

Partitio had been frozen with shock, and he pouted when he realized that their kiss had been pretty one-sided. He stared up at Osvald as he tried to find the right words to say within the jumbled mess that was his mind right now.

“Ah, was that...okay?” Osvald asked, and he was scared to hear Partitio’s answer.

“Yeehaw!” Partitio blurted out, which stunned Osvald for a few seconds before he burst out laughing so hard that tears stained his face by the time that he composed himself. His face burned with embarrassment, but Partitio soon found himself laughing right along with Osvald.

“Hey, Osvald?” Partitio smiled as he snaked his arms around Osvald’s neck, pulling him down until their foreheads touched. “I think I blundered that kiss pretty badly, can I have a do-over?”

Osvald chuckled and reached up to caress Partitio’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Of course.” The words had barely left his mouth before Partitio’s lips captured his again, and Osvald let his eyes slip shut and pulled him flush against him.

Partitio felt like he was floating on air. He smiled against Osvald’s lips and giggled when his mustache tickled his nose. He had been dreaming of this moment for so damn long, and it was everything he had hoped it would be. He really didn’t want this night to end now...

Their passionate kiss continued, until Partitio heard a loud ‘thud’ from behind the door, causing a startled Osvald to break away from him. Grabbing the door handle, Partitio flung it open, causing his roommates to tumble out over the threshold.

“What in tarnation do y’all think yer doin’?” Partitio crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at his roommates, who were scrambling over each other to try and retreat back into the house.

“Oops! Uh, congrats Parti, Pops!” Ochette called out as she chased the others inside.

“Go on, git! Ya nosy rascals!” Partitio called after them as he shook his fist. He closed the door and turned back to Osvald, who was trying and failing to stifle his laughter. A big grin slowly replaced the pout on Partitio’s face, and they both burst out laughing until they were both wheezing and gasping for air.

“S-Sorry about that,” Partitio said when he finally caught his breath. Osvald let out another chuckle and pulled Partitio into a hug.

“It’s fine. You have good friends, Partitio,” he said, resting a hand against the back of his neck as Partitio rest his head on his chest.

Partitio smiled as his arms wrapped around Osvald and squeezed him tight. “Yeah, they’re a bunch of troublemakers, but I wouldn’t trade ‘em for the world.”

Tilting his head up, Partitio’s eyes locked with Osvald’s, and their lips met in another tender kiss. When they parted, Osvald took a step back, his hand still holding Partitio’s.

“Goodnight, Partitio,” he said, and Partitio internally swooned when Osvald brought his hand to his lips and placed a tender kiss on the back of it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, at the café?”

“You sure will!” Partitio beamed when Osvald’s hand slipped from his own, and he waved when Osvald started walking back to his car. “Have a good night, and drive safe!”

Osvald turned when he got to his car and gave Partitio a nod, their gazes lingering a bit longer before he finally got in and drove away. Partitio watched as his car disappeared down the street, and he gave his cheeks a few smacks to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

“Shucks...” Partitio breathed, and a goofy grin was plastered on his face when he finally went inside...

“Yay, Parti!”

...where he was immediately set upon by his overly-excited roommates.

“You kissed! You kissed!” Agnea shouted as she hugged one of Partitio’s arms.

“C’mon, tell us everything.” Throné tugged him towards the living room, where Hikari had set up some snacks on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Alright, alright! Just hold yer horses and let me collect myself here...” Partitio said, and he was soon recounting his dream date with Osvald to his closest and dearest friends, and that had Partitio already looking forward to what the next one would have to offer.

---

“Mom, Dad, I’m back.”

“Oh, Osvald!”

Closing the door behind him, Osvald smiled as he turned to find his mom rushing towards him from the kitchen. He had to crouch down so that she could kiss him on the cheek, and she took one of his hands and gave it a pat.

“You must tell me how your date went-Ah, wait, your father will want to hear this.” Turning her head, she yelled down the hallway behind her. “Harry, Osvald’s back! Come here!”

“Give me a moment, Diana.”

After a few moments, Harry came walking down the hall, hand-in-hand with Elena. A smile crossed his face when he gave Osvald a once-over, and he turned to Elena. “Elena, go and see if Coffee needs to go out before you go home, okay?”

“Okay, grandpa!” Elena said, and she gave Osvald a wave before she ran off to find Coffee. When she was out of earshot, Harry turned back to him.

“So...How did it go?”

Osvald thought back to how perfect this night had been, and tears welled up in his eyes. “Mom, Dad...It was incredible.”

“Oh, Ossy...” Diana pulled Osvald into a hug as tears fell down his face, and Harry wrapped an arm around him as well.

“I’m happy for you, son.” Harry gave Osvald’s shoulder a squeeze as Diana gave Osvald a tissue to dry his tears and blow his nose.

“I was so shocked when you said that you had a date tonight, but I can just tell from looking at you how happy you are.” Diana’s eyes also grew watery, and Harry chuckled as she took out a tissue for herself too.

“Tell us about it, would you? Elena’s probably gonna be playing with Coffee for a bit, so she shouldn’t overhear anything,” Harry said, and Osvald nodded as they went into the kitchen. Diana poured them some tea as Osvald recounted the best night that he had in a long, long time, and he couldn’t wait for his next date with Partitio.

[unearthlydream]

there’s a male cardinal outside my window and he was chirpin away being so cute!!

and then a female cardinal rolled up on him!!!! are they strangers? old lovers meeting in the crab apple tree??

I should give them privacy but they’re just so PRETTY !!! Plus there’s a chickadee perched above them so I’m like if he stays iiiii stay

[overwhelmedfernfrond]

If your blog was an ecosystem, what plants/animals/fungi would it have?

Ohmygoodnessilovethisquestion!!!!!

Okay so for producers it’d have like ferns, lavender, violets, moss, mint, lilac, apple blossom trees, venus flytraps, cornflower, willow trees, white clover, blue lake algae, mimosa pudica, kalanchoë daigremontianin, sage, and rosemary

Second trophic level would be rabbits, prairie chickens, chinchillas, chickadees, angelfish, silver trout, koi fish, mice, magpies, meerkats, black-footed ferret, sprague’s pipit, loggerhead shrike, white-tailed deer

Third trophic level: lynxes, foxes, pumas, cougars, leopards, cheetahs, polar bears, orcas

Some of this might not make logical sense ecology-wise but I think my professors will forgive me 😭😭

TYSM for the ask!!

🌱

[margauxstmichelline]

Chickadees with apples.  So cute.

There are Chickadees in Ridgewood, NYC, NY (Quooklyn)  I see them during the Spring.  Though to find Apple Trees you need to go Upstate.

Chickadees, I surmise, are Apple Tree guardians.  Lil feathered angels who guard apple trees from poachers.

Don’t be a poacher online because of the Code of Conduct.  They’re more toxic than online litterbugs.

I found this photo at http://www.pinterest.com/sdsoeta (Sherry Soetart)

Her Apple Art board.

However, just to let you know, after the following pin, it’s from http://www.fineartamerica.com   So there’s an actual artist.  Let me know if you know who the artist is in a Note.

~Margaux St. Michelline

[coffee-in-europe]

january: black-and-white films, old records, red lipstick, classical music, gold earrings, city lights, garnet clothing, champagne, glitter, russian literature, snowstorms, art galleries, dimly lit restaurants, high-heels, chickadees, frosted windowpanes, silk shirts, espresso, pomegranates, snowy owls

february: candy hearts, roses, grapefruit, trench coats, mittens, dark chocolate, calligraphy, sealed envelopes, vanilla cake, ballet, romance films, chandeliers, late-night phone calls, musicals, aurora borealis, marshmallows, pink lipgloss, poetry, freesia, movie theatres, ballads, pressed flowers, stained glass, teacups

march: dark comedies, photo albums, lemons, cold rivers, baking, tidying, colouring, movie marathons, nonfiction books, newspapers, clovers, train rides, fashion magazines, pasta, orchids, podcasts, houseplants, sketchpads, yogurt, celestial art, bubble baths, charcuterie boards, moonlight, ice floes, crystal glasses, coffee dates

april: disney cartoons, rubber boots, tulips, mauve nailpolish, fresh vegetables, cold rain, journals, lavender, fresh eggs, pink blush, birdsong, morning frost, rosemary, tulips, foggy mornings, aloe vera, ponds, herbal tea, puddles, lilies, bunnies, floral sheets, marmalade, pastoral novels, frogs, english custard, lily pads

may: picture books, daisies, farms, warm breezes, cherry blossoms, early mornings, fresh-baked bread, gardening, childhood reminiscing, dandelions, honey, meadows, hummingbirds, butterflies, rainbows, sugar cookies, polaroid cameras, wild mushrooms, carnations, frescoes, silver lockets, brown bears, pancakes, rivers, greenhouses, white sheets

june: jean shorts, pop music, white wine, beach days, yoga, sunday brunch, ice cream, concerts, wildflowers, fluffy clouds, morning dew, cotton candy, turtles, popsicles, kayaks, watermelon, pineapples, vineyards, sparklers, bicycles, denim jackets, swans, asphodels, cocktail parties, gooseberries, lilacs, hollyhocks

july: adventure stories, oranges, lakehouses, campfires, festivals, disco nights, strawberries, figs, starry skies, iced coffee, fireworks, street markets, bumblebees, trumpet vines, strappy sandals, sunglasses, patio lights, linen, denim skirts, pizza, fruit smoothies, pizza, rainstorms, peaches, lagoons, white dresses, astronomy

august: golden sunlight, nostalgia, willow trees, nature poetry, sunrises and sunsets, picnic baskets, sunflowers, crickets, cicadas, colourful quilts, cherries, rolling hills, maxi-dresses, tall grass, dragonflies, crochet, renaissance art, vine tomatoes, overalls, roadtrips, hammocks, sunhats, waterfalls, tabby cats

september: coffee, book piles, croissants, long walks, classic novels, braided hair, notebooks, film festivals, apples, pears, farmers markets, forests, jigsaw puzzles, owls, tortoiseshell glasses, orchards, library cards, foxes, tweed blazers, climbing ivy, tea kettles, maple syrup, goldenrod, lanterns, waffles, boardgames

october: pumpkin patches, black turtlenecks, ginger pastries, fireplaces, wet leaves, ankle boots, corduroy, birch trees, cafés, bookshops, castles, caramel, rainy mornings, blustery nights, town fairs, countryside walks, cinnamon, nutmeg, old houses, black cats, bakeries, creeks, thick blankets, city blocks, white chapels

november: candles, red wine, ancient ruins, greek mythology, second-hand books, plaid blankets, mahogany nailpolish, mystery novels, museums, burgundy sweaters, dinner parties, gemstone rings, icy breath, black coffee, language studies, antique shops, white roses, cobblestones, lace, cathedrals, firewood, audiobooks, crescent moons

december: soft snowfall, christmas carols, pine scent, wool socks, irish stew, fairy lights, thick books, fantasy stories, throw pillows, shortbread, comfort films, window shopping, scarves, icicles, peppermint, carrot noses, angels, hot chocolate, skates, pinecones, caribou, gingerbread, crackling fires, hot toddies, cashmere