#plant flowers that are destined to be trampled on

[jus-de-poire]

yes madam, the special today is manic heartbreak, with a side of running to your beloved to beg them to hold you close

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 21st

Day 21: Gun Play // Monsterfucking // Shower - Bath Sex

Centaur!Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Virginal sacrifices, bondage, vaginal fingering, loss of innocence, monsterfucking, horse cock, curses

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

For the last three months, you have been led to this moment. Guarded and well-fed. Given everything that your heart desires and showered with presents, food, even jewels to wear. Your status in the region has been elevated. The wooden laurel on your head showcasing your purpose and strangers stopped you on the cobblestoned streets to give blessings to the gods for your sacrifice. 

Golden chains bind your hands and feet. Loose enough to allow you to walk, but still keep you from running away. Naked, you are paraded through the streets. Cheering Romans citizens throwing flowers and seeds in the air. Marking the traditional path that you will be guided by the centurions that are tasked with seeing you to your destination safely. Leaving you there to the whims of the beast. 

The last one hundred years has been marked with prosperity. The annual sacrifice made to the guardian of the lands insuring the year’s bounty. A virgin, chained to the altar in the clearing and left to be consumed by the beast. 

Over the years the citizens had learned not to anger the beast, knowing that if the woman provided was not a virgin, the sacrifice would be rejected. The year’s crops are destroyed by giant hooves that trample and destroy everything planted in the dirt. 

Through the city you are led, out past the fields that will be planted and into the edge of the woods that the beast makes its home. The stone altar comes into view and you shuffle to a halt as you stare at it. 

It’s not the typical altar that you would expect. It is a large stone, carved out and worn smooth over the years. The rings driven deep at certain points used to anchor your chains to it and keep you from escaping. 

It’s curved and odd shaped, making you wonder how you will lay on this. “Move.” The guard closest to you yanks on the chains and drags you forward. Making you swallow as the reality of your demise is quickly approaching. 

“Please. I-” You start to say that you need just a moment, but you are cut off.

The guards all tut, yanking you forward and starting to stretch your limbs over the altar and secure them to the rings. You are bent over, spread out and embarrassed by how vulnerable you feel even though you had just been paraded through the streets completely bare as the day you were born. Now you feel exposed, your womanhood on display and you close your eyes tight. 

They never say another word to you. The whistle is sharp and piercing, but the guards disappear from your limited vision, even as you try to twist your head to look behind you. It’s like they vanish into the mist that has started to gather along the edge of the trees. 

You wait, the silence starting to drive you mad. You’ve never been good at waiting, but it is all you can do right now. 

Until you hear the snapping of a twig. Your head pops up from where you had been laying it on the altar. Trying to twist around to see what is coming, but you can’t turn that far. Your arms are stretched out too far, you are bent too far over. “Who- who’s there?” You call out, another snapping twig makes your heart skip a beat. 

Something is coming. You swallow harshly and close your eyes, afraid that your time is up now and the beast is here. 

“Another one.” Your eyes spring open when you hear a voice. A man’s voice, weary. You shiver and tug on the chains. 

“Don’t- don’t release me.” You hadn’t meant to say that, but it is what pops out of your mouth. 

“Why?” There’s a sense of surprise in his voice, as if that was the last thing that he had expected to hear from you. 

“I- t-th-the beast-” you stammer, clenching your fist and swallowing harshly. “It- I am a sacrifice.” 

“A sacrifice.” He hums and you can hear the shuffling of feet behind you, making you tense again. It doesn’t sound like sandals on the hard packed ground around the altar. “For what?” 

“To the beast, so that there will be another year’s harvest.” You explain, unsure of how he doesn’t know this. Everyone knows that there is a sacrifice to the beast every year. 

“You are the first that did not beg to be let go.” The man seems impressed by that. Making you frown as you try to twist around more, to see who is behind you. 

“The first?” You don’t understand, trying to push up against the edge of the altar. To lift your head enough to see. 

“Sacrifice.” 

Your blood runs cold as you feel a hand slide up the left cheek of your ass. “What-” 

“The gods cursed me.” He speaks as if he hadn’t heard you. “Failing to win a battle they wished to be won.” 

You frown again, not understanding why he is telling you this. Or who he is. “I don’t understand.” 

He chuckles slightly and there is another shuffle, a set of hooves start to come into view. Making you frown even harder until your eyes trail up and you see that the hooves and body of a horse are attached to the torso of a man. A centaur. 

“Gods.” You gasp, eyes blowing wide and you gulp. “You- you’re the beast!”

“Guilty.” The man flashes you a startlingly attractive grin. His features are handsome, although he has a strong hook to his nose and his hair has gray in it. “Although I don’t eat the virgins brought to me.” 

“What do you do?” You are breathless as you ask the question. Unsure if you want to know the answer. This is not how you thought this would turn out. 

“Let them go.” He admits, lifting a brow. “None of them would help break the curse.” 

“Break the curse?” You ask, making him smirk as he watches you. He has to be lying. None of the other virgins had returned. None of them had come back to their families. The only ones that had survived had been the ones rejected. The ones who had later confessed that they weren’t virgins. 

“I have to take your purity to regain my human form.” It sounds incredulous, but then again, you are talking to a centaur. A mythical beast that was not supposed to actually exist. Centaurs were stories that mothers told their young to keep them from sneaking out into the woods alone.  

You choke out a laugh, understanding now why you are naked and secured to this stone in such a way. This was to allow it to be easy to mount you. 

“It is not a falsity.” He huffs, looking mortally offended by your laugh. “The catch is that I could mount a hundred virgins, but she must be willing to take me.” It had been crushing to discover the gods were especially cruel to add that little caveat to the entire thing. 

He watches you, you can feel his eyes on you as you think about what he has told you. You are chained to this altar, at his mercy but in reality - he is at your mercy. Without your willingness, he will still be stuck in his current form. 

“I am your sacrifice.” You remind him quietly after a few moments of silence between you. You had been chosen to give your life for the good of everyone. What did your virginity matter? “What you do with me is up to you.’

His nostrils flare, jaw clenching and he stares at you. Waiting for you to change your mind. Waiting for you to steal the hope that is flaring in his chest. He has never had a virgin offer him what you are gifting him with. 

“What is your name?” You ask, waiting for him to say something, do something. You had almost expected him to leap on you after agreeing, but he was still watching you. 

“Marcus.” He replies after a moment. “Marcus Acacius.” 

Your eyes widen, having heard the stories of Marcus Acacius. The general who had defied the emperor’s and had fought in the arenas of the colosseum. Some had said he had died on the sands, others said he had retired and lived out his life as an old man. You now know that he had not. He was standing in front of you, half man half beast. 

You tell him your name and bite your lip. “Will it hurt?” You ask, not sure what to really expect from a beast. 

“Probably at first.” He won’t lie about that, but he hopes that you don’t change your mind. The chance to be human again is being dangled in front of him like an enticing carrot. 

“O-okay.” Your voice trembles and you press your face against the stone to squeeze your eyes shut. “Uh- do- do it.”

He groans, cock under his belly starting to twitch and lengthen, pushing out of the protective sheath. Your cunt is on display and he can see that you will need some moisture to ease his cock’s passage inside you.

“I will get you ready.” It has been years since he has actually fucked a human, letting the sacrifices go and sending them away to live out their lives somewhere else.

This centaur, this monster, is actually considerate. He could have just mounted you and been done with it, there would have been nothing you could do to resist, but you feel his hands between your thighs. Human hands. Fingers probing and pressing, massaging until your mouth opens on a soft moan. 

“That’s it.” Marcus growls softly, approving of how wet you are starting to get. You seem to accept his touch, your folds slick after just a few minutes and he is already aching. Still he doesn’t rush. 

You’ve never been touched like this before. The mist has spread around you when you open your eyes, almost shielding any unwanted eyes from the altar. Isolating you from the outside world, or perhaps even transporting you to another realm. From the way he is touching you, he is taking you to meet the gods. Your moans start to get louder, more demanding. The chains around your wrists and ankles rattling slightly as you try to push your hips back, whimpering for more. 

You are a gift. A treasure. Marcus stamps his hooves impatiently, eager to mount you and feel how tight you are around the non-human cock he possesses right now. 

“I- I think- ooooooh!” You squeal when he presses his fingers just right and feel your core heat up, a rush of pleasure drowning you as you cry out. 

You’re ready. Marcus pulls away and starts to lift his front hooves onto the stone altar. It has been designed for his body, allowing him to hold himself up and position to mount the person strapped to the stone. 

You bite your lip, feeling the air moving as he shifts. This is happening. Your body tenses slightly when you feel something poking, but all you can think is how hot it is. It feels like it’s burning, branding you against your skin and when you feel the smear of liquid, you realize what is poking your ass. 

“I can’t help guide it in.” Marcus admits, his human body braced farther above you because of the angle. “Just relax. I will try to go slow.”

It takes him a few tries and you try not to squirm, reminding yourself that you are a sacrifice. Even if you had thought it meant your life, your virginity doesn’t matter. 

The thick, blunt horse cock of the centaur finally is pressed against your entrance and you take a deep breath. 

Marcus shakes in his need to push into you. Gritting his teeth, sweat beads on his forehead. Trying not to let the animal instinct take over. “Relax.” He cautions and starts to shuffle forward to break you open. 

It’s big. Bigger than you’ve ever even imagined and your cry is instinctual. Making Marcus snarl in response and his cock seems to be pushing up into your stomach but he just keeps going. The stretch of him is too much but it doesn’t even hurt, just overwhelms. 

Your fists clench together and you push back making yourself take him even deeper until his great length is fully buried in your virgin cunt.

“Fuck!” Marcus shouts, rearing up and sinking deeper before he starts to pull back. 

Once he has taken you, all you can do is hold onto the anchor that keeps you tied to the altar. Squealing and keening as he starts to move inside you and steals your breath away. 

Taking the heavy, thick thrusts of his enormous cock that seems to feel like a hammer driving into you. It hurts and feels incredible at the same time, ripping a sob from your throat as you imagine the scene you are making. This centaur, this creature, is driving into you again and again, breeding you. Fucking you. 

Marcus prances in his hind hooves as he fucks you, sinking deeper and deeper as your sweet virgin cunt opens up more, flowering for him and taking the rougher thrusts he is helpless to temper. 

That feeling in your stomach starts to curl again. Building up as he plows into you. The inhuman sounds he is making above you adding to the sensation and the slickness of your cunt grows. 

“Mar-Marcus!” Your gasp of his name is screamed out into the mists, the forest around you ringing with the sound as you start to chant it over and over again. Stars bursting behind your eyes and your entire world going dark with a loud roar and a rush of heat inside you. 

****

“Wake up. Wake up sweetheart.” Your eyes peel open slowly, body aching and you groan quietly. 

You’re on the ground, unchained from the altar and laying on a bed of soft down and leaves. Warm, concerned brown eyes staring at you in wonder as you come too, slightly disoriented and feeling like you have just woken from a dream. 

“You- you did it.” Marcus breathless exclaims. He looks down and your eyes follow his to find the very naked lower body of a man where the horse’s body had once been. “You broke the curse.”

“You- I did?” You frown but it turns into a smile when he beams at you, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. 

“You did.” He repeats. “And now I am yours for eternity.”

[olivescales3]

If your still doing the writing prompt how about gorzan and worriz

Thanks for the ask anon! I hope you don't mind Cragger narrating the scene, but this is mostly about Gorzan and Worriz

Worriz and I have planned this, ever since that... incident. Where I was attacked at Forever Rock.

I'll make sure these pesky, putrid hypocrites regret what they've done. We'll reclaim what is ours– first it would be my honor, and the Chi. The threat of my wrath, alongside the Wolf Tribe's army are enough to warn them. I don't want to meddle my parents into this mess, and neither does my ally... Or should I call him my friend?

Our battle strategy was prepared by him and his first order was to wreak havoc on the Sanctuary Forest; undoubtedly due to his hatred towards plants, but also because the Gorilla Tribe is allied with the Lion Tribe.

We'll protest against the crime committed against me. I'll target these lions the same way they targeted me.

Stone wheels from everywhere trample the flowers on the ground, strangling the plant life in our path. I observe the flora around me while Worriz rides his Pack Tracker; the nature here is lush and humid kind of like my home.

Happily for me, my first and last destination here is the Gorilla Village. A rich region filled with hanging huts on trees, though the main tree we shall target is the Tower Flower. This'll disrupt their pathetic 'peace' and bring them down to reality– an opportunity for them to comprehend how corrupt the lions are.

Late at night, the darkness showers the gorillas, unaware of the pain that'll be brought upon them.

Worriz' eyes glisten like stars in the middle of the darkness, laying his paws on the main panel's buttons, ready to press them and shoot that damn tree down. His snarl strengthens as we get closer to our destination.

Suddenly, a dark figure propels itself onto our seats.

"Don't mess with our village, dude! What did nature do to you two? You guys have no reason to harass us.", the silhouette growls, revealing itself to be Gorzan.

Worriz shoves his hands onto the primate's chest, but he retaliates in the blink of an eye, grabbing my ally by his ripped shirt's collar.

I whip out my sword—

Gorzan punches my jaw.

He slaps Worriz and breaks the vehicle's control panel. The car is now useless.

My head falls on the steering wheel, my only eye's vision is dim, but I can hear the discussion near me.

"Argh! You idiot gorillas are just mere tools with your mindless violence. We have actual fire power here, so, give up. Get away from my sight!", the wolf barks.

"Mindless? Who's mindless in this situation, man! You're trying to kill the Tower Flower. You're trying to kill us!"

Gorzan pushes my light body onto Worriz, and rips off the steering wheel. He opens his mouth prepared to call for help, but my ally punches his lips and shouts before him,

"My comrades! Attack!"

The wolf pack howls, stunning our enemy, then they start shooting down the tree with their Chi cannons. I regain back my weak sight, and watch as Worriz jumps down off the Pack Tracker, with his dope double sided saw on his hand, slashes the tree.

Huts surrounding us glow, with the Gorilla Tribe now awake and witnessing our unbeatable might– though it is too late for them, because the tree falls down to the ground, shaking the land and dropping a few of the housings as if they were seeds.

Gorzan rushes towards the now deceased Tower Flower, his face frowning in regret and shame. His friends also come to mourn the dead tree alongside him.

While Worriz, who hopped on the back of another Pack Tracker, is giggling, I'm unable to do anything else but stare at this mess.

That's a big mess, if I need to say so myself.

I think... that this attack might've been a bit too ruthless. We could've just ran over a buncha' flowers.

"Don't be as pitiful as these cretins, Cragger. What are you, a coward? Admit our victory and move on.

He screams, "Take that, idiot! Next time, don't mess with us, and keep your annoying cult elsewhere!"

I follow him up to the same car he's in. We quickly u-turn to avoid facing these dumb idiots. Our job here is done, and now we need to organize ourselves as fast as possible to execute or heist at the Lion Temple.

[trailsofbutterfly]

The Enchanting Bluebell Walk.

Immersed in spring's splendor through a captivating natural wonderland, reveling in the exceptional beauty of the season. The woodland floor was adorned with a breathtaking carpet of bluebells, transforming it into a scene straight out of a fairytale. It felt like stepping into a completely different world.

Nestled near the Duke's estate, we stumbled upon a hidden treasure trove: a flourishing patch of Hyacinthoides non-scripta, typically found in ancient woodlands.

Meanwhile, the surge in tourism at the Blue Forest near the capital has led to careless trampling of the delicate flowers, hindering the growth of new plants. Each year, bare patches become increasingly evident, a stark contrast to the overwhelming number of social media posts showcasing the location.

This nearby spot served as our perfect "travel dupe", offering a far less crowded alternative, capturing the same enchanting atmosphere and aesthetic beauty.

The unpredictable nature of the climate and overcrowding at popular destinations are reshaping how we travel. The appeal lies in discovering hidden gems, venturing off the beaten path, and experiencing authentic travel moments.

[binalis]

𝐅𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭 & 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧

As a child, I loved playing with dandelions. I made wishes before blowing their puffy seeds and watching them float away on the breeze. Like if they would carry my wishes to the heavens. As an adult, I still appreciate this little but fascinating gift of nature and I smile when I see them. Although I’ve learned what a pain they can be in the garden, I never spray them with weed killer. In fact (when I had a lawn) I don’t even dig them out of the lawn. Dandelions are not just a weed. They are a beautiful, useful, and versatile flower. Here’s how I believe that dandelion is my favorite plant.

Once upon a time, dandelions were a beloved flower and considered a normal part of a healthy lawn. Then we invented chemical herbicides. Because chemical weed killers also kill dandelions and other wildflowers that you may find in an untreated lawn, the producers of weed killers spent a lot of time marketing a new concept of a healthy lawn, that is, one with nothing but plain green grass.

Moreover, it is one of the first spring foods for bees. I also came to know that the entire dandelion plant is edible. Dandelion plants are full of nutrients.

Dandelions are also often considered to have medicinal qualities. Studies on animals show that dandelion may help normalize blood sugar levels and lower total cholesterol. It is also a well documented appetite stimulant. Consumption of this weed has even been linked to improved digestion.

Dandelions have deep roots which is what makes them so hard to remove but this also leads to many benefits for the soil. The deep roots break up densely packed soils allowing for more water and air flow, which is healthy for soil ecosystems. These roots also bring up nutrients to the surface, benefiting plants like tomatoes which have shallower roots. Even the shoots you do pull up can be useful to your garden. The leaves of the dandelions are nutrient rich and can make great compost or mulch for your lawn and garden.

But that is just the tip of ice berg. Let me explain why I like dandelions the most.

To me, dandelions remind me of the beauty, determination, and wild strength of nature. Have you ever walked down a street and noticed a small bump in the tarmac each day you walk past that bump, and it seems to get slightly bigger? You probably ignore it.

Then one day, you notice a small delicate flower has popped up. It has pushed its way through the tarmac. Finally, its bright yellow flower and gloriously green leaves reach the sun, surrounded by a desert of tarmac. I imagine it shouting out, "Hello world. I'm here!” Dandelions and nature, in general, remind me of several of the things we need to manage our wellbeing effectively. It's also helpful to remember that nature won't be rushed, and may be we don't have to rush to our destination and miss the journey in the process. Life, after all, is about the journey, not the destination.

In my example, we can see that the dandelion is nothing if determined. Despite the best effort of the tarmac, the hardcore underneath, the trampling feet above, it is determined to push through and reach the surface. So sometimes, we, too, need to be determined to keep trying and not give up.

Einstein well said

"Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better."

It has also shown resilience. It didn't give up. Through grit and determination, it kept on growing. It could have given up. It could have thought, what's the point? But it didn't. It had life, and it fought to grow for the chance to flourish and thrive. Again, this is something we have to do. At times of struggle, we must dig deep, get back up when we fall, keep putting one foot in front of the other. But as long as there is life, there is hope; And if there is hope, there is growth.

The dandelion, and nature in general, also reminds us that life is a marathon, not a sprint. When you watch things grow, you will notice you don't see much. Growth occurs through consistent small, slow steps. Nature doesn't rush, it can't be rushed, but it gets everything done.

As dandelions provide insects with food and shelter, and in turn, they pollinate its flowers. Our world, our survival and our well being depend on our connectedness with each other and nature. Being mindful of nature can help us remember this interconnectivity and how our actions impact others and vice versa. Remember the saying

"If you want to travel fast, go alone. If you're going to travel far, go together."

Returning finally to dandelions, there is one final reason I love Dandelions. No matter how hard we try to eradicate dandelions from the face of Earth, they still show up. Occasionally, we have to accept those things that cause us distress. Indeed, sometimes that's the only path that stops them from hurting us.

We can use my love of dandelions to illustrate one final point; we can see the same things in different ways. Some find dandelions a frustrating weed but I see them as inspirational flowers. All of us are different, and all of us have our own unique problems and struggles that might not be so challenging to others. Being aware of this can also help us be less judgemental when others are struggling and too ourselves. Your struggles are not invalid because others do not share them, and vice versa.

Next time you see a dandelion, don’t think of an invasive weed that must be nuked. Instead think of the gifts of nature, pretty flowers, food source, inspiration. Whatever you do, enjoy, don’t destroy!

[es-kay-zee]

This Is How We Fall - Chapter 1

pairing: hyunjin x female reader

genres: angst, smut, maybe occasional fluff, lots of religious overtones, fantasy au, slowburn (or at least an attempt at it)

warnings: none

word count: 2.7k

taglist: @jisungsplatforms ​ @etherealeeknow @qtieskz (if you wanna be added let me know)

proofread: definitely not

a/n: this took me longer to write than i thought it would, but oh well. let me know what you guys think of it :)

____________________

You’re going to die.

That’s all you can think as you plummet through the sky at record speed. The only thought in your head is about your imminent death. And the only thing you can feel is the burning. You don’t have a chance to think about anything else as the pain emanates from your entire body. Your skin feeling as it it’s been ignited with the flames of Hell. The pain is debilitating, it cripples you to the point where you can’t even scream.

Time seems to slow around you, your Fall feeling as if it’s lasting several millennia. You’re just Falling silently as you wait for it all to be over. You wait for your body to go up in flames, for your pain to end. And when flames steadily begin to engulf your wings, you think it’s finally going to be over. The flames dance along your wings, devouring every feather in their path. And you can feel every single one. You can feel every single feather be consumed by the flames. You can feel the way each and every one is turned to dust and scattered in your wake. It’s only a matter of moments before every feather is gone and all that’s left is the charred and blackened remains of your wings.

You expect the flames to engulf the rest of your body, but they don’t. Instead, they die down, slowly shrinking until they disappear completely. The flames are gone, and along with them, the burning. You feel nothing. Hollow. Empty. There’s nothing but an absence of anything as your descent continues. But there’s something about the moment that feels almost calming. As if you no longer have to worry about anything.

Until you hit the ground with a loud crash, and it feels as if every bone in your body breaks upon impact. You wish the impact could have killed you, anything to stop the pain. But that’s not possible. Only a Blade of a Divine can kill an Angel. All the crash provides is a fresh new wave of pain to every nerve ending in your body, but worse than the ache that you can feel everywhere, is the burning of your lungs. The dust from the ground swirls all around you, dancing in the rays of sunlight. It fills the air, fills your lungs, and it burns almost as bad as the flames did.

Your mind screams at you to stand up and figure out where you are, but it’s several minutes before you can even move your fingertips. Slowly, oh so slowly, you manage to sit up, opening your eyes and squinting at your surroundings. The first thing you see is the dust that’s still floating around you, particles coming to a rest upon your skin. The air starts to clear, and you can see trees. An endless sea of trees all around you. A dark, lifeless sea. The trees are dead, dying at best, only a few leaves clinging onto the otherwise bare branches. Those few leaves are dark, sad, not even lit up with the colours of autumn.

You look down, trying to figure out what you landed on, because it sure hurt a lot worse than dirt. Beneath you, you find a cement altar table, upon which rests the cracked indent of your body. Around the edge of the altar table grows flowers, just as dead as the trees. The surround the altar table, acting as a gloomy autumnal-toned barricade between your landing place and the rest of the world around you. And as you gaze down at the colourless flowers, you start to wonder if, perhaps, that is just how all plants grow here. If they’re not actually dead, but they simply appear as if they are. You reach down for a petal, expecting to find it dry, but instead it’s soft, delicate, full of a life that is just not visible.

You slowly rise to your feet, being sure to step over the line of flowers as not to trample them. They’re beautiful, in their own way, and there’s something special, about them being the first thing you’ve touched in this new place, that you will always hold dear to you. Finally standing, it takes everything not to collapse back down to the ground. Your body and mind both feel heavy, as if they’re being weighed down with bricks. Willpower. That’s what you need as you stumble closer to the trees. If you weren’t so determined to figure out more about where you are, then you wouldn’t’ve had the strength to will your legs to carry you. But you are determined, and that’s what carries you as you make your way through the seemingly never-ending forest. It’s not easy, you’re weak and tired, but you push through. You have no idea where you’re going, or what you’re going to find, but whatever it is has to be better than nothing.

It’s about an hour before the exhaustion gets too much, and all you’ve managed to find in that time is a small clearing containing another altar table. It’s strange, you would’ve thought you’d somehow just travelled in a circle if it weren’t for this altar table being smooth. It’s undamaged, free of any blemishes. It’s clear that you didn’t land here. It’s surrounded by another ring of gloomy flowers, and the untarnished surface is the only indication that you’re not exactly where you stared.

You step towards the altar table, again being sure not to tread on any of the flowers before taking refuge on the cement surface. It’s cold, the chill from the cement seeping through your clothing, turning your skin icy as you lay down upon it. It’s only for a moment, you tell yourself. You’re only allowing yourself a moment to rest your weary body before continuing on your journey to find something, anything that lets you know you’re not the only being here. But as your eyelids start to droop, you tell yourself that maybe a little bit longer will be beneficial. That perhaps a short nap will provide you enough strength to travel further.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The alarm blares obnoxiously through the room, reverberating off each of the walls. It’s been a long time since the siren’s gone off, months since this sound has echoed down these halls. The young man jumps up from his seat, running over towards the map. He sees two markers pinging in the forest, small lights flashing at both points. It’s only a matter of moments before the room is filled with other people too, all surrounding the young man looking at the map. He’s shocked that there’s two pings, never before has that happened. He’s quick to divide the gathered group into two teams, instructing the first to search one site and the other to search the second.

Within minutes of being given instructions, the teams are setting out on their assigned missions. It takes them each several hours to reach their destinations, the places being some of the furthest away from the palace. The first team arrives at the first location, and are shocked to find no one there, just a broken altar table and no signs as to which way the person travelled. The second team yielded better results, finding someone sleeping restfully upon the concrete. They try waking her, with no luck. So instead, they opt to just carry her all the way back. She sleeps the entire way, not stirring even once from her deep slumber.

They make it back to the palace, walking through the quiet halls, carrying her towards one of the sleeping chambers. She’s placed on the bed, showing no signs of life other than her steady breathing. Even though it’s unlikely that she’ll wake up, everyone is quiet as the file back out of the room. She’s exhausted, the Fallen always are when they first show up. The young man enters the room, holding a blanket in his arms. He drapes it over the sleeping person, being sure to cover their entire body. He pauses for a moment, taking in the beauty of her face, before quietly exiting the room, allowing her to sleep until she’s recovered.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Gold.

It’s the first thing you see when your eyes flutter open. You see hues of golden, shining in the flickering light of the numerous candles lining the walls. Your eyes slowly start to focus, and you realise that it’s golden locks of hair framing the most beautiful face you’ve ever seen. You try to focus on the details of the face, but you’re eyes keep drifting back to the hair, the shades of gold rivalling only those of the solid gold architecture of Heaven’s palace.

It’s the first bit of colour you’ve seen since you were banished, since you were sent away by the very Archangels you served. And you’re enchanted by it. Your desire to know where you are is overpowered by your desire to never look away from such a beautiful colour.

“You’re awake,” speaks the golden-haired person, and the words pull you out of your daze.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I suppose I am.” You’ve only just awoken but you’re already so tired once again.

“Get some more rest. We’ll take you to meet The Boss when you’re fully recovered.”

“Recovered? But I’m fine now.”

“No, you’re not. You can barely keep your eyes open and,” he pauses, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead. It’s soft, his touch, and you desperately want to feel more of it. But he pulls his hand away sooner than you wanted him to. “Yip, you’ve still got a bit of a fever. It’s fine, the Fall really takes it out of ya. Just a few more days of resting and then you’ll be good to go.”

“Wait, few more days? How long have I been sleeping?”

“About four days so far.”

“Four days!?” you want to sit up, but you’re still so exhausted that you can barely move your body.

“Yeah, but that’s normal. We’ll answer any questions you have when you wake up again. We also have a couple questions for you as well, but for now, just go back to sleep,” his voice is calming, and at just the sound of it you can feel yourself drifting back into a dreamless slumber.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

By the time you open your eyes again, the room is no longer lit by burning candles. Instead, sunlight pours through the large windows, bathing the room in a warm light. It’s comforting. Peaceful. The way the light streams through in visible rays is breath-taking, reminding you of the warm summer days in Heaven.

“How are you feeling?” a voice asks from across the room. You slowly sit up, turning to face the direction of where the person spoke. You were hoping the voice belonged to the boy with golden hair, but it doesn’t. It belongs to another boy, this one with dark hair. He’s holding a spare change of clothes in his arms as he walks towards you.

“Uh, fine, I guess,” you reply. “I don’t feel so tired anymore.”

“That’s good. These are for you to wear. What you’re wearing now can be cleaned for you if you want. But in the meantime, you can wear this,” he smiles, placing the folded clothes on the bed next to you. You look down at the clothing currently covering your body, and it’s obvious that the dust from the altar table is caked into the fabric. “I’ll be waiting just outside the door while you change. Just come poke your head out when you’re done and then I’ll take you to meet The Boss.”

He disappears out the door, closing it softly behind him, and you finally have a proper moment to look at the room you’re in. It’s a large room, the ceiling towering high above your head. The bed is large too, and the whole place reminds you of the bedrooms in Heaven’s palace. There’s an extravagant fireplace on the wall opposite the bed, in front of which sits a lavish couch, a deep red in colour. Grand curtains frame the large windows, and it’s in the light of day that you can see the sconces resting upon the walls. It’s beautiful, the architecture and interior design, absolutely stunning.

You pull your attention back to the clothes next to you, not wanting to keep the boy waiting for too long. You stand up, legs slightly wobbly as you do so. A shiver runs down your spine when you pull your dusty clothes from your body. The air is cooler than you thought it would be, the sunlight doing surprisingly little to warm the space. You quickly redress yourself in the new garment, paying little attention to what you’re wearing, just wanting something over you to be warm once again. It’s only when your reflection catches your eye as you walk past the intricately-framed mirror that you notice what you’re actually wearing. It’s a dress, one more beautiful than you’ve ever worn before. It’s plain, but that’s where it harnesses its beauty from; it’s simplicity. You pry your eyes from your reflection, continuing on your way to the door. You pull it open and are greeted with the sight of the smiling boy.

“You ready?” he asks, the smile never leaving his face as you nod in response. “Good, now if you’ll just follow me. And if you can hold all questions until we get there because The Boss can answer them all for you.”

“Can I ask one thing now?” you say, unable to help smiling at the boy’s chirpiness.

“Sure, I’m not usually that good at answering questions, but I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure you can answer this one with no problem.”

“Really? That’s good. So, what’s the question?”

“What’s your name?” He pauses for a moment, halting in his tracks as he turns to face you.

“Goodness! I never introduced myself! Sorry about that, I’m Jisung. Nice to meet you,” he holds out his hand, and you reach up and shake it. “What about you? What’s your name?”

“Well, Jisung, it’s a pleasure to meet you too. I’m y/n.”

“Y/n. That’s a pretty name.” Your cheeks warm at the compliment, a smile gracing your lips.

You both continued walking forwards, turning various corners and passing numerous doors. But there’s something about the path you’re both taking that feels all too familiar. As if you’ve walked these exact halls before. But you can’t shake the feeling as you continue walking. It plays on your mind, and it’s not until you Jisung stops in front of a pair of large doors, arching high above you both that you realise why it feels so familiar. It’s because you have walked these walls before. Not these exact ones, but the one’s in Heaven’s palace. They’re identical to the hallways of this palace. Your heartrate picks up, your mind thinking back to the last time you were in front of these doors. Back to when your life changed. Your sentencing.

Jisung steps forward, knocking twice on the door, the sound echoing though the otherwise empty hallway. That’s one difference between these doors and the ones in Heaven; these don’t have guards stationed on either side. The heavy doors slowly swing open, and immediately you notice more differences. This room is filled with light, sunlight beaming through many windows and skylights. And there’s less thrones. In Heaven there’s four of them, but here there’s only one. And upon it sits a man. A man who holds all the power here, it’s obvious from the way he holds himself that he’s in charge. His posture impeccable, him radiating an authoritative aura. The same aura as the Archangels in Heaven. But also, different. The man before you seems homier, comfier. Just being in his presence makes you feel safer than the Archangels ever did. This man radiates a level of comfort and security that you’ve never felt anywhere else.

“What’s your name, child?” Even his voice is soothing, making you feel warm.

Y/n,” you reply, freely giving away your name for the second time today.

“Hello, y/n. I’m Lucifer. Welcome to Hell.”

[otomes-world]

Good Night

This oneshot was based on AU series of @tri3tri​​  (っ˘ω˘ς ) I hope you like it! This piece had happened before mc starts neglecting her son and yes, this is lyrics from Down to the Sea

Life is a strange, unaccountable thing. Many people rush from one extreme to another in the hope of learning its secrets, but they are destined to sacrifice their own hearts and souls, without achieving anything. Lilia often repeated that people's mood is difficult to predict, it changes faster than the wind in the sea.

Therefore, Malleus, like a sailor whose boat was thrown from side to side, tried to maneuver on a voyage called "Family Life". However, he voluntarily started it, waited impatiently and hoped. It`s a pity that fate and you had other thoughts on this matter.

You never wanted this wedding, this life that Draconia and Vanrouge so kindly forced on you. The descendant of fairies perfectly understood your feelings, how you felt like a flower that was transplanted from the usual soil into a cold, foreign one. He only hoped that you could take root, like a plant, in a new home.

You couldn't do it.

He sincerely wanted to support you, to comfort you in difficult times. However, the man, like no one else, knew that such actions on his part were perceived by you only as a mockery. A venomous, sarcastic joke.

You was right.

You was always right, even if he didn't want to admit it. Considering Malleus practically ruined your life. Broked the sand castle of the relationship you built in college. Trampled hopes of returning home, to your real home. Not the pitiful parody that you are now living in.

Let your marriage be purely for show. Let it be like fluffy clouds, creating the illusion of a happy family life. Let the servants began to doubt the sincerity of your feelings for each other. Malleus couldn`t or rather didn`t want to change anything.

Because the only change you would approve of was divorce.

On the one hand, you wanted to return back what the Draconia had so cruel taken from you. However, on the other one, you understood that you couldn`t do this anymore. The friends you cherished so much no longer remember you for their happiness.

Nevertheless, no matter how harmless the animal might look, the predator will always remain a predator. No matter what, you were ready to bare your fangs and fight for what you thought was right. It doesn't matter how futile the attempts were or how severe the punishment was. This is what the brunette loved and hated about you at the same time.

Your interests have never coincided; you have always wanted the diametrically opposite. The happiness of one inevitably entailed the suffering of the other. A painful relationship, which could only be broken by the efforts of both parties.

Malleus thought that in time you will accept, get used to new conditions, new responsibilities. He hoped that becoming a mother would make you warmer, softer and calm stubbornness.

And so it happened.

With the advent of your child, you began to smile, rarely, hardly noticeably, but still smiled. You allowed yourself quietly humming the melodies of songs you know alone. It`s a pity that all your tenderness and love was still not intended for him.

The man knew that you didn`t want children, the reason for this decision. You didn’t want to leave behind anything significant, because no matter what they say, your heart will forever remain where you couldn`t return anymore. You wanted to die unbound by anything. Free.

This is what Draconia couldn`t allow.

As much as it hurt, he couldn`t let you go. You were the key to the soundness of his mind. He would have broken without you.

"You are my world my darling, what a wonderful world I see"

A gentle voice brought the thoughtful king back to the present.

"You are the song I'm singing, you're my beautiful Lucien"

Raising his head, he saw his wife looking tenderly and rocking the child in her arms.

"This is your world my darling, one world the land and sea"

He saw a smile that he had long since given up hope of seeing again.

"My hope for you for always is that your heart will part of me"

And an expression full of love that was not meant for him.

True to your word, even being in the same room with him, you didn`t deign to your husband even a glance. The ringing silence of your evenings was broken only by the crackling fire in the fireplace. People have to be blind to not understand your sincerely feeling toward Malleus.

However, there was at least one part of him that you loved.

[dirt-cup-draco]

Jaskier x Reader- Songbird and Dove

For love languages: Could I request Jaskier + Words of Affirmation, please? Thanks so much!!

Jaskier ran his calloused fingertips over the swoops and curls of every word. It felt unreal holding this cursed paper in his hand. He scoffed, trying to keep tears at bay. Geralt would have actually tried to see if the letter was cursed and Jaskier did wish it was something so easy to fix. Jaskier had to chew on his lip until blood welled up and shocked him back into a more stable set of mind as the iron hit his tongue.

He had a funeral to plan.

“And what’s a darling thing like you doing in a shit hole like this?” Jaskier had ambled over to your table where you picked at a stew, legs travel wary and mind numbed. No room for playful flirting with a drunk bard. 

“Trying to eat in peace,” You said softly, no real venom attached. You would have been all for a nice time with the handsome man but you were simply too exhausted to enjoy anyone’s company. 

What you weren’t expecting however was for the high energy man who had been tossing back another ale and belting it out on stage no more than five minutes before the sit down heavily beside you, his wide grin melting away to something far more gentle as he rolled his head on his shoulders to relieve some tension. 

“Now correct me if I’m wrong but-” He was cut off by two men who had gotten into a fight near the bar, their raised voices interrupting everything as they began to throw punches. Soon enough they were thrown out and you turned your gaze back to the now exhausted looking bard. “-but it feels nearly impossible to find peace here,” 

For some reason you felt like his words held more weight. It wasn’t just here that he was finding no peace. You got another drink and ordered one for him too, amused at the way his eyebrows raised to his forehead, gratitude and apprehension in his eyes. 

“Where do you go for peace then songbird?” You teased, nudging his leg underneath the table glad to see that the stranger who had fallen into a sober melancholy moments before had a smile ready on his face again. It seemed more genuine than the charismatic smile he had approached you with. 

“The name is Jaskier, feel free to wear it out,” He added almost like it was second nature and you rolled your eyes fondly. “But I’d let you call me anything,” You had to giggle. He was charming like this. Head thrown back as the impressing of his peers made him tired. His face gleamed with a layer of sweat but he wasn’t grimy like most of the patrons of the inn. 

“Alright Jaskier, seeing as I’m too young not to live life-” You stood, hand stretched out to him and it only took a moment for him to accept your offer- his seat screeching loudly against the rough flooring. “I’ll give you my company for the night on the condition you take me somewhere peaceful.” 

“Ah yes, waste your young years on an old man like me.” Jaskier winked playfully. He couldn’t be more than five years your senior so you couldn’t help but snort at the insinuation of his age yet envy burned in your heart and you had to stomp it out quickly before your own feelings of being in unfair world took over your mind for the night. 

Squeezing your hand with a comfortable level of affection the many surprisingly didn’t take you to his room at the inn but instead lead you out the front door. You went to the stables and you wrinkled your nose as you could smell the horses long before you could see them.

 “The stables?” You questioned. One hand in Jaskier’s, the other hovering near the dagger at your hip. He was a charming man with honest eyes and you had followed him this far yet you weren’t going to forget all caution. 

He glanced down to your hand and laughed softly. “Please dont gut me in front of Daisy, she’d be horrified,” 

“Daisy?” you puzzled. 

“My darling and dashing steed!” Jaskier dropped your hand to take two more long and dramatic strides to a stunning dark horse with expressive eyes, a white spot on her rear somewhat resembling the flower Jaskier had mentioned. 

He kissed her snout affectionately and she shook her head, making a fuss. “Attitude just like Roach I tell you,” Jaskier laughed but it seemed his words caught up to him and his shoulders slouched with a curious wait. 

You kept quiet as shadows of the past darkened his demeanor but a stomp of Daisy’s hoof at not being given attention had brought him back and he sent you a sheepish look. “Would the lady like to sit in front or behind me?” He asked, drawing Daisy out of her pen. 

You shrugged but then thought on it a moment before helping yourself onto Daisy’s back as Jaskier kept her calm and steadied. “I think I’d like to if you’ll only tell me where to go,songbird” 

Jaskier hoisted himself up behind you, his arm now soothingly tight against your midsection, your back relaxing against his chest. Your stomach did flips and you decided it was no waste to spend your time with this man even if you suspected it would only be for a night.

--

Jaskier ran his fingers down Daisy’s mane, a gash in his chest that he couldn’t heal. Oh how much simpler it had been to be Geralt’s companion when all he had to do was make coin, be a nuisance and slap a bandage on whatever bled whether it was him or his grumpy companion. 

He couldn’t place a bandage over his heart however and so he was steadily dying from the inside out. “I’d join her but who would take care of you?” Jaskier sighed, forehead pressed against Daisy’s neck, a smile twitching at the man’s lips as she let out a huff of air as if she was telling him he better not go anywhere. 

The letter stayed folded neatly in his doublet yet it felt like it had caught fire and was now burning away through him. Even as Daisy began to trot steadily Jaskier couldn’t come to terms with his destination. 

--

“Where next?” You skipped alongside Jaskier as he waded through a field- Daisy tied to a tree nearby- sometimes catching sight of an herb or flower he collected. You had noticed in the few weeks youd been traveling with him that he had a sharp eye that seemed out of place for such a silly man. 

However you had also found that Jaskier was far more than a bard. He was intelligent and quick and every night you two settled down too far away from an inn he’d be quick to get a fire going, food already caught in a trap he’d set. You’d asked the first night you’d stayed together where he’d learned such things but he had fallen silent before changing the subject to a certain star in the sky and you hadn’t tried again. 

Jaskier thought on it a moment, grabbing a daffodil before you trampled it. He paused for a moment and you lingered with him. “The coast maybe,” He mumbled, eyes searching yours as he tucked the yellow flower behind your ear his other hand warm against your cheek. 

“Will you be coming with me?” Jaskier hesitated to ask, eyes now focusing on the swaying blades of grass as a breeze swirled around you. You grinned wide, pulling him closer to you into a hug and resting your ear over his heartbeat with thumped wildly with his insecurities. 

“What would a songbird be without their dove?” You jested, having grown fond of the nickname he’d given you the night he’d taken you to a quiet spot in the woods declaring it to be his peace, his muse. You hadn’t realized then that you would follow Jaskier wherever he traveled. 

At your words he settled down considerably, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead that made your heart leap. There wasn’t need for words between you two as you walked hand in hand back to Daisy and began picking up. To the coast you would go. 

--

Jaskier never thought he would go back to the place that had been haunting him for four months. The small cottage was nestled close to the edge of a cliff that made way to sand that seemed to glitter in the sun at high noon, the water stretching endlessly into a view that he had missed and longed to return to. 

The daisies and daffodils you’d planted were now overgrown and took over the stone pathway to the front door and Daisy stomped impatiently as he approached the door slowly. Jaskier felt guilt tear at him. It was as if his steed was waiting for you to leave the home any second now and the three of you would go on another adventure.

His hands shook as he knocked on the door he had painted the day you two had settled in. 

“Y/N? I’m here.” 

--

You had never meant to grow so attached. Yet the months had melted away so easily in his presence and you couldn’t help it. Jaskier had become the whole part of you and you wished you could be whole for him too. You knew that would never be however as you excused yourself from your place at his side to wander into the woods. 

Traveling had made an easy excuse for when you had to go off on your own. With the guise of needing to relieve yourself you would walk until you couldn’t see or hear Jaskier anymore and then you’d finally let out the harsh coughs that you forced yourself to hold in when you were with him. You didn’t need him to worry and the crimson that had started to paint your hand when you pulled away would do just that. 

You wiped your hand on some grass, cleaning your mouth against a dark cloth you kept tucked away. “I’m back!” You called to Jaskier and your breath was stolen (before you could even really catch it again), from his beautiful grin as he met you halfway, picking you up and twirling you in his arms. 

“I didn’t think I was gone so long to get such a greeting,” 

“My dove, I need to show you something,” Jaskier said, peppering kisses all over your face until you were giggling but you had to step away before you were forced into a coughing fit. 

“Then lead the way,” You smiled, hand stretched out to his knowing that there’d never be a time where he wouldn’t take it.

You couldnt withhold your gasp as Jaskier led you with sweating palms to a beautiful cottage that sat atop a cliff. The sea was gorgeous and gleaming in the distance and you were overwhelmed with it’s beauty. 

“Oh Jask...” You sighed, looking back to your starry eyed lover. “It’s gorgeous but what are we doing here?” 

Jaskier cleared his throat, cheeks gone red as he squeezed your hand. You had come to recognize he did it to comfort you but also when he was nervous and you didn’t quite know which time it was now. 

“Y/N, I’m amazing with words as you know-” He began and you laughed, kissing his palm. “but I’m at a complete lost right now. You deserve poetry and songs and art all dedicated to you and your beauty. I’ve never met a more perfect soul and I want us to live here, together. I don’t care if we go in the right order, marriage could be next week or in five years or never. It doesn’t matter to me so long as you’re by my side,” 

Your heart sped up and you melted at the same time the blood turned to ice in your veins. You’d been lying to him for so long, you had lied to him not an hour previous as you’d hid your biggest secret from the person you loved most. 

“Jaskier...” You were speechless. 

“I know! It’s marvelous isn’t it? We’ve been hopping towns and sleeping on shitty bed rolls for far too long my love, and now we can have this,” 

“No, Jask- darling I-” You couldn’t formulate a straight thought and you could see his expression fall. 

Then with your next words you froze him to the core.

“This was never supposed to happen,” 

And there you left a shaking Jaskier with tears in his eyes and tears streaming down yours. 

--

“Come in,” Came your voice, gentle as always but more exhausted than the day he’d found you, slumped over the inn’s grimy tables. 

It took him another moment to open the door, but when he did he couldn’t combat the smile at his surroundings. This was how he’d pictured it, a home with you. Your shoes were at the door, the small space filled with flower pots and sunlight and his heart shattered as he saw sketches of Daisy and him scattering the walls. 

“In the bedroom,” You called out and Jaskier strained his ears once again to catch your voice. He didn’t think he’d felt warm since the day you’d left him at this very cottage. 

“Y/N-” He paused in the doorway, eyes wide and fists clenched at the sight of you. It was almost as if you were dissolving into the sheets and pillows around you. Your cheeks were gaunt, eyes sunked and skin gray. Your lips however were a rosy pink and Jaskier wanted nothing more to gather you in his arms and makeup for the time you two had been apart.

Makeup for not looking for you after you’d vanished. 

“Songbird,” You cooed fondly, eyes brightening and you sat up at the sight of him. Jaskier startled and went to you, helping you and fluffing the pillows against your back. You playfully swatted his hand away before keeping hold. Your hands were warmer than he thought. 

He sat beside you, free hand going to your cheek. You broke eye contact.

“I can sit up alone, I’m not weak- well too weak,” You laughed and it had a rasp to it he hadn’t realized before. 

“You came back,” Was all he could say and you nodded. 

“I think that’s what’s kept me going this long, imagining us here,” Your voice had gotten quiet and clipped and you were scared he couldn’t forgive you. “Once I realized the cottage was still under your name and that you were still paying to keep it I just...moved in. I know it’s wrong but I’ve been putting away payments so that if you can’t forgive me at least you haven’t lost your coin,” 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Jaskier couldn’t help the anger as you started to approach the real reason you two hadn’t gotten the chance to make this a shared home. The tears were already falling and he had thought he’d been over them. “I-I thought you were just like him. Abandoning me because I’m too much, because I’m a problem and a nuisance and, and-” He was breathing heavily as the tears poured out and he slumped over, burying his face in your chest as you carded your fingers through his hair. 

“I didn’t want to chain you to me, I was dying Jask and you wanted to start a new life with me and I was scared of abandoning you after building so much so I left before the damage was more,” You explained once his sobbing grew quiet even though his tears continued to dampen your shirt. 

“I loved you, I love you,” Jaskier whimpered into the cotton. “We’ve lost the past- I could have been here before you- you... Why me Y/N? Why ask me here?” 

His baby blue eyes were burning holes into you and you cupped his cheeks with steady hands. “Who else would I want to be here? I love you and never stopped... I know it was unfair of me to leave after Geralt but you are everything to me songbird. You’re my moon, my stars, my peace.” 

“A-and thats it? You need peace?” Jaskier sniffled. “I haven’t heard from you in months and now you want me to be here so you can what? Move on peacefully?” 

“I’m ready to leave this chapter of my life, it’s been weighing on me for years and I need you to be by my side when I do. I want to start a new chapter with you Jask,” You croaked, fear cutting your air supply off as you began to fear he truly couldn’t forgive you. 

“You want to start-” He dropped off, looking puzzled. “But you’re dying Y/N.” 

Your laugh was clear as a bell and acted as a slap to the face. “Oh darling, of course you think I’m- well instead of explaining myself why don’t you read the back of the letter I sent you?” 

You plucked the letter easily from his doublet, having hoped he was still as sentimental as ever. He had mentioned he held things he cherished close to his heart and you had been praying you hadn’t lost your place. 

He took the letter from you immediately, careful hands gone as he pulled the paper from the envelope. You winced seeing the past’s tears staining the paper. Oh how your poor Jaskier seemed to have been grieving. 

“My songbird, please come to the cottage. I need you here with me” the front read and Jaskier had taken it as a clear sign that you were fading that he was startled to realize that he could see the faint outline of ink on the back of the page. It seemed with tear-blurred eyes he hadn’t noticed you’d written more on the sheet of paper. 

“You may be halfway across the country or maybe you’ve found someone who you want to settle with again. Maybe Geralt realized his loss and you two are off battling bruxas and chimeras. I have time however, my illness having been cured by a witch who had come to the town, promising medical relief to those who couldn’t afford it. Triss, her name was. A young boy in town who brings me my meals got her attention and brought her to me. She stayed for  two months working as hard as she could and I’m weak still but I’m healed Jaskier, I’m whole. Please come back to me, “ 

As Jaskier read this he couldn’t help but pull you into a more firm hug. You were going to be okay! And gods he was grateful you hadn’t had the chance to meet Yennefer. It seemed your faith in sorceresses was pure and he couldn’t let bitter years change that. 

“You want me?” He couldn’t help but ask. The opposite had been on his mind ever since youd left him. 

Your tears were renewed as you noddded fiercely, kissing the bard with more passion than ever before. “You are the best part of me Jaskier and I have never not wanted you. You are my muse even if I don’t think I’ll ever be able to compose a song or write a poem. I loved you then, I love you now, and I”ll love you forever. You gave me back life when I knew my years were running out. Now that I have time I want it to be spent with you,” 

The words stuck to Jaskier’s ribs and he felt it was hard to breathe as he was overwhelmed with love. Holding you closer he vowed you two would never be parted again whether your sickness returned or not.

You were his and he was yours, after all what would your songbird be without their dove? 

[reversecreek]

snickers feverishly at myself for bringing in a 5th... who do i think i am? unstoppable? invincible? suddenly ripples my titanium plated pecs. maybe so. u can find her pinterest here n her playlist here. 

* margaret qualley, cis female + she/her  | you know bradley milligan, right? they’re twenty-four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, all of their life? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to looking for knives by dyan like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole snow angels trampled through by your father’s footprints, casually reading a newspaper that’s catching flame & stubbing a cigarette against the wing mirror of a parked cop car thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is november 11th, so they’re a scorpio, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt she/her  )

HISTORY:

bradley has this memory of meeting her grandmother for the first time n everything in the room was frozen still. even the air. she didn’t feel like she cld move n she got the impression this is how it’d always been in the milligan lineage. the only thing that was allowed to act of it’s own accord was her grandmother’s eyes as she tracked every slightest flinch of muscle. when her father left the room her grandmother reached out and took bradley’s hand n bradley looked at this like it was smthn she’d never seen before until her grandmother leaned close and all she could stare at was a nicotine stain on one of her front teeth. “he’s cold, isn’t he? he’s always been cold. i don’t think he’s mine.” bradley could tell from how tight she held her hand that he was. she could tell by the way she smiled as she said it, too. the way she felt obliged to smile back.

growing up in a huge white house in aquila drive w pruned hedges sounds idyllic n looks it too. swanky cars w tinted windows in the long driveway. always men filing in and out under the cloak of night wearing expensive suits n smiles worthy of a politician’s billboard. bradley’s mum alyssa thought so too n that’s hw she got into this whole mess tbh. tony milligan is very good at advertising. he cld package a jarred human heart as strawberry jam and convince u to spread it on ur toast if he wanted to. he could make u smile politely as u ate ur own. 

alyssa ws this very pretty blonde kind of mysterious presence in a room. everyone wanted to kno her story or fk her but noone rly treated her like a person more just like a puzzle to solve. john green syndrome alert..... literally manic pixie dream girled bt on turbo charge. there were vague whispers she’d run away from home when she appeared in town out of nowhere bt nothing concrete. tony decided he wanted to crack the case n once he set his mind to something there was no changing it. they wound up embroiled in a whirlwind romance. head over heels. he came at romance hard and fast as a freight train. alyssa knew he was into shady things but not quite the full extent of it n honestly she didn’t care bc she wanted security n a family to call her own n tony promised that. they were married within a year. 

tony came frm money bt he wanted to carve his own path n make his own legacy. destined fr greatness he’d tell her. we’re destined for greatness. it sounds nice doesn’t it! alyssa thought so too.

(drugs mention tw) slowly over the yrs he essentially forged his own crime organisation tht only grew. he opened a strip club down the seedier side of irving called ‘no angels’ n this became the front thru which his gang ran drugs in the back (predominantly coke n they pride themselves fr having a Superior Blend apparently) as well as laundering cash n this also was kind of their home base to hang

(abuse tw) their marriage increasingly lost it’s shine n alyssa came to realise she’d been sold a lie n she didn’t rly know this person or what he was capable of right around the time bradley was born. by then it was kind of like Wow i am rly in this n there is not an exit door huh. i won’t go into details bt things were not good at all. bradley witnessed n experienced a lot of things she shouldn’t have growing up. she didn’t understand why other kids drew home in all these different coloured crayons like they were bright places to be. she didn’t understand why everyone got so excited when the bell rang at the end of the day bc she just felt sick. she rationalised tht this was normal when she was younger bc sometimes kids talked abt the monsters under their beds giving them nightmares n she thought mayb they were talking abt their dads too. as she got older she realised tht actually her world wasn’t the same as anyone else’s n she also realised no-one wld ever be able to tell her why. she started becoming friends with the angry feeling in her chest tht she used to try and swallow around this time. often she’d wander the mall for a while to put off going home. smoke on random park benches. watch trains rattle thru town from the vantage point of a random rooftop. 

(abuse, missing person implied, murder implied & grief tw) when bradley was 12 she woke up and all of her mum’s clothes were gone frm their drawers. no shoes anywhere. a framed photo of them at the beach holding bradley as a baby vanished from over the mantelpiece. when bradley asked her dad what was going on, tony essentially said “it was exhausting her. being here. being your mother. she didn’t want to do it any more, so now she’s gone” n then he hugged her. little details leaked into the mix over the yrs. at one point tony dismissed her as having flown overseas to a foreign country to drink in the sun like she’d always wanted even tho alyssa always told bradley she liked the snow best (once she even walked outside as it fell in a thin lace nightgown when tony was out n when bradley said “mom you’re gonna get cold” she only tugged her down and made her do snow angels until her lips looked blue). the most significant memory bradley can never shake from her head is her mother cupping a yellow tulip at the park n saying she hated them. when bradley asked why she only turned and smiled at her as she stroked the hair from her face n then said “because they look so happy”. after bradley’s mum vanished a long flower bed at the bottom of the garden was suddenly overrun with dozens of freshly planted yellow tulips. whenever bradley looked at them out of her window she got this sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach like she was visiting a cemetery. she suspected what had happened to her mum (especially as rumours circulated within tony’s organisation abt alyssa being unfaithful with someone tht used to work fr him) bt she cld never bring herself to truly accept it. thus she ws stuck in this strange purgatory state of not-quite-anger at her mum for “leaving” and not-quite-grief.

bradley rly started to transgress in school after her mum was gone. alyssa was always kind of a character when she’d pick bradley up (wasn’t doing well n acted kind of ‘eccentric’ i suppose u cld say) so tony managed to spin it all as a child acting out in the wake of an unfit mother uprooting n abandoning. bradley became........ interesting. JKHGFSSKJGHFSGHSKFGHFG. she’d snap n resort to violence very easily. very desensitised to it. students were kind of scared of her tbh. as this progressed into proper high school she got in w the more rowdy popular crowd solely bc she was so fking.... wild for lack of a better word. rly would just do anything fr the thrill. had no sense of ‘i shouldn’t do this bc it’s dangerous’. partied harder than anyone. bit back harder than anyone. no filter. hung w a lot of guys honestly bc they had less morals n either found her scariness cool or wanted to fk <3

(hospitalisation, depression & drugs tw) she’s had. a few stints in psychiatric institutions fr various reasons tbh. missed a small chunk of her senior yr fr this but it wasn’t widely known just kind of rumoured. she showcases a lot of similar symptoms to her mum who struggled w severe depression (which was difficult to cope w when ur husband was often pouring ur prescription down the drain fr kicks) n in order to compensate fr the lows she takes a lot of things to kick them into highs. drinks n snorts too much. bradley i love u bt i’m begging u to seek healthier coping mechanisms......

as the yrs went on (especially once alyssa had gone) tony rly started trying to integrate bradley into the business side of things...... she literally. is named bradley bc he was expecting a boy n he was like well let’s still call her bradley. n had in mind she’d still fulfil the role he wanted her to of being his little protege so to speak.... both sexist n ugly all in one fell swoop...... an example of this is he literally. bought her a mint green switchblade for her 14th birthday n named it tinkerbell bc it would “die without attention” aka using it. tht sounds like a healthy gift to give a child tony congratulations sis <3

in an ideal world bradley wld have gone to uni to study psychology bc she jst wants to know how the fk her dad is literally like that bt she probably stuck around n is now managing no angels along with billy n marco (billy’s in her dad’s gang n is, u guessed it, a cunt, n marco is his sort of right hand man so to speak) bc tony’s in the closest neighbouring city overseeing a second ‘no angels’ opening up there to expand into a franchise n widen their income margins. bradley wld also be sort of used as a honey trap type deal once she got older if they needed to lure ppl places n sometimes still is bt it depends. the guys in the club all know not to mess w bradley bc she’s tony’s daughter n literally kind of scary herself sometimes bt there’s also this certain allure tht comes with being the boss’ daughter n it kind of comes across in how they act or talk abt her. yes i will kill them all n no i won’t feel bad abt it <3

think that’s kind of all u need to kno history wise... blinks one eye out of sync w the other..... runs to personality

PERSONALITY:

a phrase i wld always use to describe bradley in old intros is “like a cup of black coffee with one grain of sugar that u don’t taste until the last sip”. also dark chocolate. lime. liquorice. she’s an acquired taste n i feel like u either love her or u hate her. 

cannot express how unpredictably chaotic she is..... frequently throws a drink in a stranger’s face jst to start something bc she’s bored. loves to hurl cheese slices across the room so they slap onto someone’s face out of nowhere. likes smashing things. stubbing cigarettes out on faces in framed family photographs. will literally pick a lock n then smash the window besides it to defeat the whole purpose just bc she found how neat it was boring. does anything fr the adrenaline n thrill. gets into far too many fights n fights dirty. probably been thrown out of every bar in town at least three times. banned from a bunch too.

she’s witty bt she has a dark sense of humour..... can be quite mean.......... loves to roast ppl for no reason........ honestly has some nathan young frm misfits aspects in that sense like jst seems untouchable emotionally n like she doesn’t take anything seriously n is fking outrageous about it.....

has this quality abt her tht kind of scares herself sometimes. it’s like she recognises parts of her dad in her. she’s very perceptive (bc she’s had to be over the yrs trying to read every micro-expression of her dad’s to predict what’s next) n like emotionally intelligent in a way which is ironic bc her own emotions r just an absolute minefield.... bt. she can read people quite well. gets this eerily calm look abt her sometimes n it’s jst like god what’s. she thinking. what’s she’s gna do. i’m shaking. a cool n controlled kind of rage can often be scarier than the explosive type n bradley does that well. grits my teeth n tugs on my collar....

very strong on the surface. hates being vulnerable. has this ingrained idea that crying is childish or rly any kind of emotional display within herself. 50% not taking things seriously 50% angry. tht’s how she comes across....... internally? whole different story. bt ppl don’t see that.

very cavalier abt some things. will flash her tits n not even think abt it. jst very out there...... one of her closest friends is a homeless man named joe who wears neon purple fishnets on his head n loves to spit on ppl from over an underpass. finds eccentric ppl like this funny n surrounds herself w them. loves to be kept on her toes.

LOVES driving stolen cars down the wrong side of the highway. it’s a lot.

fiercely loyal to a fault to a select few bt if u wrong her personally this can switch pretty quick. quite a force to b reckoned w n will hold a grudge. bt like. if ur a Chosen One she’d bury a body for u no questions asked. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS

deals to u: bradley isn’t like full time into dealing bt she does do it sometimes.... treats it kind of like a hobby bc the lesser ranked can do tht shit as far as she’s concerned bt.. sometimes also jst gets bored n is like. why not. might be chaotic. mayb they’ll try to rob me <3 we love the thrill <3 or like..... if ur friends w her she’ll deal to u n no she will not do a friends discount <3 or if she does there will definitely be some sort of stipulation attached <3

high skl crew: if ur muse is local n ws an absolutely demonic hell spawn in high skl tht went to 1974547254 parties n was outrageously chaotic n rude then. bradley probably was friends w them <3 her friendships tend to be surface level bt they’d definitely go out a bunch bt whether they actually knew a lot abt her life is debatable bt we could explore options fr this

people who work at no angels: no angels is her dad’s strip club in irving that she kind of helps to run now. it’s kind of a shifty environment. the place where ud have an outrageous bachelor party. u go for the first time w a fake id n u get served bt u also get ur wallet stolen n ur convinced someone spat in ur drink n u also kind of think there might b a hit on u now after u made eye contact too long w a broad shouldered man smoking in a back booth. scary environment. testament to her dad as a person. maybe ur muse is a dancer there or works the bar or security or whatever u name it....

ma’am are u ok?: ur muse found bradley passed out across two bus seats one time in smudged dark eyeliner a silver slip dress n the world’s chunkiest combat boots this town hs ever seen. sometimes she winds up in spots like this when she goes too hard n it’s absolutely dangerous n reckless bt that’s jst bradley <3 mayb they forged an unlikely friendship frm this strange meeting or maybe even? dare i say it? a romance? opposite worlds colliding? good influence? let’s go crazy. release ur inhibitions. feel the rain on ur skin.

hook-ups: bradley’s cavalier abt this stuff..... very unemotional typically..... mayb we cld do an unrequited thing that wld be angsty n fun altho i won’t lie i don’t kno if she’d be the one to catch the feelings.... she rarely sleeps over bt once when she woke up in someone’s bed she hiked over to straddle them carefully as possible so they wldn’t wake up n then pressed her knife to their neck as a fun little surprise where she said boo when they opened their eyes.... she’s a lot clearly.

watermelon slugger, hiiii: bradley has this habit where she gets a bunch of watermelons n then goes to a rooftop n throws them over the edge to watch them explode when they hit the pavement.... maybe ur muse almost got hit by one once n were like WTF???????? another quirky meet cute moment like the bus one <3 can’t stop w them <3 maybe she randomly invited ur muse to do it w her when they were like. a stranger of f the street. she was bored. decided to adopt them as a science experiment. we cn elaborate on this probably....

ouch charlie: similar territory bt she also sometimes shoots pedestrians w a bb gun from rooftops. mayb ur muse wld always get hit by one on a certain route they walked n finally one day they saw her head ducking down behind a ledge n then they see her in the street one day n are like HEY IT’S YOU............. WTF? n bradley’s like ya i’m christ risen again it’s a lot to take in i know...

rly jst anything... mutually destructive friends... exes.... in one rp a character tried to get close to bradley so he cld write an expose all book about her n her family which i found so fking funny so i’ll request that again.... people she’s fought.... ppl whose gf/bf she’s fk’d n it’s caused enemy status.... someone whose place she broke into and shaved their eyebrows off in the night only to draw them on again in crudely thin permanent sharpie lines.... roommates cld be fun n sexy i’d love that actually.... jst anything rly. go wild. kisses everyone tenderly on cheeks.

[mythaura-blog]

Hey all! Welcome to our monthly development update, apologies for (another) late post! Here is what lies under the cut.

What’s new?

New Special - Python!

The Dashboard - Your home page.

New Monsters and New Item Patreon Illustrations.

Community spotlight - Lorehounds.

What’s new?

February has been a busy month for us behind the scenes - We had hoped to launch an updated version of the Beast Demo along side this update, however we have found some significant bugs that need to be squashed before release. Our talented front-end coder is working hard to get the updated demo into your hands soon, some of the features you can read about in our last development update.  But here is some good news - A new Special marking has been created and is ready to be played with on our current demo! The Python Special was created thanks to our lovely Patreon supporters who voted on the topic and design, thank you guys! The design of the special itself is the work of our resident artist Gelly. Python applies a marking similar to that of a Python snake, and works quite well with it our other reptilian inspired Special, Skink. I can’t wait to see what new designs the community comes up with.

Python is now live on the current demo! -> Click here to play!

Other game play elements are progressing this month - right now we have a focus on building social elements of Mythaura which includes the forums and their related functions. We’ll have more to share on that by March. We’re also developing and conceptualizing the Dashboard..

The Dashboard - your home page

* note that the above image is conceptual and subject to change!

Upon logging into Mythaura, you will land upon what we are currently calling the Dashboard.  The Dashboard will contain all the current events and snapshots of current events happening within the game. Each container will contain clickable links that will bring you to the updated areas. 

The upper container will show the latest news updates, clicking on this will take you to a news post on the official forums where you can read the entirety of the news as well as share your comments or read comments by others. 

The containers below the news will contain different topics depending on what is new or recently updated. For example they could show lore updates, current faction leads or status, or new items.

Below those containers again will live four others. Here there will be a randomly featured Beast from the community, trending forum topics, site tickers or current status and custom bookmarks. Custom bookmarks are any page on Mythaura that you can save to your dashboard to make it easier to navigate to your favorite pages. They can be changed at any time. 

We are still thinking of other ideas and features for the Dashboard - if you have any ideas or what you would like to see, please don’t hesitate to voice them! 

Mythic and Artisan Patreon rewards have the opportunity to work with the artists to create their own Monsters and Items that will appear in-game. Here are the illustrations that have been created this month. Many thanks to our incredibly creative supporters! Mythaura would not exist if it wasn’t for your amazing support. Monsters: Avakiru - Created with Malis! Armored Dale Wanderer - Created with Fizzywits! Celestial Stalker - Created with Mezzo!

Items: From left to right: Black Moonlily - Created with Keith Winn! Fish Spirit Pearl - Created with Sungmin Kim! Magic Obsidian - Created with Kirkeyressa! Geode Locket -  Created with TwinFishies! Dunkleosteus Skull - Created with Frillshark! Red Rose - Created with Aku!

Community Spotlight

There are so many awesome creations that the budding Mythaura community create every single day, I really wish I had more room to include every piece here! In the future, there may be a separate post showcasing both the art talents and the writing talents. For now, this month’s community spotlight will be directed upon the incredible lorehounds. Check out these fantastic head cannons and pieces of fiction inspired by Mythaura!

Created by Discord user Fimbrethil - A map of their own Port Damselfly built near Dawn Ruins and the Sleeping Waters.

An inspiring piece of writing by Discord user kevin!  

Feathers blessed by the stars, one often finds the beast conjuring charts between her claws. Those who hold the galaxy on their bodies are often found in this manner, the female being no exception. Much like the celestial bodies that drift from their pelts, the hippogriff's wings can't seem to take her close enough to the skies above. Mapping the marks on her wings sates the need to take on the sky, as even the dullest birds know that the universe is too vast for one chart. Yet this doesn't stop her from trying, eyes longingly gazing from her deep blues and blacks to the light-constructed diagram. Someday, a perfect map of the painted dome will be complete.

Discord user BettaSenpai’s poetic head canon on Hippogriffs! A beast of bird and steed: noble, graceful, and strange. A wing beat and the galloping of hooves. Never a day goes by I wonder if they live here, in this land filled with magic and dreams. Perhaps somewhere I am in my bed asleep, and my mind and soul found this place. Maybe I am daydreaming about magic and adventure strong enough to see this beautiful place. And yet, dream or not, the reality is I have never felt more alive to see their grace and power before me. I am humbled. Mighty beast, if you may hear me, know that I admire you. Know that I wish to understand you and that if this is a dream, I pray to return to you. To this world. Fly now dear beast; I shall awaken, and remind the world of your beauty again. There they are again. This time they soar and dive above me in some acrobatic show that dares you to look away. They move through the sky so effortlessly. Such fantastic beasts... They are closer now as if they have become used to me being here and now as they slowly get more comfortable with me I realize how much I admire them. Before I might have just looked on in awe but now as I return again and again it gets harder for me to leave them. I can hear them call, perhaps they are saying my name? If only I could decode such a melodic sound. Would it lose its magic if it was understood? Could it still be a mystery? Whatever they may be saying as I feel myself leaving their world I find it harder and harder to go. Rest now beasts of land and sky, noble, fierce, and graceful. I remind myself of who I wish to be. 

Discord user and Mythic Supporter Fizzywits description of the Armored Dale Wanderer Monster!

The Armored Dale Wanderer is what appears to be a peculiar cross between plant and animal. This hybrid of sorts has been known to consume insects of every shape and size, but evidently can also survive exclusively through photosynthesis. Armored dale wanderers are heavily dependent on intraspecies symbiosis, and will inevitably perish if separated from others of its kind for at least half a season's worth of time. 

 These strange beasts are named (rather uncreatively) after their characteristics: they possess tough scales that serve effectively as armor. Composed primarily of bark and chitin, these scales are difficult for insects to chew through. Furthermore, they often reside in or along valleys - though they begin their lives as sedentary creatures, when they mature a few years after birth, they migrate seasonally in massive herds from one side of their local valley to the other. They dig deep holes to lay and bury their eggs in; they stop to dig only when confident in the quality of the surrounding soil. They breed in the summer, and healthy saplings tend to emerge come early autumn.

 Little is known as to how these blind creatures are able to navigate - despite possessing what appear to be a heads, each wanderer has at least one pair of orifices and one mouth-like structure per head, none of which serves as a sensory organ for sight. They will lie dormant in the spring and autumn until a dramatic shift in temperature instigates movement. Although they are not hostile creatures, they will travel without rest during migration period, and feel no remorse for trampling anything that happens to be serving as an obstacle between themselves and their destination. As much as they depend on numbers for survival, groups do not seem to exhibit any defined social hierarchy with the exception that the eldest wanderer is the first to wake and thus leads the rest in migration. Skirmishes with these beasts are rare. They are neutral to other organisms who decide to inhabit their bodies. 

 Anatomically, armored dale wanderers resemble hydra. They are hermaphrodites and boast flowers and vines decorating their bodies. These floral arrangements may differ depending on region.

The official Discord has added some fun little emoticons of our favorite faction leaders - Esris and Reine. Click here to join in on the conversations! 

That’s it for now! Thank you all for being so patient, we will have more exciting things to share very soon. 

❤ Grif

[tinyoctopuswrites]

It There May Bloom

Title: It There May Bloom

Rating: Teen & Up

Characters: Gabriel Reyes/ Reaper

Summary: To Gabriel Reyes, Jack Morrison will always be a hero. Companion to In Memoriam. 

Tags: Post-Fall of Overwatch, Canonical Character Death, Angst 

This late in the day, the Arlington National Cemetery quieted beneath the mottled grey sky. Visitors hurried back to the entrance where the land of the living waited, but rather than follow them, the man in black wove between the headstones, one more ghost among the dead.

He stopped a distance away from his destination, hidden beneath the shadow of a leafless tree. Narrowed eyes considered the small crowd gathered around the grave—students and their teacher on a tour, it seemed.

The guide pointed down to the slab of white marble as she spoke. "Here, you can see the grave of Jack Morrison, the Strike Commander of Overwatch. A veteran of the United States armed forces, he—alongside Gabriel Reyes—saved the world during the Omnic Crisis."

"My dad says he was a war criminal," one of the children said. "I'm glad he died."

The man's fist tightened around the flowers. Beneath the tree, the shadows grew darker and longer.

"I shook his hand after a speech once! He signed my notebook!"

"Shut up, Susan! No one cares. My uncle worked for Overwatch, and he said that Reyes deserved the position more. He was the real hero, so Morrison can—"

"Well then," the tour guide interrupted, "why don't we head over to the eternal flame before we head back to the bus?" The woman walked away and the children followed—all except three.

One ripped down the flag hanging above the grave, the orange and silver insignia bright against the blue field. Another kicked over the flower arrangements, porcelain shattering against unforgiving stone. When the third child brought out a permanent marker, something in him snapped.

The dead man closed the distance between them, trails of black smoke whispering off his skin. With the cowl of his hood casting his face in shadow, he loomed behind the children: an apparition formed out of the grey mist. Sensing his presence, the children looked up, suddenly face-to-face with a ghost made flesh.

"Go. Away," he said, soft and serious.

They ran.

Once alone, the dead man knelt down, the stiff grass yielding to mud. "Kids these days," he sighed out, more to himself than the man in front of him, patient and unflinching despite the chill in the air. "You ever wonder if we saved the world too well?" He snorted and then shook his head. "Nah, don't say anything. I already know your answer: you never once questioned it." His lips turned downward in a wry smile.

"It's why you're such a good man. Oh sure, you have your days when you start to sound as cynical and jaded as me, but then you bounce right back. It's usually a little thing, too, something small and otherwise insignificant, like that time I found you at your desk, reading a hand-drawn thank you letter from a child who can barely spell your name. You are—" The words caught in his throat. "You were such a good man. The best I've ever met. The world doesn't—didn't—deserve you."

With trembling fingers, he gathered the rain-marked slips of paper into a neat pile. Out of curiosity, he opened one of the cards, lips quirking into a wry smile when he read the illegible text. He should have known better. Whatever the words had once said, time and the elements had washed them away. Shaking his head, he righted one of the vases and set the heavy ceramic down on top of the pile to keep the cards in place.

"I don't know what to do now that you're gone."

He stared down at the trampled flower petals, straining to hear heavy footsteps, the rustle of a bright blue leather duster, a familiar laugh.

He waited and waited and waited—just in case.

...but nothing happened.

"Can we start over?" The dead man inhaled a long, slow breath, exhaled, and then smiled, the corners of his eyes creasing. When he spoke again, his voice was warm and gentle. "Hey handsome. Long time no see. If you missed me half as much as I missed you…" He laughed, fond and warm. Then, his words—so often spoken, they were practically a script unto themselves—sank in. His smile vanished.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "I'll have you know, I had everything all planned out. Thought I'd surprise you with flowers just like old times—a dozen red roses. Sappy, sure, but can you blame me?" The dead man picked up the bouquet, the crumpled paper smeared with mud, and held it out. He grimaced at the sight. "I know, I know. They're not the best—sorry about that. Only two of the roses opened up, but I'll make it up to you on our next date, even if I have to go through the entire flower shop myself." He set the flowers beside the flat grave marker.

"What have I been up to since my last visit? Hmmm." He rubbed a hand across his chin, fingers rasping over his beard. "Not much. I slept a lot, ate when I could remember. It's been a slow week. I blame the weather." He pointed up at the overcast sky. "What else. Let's see…"

He snapped his fingers. "Oh! I finally watched that speech you gave in Prague. You know, the one where you talked about standing resolute in the face of adversity, how you believe in the mission statement of Overwatch, how you've tirelessly worked to make the world a better place for well over a decade. It was a great speech, definitely one of your best. Wish I’d been able to take my head out of my ass long enough to hear it in person, but I think I was still pissed about Blackwatch's suspension back then."

He shook his head.

"God, I was so angry at you then. Still am, if I'm being honest, but I can't yell anymore. I did enough of that for one lifetime." His breath puffed out into the cold air, thick with the late autumn damp. "I always feel worse after I calm down, you know? Sick with regret. I never mean any of it. All of it—it's just bullshit. I'm sorry—again—for what I said." His breathing hitched.

"You know I didn't mean it, right? If I'd known that was the last thing I'd ever tell you, I would never have opened my fucking mouth in the first place. You know that. You know me. I want to take it all back. I do. If I hadn't been so stupid, if there was a way to do it, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I just—" Thunder rumbled in the distance, drowning out his next words.

He inhaled a ragged breath.

Then another.

Then another.

When he spoke again, his voice sounded strained. "You know, Jack," he began, "I can't figure out what pisses me off more: that your next-door-neighbor isn't much company or that I'm here again, trying to make up for his empty plot." The name carved into the second tombstone mocked him.

"Not even sure what to call myself anymore. It just doesn't feel right to wear a dead man's name, you know? Bad luck and all that. Gabriel Reyes died in the explosion at the Swiss Headquarters, though no one admitted his casket was empty when they buried him beside his best friend." He snorted. "Gabriel Reyes, a war hero, a brave man who saved the world against insurmountable odds.I'm pretty sure I stole that line from a plaque somewhere." He shook his head.

"We've had so many close calls before." He laughed, soft and low. "Must've pissed off the Grim Reaper so much, he didn't want to give you back to me this time. I completely understand—I never wanted to share you either." He flicked at one of the bent flower stems littering the ground.

"You know, since I'm still alive, I keep hoping you are, too. Somehow. I know it’s not good to keep my hopes up, but can you blame me? The world needs heroes, Jack, and I'm not one of them. I only did it because of you, y'know. Because you saw the good in me. Because you made me want to be a better man. Because you loved me, you trusted me, and you believed in me, even when I gave you every damned reason otherwise. I don't know how to do it all without you by my side."

A droplet of water splattered onto his nose, and the man in black pulled his hood farther down over his head. "I better go before it starts to rain. I'll be back soon, okay?" He pressed a kiss to the cold marble, turned on his heel, and then disappeared into the mist.

Yet as that other, wandering there In those deserted walks, may find A flower beat with rain and wind, Which once she foster'd up with care; So seems it in my deep regret, O my forsaken heart, with thee And this poor flower of poesy Which little cared for fades not yet. But since it pleased a vanish'd eye, I go to plant it on his tomb, That if it can it there may bloom, Or, dying, there at least may die.

-In Memoriam by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

[ Read on Ao3 ]

[zeronotoriety007-blog]

The Cthaeh

So once upon a time, there was this Girl and a Willow tree. The tree was old and the girl was young. Both held secrets. The tree knew many. The girl knew only one. The Willow could speak when the wind billowed through its ever moving branches and leaves. But even when the wind was still, a tree could still creak and groan, and in a single small creak or waining groan, could a tree say more than a little and less than a lot, but always more than enough. It was rare for a tree to speak to any creature. They rarely bothered. Before flesh and bone and blood walked the earth it was a land full of silent noise. Every plant had a voice and none wasted a moment to speak. But those days are long gone now. Now every flower could only keep silent as it reveled in its own beauty. It was always hard to tell but each blade of grass is asleep. Mumbling nonsense in its unending slumber, even when masses of them were trampled upon or grazed by herds of animals...never would they wake. The only ones who kept the old language of all plant life alive were the trees. You could hear Old oaks teaching young saplings if you only knew how to listen. More than anything the reason why trees seldom spoke to any but their own kind was because they were dangerous. The animals learned this early and taught each generation after the next never to talk or give ear to a tree when it speaks. Like how humans don't talk with strangers when walking at night, so do you avoid the voice of trees. Animals have spent millennia at war with each other, but it was not always so. There was a time of peace for all. There was no "Predator or Prey." No great struggle for territory or food. There was a balance. But it all came crashing down when a Wolf and a Lamb together spoke to a large Cedar tree who was tired with the monotony of balance, the tedium of harmony, and the dullness that came with serenity. It was bored with peace. So in its age-old cunning, the tree taught the lamb to look closely at the teeth of its neighbor. To tremble in fear of what a wolfs jaws could really do. And the Wolf was convinced to love the scent of the lamb more than its own breath. The trees taunted it to stare longingly and its legs and neck. On that day blood was spilt and a line drawn. Spiders used their homes to capture flies and other creatures that once were called neighbor or friend. Antelopes can only sleep 13 minutes at any given time because of the intense fear and wariness the trees had taught them to have for Lions, Hyenas, Cheetahs, and anything with teeth sharp enough to wend and tare their children. So yes...animals know the drawback that came from speaking to trees. They knew that they lived too long and knew too much. They say that the Tree holding the snake destined to tempt Eve into eating its fruit was the real culprit. Descendants of that very snake swear upon every poison and hiss and fang that is in their long sinuous bodies that IT WAS THE TREE!!! It was the Tree who lowered its fruit in front of Eve when Adams guard faltered and Eve's curiosity grew to high. The tree that whispered in her ear. The tree was to blame! The snake was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I digress. There was once an old willow tree and a young girl. The tree knew many secrets. The girl knew only one. The squirrels squirming inside the willows hollow, the birds in its branches, the snakes beneath the tall grass, all cried out for the girl to run from this tree. They noticed the girl could hear the hidden language of green life and saw the danger. A few words were all this tree would say, but a few are always more than enough for a Tree to convey. The girl did not respond to the creatures cries of warning as though she could not hear. But indeed she did hear, though she had not the heart to truly care. Too curious was she of the alluring whispers she heard coming from this particular tree when the wind blew its voice across the empty grassy plains to her home. Walking ever closer, stepping and moving past the low long hanging canopy of branches known to all Weeping Willow Trees. She was finally close enough. The faint breeze came and gently moved a few branches in a slow sway. A single creek sounded from the trunk or maybe the branches, and a small leaf fell at the girl’s feet. This was the language of trees and it spoke its secrets for the girl who listened. The girl fell to her knees and cried long and loud and terribly. She pulled at her hair, fisted her hands till the nails bit into her palm and blood spilled through. The animals sighed and looked upon the girl with sadness and pity. She heard three secrets that rocked her foundations and suddenly nothing was right and never would be again. You could never feel the emotion of trees but here and now you could almost see it. Looking up at it as it looks down at you. The arrogance, the entitlement, the blatant cruelty. You could see it And all of a sudden....there was laughter. Laughter echoed across the grassy plains and the creatures living close enough to have witnessed what had happened looked in anger and disdain at the tree, thinking its amusement was finally voiced somehow. Until they looked and realized that it was the girl who laughed. Eyes red from tears and hands red from blood. The girl traded cries of agony with a triumphant guffaw of laughter. The creatures of the land at first thought she'd gone mad until the girl shouted a reply at the tree. "You know so much, don't you. I'm sure you know that winter is on its way." Touching her hand against the trunk she left a bright bloody trail along it that made the tree look wounded and she smiled. "But did you know that my father now owns this land, and he has asked me which tree should be used for lumber before the snow falls. I chose you before I came here." All was still. The creatures of the land barely dared to breathe they were so surprised. The girl saw that the Tree was as silent as a tree should always be. "Though it was my own foolishness that brought my ear to you. You willing chose to ruin..no, destroy my life today. So let us see if you will achieve your namesake and weep, as I forever shall when my father comes with his ax." So that she may cry in her own bed the girl turned around to walk for home. As she walked tears flowed again and it was hard to open her mouth without a sob choking her words. But she raised her voice to be sure the tree heard her. "I will enjoy watching you burn in my fireplace." The next day the father came early with his ax. As he began to chop away at the old Willow all that was on his mind was his daughter shutting herself away in her rooms. Refusing food until he cut down the tree of her choosing. Determined to do this for his daughter he finished before sunset and went home to tell her so that she could eat again and explain the cries he thought he heard in the night. When the father left the creatures of the land began to chitter, roar, tweet, bark, and hiss, in the gossip of what had just happened. They saw the man cut down the Old Weeping Willow and each creature opened their ears for the first time to hear what the Tree had to say in its own language, as leaf after leaf fell and branches swayed back and forth from the motion of the ax biting into the body of the Willow. The girl was right. The Weeping Willow achieved its namesake. It wept. © 

[travelinghobby]

Dutch tulip growers beg selfie-taking millennials to stop trampling their flowers

Dutch tulip growers beg selfie-taking millennials to stop trampling their flowers

(CNN) — Tulip growers in the Netherlands are pleading millennials to stop taking selfies among the flowers, after tourists caused thousands of euros’ worth of damage by trampling over the plants in search of the perfect picture.

Colorful tulip fields throughout the Netherlands are popular destinations for visitors, but the rise of the selfie in recent years has resulted in damage as people enter…

[alchemine]

Worst Witch Wednesday - Fanfic Redux

It’s Wednesday again, so here’s another bit (actually more than a bit) of 2017 reboot fic. This time we’re combining two of my faves as HB goes out into the wood on Midsummer Eve. 

Misty rain fell on the castle throughout the long summer day, floating endlessly down from a pale grey sky. As noon came and went, it began to worry Miss Hardbroom, who had plans for the evening and did not want to go to the effort of working a weather spell. It was one thing to summon up a bit of wind or lightning on command, and quite another to push an entire naturally occurring storm system out into the North Sea. 

When a glimmer or two of weak sunlight finally began to show through the clouds, she was relieved, and said as much to Miss Cackle and Miss Bat over their late-afternoon tea.

“It’s a Midsummer Eve miracle,” Miss Bat said perkily. “Pass me the jam, Hecate, will you?”  

Hecate passed the jam and watched Miss Bat pile it onto a scone until the pastry nearly crumbled under its weight.

“Perhaps you’d just like me to pour it directly into your mouth,” she suggested.

Miss Bat gave her colleague the sweet, dotty-old-lady smile that was her preferred way of dismissing comments she couldn’t be bothered with, and took a large, jammy bite of scone. A sticky blob escaped over the side and fell onto the green crushed-velvet bodice of her dress with a soft plop, and Miss Cackle banished it for her with a pointed finger while reaching for another slice of cherry cake.

Hecate wrinkled up her nose. “And on that note, I’ll leave the pair of you to your gorging. Do save some for Dimity when she finally gets here. I’m told she had an accident with a volleyball net.”

She pushed her chair back from the table and stood up, and Miss Cackle dropped the cake onto the plate, took a hurried gulp of her tea and got up too, following her deputy out of the Headmistress’ study and into the shadows of the empty corridor.

“Hecate, about tonight--”

“What about it?”

“Well…” Miss Cackle peered at Hecate sternly over her spectacles, an effect somewhat spoilt by the fact that she had to crane her neck backward to do it. “I’m concerned for you, that’s all. Perhaps you should let me come along.”

“Isn’t that what I usually say to you?”  

“It is,” Miss Cackle allowed.

“And you always tell me to stay behind, which is exactly what I’m going to say now. Really, Ada, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Miss Cackle shot her a long, warning look. “I wouldn’t go that far. They’re dangerous, Hecate. You know they are.”

“Not if you deal with them the right way.” She hesitated. “If anything, it’s I who ought to be concerned for you. You haven’t got the relationship with them--with him--that I have. Suppose you come with me and something goes wrong? I’d never forgive myself.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” Miss Cackle said gently. “And I know we haven’t any other way of getting what we need, or I wouldn’t have you go at all. How is your supply holding up?”

“I scraped the bottom of the jar three days ago.”

“Very well.” The Headmistress sighed. “Only be careful, Hecate. It would break my heart if--”

“Don’t say it.” Hecate held up a warning hand. “Don’t even think it. I’ll be back before moonrise, Ada. I promise you.” 

The sun had gone behind the clouds again when she manifested in the wood, and it was dark and dripping under the canopy of trees, with occasional surprise showers when collected rainwater spilled from the upper branches. Hecate walked through it silently, as witches did. She would have liked to transport herself directly to her destination, but the sort of people she meant to meet with were annoyed by magic that did not belong to them, and despite what she had said to Ada, this was a risky enough business without adding to it.

After a bit she came to a small clearing where the treetops leant toward each other without quite touching, like lovers cursed never to be able to kiss. Underneath them the wet grass grew long and wild and untouched, and she had to wade through it, soaking the hem of her dress, to get to the centre. There, she knelt down and parted the grass with her hands, and at its roots found the stones, thirteen of them, which she had collected on another Midsummer’s Eve long ago. They were white, each about the size and shape of a loaf of bread, and they were set in a circle just big enough for a witch to sit down in.

Hecate trampled the grass around the stones until they were visible--it would be best if the visitor she was hoping for saw them straight away--and then from a deep pocket in her cloak, she pulled out a collection of objects. She laid three of them neatly on the ground just outside the circle as if they were offerings, which was, in fact, exactly what they were: a cake from Ada’s tea table, small and round with pure white icing like new-fallen snow; a tiny glass jar of golden honey; and a bunch of yellow flowers.

The fourth item was a sprig of rosemary, and that she rubbed between her fingers, releasing the sharp, nose-tingling scent that made her think of winter wreaths and food being cooked over roaring fires, before putting it back in her pocket for safekeeping. She took off her boots and stood barefoot on the sodden ground, and then she sat in the middle of the circle, on a chunk of overturned log that she’d also placed there years ago, and started the work of unpinning her hair and picking out the tightly pulled strands of plaits. She had just finished shaking the last locks loose when a gnarled little man stepped nimbly around an invisible wall and into the clearing.

"Well met, Robin Goodfellow,” she said.

“Well met, witchling.” The Puck grinned with mossy snaggle teeth. “I wondered when we might come together again, here in the wood.”

He came closer and inspected Hecate’s offerings. “What splendid gifts you’ve brought. All my favourites.” One hand shot out and seized the honey jar, and the brown tip of his tongue darted out to lick its rim before he tucked it into his jacket. Next he snatched up the cake, nibbled around its edge with barely audible murmurs of delight, and squirreled that away too. Finally he picked up the flowers and breathed in their scent, eyes closed in what looked like ecstasy. They disappeared along with everything else, and then he put his legs apart and his hands behind his back--they were small, like the rest of him, but had more and longer fingers than one might expect--and regarded her.

“You’ve grown older since last I saw you,” he observed.

"Please, no flattery," Hecate said dryly. "I could hardly help it. It’s been ten summers since then, you know.”

“Has it?”

“It has. And witches are long-lived, but we’re not eternal.”

"But you could be," said the Puck, and suddenly his voice was seductive, sweet and soporific, like the sound of bees humming on a sunny afternoon. “If you would only come away with me--"

"I told you no when I was a child," Hecate informed him, "and the answer hasn't changed, and it never will. I don't care to live forever, and I especially don't wish to give up my own powers to your queen. You know she would want them."

"Tis true, she would." The Puck sighed. "But what a shame nevertheless. You were such a pretty child, you would have been the jewel of our company. Eyes like a doe’s, and hair as black as a raven’s wing!" He leant forward, his upraised hand hovering just outside the boundary of the stone circle. “May I?”

“Only that and no more,” Hecate said, and he reached out and pulled playfully at a loose lock of her hair, twining it round one impossibly long finger.

“Soft as ever,” he mused. “I remember how I would weave flowers into it when we played together. I might have kept you for my own, witchling, and not given you over to the Queen at all. It would have done you good to grow up with us, away from that dusty old house full of rules and punishments and things that were not to be touched. I watched through the window, you know. I saw what she did--”

“Stop now,” Hecate said, and the Puck let her hair go and backed away a step or two, with a face full of what looked like genuine sadness.

“And now, witchling, look what has become of you. Locked away in another prison and subject to another old woman who tells you what to do.”

“Ada is nothing like my grandmother was,” Hecate said sharply, “and I follow her orders because I want to, not because I must.”

“But does she love you as I do?”

“As you do? No.” 

“Ah, then does she love you at all, witchling?”

“I haven’t come to talk of love,” Hecate said. “I’ve come to ask a favour.”

“Of course you have,” the Puck said sullenly. “Why should I think my old playmate would want to see me for my own sweet sake?” He made a moue at her. “Well, here I am. What will you of me?”

“It’s the plant you gave me,” Hecate said. “I’ve run out. I made it last as long as I could, but--” She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “Nothing in this world lasts forever.”

“As we have already discussed,” said the Puck. The patch of sky above the clearing was growing very dark, which made Hecate wonder, with a nervous twist to her insides, just how long the two of them had been here together. It was easy to lose track of time when dealing with the Puck and his kind, and she had promised to be back by moonrise.

“Will you fetch some more for me, Robin?” She made her voice as gentle and respectful as she could. “We truly do need it for our spells, and it’s not to be found this side of the veil, but on your side...”

“It grows wild underfoot,” the Puck said in a musing tone. “Yes. And what will you give me if I do, witchling?”

“Last time you didn’t ask for anything,” Hecate said.

“That was last time,” said the Puck. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps a lock of your hair, as a remembrance when we are apart?”

“Not that,” said Hecate, shuddering inwardly at the idea of what the Puck would be able to do with a lock of a witch’s hair in his possession. The possibilities started with her being driven mad, and got worse from there.

“Perhaps you might come into my realm then, only for an hour, so I may show you all its wonders?” His eyes glittered in a way that was both terrifying and alluring, and she had a sudden flash of not-quite memory from other meetings they had had, when she was six and eight and fourteen and twenty and thirty. There were things in it that she knew by instinct were best not to recall completely. She shook her head.

“Not that either.”

“Then a bit of your magic. You have more than you can ever use, witchling, more than so many of the witches I have met since ever witches were. Just a taste, just a drop, and I will give you enough of the plant you seek for another ten summers or more.”

Hecate thought about it, turning the idea over in her mind and looking for any possible way it could go wrong. The most dangerous moment of dealing with one of the fair folk was when you were trying to make a deal with it, she knew, and if there were a loophole... But she could think of none.

“All right,” she said. “Only bring me the plant first, and when I have it in my hand, then I’ll give you what you wish.”

“I shall go like a bird on the wing,” the Puck said, and making a low, courtly bow, he disappeared, leaving Hecate alone and shaking. It was full dark now, which meant at least midnight if not later at this time of year, and she had left the castle before six o’clock. She wondered if she dared conjure a light, and decided that if the Puck were inviting her to give over some of her magic, he could not be offended by her working a bit on her own. Raising her arms, she summoned a thousand tiny, glimmering lights that floated in the trees and cast a greenish glow over the clearing. It was more frivolous than her usual style, but it calmed her, and she was able to wait patiently for the few moments before the Puck returned, with a bouquet of strange silvery leaves and stalks cradled in his arms.

“Here they are, my witchling, at your command. May I have your leave to lay them inside the circle?”  

“Only that and no more,” Hecate said again, and the Puck laid his burden at her feet and straightened up, smiling his crooked smile.

“And now for my reward,” he said. “You must take my hand. You have done it before, when you were a child.”

“I remember,” Hecate said. She hadn’t been frightened then, but she had not really understood who or what her playmate was, either. When she had first met him, they had been the same size and she had thought him another child. Now the top of his head came just past her waist when they were both standing, but she felt small in his presence. It was not a feeling she was used to, or one she enjoyed, and she did not want to touch him at all.

Ada, she thought. Ada was back at the castle awaiting her return. She had promised Ada, and she had promised the Puck too, and if she had learnt one thing from her grandmother, it was never to break a promise. 

She put her hand out, and the Puck’s hand curled round it, as thin and limber and strangely warm as it always had been.

“Ah--” he said, and turned his face up to hers, with a real smile this time. “It is just the same.”

“Yes,” Hecate said, and closing her eyes, she concentrated on her magic, visualising it, gathering it together like a ball at the centre of her body. She separated the amount she wanted to give to him--only a very little, so little it would regenerate on its own, given time--and with a sudden intense effort, she pushed it toward the place where their palms were clasped. There was a flash, and for an instant the Puck’s whole hand seemed illuminated from within, as if he had grasped a live wire. Then it faded, and she swiftly detached herself and pulled back, into the circle of safety.

“Oh witchling,” he said dreamily, “that is a great gift indeed, and I thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Hecate said. She felt inside herself for her magic, making sure it was still in place, and breathed a sigh of relief when she found it was. “And I thank you for what you have given me. And now I really must be going.”

“Back to the old woman,” the Puck said. “The one who does not love you as I do.”

“Back to my friend,” Hecate said firmly. 

“I was once your friend.” He shot her a veiled glance that she could not quite work out. “Am I not still?”

If Hecate had thought in advance about how to answer that question, she would not have known what to say, but at the spur of the moment, she found the words were already there in her mouth.

“When we meet in the wood on Midsummer Eve,” she said, and the Puck laughed.

“That will do well enough, witchling,” he said. “Go on. Well met, and safe travels. Who knows? Perhaps when we meet again, you shall be an old woman too.” And with that, he pulled aside another curtain of nothing and vanished behind it, this time for good.

[silveraug-blog]

The Princess With No Kingdom

The Princess Who Had No Kingdom - by August Grey

Not my photo, but it inspired my small story

Once, there lived a princess with no kingdom. Not a drop of regal blood surrounded her petite bones, nor glittering crown placed upon her dark walnut hair.

Yet she was destined to be queen. With rain-boots of red, she made her path in the woods when she was very young, trekking her fiery red wagon full of paper-backed worlds through the sharp, autumn air, leaving a wake of gently trampled fall leaves. It led to a special tree, one whose massive roots had choked out all other surrounding plants, all except for a soft patch of clovers, which the young girl hadn’t ever dared to tread upon. She often sat just adjacent to the uprising of green luck, resting her sidekick, a small, ginger stuffed kitten. After a few chapters-worth of ruling her paper-back world, the princess of seven would gather her things in her little red wagon, and start on the road back to her humble home. This path became her walking companion through years, she was never alone whilst on it, even when her ginger friend was unavailable for the journey. 

She visited the secluded clearing often, finding solace and rest among the cool breeze that accompanied the spot in the woods. As she transitioned to be a young woman, the princess found less time to go to her kingdom, whilst her days filled with the tasks of academic proportions. After little over three months of absence, the growing princess returned to find the colonization of clovers to have gone away. In their memory, a patch of wild daisies was transplanted in its place, for there must always be a place for her red feline, whether he was present or not.

When gentleman callers began to inquire after the princess, for she was of age, she told the tree about them all, yet one stood above the rest. The young man who gave her a smile. The young man who gave her a small, golden box this visit. The young man, still, who gave her a picture. A laugh. A kiss. A ring. His heart, joined with hers. A vow.

It has been years, now, since the walnut-haired, crownless princess has seen the daisy patch, which has grown without her green eyes smiling over them. A few clovers now mingled betwixt the flowers, grown from their ancestors’ seed. Today, as the rains of spring dried, a young girl skipped along the faint, old path of twenty years. Freckled and green eyed, with a heavy-laden backpack of stories, she lay down upon the daisies, producing a thin, weathered book. The tale had once belonged to her mother, princess now turned queen. The child of the walnut-haired young woman and the young man with gifts read her mother’s favorite book until the stars smiled down at her, believing for a moment that time had reversed, and their lost princess had returned.

~ August Grey

[ofstormythoughts]

Earth

••Earth was meant to ground, but sometimes it took you under.

The earth was a relic. Seeped into the pores of its mantle were the memories left by all the souls that had come before. These imprints of life circulated through the rocks, sands, trees and clays that had stood the test of time. While people went absently about their day, touches they made left behind a history that most wouldn’t see.

But one might say I could go through the looking glass.

I’d first encountered my connection to earth when I was six. It had happened during a daily ritual that was nothing out of the ordinary:  the walk home from school. There was a cemetery that Birdie and I passed every day along the way. In the vibrancy of a spring at its peak, I had been drawn by the green.

The grass was so vividly colored and the blades begged for the trample of bare feet. I’d kicked my shoes off and couldn’t wait to dispose of my socks to run past the fence with abandon. The birds were chirping, the air was alive with the hum of bees and the sun was making the flowers dewy. I remember the feeling of my smile that pivotal moment before my foot landed on the sod, squishing under my toes and ….

The images came at me as if I was thrust into a dark tunnel at warp speed… skeletal remains filling in with faces before their memories came into view with an acceleration that was dizzying. There was no exit, no safe direction to turn;  I was lost in a plume of inescapable, terrifying imagery.

Each step triggered a landmine, images exploding and erasing the setting of present with rapid fire reels of the past. I heard my own blood-curdling screams but not even their force could pull me out of the nightmarish reverie. Birdie had quickly lifted me to rescue, retrieving me from maelstrom I had unknowingly entered, drawn by the colors of spring and completely carefree. The terror had lasted for less than a minute, but to me it felt like eons and in the aftershocks I had stumbled into a fear that wouldn’t settle, turning me tentative when it came to parks and playgrounds.

It was a fortunate circumstance that not all ground was hallowed and I had eventually conquered my fear of being barefoot. Time, experimentation and the careful guidance of my grandmother had provided the invisible map needed to navigate another anomaly that was intrinsically part of me.  

My grandma had taken me to the ocean when I was a little older, but not yet a young woman.  I’d slipped out of my sandals and took a tentative step into the sand and had been overwhelmed with excitement and glee. I had been met with so much joy and playfulness that I had fallen to giggles as we’d made our way to the shoreline.

As a day-dreamy teenager I had found a tree; the canopy had offered me shade from hot sun in the precursor to summer and was a quiet spot out of the fray where I could study. In leaning against it, shoulder bare in the heat of summer, I was whisked into an image of a boy that had propped a hand against it as he had dipped down to give a girl her first kiss. The memory lived in the ring of the year it had happened and my contact with the bark had drawn it out from the roots.

Birdie had always had a knack for gardening and making home medicinals. She self-educated by pouring through books in hours spent at the library and then more at home. There were nights her mortar and pestle were subjected to hours of abuse so that she might find the cure for a headache or a balm to sooth a bruise. I was her willing guinea pig and participant in her daydreams. It was not lost on me that she may have been in search of a secret remedy to ease the parts of me that were harder to cope with.  

A deeper connection to earth was discovered in the garden. Birdie cultivated everything she used in her potions and lotions. She readily involved me in her every passion and whim. I was her constant companion and she was mine.  My green thumb grew every year along with my inches and it was in new growth I had discovered the wonder of my connection to life. A newborn bloom or tender sproutling held in its small but mighty roots... potential.  Unburdened by age, they posed no threat to my enhanced senses, instead bringing the refreshing perspective that came with new beginnings.  I lost hours to running my fingers along the herbs in the garden, and the flowers along the fences. It was a world of my own:  Raine in Wonderland.

And then… something even deeper.

My connection to the earth extended beyond reading its memories like pages in a picture book, and as with the more harrowing happenings, it had been stumbled upon quite by surprise. While out in our garden, the drying leaves of a plant at the corner of the bed had caught my attention. I ran my fingertips over the foliage, the ones past rescue fluttering to the soil just below. I had been confounded by the single struggling plant surrounded by all others lush and robust.

“Birdie, why isn’t this one well?”

Walking over to pat her gentle reassurance on my shoulder, my grandmother had been quick to answer. “Sometimes, my darling Raine, it is just a matter of the survival of the fittest.”

“Can we let it be until all the leaves have fallen?”

She had answered me with a decisive nod before flitting around to prune and feed and pick things in her garden. I’d whispered to the plant my sorries for its struggle to grow and then continued about my other business.

The next morning brought a miracle. I’d decided that the plant deserved company every day so that it wouldn’t be sad about losing its leaves. Skipping straight to it, that very next day, my eyes had immediately gone wide and I’d questioned what I was seeing. “Birdie! Look! Look!”

I remember very clearly she had wiped her hands on her gardening apron and hurried over then her jaw had gone slack. The plant that could have been a long lost relative to Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree had filled out and grown up while we slept. That was the day I found I had a literal green thumb. Or maybe it was more than just a thumb…  

This inexplicable gift and my undying love of Birdie’s garden had inspired my own passions and drove me to pursue a double-major of plant science and plant biology. My path had illuminated towards a future in botany with a healthy knack for horticulture on the side. There was not a question in my mind of what I wanted to do once I was old enough to understand it.

Birdie was an absolute sponge and my number one study partner throughout my schooling. We applied my education to her ingenuity and fervor for the field. Combined we were a powerhouse. We created remedies and therapies and indulgent home spa treatments with herbs and flowers and oils.

In my mind the earth still held untapped and untold potential.

I was motivated in my studies, excelled and graduated in exactly four years. A typical experience for someone who was less than typical. I don’t think Birdie had ever been so proud as the day I crossed the stage. We’d celebrated my accomplishment with an elaborate farm-to-table meal that we made together, complete with homemade vanilla bean ice cream and our very own tea.  There was a hint of nutmeg in the aromatic blend - an irresistible detail that had been my idea. I had always loved the scent of nutmeg, it had an amazing quality of home, earthy and grounding with that je ne sais quoi.

After schooling, it had been my determination to have a business plan drawn up and secure a loan to bring Birdie’s apothecary to life.  Most every thing had been in place as far as framework went when my grandmother had fallen at the the hands of a stroke… It was then I had shifted from entrepreneur to caregiver, despite the protests of Birdie herself.  Sadly there were some afflictions the derivatives of earth could not fix…

Eventually, in Venice Beach, the dream would be realized. Birdie wouldn’t be there for the moment I found my place, or when I had brushed it to new life with paint,  but she had been there before, when we had ordered the prototypes for our original line of inventory. I would carry other brands, but our featured line came from her as much as it did me. She knew I was moving forward before she said a silent farewell and drifted into a sleep from which she would not wake. My grief was deep and by some measure, would always remain a part of me. Perhaps this was the way the heart tried to fill the void left by absence of someone you loved unconditionally.  

Happiness had arrived in a box a few short weeks later. I didn’t have to guess at its contents but that didn’t dull my anticipation to get to what was inside at all, quite the opposite. I didn’t bother with scissors, instead catching an edge of the tape that had lifted and ripping it free of the cardboard. The jade colored bottles were so rich and perfect in their jeweled tone, I had actually squealed my delight, which was certainly not my style. In those moments, I felt so much joy and a connection to my Birdie that defied description.  It was then my mourning had altered, morphing into something less lonely and more hopeful.

That very first box was the front seat passenger in my otherwise solo drive to my next destination.  I’d not left it in the car when I arrived, opting to carry it up the three steps of the storefront instead of going ahead to unlock the door. To me this was symbolic, the next best thing to my grandmother’s fingers joined with mine as we crossed the threshold.

Now, weeks later, my apothecary, with its fresh coat of paint, was taking on its shape and personality. A newly constructed greenhouse was its neighbor to the back, already filled with plants which were mostly from clippings that came from Birdie’s garden back home. Her legacy lived in their roots and my gift would ensure their eternity.  

Inside, the walls had been painted a soothing shade of grey, and razor thin glass shelves jutted out proudly from the walls.  The flooring had yet to be completed, for that would be the final touch for a specific element that had been non negotiable to me. As it were, many may have found it premature to set up any display.  I, however, could not resist the pull I had to see those jewel-toned bottles out of their box and adorning the shelves.  One by one I had taken them out, stopping to open each cap and indulge in their scents before I set them in the center shelves of the left wall, Birdie had been left handed.  Not a moment after I’d placed the last bottle I was beaming and welling with pride.  The emotion of that moment washed over me with a power that defied description; I suppose that might actually be normal when on the precipice of realizing a lifelong dream.

Survival of the fittest, my grandma had said so long ago in the garden, and Birdie had certainly survived.  Birdie was right there in the contents of those bottles, displayed with a graceful strength and purposeful dignity, the very essence of who she had been.

The earth could take you under…

… but it could also set you to bloom. ••