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essentiallyleaf · 1 year ago

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day 03. wall sex. with. winter.

1113 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, dom(?) reader, sub girlfriend winter, making out, daddy kink, wall sex, lift and carry, standing doggy, semi-public sex, a smidge of size kink, barely edited, actually about as long as i expected this time.

notes.

honestly, not that much to say. oh right, i don’t actually know if a wall sex kink/fetish actually exists, which is perhaps not a minor concern for a kinktober piece. so if it really does, let me know, and if it doesn't, help me make it a thing and specifically winto’s thing. solidly, leaf.

You step between her legs, hanging slightly parted off the counter as she sits on it. She’s still staring at the window to her left, so you caress her cheek and redirect her chin towards you, trying to fish something out of the sea blue colored contacts Winter wears on her eyes. You love that color on her. You kiss her lips softly, they’re slightly wet. Your mouths detach as you bring a second hand between her jaw and her neck.

The only thing that comes off your hook is lust.

So you kiss your girlfriend again, this time longer and deeper; you feel her tongue brush your lips, so you retaliate with yours. It starts as a little game, taking turns exploring each other’s mouths, but the longer it goes, the longer you feel her trying to take more space past your entrance, so you let her in.

That’s how it is with her: she only needs to ask. “Can we go to the animal shelter tomorrow?”; “Can I read manga with you while we’re on the train?”; “Can you get me that cute black one piece over there?” (That’s when you bought her the dress she’s wearing right now. And it’s not cute. On her, combined with that messy bun and those fishnets, it looks fucking filthy). Then, the magic word. They always taught you it was “Please”, but really, it’s what comes after: “Daddy?”

That’s why when she grabs the collar of your leather jacket to pull you towards her, when she wraps her arms and legs around you like she needs you, like she’s a koala that needs to make sure it won’t fall from its tree while sleeping, you give in. Because there’s no one else that can grant Winter’s wishes like you do, just like there’s no one else that needs you as much as Winter does.

Which takes on an extremely carnal meaning as you lift her from the counter and turn around, your hands on her ass and your forearms supporting her thighs. She’s so tiny and light, you don’t need all that support, but you want to feel her every inch of her body on yours.

You wander through a couple rooms, looking for a bedroom in the enormous maze-like mansion. Given the handicap of having Winter kiss you the whole way through and of barely being able to keep your eyes open because of that, it’s a miracle that you don’t slam into a doorframe or trip on a carpet in the process. Then, her impatience takes over.

“Let’s do it here”

You look around the room, puzzled. It looks like some kind of library, though at least one third of the shelves of the old-fashioned white carved bookcases is almost empty. “Where?”

Your girlfriend stretches her arm towards the wall behind her, palming it as if trying to get a grasp of its texture.

“Isn’t this good enough,” she knows she can’t get it so easily, but she also knows the most direct shortcut, “Daddy?”

She doesn’t need an answer. She needs you to slam her into the wall, pull her little slutty black one piece up to her waist and her thin, almost see through black panties to the side, rip those fishnets apart and fuck her. As you find out, she also doesn’t need any foreplay, her slit and crotch already wet just from the prolonged make-out session, which finally comes to end as you switch from her mouth to the junction of her neck and shoulder.

You kiss, lick, and suck the same spot over and over for several minutes as you pump into her with feral instinct, her hand now gripping your hair tightly; she even pulls on it a little - it hurts, but that’s not your biggest priority right now. You need to mark Winter as yours, she’s your girlfriend, your (this exact moment, a little less) soft, sweet fluffball, she’s your tiny fuckdoll. And as such you shall use her.

Thrust upwards into her like that’s what she was built for, like there’s nothing stopping you. Meanwhile, the only thing stopping her is the wall behind her, which feels cold on her nape and asscheeks, stark contrast with her boiling hot clavicle and pussy.

“I’m gonna cum, daddy”

It’s not a request this time. It’s a factual statement. She orgasms silently, so overwhelmed by the bursts of pleasure flowing from her pussy to her brain to what feels like every inch of her body, that she simply goes limp. Fortunately, you and the wall are there to hold her.

It takes her a good couple minutes to even be able to feel the world around her, past the overpowering signals coming from her own body. That’s enough for you to ask her:

“Now, I’m gonna need you to hold onto that wall, just for a little bit longer, okay? Can you do that for Daddy?”

You wouldn’t be able to tell from her still dazed face, but as she lowers her legs and tries her very best to stand up, you know Winter understood perfectly, and this is her “Yes, daddy”.

She looks so precious as you hold her hips up and help her turn around, her palms on the wall, fingers tensing like she’s trying to find something to grip onto. So precious that you just wrap your arms all around her waist as you split her tight slit open for a second time and start shoving yourself in and out of her repeatedly.

You know you can’t last long, so you try to get your girlfriend to a second high, though you don’t know if she can even feel much given her state. You turn her head to the side to kiss her again and you reach towards one of her little boobs and start groping her, first through, then inside her daddy’s girl dress.

It’s when your other hand presses upon her clit that she completely loses it. She lets out a sequence of animalistic guttural moans you never heard from her, and watery liquid starts gushing on your cock and out of her pussy while her walls clench rhythmically. The combined pressure of the two triggers your own orgasm, as you deposit buckets of white honey into her womb until she can’t take any more and semen drips out of her pussy and onto the floor.

You hold Winter tightly, almost squeezing her against the wall as her knees threaten to give up completely; you kiss her temple repeatedly as she pants heavily.

“How are we gonna go back downstairs for the party?”

“You can carry me for a while! Please, daddy?”

footnotes.

wow i think i actually wrote different characters this time. this one was a little crammed, but i’m pretty satisfied with the end result. it feels like i’m slowly finding out which things i like writing more and which less and more generally about my identity as a writer. i’m still a sprout, but i think i’m learning a lot. sorry if i bored you and you’re now asleep and somehow still reading. do let me know how to do that! dreamily, leaf.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #girl group smut #idol smut #female idol smut #male reader #male reader insert #male reader smut #idol x reader #idol x male reader #aespa #winter #kim minjeong #aespa smut #winter smut #kim minjeong smut #aespa winter smut

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deathofacupid · 8 months ago

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mystery | clay jensen

a/n: why is the 13rw fandom so small... it's literally killing me. this takes place during the riot at liberty in season 4.

summary: you've always needed an excuse to talk to him, the riot came up, and there was your chance.

warnings: mentions of riots, fighting, and violence. cursing

pairing: fem!reader x s4!clay jensen

word count: 1.4k+ words

you can hear the faint squeaking of the swings as you close the door and lock your car. it's not winter quite yet, but there's a bristle of leaves floating in the air.

it's getting colder and darker; a dried up leaf sways down into your hair, and you pick it out, admiring the curl of the corners and the brown tint of the edges.

there's a chill in the soft breeze, and clouds appear when you breathe out. the trees blaze with autumn; red, gold and auburn leaves littered the ground like a many-hued carpet that crackled and rustled as you hike along. though, it's rather comparable to a graveyard - bugs lying on their backs' motionless.

there's a certain smell in the fall air, you're sure.

melancholy, you think. it smells melancholy. while you tread along the willow-lined path, you couldn't fully enjoy the warm colors that were gifted alongside, but rather saddened by the end of life.

the soft wind in summer, how it wrapped around someone, hugging their body, now a harsh, cold shove - tearing leaves off their branches.

their swirling waltz, a desperate, autumnal finale, mocks the fleeting glory of their once vibrant life. the shimmering gold, a cruel adornment, a gilded cage before their inevitable demise.

the leaves' shimmering gold is a bittersweet farewell, a prelude to their return to the earth from whence they came.

the song of birds in the air - not so much a song as a cry - at the lack of food for the winter.

autumn's beauty is a human illusion, a veil cast upon its raw truth. beneath the veneer of vibrant hues lies a season steeped in melancholy, a mournful dirge for life's retreat.

now knowing this, how could anyone be expected to enjoy a "beauty" of what's only death?

you follow the trail to the childern's playground, and you aren't thinking, not really. more of following a trail you've subconsciously set out for yourself, in hopes of escaping a round of life.

you're only half aware as you're walking there, the sound of the crunch on mulch, or the soft humming. based on the vocal noises, it's safe to assume that it's a man. boy?

you guess you'll find out.

when you near the swingset, you do see that it's a boy, maybe your age. squinting in the darkness, you realize that you know this boy.

after everything that's happened in the past few years, it'd be hard to not.

clay jensen, well-known senior, not for the reasons you think. famous for the the right things, or at least, you don't think they're the right things.

if you think back, you'd say it started from hannah. when you think of clay, the first thing that comes to mind is the butterfly effect.

one small lie, a simple rumor, triggering a whole chain reaction. someone (multiple people, actually) hurt hannah, hannah hurt herself, which in turn, hurt others.

you'd say clay was one of those people.

you remember freshman year, you had some classes with him, you liked clay, in a more than friends way. you left hints, but he never picked up on them, but you didn't give up.

he was quiet, shy, and nerdy - everything you wanted in a guy.

but when hannah entered the frame, and you saw how he looked at her, you realized he'd never look at you the same.

so you let them be.

last you heard, he was with the new girl. well, she wasn't that new anymore. ani... whatever her same was. you don't pay much attention.

you're not sure if they're together. he's still pretty cute, but he's kind of a lot.

you see him slowly swinging back and forth on the swing, and you take a seat beside him. his head snaps towards you, and he opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

"you have serious balls, jensen."

"um, thanks? sorry, uh, do i know you?"

you're gonna pretend like that didn't sting. "freshman year, we had so many classes together."

clay furrows his brows at you, before they hit the top of his head. "oh! yeah. y/n. right?"

"yep."

"sorry. i swear i know you, i just- there's a lot going on right now, you know?"

"i imagine."

"setting that car on fire was a risky move, though."

clay blinks, "w-what?"

"that was you right?"

"why? did you see?"

"so it was, then."

he presses his lips together, it's so much harder to get a laugh out've him. you swear it used to be so easy.

you try and amend your words, "no, i didn't see anything. i just... assumed. it seemed like something you'd do."

"uh-?"

"not in a bad way or anything. you've just kinda been like that," you're aware you're being rather vague, and you might've accidently offended him.

oh, well. if there's a hole, might as well dig it deeper, right? there's no where to go... but down?

that's probably not the best method of thinking.

"i don't- what do you mean?"

"well, like, you haven't flown under the radar with this stuff. again, not in a bad way. it's admirable, for the most part, how up-and-front you are with what you believe in and your causes or whatever."

"for the most part?"

you give him a look, "from everything i said, that's what you got?"

he chuckles, and you feel your heart warm. making him happy, it felt like a prize to be won. sure, it wasn't a laugh (yet), but it was something.

"did you... were you there the whole time?" clay asks.

"more or less. i, uh, saw the... i saw diego and justin in the hall."

"oh, shit. did you-"

"no, i didn't. say anything, i mean."

you're not stupid. sure, you aren't a genius, but you've got the ability to put two and two together. it's clear diego wanted justice for monty, and justin had to be part of that.

sure, what was going on between the two could've been only about jessica, but that didn't sound right. jess with diego? no way.

you'd seen her and justin together. that love doesn't come around often, and it'd be stupid to let it pass.

if jessica and justin were "affiliated" before, and now diego was in the picture, was jess trying to stand in his way? convince him of something else?

also, seeing jessica and justin making out kind of gave it away.

that would lead you to your next point, these kids.

alex, zach, clay, jess, justin, ani, charlie...

none of them fit together, and you couldn't see what they'd have in common. unless, it was something else keeping them tied.

almost all of them were mentioned on hannah's tapes, which also included bryce. monty and bryce were best friends, and nothing would've seperated them. monty would do practically anything for bryce.

instantly, it should be obvious that it wasn't monty who killed him.

these kids cared for their late friend, giving them much reason to hurt bryce. however, was it possible all of them ganged up on him? or just a few?

if it were just a few, what were keeping the others from telling?

more secrets, maybe?

if you knew, which you don't, you wouldn't tell.

"why?" he asks.

you look him in the eye, "something told me that wouldn't work out well for some people."

you see him still, clearly figuring out what to say. "what people?"

"i know more than you think i do," you shrug.

clay narrows his brows at you, "you don't know shit."

"oops, did i hit a nerve?" you wince. "sorry. we can drop it."

he stares into the darkness, licking his lips, contemplating his next move. "what do you know?" clay sighs.

"well, i know you know. i also you it wasn't you."

"how?"

"you've always had a hero complex, jensen." he remains quiet, so you continue. "it's not a bad thing, but it's not great either. it's gets you into tough situations, doesn't it? but you'd do anything for your friends. you're loyal. that's what makes you... you."

"i don't know what you think you know, but it's not true."

"okay," you shrug.

"o-okay?"

"it's not my shit to deal with. i don't need nor want to meddle."

clay play with his fingers, slowly nodding. "hero complex, huh?"

again, you shrug. "i call it as i see it."

"yeah, okay," his gaze flickers to you, then back to the floor.

"i'm, uh, sorry. for," you pause, vaguely gesturing around, "everything." when he stays silent, you go on. "i mean, hannah and bryce and monty and the whole trial. it's a lot for one person to deal with. especially a kid."

he pauses, clearing thinking of what to say, "i- i guess? it's never been... like, sure it's not normal, but i wouldn't take back anything i've done."

you open your mouth to say something, "not that i've done anything," clay adds quickly.

"um, okay."

he inhales, "yeah."

"yeah."

clay clears his throat, "well, uh, i should... get going. but... maybe we can do this again?"

"i'm up for interrogating you at midnight anytime."

"cool."

"bye, clay," you smile warmly.

"bye."

you watch him as he walks off into the distance, listening to the crunch of gravel underneath his tires.

clay seems like such a mystery.

and you love mysteries.

#clay jensen fanfic #clay jensen x reader #clay jensen fluff #clay jensen #clay jensen imagine #13rw #13 reasons why #13rw self insert #thirteen reasons why

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al-zel · 7 months ago

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Explaining every H:SR characters name, Part 1-- The Astral Express Crew!

I’ll put a symbol →(!!!) on every section that has a potential spoiler.

Stelle: A shortened version of the French name Estelle, meaning “star”. This name was derived from the Latin word “stella”. As for how it applies to the character, I’m sure it’s meant to show that the trailblazers true place is among the astral express exploring the cosmos. It might also be a reference to the Stellarons appearance.

Caelus: Derived from the Latin word “caelum”, Caelus is a name that means “sky” or “the heavens”. This name also belonged to the Roman god of the sky. It’s a little more convoluted than Stelle’s more straightforward name, but I think it holds the same narrative meaning as Caelus (the god) has heavy ties to the planet Jupiter, fitting the space theme. It's also the most yellow planet aside from Venus, (which is more associated with the color green due to how it appears in the sky anyway).

March 7th, DH, WY, and Himeko under cut!!

(!!!!) March 7th: It is the day March was found, but the specific date can bring some symbolism to mind. The month of march signals the beginning of of spring, a season full of new growth and revival from the stasis that winter brings. This fits into March’s character arc in her companion quest, as the garden of recollection locks away her past, essentially saying that It’s not something March should be remembering or looking for, implying something awful or traumatizing has happened to her. This shows that without those memories, March may have turned from a cold, "icy" character into a warmer, healthier one. 7 is also a lucky number, as it was very lucky that March has survived so long drifting in space and frozen, even if it was in 6 phase ice.

(!!!) Dan Heng: The character 丹 (Dān) simply means red, although it can also be pellet, powder, or cinnabar. I think this is mainly to tie in with Dan Heng’s maple leaf theme. The character 恒 (Heng) means “constant” or “persistent”, a nod to Dan Heng’s collected and steady nature compared to his eccentric companions. It may also be a reference to Dan Heng’s rebirths as a Vidyadhara or the number of years he spent inside of the Shackling Prison as Dan Feng.

Welt Yang: “Welt” is said to be the “name of the world”, but it’s really just the German word for world. “Yang” (杨) is Welt’s mother’s surname, meaning willow, poplar, or aspen, all three of them different trees. I don’t think that either of these names imply anything about Welt’s story, aside from the mantle of "welt" given to him by Welt Joyce, whoch is another post altogether. I think they highlight his responsible, powerful, and thoughtful character, as well as his sentimentality.

(!!!) (Welt Yang) Joachim Nokianvirtanen: Joachim is an abridged or contracted form of the biblical name Jehoiachin or Jehoiakim. They mean "Yaweh will establish" and "raised by Yaweh" respectively. Yaweh is a name of the Hebrew god, with possible roots to the old Semitic root הוה (hawah), meaning "to be" or "to become." This name is a probable reference to Welt inheriting his mentors Herrscher core and becoming the second Herrscher of Reason. His surname, Nokianvirtanen, is not an actual last name, but a mix of two names. The first part, Nokian, is a town in Finland. The second, Virtanen, is a common surname in finland derived from the word "virta", meaning "stream." I don't interpret this surname to have any meaning aside from establishing that Welt is (not confirmed outright, but heavily implied to be) ethnically half Finnish and half Chinese.

(!!!) Himeko Murata (無量塔姫子): Her first name is comprised of the characters 姫 (hime), meaning princess, and 子 (ko), meaning child. Put the whole thing together and it means "princess child", though I'm sure I didn't have to tell you that! I think it's less about her personality and story (especially in regards to Honkai Impact 3rd), but I think it represents her parents live for her, particularly her father's, as he's the one we know most about. The characters for her last name are-- 無 (Mu; nothing/nothingness), 量 (Ra(?); measurement, but with two connotations. First, it can mean a measurement, like weight or quantity, or it can mean "to measure" by estimate or actual documentation, or "to consider."), and 塔 (Ta; pagoda, tower, steeple). I think the most important part of her name is that last part-- in both universes, Himeko acts as a rock or mentor figure to many characters, being a motherly/older sister type towards the young trio of the express, and a teacher and squad leader toward Kiana, Mei, and Bronya, going as far as to strap a bomb to Mei's heart to keep her powers in check (with Mei's consent) should she lose control.

And that's the Astral Express crew! I'm going by groups of characters divided into: Stellaron Hunters, Herta's Space Station, Belobog, The Xianzhou Loufu, and Penacony! (Characters are ordered by introduction. Characters will be put where they were first shown, despite their relevance in other places. Dr. Ratio, for example, will be put with the HSS characters instead of the Penacony category.)

#honkai star rail #hsr #astral express #trailblazer #Caelus #Stelle #march 7th #dan heng #welt yang #himeko #murata himeko #Onomatology #onomastics #are those the proper tags?

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 1 year ago

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Unfinished - Part One: Love is Like Ghosts

A/N: Happy Spooky Season, friends! This story has been marinating in my brain for the last few months, and I am super excited to share it with you. It's my first stab at something truly spooky, and though this part is mostly set up, the next few should hopefully bring the scares. If anyone is curious about the inspiration for this story, please please please feel free to ask because I have LOADS to say about it! I hope you guys enjoy my ghosties!

*Chapter title comes from Love Like Ghosts by Lord Huron*

Warnings: death, illness, murder, infidelity (not Reader and Marcus) mention of loss of parent, language

Word Count: 4,723

Summary: Maplewood Manor has a long history, not all of it pleasant, and not all of it known. You and Marcus also have a long history, and when you reunite for a few days, both of those long histories become intertwined.

Maplewood Manor - October 30, 1868

Henry Ashford stood at the window of his wife’s sickroom with a decision to make.

His hands gripped the wood that framed the panes of glass as he watched three bright orange leaves swirl through the chilly autumn air on their way to the ground. Ever since he was a child he had been fascinated by the colorful display of the changing fall foliage, the leaves seemingly celebrating their own impending demise by turning as bright and beautiful as they could before departing from the branches they were born to. Once they’d fallen, he would traipse through the grounds in search of the right one - one with perfectly shaped edges or the most vivid golden hue. Bringing it back inside he would take it to his mother, the woman pressing it under glass to preserve it through the colorless winter. Henry would hang the glass encased leaf in his window like a suncatcher, marveling at the ghost of autumn he’d captured until Spring came again with its buds and blossoms. And then the leaf would be discarded, the glass awaiting its next specimen until he outgrew the childish hobby.

Or perhaps outgrew was the wrong word for it. The fascination with preserving the beauty of things that had died stuck with him, stoked and fed by his father’s work in the burgeoning field of photographic technology. James Ashford was the owner of the largest camera company on the East coast, and the invention of the daguerreotype took his sales to new levels, solidifying the Ashford fortune for generations to come. At the same time it solidified Henry’s interest in a new method of preservation - postmortem photography.

It was a strange thing for a young man to be interested in, and as such, Henry himself was regarded as a bit strange. Nevertheless when the time came to marry, a suitable match was made for him in the form of Eliza Cutwright, the daughter of a wealthy banker from Philadelphia. It was not a marriage of romance, nor was it one of shared interests. Though she was wed to one of the most influential men in the photography industry, Eliza preferred the majesty of oil based portraits and pencil sketches to the cold reality of anything caught by a camera lens. It was rendition, interpretation, that she found fascinating - the way an artist would paint their version of the truth, the world as it was through their eyes, with emotion and passion. Not the scientific chemical process of taking and developing photos.

The Ashfords though, like any respectable family of the time, functioned as they were meant to. They hosted and attended high society events, Eliza playing the role of the ever-devoted wife, always a smile on her face, her arm always linked with Henry’s while they laughed and hobnobbed with investors and socialites. They had two children - a son, Edwin, and a daughter, Josephine - ensuring that their family legacy would live on for future generations. On paper, Henry and Eliza Ashford were an enviable couple.

Behind closed doors though, they hardly had anything to do with one another. Each year that passed seemed to widen the gap between their mindsets, every bit of growth that Henry’s company saw driving Eliza further into her love of the traditional arts. He spent more and more time in their townhome in the city, giving the excuse that he was busy with running his father’s company and leaving Eliza on her own at Maplewood, only returning when decorum called for it. It kept both of them happier and made it easier for Henry to stomach his wife’s obsession with fighting against modernity.

In turn, Eliza felt freer in her husband’s absence to commission artwork for their home, to visit galleries and meet with artists. In the Spring of 1868, while at tea with a friend, she was reacquainted with one of the first artists she had ever met - Calvin Harper.

Cal was the son of the artist that Eliza’s parents had commissioned to create both individual and family portraits of the Cutwrights, and he would tag along with his father when he came for sessions. While the rest of Eliza’s family had their turns sitting for Cal’s father, she and the boy, roughly the same age, would play in the gardens or else in one of the house’s many rooms. The only time Cal would be at his father’s side, watching each painstaking stroke of the brush, was when Eliza was his subject. Mr. Harper would later credit Eliza for Calvin’s interest in art. Their friendship, though not one of equal social status, was allowed to continue even after Cal’s father had completed his work, but it was terminated the minute Eliza was betrothed to Henry. It wasn’t proper for a married woman to keep company with bachelors.

Especially bachelors that same married woman had always harbored affection for.

But when she saw a piece hanging in her friend Grace Felton’s parlor, the same movement and light present in every brushstroke and the familiar C.H. signature in the corner, she knew at once that it was Cal’s work. Grace had purchased some of his paintings and had taken his information so that she could hire him to do portrait work. At Eliza’s request, she put the two old friends back in touch, and though it had been nearly a decade since they’d seen each other last, nothing had changed between them. Their friendship was rekindled as though it had never been dampened, Eliza inviting Cal to Maplewood and commissioning him for the same work that her father had hired his for.

He started with portraits of Edwin and Josephine, the children taking an instant shine to their mother’s childhood friend, running to greet him when he arrived, stuffing little bouquets of wildflowers or interestingly shaped rocks into his hand as gifts. Josephine had even made him a drawing, once, the girl beaming as he heaped praise upon it. He reciprocated with sweets and the occasional small toy. By the time both of their portraits were finished, Cal had himself two little shadows that sat and watched in awe as he painted, just as he used to watch his father. The way that they interacted only made Eliza’s heart grow more fond of him, and he more so of her. She began to imagine what it would have been like had she and Cal never been separated, daydreaming a life where they’d been together the entire time, where Edwin and Josephine were his and the four of them were a family. Where she’d never met Henry Ashford and never had to pretend to be anyone other than who Cal Harper knew her to be.

The affair seemed inevitable, largely because neither party did anything at all to stop it. It began while Eliza sat for her portrait, the little willpower that either of them had to keep things plutonic vanishing entirely once Cal’s eyes studied every detail of her face, once she watched the lick of his tongue against his lips as he concentrated. They were careful not to let the maid or the butler see, and they never shared more than a brief embrace in front of the children, not wanting to drag any of them into things should Henry arrive home unannounced. But during the week or so that Cal stayed at Maplewood while he worked on a painting of the house and grounds, he and Eliza took every chance they could to slip away to the meadow at the edge of the property, or else up and away into one of the many spare rooms.

The one that ended up being the last room either of them ever set foot in, actually. The room that eventually became Eliza Ashford’s sickroom.

Just as the affair itself seemed imminent, so too was Henry catching wise to it. He met Cal on a visit back home, the artist taking the opportunity to start Henry’s individual portrait while he was available, setting Eliza’s aside to finish once he was gone again. Nothing happened then to tip him off about what happened while he was away, the two men saying very little to one another but remaining civil. Despite his affinity for photography, Henry was actually quite pleased with the outcome of Cal’s work, bestowing a handshake on him. It wasn’t until all four Ashfords were sitting as a family that Henry picked up on the attraction humming between the artist and his wife - and between the artist and his children.

It wasn’t as though he remained loyal to Eliza while he was away. Henry had at least two women in Philadelphia that Eliza knew about. But a man of his stature was almost expected to have a mistress, and so long as there were no bastards involved and no one important caught wind of the man stepping out on his wife, it was like it never happened.

What enraged Henry about Cal and Eliza’s tryst was the fact that it occurred in their home. It was the fact that Eliza had allowed Cal to become close with the children. It was the idea that Edwin or Josephine might slip and mention their mother’s good friend who spent long weekends at Maplewood while their father was gone. It was the ramifications of a leader in the camera industry’s wife spreading her legs for a common artist. It was pride, more than anything.

He knew for certain that something existed between the two when Eliza fell ill and Cal still came to Maplewood. He’d given the excuse of needing to refine the painting of the house - more detail in the cornices or better color matching to the stained glass windows - but that hadn’t kept him from making a stop to see her. The final nail in the coffin had been the sketches Cal had brought to show Eliza, hoping that they would lift her spirits - sketches of her, not a stitch of clothing to cover her body, sketches of the two of them together in positions he dreamed of during their ten years without contact. Sketches that included birthmarks that only Henry should know about on Eliza’s body. Sketches that fell out of his bag and that Henry found on the floor of the hallway outside Eliza’s room.

The doctors said it was consumption, but the medical world would likely later redefine her condition as a type of lung disease, non-infectious, which was why no one else caught what was killing her. She may even have survived her illness given a few more weeks to recover. But those sketches became her true cause of death. Cal’s, too.

Edwin and Josephine had been sent to stay with their governess at the townhome in the city while their mother was sick since no one knew that it wasn’t contagious. The staff had been pared down to just the housekeeper, who had gone into town to go shopping, so there was no one home to hear the gunshot that tore through Cal’s skull, and there was no one home to stop Henry from aiding Eliza’s death with a pillow over her face.

Which led Henry to the decision that he needed to make. The way he saw it, he had three options.

The first was to turn himself in for the murder of his wife and her lover. He would go to prison. His father’s company, his company, would be dragged through the mud, and Edwin and Josephine would likely never speak to him again, let alone have anything of his to carry on which was the whole point of their births. This was the option he gave the least amount of thought to.

Option number two was to follow Eliza and Cal by swallowing a bullet of his own. In his eyes it was preferable to prison. There was even the possibility that when the three bodies were discovered, authorities would assume it was a murder-suicide committed by Cal. The children would grow up traumatized by the story of their parents’ murders, but Henry figured that would already be the case after losing their mother so young. The company would survive, and nothing of the estate would be liquified. Henry didn’t want to die, though, so he put that one out of his mind, too.

That left the third and final option - disposing of Cal’s body before anyone returned, and passing Eliza’s murder off as a natural cause. Because he hadn’t shot her, there was no wound. It would be easy to say she’d died in her sleep. Cal had fallen in the center of an area rug, which meant that the mess was contained and would be simple enough to bundle up and drag into the cellar. The floorboards were removable, and there was plenty of space for a 5’11” corpse to never be found.

Turning from the window pane and back to the gruesome scene in front of him, he made his choice.

It wasn’t until both bodies had been dealt with that Henry noticed the easel in the corner of the room, Eliza’s half-finished portrait staring through him from an otherwise featureless face.

– – –

Maplewood Manor - October 30, 2023

You sat at the long elegant dining table going over the notes for your lecture and listening to the murmur of the crowd as people shuffled into the next room to take their seats.

Sounds like a full house out there.

As a member of the Society for the Restoration of Maplewood Manor, you were obligated to host one fundraising event that was open to the public a year, and whenever you could, you chose to do something that had a Halloween spin on it. Other members chose things like tea parties, dinner dances, or summer barbeques on the sprawling lawns. People from the area - and even some from further away - would purchase tickets, and then whoever was in charge of the event would round up sponsors to donate whatever was needed so that 100% of the profits could go back into the maintenance and repair of a two hundred year old estate.

Maplewood had been in rough shape until the fifties, the deed falling into the township’s hands when the last owner had passed and there was no one looking to move in. It was turned temporarily into an art gallery, which had done severe damage to the walls and floors, not to mention the botched job that some electrician had done with the wiring of overhead lights. Eventually the property was purchased by a local university and that’s when the serious repair work had begun and the Society formed. Years later you would end up attending the college, which was how you got involved with the restoration, and though you’d graduated almost twenty years ago, you were still an active member.

The event that you were hosting was entitled Unfinished Business: Ghosts Caught on Canvas. You’d decided to go with something that combined your interests and skills. You were an artist by trade, but your focus was very atypical. Though you did also create your own original works, you’d made your name in the art world by completing works that had been left incomplete by their creators’ deaths. Sometimes the families of the artists would commission you, other times you were contacted by museums, universities and private collectors. In a way, you felt like you were bringing closure to the people who hired you, and to the actual pieces of art themselves. Your lecture didn’t include any of the pieces that you’d worked on, all of the ones you’d chosen to highlight still unfinished and baring all of the sketchy lines and over-painted areas that showed how their artists were still unsure or undecided about how that portion of the piece would look when it was done.

To your surprise, the event sold out in under a week when normally tickets for these events would still be available at the door. You were glad that you’d been able to contribute something so beneficial to the restoration society. But an even bigger surprise came in the form of one of the attendees on your guest list - Marcus Pike.

You smiled to yourself as you recalled the message you’d sent him as soon as you saw that he had purchased a ticket. This really you? You’d sent it along with a screenshot showing his RSVP, and within seconds he had responded. Do you know any other Marcus Pikes? It had made you roll your eyes and snort, but at the same time it filled you with excitement. You hadn’t seen much of Marcus in the past few years while he was in Texas, and hadn’t spent a Halloween with him since the year after the two of you graduated college.

Which sucks, because he’s so much fun around this time. And… and I miss him.

Though you’d remained as close as you could from so many states away, nothing beat the few times you’d visited one another when he had time off from work. But none of those visits had been in the month of October. Another smile climbed your cheeks - along with a splash of heat - as you thought back to the first Halloween you spent with him, and the night that the two of you met. You and Kelly, your roommate, were hosting a costume party, and you were meeting her new boyfriend for the first time. Though their relationship wouldn’t last, you had formed a friendship with the cute guy from 2E who showed up in an impromptu sheet-ghost getup that would at times border on something more but never truly solidified into anything official. You’d kissed a few times, even slept together once, and more than a few of both of your friends had assumed that you would end up together.

But then Marcus had moved south to start his career, and the will they won’t they question seemed to be answered with a won’t. And then he met and married Erin, and even when the marriage quickly came apart, you never really considered that the two of you would shift gears.

And then there was Teresa.

You wrinkled your nose at the thought of the woman and the bullshit that you knew she put Marcus through. In a way, you were glad that they hadn’t worked out, because you didn’t think you could stomach being nice to someone who had toyed with your best friend the way that she had. But at the same time, you felt for him, because you knew that when Marcus went in on a relationship, he went all in. He fell hard, which made it hard for himself to get back up sometimes. Moving back East to D.C. was good for him in that regard, and selfishly, it was good for you, too, because him being only two hours away meant that more regular visits were back on the table.

Your phone chimed on the table next to your notes, and you couldn’t help the way your face broke into a grin as you read the text displayed on the screen. Just got here. Place looks great, can’t wait to hear your lecture! Another text bubble popped up that made you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. And to seeing you.

Before you could respond, Xander, one of the grad students who was part of the restoration society, poked his head into the room where you sat to let you know that you were all set to start.

“Thanks, X.” You smiled at him and gathered your note cards before heading into the next room.

Thanking everyone for coming - and honing in on Marcus as you said it - you launched right into your presentation.

“Real quick, before I start, how many of you all have been on a supposed haunted tour? Of a house or a city or graveyard?” You paused to let people respond, counting the raised hands in the room. About half of them were in the air. Not surprised. You smirked. “Now keep your hand up if you actually saw a ghost on any of those tours.” A ripple of laughter went through the room as every hand dropped back down. “That’s what I thought. Now, show of hands, how many of you really truly believe in ghosts?”

This time, only a few people put their hands up. Again, not surprised. But you acted surprised anyway. “Really? Almost everyone in here has paid money to go on a ghost tour, but only four of you actually believe in ghosts?”

That got another round of chuckles, Marcus’ hitting your ear over the rest. “Well, don’t worry. I’m not asking you to believe in ghosts tonight. The word belief implies that I’m expecting you to put your blind faith in something without being able to prove that it’s true. But I have proof. Solid, physical proof of ghosts that exist here in our world. So I’m not asking you to believe. I’m telling you that ghosts are real. And now I’m going to show them to you.”

You could feel the rush of anticipation in the room, everyone going from joking and laughing to scooting forward in their seats at your promises. For the next hour and a half, you went over the selected works, pointing things out and connecting each piece with its artist, sharing facts and stories about them when they were relevant or entertaining.

“You can still see the sketches underneath, right here. In this corner of the image. It’s almost as though the artist hadn’t decided yet - should the wings be unfurled or folded? The pencil lines here and here would indicate that originally they were open, spread wide. But from the beginnings of the brushstrokes over here it seems like maybe he was considering a different pose. And we’ll never know which way it was intended to be, or if the wings would even still be there in the final piece. So in a way, the painting itself is haunted, full of the ghosts of the artist’s original intentions.”

You finished up your talk by briefly explaining how you did your job - how you tried to immerse yourself in the mindset of the artist by gaining access to their journals, letters, photographs or any information about their life at the time that they were working on the piece, and then do your best to match the different styles and color palettes to complete the picture. Wrapping it up by thanking everyone again, you let people know that refreshments were available in the dining room and that you’d be available for any questions for about a half hour. Most people made their way in for snacks, but a few lingered for your informal Q & A. You gave them your undivided attention, which was difficult knowing that Marcus was hovering just beyond the small group that had formed around you and the six easels behind you.

But there was no urgency, no rush to finish up and spend time with him, because he had four days off and was planning to spend three of them catching up with you. When you were finally done and the last person had thanked you for your time, you turned to Marcus and blew out a huff. “Well that went well I think.”

He grinned wide, the expression lighting up his eyes. “You think?” Without warning, he moved in to wrap you in a hug, arms winding around you and giving a brief, tight squeeze. “You did great.”

Returning the hug, you laughed. “Thanks, Marcus.” The scent of his cologne hit your nose and you had to stop yourself from burrowing into his neck to inhale again. Instead, you pulled back to see the smile he was still wearing. “I’m so glad you could make it. Been a while since we’ve been in this building, huh?”

Marcus glanced around the room and nodded. “It has. Brings back a lot of memories.” He looked back at you and winked. “Good ones.”

It does.

Marcus hadn’t been in the restoration society with you while you were in school, but there were a number of campus activities that happened at Maplewood Manor, so you’d both been in the old mansion plenty of times before that night.

You kissed me in the parlor room junior year. Doesn’t get better than that, Marcus.

You wondered if that was the memory that came to mind for him, but before you could get too caught up in that thought, he spoke again. “Not to rush you out of here or anything, but I’m starving. You ready to go grab dinner? On the way here I noticed that Michael’s Diner is still open and I’ve been thinking about those disco fries since then.”

Your eyes widened. “Of course Michael’s is still open, that place is an institution, Marcus. And yes, I’m also very hungry. Let me just check in with Xander and the other student volunteers to see if they need anything before we head out.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be here.”

Verifying that Xander had everything he needed to close up once the remaining guests had cleared out, you thanked the kid and rejoined Marcus. “Alright, all set. Let’s go pig out like we used to.”

– – –

You’d made it halfway through your meal and most of the way through listening to Marcus tell you about his latest case when your phone rang. Reaching to silence it, you noticed Xander’s name on the I.D. “Sorry, I need to…” You trailed off pointing at your phone and showing him the screen. “Xander probably forgot his key or something.”

Marcus held up both hands, palms facing you. “Of course, go ahead. No need to apologize.”

Nodding, you answered. “Xander? Everything o-”

“You need to get back here. Now.”

The young man’s voice was thin and shaky and it made your stomach drop. Something was wrong, very wrong. It wasn’t just a forgotten key or a lock he couldn’t figure out, and the fear in his voice made your stomach drop. Your expression must have given you away because Marcus’ eyebrows pinched together in concern as he sat across from you.

“What happened, X? You okay?” Your pulse pounded in your brain as you asked.

What could have happened? I haven’t been gone that long.

“There’s… someone…” He gasped a breath and swallowed, saying your name. “I called the police already, they’re on their way and I’m across the street at the security booth, but… There’s a body - a dead body in one of the bedrooms upstairs. I… I was doing a sweep before I closed up and…”

“Oh, shit.” You breathed the two words out, ice flooding your veins as the concern on Marcus’ face went full-blown. “Oh, shit, Xander. I…”

“There’s… s-something else, too.” You heard him swallow again. “When I came back downstairs there was… You only had six paintings in your lecture, right?”

Blinking quickly, you nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, why? Is one missing?”

“No. No, nothing’s missing. It’s… there are seven now.” He paused. “Where… how are there seven now?”

“Okay, X. Alright, sit tight until the police show up.” At the mention of the police, Marcus shifted into law enforcement mode, eyes laser focused and hands already moving to pull his wallet out and drop cash on the table. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?”

How the fuck… a dead body? What the… how? When did that happen, I was up there earlier in the day and then the door to the staircase was locked and-

“Hey.” You looked up at Marcus as you both stood from the table. He shook his head. “What’s going on?”

“Xander said he… Marcus, there’s a body. At Maplewood. Someone was killed, and… and there’s another painting that I didn’t bring with me now. I… I don’t-”

“Alright.” He reached for your biceps, taking a deep breath and letting it out to try to get you to do the same. “Okay. Leave your car here. I’ll drive. Let’s go.”

You nodded and tried to calm yourself down, the task made easier by the fact that Marcus was with you, and then you let him steer you out of the diner and into his car.

-- -- --

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#marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fic #pedrostories #marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike #spooky story #love is like ghosts #unfinished #pedro pascal character #marcus pike fanfiction

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bardic-tales · 4 months ago

Text

Title: Monster Made From Memories

Pairing: Bianca / Sephiroth

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2948

Fandom: Final Fantasy 7

Warnings: abandonment, abuse, body horror, demonic imagery, emotional breakdown, emotional manipulation, existential dread, gaslighting, graphic violence, hallucinations, intense sorrow, loss of agency, mind control, psychological trauma, religious references, supernatural elements, trauma flashbacks, unrequited love, vivid depictions of fire, vivid descriptions of injury. Whump focused

Summary: In a dream-scape, the One-winged Angeal torments and gaslights by changing the dream-scape to the Nibelheim Incident. Bianca confronts Sephiroth and takes back control, attempting to reach the man she once loved despite his transformation into the One-Winged Angel.

tagging: @megandaisy9 @asirensrage @arrthurpendragon @themaradwrites @prehistoric-creatures

@creativechaosqueen

“The only ramen I had was from those from the grocery store.” As Bianca Moore sat across from Sephiroth, the sun beat down upon her and warmed her bare shoulders. The wind swayed the crimson ruffles of her bandeau bikini top, flipping the ruffles up and down as the red and white fabric of their picnic table umbrella fluttered. She swept an unruly lock of her wavy, jet-black hair behind her right ear.

The piercing cry of the gulls echoed overhead, and Bianca and Sephiroth watched the birds dive bombed each other for a stray fry or two. The food tumbled across the boardwalk as another seagull landed on the wooden boards and pecked at it. Occasionally, a bird flew off and landed on the edge of a roof of a quaint beach-side cafe, screaming at the sun-kissed beachgoers who walked by.

Bianca leaned back in her chair and placed her hands behind her head, threading her fingers through her hair again. Her black, see-through sarong parted at her hip. The soft fabric separated over the curve of her hip, exposing her right knee and calf that was crossed over her left leg.

“You really never had authentic ramen?” Sephiroth scoffed. His husky voice softened more at the word ramen, causing a small twitch within Bianca’s core. A coy smirk pulled on the left corner of his lips, brightened his face, as she knew he could feel the erotic sensation through their psychic bond. His cyan, feline-like eyes sparkled in the sunlight. The corners of his eyes wrinkled in amusement while his hip-length silver hair danced on the sudden breeze. “That’s blasphemy, my dear angel. I can’t have you only experiencing ramen through those instant noodles and that little silver package of seasoning. Real ramen is more rich.”

As she opened her mouth to speak, she noticed a sole black feather fall from the heavens. It floated down to her, dancing from side to side, as if it were a leaf upon a dead wind: the last defense of a colorful autumn turning into the frigid winter. She reached for the familiar but unknown plumage and picked it up, examining it, but it was her surroundings that gave her pause.

While these plumes usually gave her joy, there was something about this one. The feathers radiated an aura that caused Bianca to drop it. It burst into a wispy, black smoke and disappeared.

Everything around her froze, as if they were in a status field. The seagulls hovered in the sky above Bianca. Their wings suspended in mid flight as if time itself had stopped. As she looked towards the side, she noticed that even the waiter pouring drinks froze with a perpetual grin crossing his angular face. The coffee tumbled out of the carafe. The dark liquid froze like a waterfall amid a deep freeze.

“What’s going on, Sephiroth?” She returned her attention to her companion, but he didn’t respond. Like everyone who surrounded her, Sephiroth remained still. His mouth hung opened as he was amid a quip. Most likely, he was going to tease her more about her ramen preferences or lack thereof.

As she looked at Sephiroth, he didn’t move. He looked blankly forward with his eyes unfocused. The wind that had been blowing their hair around stilled, and Sephiroth’s long, gray hair lay limply over his shoulders and cascaded down his back to the seat of his chair.

What the hell is happening? Bianca thought. She continued to look around. It was as if she were the only person alive in the world: the only one who could move around freely.

She felt the soft touch on her right shoulder; the leather creaked as his gloved-clad fingers curled over her bare shoulder. As she jumped, her heart thumped wildly in her chest. So, she wasn’t the only one who could move. The leather felt cool to her skin. Strands of long silver hair flowed over her shoulder and mixed with her dark locks. As she looked down, her heart raced, threatening to beat out of her chest. Her eyes widened. Bianca didn’t move.

“Oh, what fun we had here, my angel.” The words were mocking: cruel whispers masquerading as affection while he leaned forward behind her. He leaned forward behind her, his breath caressing the shell of her ear. She trembled beneath his touch, reminding herself that the scene that was laid out before her had happened in the past and in another timeline. “All these emotions that we pretended to feel for each other here.

“But it’s time to stop pretending, dear Bia,” He continued. “I died at the reactor and you didn’t even shed a tear. Why is that? Why didn’t my death affect you?”

The cruelty in his voice cut through her. She turned her head slowly to look at him. She couldn’t breathe, as her breath seemed to be stolen from her now.

“Why?” Bianca closed her eyes, clenching them tightly shut. Her fingers clutched at the tablecloth. Her body shook. This man was part of her being — her other half — and here he was, staring at her with such madness within his eyes, such malice in his gaze.

But she remembered everything: every kiss, every embrace, and every heartfelt declaration. That was the price of being a temporal being. Every outcome shimmered before her mind’s eye, as if she were looking at it on the mortal plane.

“Is it not enough that you took everything from me?” Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at him. Her breath now came out quicker in small, quick bursts: almost as if she were a dog stuck outside in the middle of a heatwave. Sweat dripped off of her chin face and down her chin onto the table that she had previously sat at. “Why show me the moments when I was so sure that we were in love?”

His cold eyes fixated on Bianca. Spreading across his flawless countenance, a smirk played upon his lips as he observed her. Her entire body pleaded for him to leave her and return her to the dreams’ illusions, as that was better than opposed to going about her life without him.

The cool seaside resort shifted instantly. Wooden buildings with pointed arches and mahogany framing greeted her, replacing the soft sound of waves lapping the shoreline and the women in tiny bikinis and men in board shorts. Each home’s alabaster plaster glimmered in the moonlight flowing down upon their bodies as the beam of light broke through the clouds high in the heavens above them.

Her eyes widened as their surrounding leapt in flames, the surrounding fires burnt brightly: the Nibelheim Incident. It painfully reminded her of her final experience with genuine love before everything was destroyed.

Her breath came in pants now, as she could not focus on him. The acrid smell of the wood burning saturated her surroundings. The burning scent of bodies overwhelmed her, as she felt as if she were going to be sick. Bile filled with her throat, threatening to burst out like a geyser. Despite the burning sensation, she swallowed it back. Her breath kept slamming within her throat, coming faster and faster as the flames circled around her and her surroundings burnt.

“Love, you say?” He spoke in a tone heavy with his enjoyment of her pain and suffering. “Such a pathetic sentiment. A concept you never truly understand, little angel.

“You think you loved this man?” As he leaned closer, his hair on her shoulder brushed against her cheek. “This hollow form of myself? You were a fool to believe that I ever loved you back.”

Their bodies glistened in the blazing light of the shared memories. With a relentless fury, the flames crept along the windows’ sills and frames, before suddenly springing to life on the roofs of the cottages.

As her body shook, the past consumed her. She could vividly remember the suffocating hopelessness she felt during that day, the profound failure of not being able to protect the townspeople from his rampage, and the excruciating grief that washed over her when he jumped from the reactor platform into the mako tanks.

“But it is amusing to watch how you flail about with your pathetic love.” Even though he crouched down to her level, he still towered over her.

Pathetic love? Something within Bianca snapped. She pushed down the sheer terror and misery that Sephiroth evoked in this moment. She stared at him, gazing deep into his feline-like eyes. A flutter raced in her chest: hope. It was tiny, but it was still there. She could feel Sephiroth beneath all the layers of corruption, influence, and madness.

“That’s not true. We loved each other before you b-before you set our world aflame.” Bianca turned towards him now and cupped his cheek. Her demonic blood roared to life and fought his control over her. As she stared into his cyan eyes, she could still sense him — the man behind the One-Winged Angel and Son of Jenova—within their bond.

“You’re still in there.” Her hand still stroked his face, as she could feel the confusion seeping in through their bond. “I can feel you. Beneath the pain. Beneath the madness. Beneath the chaos. Like you, I too have a calling and destiny that I will answer it. I will free you from yourself and your mother.

Sephiroth took a step back and narrowed his brow at the feisty angel before him. Both of them knew that her demonic blood often dominated his and Jenova’s control, since her father was one of the original primordial demons, but he couldn’t comprehend the source of her immense power.

“It is true,” Bianca continued. “You may have changed, but in doing so, so have I. Our souls mirror each other. If there’s anyone who can save you from the chaos, it’s me: your angel.”

With a firm grip on his suspenders, she forcefully pulled him towards her, their lips meeting in a rebellious display of passion. Their kiss was a delicate balance of vulnerability and resistance, as their lips moved in a slow, tender dance.

The fires raged on around them, but her gentle touch on his cheek provided her a moment of solace. As the weight of the heat bore down on her skin, she found herself even more resolved in the conviction that she had to save him.

Her heartache lingered deep within, like a thick coating of molasses, but she refused to let it consume her, knowing that her mission to save Sephiroth required her full resolve. Yet, her heart clenched every time she laid eyes on him, making it nearly impossible to offer any help. He would have denied it, anyway. In death, he relentlessly refused to find rest or to join with the Planet. His anger and madness refused to let him rest.

“I cannot be killed,” she said, emphasizing her heritage as the daughter of Asmodeus and Seraphine. Strands of her saliva still clung to his lips, making them shimmer in the firelight. She stood. “And when you remain after the Meteor falls, I too will persist. I will spend eternity freeing you from your madness, if I must.”

Bianca now stalked towards him. She stared intensely into his eyes as her hips swayed as she walked deliberately while the flames of the fire flickered around them, making her seem as if she were a demon exiting hell.

With her head tilted up and her wings spread wide, she finally stood before him, exuding confidence and grace. Amidst the dying flames of Nibelheim, her feathers, a mix of purple and black, gleamed with an otherworldly beauty. As she emerged from the flames, she masked her true feelings, burying them deep inside. She concealed her pain of losing him five years ago beneath a stoic expression, making it invisible to his eyes. As she wrested her dream-scape from him, her eyes glinted with determination, and a powerful sense of empowerment overcame her.

Once more, the landscape shifted, revealing a breathtaking panorama of rolling hills and vibrant wildflowers. Behind the evergreen forest, a majestic mountain rose behind them, casting a shadow that made her feel small. This was the original home to the Biblical Nephilim: a race of ice giants that lived beyond the mountain range. In the forest, the sound of the cherubs’ fluttering wings accompanied the mesmerizing sight of their iridescent light, as Bianca stood firmly planted her feet.

Sephiroth’s eyes widened further as the fiery hell-scape of the Nibelheim Incident faded away, promptly replaced by the ethereal beauty of the Celestial Realm. His feet remained planted, but a deep frown creased his forehead. Their shared soul-bond revealed a cacophony of thoughts: a blend of bewilderment, rebellion, and, above all, seething rage.

“You are right, Sephiroth, though,” Bianca declared, quietly. Her voice may have been soft and husky, but there was a power to it. “You love to say how this and the Reunion are homecomings. It right here and now is. It’s your homecoming. While my concern for humanity and the Planet is significant, it is the harm done to your soul that weighs heavily on my mind. But fear not.

“I will save you, the Chosen One, the Son of Jenova,” Bianca’s voice resonated with conviction as she made her declaration. Her hand pressed firmly against her chest, feeling the rapid thumping of her heart, as it still clenched from sorrow.

How could she promise to save him? Five years prior, she had experienced failure. He had chosen Jenova, forsaking their love in favor of fulfilling his destiny. She couldn’t let him see the vulnerability that lingered in her eyes, a result of the impact his choice had on her. With a burst of black and purple smoke, Sephiroth vanished, leaving behind an eerie silence. Despite the immense sorrow of her soul, she found herself in a quiet recreation of her homeland. The night air was cool and crisp, providing a much-needed respite from the fiery and acrid atmosphere that lingered after the hell-scape he had conjured of the Nibelheim Incident.

The occasional hoot of an owl and the gentle rustling of leaves filled with a serene silence, interrupted only the dream-scape.

The last black feather gently descended from the Heavens, and Bianca sank to her knees, feeling the coolness of the moss and grass beneath her. Her hands trembling, she gently pressed them against her cheeks, muffling the sound of her sobs. With her palms pressed against the moss, grass, and feather, she hunched over and wept in silence. Every inch of her body shuddered and trembled, as if she had reached the brink of despair, but a glimmer of hope pulsed in her heart, as if it was her only chance to rescue him. His scent and feather provided her with a fleeting sense of comfort, although she remained unaware of the unfamiliar presence.

With the world holding its breath, the air stood completely still as his black feather gracefully descended to the ground, resting on the cool moss beside her. But there, beneath the silence, a faint whisper lingered, barely audible, like a gentle breeze. A flicker of emotion crossed her face - a mix of regret, pain, and something unspoken.

Only a being as divine as her and Bianca herself could hear the ethereal whispers that resonated deep within her soul. In a spectral manifestation, Sephiroth materialized, his figure ghostly and translucent, extending his hand to gently wipe away a stray tear from her cheek. As she looked into his eyes, she was struck by the profound warmth that radiated from them, a stark contrast to Sephiroth’s previously menacing gaze. The moment he got close, she realized something was off. The aroma coming from him was completely unlike the Sephiroth who had just left her, but it matched the scent of the man who had fallen into the mako and left her in deep sorrow, confirming that he was not Sephiroth — or the Sephiroth that had fallen to Jenova and madness.

“Are you a dream? A vision of the past?” As she looked up, her eyes widened in recognition and joy when she saw her SOLDIER, a familiar smile on his face. Although he appeared identical to moments ago, a subtle radiance emanated from his eyes and his demeanor exuded an air of lightness. He existed in a liminal space between the detached SOLDIER and the sinister One-Winged Angel, an enigma that became intertwined with her soul.

As he bent down and brushed her cheek, she shivered from the warm connection: his touch was divine. Tears still coursed down her face, dripping off of her chin as she held onto the One-Winged Angel’s black feather.

“I am a fragment of a memory,” Sephiroth whispered to her. “A whisper of a soul. A fate that was once promised, but was cruelly snatched away.”

Her eyes, full of emotion, remained fixed on him as she continued to watch. Sephiroth’s ethereal form gracefully knelt before her, his long silver hair cascading down his shoulders and back. As she looked into his cyan eyes, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of gentleness and sadness emanating from them. Once again, he tenderly brushed his fingers against her cheek, feeling the wet trails of tears on her skin, as if he wanted to remember every contour.

“But I am what was meant to be.” He continued to brush the tears away. “And yet, not what I am. I am a shadow of the man you once loved, but I am still him. And I will always come for you when you need me.”

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wendynerdwrites · 6 days ago

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A passage from the upcoming Dalish Ambition chapter. I am experimenting with portraying the ball through the eyes of Gaspard, Briala, Celene, and Florianne. This is a passage from my Gaspard POV. Enjoy!

When he sees her, he almost leaps for joy.

The night thus far has been delightful. His mercenaries are in position. His servants are distributing the threats. There’s plenty of brandy. And he’s already overheard multiple complaints from the highborn guests about not being able to tour the main gardens or royal wing. They have his catapults to thank for that.

This ball may be called grand, but with so much of the castle partially demolished - and Celene’s efforts to hide said damage - the event is more cramped than the usual Grand Winter Palace events. Despite all the courtiers being here, they’re all currently gathered around the Emerald Crown and balconies. Most of these people hate each other, and his cousin and sister have brought them closer than ever.

Mischief has already started. He saw one young bard slip an expensive-looking ring off one lady’s finger and toss it in one of the side fountains. The girl is now frantic and circling a section of the garden in a panic.

The nobles of Orlais love to make each other miserable. It’s one of the only things Gaspard likes about them.

Well, he also likes to hear them shut their mouths for once. And as the Inquisitor makes her way towards him, people get quiet. Many hands and fans are raised to mouths in shock. A few that do speak don’t stop themselves from uttering derogatory remarks.

Yes, come to me, Pretty Bunny. I’m the only one here who won’t call you knife-ear out loud.

Well, Celene won't. But it's unlikely the Empress will say much to The Inquisitor at all beyond the basic pleasantries. His cousin likes her lofty heights and gilded pretentions. And she would not like to be seen as trying to curry favor directly with Gaspard's guest.

The Inquisitor is delivered to him not encased in shining armor, wrapped in a dull uniform, or stuffed into an absurd court dress like he’d dreaded. It appears the tip his people got was right. Green and nature themed. The green of his collar is a similar shade to the dominant one of her gown. Though her dress changes color as she moves. There are hints of blue flashing in the garden moonlight. They don’t match just right, but they look similar enough.

Last time he’d seen her, she’d worn some ridiculous Dalish mage armor. He’d seen some of those before: all high chainmail collars, thick sashes, leather vest, wrapped legs and petal-skirts. It appears, however, that not all Dalish costumes are so unsightly. Her gown is not quite like anything he’s seen before, but the artistic merits of the embroidery and the fabric cannot be denied.

Best of all, she actually looks like a woman. The skirts actually hang rather than hold, so one can make out her stride. Her arms are bare, framed by strips of shining, semi-sheer fabric. The front of her bodice is a scene of a hallah standing in a tree-lined stream. The tree canopy makes up the straps of her gown and much of her neckline, the leaves beaded and textured so it seems like the forest itself is bursting out of her chest… along with her breasts. Indeed, her bosom almost looks like giant fruit growing from the trees.

Finally, a woman who is willing to not look like a bloody chess piece off of the battlefield. She even has hair, in defiance of the current fashion. And it hangs down her back, silken flowers growing from it. With the halla mask he gave her, she is unbelievably elven. But her jewelry is every bit as expensive as any lady’s here.

Everyone watches her, and Gaspard can tell it’s not just shock and horror at an elven savage in their noble midst. There’s hunger in their gazes. He wouldn’t be surprised if a number of his fellow aristocrats start buying dresses with leaf detailing for their favorite elven maids soon.

The best part is, none of it violates the courtly dress code. Everything to the length of the hem is technically regulation. It’s just… not the fashion.

It’s better. It’s a reminder of what actual flesh-and-blood beauty looks like.

And it’s hanging from his arm tonight.

Good. He’s a widower. If he plays his cards right, Celene will not be the only lady here tonight feeling threatened. If he ends this night as emperor, that’s advantageous for him.

Amidst porcelain masks hiding painted faces, stiff, enormous hoop skirts and shaved heads, here is a reminder of the beauties the Maker is capable of, more lovely than any courtly costume currently present. All these idiots spent months and who knows how much gold to be the height of fashion for this stupid ball, and here is the Dalish lady, unique and truly pretty.

Whispers would fly. She may be an elf, but she is the Herald of Andraste. And the fine lords and ladies here know that he has no love for them. If he plays this right…

“Well, it would be just like Gaspard to make an elf his Empress, just to rub our faces in it!”

“What if her holiness does make her worthy? We’d have to bow to an elf!"

They’d scramble to line up and curry favors with him, convince him that their daughters and sisters would be preferable to making them bow to an elven empress.

The smarter of them will know that would not happen. Ever. But they might guess he’d make the Herald his mistress. That’s a space almost as coveted and could be doable, potentially. Depending on how the war goes and how well he plays things. After the crown itself, this Lady Inquisitor Lavellan might be his greatest trophy.

He definitely intends on treating her as his special treasure tonight. He has no intention of letting her get leverage over him, but she doesn’t need to know that. If he’s able to fool her, even better. She makes for a fine trophy.

“It is a great pleasure to see you once again, Inquisitor Lavellan!” He says grandly, opening his arms as if to embrace her. But when she draws close and curtseys - perfectly, he notices, that Ambassador has done her job. - he kisses her hand like he would any other lady. “I assume you already know that you are the most beautiful creature here.”

There’s a slight twitch at the corner of her smile, but she blushes appropriately. “You are too kind, Your Imperial Highness.”

He gestures for her to lean closer to him with a conspiratorial nod of his head. His voice turns into a loud whisper. “The rumors coming out of the Western Approach say you battled an army of demons. I’m afraid you face far more unpleasant foes tonight. Luckily, you have the right ally. I intend for us to accomplish much tonight, Your Worship. And more.”

“Focus on one’s goals and honest ambition are certainly admirable traits, Your Grace. I look forward to seeing all the wonders the great players of Orlais have in store for me. I just hope I can appreciate them all properly.”

Interesting. He’s not sure how to read that. The statement is quite vague. Clearly by intention. “You may prove the greatest wonder of them all tonight. I only hope I do not stop people from seeing it. My lady, are you prepared to shock the court by walking into the Grand Ball with a hateful usurper? They will be telling stories of this into the next age!”

Everyone’s expecting him. But he, and, he assumes, the Inquisition’s spymistress, kept the Inquisitor’s attendance as quiet as possible. He is the one who will shock the court by walking into his cousin’s court with a knife-eared savage.

Even if she is supposedly holy and prettier than any other guest, it will send a clear message of what he thinks of his cousin’s court and its pretensions. No matter what people call her, she is a rabbit in a fancy dress. That the current climate is such that everyone will be obligated to show her the same honor as any guest makes it funnier.

Yes, you pretentious, masked, cake-gobbling fuckwits, I fired on your precious Winter Palace and will now parade this heathen rabbit and her tits through its gilded wreckage. Maybe later I’ll set her to hopping on my cock in Celene’s bed.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dalish ambition #gaspard de chalons #fan fiction

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rootedincuteness · 3 months ago

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The Roots & 'Shrooms Gang OG Favorites: Ashleaf

Ashleaf is a rare minky mandrake rootling with a pale, minty-colored leaf. She's been with the Roots & 'Shrooms Gang since January of 2019.

Ashleaf is a rootling with big personality. She's definitely a diva, with big idea and impeccable fashion sense. Glamor shots are also a thing with her, because... why not? =)

You'll often see her with a hat, sunglasses, a sweater, a flower or bow on her leaf, or wearing one of my rings as a tiara.

Her best friend is Kizzle, and despite their obvious differences, they get along swimmingly. As I mentioned in Kizzle's featurette post, one of their favorite things to do is make bubble tea!

Strawberry milk is her favorite flavor of bubble tea, not only because it's tasty, but because it's pink!

Another of Ashleaf's favorite pastimes is sunning herself, because Summer is her favorite season. She can often be seen sunning herself with friends on the lawn or in lawn chairs.

Ashleaf really loves the sun, the warmth, and the glitz and glamor of all the colorful flowers to be found in the Summer months. Oh, and did I mention her favorite color is pink? Hot pink, pale pink, bubblegum pink, any kind of pink!

And in Fall and Winter, like many other rootlings, she loves to help her human bake.

She really hates the cold of those seasons, but she tries her best to make do with cozy sweaters and blankets.

Ashleaf is the Gang's resident welcome committee. Yes, she's the whole committee all by herself. When you've got this much personality, you don't need anything else! Here she is welcoming a little potted plant into the group.

Her favorite food is apples, specifically Envy apples. Why? She says they're the "most sugary-est"!

But most of all, she loves hanging out with her friends, because they're what's most important to her.

Now you know everything you need to know about Ashleaf! You can always feel free to ask her questions, or anyone else from the Roots & 'Shrooms Gang for that matter. =)

#ashleaf the diva rootling #friends of mudpie #rootandshroomfavs

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violettesiren · 9 months ago

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after Joseph Stella

i. And had it come to this? All winter the leaves clung to the branches and snow, withheld as an angry god's or an old globe's accusation, never fell. Fierce disorder followed:sleds languished; sidewalks smelled of pine and lilac; coats hung—dusty, comical—on high pegs. White was a memory. And when spring came it was only a name, a fact on a page without the corresponding colors that blared their message over town, shouting You struggled through the cold, hard winter now bloom on cue:be like me, be this green.

ii. What could the downcast lovers of seasons do but flee the warm city into springs of their own making? And soon there were plenty: false springs that came and went before breakfast; strange springs that worried the downstairs neighbors; fugitive springs that bad moods scared away. But most of all there were lonely springs, sudden flashes of insight that grandly promised starlit gazebos and an end to hunger…. But the open window still opened on hunger and the long street showed no sign of the mind's big day.

iii. A thousand leaves rush forward: bright, like an image of something lost, quick, like a portent of something fast becoming a page in a tear-stained book that people look at in separate rooms, thinking There was a thing called spring, and it gave my better days a meaning. But now

that it's always spring, the days mean nothing; the word's been bled of its earthy realness and as the heat rises, to what in the world can I ever compare my wildly leaping heart?

iv. Down the various leaf-strewn paths we go, she muttered sadly to her oldest friend, the one she had walked with arm in arm down all those broad alleys through so many springs. He nodded, saying We're on two roads now, heading away from that marriage of reverie and green too happy to last. Unless…. Unless? Unless, sitting together in a ruined garden, lost in distinctly chilly thoughts, we sense traces of our favorite season stirring around us, gathering weight and form: I plan a punch line but you beat me to it; a vagrant petal grazes first your arm, then mine; a small bird lands on a stone bench and starts to sing. When I stare down my narrow alley a low voice says badness, madness, sadness; but something happens when we look at the bird and, looking together, invite it to stay. A minute ago we were lost as winter but now we're all headed in the same direction— you, me, the bird, and this late spring day.

Spring (The Procession) by Rachel Wetzsteon

#rachel wetzsteon

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 1 year ago

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Azul Week Day 6 - Four Seasons

Summary: Azula takes Sokka to see a firefly boom but the fireflies don't want to appear.

Sunrise is her favorite time. The quiet and lonely golden hour that people seem to miss because they can’t be bothered to rise early enough. Perhaps it makes her selfish, but she doesn’t like to share this hour with anyone. Not even with Sokka. She likes to take it with a cup of daisy-dandelion tea and a thin blanket draped around her shoulders for the sake of having a blanket around her shoulders.

Sunset, the second golden hour, is her second favorite time. It isn’t as quiet; in fact it is rather noisy. The crickets are beginning to awaken and the people are well awake and making their own racket.

The fireflies also begin to awaken, cluster by cluster until they are everywhere blinking in the tall grasses and upon the trees.

Usually by now, the world around smells like smoked meats and burning the burning leaves of campfires. This is the time that she wants to share with Sokka. He enjoys meat anyhow, most certainly more than he would enjoy her shaking him awake early in the morning. Sometimes she does that anyways when she feels sad for no reason. Sometimes she does it accidentally when she wants someone to hold or nuzzle her face against. He gets grumpy but he holds her anyhow.

“We’re almost there.” Azula remarks.

“Exactly where are we going?” Sokka pushes a fern leaf aside.

“There’s a big hill. We’re going on top of that.”

Sokka furrows his brows. “Why are we doing that again?”

“Because I want to show you something.”

“Will the cicadas stop by the time we get there? Those things are driving me crazy. We don’t have those back at home.”

“You complain about the cicadas every year.” Azula rolls her eyes.

“Is it just me or do they get louder every year?”

“I think that it’s just you.”

“I think that you Fire Nationals are just used to it.” He grumbles.

“We’re here.” Azula declares.

Sokka’s shoulders slump. “It’s just a big grassy hill!”

“For now.” Azula replies.

“For now!?” Sokka throws his hands up. “What does that even mean?”

Azula offers him a smug and cheerful smile. “You’ll see.” She unfurls the picnic blanket and lays it out across the grass. “I figured that since I made you walk all of this way, that’s I’d make your favorite…”

“Peppered komodo chicken with a touch of garlic and a side of…”

“Smoked seal jerky.” Azula fills in. “Yes.” She withdraws a pan, a cooking fork, and a small iron grate to rest the meat upon. She gathers herself a nice tent of firewood and lights it up.

.oOo.

The last of the sizzles and pops die away as the sun fully falls. Azula does not relight it and Sokka shudders, it is quite darker than he had imagined. But Azula seems entirely unbothered which he might have found reassuring if Azula wasn’t unbothered by most things.

She passes his meal to him. “Enjoy.”

He will certainly try but the sounds emitting from the shadows–the ones that Azula insists are just lemurs and screech hog-monkeys don’t make it easy. He watches Azula, ever unphased, lay herself belly-down across the picnic blanket. She rests her chin in her palms and gazes down the hill.

“It’s firefly mating season.” She remarks at last.

Sokka swallows his mouthful. “Good to know, I guess.”

Azula rolls her eyes and sighs. “Every few years there’s a firefly boom.” She elaborates. “It kind of reminds me of the polar lights. Less colorful, more uniformed but it’s like looking at stars but they’re in the grass.” She gestures down the hill where the first flashes are finally beginning.

“I’ve seen Water Tribe winters.” She continues. “So I thought that I would show you what a Fire Nation summer is like when it is at its finest…” There is something in her voice, in the way that she trails off. It makes Sokka’s stomach sink. He is being unenthusiastic and he thinks that it is cracking her confidence in this thing that she had been so excited to show him.

He wants to be enthusiastic but he has seen fireflies before so many times. He can’t say that this is any different from what he is used to seeing. A few drifting clouds of fireflies. It is pretty for certain but he isn’t sure if it is worth a long trek through the jungle. But Azula’s smiles are worth it.

She is not smiling right now. Rather the opposite. “There are usually more than this…” She bites her lower lip.

Sokka’s heart sinks further. He puts a hand on her back. “It’s alright, Azula. It’s still nice.” It is quality time with her and a meal that she had taken the care to cook for him. It has been prepared and is being eaten with breathtaking scenery, however ordinary it is. “It doesn’t have to be…”

“But I wanted to show you something special.” She mumbles.

“This is special.” He insists.

“But you’ve seen this before.”

“I’ve seen something similar but I’ve never seen these fireflies and they never dance around in the same way.”

Azula shrugs.

“How many times did I take you to see the polar light?”

“A lot, Sokka.” She replies.

“And did you enjoy them any less the tenth time?” He quirks a brow.

She purses her lips. “N-no.”

“Well then.” Sokka grins. And her smile starts to return.

.oOo.

Azula isn’t sure what had woke her up but she is pleased that it has. She nudges Sokka. Once then twice. “Sokka.” She whispers. He rolls over and gives a sleepy grunt. “Sokka!” She hisses again with a harder nudge.

“Wha-uh-t!?” He grumble-whines. “Go to sleep, woman!”

This time she gives him a very solid thumb on the back. He jerks awake. “Geez!”

Azula laughs.

“What!? Is someone dying?”

Azula shakes her head. “Look.” She points at the roof of their tent. It is all beaded with firefly bulbs that rest there like glowing yellow raindrops. Now and then the insects crawl down the fabric leaving a glowing trail just as rain leaves a trail of wetness.

“I-it’s completely covered.” Sokka sputters.

Azula nods rather eagerly. She takes his hand. “Come on Sokka, the hill is probably full of them!”

The hills, the canopy, the tree bark. Everything. Clouds of fireflies are suspended over the pond and make themselves cozy in the leaves of cattails.

Sokka blinks. “They’re everywhere.”

Azula nods.

“I’ve never seen so many!”

She nods again and takes his hand. “Come on, Sokka.”

“Where are we going?” He asks. She knows that he will be able to deduce the answer soon enough.

.oOo.

He and Azula wander through the tall grass. It tickles his waist as he wades his way through. Although it is significantly higher on Azula–perhaps reaching her belly button or a little above–she seems to sift through the grass with ease.

Sometimes it is nice to just walk hand in hand with her, letting her lead him along. Tonight she guides him through a field of stars. Each blade of grass seems to be tipped with a firefly bulb or two. And each strand that they part seems to rouse a whole cloud of them into the sky.

Azula extends her arms and cups her hands. When she parts them to let him peer inside he finds that she has come away with at least five or six fireflies.

“This must have been fun for you when you were a kid.”

Azula shakes her head. “Father wouldn’t let us chase them. He didn’t want us to get our robes dirty. We got to look and that was nice enough. But I never had the chance to…” she reaches up and plucks another firefly from the sky.

Never had the chance to be a kid. He can see as much on her face. And he realizes that, technically, this is a first time for her too. A childhood dream coming to life.

“Who do you think can catch more?” Azula quirks a brow.

“I can of course.” He declares. “I’m taller so I can reach more of them.”

“But I’m faster.” Azula counters. And he can’t dispute that. She has reflexes on top of that and this easy, fluid way of maneuvering through the world around her. She does a half twirl to look back at him. There are fireflies in her locks and crawling on her billowing robes, over her outstretched arms.

She doesn’t even have to lift an arm to catch the fireflies.

He can’t see himself but he imagines that he is similarly dressed in fireflies. Any traces of sleepiness ebb right out of him.

If he falls asleep now, he fears that he will never see something like this again.

Azula holds her hand out and he takes it.

Just as he had held her hand when he introduced her to the lights.

He has shown her the winter and she has showed him the summer.

He will show her the grand melting of a Water Tribe springtime and she will introduce him to a burning Fire Nation autumn.

#avatar the last airbender #azula #sokka #sokkla #azula week 2023 #azula week #fanfiction

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rodrigobera04 · 8 months ago

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Now the fairy type:

FAIRY pure

Tanuki paws the ground to create magic.

Drop of paint transforming into a magical portrait.

Moth pixie eat fabric and materialize them into "clothes" on their bodies.

Little alphanim animal releasing sugar around the environment.

Little thieving imps, making noises in houses at night.

Cradle in the shape of a horse, placing babies and rocking them to sleep.

Monster wearing masks to hide her face; has varieties with different masks.

Fairy using long objects like wands, varying by habitat.

Festive fairy with blow toy nose that makes a funny noise.

FAIRY/ FIRE

Cartoonish sun that makes the plants grow and melts the winter snow.

Bear monster with hot fur, giving warmth to the sick and heating food.

Phoenix evolving and returning to its pre-evolution when it burns.

Cake fulfilling the wishes of those who blow out their candle.

Gingerbread man warming his surroundings like an oven.

Peaceful fire elemental cornsnake, blowing flames to hunt.

Swamp witch formed by colored gas fire.

Dolphin performing the circus act of jumping into a ring of fire.

Saci creates swirls of smoke and embers when it spins.

FAIRY/ BUG

Predatory firefly, using its light to trick volbeats into eating them.

Cockroach beneficial for eating garbage and leaving cities clean.

Dryad leaf insect, imitating leaves and attacking anyone who threatens its tree.

Hamadriad skater insect gliding on the surface of the water on tiptoe.

Beetle painted like dominoes, looking for one with similar spots to pair with.

Literal bugbear,bedbug boogeyman biting children.

Spitting insect trapping opponents in sweet resin.

Woolly aphid like a sheep, herded by ant Pokémon.

Crayfish cutting fishing nets, similar to yokai amikiri.

FAIRY/ ELECTRIC

Traveling park stuffed animal, manipulating light.

Night light fairy, its wings shine and wards off dark and ghost Pokémon.

Sprite made of colorful rays, giving light in the night sky.

Musical artist dancing in the rain and creating electrical energy.

Animal made of pixels, based on game mascots like Mario and Kirby.

Fairy furry animal, the static of its fur tickles anyone who touches it.

Deer stylized as lightning, attracting rain wherever it goes.

Kid's show mascot traveling through broadcast waves and materializing into energy.

Lemon tree fairy with thorns and a sour taste to avoid being preyed upon.

FAIRY/FIGHTING

Sumo fighter mascot, crushing his opponent.

Ballerina gazelle with sharp hooves, hurting its predator with elegance.

Fairy fish protecting lake fauna from fishermen.

Camouflaged gnome protecting forests from lumberjacks;counterpart of the fish fairy.

Jester monkey using sticks to perform his comedic shows.

Pixie with large hands to throw punches, in contrast to her elusiveness and lightness.

Two-headed monster with heads like cheerleader pompoms, doing dance moves.

Superhero fairy made of sweets, homage to Anpanman.

Colorful Yaksha, protector of mountains, seeking adversaries.

FAIRY/ STEEL

Nymph of a wishing fountain, decorated with coins thrown into the water.

Angelic bells tolling and warding off evil spirits.

Kobold covered in cobalt, rivaling miners in mines.

Metallic fairy looking like a necklace, hanging from its chain arms.

Metal hag, tearing the victim with knife-sharp nails.

Sweet soda fairy, inside a can, able to gush out like a jet.

Horseshoe magnet attracting good vibrations and luck with its mythical magnetism.

Bird with a flute beak creating little birds like a sound when it blows.

Wind-up toy, its real body is the key that moves the metallic body of different appearances.

FAIRY/ FLYING

Flying being modeling clouds into animal shapes.

Downy sylph carrying seeds and pollen on its body by the wind.

Dove doing magic tricks, like taking handkerchiefs from his chest.

Animal with bee wings and bear face, pollinator.

Flying cow being carried by the wind, like in the movies.

Glider gecko, looking like a paper cutout.

Creature like a mermaid with a magical voice and wings like hair.

Airy and songful spirit of the gardens, mixing insects and birds.

Nest-shaped winged creature with three small avinoids inside.

FAIRY/ ICE

Serow making his way through the snow with his long legs.

Ice jar with berry juice inside that cures burn status.

Polar mermaid with a seal coat, like a selkie.

Mangalitsa pig with its fur forming an elegant snowy coat.

Snow angel, a snow being with icy wings, but cannot fly.

Melted ice cream slug launching its shell cone like a harpoon.

Floral fairy that blooms in spring after being covered with snow.

Little critter looking like a rabbit with long ears worn like a scarf.

Troll with no mouth, just an ice stalactite for its nose, sneezing in blizzard winds.

FAIRY/ WATER

Reef fish making corals with their almost inaudible sounds.

Magical water bird, capable of changing its shape; confused with Nessie.

Kissing frog, believing that he will evolve into a prince like that.

Kaiju with a waterfall on its back that creates laminated rainbows.

Aquatic animal filling with water and bursting like a balloon.

Archer fish looking like a water gun.

Ondine creating bubbles to purify polluted water.

Sea lilies flying across the surface of the water, dancing in the sea current.

Gardener mole splashing water through its nose like a watering can.

FAIRY/ ROCK

Fairy holding a lollipop-shaped stone.

Friendly Anurognathus took care of dinosaurs by eating parasites.

Marble nymph watching over and preserving gardens.

Cave knocker with eyes like lanterns and bat ears.

Candy/porcelain crab with a colorful rocky shell.

Predatory troll disguised by day as a garden gnome.

Sea snail collecting various colorful shells that are glued to its adhesive body.

Brontosaurid like animal with a long neck, wearing magical collars.

Lion dog imitating statues, aggressive when its home is invaded.

FAIRY/ GROUND

Mole lizard colored like a gummy worm.

Venus of Willendorf gnome made from fertile clay.

Desert rose, made of shiny sand.

Yokai broom spreading dust but cleaning curses, based on hahakigami.

Turtle with a fairy circle on its shell.

Craftsman pokémon hiding inside an animal-shaped jar he built.

Imp with different shaped feet, creating strange and confusing footprints.

Mud creature attracting prey, like a mud mermaid.

Magical starfish, creating bodies made of sand.

FAIRY/ NORMAL

Witch's familiar, looking like a strange animal.

Colorful creature, made of several toys grouped together.

Gnomes with long beards, even females.

Fairy with antennas in the shape of a musical note, making noises like a cricket.

Creature making scribbles with its claws like colored pencils.

Hairy, horned creature, a dancer appearing at seasonal festivals.

Armadillo used in games involving balls,made of rubber.

Furry little critter, its dense fur hides objects and cushions impacts.

Monotreme monster, caring for orphaned eggs and chicks.

FAIRY/GRASS

Cocoa cut like a mug, with hot chocolate inside.

Little elf building a castle made of mushrooms.

Alraune with a root tail, like a mermaid, singing.

Marsupial guarding seedlings, seeds and flowers in its marsupium.

Fairy lantern stealing energy from roots to fuel its bioluminescence.

Lily of the valley making bell or harp noises with its musical flowers.

Colorful corn releasing its kernels that explode like popcorn.

wooden trunk with wooden ears like literal ears, listening to the flora.

#THE FINAL FAIRY MYTHICAL:

Quill pen fairy, fairy/normal, using her ink to tell stories and change the course of reality.

We're done for now.

#fakemon #pokemon #fairy type #fairy fakemon

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desertdollranch · 1 year ago

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It was a beautiful evening in late October when Emerson had a very big idea.

She was used to having big ideas, but she had never come up with one nearly as ambitious as this one.

It all started when she and her sisters Olivia, Mari, and Lily found a maple tree that had, overnight, shed all of its brightly colored leaves. They scooped the leaves into a pile and each took turns jumping into it.

Emerson flopped backwards into the pile, and as she tossed the leaves around she thought about how much she loved fall. She loved the golden-tinged evenings, the blustery wind that carried the smell of woodsmoke, and the pretty yellow leaves. It made her feel.... creative.

"Listen to my song!" Emerson said, throwing leaves around, and singing to the tune of "London Bridge is Falling Down":

Autumn leaves are falling down, falling down, falling down! Autumn leaves are falling down, Oh so pretty!

Mari clapped her hands, and baby Lily waved her little arms. Then she tried to eat a leaf.

"That was a great song, Emerson," said Olivia, as she picked Lily up. "You have a real talent for making up poems and songs."

"Thanks!" said Emerson. "It's easy."

"Again!" Mari shouted.

"I bet you've got one more song hiding in your noggin," Olivia said. "Just one before we need to start heading back home."

Emerson thought for a moment about how spring was like the morning, summer was like the daytime, autumn was like evening, and winter like the night. How each season had its song to sing, and its own special magic.

Then she stood up and spread her arms like the tall maple tree that had shed its leaves.

She began to sing her song to the tune of "Hush, Little Baby".

Harvest moon growing big and round Casting shadows on the ground. Autumn leaves come twirling down, Dressing the earth in her warm nightgown. Shorter days and longer nights, Growing cold in the pale moonlight. Summer's warmth is a faded dream, Spirited away on the last sunbeam.

Emerson curtsied as her sisters applauded.

And that was what gave her THE big idea.

The one that made her explode with excitement.

The next day, she brought all of her friends--Kendall, Willa, Ashlyn, and Camille--to the playhouse.

"I've had the most wonderful idea!" she exclaimed. "You'll love it!"

"What is it?" Willa asked.

"We," said Emerson dramatically, are going to put on a show."

"A show!" echoed the other girls.

"Our show will be called 'Fall for Fall.' It will be all about the things that make us fall in love with fall," said Emerson. "Like the whooshing wind, and falling into a leaf pile, and mud puddles, and a whole tree full of yellow leaves."

"What will we do in the show?" Kendall asked. "I don't know any stories or songs about fall."

"Leave that to me," Emerson said. "I've already got two whole songs for us to perform." She sang them her "falling leaves" song, and her "harvest moon" song, which she had preserved in her notebook.

"Those are really good, Emerson," said Ashlyn. "But will that be enough for an entire show?"

"I can write some more while all of you get everything else ready," Emerson replied.

"Oh, please write a song about mud puddles!" Camille begged. "That's my favorite part of fall. And winter. And summer. And spring!"

"Definitely!" Emerson exclaimed. "I'll get to work right now."

"I think each one of us should have a job to do, to help you make this show happen," Kendall suggested.

"Good idea!" Emerson replied.

"Kendall, you're good at building things, so you're in charge of set design."

"I have tons of ideas for that," Kendall replied.

"Willa, you can gather all the props we need."

"I'll start filling a big bag with colorful leaves we can throw around," Willa said.

"Camille, you like playing dress-up, so you can be in charge of the costumes."

"Ashlyn, you can design the posters and invitations, because you're a good artist."

The girls got to work, each of them humming to themselves one of Emerson's songs.

By the end of the week, all five of them had learned the songs and dances, and were ready to perform for their families and friends.

Emerson had, as she promised, written a song about mud puddles. They all decided it would be the best part of the show.

Finally it was opening night. The curtains parted, and the show began!

Kendall and Camille were the first act in the show. They tossed leaves as they sang to the tune of "London Bridge is Falling Down":

Autumn leaves are falling down, falling down, falling down! Autumn leaves are falling down, Oh, so pretty!

Take some leaves and toss them up, toss them up, toss them up! Take some leaves and toss them up, Oh, so pretty!

The audience clapped. Kendall and Camille bowed, and then ran off the stage.

Ashlyn came out onto the stage, and Willa came out carrying signs she had made to represent each line of the poem Ashlyn recited, called "Yellow Leaves":

When autumn comes We love to see The yellow leaves On every tree.

As yellow as a school bus, Yellow as a pear; Yellow as a dandelion, Yellow as Camille's hair!

As yellow as a lemon, Yellow as the sun; As yellow as the butter On a toasty bun!

Yellow as a ripe banana, Yellow as some cheese; Yellow as the stripes On the bumblebees!

Next came Emerson, reciting a poem she had written:

Windy, windy, blue sky day, Swirl me up and blow me away Lift me like a leaf or kite, Over the treetops, Up out of sight.

She bowed as the audience clapped, but she didn't leave the stage. Instead, the four other girls came on stage.

They twirled in a circle around Emerson, fluttering their hands as if they were falling leaves and fading sunbeams, as she sang her "Harvest Moon" song she had dreamed up while playing in the pile of leaves, the song that gave her the idea for "Fall for Fall".

The last act featured the best song in the show.

They all gathered under the umbrella to sing it, to the tune of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat:"

Rain, rain, rainy day, Splishy-sploshy wet, Muddily puddily, muddily puddily, We love rain, you bet!

After the song, Emerson stepped forward. "Thank you for coming to our show," she said to the audience.

"Hooray!" shouted the audience. The WellieWishers took a bow as the audience clapped and whistled and cheered. "Hooray for the WellieWishers! Bravo!"

After the audience left, the WellieWishers sat on the stage together.

"Our 'Fall for Fall' show wasn't at all the way I'd imagined it to be," said Emerson.

She jumped up and spun on one toe. "It was better!"

And all the WellieWishers cheered, "Hooray for Emerson! Bravo!"

#wellie wishers #the muddily puddily show

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bairmeidwhaaat0172 · 2 years ago

Text

Spring Came Early!

Huntlow fanfic incoming!

Back when they were living in the human realm Willow noticed something odd happening ti the plants. They seem to die off after a few months which at first was quite worrying for the young witch. When she asked Luz she told her it was normal, which again, seemed odd to her

Luz explained to her what was apparently named "seasons". They were four, in fact

Spring: the season where the flowers bloom

Summer: the season where the flowers thrive

Fall: the season that flowers die

Winter: the season that flowers sleep

In a weird way, Willow was very intrigued by this whole thing, cause in the boiling isles there's no such thing as seasons, or at least seasons like this

It's always warm, well, everywhere besides the knee

There were no rules for plants there, depending on where they grew they developed and had ways to survive like this forever

But in the human realm it was different, flowers died, so they can be reborn better and healthier than before!

She adored this idea,but she still was attached to these plants she did not want to see them in such bad state

Unfortunately for Willow however, fall was back once again, a year later

She was able to prepare for this, seeing all her favorite plants die slowly one by one

And you could say that the beauty of them slowly descending wasn't so scary either. But it was still a bit sad to see.

She decided to experiment, around a forest that was near the town

She wanted to see if she could help them live with her magic!

She left the Noceda house, (that she happened to visit with her other friends) and went to the forest, trying her best to be unseen

She didn't want others to know what she was up to, in case what she would do is bad for the environment

She has a plan if that would be the case, she would just ask for Vee to take the magic she used in the plants so they can go back to their previous form!

She got close to one of the trees, and took one of the falling leaves, and by just holding it, she was able to change it's color from orange to green

She was more than strong enough to fix the entire forest if she wanted to, but she wanted to start off easy, and see how the trees would take her magic in their such fragile state

The leaf she was holding turned back into a beautiful, healthy green, she could feel it being reborn

She was happy, she wanted to try a tree now

She placed her hand into the log of said tree, and slowly got the color of those leaves back into a green

She smiled, she continued to do more and more trees, and she fixed the grass, okay, and maybe added a few more flowers here and there for decoration

Her little area seemed so alive, and so beautiful, just as she remembered

But as she was gently and fixing out the place to her liking, she heard a familiar voice coming from behind her

"Willow?"

Uh oh???

"H-Hunter! Weren't you with the others?"

"I was, but I was searching for you, and I noticed your plants coming from this area so I checked. What are you doing?"

"I was just...fixing the place a bit"

Hunter looked a little confused, he tilted his head when he always does when he's confused and r e a l l y wants to find out what's happening, he's so cute

Willow sighed, "Look, I'm not the biggest fan of this season, most of the plants that I've grown so attached here fall and die. I know that it's part of how it works here but, it just feels a little sad, don't you think?"

Hunter nodded with understanding, he took a breath before replying "I see why you don't like it. But that's just a part of how they can thrive here, they take a break and come out of it stronger than ever"

"And besides" he looks at her with the most admiring glance anyone can ever give to someone "Their colors are beautiful"

Willow nodded, blushing at the way he looked at her, she notices whenever he tries to flirt with her, she always picks on his little signs, though he may not be the best at picking up hers. She doesn't mind, cause she loves him

"You're right! They are pretty beautiful" she points at a leaf she had in her hands, with it now being a mixed color of green and orange

What a pretty world

"I'll ask Vee to help out with taking out the magic, I don't wanna ruin the eco system. "

"I don't think it's even possible for you to hurt the eco system, you're so powerful I have a feeling these trees are immortal now!"

Willow chuckled, "Oh stop it! It was only just a little magic!"

"We gotta bring the others here for a picnic, I don't think there's a better season than fall to have a picnic"

"It suits you"

"What?" He asked, blushing a bit, cause apparently the smallest compliment that even he doesn't understand can get him to overheat

"Fall suits you, everything about it, it kind of screams you! That's a good thing"

Hunter let out a giggle, I guess it did suit him huh?

The sun was starting to come down once more, and the colors fell on him perfectly, it kinda looked like he was glowing!

And on Hunters eyes, Willow was glowing too, the shadows of the now beautiful green trees, mixed with the orange leafs, and the light of the sun falling on her cheeks. She was gorgeous!

They kinda stayed there for a second or two, staring at each other mesmerized

Until Hunter got suddenly a little too embarrassed and decided to speak up "H-Hey, uh, let's get back to the others? I'm sure they're looking for us"

"S-sure thing! Let's do that" She started walking off, and when she was besides Hunter she pulled up her hand, asking for his

Hunter gave it to her, with his hands already sweating bullets, but alas, Willow didn't mind, she never did

They both walked away, going back to the others. Willow might not warm up to this season immediately but, she can try, it's a part of life after all. And if Fall reminds her of Hunter, she can definitely get to love this time of year one day!

And with the forest being different from everything else, it was something different, something odd to others, something beautiful

Thanks for reading!

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rjzimmerman · 9 months ago

Text

This tiny flower teaches us all we need to know about growing old. (Washington Post Opinion)

For most of my life, I marked the progress of spring by its blooms. First came the crocuses of February and the daffodils of March, followed, in quick succession, by the tulips and hyacinth, the lilac and flowering cherry and the saucer magnolias. Later, the azaleas would explode in a pink and red riot — and, before long, the peonies would unfurl to proclaim the approach of summer. Each arrival announced itself with a spectacular burst of color and, often, a sweet perfume that filled the yard.

But lately I’ve come to share the view of Wendy Cass, the head botanist at Shenandoah National Park, when she sees a waving clump of daffodils.

“Boring,” she says.

What I had been watching all those years was spring as humans made it. This year, I’m experiencing spring as God made it.

Those tulips, lilacs and all the rest were imported from Europe and Asia, curated and genetically manipulated by humans so they would grow with no effort and display improbably sweet and showy blooms. They are beautiful, no question, and I will always smile when I see a host of golden daffodils as Wordsworth did, “Beside the lake, beneath the trees/ Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.”

But this year, I’ve instead been walking in the still-bare forest and looking for Dutchman’s breeches.

In case you are wondering why some European left his pants in the woods, let me explain that the Dutchman’s breeches is my new favorite flower. Its bloom, just a half-inch tall, looks like an upside-down pair of white pantaloons, belted at the waist with a yellow rope. Native to this part of the eastern United States, it’s one of the first wildflowers of spring, popping up in late March or early April, flowering for a couple of weeks and disappearing as quickly as it came. Its entire growing season — from the time its first green shoot emerges from the earth to the moment its last bit of green foliage dies for the year — is just a couple of months.

Yet so much life comes from those delicate trousers. It’s one of the first foods in the forest after a long winter, and a crucial bit of sustenance for the queen bumblebee. When she emerges from her overwintering nest in the ground (the other bees die during the winter), she stretches her long tongue into the Dutchman’s breeches to reach its nectar, which nourishes her as she lays the eggs that will replenish the colony with the next generation of workers.

The Dutchman’s breeches are part of a class of plants felicitously known as “spring ephemerals.” They appear on the forest floor before the trees have leafed out, taking advantage of the sunlight. They flower, go to seed and die back within just six to 12 weeks. These are flowers you generally won’t find at florists: They are bluebells and bloodroot, trout lilies and toothwort, spring beauties and rue anemone. They are joined by other flowers that, while not “true” ephemerals (their foliage lasts a bit longer), generally share the same category: the great white trillium, hepatica, star chickweed and mayapple.

They are notoriously difficult to cultivate, hard to transplant and even harder to grow from seeds. It can take seven years from the time a trillium seed is planted to the appearance of just one of its three-petal flowers. Ephemerals are finicky and fussy plants, growing only in forests and typically near streams. They aren’t as bold and colorful as garden-variety flowers, and most don’t even have a scent. You won’t spot spring ephemerals from your car window with an “ooh” and an “ah.” To find them, you have to go on a treasure hunt in the forest. Their flowers can be tiny — sometimes just a millimeter or two — and you could easily miss them if you don’t look carefully.

That is just the point.

#wildflowers #ephemerals #spring wildflowers #Dutchman’s breeches

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nat-seal-well · 1 year ago

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hullo!! if you're taking requests, can I ask for lying, bouquet, maple leaf, pencil, cloud & love letter for Marin from the emoji ask please👀💙 (I hope it's not too much)

Hi!!

Lying: are they good liars? do they have tells to show they're lying?

They're terrible at it, haha. Whenever Marin lies, or tries to, they shift their weight from foot to foot and crack their knuckles. It's painfully obvious to anyone who's spent any amount of time with them.

Bouquet: create a bouquet for them! what do those flowers mean? are any of the flowers their particular favourite?

Marin likes flowers, but they don't like the huge, over-the-top arrangements. They'd love simple ones that are all just the same flower in different colors: roses. because those are their favorite. Red (for love) white (for loyalty) and lavender (for wonder) would probably the the ones they would appreciate the most :)

Maple Leaf: what is their favourite season? why?

Winter is Marin's favorite season! It gives them an excuse to wear all of their cozy sweaters, haha. During winter they also sneak away as often as they can to go on secret trips to their favorite beach so that they can watch the waves, especially the king tides that happen in January.

Pencil: is there a particular quote / lyric that you associate with them?

"He is slow, and the sea sings to us both, but he returns to me." From The Scorpio Races book, by Maggie Stiefvater <3

Cloud: a soft headcanon

Whenever they spend the night with Nat in her room, they snuggle with the rabbit plushie from the carnival so that it'll smell like them on nights that they aren't there with her :)

Love Letter: do they like love letters? what kind of messages do they leave for their partner?

Marin adores them. They think love letters are super sweet and they treasure each one Nat leaves for them to find; they're all in a box on their bookshelf. When Marin writes letters for her, they're usually about a page, because they worry about some of the sheets getting lost on accident if they're longer than that. They're a way for Marin to try to put down all the feelings they have that they can't say out loud with their voice: usually it's all the little things Nat has done throughout the day that leave them all mushy and soft, or her quirks that they think are adorable, or just thoughts about her that have been on their mind. Marin folds them up as nicely as they can afterward and hides them in the library, between the pages of Nat's favorite books.

Thank you so much for this ask, friend!! It was a lot of fun, haha <33333

#sealy answers #sustainably-du-mortain #ask game #oc: marin #i sent u an ask too from my main!!#so many hugs for u <3

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growingstoriesandgardens · 1 year ago

Text

Under The Arbor

Part One: Few Scars, Many Kits and Endless Prey

Fall Leaf puts her nose to the dirt and climbs the stones where she can overlook the clearing beyond it. The golden field had been cleared by a human noise maker, leaving the space open and empty. Calling her above anything else.

This is a lookout point she's climbed and even gone far outside of countless times before. Even venturing out regularly now when the humans living within sight across the field were far away. But the urge is different as the sun peeks through the trees this time. This time, no part of her felt the tug to return down the slope again, not as it had before. There is a part of her somewhere in her chest that tells her she won't be coming back this time, drawing her far away. Her pointed ears stand upright, and her tail waves excitedly behind her.

Like every fox did, as her mother explained so early in her life, she felt the calling. The burning drive to leave the den she was raised in and become her own hunter, den builder, and protector. A fox cub's parents fill those roles until the kits are old enough to do these things for themselves. Independence from their parent's food, shelter, and protection marks the beginning of a fox cub becoming a grown adult.

As a cub, it had terrified her.

"One day you won't need me, little leaf. You will do all I do for you on your own." The warm voice of mother whispered as she snuggled into her belly. Ignoring her brother's paws digging into her side to get closer to hide deeper into the vixen's fur.

"But what if I can't!" Fall Leaf had squeaked, curling closer to her mother.

"You will. I am sure." She laughs, licking her cheek,

With a tail wrapped tightly around them, her mother silently sends them into a deep sleep. With a full belly, warmth, and safety, Fall Leaf hadn't let her mind dwell on it long.

Now, all Fall Leaf wants to do is leap onto the other side of the ridge and go.

Confidence wells in her, remembering her mother's words. A season after that moment, deep in a den with her mother, Fall Leaf has provided her own food for what feels like forever. She's fought off crows and helped her mother build a new spring den. As the cold of autumn sets in, her whole body, from nose to tail tip, screams that she is ready.

There would be good hunting, Fall Leaf knew, beyond this field and several over. There, she has seen thick woods- not unlike the ones that sheltered them now. The crows, the kind ones who patiently waited for what her family left behind instead of rushing them for the leftovers, promised her so. It would be plenty to help her through the winter, she knows, which will set in once all the vibrant colors currently on the trees fall to the ground, and the last of the color dies and sleeps till spring, as her mother explained.

There was little to no fox scent there the last time she visited (because, of course she visited), nor that of wolves of any kind. While that didn't promise a lack of confrontation, it seemed a safe start. That place would be her goal.

Staying with her mother was always an option, and the vixen knows that well. But she didn't intend on helping her mother raise a litter of siblings, as safe an option as it would be. No, not when the chance was so wide open before her under the gleaming gold of the sun pushing through the trees as it rises.

The ground is slowly being warmed by the rays, but soon, the earth will begin to freeze overnight. Lightly, a coating of frost at first, then deeply, making everything ice before snow. The thought of trying to get her paws into frozen earth makes her have to shake off an extended look over the area around her mother's den.

Now. The time was now, or else she might never leave.

Looking back a last time into the shaded drop into the ravine where she grew up, Fall Leaf's dark-furred chest deflated, still. Sunrise is crouching at the bottom of the stones. The sunny orange ears of her littermate are pinned to his head, and he doesn't look up at her with his long muzzle close to his white paws. Undoubtedly, he knows where her mind is already, and if his tail tucking itself around his body is any indication, he is less than happy about what she is planning to do. It's nearly enough to break her resolve to move on today.

"Stay!" He cries out to her, lifting his face from the ground and taking a few steps to place a single foot on the first stone. For a moment, she thinks it is a shame for his bright orange coat to be sullied by the dirt.

Her ears pin, and her tail drops close to the ground at the sound.

"Come with me!" She screams excitedly at him. Playfully, she jumps down and intentionally nudges him before leaping back up. A failed attempt at convincing him with a bit of play. They aren't kits any longer, but Sunrise always loved wrestling.

Sunrise shrinks back into the den at it this time, and Fall Leaf stops and sighs sadly. Her brother isn't ready, not yet. It simply wasn't his time now. Despite knowing that that was a good thing, that it would make her smaller sibling more ready for what the both of them would be facing, a twinge came over her heart temporarily, and she slowly made her way down the stones again. Closing the distance and nuzzling his lighter fur. Would he be happier here, helping their parents with next season's litter? Would he leave this winter before that?

The first bit of grief comes over her, knowing she might never really find out.

"I love you, brother," She whimpers despite the sound coming out heavy, "I wish you the best life if we never cross paths again."

"I wish you the best life, too, Fall Leaf. With few scars, many kits, and endless prey," Sunrise whimpers back as he returns her affectionate nuzzle before they pull apart.

Turning though, she comes face to face with her mother's unmistakable white mask, looking down at her with gentle hazel eyes. Otherwise, she looks much like her sibling, a lighter color than her fiery red pelt. The steady gaze is the one that had watched her learn to walk, to pounce, to track. There is sadness in them, though. While she had grown more distant the last few turns of the moon and had visited them less and less, the love, even with her presence, wraps itself as tightly around her as her own pelt.

"Thank you," She squeaks. "I want to be as good to my kits as you were to me, Mother."

White Mask steps forward and nuzzles her shoulder before pulling away and nodding. "I have no doubt you will do that and more, my little one. That said, I came to be sure that you're ready. Are you ready, to feed yourself alone, to protect a terrority? Make a den?"

She is taken aback by that by the hesitancy in her voice. "You were the one who told me I could, even as a kit." She says firmly.

"And I stand by that. It's just that you may not understand how much you still have to learn." White Mask replies with the same unwavering tone she raised them with. "I only love you and worry, daughter."

"I can do this; I know it. No matter how much I still have to learn." Fall Leaf says back, unfazed and matching the immovable belief in her words that White Mask had used.

White Mask's eyes seem to grow proud when she steps away, making her heart feel full. Sunrise, while still not filled with zeal about seeing her go, still manages to be excited as they watch her take her first steps as a grown, free fox. They believed in her, and if Fall Leaf didn't believe in herself, that would be enough to fill her up with confidence in what she was doing in spite of anything. With a large deep breath, she turns. This time, she reminded herself to not look back.

Bursting with the energy loosed from finally taking the first steps, Fall Leaf climbs the stones for the truly last time like the wind rushes, fluidly jumping down over the other side. As she takes full strides through empty fields, the vixen is careful to avoid the sharp stubs left by the human monster claws when they cut these fields. A handful of birds take wing. Sunrise and their mother let out exuberant farewell calls to her from behind her. Which she returns for as long as the sound of their voice echoes.

Likely for the last time. No more stashes of food from her mother or sharing warmth with Sunrise. No more strolls in the territory with her father, whom she hadn't seen in days and days.

It makes her choke on her grief while she passes through one field, a second one, and then a third. Practically bouncing as she avoids the sharp, dry stubs left behind. The pangs melt away when her hazel eyes take in the tree line, lit up by the rising sun, and the sounds of life within make her ears lift towards it. Her whole body falls into the same pull without her consciously directing it.

#Orignal Writing #Orignal Fiction #Orignal Characters #Prose #Animal Fiction #Foxes #Short Story #Part One #Under The Arbor #Part One: Few Scars Many Kits and Endless Prey #Please share/reblog!#First time doing something like this and I am SO nervous. Please do be kind.#writblr

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