#the firefly painter

[arinewman7]

Fireflies

Erté

1980

[firefly-creepy]

'"The Electrician Firefly" by Rustlehare

[ptitsa-poh]

Froggy lantern

[skf-fineart]

Franz Von Stuck (German, 1863-1928)

"Glühwürmchen (Firefly)", c. 1910

oil on canvas laid down on panel

23 5/8 by 28 in.

[mxrecg]

True Love vs Infatuation | Gojo x Reader

Summary: Gojo loves nothing more than spending time with you, even if it only consists of doing the most mundane of things. It wasn't until today, you realized just how much Gojo Satoru loves you.

Pairing: High School Gojo x YN

Genre: fluff, established relationship

Word Count: 2.4k

A/n: Imma be so honest idk wtf this is but I wrote it a hellaaa long time ago. So bc JJK s2 is out I thought why not post this drabble I wrote a long ass time ago. I also genuinely think this prolly isn't how canon Gojo would act but bruh I tried!! Anyways enjoy

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Incandescent fireflies painted the dark sky with small flakes of light, creating an enriched serene atmosphere for reading. 

So there you sat cross-legged, outside your balcony, fully engrossed by the book you were reading. 

You slowly became hypnotised by the words allocated within the pages of the novel you were reading.

As your eyes further loomed through the pages and comprehended the context, your eyebrows furrowed in irritation and cuss words occasionally left your lips. 

Lost and captivated by the words decorating the interior pages of the book, you paid no mind to the snoring boy who laid down on your lap. 

You continued reading the story. Book in your dominant hand; whereas, the other one gently massaged the scalp of the teenage boy on your lap. 

Page after page began to turn, and soon enough you’ve reached the final page… to say you were disappointed was an understatement. 

Angered at the ending, you immediately slammed the book down on a coffee table and debated on whether or not you should ignite it on fire for illustrating such a realistic yet heartbreaking ending. 

Your sudden outburst lured the teenage boy out of his sleep, and he groaned, carelessly rubbing his eyes during his tired state. 

“Did one of your favourite manga boys die again?” he asked, now fully sitting up and stretching his arms. 

“You’re not entirely wrong,” you aggravatedly muttered. 

“Then tell me what’s aggravating your pretty self and giving you wrinkles,” he stated and you didn’t even bother showing your irritation to the latter comment. 

You took a deep breath, turned your head and he watched as your eyes became livid as you recited the vast difference of each character’s milieu and how their fate perfectly intertwined with one another. 

Your hands doing all sorts of motions, in an attempt to exemplify your extreme dislike and sadness of the poetic story you read. 

A story involving two individuals who unconsciously were ameliorating each other’s lives.

“It’s infuriating Satoru!! Did these two airheads even love each other?? It hasn’t even been like 24 hours and the girl is already marrying the man who was bawling his eyes over another girl- love of my life my ass,”

Satoru listened to your outburst intently, smiling at the sounds of your melodic voice. 

You let out a small huff of frustration, before finally ending your rant and the tears suddenly cascaded down your pale skin, “That being said, the author is able to write damn well.” 

Satoru only laughed quietly, wiping away your stray tears with his right hand, “I thought you hated sad romantic books? Why would you willingly choose to read Shakespere? At least watch the movie instead,” he replied and began playing with your hair. 

His reply caught you off guard and you tilted your head in confusion, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“You know what book I’m talking about?” you asked incredulously.  

“Yes… why do you look so shocked?” he asked, continuing to brush the threads of your h/l h/c hair, “It’s Romeo and Juliet, how could I not know? I swear Shoto was straight up fangirling about the movie actor-Da Vinci!!” 

“Da Vinci?” you replied, flicking his forehead and trying to hide your growing amusement, causing the man to pout his lips, “How the hell would a painter act? A dead painter at that.”

“No- no Leonardo Da Vinci the actor-”

It took every fibre in you to not burst out laughing at the moron in front of you, “My love, listen to me carefully- it's Di Caprio. Da Vinci painted the Mona Lisa.” 

The man in front of you scoffed at your reply. 

“Da Vinci. Di Caprio, who cares. They’re both Leo’s involved in the art industry of the world. You must admit though, neither of them compare to me!” he said proudly. 

“I don’t know…. Leonardo Di Caprio does seem to have a lot of fangirls right now…. I mean have you seen him in Romeo and Juliet? Or better yet, Titanic?”

The man only poked the interior of his cheek with his tongue, scowling at you as you laughed. 

“The real question is though- did you read the book?”

“Yes,” he let out, not missing a beat. 

“The Satoru Gojo reads? The world must be ending,” you teased, clasping one of his hands and using your other hand to caress his cheek. 

Satoru didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned into your hand and softly smiled. 

His eyes soon twinkled into amusement, as an idea struck him. 

Noticing the change of his behaviour, you lifted an eyebrow to display your confusion. Satoru remained silent and instead flipped you over, so that your back was pressed against the couch. 

He smirked, straddling your hips and began tickling your sides. 

Squirming under his touch, you burst into fits of laughter, “T-toru…. S-stop….” you tried to breathe out, “Gojo- p-please hahahaha.”

Your pleas only encouraged him to tickle you faster, and you soon began to kick your feet, thrashing beneath the man as if your strength could overpower his. 

“Say Gojo Satoru is the strongest person in the world,” he smiled, continuing his attack. 

“I’d rather die,” you said in between heaps of laughter.

The man poked the interior of his cheek before smirking at you, a playful smile adorning his face as he continued with his attack. 

“Being tickled to death. Hm that seems new, I’ll discard your body so don’t worry, suit yourself,” he replied and grazed his fingers at your newly exposed skin, since your shirt slowly began to ride up above your navel. 

“Ok ok… Gojo… is the… strongest person….” 

“Go on, continue,” he encouraged. 

Despite the laughter escaping your lips, forcing your eyes shut, you already sensed the cockiness behind his words and you immediately laughed harder when you thought of something that would catch him off guard. 

“Gojo- i-is… the… strongest….” you stuttered out. 

“Altogether, now, state the full name,” he stated. Although, it seemed more like a command than a request. 

“OK!! Gojo Y/n is the strongest person in the world,” you spurred out in one quick breath. 

Impressed with the turn of events and his lack of words, you could not help but smirk- considering you made this cocky guy lose his demeanour. 

His tickling immediately ceased, his irises resembling a deer caught in the headlights, and his mouth slowly falling open. 

Gojo was in disbelief, as he tried to ensure his hearing wasn’t deteriorating and the words that escaped your mouth not too long ago were not a part of his mere illusive imagination.

Before he could recover and say some snide snarky remark, you grabbed Satoru’s shirt, pulling him down with you against the cushions of the couch you resided on. 

The action took him by surprise, but he didn't refuse and instead grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him, with his arms eventually caging you beneath him. 

He licked your bottom lip, and you found yourself parting your mouth slightly, both your tongues intertwining with one another. 

Caressing your cheek, he then began to angle your head more towards the left, and did not hesitate to bite your bottom lip shortly after. 

You hissed at the new sensation, and Gojo immediately attempted to alleviate the now burning sensation on your lips by running his lips over the new forming bruise. 

You were the first to pull back to breathe. As the both of you attempted to even out your breathing, one of your hands caressed his dusted pink cheeks, while the other one removed his sunglasses, revealing those piercing icy blue eyes you fell in love with. 

He looked at you with such love and adoration that you could not help but feel butterflies swarming around your stomach. 

Your e/c eyes looked up at his illuminating bright blue ones and you smiled, “I’m the strongest person in the world, Toru.”

“That you are,” he replied, kissing your nose. 

“You’re not even going to rebuttal and be the cocky bastard you usually are?” You questioned him, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re the strongest… The strongest doesn’t necessarily mean having the most power. It’s your character. Plus you got me… not just anyone could make me fall in love with them. You have my tall ass whipped around your finger.” 

You stared at your boyfriend, in awe and bursted out laughing. “We’re both strong. How about that?” 

“Mhm. We’re the top two strongest special grade sorcerers to exist, and for the next century to come” he muttered and buried himself into your neck, as he was now fully lying down on you. 

You laughed at his reply, “Your best friend might not like that statement so much,” 

“... I mean you’re also my best friend and technically you’re stronger than him, not by a longshot but still stronger nonetheless… and I couldn’t be more proud of you,” he mumbled and kissed your neck. 

You quietly hummed in reply, and began to softly hymn the songs of a soft lullaby.

Satoru was still lying on top of you, and as the melody escaped your lips, your fingers threaded his soft white hair. 

Gojo Satoru was at peace. This cocky bastard was like putty in your hands, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

To others his exterior forecasted a childish, arrogant and conceited individual. One who would blatantly show his dislike to those who he did not give an ounce of care for. 

And to the shaman and other sorcerers who only knew his name, he was a force to be reckoned with and feared. 

But to you, he was only Gojo Satoru. 

“Y/n?” he called out softly. 

“Yeah?” 

“You know, I love you, right?” his face may have been hiding in your neck, but you could feel him smiling. 

You raised an eyebrow at his sudden comment, but even you couldn’t stop the smile threatening to form, “I know. And I love you too, forever and always,” 

“You didn’t lie though earlier,” he randomly stated, “One day, your new name will become Gojo Y/n.”

“Satoru…” you whispered, fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall. 

“One day, I’ll marry you… and when we’re older you'll become the mother of our children.”

“One day Satoru, one day,” you replied, kissing his temple. “By the way, since when did you even read- romance books?” 

You felt his breathing hitch and he slowly pried himself off of you, aimlessly scratching the back of his head. 

“Uhm… like two years ago?” 

“Why though?”

“About two years ago,  there was a new transfer student. I noticed she was eloquently spoken, especially in English-”

“Eloquently spoken??” You asked, trying to suppress your laughter. 

“Shut up and let me finish,”

You covered your mouth and smiled. 

“Anyways, I was coming back from a mission and stuffing my face with an assortment of sweets. Then I heard you and Shoko talking about romance novels, and how you liked guys that read… so the first book I picked up was some corny romance manga and then I read Romeo and Juliet. Shitty book that I barely understood but happy ending I guess.” 

“So you only started reading because you overheard me talk about it?” you pinched his cheeks, “Aw, first year Gojo Satoru was so whipped and in love, how sweet” 

Satoru only rolled his eyes at your statement, and you bursted out laughing as you remembered his attempts to woo you back in your first year. 

“I thought you barely had any hobbies?” you asked. 

“I don’t. Because I’m good at everything.” 

“Yet you still chose to pick up reading of all things?” you slightly laughed. 

“I would pick up any hobby if you asked me to, honestly.”

“No offence, but if that is where you got your romance from you did a shitty job, love.” you giggled. 

“Ouch,” he replied,  “But hey it went pretty well, you’re mine now anyways.” 

 “That you are,” You replied, kissing his nose. “So if you read the book and I assume you also watched the movie, do you understand my pain?” 

“100% Romeo is an airhead. He was probably just horny and infatuated with the first female he saw,” he bluntly stated and you couldn’t help but laugh out loud, Satoru joining in on your laughter. 

As your laughs began to die down he continued, “On a serious note though… Whether or not it was love, their actions prove that they did love each other. I guess love really does make you blind, their suicide only proved that.”

“Tragic ending?” 

“Not really… in a way, I believe it’s a happy ending- that is, assuming those two airheads were actually in love with each other.”

“Did you not hear me muttering cuss words when reading and slamming the book? If you asked me, that book was nothing but aggravating and sad.” 

“Sad as their death was, it was a happy ending. They claimed to have met their soulmate and the love of their life before they died. Not everyone gets that luxury you know?” 

You looked at your boyfriend with both amazement and confusion, “Since when were you so wise?” 

“I don’t even know, love. But I’m not wrong…. Our story would be much happier though, because neither of us are gonna die.”

“You spoke nothing but the truth,” you quietly replied and the two of you began leaning into each other once again. 

“Who knew Satoru could be such a wise lil baby,” said a voice, laughing. 

The two of you immediately pulled away, and looked up to see no one other than Geto Suguru, the poor third wheeler of your relationship. 

“Suguru… how long have you been there for?” you asked. 

“Enough to know that this man loves you way too much… to the point where he knows his feelings for you aren’t infatuation but solid feelings.” 

While you were a blushing mess, Gojo only smiled and smacked his best friend on his back, “Okay enough chit chat, why don’t we all get something to eat, yeah? I suggest-” 

“Steak. We’re eating steak tonight at that new restaurant. You both are paying. It’s the least you could do for making me witness such crap.” 

“You’re just mad because you’re single, bro”

“Ain’t that the truth,” you agreed. 

“Shut the actual fuck, both of you lovebirds.”

The three of you then laughed and made your way to the restaurant of Suguru’s choice.

A/n: So any thoughts? I hope you all liked it <3 Ngl, this does have another part to it, but idk if I'll ever post it tbh. Follow me on my ao3 account I have other ffs there too @idekmxre

[beesonhoneytoast]

e x i s t f o r l o v e

And then I learned the truth How everything good in life seems to lead back to you And every single time I run into your arms I feel like I exist for love

Rafayel (Love & Deepspace) x GN!Reader

word count: ~400

The studio was silent apart from the occasional squawking of the seagulls out on the water just outside of the large windows. Apart from that, nill. Not even the pages you turned in your book made that much noise, nor the faint brush strokes of Rafayel’s paintbrush could stifle the peace. 

You were sprawled on the luxurious sofa that had been brought into the studio specifically for you on days like this; where you just had a relaxing time in the presence of Rafayel. 

“It's just for professional reasons. You give me inspiration for my paintings.” Translation: “I miss you too much to be here all by myself sometimes.” 

You'd been too busy to spend quality with Rafayel lately. So the moment you knew that you had an available day to be with him, you took it to your advantage. 

You know how he hated to be left alone for a certain amount of time. Then he would get all pouty and then start with the dramatics. 

To compensate for the amount of time you were away from him, you promised to spend the night at his house and get dinner for the both of you. 

Rafayel had put his paintbrush on the easel, and he had done a 180 on his stool to face you. A weary sigh escaped his pouty lips as he hunched his shoulders. 

You held your spot in your book and closed it, now paying full mind to the painter. “What's up, Pout-Pout Fish?”

He slinked off the stool and hobbled to your lax form, falling on top of you, the action knocking the wind out of your lungs with a grunt. 

You quickly accommodated to the feeling though, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him up onto you more. 

Turning his head to the side, Rafayel nuzzled half of his face into your stomach, a sigh of contentment leaving him. His Tyrian purple eyes fluttered shut as his paint-stained fingers came up to caress your shoulder blade. 

Your hands moved up to intertwine; one with Rafayel’s, and the other in his hair. Your digits combed through his fluffy, lilac strands. 

Whilst your life as a Hunter was crazy and unpredictable at times, one thing that you found to be a constant in your life as of late was Rafayel. You relished in the quaint domesticity of his presence. 

story written by @beesonhoneytoast. characters belong to love and deepspace ©️ 2023. divider creds to @firefly-graphics

[late-to-the-party-81]

Art versus Science

AN: And here is my last Mood board which hopefully gives me a bingo (if I've done my sums rights and done all my submission forms!)

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Bingos and Challenges: Stucky Bingo N1 - Empire State University

Apparently it all started when one of Professor Barnes’ Engineering students decided to take Professor Rogers’ Basics of Art History module as an elective. Some students saw them in a heated debate in the food hall before they both stomped off to their respective offices.

From then, it was only a matter of time before students of both Engineering and Art History began to troll the two professors, taking electives in both disciplines.

“I saw Barnes scowl earlier, after he caught sight of my textbook on pre-raphaelite painters,” Peter said through a mouthful of noodles. “He then asked me if I was doing enough studying of my core subjects.”

MJ snorted opposite him. “Rogers is just as bad. He overheard me talking to Gwen about logic gates as he came into the classroom and made a big speech about how we’re all here to learn with our hearts and souls, not just our brains.”

“I wish they’d get along,” Ned added morosely.

Bucky stood outside Steve’s office, his brows pinched and his lips pursed as students side-eyed him and whispered as they walked by. He knocked, brusquely, and a moment later a deep voice called out “Come in.”

As he stepped through, he made certain to close and lock it behind him. Across the room, Steve rose from his desk and made his way into his husband's embrace.

“When do you think they’ll figure it out?” he asked.

Bucky rested his forehead against Steve’s. “That we’re married or that we’re trolling them?”

“Both,” Steve clarified with a chuckle. “Although I like to think we’re giving them a more rounded, less blinkered education. Now, shut up and kiss me.”

Tag list: @ronearoundblindly @christywrites @alexakeyloveloki @doasyoudesireandlive @galactusdevourerofworlds @crayongirl-linz @mightstill @nicoline1998enilocin @starrkermarvel @kmc1989 @km-ffluv @wheezy-stucky @kombatfather1796

[1-1-s1ay-2-2]

#teamslay #thefireflycollective #firefliesoncanvas #paintedfireflies #paintedlandscapes #ooak #impressionism #abstract #modernart #fineart #folkart #fireflypaintings #miniartworks #miniatureart #2023 #art #artist #original #myart #mypaintings #forsale #artblr

#slaymade #teamslay #slay2023 #slayblr #slayonmain #slayallday #slaytheday #slaythenight #slaytheweek #slaythemonth #slaytheyear #slaythenewyear #slayenergy #slayencouragement #slaypositivity #theslaymethod #slaymadethis #slaymadeit #justhelpproductions #longpost #longpostoftheday #lpotd #younme #thup #thehumanunityproject #sweetlyslayed #girlblog #artondisplay #modernpainters #modernartists #girlswhomakeart

[oddlittlestories]

Collecting House MD AUs that get them away from the hospital.

Thoughts so far, please add!

Stick ‘em in the universe of another piece of media

Star Trek

Warehouse 13

TMA

Dungeon Meshi

Leverage maybe? I can see them doing that

Basic ideas

Flower shop / coroner hilson (not my idea - a post is incoming at some point)

Timeloop

Medieval fantasy

Monster Hunter (think buffy / spn)

Coffee shop (it’s a classic)

Academic (university) librarians

Professors

Novelists / painters / artists

Fashion world??

Space western (think firefly / cowboy bebop / treasure planet)

[acewithapaintbrush]

I'm in love with @ashwii Celestial AU. I wanted to write something poetic and beautiful but instead it turned into silly shenanigans between astronaut April and the Disaster Twins. I hope you get a good chuckle out of it at least.

*****************************

"Wait! Hold on! Rewind! Humans do what?" 

April grins and adjusts her grip on the outer hull. She briefly gestures with the screwdriver before plunging it back into the innards of the space station she is going to call her home for the next few years. 

No matter how much she'd trained for and anticipated this mission, the idea of spending years alone on a space station to research the effects of long term exposure to low gravity had been as exciting as it had been scary. All that scientific and psychological mumbo jumbo aside, she'd been convinced that 'going space crazy' would be a given and had noted it down in her mission log on the very first day (something Ground Control hadn't found very funny, weirdly enough). 

She thought the loneliness might kill her before any asteroid or technical failure could. But now here she is, floating in her super advanced space suit in the vast nothingness of space and talking to a floating humanoid turtle who is also apparently an embodiment of all the stars in all the galaxies and who is named like a renaissance painter even though April had to explain what a renaissance painter even is and… 

Maybe she has gone space crazy after all? 

Leonardo proves that he is not merely a figment of her imagination by tapping one of his fingers against the face shield of her helmet, an action that had scared the crap out of her the first time he'd done it. Not anymore though. Her new friends won't let anything happen to her. 

"Hello? Stars to April!" 

"Yes Leo, I heard you." She can hear him loud and clear. She wonders if he can too or if her voice sounds muffled to him through the helmet. "Don't know what to tell you, dude. It's just a silly thing humans do. There are websites where you can buy a star and give it a name and then give it away as a gift." 

"A gift?" Leo clutches at his chest like an old lady might clutch at her pearls. He floats backwards a few feet. The trails of his mask flare and tiny stars follow his movement, surrounding him and sparking briefly like small explosions before fading away again. 

Oh, how April wishes she could touch them. Would they be cold or hot? Would they pass right through her or settle on her skin like a thousand little fireflies?

They don't know if Leo and his brothers can enter the station without harm to them or the ship and April knows that they are too wary to try. Yet. 

Which, yeah. Fair enough. Maybe one day. 

"A gift!" he repeats. His voice cracks and he looks genuinely distressed. April would feel bad for him if she wasn't trying so hard not to laugh. "How dare you humans sell pieces of me as a gift!" 

"Hey hey, calm down. It's not real. No one can really buy a star. It's just… make believe." 

"That's besides the point!" 

In that moment Donatello joins them, alerted by his brother's shouting and gesticulating. He's been keeping an eye on the two of them from a distance. The moon turtle is the slowest to warm up to April, although her willingness to show and explain to him the various uses of her NASA approved equipment has gone a long way. April is determined to win the celestial being over with her charm and wit, just like she did with his brothers. 

"What's all this racket about?" Don looks and sounds tired. It's a waning moon and his arms are already more black than green, his eyes vaguely distant. The black mass traveling up and down his arms like the insides of a lava lamp should look creepy but it's actually quite mesmerizing. April could watch the dance of darkness and light for hours, but Donnie gets testy when he catches her staring so she refrains. Barely. 

"Donnieeeee!" Leo wails and throws his arms around his brother's neck. Immediately the stars on his skin brighten. It's fascinating: The darker Donnie is, the brighter Leo shines. The closer they are to a full moon, the more subdued Leo's glow becomes. Neither state seems to affect the other negatively. Rather, they seem to gravitate towards each other even more frequently during full and new moons. 

Donnie smiles softly in the face of his brother's antics and April catches herself thinking that it's probably a good thing both of them don't shine at the same time. That might just blind her. 

The moon turtle catches her staring and just like a switch being flipped his smile turns into a scowl and he pushes his brother away. 

April smirks. So predictable. 

"Nardo! What is it?" 

Leonardo waves his arms around. Streaks of light paint waves into the space between them. "April just told me that humans buy stars as gifts!" He shudders and hugs himself. "I feel so violated." 

Okay, that is so not fair. Now April feels really bad. And it's got nothing to do with the glare Don sends her. 

"Hey man!", she says and gently bumps her fist lightly against Leo's shoulder. It feels just like any other shoulder. Corporal and squishy. She wonders if it would feel different without the glove in the way. "They only do that because stars are beautiful. You buy a star for your loved ones, to show them how important they are to you and because you want to give them something unique and lovely. Gifting someone a star is like, the most wonderful thing you can do on earth, y'know?"

She is mostly talking out of her ass right now. April never got the whole 'gifting a star' business. To her it's mostly a scam, just a very expensive piece of paper. No one owns stars so no one can sell them either. But she does acknowledge that it's a cute idea at least and that lots of people are really digging it. 

Leo stares at her with, excuse the pun, stars in his eyes. "Really?" His attitude does a complete 180. He twirls in a circle, throws his glowing mask trails around and blows his brother an exaggerated kiss. "You hear that, Dee? I'm the most wonderful gift, ever. Humans pay lots of money for a piece of me. You all get my company for free, be thankful." 

Donatello rolls his eyes. "Oh, joy. Though I  wish I had paid some money. At least then I'd have a receipt and could return you for something cooler." 

Leo only laughs good-naturedly, but April mentally rubs her hands like a villain. 

She really shouldn't aggravate the guy. She does want him to like her, after all. But Donnie just offered her the perfect opportunity for some light teasing. And she did promise to teach the boys everything she knows about earth and human customs. She's got a duty to fulfill, doesn't she? 

Ah, well. They can become best friends later. After all, she'll be around them for many years to come. 

"Oh Donnie!" she drawls and floats closer to him. He eyes her with the usual distrust and she smirks in anticipation. "Did I ever tell you about this thing humans do, where they buy land on the moon?" 

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

「 series collection 」

so you wanna read something with multiple parts? well, you've come to the right place. here are all of the series I've written all accumulated in one neat place topped off with a nice bow and everything

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

long series

sunflower

spencer reid x neighbour!painter!reader, follows seasons 9-10

chamomile

spencer reid x bau!reader, follows season 6

daisy

steve harrington x private school!reader, very slutty stuff

plum

joel miller x former firefly!reader, very dark and angsty

fused with the foe

king!steve rogers x princess!reader, original fantasy world, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers

the wistful wyvern  

knight!bucky barnes x knight!reader, original fantasy world, ex-friends to lovers, forced proximity

soot and sparks 

blacksmith!peter parker x farmer!reader, original fantasy world, friends to lovers (COMING SOON!)

lilac

 lumberjack!frank castle x reader, the wholesomeness of running an inn in a tiny rural town

buttercup

matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery

mini series

snowdrop

spencer reid x gideon!daughter!reader, pre season one + end of season 2

thistle

prince!james potter x servant!reader, set in the beginning of the 1920s

evergreen university

reader x various CE characters (Ransom Drysdale, Curtis Everett, Ari Levinson, Steve Rogers, Frank Adler, Jake Jensen, Lloyd Hansen), slutty murder mystery

the night trilogy

bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader, ex!peter parker x reader, reader’s mom is the british ambassador to france

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[vaya-writes]

The Wyvern's Bride - Epilogue

When Adalyn gets sacrificed to the local wyvern, she’s a little annoyed and a lot terrified. Upon meeting the wyvern, she discovers that he’s not particularly interested in eating people, and mostly wants to be left alone. In a plot to save himself from the responsibilities his family keep pushing on him, Slate names Adalyn as his human Envoy, and tasks her with finding him a wife.

2300 words. Cis female human x Cis male wyvern (slow burn, arranged marriage, eventual smut). firefly-graphics did the divider.

Masterlist - Previous

Thank you for your patience. It's only been (checks notes) almost nine months. If it's not fresh in mind, I wouldn't force yourself to reread. The style of this chapter is slightly different, doesn't require much coherency with the rest. Anyway, thank you so much for sticking with me this long, and I hope you enjoy the final installment of The Wyvern's Bride. No content warnings for this chapter. Unless PDA makes you uncomfortable xo

There are memories tucked away in each corner of The Wyvern’s Flock. The façade may have changed, but Adalyn can still see herself in the foundations of the building. She still knows the number of steps from the entrance hall to the doorways. The bakery where she’d received customers has been rearranged, a taproom in its place, but the kitchen remains, equipped with the oven her father had modified. She can see it, past the counter where Grace greets them and takes their orders. 

Slate holds Adalyn’s hand when they enter what had once been her dining room. It’s still a dining room, part of her is glad to see. The fireplace still burns, and there’s a new clock over the mantle. But smaller tables and benches fill the area. Where once walls had hung bare, they’re now decorated with paintings and tapestries. Adalyn is taken aback by how much colour they bring to the establishment. 

There’s a pause in conversation when they enter the room. It doesn’t quite fall silent, but people still stare as they sit by the window. Adalyn goes as far as to put her back to the room, to better blot out the distracting eyes. She’s not here to mind the gossip. Only to have lunch and spend time with her husband.  

Word that a wyvern had settled in the valley had spread like wildfire, and people had come from far and wide, just for a chance to see him. It had started with the locals. People trying to sell their livestock. Craftsmen offering skills. The young and unmarried asking after serving positions. 

Then word had spread further. Merchants had visited, scrabbling at the chance to trade from Slate’s hoard. Niche craftsfolk had come next. There had been sculptors (mostly turned away), glass makers (temporarily contracted), painters (generously commissioned). Then the jewel smiths, the weavers, alchemists, scribes and tinkerers, until Slate was referring them elsewhere, interested in single purchases and commissions, but not yet ready to hire every person with a trade who came to his door.  

With all the skill and money coming to and from the valley, it’s no surprise when the area goes through an economic boom. The area flourishes. The trade festival becomes renowned. Northpoint and Tuscany both double in size as new folk migrate to the region. 

The Wyvern’s Flock reflects this easily. The seats are full and the atmosphere is lively. Grace and Gwen have nearly finished paying off Adalyn, years ahead of schedule. As far as Adalyn is aware, the ladies have no regrets. Moving away from their families had been a boon to them both. Grace gets to run her own business, and Gwen gets to run her own kitchen. There’d been obstacles (refurnishing, family drama, local pushback), but things have settled enough that the women now run their business together without raising too many brows. 

People stare at Adalyn though. Or perhaps Slate. He’s in his demi form, boldly grasping Adalyn’s hand over the table, sharpened teeth glinting as he talks. She used to shy from the attention. Feel judged by the stares; grow defensive at the scrutiny.  

Adalyn squeezes his hand. 

Slate pulls back to retrieve some papers from his bag. He moves his chair around the table, so they can pour over the blueprints side by side. She doesn’t flinch when his hand comes to rest on her thigh, though her cheeks do colour with blush. The gesture is under the table, hidden from public eye, and they are married. There’s nothing inherently wrong with the touch.  

It still thrills her. A smile plays at her lips. 

They chatter about their latest project. Adalyn’s first draft of the stable, drawn almost a year ago, had been cleaned up and heavily referenced in the newer blueprint. It always fills her with warmth, when Slate takes her ideas on board.  

The project can’t be put off any longer. With the workers streaming in, they’ll need a permanent stable. A safe way to deal with the offers for work and commerce. Currently mail is left at Fleecehold for Adalyn.  

The path through the Spires is steep and crumbling; twisting and incredibly narrow in places. Adalyn can’t help but admire those persistent and skilled enough to make it to the castle entrance. 

Most don’t. The path is dangerous. People are attempting to navigate it with alarming regularity. It’s gotten to the point where The Wyvern’s Flock receives a stream of complaints about lost packages, twisted ankles, and near falls. She knows it’s beginning to frustrate Grace and Gwen, despite their assurances otherwise. 

It only reinforces the need for a stable. One at the bottom for travellers to stow their horses and swap them out with mules. And one at the top for the animals that complete the journey. They’re considering hiring a guide too. 

Because the couriers don’t stop coming. The work applications and correspondences don’t slow. Slate had built himself a castle. It needs staff to maintain it. And there is no shortage of offers. 

Adalyn strokes the back of Slate’s hand with her thumb. 

He squeezes her leg back, automatic, before stopping suddenly. He gives a rueful wince. “Was I getting off topic?” 

She smiles. “No.” 

“But I was rambling.” 

Adalyn rolls her eyes. “I don’t mind. You know this.” 

His cheeks tinge grey with blush, before he presses a kiss to the back of her free hand. “I’m sorry, I’ve spoken about nothing but work.” 

She glances pointedly at the blueprints. “That was the plan.” 

Slate shares a soft look with Adalyn, his eyes sparkling. “I love you.” 

“Yes. I know.” 

Slate straightens. Places his hand over his chest in mock indignance.  

Adalyn relents, grinning again. “And I love you too.” 

Slate puts away the blueprints. “We can revisit this again when the materials are ready. Will you tell me about your morning?” 

Adalyn had worried that she’d be left with little to do when she sold her bakery. That the kitchen in the Spires would only keep her occupied for so long. That she’d finish reading Slate’s collection of books, and grow bored. She’d been wrong. 

In the days passed she’s practically become Slate’s manager. And that’s just regarding how he handles construction. Half of her job is keeping Slate on task. Reminding him to finish buildings before starting new ones. Helping him prioritise. Making a hard copy of his mental to do list.  

It takes patience and understanding. Slate tends to hop between projects on whim. At first she can’t fathom why he’ll be lengthening the servant’s quarters one morning, and then building a hunter’s lodge in the East Forest by the afternoon. 

Sometimes he needs it. Needs that project rotation, to prevent him from falling to tedium. Other times he jumps tasks so he won’t forget his new ideas. It’s her job to learn the difference. To gently coach Slate back on track, to take note of his ideas so he can come back to them later. He seems grateful for the assistance. And she appreciates being deferred to. Doesn’t mind the extra work. 

Adalyn’s tower had been left unfinished. A side project Slate returns to from time to time, in between other buildings. A servant’s wing had been higher priority. Their staff require a dormitory, a kitchen, a dining area, easy access to running water and a path to the mainway. Slate adds to the quarter every month or so, as more staff are recruited. 

When she’s not helping Slate, Adalyn deals with administrative errands. Sorts the mail. Handles the budget. Manages staff. Somebody has to draft contracts and organise pay and give the hapless craftfolk wandering their halls some semblance of an orientation. Scatterbrained as he is, Slate tends to hire people first and ask questions later.  

They’d first hired a goatherder, one who was willing to double as a poulterer. Adalyn didn’t want to head to Fleecehold every time she needed supplies, and having her own source of eggs, milk, and cheese (and somebody to mind the animals) is one of the first luxuries she put Slate onto. 

While construction was still underway, Slate had started hiring crafters directly. Many he would source from the valley – several professionals, and the occasional apprentice. Others he sent away for. Until there’re a modest collection of people living part time in the Spires, commissioned to create and build at Slate’s whim before the next year passes. A smith busy with hinges, nails, and other iron fittings. Woodworkers and carvers to furnish the place. Niche workers from afar for the more lavish fixtures. 

Then Slate hires artists.  

Decorations are a must. If not for his rich tastes, then to help tell the many corridors and caverns apart. People to spin tapestries, depicting Slate’s family history. Tanners, to produce leather and fine furs from Slate’s hunting, working in tandem with an upholsterer to ensure that seats and lounges are adequately cushioned. Weavers, to create an ample source of bedding for the servant’s quarter, and spinners, to make and provide thread and yarn for aforementioned weavers and fibre artists. Until Adalyn is dizzy with the sheer number of craftsfolks wandering their halls. 

Some of the art comes from further abroad. A handful of paintings and tapestries are commissioned. Slate hardly has the need for stonemasons and sculptors, but he still hires a few. He decorates the halls in limestone reliefs. The scales and wings of his family are repeated motifs. There are also hints at domesticity here and there. Designs featuring the valley; carved sheep in odd places, and crops and foods in others. Patterns peaking from a wall in the kitchen, or near the garden doors.  

Mostly they’d hired serving staff. As Slate’s castle grows, so does the housework. There is too much floor space, too many oil lamps and braziers that require maintenance. Adalyn has enough on her plate without handling the laundry or the sweeping and polishing.  

She’s still the only person allowed to wander the Tower. Slate had deemed his horde too valuable; hadn’t wanted anyone else handling their possessions. Adalyn figures he just doesn't want anyone fussing.  

Next they’ll have to hire a stable hand. And look for a guide, to take people up and down the Spires. But those tasks can wait. 

Grace arrives with their food. Cheese toast sprinkled with salt and rosemary for Adalyn – who makes a note to try cooking it at home. And a haunch of meat, dripping and rare, just the way Slate likes it. There’s wine too; the ladies had a trade deal with Ivar’s brewery, and Adalyn’s visits to The Wyvern’s Flock are a rare chance for her to indulge in his reputed winterberry wine.  

Adalyn digs into her meal while her friend lingers, catching her up on the latest happenings. Adalyn doesn’t get to be social very often, and she’s grown to appreciate the comradery and tentative friendship that the Grace and Gwen have offered her. 

They chat about Lindel. The woman had kept in touch with Adalyn, writing regularly. She still lives with her family, farming and spinning with the rest of the women in her village. Her life hadn’t changed much in the last year, but being the semi-final contender to marry Slate had bought her some respect amongst the others in her village. Even if she keeps the details of the trials to herself. 

Errah comes up too. She’s still a bit of a recluse, shepherding in one of the smaller settlements. Neither does she write, though Adalyn suspects that has more to do with her ability, rather than her desire.  

One of Slate’s cousins had been checking in on her, and the occasional sight of the silvery wyvern has been a fierce topic of gossip. Adalyn listens avidly. Lune hadn’t bothered visiting the Spires. It’s apparently poor etiquette for one wyvern to visit another’s territory and not declare themselves, but Slate doesn’t mind.  

Adalyn decides to visit Errah. If Lune is attempting to court her, then she’d probably appreciate the hard earned information Adalyn could share about that particular experience. 

Gwen wanders over, and conversation turns towards business. Repayments on the building. Mail collection. Food orders.  

The sun sets and the stars wheel gently overhead by the time Slate and Adalyn leave. They walk the settlement for a while, and Adalyn is struck with the fond memory of when she’d given Slate his first tour of the area.  

The night grows cold and Adalyn shivers. 

Slate wraps his arm around her shoulders and steers her towards the courtyard. He transforms, without a care for who sees him. Adalyn can’t help but smile again, reminded vividly of the first time Slate had landed here in this form. The power he’d given her at his entrance.  

What’s with that look? 

Adalyn shakes her head. “I’m just feeling nostalgic.”  

She brushes her fingers against his scaled snout. Smiles up at him, before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek.  

He rumbles; a sound of contentment.  

“I had a nice time tonight. Thank you.” 

He doesn’t reply, nuzzling his face against her shoulder instead. His tongue flicks out across her neck, playful and affectionate. Adalyn yelps, before dissolving into laughter at the ticklish sensation. 

Slate lowers his head further. Nudges her side, more forcefully.  

Climb on already. I want to take you home. 

She nearly flushes at his directness. Feigns shock with a hand over her mouth. “So forward, Slate?” 

His huff sends a breath of hot air at her face, but he doesn’t otherwise reply. He’s familiar with the joke. It’s not the first time she’s made it.  

Adalyn kisses him again before climbing up. Jests aside, she looks forward to getting back to the Tower. To whatever Slate might have in mind for the evening. 

Once more, the shadow of a wyvern passes over Clearwater Valley.  

[feyburner]

“Wen Kexing’s stories are always about death. He populates them with animals and children. He tells Chengling about a boy who chases a firefly into a dark forest only to find himself lost, dead leaves crunching like bone underfoot, owls laughing overhead. In that story the boy gets adopted by a wild tiger. Years later when winter is cruel and the tiger is starving, it eats the boy. It makes the mistake of swallowing him whole. The boy makes his home in the tiger’s belly and lives there for a season, surviving on scraps of meat from the tiger’s other meals, until finally he is strong enough to claw his way out. Afterward he skins the tiger and fashions its pelt into a cloak, and all the other animals of the forest are so stupid they believe he is the tiger, and that is how the boy becomes king.

“I like shishu’s stories,” Chengling confesses, crawling into bed after Wen Kexing has gone. “But sometimes when he tells them, he looks sad.”

Chengling is so young, Zhou Zishu thinks. He is too young to know it’s not sadness Wen Kexing feels, not exactly. At a certain point there is no such thing as sadness. Either you’re hollow or you’re full. Wen Kexing reminds Zhou Zishu of a wine gourd. He was born full, scraped hollow, and now fills himself with wine. It’s something they have in common.

…

Zhou Zishu closes the doors behind him and waits until the candle is snuffed out, the cracks of yellow light replaced by the blue dark of evening. He takes his time wandering back through the halls of the manor to the east wing where he sleeps. He lingers in the shadows and thinks about a boy in a tiger’s belly, picking at the torn bodies of monkeys and wild pigs. Eating around the bits of fur and gristle. Fitting his own teeth to the marks of the tiger’s, pressing his small hands to the soft floor of the stomach, feeling along the bars of rib. Zhou Zishu thinks about wearing the skin of the thing that devoured you. How long does it take for a boy to become a tiger? Is it when he swallows his first mouthful of bloody meat?  

Lao Wen, Zhou Zishu wants to tell him. You can take off the pelt. I already know what you look like, wild, adorned with viscera. Gore-soaked and naked as a newborn. Maybe I wasn’t formed in Ghost Valley, but I have walked the realm of shades. The difference between you and me is I climbed into the tiger’s mouth and brought my brothers with me. From within its jaws I beckoned. I told them we’d be safe there, protected from the wolves.

…

Night comes alive outside the window as they drink, the nightingales fluting their songs. Together they discuss Chengling’s training and the search for a silk painter, the local wine, Gu Xiang and her Cao da-ge—Wen Kexing curls his lip, for show—and the orchards. What a pleasure it is, Zhou Zishu thinks, to live such peaceful days that you can spend your nights remarking on unremarkable things. What a pleasure it is to talk for the sake of talking, to sink into the familiar patterns of his voice. Wen Kexing has said nothing earth-shattering. No grief or fury stalks his words. He complains about the weather and quotes a poem he’s quoted before. He picks at a plate of nuts, avoiding the bits of dried fruit, and cackles at his own jokes. His laugh, when it’s real, is either low and soft or high and foxlike, a rasping bark.

…

This time when he leans in, he brushes their foreheads together. His eyes slip shut. The last time he kissed someone was in a lavish room draped in gold and peacock blue. He remembers the skin of his chest pulled tight around the two nails embedded in it, still an unfamiliar pain back then. He remembers the heavy scent of plum wine, the scrape of stubble against his chin, his jaw, then lower. He remembers staring at a hanging scroll on the opposite wall, an ink-wash scene of a single pine tree overlooking a misty gorge, its knotted branches reaching out into the empty space. That night he fucked or was fucked, it doesn’t matter. His hands did what hands do. His body took and took again, half clothed. Afterward he rolled into the damp spot and drove his knife into soft flesh. He listened to another round of gasping. More spasms like the desperate flopping of a fish. Men die and fuck the same.

He thinks if he said that aloud, Wen Kexing would respond: And there are so many ways to do both. 

…

How terrible, at the end of this life, to find someone so funny who likes him.”

…

…

i wish i could copy paste the entire fic here. i can’t tell you how many times i’ve read it. your writing is beautiful. it is pure rhythm. it feels effortless and i know thats bec the level of skill is insane. thank you. i hope you never stop.

Thank you so much. This really means a lot. That fic is special to me bc it broke a writing dry spell. Thank you for reading it and sending this, I really appreciate it. 💛

[catgendermikus]

❣︎ splatoon id pack !! ❣︎

focused on inklings; includes names, pronouns, titles, && genders, all under the “read more” !!

rq by: anon !!

names:

agent / ace / bobble / bobbie / callie / callista / cephie / cepha / chip / chirp / cora / coral / craig / cuttle / cutler / firefly / frye / freddy / frankie / fresh / hattie / ink / inky / ina / isaac / issaiah / lumi / lumin / marie / maria / marina / marley / neon / nessie / ocean / omega / paint / pearl / pearly / reef / sea / splat / splatter / squid / squidette / vandal / vintage / vinny / vincent

pronouns:

bobble / bobbles; ceph / cephas / cephalopod; chirp / chirps; coral / corals; fresh / freshs; ghost / ghosts; gho / ghost / ghostself; ink / inks; jet / jets; lumi / lumins / luminescent; lyr / lyric / lyricself; ne / neon / neonself; neon / neons; ocean / oceans; paint / paints; pearl / pearls; pop / pops; reef / reefs; sea / seas; splat / splats; spray / sprays; squi / squid / squidself; squid / squids; trick / tricks

titles:

the inkling / the inky one / the squid / the vandal / the artist / the painter / the fighter / the colorful one / the squid-shifter / the tentacled one / the freshest / the trickster / the invisible squid / the bioluminescent one / the not-quite-humanoid / the graffiti artist / [prn] who splats octolings / [prn] who shoots ink / [prn] who is made of liquid / [prn] with tentacles / [prn]’s luminescence / [prn]’s silliness / [prn]’s squidliness / [prn]’s tentacles / [prn]’s freshness

genders:

click links 2 view original coining posts !!

inklinenic / inklingirl && inklinboy / inklingthing / inklingender / splatonic / funkygender / sillybodiment / squidlexic / bioluminae / hydroneric / graffurbel / colartfitic / splashpaintartic / genderink / rainbowcoric / glitterglueaesic / gendergloop

disclaimer,, the chosen one has not played splatoon !! but bell did some wiki research ^w^ hope this is useful !!

[PT: splatoon id pack!! focused on inklings; includes names, pronouns, titles, and genders, all under the “read more”!! rq by: anon!! [read more line break] names: [list of names, all in plain text] pronouns: [list of pronouns, all in plain text] titles: [list of titles, all in plain text] genders: click links to view original coining posts [list of genders, hyperlinks leading to coining posts] END PT]