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musiclover84898 · 1 month

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Okay, so i suck at coming up with ideas but i was wondering if you could write maybe taking cliff to a garden or a feild and picking flowers and making flower crowns and silly stuff like that🤭

Ahhh this is so cute! I based the title of this story off of a Cure song called A Chain of Flowers. Thank you so much for your request💋

Warnings: None, pure fluff

Word count: 910

A Chain of Flowers - Cliff Burton

Spring had always been my favorite season; I enjoyed watching the buds of flowers bloom into all sorts of vibrant colors and shapes. It was never too hot or too cold, the temperature just warm enough to start wearing short-sleeved tops and pretty sundresses. Most of all, it the was perfect time of year to make my beloved flower crowns.

Ever since I was little, I had always been obsessed with stringing together small wildflowers and dandelions I had plucked from my mother’s garden and creating a crown to decorate my head. Even after the plants dried out, I still kept my favorite ones. My boyfriend, Cliff, would take me for a drive every year, right around the time when all of the flowers were in full bloom so we could make each other flower crowns. Today, he woke me up bright and early so we could make our way to the wide field. It was always the prettiest in the early morning just as the sun rose when all of the dewdrops were still fresh on the ground.

“I love doing this with you, sweetheart.” He said to me as he drove, one of his hands firmly resting on my leg. The coolness of his silver rings against my skin made me shiver, but I didn’t mind; it was a sort of comforting feeling that I had gotten used to. I smiled warmly at him, admiring how the sun shone down on his red-brown hair with a golden glow. We’d been together for so long, and yet somehow I still felt like a lovestruck teenager whenever I looked at him for too long.

“Me too. It means a lot to me,” I told him, resting my hand on top of his. My gaze wandered towards the scenery outside the car, taking in the trees we would pass every now and then and all of the clouds in the blue sky. I could make out a few shapes within them; one of the bigger ones looked like a heart. I grinned to myself, looking down at the basket of string and charms at my feet. I couldn’t wait to make his crown, and the idea of what it would look like had already etched its way into my head.

❀

We were both sitting in the grass, a handful of flowers in each of our laps. We promised we wouldn’t look at the crowns we were making for each other, but it was so tempting to not look over his shoulder to see what kind of flowers he had picked for me. The anticipation of seeing the results was one of the parts of this that I enjoyed the most. My fingers tied a few roses to the string, adding blue and purple charms to the mix of color.

“Are you almost done?” I asked, my voice cutting through the blissful silence. I could hear the rustling of the trees in the distance, and the chirping of crickets as my eyes drifted towards Cliff. He smiled at me, shielding the small crown he had been working on from my eyes; I laughed out loud at the gesture.

“No! Don’t look, sweetheart. I’m almost done.” He chuckled, leaning over to place a kiss on my neck. His callused fingers continued to tie small knots into the string, binding his work together. The rising sun was shining against his rings, casting an almost shimmery glow over them. My eyes returned to the crown in my lap; all I had to do was tie a few more knots to ensure it wouldn’t fall apart. Just as I finished, Cliff stated he was ready to show me his creation.

“Okay, on the count of three, we both look.” I declared with a proud smile, closing my eyes as I placed the crown in his lap. I could hear him heartily laugh, and I could feel him placing his work in my hands. We both counted to three, opening our eyes in unison. His blue eyes widened as he took in the mix of red roses and purple tulips, mixed together with the charms I picked from our little basket. He looked at me with an expression of love and gratitude; I could feel my heart swelling the more I stared at him.

“It’s so beautiful. I love it,” he moved closer to me, wrapping a free arm around my waist and pressing a chaste kiss to my lips. My body slumped against his in a comfortable position, my back resting against his broad chest. He was warm, a familiar feeling that always seemed to comfort me no matter the situation. After a moment of looking at him, I fixed my gaze towards the crown he made for me.

It was gorgeous; he had picked an array of daisies, sunflowers, and bright orange lilies. The string looked like it had been braided, decorated with a few shiny charms. I gently placed it on my head, peering up at him as he did the same. The sun was fully risen now, brightening up the blue sky as the puffy clouds passed through the air. We both lain down on the grass, wrapped up in each other’s embrace and the pleasantly overwhelming feeling of love and affection. As I drifted off into a peaceful sleep, the last thing I felt was a tender kiss on my temple and a sweet murmur of ‘I love you’ in my ears.

A.N: This was so rushed omg…anyway I love writing for Cliff! I miss him so much. Thank you @waarmsalad for requesting this ilysm !!! 🤍

#metallica #metallica fluff #metallica x reader #cliff burton #cliff burton x reader #cliff burton fluff #heavy metal #thrash metal #classic rock

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roseduroi · 3 years

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When the Darkness Fell, I Rose

mob!tom holland x reader

“I-” her voice breaks, her mouth’s dry. She can’t put it to words how much she hates it. After a pause, she clears her throat. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She feels him studying her and it makes her uneasy. She doesn’t want him to notice, to stare or say any word of it. She also knows it’s inevitable. Despite this, she tilts her head so that their eyes could meet. She doesn’t want to be the only one clear or ...studied – it sounded stupid in her head. Y/N died to know what his eyes spoke, too. But they’ve fallen to her lips, and she knows there’s no turning back.

“I have tea.”

It’s too firm to be a suggestion. Hell no. She knows it is not an offer, rather a soft command to which the answer has long been decided.

“Okay.”

Y/N has a troubling night.

Y/N is usually stronger than this, she does not need help. She does not need someone’s assistance or tendance of someone who cares little about her. You’ve heard the stories of a lone wolf. Of a family torn apart, a life holding onto pieces. The drama, the climax, happy ending? Well. She was like a lone wolf. She-wolf. Y/N walks alone, eats alone. Changes a light bulb in the kitchen alone. She didn’t need anyone then and she doesn’t need anyone now.

But there she is, biting on the corner of the split lip and swallowing the bitterness of memories playing in her head as she knocks on the door softly, almost hesitantly as if feeling backed into a corner.

Such a headache this guy is.

But the day she didn’t walk alone poured her heart of the robbed love she was supposed to feel in her upbringing. The care, the worry and support which were brutally stolen by time. Instead, it was replaced by spite filling her years of youth and unquenchable cold embracing her heart. Yet those feelings and emotions sprang back to life like tree buds burst out in spring when the sun got brighter and brighter, the days longer as the darkness swept under its covers of a cowering winter.

Even so. She hated him just as much as he felt hatred for her, ignoring the something they both couldn’t explain.

The day she bumped into him, and their paths crossed was the day why she wished lifetime to be different and the stars to shine blanker as she wouldn’t be so desperate for tenderness and fondness. No one could deny that a bond had been formed that neither of them could explain that instant.

She was a fool of thinking life could go on without a someone by her side. Who shared the tenderness and softness; She was weaker than she thought and lonelier than she felt. There was no denying she wanted more of life than she had received.

The abrupt creak of the door startles her a little.

“Bambi,” the mocking nickname he had given her doesn’t sound so annoying anymore. She was it. Frail and fragile, the features she tried so hard to hide, pretending to stand tall and talk sharply with no trace or pattern of flaw and weakness to be detected in her voice in moments of fear.

She expects there to be his usual smirk displaying on his stupidly attractive face, but instead, she is greeted with the sharp features of his which she’s seen leave many trembling in terror. “It’s the middle of the night in late November. It’s freezing. And I’m in my fucking pyjamas. If this is one of your shenanigans, I swear to God –”

She knew coming here was a mistake. She should have known that seeking solace anywhere other than herself would have awful outcomes. It wasn’t going to end well in the first place, and she feels so foolish of believing she had formed something more than harsh attitudes and approaches.

The look on Tom’s face says plenty. They weren't friends; rather, they were people who barely tolerated each other. Suffering in silence and licking your own wounds was better than facing the humiliation standing face to face with somebody you once considered somewhat a friend.

Suddenly she feels how wintry the night actually is and the coldness scorching her body. He was right. It’s freezing. The clouds are hiding the stars, painting each and every corner gloomy, making it bitter. It doesn’t embrace, does not bring a stoic sense of calmness. It doesn’t bless the silence fallen upon them. Her body feels strained to stiffness, overwhelmed by emotions, eyes dart around as every muscle and cell screams for her to run. Her soul feels like a wild animal trashing in a cage, forced to be tamed, to be stripped of identity.

But just as she’s about to shift on her feet and turn her back to him, she locks her gaze on his. It happens fast, too fast for her to notice the sudden change of traits masking his face as the look in his eyes softens and the mouth parts so slightly as his gaze falls upon her. Only then does he take in her appearance and his attitude wanes as his heart clenches.

“Y/N?” His voice is soft, making her eyes widen faintly as it catches her off guard as she’s never heard him speak in such a manner before. He steps forward, letting the doors shut behind. It closes with a thud, and he doesn’t miss the way she flinches at the sound. It shouldn’t concern him, and, in a way, he would agree, but if so, then it’s just empty words uttered. He wishes for it to be different. He remembers times he couldn’t care less about some chick. It was like a motto. Fuck and go, don’t grow feelings – it’s weakness. In a funny way, he never thought he would ever grow fond of someone, but never in his life has he ever felt the way he feels for her. And so, the missing coat and her shivering form in this cold November night make him concerned.

It isn’t hard to read her like an open book, she looks frightened and cold. He had far too much experience reading people’s body language and distinguishing between the guilty and the more so; not once there wasn’t any trait of remorse on his face as he watched them quivering and begging. But this time’s different, and he knows it isn’t the look of guilt glistening in her eyes, it’s the betrayal that’s looking up at him.

He takes a step closer as not to frighten her further but make the space between them smaller, so he could reach her. He masks his concern with a stone-cold face, but his tone does not change to apathetic.

“Are you going to come in or something?” Yet it comes out harsher than he expects, but he doesn’t give it much thought. “As I said, it’s freezing and I’m in my pyjamas.” He continues.

It almost makes her eyes roll. This cockiness and fullness of himself drove her up the wall. It’s always been so irritating to see how ridiculously impressed he always was of himself. But it wasn’t it, it wasn’t the case now. She couldn’t understand how someone could be so harsh and rough when the moment feels so soft.

“I-” her voice breaks, her mouth’s dry. She can’t put it to words how much she hates it. After a pause, she clears her throat. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I have tea.”

It’s too firm to be a suggestion. Hell no. She knows it is not an offer, rather a soft command to which the answer has long been decided.

“Okay.”

Telling the truth, Y/N’s never been to his home. But one could tell she was intrigued; she’s just never thought for it to be like this.

She hides her limp, trying her hardest not to draw unneeded attention as her leg throbs and eyes dart around the room. It isn’t as big as she thought for it to be. The room’s connected to a small kitchen where she can see some apples placed on the counter. At least she knows he likes eating healthy. The couch looks appealingly comfy with its soft pillows and the coffee table in front. There’s a slightly opened door which, she guesses, leads to the bedroom that is dimly lit. No, the room isn’t big but it’s cosy. It’s warm and it makes it enough.

“There are no pictures.” She hears herself state and immediately regrets it. There is a click of the door locking and she feels him strode past her.

“Pictures show connection and restrain you.” He states back almost rudely, looking straight into her eyes. Her shoulders slump, face wrinkles with a frown to hearing this ridiculous response. She would argue, truly, she would but she’s too exhausted to cause bickering and he doesn’t seem so willing to discuss this with her. Though she notes to remember it just in case there’s ever a moment like this to get on his nerves.

“Sit. I’ll make tea. Then look at that leg of yours.”

His voice is quieter this time, filled with more emotion in it. He notices the way her eyes widen and her whole figure takes aback at the mention of her leg. He doesn’t miss the way she stiffens and shies away from him. It’s what doesn’t let his coolness take over, to be with her this harsh or wicked. But it’s quite amusing for him that she thinks she was doing a good job at hiding it, which she didn’t, may he add. He’s too observed not to notice. Especially any change in her.

He watches her limp to the couch before putting the kettle to boil. He knows her favourite tea, it’s an herbal one at that. The hibiscus red with a wedge of lemon in it. He’d think it’s odd if it didn’t make him beam a little at the thought of someone, her, more specifically, drinking the tea that’s already sour and making it bitter more so.

The kettle whistles.

“I don’t have lemons.” He says out of nowhere after a moment. “But hibiscus red is on its way.”

A tiny smile decorates the corners of her mouth as she lightly jokes, “if you hadn’t watched me making it before, I’d say you’re a stalker.”

She watches as he puts the cup now full of tea on the table in front, near the sugar bowl and pours half a teaspoon of sugar in it. She swears again that he would make a great stalker if wanted. “I do my research.” He tells sincerely and she feels like there is something more behind the meaning, but she does not question.

The silence embraces the room. The tea slowly steams into the air as she darts her eyes low. She knows he wants answers, he’s demanding and strict. She’s noticed how he would never answer politely his phone. Ordering this and that, telling to fix things. Maybe he was a manager of some sort, she’d given a thought once, and the employees weren’t being fair. This would explain it. But she wasn’t an employee, and she wasn’t even a friend (an acquaintance? that’s more likely. just acquaintances who spend their time together every so often).

Saying to him no was almost impossible. It was like he had the power of making people talk, spill every secret or detail of time. Perhaps it was his intimidation and severe look he’d give, or the demanding tone and braveness of his. She admired him for that, his courage that she lacked, as she would never dare to speak in such wise.

When she looks up at him, she finds him already staring at her. “You’ve hurt.” She hears him say, his words are soft, gentle for her to take in. It pulls her out of thought, making her breath stop in her throat. She’s never heard of him to speak so faintly. His voice is usually harsher, he makes bitter jokes which she thinks he doesn’t really mean and calls her annoying nicknames that she pretends she cannot stand. She often wonders; does he, too, pretend to be this way to her as she does to him.

Now he’s soft and soft only for her and she doesn’t understand it at all.

He doesn’t ask for her permission as he kneels in front of her and takes her boot off, and slowly rolls the sock down. His touch feels cool against her burning skin, making a shiver run down her spine as it almost feels endearing. There’s a ring on his pinkie which he always wears. She finds it adorably odd as it has this strange engraving of a T on it. She assumes it’s the initial of his name, but never dares to ask for what it really is.

He ghosts his fingers over the bruising of her skin, and she almost hisses when he presses a little bit too hard. “Didn’t mean to,” he mutters an apology with a shake of his head as if being disappointed. “It’s bruising really badly.”

“It is fine.”

“It’s swollen.”

“Barely”

“Y o u can barely walk.”

She doesn’t respond.

Tom tells her he’ll get some bindings and leaves without a word.

Nobody utters a word when he comes back with something similar to a bandage and some sort of cream carrying in his hands. Her eyes watch him carefully as he puts everything onto the carpet and cradles her leg onto his lap. “This should help with the swelling and the pain.” He explains, showing the tube of the medicine, and pours some of the cream onto his fingertips. “It should cool it down.” He adds, glancing up at her as to make sure.

He gently rubs it into her skin, attempting to cover every inch of her bruise. He moves his fingers as softly as he can as her whole ankle is purplish in the middle and blueish around the corners. He knows he’s seen much worse and witnessed far more but the sight of her hurting makes his heart skip a beat or two. It’s like a dreadful tsunami wave flooding the shores, destroying everything that crosses its path. Tom doesn’t like seeing her in harm’s way nor he wants any marks marking her skin. In a way, he can’t explain but he feels responsible for this girl.

Wrapping the bandage is the worst.

“Could you just stop wiggling for a little?” Toms asks, his voice hinting a trace of annoyance and surrender as he sighs. He knows it can hurt like a bitch, but cannot she be a little more patient and stay still so he could finish bandaging her leg? But this attitude of his doesn’t make her calmer, rather, worse as he sees her biting her lip to stop it from quivering. So, he holds his tongue and lets his voice soften. “I’ll be quick, I promise. I just need to tighten it around the leg. A little, just for the support. Otherwise, it won’t heal right, or you could damage it more.”

He says it sincerely. He wasn’t one of the comforting type, but when he feels her body loosen and ease up, it suddenly seems worthy for him to become one this instant. It feels like victory. But a victory for heart. And he knows he doesn’t need to add this but including it was almost as a must.

“Trust me.” He says above a whisper and for some simple words, they were sure big in meaning.

So, foolishly she trusted him.

Y/N has never noticed those freckles on his cheeks and nose, or how pure his eyes were. But when he’s this close, it’s hard not to pay attention. The way the curls have fallen on his face and the way they’ve looked so soft. But what a headache this guy truly is. A mystery of its own. He doesn’t look so frightening or timid with his features so at ease as he gently wraps her ankle in some bindings. It hurts a little at the times he tightens the bandages but he’s gentle as a feather and the moment that he’s done, she gets to see his genuine reaction.

“You’ve handled it like a big girl, Bambi.” He chuckles quietly, teasing her.

Tom gives the last caress on her leg before standing up tall. He wipes his hands onto his pants, and she almost feels like scolding the man. But a pinkish blush creeps up her face as she ducks her head low, feeling her cheeks flush. The moment’s sweet between them and she wishes they’d stay like this forever. For the first time in her life, she feels this welcomed, this warm in the presence of somebody else. She almost feels as safe as she would in her lover’s arms.

But she knows he wants answers, there are questions to be asked, and the moment would soon be ruined. Instead, she doesn’t let him speak, silently changing a topic that hasn’t even been brought up.

“How do you know all of this?”

“Know what?” He asks.

“This, um” she stumbles on her words, unable to find the right one. “Stuff…” She lamely finishes, motioning at her leg.

“It’s just basic knowledge.” He tells her with a shrug like it isn’t a big deal and there’s no need for this conversation to last.

“Well, yea, but-” Y/N frowns, “it didn’t seem like it was your first time doing so. That’s all.” She adds the last part as if wanting to justify herself.

She doesn’t expect him to answer though, her words didn’t request it. She casts her eyes down as feeling the couch dip when he sits down. “I’m reckless,” he leans over the table to grab her tea. “I get myself in constant trouble.” He says, letting her understand he’s done it to himself multiple times. Partly this is true, and he isn’t really lying, just not in those quite exact circumstances.

“You aren’t drinking your tea,” Tom states the fact, smoothly changing the subject and handing her the full cup of tea.

It feels warm against her hands and she’s enjoying the feeling of cosiness the warmness has given. Y/N takes a sip, and she is quite disappointed it’s not that hot but nevertheless, it tastes sweet on her lips. She smiles at him a little, meeting his gaze. “It’s good. Could be sourer though.”

“Of course, it could.” Tom laughs along.

She takes another sip after another, and the cup eventually becomes empty and she’s left looking at the dead magenta-coloured petals. It makes her think how much she appreciates this. When she first had found herself at his doorstep, she didn’t realize where her legs had brought her. She was too frightened to be thinking straight, too much had been going on. But it wasn’t like she had any other choice. Y/N didn’t have anywhere else to go or to turn to for help.

Somewhat, she’s drawn to him. It’s like a tug on the sleeve which she cannot explain. But being with him, it made her feel this sense of safety she hasn’t felt for this long. Maybe it’s the way he talks to her, different in the way he speaks with others. Or perhaps it’s the mystery, surrounding his aura. She knows he can be the meanest of all and the rudest at times and this doesn’t explain the pull she feels to him at all, and she states that she hates him, but in truth, she’s just angry for having fallen for a man who doesn’t return the feelings.

But she values every moment of this.

She places the cup on the table and slowly faces him. “Tom?” She calls out his name, and he swears it makes the world stop turning. He hums.

“Thank you.”

For a moment, the piercing silence is the only thing she hears. He doesn’t say a word for quite the time, she just feels his eyes bore at hers while the passing seconds make it almost painful. He’s examining her and as far as she can tell, he does not like what he sees.

He scoots closer to her, now fully facing her body and her eyes almost bulge as he takes her chin with his fingers and tilts her head to the side. His touch is firm against her skin but not enough to hurt her. His eyes are hardened, and his muscles tense as he studies her face. There’s a split bottom lip and a bruising on her cheek. Tom knows these don’t come from being clumsy or not so careful. This is violence doing and brutality.

But he chooses to stay silent.

“It’s late, we should get some rest.”

Tom lets go of her face and straightens up. He sees her eyes widen, surprised at his sudden change. But it wasn’t the time for an interrogation. “You can sleep in my bed; I’ll take the couch.”

She opens her mouth as to say something, perhaps to argue about it, but she doesn’t have anywhere else to go. She is tired and in pain, and in no way winning this fight. She nods okay and he helps her to his room. They stop right at the door, and he takes it as a sign she can handle herself from here. She’s nervous, he can tell. Her eyes dart around more than usual, her breathing is uneasy. And he hates it makes his heart clench.

“There’s a lock to the door,” Tom feels obliged to say. “Good night, Y/N.”

He takes a blanket for himself, the corner of his lip moving up a bit as he remembers the many sleepless nights spent on the couch when there’s been a pile of work, but everything was hundreds of times simpler. He lies down, tucks one hand behind his head and looks at the ceiling.

He hears the door lock.

Tom doesn’t sleep that night.

part ii.

it’s 5:40, i haven’t slept. but writing is inspiring and uni breaks my heart

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #mob!tom #mob!tom holland x reader #tom holland imagines #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland au #tom holland x you #spiderman

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frog-writes-for-fun · 3 years

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Hi there! Could you describe your mutuals as songs?

Hello to you too, anon! Unfortunately, most of the music I listen to is either lo-fi or songs that were recommended to me (Love Grows and Lemon Drop are fantastic, thank you Bloom and Mori!), so I don’t really have the variety of music to equate with my mutuals. I will instead provide an alternative: I write a setting that gives me similar vibes to the mutual in question. I chose to sort of connect them by making them in the same world; I don’t know why the brain does stuff the way it does. This ended up being a lot longer than I originally thought it would be (it's longer than some of my fics)! Sorry for the pings, guys!

Also, I started writing the 50 followers fic and then accidentally deleted it when I meant to save. This is what I get for writing it in drafts instead of a doc like my normal fics :( I will not be rewriting it (it was fairly long; that’s what was making me basically go on a small hiatus), so that’s just getting scrapped. Sorry to anyone who was really excited for that.

Also also, 100th post let’s go!

Without further ado, I present: my mutuals as some vibes.

Nix (@nix-writes-mcyt)

Nix is the throne room in a medieval castle. Simultaneously imposing and inviting, the grandly decorated room stands with doors open. The torchlight flickering from sconces on the walls provides a warm glow, and walking down the carpet towards the crown resting on the throne makes you feel like royalty yourself. The sounds of the room are gentle: the rustling of ladies’ skirts, the soft murmur of nobles’ voices, and your own solid footsteps against the wooden planks of the floor. Somehow, this place feels like home and like something far greater than yourself at the same time, and it’s easy to imagine that you could stay here forever.

Nix, I’m so happy to have been able to find you and this little corner of the internet. Your welcome, among others, made me feel safer and more real than many of my interactions with irls, and I hope to stay with you all for a long time to come. It’s lovely to see whenever you appear on my dashboard, and I have great respect for your writing. To me, you are one of the original writers of our little community, and I can’t imagine it without you.

Mello (@g0re-h0und)

Mello is the castle’s menagerie. The chorus of the animals’ sounds blend together into an unconventional yet beautiful song, and the creatures are full of excitement. They are free from their enclosures, and swirl around you in greeting. The day is warm, and the sun beams down on the multitude of beings, smiling with them. The foliage nearby is lush, leaves rustling in a slight breeze, and a pond bubbles happily in the background. Among the chaos of the creatures, there is an infectious happiness that makes it so you can’t help but smile.

Mello, thank you so much for reblogging my X fic! If you hadn’t, I would still be that awkward introvert hiding in the corner and not reaching out to make the friends I have now. You are also a delightfully chaotic person. If you were from a show, you would be a blorbo <3

El (@blockyshieldmaiden)

El is a day in the garden surrounding the castle. Cherry trees are covered in pink blossoms, and the air is filled with petals that look almost like snowflakes. Many of the flowering plants are filled with buds, the colours just beginning to burst through. The air is cool, even as the sun shines down from above, and a light breeze sways the branches of the foliage. Birds chirp from their perches high in the trees, their songs clear in the otherwise quiet afternoon.

El, you are a fantastic person to know! It’s always fantastic to see your latest posts, and scheming in dms together was hilariously fun. I’m honoured to have started writing at the same time as you, and I’m looking forward to seeing us both grow.

Bloom (@blooming-mushroom)

If El is a spring day, then Bloom is a summer one. Bright and sunny, with the trees of the orchard providing the perfect amount of shade to relax in. The flowers that had once been just starting to appear are now in full bloom, the colours vibrant against green leaves and stems. Bumblebees and butterflies hover around the garden, darting from flower to flower. Sitting on the grass, you’re surrounded by friends caught mid-laughter.

Bloom, you are a glorious person who always seems full of energy (and it’s great, even if we have to bully you into sleeping <3). I always smile when you show up with a post, and greatly enjoy all of your interactions with your mutuals. You are a force of chaos! /pos

Mori (@moriiartist)

Mori is a night in the woods behind the castle. At first glance, the forest appears terrifying. Branches curve above your head like outstretched claws, partially blotting out the full moon. A wolf howls in the distance. The wind rushes through the leafless trees, the clacking of limbs stark against the otherwise silent night. As you look closer, though, the scene before you is not the scary image it appeared to be. Fireflies dance around, lighting up the area with a cheerful glow to accompany the moonlight. Small, brightly coloured flowers bloom at the base of the tree roots, and warm-toned mushrooms have made their homes on some of the trunks. The wind is not the bone-chilling cold you first expected, and is in fact quite comfortable, hugging you like a friend would after you’ve been separated for a while. A raven is perched in one of the trees, one you’ve come to know as well as any human, one that brings gifts of shiny things and stones and all the small things that make you smile.

Mori, I will fully admit I was a tiny bit scared of you at first. Mostly because of your theme, I think, but now I’m really glad to have been able to see past that to the sweet person underneath. I love seeing your interactions with others, and I love seeing the little blue dot when you manifest in the inbox, bringing your comparisons to creatures I do not know but will cherish as a gift from a friend.

#nix the beloved #el the beloved #bloom the beloved #mello the beloved #mori the beloved #my mutuals <3 #go give them love; they're all amazing!#skeptic frog thoughts #frog qna

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elliemarchetti · 3 years

Text

The Most Beautiful and Golden of the Cages

Nobody cares, but I like it, so bear with me and accept this fourth chapter of my Haldir x half-elf fem!OC fic.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Words: 2677

For the first time since they had left Rivendell, her rest wasn’t disturbed by dreams or noises, and she opened her eyes again only the next morning, when Gimli knocked on the door to make sure she was okay. The days passed almost all the same, each moment illuminated by a clear sun, except when a drizzle fell, leaving everything fresh and clean. The air was sweet and mild, as if it was tender spring, yet everyone felt around them the deep and thoughtful stillness of winter. Even the attentions of Haldir, who at the behest of the Lady hadn’t returned to his usual task, gave her the same feeling: his smile was mild and his actions sweet, but his deep eyes let it be seen that something was troubling the quiet in his thoughts, and even while they ate and drank there was no lightheartedness in his gestures, as if only among the trees and the constant danger he really felt at home. Elva decided it was time to face the conversation in the only moment they had alone, that was before going to rest.

“If you wish to go back to your brothers and mansion, we can sleep with the rest of the Fellowship, there is no need for you to stay any longer in a house you certainly don’t love.”

Her words seemed to take him by surprise, and for a moment she feared he would take refuge in his room without giving any answer.

“To be your guide, even now we’re within the city walls, is a great honour, especially when your mission is so noble,” he replied, always with tender courtesy. He had praise and beautiful words to dedicate to her, but his gaze never rested too long on her figure, nor did their hands touched after they entered the gates.

“Yet you don’t seem satisfied,” she insisted, hoping not to be too intrusive, even though her mere presence within the talan told another story.

“Maybe I'm just unaccustomed to city life: I’ve lived in the woods for a long time now, and although I’m the only one in the family who travels to distant lands, I don’t like to sleep in a soft bed when my brothers face great risks every day,” he admitted, finally, and the subject was no longer brought up, but the next evening, as they were walking together in the cool twilight, silence fell again. They had both felt restless for the whole afternoon, unable to face the shadow of parting, but Elva knew it was something they had to address, mostly because they were going to give up each other’s reassurance for probably a violent fate.

“It’s wonderfully quiet here,” she commented, determined not to start too brutally. “Nothing seems to be going on, and nobody seems to want it to.”

“It’s the Lady’s magic,” he explained, in a neutral tone. “You can’t touch it, but I’m sure you can see and feel it everywhere.”

He was right, but the thing that struck her most was the latent intolerance he expressed toward the land he swore to protect, for which he could also have died at the hands of an Orc while patrolling, or perhaps it was directed to those who commanded it, but Elva didn’t dare to ask, mindful of Legolas’ words about Mirkwood. It’s the most beautiful and golden of the cages, but in the end, it still remains a cage, he said, during a full moon night, to explain to her what drove him to continually piss off his father and get away from his duties as heir to the throne. Even the excessive beauty of Lothlorien reminded her of home, where the benevolence shown hid the trap of a cunning king.

“I don’t think you can do much more to help us, magic or not,” she finally admitted, for the first time aloud. Until that moment, she had kept it in her thoughts, fearing it might become real, but now she knew she must accept it and go on.

“Before you go, you’ll have to see the Lady one more time,” he explained, and as if she had heard him, Galadriel appeared from a lawn, tall, white and fair, silently beckoning them to follow her toward the southern slopes of Caras Galadhon’s hill, where, crossing a green hedge, they entered a garden without trees, which opened to the clear sky where the first stars, glowing with white fire on the western woods, could be seen. The Lady descended a long staircase that led into a deep hollow, crossed by the murmuring stream that gushed from the fountain on the hill, creating a low and shallow silver basin, next to which was a silver jug. With water from the stream, Galadriel filled to the brim a tub with a pedestal carved like a leafy tree.

“This is my Mirror,” she said, in that distant, ancient voice. “I brought you here so you can look at yourself, if you wish.”

“What do I have to look for?” Elva asked, watching full of wonder the pale elf. She wasn’t deluded, probably that place would be or had already been shown to all the other travellers, but at the moment she felt important, as if the Mirror could reveal to her something it had kept silent even to its owner.

“What you wish to see, if that’s what you desire,” replied the Lady. “But the Mirror can also spontaneously show images of things that were, are and still must be, which are often strange and useful. Do you want to watch?”

The half-elf didn’t answer right away: she would’ve liked to know what was happening at home, to her friends and her king, but she was afraid she would only see the reflection of the stars, or something she wouldn’t be able to understand.

“Remember, the Mirror is a dangerous guide, as it shows many things and not all of them have already occurred, while some will never happen, if only who saw didn’t abandon their way to prevent them,” Galadriel warned her.

“I don’t think you’re advising me to look, but rather to see something,” Elva replied. No one in Mirkwood spoke in riddles, but Haldir’s ignorance about the High Elves harbours and all the ceremoniousness of their meeting with the Lord and the Lady led her to assume those elves were no more like them than the dwarves for the hobbits.

“Seeing is at the same time good and dangerous, yet I believe you have guts and wisdom enough to take the risk, otherwise you wouldn’t have revealed to your guide what my spouse and I have been hiding from our people for a long time,” replied the woman, but without any trace of the annoyance or anger she might’ve expected facing the topic. Of course it wasn’t necessary to ask her how she knew, but was she telling that her words had a positive influence on Haldir? She didn’t have the courage to turn to look at her companion’s face to find out, yet, she felt like she needed to dodge even the powerful woman’s gaze, who didn’t need to read her mind anyway to know what she was thinking.

“So, do you wish to look?” she insisted, when faced only with silence.

The marchwarden hadn’t spoke a word for the whole time, and although Elva would’ve preferred for him, who knew the Lady more thoroughly, to advise her, she decided on her own to have a peep, even if it seemed unsafe to be too close to Galadriel’s magic. Without touching the dark water, she leaned over the basin, and as if a veil had been instantly withdrawn, the Mirror grew grey and then clear, to show her the sun shining and trees branches waving and tossing in the wind, golden leaf falling way sooner than the spring buds blossom. Before she could make up her mind, the autumn light faded, and she saw Haldir, dying in her arms with many of his race around him. They were both covered in red and black blood, and she almost thought she could smell the stench of death in her nostrils, mixed with something that reminded her of wet soil, sweat and leather. His lips barely moved, but he told her to go ahead, and take care of his brothers. Without thinking, she looked away to meet his blue eyes, full of concern but at the same time as attractive as a clear sea on a hot summer day. As in a dream, she returned to his side, but everything was too strange and unreal to resist the urge she felt of touching him, a light peck on his hand just to be sure what was happening wasn’t yet another one of Galadriel’s mental games. His skin was warm, not dry with sweat as in the Mirror’s vision, but as soon as she reached out, he held her tightly, as if afraid she might fly away in the stagnant air and never come back. Obviously, the Lady hadn’t missed the whole scene, and when she asked her subject if he wanted to look too, the tone of her words had changed slightly, although Elva couldn’t understand if for the better or the worse.

“Do you advise me to do so?” he asked, but the woman answered with the umpteenth riddle, and the decision became only his. Very slowly, she felt the grip on her hand loosen, and for a moment, everything was suspended, superfluous, their barely touching fingers the only important thing. The separation was almost painful, and it seemed to Elva that between her and the elf, gazing so skilfully into the Mirror’s depth she supposed he had already done it, there were whole kingdoms and not just a dozen steps. If Lorien was apparently frozen in time, that place, like everything surrounding the Lady, seemed suspended above the laws of nature, beautiful and at the same time terrifying. Over time, she had learned that under too much perfection there was always something corrupt, something rotten, a secret to hide, perhaps in the shape of a chain mail sneaked under a tunic, or a ring delicately mixed with other shiny jewellery, slipped on a pale, slender finger. No description could ever match the wonder of seeing Nenya in person. The Ring of Adamant glittered like polished gold overlaid with silver light, and its white stone twinkled as if Earendil, the Evening Star, most beloved of the Elves, had come down to rest upon the bearer’s hand, making her suspicions therefore correct: the Galadhrim had deliberately and conveniently avoided mentioning that Galadriel was the keeper of one of the three elven rings, hence they couldn’t be trusted.

“Let what has to happen, happen,” the Lady murmured when Haldir finished his dose of horrors too, so softly that Elva almost feared she had imagined it. “You’re not responsible for Lorien’s fate, but only for the fulfilment of your mission.”

“You’re wise and fearless and fair, Lady Galadriel,” he answered, but before Elva could turn to look at her, and inquire what she meant by those words, she found only the marchwarden, the lights dying quickly and the magic of that place drained by the elf’s absence. Unable to confront with someone, for fear that the woman and her spouse might find out, she decided to remain silent and act as if nothing had happened, even though she was dying to pester Haldir with questions about both Lothlorien’s ruler and his attitude towards them, reverential and accommodating but far from the spell the couple seemed to cast on the rest of their subject, and what he had seen in the Mirror. The Lady hadn’t in itself forbidden them to tell each other what the Mirror had decided to reveal, but even just touching the question would’ve led her guest to ask her what she had glimpsed in its depths, and she wasn’t sure she could admit that he, and his death, were the backbone of the longest, and simplest to interpret, if it could be said, of the two narratives, of which there would be no time to speak anyway, as the Fellowship was again summoned to the chamber of Celeborn, where the Lord and Lady greeted them with kind words. At length they spoke of the departure and Galadriel confirmed that they all intended to continue, providing them with boats, which would allow the crossing of the Great River.

"Even if you haven't decided your path yet, Haldir will take you wherever you want, as he’s a skilled captain and we can do nothing more to help," the woman concluded, casting a long look at Elva, weighing her reaction. For she was a good diplomat, the half-elf tried to keep her expression neutral, but Gimli’s curiosity about that silent exchange was of no help, while Aragorn was luckily too distracted by the gift to care.

“All shall be prepared at the haven before noon tomorrow,” added Celeborn. “I’ll send my people in the morning to help you make ready for the journey, but now we’ll wish you all a fair night and untroubled sleep.”

The whole Fellowship, plus its temporary new member, took their leave and returned to the pavilion to take counsel together; for a long time they debated what they should do, and how it would be best to attempt the fulfilling of their purpose with the Ring, but they came to no decision, even if it was plain that most of them desired to go first to Minas Tirith, and to escape at least for a while from the terror of the Enemy. Some would’ve been willing to follow a leader over the River and into the shadow of Mordor, but Frodo spoke no word, and Aragorn was still divided in his mind, therefore Elva remained neutral, as she seemed to understand Gandalf wished before his early death. Admitting that he would never return still gave a strange feeling, above all because an inestimable number of mysteries would remain unsolved, and so many questions would remain unanswered, but by now she believed she had accepted it, the emptiness in her heart slowly filling up with a new and different feeling, which she had neither the time nor the energy to analyze, mostly because it would’ve been of no use, since, although she couldn’t yet know when, Haldir would still have to turn his back on them to return to the patrols in the woods with his brothers.

“I shall go to Minas Tirith, alone if need be, for it is my duty,” said Boromir, and after that he was silent for a while, sitting with his eyes fixed on Frodo, as if he was trying to read the Halfling’s thoughts like the Lady had done in their first meeting. Only at length he spoke again, so softly he was probably debating with himself: “If you wish only to destroy the Ring, then there’s little use in war and weapons, and the Men of Minas Tirith cannot help, but if you wish to destroy the armed might of the Dark Lord, then it is folly to go without force into his domain, and folly to throw away,” he said, before pausing suddenly, as if he had become aware that he was speaking his thoughts aloud.

“It would be folly to throw lives away, I mean,” he added. “It’s a choice between defending a strong place and walking openly into the arms of death, or at least, that’s how I see it.”

Elva hardly heard the last justification, too busy reliving a memory of the council, during which he had already expressed a thought of that kind. She looked at Haldir, but the elf seemed deep in his own thought and made no sign that he had heeded Boromir’s words, so their debate ended and those who would have slept in the talan took their leave for the last time, while the night grew old and dark on Caras Galadhon, maybe darker than ever.

#haldir x fem oc #lotr fic #haldir of lothlorien #galadriel #gimli son of gloin #celeborn #aragorn #legolas greenleaf #gandalf the grey #boromir #frodo baggins #half elf oc

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athenagc94 · 4 years

Text

Just One Thing

With Beta Sandrock keys out, I’m back on my MTAP nonsense. Please, allow me to introduce my next builder - Eden King! Originally, I was gunning to have her marry Dr. Xu, but Oaks kind of snuck up on me and now, here we are. I hope you enjoy. You can also read it here on AO3

~~~~~~~

“When was the last time you had a full night’s sleep?”

Eden didn’t even look up from the monitor as she casually shot back, “When’s the last time you had a full night’s sleep?”

Petra huffed. “Don’t turn the tables on me. I asked you first.” She tried to sound irritated, but Eden heard the smile in her voice. She knew her sleep schedule was as fucked as hers, so kettle meet the pot. She had no right to lecture her. When she didn’t respond, Petra continued, “Why don’t you head out for the night? You’ve already done more than enough and I don’t mind finishing things up.”

“I like helping you.” Eden pressed a few keys on the pad in front of her. “It’s nostalgic, or whatever.”

She hit the enter key and a string of code appeared on the screen. She scrutinized it for patterns, then from those patterns, she picked out the irregularities and jotted them down on her notepad. Hopefully, they’d find something a little more useful this time around. The cooking mechanism they stumbled across last time was nice and all, but if she had to rely on her crumbling furnace for much longer, she was going to yank her hair out. This builder gig was supposed to be easier than her job back in Vega 5, but she might have made a marginal error when she drew that conclusion. Her father's old diagrams left a lot to be desired.

“You came to Portia to recover from your burnout,” she chided, jostling the back of her chair. Eden cut her with a glare, but it lacked its usual sting. “Old tech research isn’t your job anymore.”

“Old habits die hard,” she mumbled. “And then you die.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Petra tugged at her chair, pulling her just out of arm’s reach of the keypad. She almost clamored after it, but she resisted that overwhelming urge in favor of preserving some small part of her dignity. “Go home. Or am I going to have to get Phyllis on your ass?”

Eden pouted. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” she said, chuckling. “I can literally see the tension building around your shoulders. We both know Phyllis would love to get her hands on you for an acupuncture session.” Eden tried and failed to suppress the paralyzing fear that curled up her spine, stacking right on top of that rock hard stress that had settled in her shoulders. She liked to think she was a practical woman who trusted a vast majority of the advancements in medical sciences. And research did show that acupuncture has a positive impact on things like stress and anxiety ー both things she definitely suffered from.

That being said, fuck needles.

Petra smirked, reading her mind. “Exactly,” she snapped. “So, if you don’t want her using you as a living pin cushion, get out of here. Take the long way home. Get some fresh air. Something to unwind a little so she doesn’t have a reason to.”

“Why do you always have to be right?” Eden sighed, pushing herself out of her chair. She stretched her arms over her head, groaning as her back cracked and popped. “Can’t you just let me self-destruct in peace?”

“It’s part of my job to preserve the relic tech of the Free Cities.” Eden flipped her off and she laughed, a soft sound that reminded her of windchimes. She plopped down in her chair and turned back to the computer, picking up where Eden had left off. “I’ll let you know when I find something on these disks. A couple of days at most. So, I don’t want to see you before then unless it’s over a drink at the Round Table.”

Eden rolled her eyes. “How does Friday sound?”

“Only if you’re buying.”

“Of course,” Eden said as she shrugged on her cardigan. “It’s always on me, isn’t it?”

“Well, you’ve been threatening to get that new shop addition for months now. I think you’re purposely spending all your money on alcohol, so you don’t have to pull the trigger on it,” Petra shot back. She fluttered her lashes at her and quickly added, “I’m merely giving you an excuse to hold off on it for a while longer. That’s all.”

“I’m not afraid to pull the trigger on it,” she countered defensively, pulling the dark knit fabric a little more tightly around her shoulders. “It’s just, you know, this whole thing is only a temporary position. I plan on going back to Vega 5 once I’veー”

“Once the year is up. Yeah, I know what a sabbatical is.”

“Exactly,” Eden said, pulling the door open. The brisk spring air whipped up around her, rustling the dark curls around her jaw. She shivered and closed it a little to stave off the chill. “This is just a little vacation, I’ll be heading right back to continue my ongoing research with the Alliance by next spring. Portia is merely a stepping stone in my ten year plan.”

“That’s what I thought too when I took my internship out here, but here I am, three years later,” Petra said, with a wink. “You’ve only been a few months, but you’ll be surprised to see how quickly Portia grows on you. You’ll see.”

“Whatever you say. I’ll see you later this week.” She threw Portia a mock salute and ducked out into the Central Plaza.

The sun had long since set and if the clock on the old school building was correct (And it should be, she fixed it herself.) then it was far later than she realized. She regarded the stars that dotted the sky. The moon wasn’t out that evening, which only made the stars shine even more brightly in the sky. She smiled to herself. Maybe she would take Petra’s advice and go on a late night stroll ー just because it was such a beautiful night and not because she needed to unwind.

She rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them as she strolled out the city gates. The apple trees that grew along the path outside the city had started to bud with small white flowers, ready to bloom any day now. They filled the air with a sweet scent that reminded her of freshly baked apple pie. Eden stopped in the middle of the trail and took a deep breath. A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips as she basked in the smell and let the wind rustle her hair.

“What’re ya doin?”

Eden started, pressing a palm flat over her heart. It hammered so violently that she feared it would beat straight out of her chest. She glanced up only to find Oaks, the city vagabond, hanging precariously from one of the branches overhead. “By the Light, Oaks,” she breathed, her expression hardening. “You scared the shit out of me.”

He swung his legs up and over the branch, settling in the small nook it provided. “Sorry about that,” he said, chuckling. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look that happy before. It was nice.”

“What’re you even doing out?” She glanced at her watch, swearing. “It’s well past midnight.”

He shrugged, kicking his legs with a childlike glee. “I dunno? Papa Bear doesn’t care what time I make it back these days and sometimes I just like to sit in the trees and listen to the sounds of the forest.” He grinned at her. “You should really try it sometime. I always see you passing through here late at night anyway. Do you want to join me?”

Eden pinched the bridge of her nose. “Join you? Why would I join you? It’s late. I have to get up in the morning and work. You know a job? Like normal people.” A troubled frown tugged at the corners of his mouth and his playful kicking abruptly stopped. Only then did she realize how bad that sounded.

She groaned, scrubbing hard at her face. “I’m sorry, that came out wrong. That’s not what I meant, it’s just...” She trailed off, muffling another groan in her hand. “I don’t know what I meant.”

Maybe Petra was right. Her stress had gotten so out of hand that she was taking it out on Oaks, of all people. She hadn't spent too much time with him, but there was no denying that he was one of the sweetest residents in all of Portia. He loved to make people smile with his antics. He was especially good with the kids. She caught herself watching him dash around the plaza with them, their shrill laughter making her feel some kind of way that was hard to describe. In all, he was a good guy and now, she was screaming at him in the middle of the woods ー just like her father had done to her when he got a little too wound up.

How far she’d fallen.

He tilted his head off to one side and said, “You’re stressed.”

“Yeah,” she managed tightly. “Just a little bit.”

His frown deepened, which looked weird on a face that was always full of smiles. “Well, if that’s all that’s bothering you, I can show you what I do when I’m feeling a little stressed.”

She peered up at him, squinting. What kind of things did he have to be stressed about? As far as she knew, his days were spent wandering the fields with colorful llamas outside her workshop or snooping around the stalls in town. Sometimes, late in the afternoons, she’d catch him whittling while she was out gathering supplies. He always looked so engrossed in his work, but even then, there was a serene aura that surrounded him at all times. Frankly, it wasn’t fair.

But her curiosity got the better of her.

“What do you do when you’re stressed?”

He grinned, radiantly, and said, “Follow me.” He shifted his weight, tumbling to the ground in front of her. She flinched, but he quickly pulled himself up and wiped the dirt from the front of his pants. She never realized how tall he was before now, which was saying something considering she towered over most of Portia’s residents, even Gust. He had her beat by an inch or two, which was something. She didn’t know how old he was, but his broad shoulders and the sharp cut of his jaw suggested he was well into his twenties. She just always assumed he was a lot younger because of how he acted.

Another error. Two months into sabbatical and she was already losing her edge.

“If you liked the smell of the apple blossoms, then I think you’ll like this place just as much, but it’s top secret, you can’t tell anyone.” He leaned in, looking earnest. He smelled vaguely of apples and cinnamon. She furrowed her brow. Was that what she was smelling earlier? “It’ll be our secret. Do you promise?”

Eden sputtered, “I mean, I guess?”

Seemingly satisfied with that response, he took her by the hand and tugged her off the beaten path. Eden stumbled after him, nearly losing her footing on the roots and divots on the forest floor. She’d changed out of her work clothes earlier, before meeting up with Petra, so she wasn’t dressed for trekking through the forest. “Oaks, do you mind slowing down a little, I, uh, ahー”

Her foot caught a particularly vindictive tree root, sending her careening forward. She braced herself for the inevitable impact, but Oaks reacted quickly. He scooped her up, pulling her flush against his chest with one arm. She blinked up at him in surprise, one hand pressed flat against the bare pectoral. His heart thundered under her palm, nearly as fast hers was beating at that moment. This close, she could make out the individual freckles smattered across the bridge of his nose.

Eden suddenly found it very hard to catch her breath.

“My bad.” He pulled away, looking a little sheepish. “I got a little excited.” His hand slipped back around hers and they moved on, albeit a little more slowly. “But we aren’t in a rush. Part of the fun is the journey to get somewhere, am I right?”

“Honestly,” Eden said, smoothing her unruly curls up and out of her eyes. “I’ve never really been a fan of traveling.” That was kind of why she picked Portia for her sabbatical year. It was vaguely familiar from the one or two times she visited as a child with her aunt and uncle. She already had a connection or two with Presley and Isaac, not that she considered them close friends or anything. It seemed like a low maintenance location. Traveling always seemed like an unnecessary risk, but she needed to get away from the bustle of Vega 5 to fully recover from all her, as her therapist put it, issues

“It was never really my speed.”

“Well, with that attitude, you never will,” Oaks said with a chuckle. “Every new place is an adventure if you believe it is.” He gave her another radiant smile. “Take this top secret location for an example, you’ve never seen it before, right?” She nodded. “Well, aside from that little snag earlier, I think I can make it pretty fun for you.”

She snorted. “And how do you reckon that?”

Oaks paused, his nose wrinkling as he considered her question. Eden resisted the urge to roll her eyes. So, he didn’t even know. It shouldn’t have surprised her. After twenty six years. she still didn’t know how to cut loose and have fun. She had the PhD hanging over her desk to prove it.

“Who do you think would win in a fight ー a panbat or an illusion bunny?”

They shared a long look. “What?”

Oaks shrugged. “It’s a question. Which do you think?” He held out his hands, as if he were weighing his options. “On the one hand panbats are small and move faster than the illusion bunnies, but the bunnies have a hat, so it feels like a toss up. I’ve always been curious, but I’ve never been able to come to a decision. You seem smart, so what do you think in your expert opinion?”

Eden bit back a smile. He was too pure for his own good. “You do realize my area of expertise is in relic tech, right?”

Oaks hummed thoughtfully. “In that case, have you considered there are tech versions of panbats?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that would be…” She trailed off and thought about it. Maybe Oaks was onto something there. A lot of people thought panbats were cute, but the fact remained that they were wild panbats. One couldn’t just pluck one out of the forest and call it a pet. “That would be pretty amazing actually. Do you think someone would invent it so they could keep a versions as a pet without the social repercussions of capturing and domesticating an actual panbat?”

Eden got swept away in their conversation. Every time she hit the proverbial wall, Oaks was right there with another wild idea that kept the momentum going. She had written off when she arrived in Portia. He was a wild child, born and raised in the forest, but he overflowed with new ideas. In Vega 5, Eden was expected to be a cog in the well-oiled machine. Cogs didn’t change. They didn’t question. But here she was, discussing the intricacies of how one would cuddle a panbot model without realizing it was a machine.

It wasn’t even possible.

She’d been in the field long enough to know that, but Oaks made her feel like she could do anything as long as she was willing to put in the effort.

And she wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“And here we are,” Oaks announced with a swipe of his hand. Eden blinked in surprise. They had been walking that whole time, hadn’t they? She didn’t even notice.

They weren’t in the forest anymore, rather, the sloping hills at the foot of the Bassanio Heights. She’d seen it from a distance, but up close, it was absolutely breathtaking. A waterfall rushed over the edge of the cliffside, coating the grass and wildflowers in a soft dew. The flowers looked freshly bloomed and filled the air with a soft floral scent that eased the tension coiling around her shoulders. She always found flowers calming, but there weren’t too many patches of green in Vega 5.

“When I’m a little overwhelmed with everything, I like to come up here and watch the waterfall. The sound is calming to me,” Oaks explained, tugging her closer to the edge of the cliff that overlooked the water. It rushed past, filling the empty air between them with a soothing white noise. The flowers reached her calves in some places. He picked one, pale blue with teardrop shaped petals, and offered it to her. She took it, twirling it sheepishly between her fingers.

“Do you know how to make flower crowns?”

She shook her head. “Do I look like someone who knows how to make flower crowns?”

“Anyone can make flower crowns,” he said with a shrug. “Looks have nothing to do with it. And Molly says that mine are the best in all of Portia.” He plopped down on the ground and plucked a few more. Pink, blue, yellow. His hands moved of their own accord as he expertly wove the stems in and out. “I can show you my secret.” He peered up at her, donning a soft smile that left her chest swelling with a warm glow. He had a dimple on his right cheek. “I mean, if you aren’t too busy with all your real adult work, that is.”

Eden laughed despite herself and took a seat across from him. “You’re a little cheeky,” she said. “I would have never expected that from you.”

“Well, Papa Bear has the best sense of humor. I learned it from him.”

“Naturally.” She regarded her flower fondly, then tucked it behind her ear.

Oaks beamed. “That color looks nice with your hair.” He immediately grabbed a few more of the blue flowers to lace into the crown that was quickly taking shape in his lap. “Molly only likes the pink and yellow flowers when I make them for her, so I rarely get to use the blue ones.”

“Use as many as you want. I’ve never had someone make me a flower crown before.”

“Well, they should,” Oaks said with firm conviction. “They’re scientifically proven to make you happier.”

“Well, I’m going to need to see your research because I’m a little skeptical.”

He presented her with the flower crown, beautifully crafted with blue and yellow. “Let us try our hand at a little experiment,” he said, imitating Merlin’s haughty drawl. He placed the crown on her head, adjusting a few of her curls. He settled back on his knees and regarded her with this fond look on his face. “Perfect.” She cracked a small smile and dipped her head, trying to hide it. “Exhibit A. You’re smiling.”

“Correlation doesn’t equal causation,” Eden countered.

“I don’t know what that means,” Oaks said. “But, I do know that people smile when they’re happy and yours just keeps getting bigger. That has to mean something, right? You normally have such a serious look on your face.” He made a face, furrowing his brow and setting his mouth in a hard line. It was the same look that greeted her when she looked in the mirror every morning. He was spot on. She couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled and burst out of her. “See, and now you’re laughing. That’s not a coral nation or whatever you said.”

“Correlation,” she corrected. “It means a mutual relationship between two things. So, just because we can measure a relationship between those two things, that doesn’t mean one is the cause of the other.” For instance, there was no quantifiable proof that the heat burning at her cheeks had anything to do with Oaks or his close proximity to her at that moment.

None whatsoever.

Still, she cleared her throat and pulled away, just to be safe. “It’s beautiful.” She straightened the flower crown, lingering on the silken petals. “Thank you.”

“I told you I make the best flower crowns.”

“Not so fast there, nature boy.” She wagged her finger at him. “I don’t know if I’ve gathered enough data to draw that conclusion.”

His brow pitched as he considered that. “Well, I can make you another one tomorrow? With more flowers if you’re worried about me not gathering enough before.” he offered after a long moment. Eden tilted her head at him, confused, but he was already moving on. “Or maybe we can go apple picking? I know where to find the really sweet ones.”

“I have a lot of work to do tomorrow,” Eden said. “I have to gather some ore in the mines, Gale wants me to catch him a few fish, and then I’m meeting with the Civil Corps to discuss the bridge construction to Amber Island.” She drafted her mental checklist for everything she still needed to get done and felt the tension pulling taut across her shoulders. There wasn’t enough time in the day to finish everything.

Oaks shrugged. “That’s just three things.”

Her thoughts ground to a halt. “W-What?”

He blinked at her. “That’s just three things,” he reiterated. “I might not be super smart like you, but even I know that’s not that many.”

When he phrased it that way, her to-do list seemed a little less daunting. “Just three things.” She chuckled to herself. “You’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

He wheezed and plucked another flower from the field. It was a deep red, almost the same shade as his hair. “Well, if that’s the case, you’d be the first person who thinks so.” The sad resignation in his tone made something inside her ache.

“How about this? While I’m fishing tomorrow, you can hang out with me and show me how to make one of these things.” She pointed to the crown. “I’m pretty handy myself. I might be able to give you a run for your title as the best of the best.”

He grinned. “I like that plan.”

“Me too.”

Oaks hummed contentedly and sprawled out in front of her. He pointed at the sky. “Do you want to hear the stories Papa Bear used to tell me about the stars?” Eden glanced at her watch, the back at Oaks hopeful expression. An hour had already passed, but it certainly didn’t feel like it. She would even be so bold as to say that this little adventure was fun.

He added quickly after a moment, “Or I can walk you home if you want to sleep?”

“This is just one thing.” Eden laid down next to him and smiled at him. He mirrored it. “Tell me a story.”

#my time at portia #mtap #mtap builder #mtap oaks #mtap petra

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peach-jaehyunie · 5 years

Text

A Gentleman Caller

|m.list|

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x Fem. Reader

Rating: 18+, explicit Words: 3.3k

Warnings: Swearing, smut {fingering, oral (m.receiving), spanking, pearl necklace, etc.}

Inspired by Jaehyun’s GQ photoshoot

The dog's claws click on the pavement as you walk her. A spring breeze still carries a little nip, and you pull your sleeves down to shield your hands as a numbness settles on the tips of your ears. Green buds are sprouting on the trees in the park, great big fat buds on a row of magnolia trees threaten to break open into bloom any day now. Though past dinner, there still is plenty of daylight left. You cross a bustling street, Hera slowly trots next to you her dog tag tinkling.

You take your shoes off after stepping into your shared apartment. Hera sits and waits for you to take her leash and collar off, which you hang up in a little closet by the front door. In another hidden closet you hang your coat and place your shoes, before walking into the kitchen for a glass of water. Sitting down at your work desk, an unfinished manuscript lays open almost taunting you to try and write one paragraph more. You gently close the manuscript, setting it away on the small shelf above the desk. You check your phone as you pour yourself another glass of water in the kitchen; your boyfriend still hasn’t texted you. The late evening sun is shining directly into the bedroom and you open the sliding screens that separate the bedroom from the living room, letting the sun bathe the entire apartment.

Half an hour later you are reclining in the bathtub when Jaehyun finally gets in touch with you.

<<I won’t be home for a couple more hours, we started shooting late>>

Sipping from your glass of wine, you read his text with a sigh. This is becoming a frequent occurrence, work keeping either one of you away for too long. You are happy that this photoshoot is in the city and he hasn’t had to fly to another city or country for it. Multiple times Jaehyun has said that you can come to the shoot and watch, but the mood has to strike you right to go—you usually hate standing around for hours while everyone else is working.

<<okay, see you when you get home>>

You put on a sheet mask and soak in the tub until the water grows tepid. Your cellphone dings twice alerting you of two new photos. Jaehyun sits on the floor in all black, his expression is careless and the chain around his neck sends heat to your core. Lying on the bed in your robe, you grin as text him back:

<<his girlfriend is so lucky to have him in her bed every night>>

Hopping off your bed, you let the robe fall into a pile on the floor before slipping into your silk short pajama bottoms. Your phone dings again, and you fall into your bed half-naked to see how Jaehyun has replied.

<<I heard that his girlfriend is an absolute minx and pretty freaky in bed, so I’d say he’s pretty lucky>>

Professionalism be damned. Jaehyun still being at work be damned. So what if the hairstylist saw your text, or the makeup person, or whoever.

<<bet they’ll fuck when he gets home>>

He must have been waiting for your response because he texts back immediately.

<<I mean I would if I were them>>

With a laugh, you roll over in bed staring at the ceiling your limbs star-fishing as you think with delight of what awaits when Jaehyun returns. Glancing at the time, you’re perturbed that you still must wait at least an hour for him. Getting up you slip into the camisole top to match your shorts, you glance in the mirror while tousling your hair and pulling a thin strap of your top down your shoulder provocatively. It’s too early for that, you pull the strap back up, dimming the bedroom lights as you pull the screens closed in their usual nighttime placement. Removing the small gold hoops from your ears and switching them with a delicate pair of pearl studs, before rubbing lotion over the soft skin of your legs.

Very little time has passed during your preparations, and it doesn’t feel like one of those nights where you want Jaehyun to walk in on you waiting for him. Taking your unfinished glass of wine out to the couch, you sit and turn on the projector to watch a short tv show. Goose skin begins to prickle your arms and legs now that the sun’s warmth is long gone and you tuck in a fuzzy throw around yourself.

He doesn’t send a text saying that he’ll be home soon or that he’s on his way, but finally, the door to the apartment opens and Hera runs to greet Jaehyun before he can so much as take his coat off. You watch their affectionate reunion with a smile from your spot on the couch.

“Hey,” Jaehyun says as he leans over the couch, his mouth cutting off any attempt of a reply from you with his lips. The kiss is deep and you’re thankful that you’re already sitting because you feel a slight weakness in your legs. As your lips part and Jaehyun straightens up he presents a white paper bag to you with an innocent smile.

“I still have makeup and shit on me, so I’ll be right back—don’t eat them all.”

With a grin you accept the gift with both hands, eagerly looking into the bag to find a box of chocolate-covered strawberries. They are just as you like them; fresh, the chocolate soft and the berries perfectly ripe and at room temperature, so their fragrance fills the air.

When Jaehyun joins you on the couch his face is fresh and bare, his hairline damp, and you openly admire his bare upper body as he reaches for a strawberry. He settles down next to you, pulling you and the blanket onto his lap as he watches the tv show with you. Resting your head on his shoulder and letting yourself relax against his firm body, you pretend to watch the tv show while the taste of rich chocolate and sweet berries coats your tongue. Jaehyun places a few kisses along your shoulder: they start off chaste, nothing more than a few pecks between strawberries. As his kisses move along your shoulder to the crook of your neck his lips remain longer, brushing and lightly sucking on your skin with parted lips. His eyes never leave the tv show, but your head falls further back against his shoulder as you close your eyes with a contented sigh. Jaehyun sucks below your earlobe before licking a strip down your neck and sinking his teeth into your shoulder, causing your body to tense against his. Tenderly kissing your temple, he returns to watching the show. In a few minutes, his hands wander beneath the blanket; fingertips deftly brushing your bare skin and playing your body as only he knows how. He slips his hand beneath your cami, his palm grazing one of your hardened nipples before rubbing small circles on the areola and finally pinching the sensitive bud between two of his digits. With his other hand, he redirects your head to watch the show with him. You don’t let your head fall back again, but your breathing becomes sharper as your body warms and pleasure begins to tingle in your sensitive parts. His hand cups, massages, pinches, fondles and pulls at both of your flushed breasts equally. Biting your lower lip you hold back soft moans that threaten to escape, and noticing this, Jaehyun offers his chocolatey fingers for you to suck. You diligently clean them, licking between his fingers where there isn’t even any chocolate to sucking them as he gently thrusts three in your mouth at a time. Once he feels that you have sufficiently cleaned them off, his hand disappears below the blanket where you feel it slipping into the front of your shorts. His legs coax yours further apart until you are sat in his lap with your legs spread open. The first couple strokes from your wet sex to your clit are slow and teasing, just barely giving you what you want as your spine curves forward in pleasure. You are barely able to keep your eyes open as he rubs circles on the sensitive nubs of your upper and lower halves. Eyelids drooping and your mouth falling open with a gasp—

“Feed me a strawberry,” Jaehyun instructs you as both of his hands continue their ministrations. While you’re leaning forward to grab a berry, Jaehyun uses the opportunity of his palm pressed harshly against your pubic bone and clit to slip a finger into you. As you lean back up his finger retreats to spread your essence further upwards to your throbbing bud. Eating the strawberry from your hand, Jaehyun twists your nipple enough to almost make you yelp before thrusting two fingers into your dripping pussy. Your cry can only turn gasp of ecstasy as his fingers rather expertly fuck you, despite that their owner seems more interested in snacking and watching tv.

“Shh, my darling, we won’t be able to hear what they’re saying.” He admonishes, placing gentle kisses on your cheek and in your hair while his fingers move even faster beneath the blanket.

Your mouth is left to hang open with silent gasps, moans being replaced with uneven breaths as you can feel an orgasm building in your belly. You can feel him lazily watching you from the corner of his eye, choosing when and how to destroy you completely. His thumb moves to rub tiny circles on your clit, pushing you further towards the edge. Grasping the blanket in one fist you squeeze it as your body prepares for the orgasm to course through you—

“Can I have another strawberry, please,” his voice is nonchalant, and you must force your eyes open as you lean for another chocolate-covered berry.

You bite down hard on your lip as the angle pushes you over the edge and hot waves pleasure surge through your body starting from your core and going down your limbs. Bringing the strawberry to his lips you lean against him, your head falling back onto his shoulder as the tide of ecstasy gradually subsides. As you try to regulate your breathing again you only now notice his erection that presses against your bottom. It must be uncomfortable; obstructed by his pants and sat on, but now that Jaehyun has removed his hands from beneath your clothes you can do something for him.

Sliding down his lap you push the coffee table further away (but not before Jaehyun can snatch the box with the remaining strawberries), lithely twisting in his lap before settling on the floor. His eyes don’t leave the tv show as he helps you pull down his pants a little so that his cock can spring free. You lick his wet tip, lightly pumping him before taking him far into your mouth. Licking up his shaft, you focus on teasing his tip in hopes of eliciting even a small sound of pleasure from him. Bobbing your head a few times before swirling your tongue over his slit is all it takes for Jaehyun to pant and bring his hand down to your hair. He tangles his fingers through your tresses, but never pulls; his hand caresses your back and your neck and shoulders. Sometimes his nails will leave a little crescent mark on your skin. Your mouth and hands continue their movements at an agonizingly slow pace, his cock is hot in your mouth and his pre-cum salty on your tongue. Moaning around him, his dick twitches and blunt nails dig into your shoulder only for you to take him even further down your throat pulling a moan from his mouth. You release him with a suck, pumping him neatly with your hands as you coldly chastised him.

“Jaehyun, I won’t be able to hear the show if you’re not quiet.”

You can tell he’s close from how his organ trembles against your tongue and you hum lightly to send vibrations up and down him. Picking up your pace, you decide to push him over his precipice in lieu of teasing him anymore. You’re jealous that he got see your face when you came, how you’d give anything to see his face now. His body tensed beneath you, but did he still watch the show cool and collected? Or did his eyes close and his mouth open in a silent gasp as his cum spills into your mouth onto the back of your tongue? You don’t release him until you have cleaned him of every last drop, and leaning against his toned abs you feel his body shudder with sensitivity. Taking the opportunity, you look up to his face; his head has fallen back against the pillows and his lips, cheeks, and ears are deeply flushed. Silently, you slip out of your shorts before climbing back into his lap. You sit on his knees as his head finally rolls forward and he takes the last strawberry, feeding it to you a tired smile.

“And here’s the last strawberry for the woman I love.”

The flavours in your mouth mix as salty and sweet, but finally the fruity flavour dominates. You lean forward to kiss his already swollen lips with your own. There is chocolate by the corner of his mouth that you lick off before both your tongues meet and intertwine. Your hands finally explore his body as he brings one of his down to your ass. He gasps upon finding you naked down there and while he is distracted you take his bottom lip between your teeth and gently pull. Bringing your body closer to his, he brings your thighs to set on either side of his hips. His lips part from yours to watch as you guide his hardening length into your hot folds before slowly sinking down on him. You raise and lower your hips at a snail's pace, biting his earlobe before his lips are searching again for yours. His thick cock stretches and fills you leaving you as breathless as his kisses.

“Mr. Jung, I want you to take me into that bedroom and spank me and fuck me like you promised.” You whispered against his lips. Jaehyun’s eyes searched your face and then he brought his mouth to your jaw and moved down your neck, sucking on your delicate skin before harshly squeezing your buttock.

“You’d better get in there on that bed, then.” He spoke low against your skin. Pulling away from him, you rise off of his cock not missing the grimace on Jaehyun’s face as you clench hard around him one last time before you’re gone and scampering to your room. You lay face down on the bed listening to his methodical movements as he comes to join you. He pulls the last screen closed, shutting you both in before throwing your shorts that he picked up across the room towards your wardrobe and finally pulling his own pants off to pool on the floor at his feet. Pressing his phone that sits on the bedside table, music softly fills the room. Jaehyun’s hands wrap around your ankles, dragging you down the mattress until only half of your body is bent forward on the bed and he brings his palms to your hips and ass. He kneads your flesh and bends over to place kisses on your spine before he brings his hand down in a sharp motion. Your buttcheek stings, but Jaehyun’s warm hand smooths over your skin rubbing the pain away spanking you again, harder. You whimper against the covers, squeezing your thighs together as each slap sends an electric current straight to your core. He soothes your tender skin before spanking your other cheek, making you cry out even louder as your pussy throbs.

“Do you want me to fuck you now, sweetie?” Jaehyun asks, still peppering your back with loving kisses.

You nod your head, finding your voice, “Yes,” and you pull yourself up onto to bed while Jaehyun’s strong hands turn you over to face him. His weight joins yours on the mattress, leaning over you while cupping your face in his hands as he kisses you. Throwing your leg over his you pull him closer, slipping the cami straps down your arms so that it falls to expose your breasts. He kisses down your neck and down the valley of your breasts before sucking and licking your rosy nipples. Jaehyun brings your other leg to wrap around His waist as he sinks slowly into your dripping heat. Unrestrained moans fall from your mouth as he rocks into you, his length hitting deeper with every thrust as your climax begins to build. Your vision is hazy as sparks start in your body and your pleasure seems like it will never reach its peak as it continues to build— And then it washes over you in waves, you can’t even make a sound as you bury your head into Jaehyun’s shoulder until your body feels numb against his and the overstimulation is too much for you to bear. Seeing this, Jaehyun whispered in your ear and you gladly acquiesced. He pulled out letting your tired legs drop to rest on the bed, straddling your torso his wet cock settled between your breasts. You used your hands to push the mounds together to hug his member as he slowly began to thrust against you. He is careful to not place a lot of weight on you, and you enjoy being able to watch the pleasure mount in his face. Every grimace and every groan; his breath catching in his throat as he fucked harder and a slew of curse words muttered under his breath. It was all for you to see. His eyes screwed shut and his face contorted before he bit down on his lip, saying to you between gasps:

“I’m gonna cum—ahh, fuck—is that okay?”

You nod before realizing that he can’t see you,

“Yes, baby, cum on me; give me a beautiful necklace to match my earrings.” You grin, finally feeling his hot essence on your skin, running over your clavicle and around your neck.

His cum paints your skin and drips down onto your hair and the sheets, Jaehyun’s motions subside and his eyes open but his brows remain furrowed. You have no doubt you had looked as fucked out as he looks now, only a few minutes before. Hair sticks to his face with sweat, his lips are dark, swollen and bitten. Brushing the hair back from your face with his hand and tucking it behind your ear, he kisses you.

“It really does match your earrings,” Jaehyun says with a laugh against your lips before brushing them against his own. He rests on the bed beside you, taking your hand intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Thanks for those photos,” you joke, squeezing his hand.

“What? You mean you wouldn’t have jumped me as soon as I got home if I hadn’t sent them?” His tone is lightly sarcastic, and he shifts to his side so he’s looking at you.

“I never jump you don’t be ridiculous,” you retort.

“Uh-huh, then what was that last week—“

“Okay, never was the wrong word choice; I rarely jump you, and I didn’t tonight either.” You defend with a laugh.

“Okay,” Jaehyun concedes as he kisses your temple, “I’ll accept that tonight was just average horny, then.”

“It was a bit above average,” You turn your head towards him, “Now since you got your cum all over me are you going to help me wash it off like a gentleman?”

“Of course, I didn’t get into Gentleman’s Quarterly for nothing.” He grinned.

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dansnaturepictures · 3 years

Photo

6th May 2021: Starling garden drama and tranquil Lakeside walks

In a sign of the time of year in itself approaching noon as I worked today I was warm so opened my window. This led to me hearing a lot of the noisy and fluent calls of Starlings which was a great sound track and I went over to have a look. I was delighted to see for the first time this year, something I had hoped would be coming soon, some sparkly and freshly dark brown young Starlings in the garden. I look very much forward to seeing them come in the garden every year, they’re one of the most distinctive and interesting looking juvenile birds. They also brighten up the place so well and are so lovely to watch. I enjoyed three in the garden today, making noise, being fed and even having a great splash in the bird bath which looked brilliant. One of my most memorable moments with them last year my best ever year for photographing the young Starlings was one almost being shown how to drink from the bath by their parent which I took a picture of. Today both an adult and young were in the bath in a photo I tweeted on Dans_Pictures tonight. I took the first picture in this photoset of one on the fence.

Then drama occurred as I heard a right commotion coming from the garden, really loud squarky noises. I think I wondered if there was a predator around at that stage and my feeling was sort of confirmed as I looked out the window and saw a Magpie in the garden with a young Starling pinned to the ground. We had seen a Carrion Crow do this to a Starling before at Grantham Green years ago and the others in the group of Starlings were counter attacking the crow. The group were sort of doing that today maybe more vocally. The young Starling did end up deceased. This was a fascinating piece of behaviour to observe and one with this I believe regular now Magpie since the winter so not a bird that turned up to the garden when I was taking so many photos of these young birds last spring and summer. It was a moment of nature in all its brutal splendour. It really was quite something to observe and one of my spring highlights this year. I heard and then saw Blackbird from home today too.

I had two Lakeside walks today, the first a short one down the northern path and back after I had been to the polling station to vote. This one I found so peaceful as I just listened to gentle birdsong lapping against my ears. I took the second, third, fourth and fifth pictures in this photoset of three views and more buttercups what a key week I am having with them a strong year I am having for this flower too so far like many others.

I then had a smashing walk at Lakeisde this evening when the sun had well and truly come out and was shining so brightly, the whole landscape was drenched in the bright sunlight and it took on the golden and special approaching end of day glow. I took the sixth picture in this photoset of the tree in a neighbouring property visible from my room from the pavement. The captivating sunlight looked especially good and shone a light in the woods with some wonderful angles of light for pictures. This caught especially well the stunning bluebells I saw in the peak of their season now and I loved taking pictures of them with my macro lens and normal lens alike either a closeup or as part of a woodland landscape. On the western wooded path at the higher bit I liked taking in bluebells in a little area where you can see down onto the westernmost lake through the trees and the bluebells looked so good at the base of this scene so this was so special to see. Of course the lakes looked absolutely stunning and very nicely blue in this evening sunlight too and I found a peace here tonight as well with some birdsong nicely in the air as well. I took the seventh picture in this photoset of the male half a Mallard pair it was great to get so close to, eighth of one of the lake views I tweeted some too, ninth of some nice buds and tenth of a brilliant Buzzard I loved seeing circle over calmly, mobbed a little bit too over the lake and I also saw it on the way home where I took the picture just outside of Lakeside. A very interesting day, I hope you all had a good one. I liked seeing some stars out the back just now.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: Two of my favourite birds the Great Crested Grebe and Buzzard, Carrion Crow, Magpie, Woodpigeon, Collared Dove, Feral Pigeon, Starling, Blackbird, House Sparrow, Blue Tit in the garden too always a star, Mallard, Moorhen, Greylag Goose the latter with the goslings, Lesser Black-backed Gull out my bedroom window again, Black-headed Gull and I heard Jackdaw.

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sincerelyreidburke · 4 years

Note

13 with Cole and Claire

First of all, Toby, I love you. Second, Cole/Claire gang rise. “Wait, Cole and Claire dated?” Yes! The following ficlet is set Cole’s freshman/Claire’s sophomore year, which is the school year before Nando and co. arrive. And in an interesting first, it’s Claire’s POV. Claire, if you do not know her, is from the drama club. She’s one of the nicest people at Kiersey College.

And yes, she dated Cole Kolinsky. I honestly think it’s a crime that she winds up breaking up with Cole Kolinsky, but in Claire’s defense, it’s a mutual decision. And don’t worry; they stay friends.

So without further ado! From this list of sappy prompts. (Yes, I’m still accepting them if you want!)

13. “The way I feel when I’m with you...”

Claire is having a great birthday.

She knew it would be a good day when she woke up to sunny skies and a forecasted temperature above freezing, which, honestly, it’s about time, since it’s April 18th. Spring has pretty much arrived to campus, and even though this is her second spring at Kiersey, she feels like she maybe almost forgot entirely how pretty it gets. The trees are budding— slowly, but surely— and there are a few flowers coming up— bulb stuff, mostly hyacinth and iris, like they have in the backyard garden at home.

So that’s how her birthday starts— with a smile, a recognition of spring, and a nice breeze through the window, which Ellie opened, by the way, because they’re trying to ‘embrace the outdoors’ in Joy Hall Room 134. Ellie is asleep when she wakes up, because Claire is definitely the earlier riser in their roommate duo, but the second she lifts her curly ginger head from the pillow, the first words out of her sleep-deprived self are, “Happy birthday, legend!”

There are other things in the morning, too— a FaceTime call with her mom, an invasion of said call by her siblings and her dad to say happy birthday, a regular voice call with her grandparents because they can’t work FaceTime, and— maybe sweetest of all— a text.

iMessage

4/18/18, 12:03 AM

Cole💕🎶

helloooooooo don’t yell at me for my poor sleeping schedule choices but its past midnight so happy birthday :) you make me very happy, i hope you have the best day (when you wake up, which i hope isn’t now because it’s way past your bedtime)❤️

She laughs at her screen when she reads it, and can’t really wipe the smile that lingers off of her face. Ellie is awake by that point, and she has some kind of best friend boyfriend-radar, because she immediately pipes up from her bed across the room. “Uh-oh.” Claire looks up, and she’s grinning. Her hair is everywhere, because of the way she slept on it. “Mushy text alert.”

There’s literally no use denying who the text was from, so Claire just shrugs and shakes her head, still smiling. “He just said happy birthday.”

Ellie sits cross-legged, and pulls her duvet around her shoulders. So much for embracing the outdoors. “What time did he send the text?”

“Uh… 12:03?” Claire pauses. “Why does it ma—”

“Because that means he didn’t see it on my story.” Ellie flashes a freckly grin. “Which means he remembered organically. Which already makes him better than He Who Shall Not Be Named.”

“Oh.” She laughs a little. “I guess you’re right. Yeah.” Her ex from freshman year, Devin, was notorious for a number of things, among them forgetting her birthday. Ellie plotted his murder on the regular.

Me: Thank you!💜💜💜

Me: And good morning! I hope you slept well, despite being awake at midnight…

Cole texts her back during breakfast, by which point her day is already pretty much going. She gathers with Ellie and their small circle of friends, mostly hallmates from last year they bonded with really well in the shared terror of freshman housing. They occupy the same table at the dining hall every time they get breakfast, and today, Niamh and Hannah from across the hall bring her a plastic crown and a purple balloon to tie to the back of her chair.

She doesn’t wear the crown to her 10:30 class, tempting as it is. On her way there, she texts Cole again. He’s being cryptic in a cute way, and it’s exciting.

9:04 AM

Cole💕🎶: thankfully yes, i did sleep well, i hope you did too :)

Cole💕🎶: you’re free at 4:30, right?

10:18 AM

Me: Yes!

Me: Why do you ask?

Cole💕🎶: i reserve the right to let you wait to find out

Cole💕🎶: but

Cole💕🎶: you should meet me in the orchard around then

Cole💕🎶: if you want

Me: Omg

Me: Of course I want!🥰🥰

Me: You’re making me excited!

Cole💕🎶: good!

Cole💕🎶: you deserve a good day

Cole💕🎶: ❤️

Me: You’re so sweet🥰🥰🥰🥰

Cole💕🎶: hahaha

Cole💕🎶: have fun in linguistics!!

Me: I will!!💜

She winds up being soft over him for pretty much the whole morning, which is definitely cheesy, but it’s all in the privacy of her head, so nobody needs to know. She runs into Reid at lunch, who does her the hilarious honor of (loudly, badly) singing Happy Birthday and getting a good percentage of the dining hall to join in. In her afternoon theatre class, she hangs out with Zelie, her favorite senior, and then walks out of class to a funny post her brother made for her on Instagram. The sun is still warm, and everything is good.

So it’s already a good day. And then Cole makes it better.

She walks up through campus toward the orchard at 4:30. She’s wearing her favorite outfit, which is maybe not the most important detail but still makes her feel good. It’s a lavender blouse with a black skirt, and fun floral-patterned purple tights. Her flats are maybe not the most sensible choice for walking in the orchard, but at least she doesn’t have to go that far.

Because when she gets to the actual orchard, Cole is already in sight; he’s sitting under a tree. The sight of him alone is enough to make her face warm, and it just gets easier to blush when he raises a hand over his head and waves.

She waves, too, and takes in the sight. Cole has spread a blanket out on the grass, and he has a small grocery bag to one side and his guitar case to the other. There’s a white box next to the grocery bag, and a small bundle of purple irises on top of the box. He’s in a green beanie and a flannel with plaid in the same color, and his smile is soft. “Hey,” he says, as she stops by his blanket. “Happy, uh— happy birthday.”

“Cole,” she laughs, and drops down to sit across from him. “What’s— did you set all this up for me?”

“Well— yeah.” Cole half laughs, as he nods, and pushes his rounded glasses up the bridge of his nose. He is entirely too cute to handle, and Claire is going to melt. “I had a little help, but yeah.” He pauses, shifts the way he’s sitting, and then grabs the flowers. “These— may or may not be stolen from campus grouds, but—”

“They’re beautiful,” she says, before he can finish, and takes them when he holds them out for her. They’re her favorite color, soft purple, and she laughs as she adds, “I think I know exactly where you stole them from, too,” because they look an awful lot like the flowers in the garden outside the student center.

“Just don’t tell campus security,” Cole mumbles.

“I would never.” She puts a hand to her heart, and knows she’s still smiling like a big sap when she meets his eyes. “Thank you. You’re so sweet. These are going in my room.”

“You’re welcome.” His voice is soft, and he’s smiling right back. For good measure, she leans across the blanket to close the small distance between them, and kisses his cheek. This, as it often does, turns his entire face pink. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t do it on purpose, for that reaction. “Uh,” he adds, as the blush floods his cheeks. “So I brought some stuff.”

“It looks like it!” She leans back, to survey the scene on the blanket again. “You did all this by yourself?”

Cole shrugs, gently, and murmurs, “I… may have had a little help. Reid told me this is a good spot for a picnic, but I did the rest.”

“He’s a man of wisdom,” she muses, regarding Reid, and then, as Cole reaches into the grocery bag, adds, “But you are a very sweet boyfriend, and for that I’m very grateful.”

Cole is still blushing, as he roots around in the grocery bag. “Let, uh— let me explain, and then we can eat.”

He walks her through the small assortment of items in the bag— sandwiches on the good, fresh bread from the dining hall, and snacks he bought at the grocery store. The white box has cupcakes inside, but not just any cupcakes— purple cupcakes, with cream cheese frosting, from the bakery in town she loves. She’s about ready to fly in her joy as he explains this to her, rocking back and forth gently as he speaks. “I know there’s a lot,” he says, “but, uh, I thought you could always have the extras some other day. And maybe Ellie would want one?”

“These are my favorite,” she cries, which he obviously knows, because he bought them for her birthday in the first place. “You’re the actual best person alive. Did you know that?”

Cole shrugs. His hair, wispy and light brown, is blowing gently where it sticks out from under his beanie. With the blush under his glasses, and the small smile on his face, he couldn’t be cuter. Claire is sure of it. “I mean,” he mumbles, all bashful and sheepish. “It is your birthday.”

Which is true. But he’s still totally outdone himself. And that’s before he pulls out his guitar.

She eyes it while they eat, but doesn’t ask. She figures he brought it out here for some reason, and he’ll eventually explain, which she turns out to be right about. It would be lying, though, to say that, as they eat, she’s not secretly hoping he’ll serenade her. Cole’s guitar is sort of the whole reason she started liking him in the first place. Not the actual guitar itself, but the way he is when he plays it. He’s super talented, and super cute when he does it, and she first started to notice him when she first heard him play.

So she waits. Patiently. More than a little excitedly. They eat the food he packed, and she tells him about her classes, about her breakfast with the girls, about her serenade from Reid and his impromptu backup singers. The sun shines warm on her shoulders, and he tells her she looks pretty. It’s more than enough to give her butterflies.

She’s eating a cupcake when the guitar finally gets brought up. It’s after a pause in conversation, while she pulls the wrapper off of the cupcake and he takes a deep breath. He’s fidgeting with his hands in his lap, a sign he’s thinking. When he speaks, he’s looking down at his hands. “So, um.”

Claire waits. She puts the cupcake down on a napkin, and nods. “You okay?”

“Oh, I’m— yeah. I’m fine.” Cole’s laugh is gentle, and nervous. He nods, and then takes a deep breath for a second time. “I, uh… I was going to write you a card,” he starts. “I know that’s sort of, like. A thing people do.” He pauses. “But, uh… well… okay, I tried to write a card. Or, like, something like that. But I realized…” He fixes his beanie, and then takes a deep breath for a third time before he finally blurts a bunch of words out at once. “I’m… not good with words in that way, and I honestly, like, I don’t know how to write down the way I feel when I’m with you.”

The butterflies are at it again. Claire knows she’s smiling at him. She might even be blushing, too. And it just gets easier to smile and blush and all that jazz when Cole finishes his ramble with, “So I, uh… I wrote you a song?”

He reaches sideways for his guitar. The case is undone, so all he has to do is throw the top open. “You did?” she asks, because in that moment, she can’t even find the words for the excitement.

“I, uh— yeah.” Cole rests his hand on the neck of his guitar. It’s maybe the most beautiful instrument Claire has ever seen, except her own flute, but she’s sort of biased towards the latter. Cole still looks hesitant, still red in the face. “Is that weird?”

“Oh, my God, no,” she laughs, and shakes her head as she leans forward. “Cole, that’s— that’s maybe the sweetest gesture anyone’s ever done for me?”

“Well,” he laughs, “maybe don’t speak so soon. You haven’t heard the song yet.”

“I’ve heard your other songs.” She could kiss him. She wants to kiss him. She has done that before, a good number of times considering they’ve been together for two months. But right now, she especially wants to. “I can’t even— Cole.” She puts both hands over her face and laughs. “You’re the sweetest boy.”

Cole laughs, too; it’s the same bashful noise she’s gotten so fond of with him. Gingerly, he pulls his guitar from its case, and settles it into his lap. One test strum of a G chord, and she is positive she is going to combust with all the softness.

“Sorry, I, uh—” Cole stops strumming, and shakes his head. “I’ve never actually, uh, played someone a song I wrote them before? Especially not, like, a girlfriend.” He winces at himself. “So this is sort of new for me, and I’m, uh— a little embarrassed.”

“Oh, my God,” she murmurs. “Please do not be embarrassed.”

She guesses that’s enough for him, because he takes another of those huge breaths, and with that, he plays her the sweetest song she’s ever heard.

It’s like watching a little concert that was meant just for her. The lyrics are soft like a love song on the radio; his guitar sound is just… well, there’s nothing like it. In the entire world. Claire is blushing like crazy, and the best part is that he is, too, right through the whole thing, as he looks down at his guitar and sneaks her smiles between verses. When he finishes, she wishes she’d made a voice memo of it on her phone or something. Something to hold onto.

“There is no way,” she breathes, as the last chord hangs in the air, “that you’re a real person.”

Cole laughs, doubling over his guitar. He’s the cutest boy in the world. “I really hope I’m a real person,” he replies, and she wastes no more time. She lunges across the blanket, takes care not to knock the guitar off of him, and grabs his face to kiss him gently. When he smiles against her lips, she thinks her heart is literally going to fly.

How is this happening to her.

“That was so sweet,” she tells him, when she’s looking into his eyes, hazel and dazed behind those cute glasses. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“That was a thank you,” Cole breathes, and then adds, “Happy birthday.”

Claire laughs. She presses to his forehead, and then kisses him again.

This is, by far, the cherry on top of the best birthday she’s ever had.

#does claire need a tag?#actually he's cole #claire/cole #sappy prompts #ficlet #kiersey college #kiersey drama club #mel writes

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hopiewrites · 5 years

Text

Nobody - OHSHC

NOTE: big, big thank you to the person helping me write this fic, LT! i don’t think they have a tumblr so here is a link to their quotev!

pairing - host club x reader

ongoing series, chapter 3

word count - 4,180

chapters 1 & 2 up now!

-> back to masterlist

Forget-me-not Blue

Weeks had passed, and the daffodils began to bloom, welcoming spring into season that April.

(Y/N) was excited, even if things were barely starting to come to life. The early spring flowers had arrived, and that meant the butterflies and bees would start dancing around again, and the cherry blossoms would bloom, and everything would be alight with new life and begin the new year with vibrancy. She couldn't wait until she was able to walk through Ouran's gardens that would be full of roses and lavender and dandelions.

It seemed that the entire school shared her excitement, as the whole campus was vibrating with excitement and joy. The colors seemed brighter and the sky seemed clearer and the spring air was crisp and clean, brushing it's hands through the trees that were budding with new leaves and fruits.

All was well that day. (Y/N) got to spend time with her mother that morning before she had to run off to work, managed to remember all of her school supplies, and even got to finish her makeup on time; she was wearing one of her favorite outfits, a cherry wood brown turtleneck and a pleated plaid skirt, paired with the dirty vans she always wore.

She stayed late yesterday to make the food beforehand instead of going in early that morning, so she managed to get two extra hours of sleep, and felt relatively rested.

She decided that the day was good.

Everybody in homeroom was chatting amongst themselves, as usual, while cute drawings of different characters and flowers adorned the whiteboard with little phrases and words next to them. Her head was low as she entered, quietly making a beeline towards her usual desk and pulling out her notebook.

Something scrunched under her papers.

The girl moved her notebook, curious brows raised, and there, on her desk, sat a yellow sticky note, with a sun wearing sunglasses and a little daisy sitting around the neat, swirly handwriting that read;

Come to the club room after classes, We have planning to do~

Just when she thought she'd gotten away from them, they pulled her right back into their grubby hands.

She sighed, trying to hide the slight grin that made it's way to her face. She propped her head up on one hand, staring blankly at the whiteboard at the front of the room.

I wonder what's going on this time.

It wasn't long before everyone got settled and into their seats. Now, all she had to do, was wait.

- nobody -

Everyone is so lively today.

Even more so than usual, the host club's atmosphere was effervescent, seeming to bubble over with what she assumed was excitement – even the guests were basically dancing in their seats.

"So, Kyoya! When will the annual Spring Dance be held this year?"

"Yeah! Everybody has been talking about it already, we're all so excited!"

"Well, ladies, we plan to have it soon, in early May. We're actually having preparations being made at this moment."

"Oh, wow, really!? We have to start looking at gowns, then!"

"Yes, we're looking forward to it! I wonder what the theme will be this year."

Spring Dance?

"That, my dears, is a surprise. Just know that all the hosts have worked very hard to find only the best decorations and catering for our guests."

They all swooned at Kyoya's smooth cut words, alight with his usual false cheeriness. He smiled at his guests politely, listening to their excited rambling.

Huh. I should've figured they would have one. Just slipped my mind. Maybe that's why they wanted me up here, to help with preparations?

"Oh, (N/N)-chan!!! You look so pretty!"

Almost knocked back by Honey's embrace, she hid a giggle, letting him hug her – now that it's been nearly a month, the timid girl has gotten used to her elder's childish mannerisms.

"Hello, senpai. Um, thank you!"

He laughed cutely before letting her go. "So you got Tama-chan's note? I wasn't sure if you'd come visit us today."

"Yeah, I almost didn't see it actual-"

"Oh, Princess! Welcome!"

Yet again, she was scooped up into a pair of arms, but this time, she was twirled around and around and around, before finally her feet touched the ground once more, a pair of warm hands on her shoulders.

Her cheeks were pink from that welcome, and head spinning after that twirl; she still wasn't used to Tamaki's bear hugs. As nice as they were, they always made her chest flutter and twist, as if, suddenly, the only thing that was there was warmth, and a rosy cinnamon scent that she could lose herself in.

(Y/N) smiled.

"Hi, Tamaki-senpai."

"I'm glad you came today! We have many things to discuss, like the-"

"Spring Dance?"

"Oh! Yes. I'm guessing you've heard?"

His hands fell from her shoulders, as his head tilted like that of a puppy, blonde hair shining like gold under the florescent lights that hung in chandeliers from the ceiling high above.

"Well, just now I heard some of Kyoya's visitors talking about it- oh, I think you have people waiting, senpai."

She nodded her head towards the girls waiting patiently with smiles on their pretty faces. The taller nods. "Yeah, I'll tell you more about it later, okay? So don't leave!"

"Okay, don't worry! I'll be right here."

He smiled once again before greeting his guests and walking with them to a table.

She took it upon herself to sit, folded up in a sofa situated at the back of the expansive room, and plugged her earbuds in to block out the chatter that echoed. Plucking her journal out from her bag, she balanced it on her knee, continuing a sketch she'd been working on recently–a myosotis plant, more commonly known as forget-me-not's.

Small flowers, known for their symbolism of faithful love and reminiscent feelings; their color, known as "true blue," was the color of trust, loyalty and truth. She chose these flowers for an assignment in her art class, the project being on symbolism in everyday objects.

She was a bit of a nerd for those kinds of things.

From beside the focused girl peered a curious ginger over her shoulder. A pair of honey eyes roamed across the paper, watching as her hand moved and twitched, careful yet messy in a way he hadn't really seen before.

"What're you drawing, (Y/N)?"

Music drowned out his words, earbuds nestled safely in her ears as she just continued what she was doing, unbothered.

He decided to tuck his voice away for now, watching the pencil as it dragged across the paper, quietly. He moved closer, a sheepish smile playing on his lips as he crouched, propping his arm on the armrest of the chair, head leaning close to the oblivious girl's shoulder.

He'd seen those flowers before, overflowing in the pots that sit right outside his mansion's front doors, serving as a welcome whenever he arrived home. He never realized how pretty they were until that moment.

Soon enough she turned the page, and from the corner of his eye he saw a nonchalant smile pull on her cheeks - she wrote a message in her book.

How long have you been spying on me?

Kaoru chuckled, then pulled out an earbud of hers.

"About five minutes now, actually."

"Hm. You're such a stalker, you know that?"

Closing her book she turned towards the younger twin, headphone swinging and smacking Kaoru in the face as she moved; she held back an embarrassed laugh.

"Those are forget-me-not's, right?" His head tilted, lights reflecting in his eyes like constellations.

She lit up. "Yeah. I'm just doing rough sketches for a project I'm working on... I'm pretty excited to start painting it."

"That's right!" The girl jumped at his exclamation, dropping her journal with a thud, "We've never seen your paintings before. When will you show us your winning masterpiece, (Y/-"

"What's this?"

Her cheap journal was plucked from the floor by slim hands, mischievous eyes studying the contents of the page that had revealed itself from the prior fall.

"Wai-"

"Ooh, I never took you as the obsessive type, (Y/N)."

Kaoru stood abruptly from his crouch and walked over to where his twin was in front of the poor girl, lips falling open, just a bit, just enough to suck in a breath he didn't know he needed.

"And for Tamaki, no less!"

Imprinted on the thin pages of her grimoire, was an unfinished portrait of none other than Tamaki Suoh, eyes sleepy and hair a mess, but a smile as bright as the very sun. You could feel the warmth he radiated through the page.

What took Kaoru by surprise was how much detail was put into the whole thing, even if it was a bit sloppy. It looked like it held every color in the world, even though the only thing that was there was the dull, grey lead of the pencil and bits of eraser shavings caught here and there.

She jumped up and tried to snatch it out of the taunting male's hands, though he just held it over her head.

She felt like crying; nobody was supposed to see that.

"What are you all doing?"

None other than the king himself asked, taking long strides towards the twins. Hikaru couldn't get enough of this. For one reason or another, he felt acid deep down in his stomach that bit at him from the inside, but on his tongue was the sweet taste of hell's fire, and he would deal with the burning of his conscience later.

"Seems like you have another fan, boss! Look at this."

Though, the girl wouldn't give up that easily. She jumped up once again, eyes glaring holes through the auburn's head, and a shiver crawled up his spine. He almost considered giving it back. Almost.

Tamaki was there now, and it felt like everything was in slow motion for her. Yeah, maybe she was being dramatic, but she couldn't help it. That was private and special to her, not to mention how embarrassed she'd be if he saw it.

(Y/N) disregarded how she was now chest-to-chest with Hikaru Hitachiin, and how pink dusted his cheeks as his eyes slanted down at her own ones in a silent declaration of war. The tips of her toes kissed the marble of Ouran's floors as she leaned against the much, much taller male in effort to get back what was rightfully hers, but he only stretched his arm out further, completely ignoring everyone else's presence in the now emptying room.

In that moment, nothing mattered to either of them. There was nothing else but each other and the mutual feeling of a bloody red.

...Save for the other club members of course, who watched the whole ordeal with amusement.

Kyoya sipped on his earl grey. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say Hikaru is flirting, wouldn't you agree?"

Haruhi's hand clasped over her mouth in an effort not to laugh. She hummed in silent agreement. "Yeah, I'd definitely say so."

"(Y/N), you drew this...?"

It was those words that were the rain that washed the fire to ashes, though the biting heat lingered even when she pulled apart from Hikaru. His glare snapped to the wall as he avoided eye contact. Her skin was red with embarrassment and anger, blood boiling and burning her from the inside. The older twin only stood, arms crossed and eyebrows drawn together with an angry pout plastered on his rose petal lips.

Though, what she didn't know was that Hikaru was nauseous with the nasty aftertaste of guilt, pitchforks stabbing at his lungs, making it hard for him to do anything but clench his fists and bear it. He didn't care about how he made her feel. Why would he? She was just another one of Tamaki's stupid fangirls.

Right...?

He couldn't keep himself from glaring over at (Y/N) one last time.

- nobody -

Tamaki cleared his throat, clapping his hands together as all the hosts gathered and watched him.

"So, as many of you know, the annual spring dance is upon us, and we've already booked the grand hall for the ceremony."

(Y/N) listened curiously from her seat beside Mori, whom she felt safest by at the moment. He didn't ask questions; he didn't pry; he didn't do much of anything, really. His quiet presence was cooling against the fire raging red underneath her skin.

"I thought we should all gather to choose a theme. Last year's was royalty, and the decorations and dress code played off of that."

That's so like them. The girl grinned quietly to herself, finding their predictable nature entertaining. "Does anyone have any ideas?"

The girl hesitated, just for a moment, swallowing Hikaru's thorny glare like sour medicine.

"What about a vintage theme?" She spoke.

"Vintage theme...?" Tamaki questioned aloud, tilting his head slightly, just like she noticed he'd always do when thinking.

"Yeah. Like age old antiques, soft colors, lace, the like. Unless you've already done something like that, I mean.."

"No, no. Actually... That's a really good idea, (Y/N)," Kyoya flipped through his little black book, jotting down the girl's idea.

"Yeah. Sounds good."

(Y/N) shifted at the sudden voice beside her, quiet but not shy. Mori wasn't even looking at her, not sparing a single glance her way, his face bearing the same sea glass expression.

She took Mori's words to heart, those words he probably thought nothing much of. She then elaborated her thoughts, a little clearer, a little more confident.

"I think it would be really elegant, not to mention economical. We could maybe even visit a few antique shops for some of the decorations."

No one added anything in, silently willing her to continue.

"Soft colors, like cream and periwinkle and mauve would do. Maybe we can even make some kind of dress code."

Still, no one.

"...I don't know."

"That's a wonderful idea, (N/N)-chan!" Exclaimed Honey from his cozy seat on Mori's lap.

"Yeah, we've never done anything like that before. It could be really pretty," added Kaoru.

Kyoya chimed in, "Any other ideas?"

"Nope! I think this is what we're going for this year, my dear Kyoya!"

As the hosts scattered amongst themselves, Honey tucked his arms snugly around (Y/N)'s legs with a wide, sweet smile; too wide, too sweet. In the moment, though, the girl was caught up in catching butterflies in her stomach. They listened to me, she thought. Her hands subconsciously found their way around the short male's small frame, as they tended to these days.

"(N/N)-chan, do you wanna walk with us outside?"

A sheepish smile stretched her lips as she replied. "Can't, senpai. I have to prepare tomorrow's food."

"Oh, about that, (Y/N)."

Honey reluctantly loosened his hold and marched back to his tall companion. Kyoya stood at her side now, tucking his phone away safely into the pocket of his trousers.

She hummed, listening.

"We're not opening the club tomorrow, so you don't have to have anything ready. Just go home and get some rest."

(Y/N) turned her head to peer up at him. His eyes were unfocused, looking out at the blooming colors of spring outside the windows. She didn't understand what he was thinking or feeling, or if he was feeling anything at all for that matter.

In that moment, he reminded her of the darkness that separates the stars.

- nobody -

The walk home was full of life, unsurprisingly. Wildflowers and green grass lined the roads, honeybees buzzing happily as they kissed the flowers and danced with butterflies. There was still a few hours of the day left, judging by how the sun was strung in the sky, so instead she decided to walk to a local park. It was small and well-worn but very peaceful, with its rusty swings and small pond.

Ducks waddled around in and out of the water. Birds chirped back and forth in the few trees as a lady struggled to keep her small dog from chasing a poor squirrel scurrying around the base of an oak.

Settling on the swings, (Y/N) took a second to unwind. The wind was soft and carried the scent of wild roses as it soothed her skin. There were yellow daffodils happily swaying by the pond. Everything was okay in that moment.

In a swift movement the girl kicked off her shoes and hopped out of the swing, laughing at herself when she stumbled. The grass felt like silk on her callused feet as she stepped towards the large rose bush, crouching to smell its pink petals. Carefully, she plucked one, two, three, four roses and skipped away to gather a few daffodils, cattails, and dandelions.

For mom, when she gets home.

Right as she was about to steal a pinecone from its branch, her phone vibrated annoyingly in her pocket.

2 new messages from " the host club 👑✨💞"

Since when was I in a group chat??

Ignoring it, (Y/N) decided to check it out later. How did they even get her Instagram though? It didn't matter, she figured. She'd probably spent far too long at the park, anyway, if the creamy orange beginning to color the sky was any indication. It was time to head back home.

With all different kinds of plants gripped securely in her dirty hand, she retrieved her discarded shoes and gingerly walked back towards her neighborhood.

- nobody -

It wasn't until (Y/N) found herself sprawled across her bed and once more attempting to wrap-up her forget-me-not sketch that she remembered the notifications she had received from the host club prior.

The mixed bouquet of wild flowers she had managed to concoct was placed on her mother's nightstand, along with a note on which she had scrawled a short but sweet message the moment she arrived back home. Aside from that, the only things she had her mind set on were homework (regardless of how little she was assigned), dinner, and sleep. It's true, she was tired, a bit hungry as well, but she still chose to squeeze in some relaxing time to comfortably let her pencil dance across the designated page within her journal.

It almost amazed her how lost in thought she would find herself whenever she decided to let her creative side flow as freely as it did. It's as if she would switch over to autopilot and let nothing but her hand take control while her mind soared with an intoxicated sort of vigor as it explored every idea that subconsciously came to her head.

It was for this exact reason that it took her several moments to register the lit-up screen of her phone lying atop the cluster of unmade sheets just inches away.

Setting down her pencil, (Y/N) diverted her attention to the rectangular device and awkwardly shifted positions before picking it up and unlocking it. The number of messages from earlier had since multiplied, a prominent 61 plastered on the corner of the application.

haruhi.fuji: Well I know of a few thrift shops around near my apartment. You can find all kinds of hidden gems there.

haruhi.fuji: Don't know about antique stores though, but (Y/N)-chan might know of some.

tama_king: Thrift stores????

(58 more messages)

The corners of her lips upturned just enough for her to notice.

She opened the app and scrolled through the messages, skimming through notifications and following each member back. Well, accept for Hikaru, who hadn't even followed her in the first place. Hesitantly, (Y/N) typed out a message, then deleted it, then typed it out again, then deleted it. The girl sighed, chewing on her cheek, trying to decide what to say.

tama_king: Look (Y/N)s online!!

Well, leave it to Tamaki to point her out. Said girl settled for a simple greeting.

(username): hi everyone!

haruhi.fuji: (Y/N), we were just talking about what kind of decorations we should get for the spring dance.

(username): oh, well i figured we could just go looking through local shops to find authentic antique decor

haruhi.fuji: Like all of us out shopping together??

tama_king: That sounds like fun we should go see all the commoner shops together!

(Y/N) suddenly had regrets. All eight of them, six of which all likely hadn't ever even heard of a thrift store before, out and about? Even if she was starting to grow used to the lot of them, it was a whole other thing to be seen out in public with them. It wasn't that (Y/N) was embarrassed of them, but more so bothered by how much attention they seem to bring towards themselves. The socially awkward girl wasn't sure if she could handle that very well.

(username): i mean, sure??

haruhi.fuji: That sounds... ;;;

(username): yeah ik, migjt not be the best of ideas i've had huh

(username): *might

She quietly laughed to herself, trying to shake off the dread that was already piling on her shoulders.

tama_king: No, it sounds like a great idea!!

The "Oh, what have I done," slipped past her lips as she saw none other than Kyoya himself finalize the plans.

KyoyaOotori: I see you three have been planning an outing?

KyoyaOotori: And when are we all going to do this?

It was funny, because she could practically feel him shaking his head through the screen. Maybe the two of them were more alike than she had originally thought.

She decided then that she might as well go through with it.

(username): well, earlier you said i didn't have to prep for tomorrows guests, so i'm free tomorrow after school.

tama_king: The host club was planned to be closed tomorrow for preparations to be made for the dance. i'm sure our lovely guests wouldn't mind. so Kyoya, is tomorrow okay to go out shopping?

KyoyaOotori: I suppose that it would be a good learning experience to see what low-budget commoner living is like. So, yes, that sounds just fine. I'll make sure to let the others know.

It looked like all had been settled, so she switched the device back off and let it sit to the side. The sound of the door clicking shut and the A/C being tampered with alerted the young girl of her mother's arrival home, so she skipped into the doorway to greet her.

She looked tired, just as she always did, with the same empty smile and hollow eyes. (Y/N) hugged her and in a small voice, said hello.

"Heya, Pumpkin."

There was nothing else to be said as the woman kicked off her shoes and walked into her room, no doubtedly to sleep until she had to drag herself back out to work again. (Y/N) hoped she liked the flowers she had picked out for her.

Sometimes there is no worse feeling than guilt that will eat one out from the inside.

She felt as though the way that things were running in her house functioned like an unbalanced scale. Her mother always came home exhausted and worn-out as the result of working from dawn to dusk, and it hurt the young girl's heart to see her in such poor condition. It wasn't extremely often that she would even get the chance to say hello, and rarer still that she ever had the time to hold a good conversation.

They both loved each other more than life itself, and (Y/N) knew that better than anyone else, but with all the overbearing work her mother put up with, day and night, everything just seemed...

Unfair.

Bitter and unsavory thoughts aside, one glance at the clock on the microwave reminded her of the looming drowsiness she felt gradually washing over her. It had been a long day, and the next was certain to be even longer.

With this in mind, she experienced little to no hesitation before striding off towards her bathroom to ready herself for what she hoped to a good night's rest. Once she was curled up under the cotton sheets and had her stuffed animal of choice in a loving grip (not caring about how childish she may have seemed), the bluish light of her phone caught her attention as she slowly and reluctantly lifted up one eyelid.

Reaching for the device resting on her night stand, she opened both eyes; given how she hadn't really been exposed to the darkness of her room for a prolonged amount of time, it didn't take long to adjust to the screen's luminescent glow as she focused on the message displayed on her lock screen. A single notification was shown, and (Y/N) couldn't help but allow a small smile to make its way onto her face once she had processed what it read.

haruhi.fuji: Good luck tomorrow, (Y/N). Hope you'll be able to handle a few hours out with those goofballs.

#ohshc #ohshc x reader #tamaki suoh #tamaki x reader #kyoya ootori #kyoya x reader #haruhi fujioka #haruhi x reader #hitachiin brothers #kaoru hitachiin #hikaru hitachiin #hitachiin twins x reader #nobody - chapter 3 #hopiewrites #nobody

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w0lfbr0thers · 5 years

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i think it’d be interesting if Anne or Gilbert or preferably both had a dream about their future you know with their 7 kids and all and they started treating each other differently because of it (if that isn’t to like crazy of an idea for you

hello!! omg this is a great prompt!! and i can finally answer it, sorry it took so long xx

It was a dark night, having to be 3 a.m. in the Green Gables household, when Anne was startled awake in a cold sweat, breathing heavily as she ran her fingers through her tousled hair. It was so unnatural, Anne thought, as she glanced around her room and out the window that looked out to the Gables farm.

“Gilbert?” Anne gasped in a silent whisper, her chest rising and falling at a hasty rate as she tried to piece herself back together. “Seven children?” Anne voice’s almost quavered at the thought. It had been a few weeks after the county fair, the fortune teller “revealing” that Gilbert might be Anne’s one true destiny. However, Anne had quickly casted that idea far away after spotting Winnie. She had regarded her feelings as daft, which caused a sort of aching in her heart.

Anne had always thought that she would be a lonely individual, adventure being her only companion, but now as she would lay her eyes on Gilbert, her breath would catch, heart would flutter, and a warmth would spread across her cheeks. Never had she thought she would begin dreaming of him, not in ways she had just now woken from. Gilbert coming in from the Blythe Orchard, prepping dinner on the stove, herself preparing vegetables for a simple stew. Three of their youngest sitting on the floor, enjoying themselves with new hand-made toys given to them from Bash, and their four oldest setting the table.

It was such a strange dream, Anne thought, but as she began to piece herself together and calmed herself down, she eventually drifted back to sleep.

A few miles more outside of the town of Avonlea, Gilbert stirred awake in bed, his eyes shooting wide open as he awoke in a sweat, heart racing. Gilbert felt almost confused as he sat up in his bed, the moonlight shining in through his bedroom window at the LaCroix-Blythe farm. He felt a stirring in his stomach, a strange and uncommon feeling, as he began to realize and put together his dream.

He had dreamt of Anne - Anne, who was constantly filling his daytime thoughts - has now made her way into his dreams at night as well. He knew he had feelings for Anne, but he thought that his relationship with Winnie would weaken them, but they seemed to only make them stronger, more prevalent. When he was with Winnie, all he could think about was Anne. It hurt him that he may be leading Winnie on, but Gilbert knew that some things never changed.

As Gilbert ran a hand through his hair, he sat in thought. His dream of Anne, which visualized him and Anne in the orchard in the spring, buds growing on the trees, their arms linked as they walked together down the trail, their children following close behind giggling and smiling with joy. It made Gilbert’s stomach flutter with the thought of being with Anne, holding her, touching her so gentle and so soft.

Gilbert had come to terms with his unwaivering feelings, but this seemed so new and uncommon to dream of Anne in such ways. It made Gilbert smile, just a small smile, at the hope of him and Anne being together in more ways than just friends at school. Gilbert shook his head, still smiling, as he laid back down in bed, drifting away into another sleep.

It was morning, the sun barely shining over the Avonlea school house, as students began to fill the paths towards the school. Anne held her lunch pail tight and her school books were tossed over her shoulder as she walked. Her mind was still reeling from her dream, and she knew she would have to face Gilbert today, and that it would all seem different in someway.

As Anne headed towards the stairs to the door of the school house, she heard a voice call from behind her. She turned and was welcomed with a warm and generous smile found on the face of Gilbert Blythe. Anne feeling a flutter in her heart as she smiled.

“Gilbert. Good morning,” Anne stuttered as Gilbert nodded in return.

“Let me get the door for you, Anne,” Gilbert offered as he reached past her to turn the knob, pushing the door open to reveal the room.

Anne felt a warm flush fill her cheeks. “Thank you,” she muttered, hustling into the school room, Gilbert following closely behind. “Are you, uh, almost ready for the entrance exams?” Anne asked, filling the deafening silence.

Gilbert shrugged, raising a questioning eyebrow. “I’m not sure, but I know that Miss Stacy will help us in any and all ways that she can. It truly is a miracle that she was so willing to help us over the summer break, because otherwise I would not be certain-”

Anne sighed, offering a small smile as she reached out a hand to hold Gilbert’s squeezing it gently in reassurance. “I’m sure you’ll do great, Gilbert. We’ve always been neck and neck in school studies.” Gilbert didn’t reply as he gazed down at their hands. Anne cleared her throat, removing her hand and Gilbert felt an emptiness once again. “I’m sorry, that was rash-”

“No, no,” Gilbert smiled. “It’s alright... I didn’t mind. It was... comforting.”

Anne blushed a bright red as she smiled. “I’ll... talk to you during lunch?”

Gilbert grinned. “Sure.”

#asks #anonymous #answered #shirbert #anne with an e #anne with an e s3 #my writings

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dreamy--dolly · 5 years

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this is it. this is the angst fic i was promising.

taglist: @mordredfuckingpendragon @gringolet @kouvei-matarra @cukibola

They meet in the hazy heat of summer, when they are both very young. Though the grass is green and birds and insects hum in merry harmony on the breeze, Galahad still can’t take his mind off the scrape that bleeds red on his knee - his mother will tell him that it’s nothing to worry about, because there are people who have gotten hurt worse. So he makes his way deeper in the woods. He knows the way back - just make his way back on the straggly dirt path till the pain fades.

And then there is the boy who he finds on the path, in a blue dress stained with dirt and too-long black hair bound in a braid that’s coming undone. What he notices first about the boy is his eyes: A dark shade of blue, but still soft and sincere. He blinks at Galahad - you look pathetic, he tells himself, crying in front of someone else because Mother says you’re too old to cry - and says nothing about his tear-streaked face and loud sniffling in the quiet of the woods.

Then he sticks his tongue and and squints, twisting his face and scrunching his eyes shut.

The pain is still there but Galahad laughs, and the boy laughs with him. He does not ask and does not care that the boy wears a dress or that his hair is too long, because surely that does not matter in the end. He just has someone to laugh with in the summer, someone who will let the black-spotted ladybugs crawl up their arms and draw pictures in the dirt with him.

“What’s your name?” he asks the boy, who shuffles his fistful of flowers.

“Percival.”

“That’s a nice name. Percival. ‘M Galahad.”

“I like your name, too.”

The summer heat may make Galahad’s eyelids flicker behind his spectacles, and when he gets home he will have to answer the questions about why his knee is covered in crusted-over blood. But at least he has a friend to explore other worlds with during the summer.

Autumn comes and Percival sees angels - that’s what he tells Galahad at least. They’re climbing trees even though Percival knows he’ll tear up his dress on it (he talks about how sometimes his mother gets visitors and always talks about her “daughters” but when the visitors are gone she talks about him as her son, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.) They spend their days treading the paths of imaginary worlds they can save, kindling their own warmth in the coming bitterness of winter.

“It was at night, and I swore they were angels - just with hidden wings. They rode horses and were so beautiful I wanted to join them. Mother told me I had to go back inside, that they were knights and I didn’t want any business with them.”

Galahad climbs down from the tree. Rough bark scrapes at his hands. Then he reaches the ground and sits cross-legged, staring up at Percival who still struggles to maintain balance. The leaves are afire in red and yellow and brown and cling to his hands and legs from the greasy drizzle that’s got them slicked with rain.

“Knights?”

“Yes, knights. I don’t understand why that sounds so strange to you.”

“Mother says I have to become a knight like my father did when I get older. And I’ll be off to train in Camelot when winter comes. Which means I won’t get to see you…”

“Unless I become a knight to join you.”

That’s the first time Galahad sees what others might see through the keyhole: Percival whose mother shoves him into dresses and hides him away from a world that may not be as thorny as she makes it out to be - because perhaps there are petals, too. At least that’s what Galahad believes. You just have to snip the thorns away and the flowers won’t prick your fingers. Still, though-

“How? You really think you could do it?”

Percival clasps hold of his hands, blue eyes shining at green. “I can if I try. I promise I will.”

So that is what Galahad chooses to believe. It might be fleeting, but he’ll hold onto it while he can.

“And I’m glad you’ll try. Because if I had to train with anyone else, I’d want it to be you.”

Winter, Galahad decides, is the worst of the four seasons.

At least autumn has a prelude of warm colors before the bitter cold sets in. The snow may sparkle pristine white against the torchlight for a little bit, but after a day or two it all melts away to gray slush. He doesn’t say a word about it, though - at least he’s far away from his mother and the convent, yet there’s still his father Lancelot who seems to be infected by winter’s chill: Though he embraces his son when he sees him there is no warmth or anything Galahad thinks a father should give. The king, however, is different with his ruffling Galahad’s hair and saying how he’s heard about how he’s worked so hard.

And for him there’s something missing, stars melted away from a gray sky.

He never says anything about it, though, because that is what he was taught - if you really want to change, don’t speak with others of the worries that linger in your mind. The beetle and worm find their way into everything eventually, so why bother?

But then winter brings a visitor, who drags himself from the thorny woods through the heavy snow towards Camelot, a visitor who presents himself in the throne room with red dress tattered and dirtied, snow dusting his dark hair. But there is something alight in his eyes and it is what has brought him here in the first place. Galahad thinks it is who he thought it was, but keeps his mouth shut till Kay brings him to see the boy.

When he sees the face he’s kept in his memories, it’s like the snow melts.

Galahad elbows his way past Kay to greet him, and runs to tackle him to the ground in a hug. Here is the boy who has watched seasons fade into one another with him, shared his dreams. And he feels like home.

“I kept my promise,” Percival says.

“And I’m so glad you did.”

Spring brings magic that touches the dead branches of trees and makes the world breathe again. Three years since Percival brought a burst of warmth into winter, and by now the trees are coated with tiny green leaves and the first pale buds of flowers to come. The snow has thawed and the world is perfumed by a balmy, honeyed breeze that smells of fresh earth and new beginnings. Magic, Galahad learns, is something that people are blessed with - the reason he and Percival are at Camelot is because God gave them magic and they will use it to change the world for the better.

But he spends his time in the chapel praying for things to change, because sometimes trying is not enough. He prays for selfish things: A father that will thaw away with the dissolving snow, a mother who tries to fit him into the keyhole even though he won’t fit, for a world that is not razor-edged. He does not know if magic or even prayers will be enough, but at least there is Percival, too, who stays at his side.

Galahad uses his magic to make the flowers grow. He likes watching their stems curl from the ground and the soft petals unfurl. Today he grows flowers for Percival and thinks about the ones he wants to show him. Give him purple lilacs, Galahad thinks, and hydrangeas. And irises. And-

“What are you doing?”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is something like a fox’s cry and Galahad almost falls face first against the ground. Percival squats next to him, staring at the splashes of purple and periwinkle so bright and pale against the green.

“I was trying to grow flowers for you.”

“Any reason why?”

“No, just that you like flowers and you’d make flower crowns for us when we were young-”

(A crown of gold doesn’t suit you, Galahad thinks. It weighs too heavy on your brow, when flowers do not.)

“Wait a moment,” Percival mumbles, and he notices what Galahad half-hopes he would and would not notice. “Hydrangeas mean heartfelt emotions, irises mean faith and hope, and purple lilac-”

“Are purple?”

“Well, yes. But purple lilacs also mean first love. Don’t they?”

“Mm-hm.”

Though he lowers his head Percival still presses his fingers to Galahad’s cheeks and moves in closer. When Galahad looks up, he’s smiling.

“I hope that’s what you’re trying to say. But it’d be just as nice if you picked those because you know purple and blue are my favorite colors.”

He almost closes the gap between them before pulling away, as if disenchanted from the magic of the fragrant air. “...Can I?”

Galahad nods. He tastes sweet but a little bitter, of fresh honey and fuzz-coated peaches. He lets Percival’s hands frame his face, fingertips pressing gently at his flaxen blonde hair. And it feels like an ending, the last blotchy-inked illustration in a storybook that will close and be over. Though a part of him knows that there will be more books to follow, more books that feel like the end but still have him praying - he pushes all of that aside and pretends that this is the last page. He can take a walk in his imaginations for a little while.

He pulls away and rests back on the grass, and Percival cradles him close. They have magic and their hopes sprouting from seeds in the ground, growing against the odds and through the winter thaw, and for the moment that is all that they need.

“Hold still and let me heal you.”

Even though they are tucked safely away from the sun in the canvas tent, the heat is still stifling. Galahad stares down at the stretch of red-soaked split skin on his stomach and the bloodied patches that peek through his shirtsleeve. The fight against the chimera was not an easy one; Galahad’s wounds are a testament to that. He’d been the one to jump in when it looked like Mordred and Percival would have been knocked down. Because even though they’re untouchable - they were blessed with their magic by God, after all, they are living vicariously through the bedtime stories parents spin - there is still a part of Galahad that wonders what if there was no happy ending where they all stroll back to Camelot hand in hand, the sun setting behind them?

Percival is gentle when he heals Galahad, blue magic lighting up the tips of his fingers as he cleans off the blood with a damp towel and knits the wound closed. He exhales for a few moments, taking in what it feels like to breathe without the strain of torn muscle in his body.

“Please be careful,” Percival says softly.

It’s not easy, though, when his life is nothing. So long as everyone else gets a chance to live, that would be enough. If he had to stay without being healed so that Percival would continue to breathe, he would. And he would protect those that the chimera’s flames could burn away even if it meant he’d end up dead and unmoving by the end of it. His life may mean nothing, but death in exchange for another is something.

“I was scared you’d get hurt. What if you or Mordred had died?”

“We won’t die. We were blessed - and I’ll protect you if it looks like you’d get hurt in the process. You can protect me, but I will want you to live on in the end. Because neither of us are going to die out there - we have our magic and we’re training as knights.”

Through the flap in the tent, the first fireflies have started to come out; indeed, the heat seems less oppressive now that night is falling. And Galahad believes him. All of them will live on. Time will pass and they will grow old and gray, but that is far from now. For now and in the near future, they’re alive.

“Alright. Thank you for healing me.” He kisses Percival on the nose. It’s a secret code of theirs, one that looks like close greetings from the outside. But there’s a sort of magic between them that one cannot find in any of the books nor written spells that they have, a magic that they understand best of all.

“It’s not a problem at all. Now let’s get some rest. The trip home tomorrow will be a long one.”

They are inseparable even as autumn sets aflame everything it touches. The court oohs and aahs at the talented young knights, of the pious Galahad and the gentle Percival. Surely, if anyone were to ever encounter the Holy Grail, it would be one of them. One day he will rise and travel to find it, and Galahad thinks that maybe the Grail can grant him what his prayers cannot: A better world, a better father that he’s related to by blood because the king is more of a father to him than Lancelot is. And he wishes that were not true. It is silly and flighty and childish and most of all selfish, so Galahad does not think about it very much.

“Winter’ll be here soon.” This is how they spend their nights when Galahad’s eyelids droop yet he still cannot fall asleep, so Percival stays with him till he closes his eyes and slips into his dreams at last. The candle has been snuffed out but the navy-shadowed room still smells like wax. It’s a familiar place and a familiar smell.

“I actually didn’t like winter very much growing up. Didn’t like it because I couldn’t play outside, and I didn’t have many people to keep me company. But I like it more now.”

“Really?” Percival says. “I always thought your favorite season was spring - that was when all your favorite flowers sprung up.”

“It is. But I don’t dislike winter as much as I used to.”

“Why’s that?”

“I like the winter,” Galahad confesses, “Because it reminds me of when you came to Camelot.”

Percival shifts, the covers rustling over him as he pulls Galahad close. Here in Percival’s arms they are once again untouchable, impervious to whatever will happen once the page turns.

“Where would you want to go when we get older? After the quest.”

They both know the quest will reach them and for a fraction of a moment the pedestal begins to crack. They pretend not to notice it, though, because they are focusing on the great after - their epilogue, their ending that they may not get if it means taking up the mantle of Atlas or breaking beneath the weight of the sky to sustain the rest of the world.

“Away.” Away from Camelot, away from my father - I can’t even call him ‘Father - even if it’s selfish. But it hurts here.

“I have a sister. Ended up inheriting the kingdom after her husband died in battle - her name’s Dindrane. She’s written letters to me once I visited her from Camelot. I think she’d be willing to let us stay there. It’s a big castle, with a lovely forest, and lots of trees so we can go apple-picking, and a beautiful lake to go swimming in.”

“We could still travel, though. I want to see more of the world and help more people that way.”

“Of course we will. We will travel around the world after the Grail quest - and maybe get married, too?”

“All of things. And more. But I’m getting too tired to-” Here he lets out a soft, high-pitched yawn - “-To say anything more on the subject.”

Percival laughs, soft like rain. “Sleep well.”

“Good night, Percival.” And then, to himself before he falls into a world of blurry dreams that aren’t so soft once he brushes against them: “Good night, my love.”

The night before the Grail Quest is winter and though he’s been stung before, it’s enough to make Galahad cry. Crying, he tells himself, will not solve anything - that is what Mother and the nuns taught you, and Father too even if he wasn’t there to do it. Crying is for children, and you’re no child: You’re eighteen going on nineteen, and you’re powerful enough of a knight and lucky enough to find the Holy Grail. Crying means you’re unworthy. It means you are weak.

When he hears a knock on the door and Percival’s voice on the other end he lets him in and clutches onto him, forgetting selfishness and restraint and letting the tears flow. His eyes are rimmed red and the deep gasping sobs make his throat sore and feel as though his chest might burst. He buries his head in Percival’s shoulder, tears staining his shirt and he lets go. He lets go because he knows. There are so many truths he knew from the beginning that Percival can’t comprehend and Bors remains oblivious to. And he wishes he were dead for it.

“Sorry - for crying - in front of you-”

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s fine to cry.”

“I just - I just - everyone keeps comparing me and saying I’m even better of a knight than my father was and it’s horrible. I know he hates me for what I am or at least resents me for it, and I hate how the king treats me more like a son than my father does - and he treats everyone like family, so what am I to complain about special treatment? I’m just - I’m scared, and it’s selfish, and I’m not worthy, and I’m sorry. I don’t know. The Grail might not be worth it but if I think that it’s selfish. What if I make a mistake? What if I fail? What will the people of Camelot think of me then?”

Percival stays silent. He has no words of comfort to offer because they have laid the truth bare and taken it apart with a dull edged knife. They cling to each other because they are all they have left, they’re just trying to make their way through clusters of roses even though the thorns make them bleed. They know they’ll reach an ending and no matter what it is it will not be the ending they want.

“Maybe we could run away,” Percival says at last. “Forget about the Grail. You’re unhappy and I don’t want that. I heard you and Lancelot… shouting at one another. You’re not happy here. This place is not for you, not for us. So we could just leave it behind, and do good elsewhere. There’s still hope to change the world. But not here. Not like this.”

It is what they needed to hear, but it can’t be the truth. At least no one else but them would think it true. And they both know that there will be loose threads dangling if they run away now. What if they are found? What of the others at Camelot’s court that don’t hail them as the shining heroes that they really aren’t? What of Arthur himself? What of the Round Table? What then?

So Galahad lies awake wrapped in Percival’s arms. Tomorrow they will head off to find the Grail, and his father will be with them and Bors, too. And it will be his only chance to prove that he is not the selfish knight the nuns told him he must never be. If he finds the Grail then perhaps all will be right. Even though he is shattered, maybe that will be enough to plaster the broken pieces of the rest of the world back together again. But in Percival’s arms he can pretend. He can pretend that that will not happen once the sun rises.

He feels something shift next to him and moves his head a little closer against Percival’s chest.

“Please don’t go yet,” he pleads.

Percival lies back down and cradles him close, fingers combing through his hair. First Galahad closes his eyes to the darkened room dipped in dark blue, then to the morning that will come, but still lets linger the beating of Percival’s heart.

“I won’t go. I can promise that much.”

Winter sucks everything of life, and it drains whatever might be left of the person Lancelot du Lac used to be. Because a father should not be like this. Or perhaps it is the Grail, an ever present reminder of what no one at Camelot will ever have.

“Do you know what it’s like to feel like you’re slowly being forgotten? Or how it feels to look down at scars and be told that she - your mother - was young and didn’t know any better than to leave scratches and make me feel like I’d never perform miracles again? What does it feel like to walk around as a reminder of what I used to be and what I’ll never achieve now?” “And you act as though I’m happy because of it! You act like I enjoy being told those things. Except I worry about every little mistake I might make - what will people think of me then? What will happen for every selfish thought I have? And you’re so far away from me because you can’t understand that. No, you don’t want to understand-”

“Then you’re no son of mine, because everything up to now is your fault!”

Time heals all wounds. Except the scars are still there and if you scratch at the scars enough they sting, and even if you leave them alone they will always serve as a reminder that maybe you wouldn’t end up this way. For Lancelot, his scars still make him ache. So Galahad leaves him behind, because maybe the pain of his scars will fade if what brings him pain leaves.

“Galahad, I-”

“No. You spoke the truth.” He wants to weep but that is a luxury he does not have, and he must steel himself for the quest. That’s what he vowed. “I will go and fetch the Grail myself, even if it means trading my life for it in the process. I will do it for my kingdom, and for our king.”

The seasons will bleed into one another. This will be his last quest. But it’s the only way to prove to himself and to everyone else that he is all they make him out to be. And if he goes alone, there will be no one else who has to deal with the pain.

“I’m going off on my own to seek the Grail,” he tells Percival. “I know I might die. But you shouldn’t. You deserve to go on. Once I find the Grail it will be alright.” In his heart of hearts he knows that this is not what should be. He wants to travel and live on, but to want for that is far too selfish, is it not? Though he smiles at Percival through the snow, he feels like he might break.

“I love you,” Percival tells him, and pulls him close to kiss him. He does not tell Galahad that no, he should stay and continue to travel with the lot of them because both of them know that nothing will root Galahad to this place. He is not meant to grow here, to decay without the flames licking away at him till not even something burnt and broken remains. And the kiss is the first one that feels cold and full of nothing. Because that is all he is. Nothing.

“I love you, too.” This is not nothing. Galahad says that because he means it, and he knows that if he turns his back too soon he’ll never say those words again. They never really brought up those words because they both knew that it was not necessary to say with words, but now they say it because it is all they will have left.

When he turns his back he lets winter steal him away.

The seasons have passed and will continue to. The sun shines. And Galahad knows he does not have much time left - but for the others, the sun will rise and set, winter will morph into spring and summer into fall. Things will go on. He has finished his quest.

And then Percival finds him and he realizes that it didn’t mean a thing - he spent his life believing that if someone ripped away the blessings and his parenthood that he would be nothing, but the truth is that he had a chance to be something were it not for the Grail. He had a chance to be a little more of himself with Percival around, and he could have gone on not living in a shell.

So as he begins to fade, he asks Percival of one last thing: “Will you sing for me?”

He pretends that this is just another passing lullaby Percival hums to him as they both fall asleep in each other’s arms, that eventually he will wake up again and there will be a tomorrow he can move on into. That he will go on to be someone, and that they will be together without the Grail or anything above them tying them together. But that is not to be, so he wishes that Percival will realize that there is more to the world than a God that doesn’t answer their prayers and that damningly far away Grail, and that he can make the world safe little by little if he walks and clears the path.

The clock stops ticking. He can’t hear Percival sing. He closes his eyes one last time. And he smiles because he knows what he wants to know, and that this is the most important thing he has learned in the end.

He is gone, not even dust or ash in the breeze. But he still lingers - he cannot take a form that people will see, nor will his words on the wind be heard. Galahad must play the role of bystander, because he is not ready for the great after just yet. If he could talk to Percival and tell him that yes, he is there and not all gone, he would. But he can’t.

So he stays as a lingering presence at his side - a feeling of something simple like home again. He presses secret kisses to his brow, sends him quiet reminders not of his presence but that there is more beyond what he set out for, and that things will heal again.

It’s not an ending. Because if it was, they’d have reached that ending together.

But he knows he did what he could even if it wasn’t what he needed. And that maybe one day he and Percival will meet again, and end their story the way it was meant to end.

Together.

#angie.txt #arthuriana #percihad #percival (arthuriana)#galahad (arthuriana)

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random-imagines-blog · 5 years

Text

Under The Rose {Eomer x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by:@rachelcarroll1819 Wordcount: 2701 Summary: You plan a party with your husband Eomer. Your guests include your best friends, Arwen and Samwise, their spouses, and your brother Legolas.

There were many flowers blooming, despite the rough start to Spring. However, it was the roses outside of your Rohan keep that you were looking most forward to. The roses were what set yours apart from all of the other gardens in the area - everyone knew that the ones that bloomed under your touch and care were always more beautiful, sweet smelling and even longer lasting than any other rose in the Kingdom. There were people who came from outside of Rohan to come and see them when they finally bloomed, including your two best friends, as unlikely as they were. If word got to Samwise Gamgee of The Shire, or Arwen of Rivendell, they could be expected to travel to Rohan with their families - King of Gondor included - to celebrate these roses. And you couldn’t forget about your brother, Legolas, who always came to visit you, roses or no.

Eomer walked out of the keep to see that you were looking over your garden, and wrist-deep in the fertile soil. You were never afraid to get your hands dirty, and that’s one thing that your husband loved about you. “The dawn’s barely broken, do you ever let yourself rest?” He asked, sauntering towards you, blonde hair hanging down around his shoulders. “Didn’t you stay up weeding, too?”

“Eomer, it’s almost time,” You said, smiling at him over your shoulder. He knew exactly what that meant. Did you stay up weeding because it’s almost time to hold the annual garden party at your home, yes, of course you did. You knew that the garden wasn’t exactly something that he was interested in, but it was important to you so it was important to him. “Sam might bring something up from his own garden for us, so I need to make some space. His marigolds are always gorgeous, I hope it’s those.” You realized that you were ranting, and Eomer was just looking at you blankly. You chuckled, getting to your feet and wiped your hands on the long skirt you were wearing.

“The riders are on patrol today, and I don’t have any appointments until the afternoon...” He said, suggestively. By the time that you approached him, he had a grin on his face, not just his usual smirk.

“You mean that I get the King to myself for the rest of the morning?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow. Climbing into his arms, he held you securely in his chest and carried you up the stairs, back into the warm castle that you called home. You pressed small kisses into the crook of his neck, and though of course he was on your mind as he so often was, you couldn’t help but think about the invitations you were going to send out to your friends.

He carried you into the bedroom, humming an affirmative to your question and laid you down on the bed. You laid back against the pillows, hair spread out around you. “You know that means I want the Queen to myself all morning,” He said, returning the kisses that you had given before. You closed your eyes and moaned as the sensations spread from the hair on your head to the tips of your curled toes. You quickly got over the distraction of planning the party, and focused on him and him alone.

Eomer retreated to the gardens outside once the last of his meetings were over. As he was still dressed in his Kingly attire, and had been sitting down on the throne for the last couple of hours, he was feeling stiff, and was looking forward to a stroll around to loosen up his legs. Something was different though - there was a male voice in the garden with yours, making you laugh. He turned the corner to where the benches were, under the shade of the large, sweet smelling trees.

“Samwise Gamgee,” Eomer said, seeing the mop of curly hair. You beamed up at your husband and motioned him to come and join the two of you where you were sitting. Sam stood up and behind him was revealed a just as pleasant looking woman and four young bairns. “Oh - and ... family.”

“There’s another on the way!” You said, cheerfully, laying your hand on Rosie’s round stomach. You always were a sucker for babies, especially when they were young, so having these children here and knowing that Rosie could burst at just about any second was exciting. With Eomer, children made him soften only slightly - he had a tough childhood himself and no one had ever taken it easy on him, so it was hard for him to remind himself to take it easy on them.

“Something for you here,” Sam said, fishing around in a sack that he had brought. He pulled out some fresh ears of corn from the Shire, shining as golden as the sun above. You stood up and took one out of his hand. “Usually I’d bring more but we’ve been having trouble with the carrots lately,” He said, sheepishly.

“It’s good enough for us,” Eomer said, taking the sack from Sam. “It’s going to make a good meal, once everyone else gets here.”

“I brought Lembas Bread,” Legolas said, coming around the corner that Eomer had just arrived from. He had been eavesdropping clearly, and came straight for you. Over everyone else, you were the one that your brother cared about the most, and he showed it in the way that his arms lifted you into the air as he hugged you. You laughed joyfully and wrapped your own arms around your pretty, blonde brother, having missed him over the past year. Although that year for you and Legolas had been short, it had been long to all the others, and that way of thinking had begun to rub off on both of you. “Y/N, you’re looking well,” He said, once he put you back down.

“As are you, Legolas,” You said, taking in the never-changing appearance of your big brother. “What a surprise, Lembas Bread,” You teased. Legolas always brought Lembas bread to these gatherings, mainly for Sam to take home for Merry and Pippin.

Legolas and Eomer embraced, but only for half a moment before separating. They had fought together in the Great Battles sure, but there was a discomfort in knowing that they both cared about you above all else. It almost made them competitive with one another - at least on Legolas’s end. You usually had to force Legolas to stand down, and remind him that Eomer was only human, after all.

Aragorn and Arwen were the last to arrive. You stayed standing to greet them, though you did bow down just to tease the King, who always insisted that you didn’t have to bow. He stood with the rest of the men while you and Arwen embraced and kissed each other on the cheek.

Arwen was counted among your two best friends, with Sam being the other. You agreed with your husband that it was an odd mixture of friends, but the core aspects of your personalities were the same. All three of you would die to protect your friends and the ones that you love, that was the main thing. You’d missed them terribly, and it felt amazing to have your favorite people back together again.

The next evening was filled with color as the roses finally bloomed at last. You had arranged the large table to be beneath the climbing roses that took over the majority of one of the back walls of the castle. There was an array of red, white and pink, mixing in with the golden buds of the marigolds Sam had brought and that the two of you planted together that morning. This may be the best turn out your garden has ever seen.

Arwen walked noiselessly on the cobbled garden path, holding a large silver pitcher of water for the table. “Is Rosie going to be able to walk this far?” She asked, setting it on the table.

“Sam will take care of her, carry her down if he has to,” You giggled, picturing Sam crawling on all fours with his pregnant wife sitting on his back. Arwen laughed as well, it sounding like musical bells against the quiet of nature. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she gives birth here in Rohan.”

“Can you imagine, a little newborn hobbit baby,” Arwen sat down at the table, her cheeks glowing with happy thoughts. The others weren’t due down here for another half an hour, but she knew you would be down here making sure that everything was perfect. Most of the food was still in the kitchens, being kept warm, but you already had the large plates of fruits, cheeses and finger vegetables set out for appetizers. She picked a ripe cherry tomato off of one of the plates and ate it without the littlest bit of juice dribbling from her lips. Nothing less from an elf, of course. Or from the Queen of Gondor.

“It’s nice to hear children running around in these halls - it has been much too long,” You sighed dreamily, remembering some of the laughter you heard. You had started the morning playing with the little ones so that Sam and Rosie could get some rest in. Elanor had wormed her way into your heart, and started acting like a little princess straight away.

“As you are my best friend, I’m going to let you in on something...” Arwen said, leaning in to make sure no one else would hear. “Do you remember that vision I had of Aragorn, and our son?” You nodded and leaned forward, craving the good news. “We’ve been trying - but you cannot tell anyone.”

“You’re worried that I would tell your father?” You asked, and she nodded slowly. “He would be happy for you if it happened, we all would. Or should I say will, since it was a vision and is sure to come true.”

Being an elf with a human as a husband, much like yourself, made it very difficult to have children. You’d been thinking about it since you first laid eyes on the rider on the way to Rohan. It seemed fitting that your best friend was having the same contemplations with her own husband. Despite the hardships that would come with trying, you supported her endlessly, and proved that to her with a hug - something that elves did so rarely.

You held Sam’s hands when he came out of the castle, ready for dinner, with his wife following along behind him. Tonight was what you were most looking forward to - a great meal, great friends, and the blooming roses overhead. It was a great thing that Eowyn and Faramir were in the city, and agreed to watch all of Sam’s little ones. Having them around was great fun, but also greatly chaotic - you wondered how they could handle it at all.

“Sometimes it’s nice being away from home,” Sam said, “if you’re around the right people.” You smiled at that and let go of his hands to lean in and peck Rosie on either cheek. You loved their round cheeks and their sweet smiles - there was something so happy about the couple that was entirely infectious.

“You know you’re always welcome here, and I hope to visit the Shire one day.” Sam and Rosie looked at each other and both started to laugh, making you furrow your brow in confusion. Without asking, Eomer walked behind you and put his arm around your waist.

“Normally, even humans in the Shire would look odd, but an elf?” Eomer explained on the Hobbits’ behalf. It did make sense and you giggled behind your hand. “Y/N, sometimes you forget that other places aren’t like home, don’t you?”

“Can you blame me?” Getting into your seat at the intimate table that seated seven comfortably, you flushed and put your hand on your husband’s thigh. There was no one looking at the two of you anymore, but rather they were all fixing their plates. “You brought me to a perfect home.”

Working on dinner, the seven of you didn’t have much time for chit chat. You had provided them with a feast with all of the foods that they loved. You were particularly fond of the roast pork and vegetables that you had the kitchens whip up, salted of course with salt from The Shire that Sam had sent by rider a few months before. You also made sure that there was plenty of wine - enough to make everyone’s nose and cheeks go rosy, even Legolas’s and he had a very high tolerance for alcohol. Save for pregnant Rosie’s, of course. All around you, the smell of roses hung in the air, the fragrance enriching the senses to where it even seemed to flavor the food.

In true Kingly fashion, Aragorn and Eomer were attempting to out-eat one another. As always, you and Arwen made fun of them, sneaking more food onto their plates when they were too busy looking at each other competitively. Your husbands would be feeling that later, that’s for sure. There was even some surprise as Sam and Rosie were both keeping up, but were taking their time of it. You, Arwen and Legolas, as the elves, were more picky with how you ate, making your plates look clean and pristine once you have eaten the last morsel but you hadn’t had your plate heaping either.

You called for the maids to come clear the table once all of the food had been eaten, and suggested a walk in the gardens to help the food settle. From when they first arrived, you wanted to have some time with just Arwen and Sam, and this was the first time that it was finally materializing.

“Of course you’re the first one out of the Fellowship to have a baby,” You smiled down at Sam as you and Arwen took smaller steps to match his stride. “A few, in fact, unless - oh please don’t tell me that Pippin has reproduced.” Sam laughed at that and shook his head, his curls flying around his face. “No, not yet, but he might.”

You listened as Arwen and Sam caught up with one another, for they didn’t speak to one another as often as they spoke to you. Being more on the quiet side, Arwen mostly listened as Sam talked about his family, the Shire, the love of his home and his friends, and of course - how much he missed his best friend Frodo Baggins.

You slowed down and a hand caught yours, fingers intertwining. No other person would dare touch you like that other than your husband, so you knew immediately that it was him, and squeezed. You looked to your side to see that he had caught up to you, and under the twilight sky, he looked absolutely beautiful. His hair was loose and flowing past his shoulders, golden as the mane of the horse that he rode. His dark eyes sparkled as they always did when he looked at you - only when he looked at you. Since the moment that you first set eyes on one another in the field, while looking for the two young hobbits Merry and Pippin, a connection had been formed that a dangerous war and the risk of impending death did nothing to sever.

“Having a good time?” Eomer asked you, matching your steps.

You reached just past his ear to one of the rose vines behind him, and plucked a deep red one, narrowly avoiding the thorns. It’s scent was strong, and vibrant. You twirled it between your fingers and caught your husband’s eye once more.

“Nothing in this world could ever be more perfect than tonight has been.” You assured him, and tucked it behind his ear in a teasing manner.

#Eomer x reader #Eomer oneshot #Lord of the Rings #Lord of the Rings oneshot #Eomer #request #LOTR #LOTR oneshot #oneshots

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bowieandqueen11 · 5 years

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Surprise Visit / Freddie Mercury x Male Reader

Request: Hey! I'm in the mood for some Freddie, if you don't mind writing it. 😉 I was thinking maybe something about his boyfriend going down to the studio Queen are recording at to surprise him?

Yass my darling hitting me up again with the good stuff @fandom-star XD <3

The winter time has passed in its sombre majesty; having brought new skies of richly marbled greys and trees so elegant in their bare beauty. On this spring day, you watch the flowers float their petals in the breeze of the blooming in their budding shades. Fresh sunlight illuminates perfect spheres of water, fine droplets on their leaves as the birds chirp above your head, the warm afternoon already feeling as if it has a touch of magic, as if anything may happen. Scarlet and gold swirls paint the blue autumn sky, flying in between the puffing clouds as you take a deep breath of the cold air, blowing it out in thin streams as you keep on walking down the pavement, excitement brewing in your heart as the hairs on your arms prickle a little, biting your lip in the hope the boys hadn’t ruined your surprise and told Freddie you were on the way. The air was crisp, the bright red leaves crunching beneath your feet as you strolled down the grassy parkway, the oak trees shaking in the breeze and surrounding the you in a peaceful and silent moment of serenity, the scent of cinnamon from a nearby cafe being the only thing to penetrate your perfect little bubble. The only thing that could make it better, is if Freddie had his arm intertwined with yours, his chin jutting against his neck as he laughs ardently at some silly joke you’ve just made. ‘Soon’, you think, as you feel your boots pound faster against the stone.

At the same time, Freddie wiggles his toes lightly, revelling in the coldness of the leather sofa’s cushions against his feet as he collapses down, his head pounding. He gazes up towards the half open window, allowing the golden rays of the burning sun let its rays fall down upon the blazing blush covering the warm roundness of his cheeks. He allows himself to just close his eyes and let his mind wander, chuckling lightly to himself at the sound of Brian shouting at Roger, obviously ducking out of the way of oncoming drumsticks that smash against the wall as John giggles. He lets his mind think on you, about how late he was to the studio this morning because he had been laying in bed cuddling with you, his eyes lidded as he looks upon your sleepy face, his finger almost undetectable as it glides down the tips of your nose, down past your slight stubble to rub against your jaw before finally landing over your heart. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he wonders when he can go for lunch break, not being able to focus or connect with the music today, before a loud smashing of cymbals reaches his ears. His eyes follow the noise, landing on Roger who’s feet are dancing across the riser like a man possessed, his face squeezed into a concentrated frown as his hands smack the tight head of the tambourine.

John just continues bopping lightly on his toes on the other side of the room, his cream shirt and black waistcoat shining in the dim rays of the morning light that streamed through the window like a little beacon. As he twirls to himself, fingers plucking expertly at the double bass he holds in his hands, Roger laughs.

‘Hey, Fred, I think your better half has arrived to whisk you away!’

‘Oh shoot, Freddie, I think he’s right!’

Freddie pops his head up, shoving his arm to knock against Brian’s lanky legs as he stands near the coffee table, Brian thwacking Freddie’s hand out of the way with a laugh as his black trousers finally move from blocking his view to illuminate your beaming form standing near the door.

‘...Surprise?’, you say, finally taking a full step into the studio as John puts down his bass, nodding with a knowing grin at Brian and Roger to step back onto the drum riser and discuss the next segment of ‘Somebody to love’, giving the two of you a precious moment alone.

When Freddie finally spots you, standing there clicking the heels of your shoes together subconsciously like a naughty schoolboy, the stray rays of summer light that fall through the dusty window making your eyes gleam like rare diamonds, his hands falter, his mouth opening in a soundless gasp, his eyes widening to the size of flying saucers before breaking into a beaming grin. He reaches up to wipe the raven curls away from his eyes before he comes bouncing to his feet like a newborn giraffe.

‘Y/N! I’d nearly forgotten what you look like!’

‘Freddie, my love, it’s been about four hours!’

‘And that’s four hours too long, my darling!’

Running over, he makes you yelp in surprise as his arms interlock around your waist, lifting you spinning into the air as his warm laughing breath wafts against your neck, his curls tickling your forehead as they bounce together, a warm and heartfelt smile on his face. As your fingers brush, he pulls you closer, a hoarse gasp escaping your lips as manic laughs erupt from the pit of his stomach, gently picking you up and winding your legs around his waist as he waddles the two of you to the sofa, dropping you against the hard leather as his hands rub gently against your hips, running slightly in a tickling path to rest familiarly above your abdomen, before leaning in, his eyes dipped and unfocused as his mouth brushes against your full lips, teasing you slightly as he whispers, ‘I look forward to every early studio meeting giving me an excuse to do this.’

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icarus-imagines · 5 years

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Lance McClain X Reader

Hello! Can I have an Lance (From Voltron) X Reader please?

I am terribly sorry if this is sad and evokes some dark themes. If anybody wishes for a happy ending just send in a request for a Part 2 and I will be sure to give the Readers something happier and much fluffier. A bittersweet ending I will thoroughly enjoy writing.

I was more than merely influenced for writing such a depressing story due to listening to Sam Smith on repeat. Beautiful and lovely, but quite sad. It was a result I felt happy with though and hope everybody enjoys it.

-Mod Icarus ଘ(੭ºัᴗºั)━☆ﾟ

Word Count: 2,413

Category: Voltron

~Blue Boy~

Something was wrong.

As of current you were, in most people's words, safe. Located in a secure position away from the middle of the battle commencing it may be by pure luck nobody had yet to spot you. Not too far away though you could hear the loud battle cries of both your treasured teammates and the relentless Galra.

Body leaning against a cement wall your hand clutched your shoulder that was covered with armor similar to what the traditional paladins of the lions wore. Once a shiny and gleaming (F/c) suit, it was now morphed into something dirty and marred. Clinks and dents were spotted here and there. A bit of blood was on the leg, half of it dry and crusted, but the most sickening thing about that fact was that the blood was not yours.

Trained by the Altean palace princess Allura ruled over you were able to grow stronger in a shorter amount of time than expected. You never thought you would have been able to become a professional with wielding a sword. But here you were a few or so months later a (F/c) sword tightly held in your grasp as you took down foreign aliens.

Rising a sluggish hand to your shoulder you grabbed it tightly with a shaky inhale. It ached with every sharp movement you made and for a second you wondered if it had become dislocated in the heat of war. You pleaded desperately for it not to be true. A dislocated shoulder during something like this would be horribly bad luck. Hopefully, everything would end so you could recover back in the safe confines of the palace.

Sidestepping it took only a few seconds to become one with the battle. Seemingly dragging on you felt as if you were going to cry. Your shoulder was sending hot white flashed to appear across your vision when you swung at just the right yet wrong angle. Even so, you pushed onwards, determined to get this over with and finally be worry-free again.

Just when everything looked as if it was beginning to dissipate a pang of hurt sliced through your heart. But the thing about it was that you were alone, without an opposing battle partner. Everything was perfectly fine from what you could tell.

Allura and Coran were faring well.

Shiro and Keith were finishing off the last few remaining stragglers who dared fight more.

Hunk and Pidge were tending to the wounded of this alien planet's natives.

And last but not least Lance was-

Lance.

Where was Lance!?

Fear almost made bile rise from the depths of your stomach to sting in the deep backside of your throat, but you swallowed it up quickly. Adrenaline was immediately born with your deep thoughts. Sneaking their way into your bloodstream your legs caught up with your much more frightened mind. Moving of their own accord you dragged forward with no true destination. All you knew is you had to find Lance no matter what. Even if he was safe. Laughing at his own jokes while flirting with some beautiful alien species from this planet you could not warrant the chance of him being lost.

What if he was captured. Kidnapped and taken away from you? Was it possible he was slain? Struck down by an enemies sharp weapon?

No.

Lance was stronger than that.

He was much stronger than he ever gave credit for. The wielder of a paladin bayard belonging to the blue lion that transformed into an energy assault rifle, you were sure he could hold his own in a fight. You had witnessed it many times before so why out of all those times would he suddenly be taken down? Every scenario that filtered through your mind could not create one where Lance had been taken down. It just seemed too bizarre. Too impossible.

Yes, he had been tossed around his fair share of times but so had everybody else. Near death experiences were an end result everybody knew was more than possible, yet you did not think this way. Your background was unique, just like theirs. Death could be an option but the hardships in your lied denied you to ever think of such a thing.

Death is not an option.

Lance is not dead.

With those thoughts on your mind, you frantically ran to every place you last saw lance. Through the dense alien jungles, you carried on with quick footsteps. Once you had even tripped, yet even when your knee had been hit wrong and sent a shocked pain to the area you stood up with only a muffled groan from the inside of your mouth. The pain you were experiencing would have to wait to be felt. For all, you felt right now was fear, anticipation, and a tug of fright.

It was not until you came upon a body leaning against a tree did tears begin to fill the top brim of your waterline in your eye.

Lance.

He is alive.

"Lance, you goofball," you managed to huff out when you lowered yourself down onto your knees, ignoring the dull pain, to get closer to him. "Where have you been? I have been so worried. I..."

(E/c) eyes scanned his body, breath becoming rigid and anxious in barely a few seconds. His once slick blue paladin armor was splattered with blood. From where you view him it looked as if he was in the red lion's paladin armor instead of the blue lions.

His head was hanging too low for comfort, ends of his hair drenched in blood, a crimson human fluid. It was also dripping from his nose and mouth, curving over his slim lips and chin. More camouflaged over his black covered hands. It was hard to tell what you were truly looking at. With so much blood you couldn't tell if it was coming from his own body or if it was just a tough opponent who had not stopped until they bled out when fighting.

Your voice was shaky as a hand slipped up to cup his cheek, raising his head to look at you, the helmet already taken off and left on the grassy floor of the forest. The pain in your shoulder was persistent but your worry was far greater than any of it. Unfortunately, his eyelids were closed you came to discover when you had risen him up. Head heavy in the palm of your hand you realized you are holding the world in your hand

He is your whole world.

"Lance, please... please tell me this is not your blood. This can't possibly be yours, can it?" You asked fruitlessly. The head in your hands gave no sign of any movement to any of your talking. "Lance..."

After a few more calls of his name and small shakes on his shoulder, Lance finally cracked open his eyes like there were hundred-pound weights dragging them down. Still heavily placed in your hands he blinked open his eyes. Black eyelashes fluttered open slowly, the iris inside blown but progressively shrinking from the radiating suns strong light.

"Y/n..." His voice makes your heart quiver in its bony cage of ribs. It sounds so broken and hoarse It must be hard for him to speak but he tries to do so anyway. "Glad...I am glad...to see you..."

You shush him softly as more blood dribbles out of his mouth from his actions. "Don't speak, you need to conserve your energy."

Your voice may be soft and ever so gentle, but inside an earthquake is splitting open. In the earth of it, all your fears and worries are conjoining and rising out. Questions such as 'How could I let this happen?' and 'It's my fault.'

Taking off your helmet carefully, both your hands begin to move to the back of his head, fingers curling into the locks of short, dark brown hair you adored so much. You lean close, so close that when you hug him you swear you can hear everything around you. His head rests in your chest, nestled there like a safe haven. You can hear his soft, almost labored breathing as he tries to fill his lungs the best he can. Taking in as much oxygen before he dispels it in a shaky exhale of breath. His skin is hot, beating hotly with a pulse that misses a few counts here and there.

He smells of blood, The sickly metallic flavor of it clings to your taste buds even when your mouth is clamped shut. Wetness springs from your tear ducts and rolls down your cheeks as the thoughts inside your head overflow.

He shouldn't smell of blood. He shouldn't be bleeding out. He shouldn't be fighting for every breath he takes. He shouldn't be fighting the need to succumb to death's embrace.

Heshouldn'tHeshouldn'tHeshouldn'tHeshouldn'tHe'shouldn'tHeshou-

"Thank you...for...for staying here with me," he manages to mumble out, his breath warm against the open skin of your neck. "To think....I...I never got to tell you..."

You separate from him, his head still in your hands as it leans back a bit so he can look up at you with no trouble or moving on his part.

"Tell me?" You ask confused, a tear dripping down your cheek. "Tell me what?"

His smile targets towards you feel like sunshine on your (S/c) flesh. A bright shining aura of radiating heat. But his expression is overall a vision of pure solemn. Dark blue eyes, like the deep oceans of Earth, spring up like a sparkling geyser with water. Tears of his own fall down his face in perfect lines. He looked beautiful right there. Crying. It may have been thought of as a cruel thought, but he was an angel. An angel was crying in front of you. Emotions bubbling up and exploding like water erosion shapeshifting the Earth's soil to create something new and more extraordinary than before.

"I love you."

His hand comes up to let his tanned fingertips touch your cheekbone. With a slow thumb, he brushes away a stray tear in his way. His movements up to now have all been slow. A sluggish style similar to that of an Earth animal called a sloth. But suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, they are sharp.

Surging forward faster than you are able to react to he closes the gap between your faces. Warm lips meet yours in a feverish sense of hurry and apparent urgency. It is delectably warm, that flesh against your own in a waltzing dance. If his lips were food you were sure he would be something akin to blueberries.

His other unoccupied arm wraps around your body to grasp tightly at a shoulder. It stays there secure and unyielding in its position. You feel safe. Safer than you have ever been in your entire life. You want to stay here. Stay this way forever, even if it may seem like an impossible thing.

This blue boy was full of love and affection beyond measure underneath the surface.

In a slow-motion like state of deliriousness, Lance parts away from you far too soon for your liking. Before you can protest he look up at you and for a second he smiles. Lips quivering in the effort to rise in the process before his eyes closed shut and lock away his oceanic orbs of crystal light. Heartbreaking into a million pieces you only stay stock still as his weight leans forward and slumps against your chest.

The arm that had once held you safe in this warm engulfing hug let's go without notice. It slumps down, laying perfectly still with its palm up in the green grasses of the jungle floor. You can hear your heart pounding just like the slam that seemed to come when the arm had fallen. Blood is pulsing in your ears, a headache forming quickly from the noise. The bang and ricochet in your skull, all your bones simultaneously panging with hurt from the foreign impacts.

His body is still. So strangely still like a statue against your own that you almost forget to breathe, to function correctly. He is heavy, heavier than anybody had ever been when leaning leisurely against you. It is like the body, in its one way, is telling you of its burden. That life has left the inside of the body it once filled.

This is death.

"Lance, come on your heavy," you laugh bitterly, the sound rough on your tongue when you try to deny the fact he may actually not be with you anymore. "Lance, if you are sleeping you have to...You have to wake up."

Your hands take hold of him so he can lean into them as you move away to peer at his face. He looks to be in a deep peaceful but you know better.

"Lance...please! You can't leave me! Not right when I know how you feel! Not when I-" Your sobs elevate as you spring forward to nuzzle into his neck in an effort to keep him here with you. His once warm skin is quickly growing a deadly cold, but you care not to think of it at the moment.

"Not when I feel the same way..."

The blue boy with oceans for eyes and seas for blood in his veins is gone.

The blue boy with his flirtation and jokester ways is gone.

The blue boy who you had discovered shared your feelings is gone.

"I love you, Lance. I love you so much. So much Lance. I love you so much."

I love you...my blue boy...

#x reader #imagine #drabble #oneshot #voltron: lance #voltron: defender of the universe #voltron: legendary defender #voltron #lance mcclain #gender neutral reader #lance mcclain x reader #request #blue paladin

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