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flowersandbigteeth · 1 year

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Your minotaur neighbor gives you some produce

General Plot: Your minotaur neighbor gives you some produce as an apology and defends you from bad actors!

Minotaur farmer (Tyrnas) x flower nymph reader

Word Count: 3k

W: sfw monster fluff, implied minor character death, injury, yandere behavior

Fluff Masterpost

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“Good Morning (Y/N),” the vegetable seller Tyrnas said as he set up his stand next to yours.

“Good Morning Tyrnas,” you replied shyly as you placed flowers on your own stand.

You both looked at each other awkwardly for a moment before looking away.

Tyrnas was a handsome minotaur with fluffy black hair that fell in his brown eyes and long dark horns that were a bit paler at the tips. His chest was broad and he wore a gold ring in his nose that you’d always wanted to give a little tug.

“Fine day today,” he mumbled, scratching his neck.

“It is,” you agreed, lifting a barrel of daisies.

“Oh! Let me get that for you!” he said suddenly, leaping at you.

You squealed and turned awkwardly on your heel at his sudden nearness, falling back into the dirt and dumping the water from the barrel all over your chest. Tyrnas slipped in the now muddy mess and all eight feet of him came tumbling down on you. Gasping, you found yourself face to face with his chiseled pectorals as he caught himself just before smashing you to jam.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled, plucking the barrel out of your hand and pulling you up from the mud.

“Oh goddess,” he groaned, “I've gotten you filthy and ruined your flowers.”

Daisies were strewn everywhere in the mud, useless.

You hardly noticed because your cheeks were fiery red as he held you to him in his big hands.

“It’s fine,” you squeaked and he dropped you.

“S-sorry,” he said again and hurried back to his stand, returning with an armful of produce, “here take this.”

He thrust it at you and you had no choice but to accept the odd array of vegetables.

“Uh…thanks,” you said, arranging them behind your stand and glancing over your shoulder to make sure he didn’t have any other unexpected attacks planned.

He was just watching you, his eyes focused on your bottom. You blushed deeply, hurrying to gather the rest of the flowers for your display. You spent the day trying not to glance at your handsome market neighbor.

He was incredibly popular with the village, being gentle and kind and you were envious of the customers getting his attention. Trying to keep your mind focused on your own business of selling flowers, you didn’t notice the pest approaching you.

“Afternoon (Y/N),” a wiry fairy loomed over you. He was tall and lean with mostly gold teeth in his mouth. Unlike most fairies, who hid their wings when they weren’t flying, his smoky black wings were on display, clouding the air with a dark haze.

“Eh, greetings Ukel,” you said to the fire fairy.

He frowned at your dirty dress.

“I’ve told you if you chose me I’d buy you proper dresses,” he sneered, giving you an oily smile, “you’re always wearing rags. It’s a pity because you’re so pretty.”

“It’s just dirty,” you snapped, trying to brush some of the dried mud away, “there’s nothing wrong with it.”

He snorted.

“That’s something a poor person would say,” he laughed.

“Yes, we all know you’re very rich, Ukel,” you snarled back, propping your fists on your hips and glaring at him.

The snotty fairy traded in poached furs, bribing the authorities to keep them off of his back, and flaunted his ill gotten gains all around town.

He leaned into you so you could smell his sour breath.

“You know you’re very weak to be giving me attitude, little nymph,” he spat.

“Well if you don’t like it, move along,” you hissed back.

He looked incensed that you would dare disrespect him and raised his hand to smack you, but it never met your cheek.

Tyrnas stood over the much smaller fairy, holding his wrist.

The fairy, growling at him raised the temperature of his skin, trying to assert his dominance. You watched in horror as Tyrnas’ hand smoldered but he didn’t let go.

“Stop! Stop it!” you said, trying to push the two of them apart.

“Back off, cow,” Ukel snarled.

“You back off, fly,” Tyrnas growled back.

“Not in the market, boys,” the village guard, a strapping orc broke in, tapping Ukel with his spear.

The fairy snapped out of his vengeful trance as the minotaur released his hand.

“Move along, sir,” the guard said, “the lady is trying to do business.”

He snarled but flicked Tyrnas off before marching into the crowd. The guard gave you a small smile before he too drifted off to do his job.

“You’re hurt!” you wailed, pulling Tyrnas’ big hand into your two smaller ones, “how could he do that to you?”

“It’s nothing the doctor can’t fix,” he chuckled through his wince, but you could tell he was in pain. What skin wasn’t red and blistered was charred and blackened.

“Come on!” you said, hurriedly throwing tarps over both your stands. You grabbed his opposite hand and tugged across the market to the physician.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he assured you, “I’ll be fine.”

You rolled your eyes at him as he let you tug him along, anyway.

–

“Please stop hovering, miss, or I will have to ask you to wait outside,” the doctor snipped at you as she applied potions and salves to Tyrnas’ hand.

“Sorry! Sorry!” you apologized, taking a few steps back, but still craning your neck to see over her shoulder.

His hand looked so bad, you weren’t sure how he would be able to use it again.

“Now keep applying this every night and it will be as good as new in a few days,” she said as she bandaged it up.

“Let me cover the medicines,” you said, hurrying over and pulling out your coin purse, “this was all my fault.”

“I can’t let you do that,” he insisted, trying to pull out his own wallet, but accidentally using his dominant hand leaving him wincing.

“Ah!” he groaned and you dumped coins into the doctor’s hands in victory.

Too late, he frowned at you.

“Well, I won't let you think this was your fault, you did nothing wrong,” he said sincerely as you walked out of the office together.

Smelling smoke, which was odd, you glanced up to find a number of Fairyfolk grabbing buckets and running across the market. You rushed over, only to find it was your stall that was burning and starting to catch the roof of the building over it on fire.

Water fairies finally arrived, putting out the blaze before it could get any bigger, but your cart and all your stock were ash.

Tyrnas snorted, clenching his fists through the pain.

“How could this have happened?” you gasped, “we were only gone for a few minutes!”

“I know exactly how it happened,” he growled to himself before glancing down at you.

“I don’t think it’s safe for you to go home alone,” he said.

You blinked up at him.

“You think someone did this on purpose?” you asked, “I mean why? I’ve never done anything to anybody.”

He blinked at you as if you were missing something obvious. He went to try to pack up his stand, but it was hard to do with only one hand. You helped him fold up the tarp and put his empty barrels back on his cart.

“You’re going to stay at mine until this is all sorted out,” he said as he scooped you up with one arm and deposited you on the passenger side of his cart.

“Do you think that’s really necessary?” you asked.

He nodded and got a very serious look on his face.

“We’ll stop by your house to get some things,” he said, “but I’m not leaving you there alone.”

Your flower farm was just across a small river and stone bridge from his vegetable farm. You had no idea how many times Tyrnas had taken a break from working in his field to gaze across the river at you working in yours. You were the prettiest flower in the whole garden as far as he was concerned.

The two of you paused at your house to give you a chance to get some clothes and do a few little chores that had to be done daily around the farm, before he took you back to his. You could see your house from his side of the river, so it wasn’t like you were that far away. It was close enough to walk back if you had to.

He fed you salad and a mushroom pot pie that was delicious and you insisted on washing the dishes. At first he absolutely would not let you but he finally gave in when he tried to do them without getting his bandaged hand wet.

It was incredibly cozy in his warm house. He had comfortable, large furniture for his massive stature that swallowed you up. The only artwork he had oddly, were framed pressed flowers.

You pulled out some knitting and he read a book while you sat companionably in front of the fire. It was so painfully domestic you almost cried because you weren’t his wife and didn’t do this every night.

At some point you must have fallen asleep, because you awoke in a large bed. It had started to rain outside, hard, the sound of it a steady roll on the roof. Lightning flashed making you jump. You blinked in the darkness and climbed out of the bed. It must have been sometime in the middle of the night. You made your way to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

Creeping through the dark house on your tiptoes so as not to wake Tyrnas who must have been asleep in his room, you carefully rifled through his cabinets looking for a cup.

Finding one you poured yourself half a glass and started to return to your room when you heard something at the door.

It swung open and as the lightning flashed Tyrnas’ silhouette loomed in the doorway. Startled, you dropped the clay cup, sending water and shards of ceramic everywhere.

“Don’t move,” he said, hurrying into the room and scooping you up. He didn’t smell like himself, more like mud and blood. In the dim room you could only see dark stains splattered on his white shirt.

“What were you doing outside?” you asked as he deposited you on the counter and lit a lamp.

As he moved in the flickering shadows looking for a broom, you realized the stains on his shirt were deep crimson red.

“Is that blood?” you gasped, “are you hurt?”

He didn't look at you as he swept up the shards of the cup.

“I’m fine,” he answered.

“Then who’s blood is that?” you asked.

He looked up but not at you.

“There was a coyote that’s been pestering me for months and I finally caught him,” he said.

“In the middle of the night?!” you prodded.

He shrugged and dumped the shards in the trash.

“You have to take every opportunity when it comes to these things,” he said and you noticed his bandage was loose and covered in mud and blood.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. It's pouring down raining outside! Don’t tell me you buried it yourself, injured. You can afford to lose a few chickens, not your hand!”

He glanced at you with a face full of guilt. You sighed.

“Go get the salve the doctor gave you and come here and let me fix it before you get an infection,” you said, reaching out your hands for his.

He looked at you for a long time before he cocked his head, smiling gently and did as you asked, standing next to you on the counter as you reapplied the salve and wrapped a fresh bandage on it.

You looked up at him and held him in a tender gaze as you held his hand in yours. You were finished with the bandage, but you didn’t let it go.

“Don’t do that, again, okay?” you asked, “take better care of yourself. For me? I could have helped you bury the body in the morning.”

His eyes widened slightly and he scratched his neck.

“Mmm,” he grunted noncommittally and swept you up in his good arm.

“I shouldn’t have woken you up,” he said, “let’s get you back to bed.”

“Make sure you take a bath, but don’t get your bandage wet,” you said softly, rubbing your sleepy eyes, cozy next to his warm chest, even though he was slightly damp, “then go straight to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled as he tucked you into your blankets, amused with your fussing.

“Sweet dreams, little flower,” he said and gave you a kiss on the forehead that made your skin tingle.

You fell asleep smiling with a warm heart.

–

“Have either of you seen this fairy?” the orc guard at the market asked you a few days later.

You’d gone back to sleeping at your own house as Tyrnas assured you it was safe. You weren’t sure what had changed, but you’d agreed to go to his house in the first place because you liked him, not because you seriously thought there was a threat, so you didn’t give it much thought.

He’d offered to share his stand with you at the market until you got a new one, so you were standing next to him as the orc waved the rendered image of Ukel in front of your face.

You twisted your lip and shook your head.

“You know I haven’t seen him recently,” you said, realizing it was true. Usually he came to bother you at your stand at least a few times a week, but in the past week you hadn’t seen him at all.

The guard, whose name was Zavi, rolled up the notice and smiled at you.

“Well good riddance if you ask me,” he confided, “that guy was nothing but trouble. He probably just skipped town because he owed somebody money or something. Rumor is he was in debt from gambling. But…they make me go around asking everybody anyway. It’s such a waste of time. ‘Course it’s always nice to talk to you (Y/N).”

He smiled and took a step closer, putting his big hand on the counter and leaning in.

“Would you wanna meet me at the festival next week?” he asked, making you blush and your eyebrows go up.

“Um…” you said.

“(Y/N) is busy,” Tyrnas said, sliding you gingerly behind him.

“What are you, her dad, Tyrnas?” he snorted.

“No, I’m her fiance and she’s going with me,” he snarled.

“You are?!” you exclaimed, staring up at him, “I am?!”

You rarely ever saw him cross with anyone, so him snorting and posturing over you, declaring you his, was a surprise to say the least.

“Yes,” he snapped and you jumped.

He blushed and held up his hands.

“Sorry! I mean…I’m sorry…Goddess,” he rubbed his eyes, “I did not mean for it to come out that way…I wanted it to be…I mean…I didn’t even bring the ring…”

You gave him a little smile.

“It’s okay,” you said, taking his hand and fingering his fingers, “I mean…I don’t mind…It was kind of…cute.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” Zavi jeered, “that was the worst line I’ve ever heard, (Y/N). You’re seriously going to fall for that?”

You glared at him.

“Get lost Zavi! You’re ruining the moment,” you snipped and he rolled his eyes with a big sigh and found somewhere else to be, muttering to himself about “broads”.

“So you really want to be with me?” he asked, his eyes practically glowing.

You nodded shyly, your cheeks burning. He leaned down and scooped you up, pulling you to eye level before he kissed you, his bandaged hand cupping your jaw. Drawing in his grassy musk, you sighed into his mouth.

His kiss was heavy and warm, but a bit hesitant, as if he didn’t quite believe you. You nibbled at his bottom lip and slipped your tongue into his mouth to show him just how much you really did want him.

He tasted fresh and green, making you eager to explore. His arm under your bottom flexed and tightened, pulling you closer.

“Um…can I buy some vegetables…or…should I come back?” someone asked and you both looked down to find a wirey goblin holding a shopping basket waiting for service.

Tyrnas glared at him but you giggled, your cheeks red.

“Sorry, sure, we can help you,” you stammered and he was forced to put you down to take the goblin’s order and resume the business of selling produce.

Tag: @southernbluebellereader

#minotaur x reader #minotaur #monster x girl #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #x reader #monster fluff #yandere fluff #yandere male

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mosylufanfic · 3 months

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A Mere Trifle

My first contribution to Rebelcaptain Fluffbruary! The prompt I went with was "dessert."

A Mere Trifle

Bodhi opened the fridge. "Oooooh," he said in delight. His roommate made sweets and desserts to relax, and Bodhi was usually the beneficiary.

"Don't you fucking touch the fucking trifle!" Jyn yelled from another room.

"Why not?" he yelled back, but set the bowl of trifle back where he'd found it.

"Because I'm saving it for poker night, you glutton."

Bodhi raised his brows at nothing. Poker night was at theirs tomorrow night, and while most everyone brought food, it was more along the lines of grocery-store chips and dip. Not a dessert of multiple layers and steps and approximately thirty thousand calories.

He grabbed the leftover Chinese instead, gave it a sniff, and concluded it probably wasn't going to kill him. Eating beef and broccoli out of the container, he went to the other room where Jyn scowled at the computer screen full of her photos that she was working on. "Not even a nibble?" he asked pitifully.

"Nope."

He licked sauce off his thumb. "It's got all berries and whipped cream and custard. You seriously expect me to resist?"

"Yes, I do, or I'll shave your head in your sleep."

Bodhi put a protective hand over his ponytail. "You're a cruel woman, Jyn Erso."

She bit her thumbnail, narrowing her eyes at two virtually identical images of an empty lot. She twiddled a setting and suddenly the tiny yellow flowers blooming amongst the lanky dried grass burst into focus. "You've known that for years," she said.

Poker night started around seven, or whenever enough people straggled in to get a decent game going. Bodhi expected the trifle to come out as they set up the table and pulled mismatched chairs in from all over the house. But only the two party subs that Jyn had picked up on her way home from work made an appearance.

"It's got to stay chilled," Jyn claimed when he asked about it.

"Uh . . . huh," he said, but had to go answer the door before he could needle the truth out of her.

It was Melshi, who came armed with various chips. "You ready to lose?" he crowed, setting a bag of tortilla chips next to the subs.

"No, but you'd better be," Bodhi told him.

"Big talk. Beers in the fridge?" Melshi asked.

"Yup."

He opened the door, grabbed a beer off the door, and paused. "Holy shit, Jyn, did you make that?"

Jyn was across the room in a split second, smacking his hand. "Don't touch!"

"Why not?" he whined, cradling his hand.

"Cos I said so." She slapped the door closed. "Go stuff your face with a sandwich. Veggie's on the left side."

Melshi sighed heavily and went to pile his slice of veggie sub high with peppers and mayo.

Leia and her brother came in next, then Kay, then Luke's truck-driver friend, Han, and his large, hairy roommate, Chewie, and then Shara and Kes from down the hall. About half of them mentioned the trifle, and every time, Jyn refused to let them get it out.

It didn't escape Bodhi's notice that Jyn's head snapped around every time the door opened. It also didn't escape his notice that Cassian Andor, who worked at the paper where Jyn sometimes picked up photo gigs, wasn't there yet.

People skipped poker night for work, holidays, hot dates, classes, and exhaustion. Usually they put it in the group text. Bodhi checked his phone.

"Nobody's canceled," Jyn said without looking at her own.

"Right," Bodhi said, grinning to himself, and arranged his bingo chips. "Okay, who won the last game at Han and Chewie's?"

"Me," Kes said, raising his hand, and taking the deck to deal.

Two rounds in, Jyn was looking very downcast, but she still snarled like a Doberman whenever anybody went near the fridge.

"We ever gonna get some of that dessert?" Han whispered to Bodhi.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Bodhi whispered back.

The doorknob rattled, and Jyn got half out of her chair before the door opened. She sat back down as Cassian came in. "Hey," he said, brushing snow out of his hair.

"Hey," Jyn said casually. "Thought you weren't going to make it."

"Sorry," he said, shrugging out of his coat. "I kept thinking I was almost done with the article and then I wasn't. How much has Melshi lost?"

Melshi flipped him off.

"Not enough yet," Jyn said, and got Melshi's finger next. "Did you get anything to eat?"

"No, and I'm dying. Tell me there's something left."

She waved a hand at the subs, mostly decimated on the counter. He put one of each kind on his plate and added mustard, then piled the rest of his plate high with potato chips and the baby carrots that Luke had brought.

"Should be beers in the fridge," she added. "Oh, and I forgot about a dessert I left in there, can you get it out?"

"Ohhh!"

"So he gets some of that first?"

"I see how it is, Erso!"

"That's who it was for?"

"Well well well!"

Jyn scowled. "Okay, the lot of you can go fuck yourselves."

"What?" Cassian asked, popping his head up over the fridge door and looking at all of them quizzically.

"Nothing," Jyn said. "Everybody here is a fucking moron, that's all. You find it?"

"With all the whipped cream? Wow," he said, pulling it out. "This looks amazing, Jyn. Is this the thing you were telling me about last week? Whatsits. Trifle?"

"Oh, yeah, it is," Jyn said as if it was a massive coincidence.

He looked at her for a moment, a little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "I can't believe it survived this long with these animals."

Melshi opened his mouth, then yelped as if a Doc Marten had met his shin with force.

"Well, like I said, I forgot about it," Jyn said.

Bodhi looked across the table at her and mouthed, You're so full of shit. She ignored him, a blush spreading up her face.

Cassian sat down next to her, juggling his plate of sandwiches and a serving of trifle in a bowl. "This is really good," he said with his mouth full. "I mean, really. Wow." He nudged Luke. "Get some of this, it's incredible."

"Thanks," Jyn said, shrugging, dealing the next hand. "It was nothing."

FINIS

#Jyn Erso #Cassian Andor #rebelcaptain #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #Modern AU #fluffbruary #star wars

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kit-williams · 1 month

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The Golden Palace of the Dead

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog @thevoidscreams @barn-anon & @sculptorofcrimson

sooo this idea comes from a homebrew culture my husband and I made and they do ancestor worship. I thought it would fit nicely for the brain worms sculptor has given me

The Custodian Pyrrhus was experiencing heartbreak. The white cloth looked so small in his arms as he went into the depth of the palace to prepare her for her resting place. He was there for the final breath that slipped between her lips as her heart gave out one final time. Some of his brothers were greedy with their time with their obsessions but Pyrrhus knew that you can only prolonged the human body for so long.

Aristotle looked up at him as Pyrrhus made his way down... at least he would have company as he prepared the gruesome task of preparing her body. Cold and lifeless he could not stop himself from leaving a final kiss upon her forehead. His eyes grew cold as he began the delicate task of removing flesh and muscle from bone...leaving the pink bones upon a table and a container full of gore to be buried under one of the few trees in the gardens of the imperial palace.

He could still see her face like a ghostly impression around that skull of hers. Aristotle was getting the gold and resin ready for her arrangement. Metal in the shape of parchment with her name engraved upon it was placed upon a table along with a few other items Pyrrhus had requested. A macabre art piece.

"Do you know where you're going to put her?" Aristotle asked.

"Room 67sc near garden 7. Right at the angle that she loved to look down into the gardens at."

Aristotle just rumbled in agreement as one of his own, Sarah, was on the opposite wall of where Pyrrhus' recently deceased would go. He watched as the bones were cleaned... they talked as they dried as and as Pyrrhus began to set her bones lovingly in place he was silent. It was an honor for these thousands of mortals would receive to be remembered... to be preserved... to rest in the same great Mausoleum as their beloved Emperor.

Pyrrhus placed a final funerary kiss upon the skull before that golden resin slowly filled the mold that her bones and trinkets placed with her got covered. He stayed there guarding her once more an unmoving guardian... to protect her as the resin was cured and by hand he shaped it and polished it to its final form.

Pyrrhus walked with Aristotle to the room as he hung it up his eyes looking over the piece as it melded in with the rest of the minor directions on the walls and other details allows her to become one with the rest of this palace of death.

"Thank you Aristotle." Pyrrhus says softly taking a step back from where she hangs as those tiny pink flowers she liked would be blooming soon.

The two demi gods left as another body was added to the palace of bones. Tended to lovingly by its caretakers.

#warhammer 40k #yandere space marine #yandere adeptus custodes #yandere custodes #adeptus custodes #tw: death #funeral services #bones being displayed

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monstersandmaw · 9 months

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Laces for a Lady - 18th century, poly, shifters x human romance - Chapter Seven (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Contents: some passing comments comparing two different female body types in a negative way, and some measurement taking and a dress fitting that leaves Nel a little breathless. Who knew Mr. Nancarrow had it in him to be so smooth. Mr. Darcy hand-flex fans, be warned...

Wordcount: 3931

Catch up here: Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw), Part Four (sfw), Part Five (sfw), Part Six (sfw)

Edmund flushed at Nel’s boldly obvious compliment, but was saved any further embarrassment by Mr. Fordyce announcing that it was Nel’s turn, and that he would have to take Nel’s measurements since he didn’t have them in his records as he did Winnie’s.

This time it was Nel whose face turned hot, but she met Edmund’s gaze again as he stepped forwards, rested his cane against the nearby table gently enough not to cause the arrangement of dried flowers in the centre even to quiver, and then he carefully passed the ribbon of paper around her waist. He kept his eyes down, but his long, delicate fingers moved with nimble grace as he held the paper and snipped the tailor’s marks in it which would correspond to the various locations of the measurements.

“And now inhale,” he murmured, and she obliged, letting her ribs inflate naturally. She could feel his knuckles pressing ever so slightly against her body through the fabric of the thinner, less structured dress she’d chosen for that day, and she tried not to shiver.

They had begun at her waist, but a moment later she found herself scowling at Mr. Fordyce when he made Edmund kneel down on the hard wooden floorboards to measure the length of her leg.

Edmund got down alright, if stiffly, but he gasped and sucked in a sharp breath as he pushed himself upright with his cane, and he went rigid with another sudden inhale, eyes screwed shut and head bowed forwards as he breathed through a stab of pain. For a lurching moment when he raised his head again she thought he was going to pass out as all the colour drained from his face.

Clearly mortified, he looked like he was going to struggle through it despite the fact that he seemed to have been robbed of his faculties for a moment, but Nel abruptly turned to Mr. Fordyce and made a calculated assumption about the egotistical, self-important little man. "It must be such work for you to keep up with constantly changing fashions when you’re so far from Town here in Polgarrack," Nel said, and Mr. Fordyce immediately puffed up like a show pigeon under scrutiny, and graced her with a condescending smile.

"Oh, indeed, Miss Bywater, it is certainly not without its challenges. But!” he went on, brandishing his forefinger in the air as if lecturing a small and rather resentful child, “A successful tailor must be a true artist, and he must find something new and extraordinary at every turn for his patrons. So, I do make frequent journeys to Town to make my observations. That way, you see, the nobility situated further from Town are still provided with the very latest in taste and elegance without the inconvenience of a journey so long and arduous."

He pursed his wet lips and then went on while Edmund's face was a blank, porcelain mask of pain beside her, his shoulders turned slightly to hide his face from Mr. Fordyce who was currently standing perched on a small footstool near the window for a vantage point to ‘better view the proportions of the lady for whom he would have to work a miracle’. Or so he claimed. Nel just thought he felt short and didn't like pontificating at someone who was taller than him, even if only by an inch or two.

She tried not to let her face show her distaste at the master tailor’s outrageously overblown opinion of himself, but in this case, it was buying Edmund time to recover. “What a sacrifice you make for your art,” she said flatly, and he missed the sarcasm entirely.

"Indeed. A tailor ought to have a quick eye; to steal the very cut of a sleeve in passing at the merest of glances, Miss Bywater,” he intoned in an almost sing-song voice, conspiratorially leaning a little closer from his little footstool. She hoped he toppled off it. “Any common bungler may cut out a shape when he has the pattern on the table before him, but a good workman will take it by his eye in the merest passing of a carriage…" He flourished his hand as if he’d magicked something spectacular into existence at that very moment. All she saw was spittle and hot air.

"Extraordinary indeed," she said blandly, studiously keeping her eyes off Mr. Nancarrow while trying to gauge whether it was necessary to indulge Mr. Fordyce's nauseating pomposity any further. He still looked like he might appreciate a few minutes more, so she pulled out a rather higher card from her metaphorical hand. "You must truly be a master of your craft then, Mr. Fordyce, if the rose-petal gown you made for Lady Penrose's birthday in August is anything to judge. Truly, I had never seen its like before, not even when I attended the Russells’ Christmas Ball with Lord and Lady Mercer and their son last year in London." She wondered if she’d taken her flattery a step too far with that last, but he drank it up like sweet summer wine.

His watery eyes lit up at the mention of Lord and Lady Russell’s exclusive gathering, and, as she had suspected, Nel rose just a fraction in his estimation by mentioning such connections. Not that she gave a single one of Old Flint’s trumpeting farts what this man thought of her and her station in Society, but it was buying Edmund time, and he seemed to be breathing a little easier now.

"Oh," Fordyce said in a different voice, simpering just a little. “The… The Russells’ Christmas Ball? And… Lord and Lady Mercer you say?” His eyes practically glinted. “Their young son is a most eligible bachelor, I believe,” he said, apparently unaware of the impudence of such a comment. “And you were with them in Town?”

She nodded. “They’re close family friends.” Never mind that said eligible bachelor had spent the majority of that particular night scandalously secreted away in an upstairs bedroom with an Admiral’s nephew when he’d promised to dance with Nel instead. The cad, she thought with a fond and barely-disguised smile. She knew William would get a good laugh out of hearing all about the ridiculous Mr. Fordyce, and she made a note to herself to include an account of this exchange in the letter she’d intended to pen to him that afternoon.

"Yes, well, the gown I made for Lady Penrose’s birthday is one of my finer pieces, I’ll admit,” Mr. Fordyce blustered, returning to her original compliment. “Perhaps a little too fine for someone of your particular… stature," he added with a vague gesture at her figure, and she bit back a sudden, wild urge to laugh indecorously. "The young Lady Penrose does have such exceptionally delicate wrists, after all," he said, and consulted his notes rather ostentatiously and unnecessarily in order to add, "And such a minuscule waist. Still, a tailor such as I must be able to cut out not only for the handsome and well shaped, but to bestow a good shape where nature has not designed it quite so to suit the fashions of the day."

If Nel hadn't been keeping half an eye on Edmund, who now looked far more horrified by his master's words than by his own physical discomfort, she might have taken offence, but what a conceited little man like Fordyce thought of the proportions of her waist was of relatively little importance to her in the grander scheme of things. If Will had been in the room, she’d have met his eye and the two would have dissolved into uncontrollable hysterics.

All that mattered now though was that her plan to distract the master tailor for a time had worked. Stoking the already puffed-up man’s ego had kept him occupied long enough that whatever pain had been exacerbated by being forced to bend Edmund’s bad knee to the hard floorboards had dissipated back to something more manageable, and a minute later, he very lightly touched Nel at her elbow as he moved around her on the pretence of taking another measurement.

‘Thank you’, he mouthed, blinking rapidly and barely meeting her gaze. He was still the colour of fresh parchment, but he was no longer clenching his teeth like he thought he might be sick. She hoped she hadn’t embarrassed him by acting so presumptuously.

“Forgive me, Mr. Fordyce,” she smiled sweetly to the older man. “I do believe I interrupted the proceedings with my questions.”

“Oh, yes,” the man chirped, blinking like an owl surprised by the arrival of daylight. He’d clearly not noticed at all. “Yes. Well, if you could hold out your arms while Mr. Nancarrow passes the tape around your chest.”

Her heart skipped a beat at that, and while Edmund was methodical and nothing but proper, he did let his dark eyes flick briefly to her face as he closed the tape snugly around her breasts. Her breath caught. Beneath the fabric of her dress, she felt her nipples tighten and she licked her lower lip just a little, sinking her teeth in before resuming a perfectly blank expression. Never in her life had she been touched like that by a man. Her previous mantua maker in Sussex had been a woman after all, as would have been the case here, had Winnie’s not recently relocated.

If Edmund’s gaze had dropped to her mouth for the briefest of moments, she pretended not to have noticed, nor to wonder what it might mean, if anything.

“Inhale again,” Edmund said in a low, sweet voice, his eyes flicking fleetingly back up to her eyes.

Slowly, she obliged and felt the paper tape stretch taut against her bodice as her breasts lifted with her breath. She felt the tension go out of the line as he let the paper slide between his fingertips to measure the slack. All the while, his hands remained steady as a surgeon’s, and she tried not to stare at the elegance of his long fingers where they held the paper securely against her chest in order to snip more little cuts in the paper to mark the dimensions.

“Exhale,” he whispered, and she did, shakily. “Thank you, Miss Bywater.”

“Nel,” she whispered back, but he only inclined his head in a way that said he could, regrettably, never call her something so familiar in such a charged setting. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or frustrated, and found herself oscillating between the two.

Then the moment ended and she almost swayed.

Edmund stepped back, dropped his eyes, and crossed the room to hand Mr. Fordyce the tape. Its coded marks at various lengths indicated that the full set of measurements had been taken, and that the appointment was drawing to a close.

Mr. Fordyce let his eyes flick along the length of it — no doubt noting all the places where her circumference was less elegant than Winnie’s — and folded it carefully up into an envelope. “My thanks, Miss Bywater. I think we can make something with that. Come, Mr. Nancarrow. We must leave these elegant ladies in peace to begin our work.”

Winnie, who had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room the whole time and pretending to work on her embroidery, rose gracefully and thanked Mr. Fordyce with just a little hint of frost in her usually sweet tone, and said that she looked forward to seeing their creations soon.

“I shall work on your dress personally,” Mr. Fordyce said as he bowed over Winnie’s hand. Nel thought that, given half the chance, he might just slobber all over it for the honour of sampling her ‘delicate wrists’ again, and shuddered. Winnie withdrew her hand almost immediately.

The way he had worded his comment though made Nel wonder if that meant that Edmund was going to make her dress, and her eyes darted questioningly to him.

He was watching her, and one corner of his lips lifted.

That was all, but in that moment, she knew it would be the case. His hands would have touched every inch of the dress she would wear to the ball in Plymouth, and her heart skipped and soared as if she would feel the ghost of his touch when she wore the dress itself. In a way, he would be closer to her that night than any man would even if she danced with them, because the fabric would rest against her very skin. Well, against her chemise and stays, but still, it was closer than any other man would get. Her core heated at the thought and she hoped her face didn’t betray her as the gentlemen bowed and left.

In the silence of their departure, Winnie arched an eyebrow at Nel. “Well, that was an interesting morning,” she said.

“Indeed,” Nel replied carefully.

“Since the ball is only a couple of months away, you must learn to dance properly,” Winnie added as she crossed to the window and watched their small carriage draw away from the front of the house. The shapes were made a dark blur by the rain. “I’ll teach you myself.”

“And what if I have no intention of dancing?”

Her chest still felt tight and her lungs seemed full of sea foam after Edmund had touched her, and imagined she could feel the warmth of his hands lingering through the fabric of her dress. It was most distracting.

“And I do know how to dance,” she added petulantly as she flopped into the other chair by the fire and picked up her own embroidery hoop, scowling at the wonky patterns on it. Had that been a strawberry or a carrot she’d been working on? “It was the local dances at the harvest celebrations that left me stumped. I can dance a passable minuet or quadrille as well as the next country gentleman’s daughter. I just choose not to.”

“You cannot sit the whole ball out and refuse to dance,” Winnie groaned, turning back to face her. “You’ll draw attention to yourself.” And, by extension, she might embarrass the Lady Winnifred Penrose.

“I’ll draw more attention to myself by dancing,” Nel said with a sullen expression as she began to pick rather savagely at her lumpy embroidery with a tiny pair of scissors. Lord, what if Edmund had happened to see it? He’d have thought it was the work of a small child with a knitting needle and ball of garden twine. “It’ll be like watching a bear in a skirt,” she muttered glumly.

Winnie snorted an extremely undignified laugh into her hand, and the two women promptly dissolved into giggles. “I’ll remind you of that when we’re at the ball,” Winnie snickered.

“Oh you’d better not,” Nel groaned. “If I get the giggles in public, it’s uncontrollable, and it’s even worse when it’s a formal setting.”

“You managed fairly well at the Lammas Dance when Old Flint did his best to reduce everyone to hysterics.”

That just brought back memories of meeting Edmund’s dark eyes again, and the feel of Locryn’s huge, rough palms against hers, and clamping around her waist, lifting her high and laughing in his rich, gruff bass as he turned her, and then of her crushing idiocy in almost letting herself kiss the man in public and in front of his lover. No matter that Edmund had said all was forgiven and forgotten; she would never erase that night from her mind.

When the gowns had been made, Mr. Fordyce returned with Edmund for a final fitting in late November, and Nel tried to ignore the odd fluttering in her stomach at the thought of Mr. Nancarrow seeing her in something that was not only a lot finer than her usual redingote dresses, but in something which he himself had made to fit her body.

As Winnie’s maid helped her into it upstairs, while Winnie was downstairs having any final alterations noted, Nel silently scolded herself. ‘Edmund Nancarrow is not going to look at you with even the faintest whiff of interest beyond that of a professional tailor doing his job. Mr. Nancarrow, like Will, is only interested in men’. The memory of the heat in his eyes made her assertions fracture and crumble like fragile cliffs into the insistent sea below. Mr. Nancarrow was probably not only interested in men, but she could tell herself that for the time being all the same.

With her expression set in a rather sour grimace, she thanked Liddy and walked towards the staircase which would lead her down to the drawing room.

The dress was really lovely, and although it wasn’t nearly as complicated and showy as Winnifred's, it had its own elegance and richness that Nel loved more than Winnie’s. The fabric was a warm, green silk damask that shone in the light like a cut and polished emerald, with peonies and curled leaves and fruits shimmering subtly like frost on a windowpane. The sleeves ended just below her elbow in a soft spray of intricate white lace, and there was a small trim of lace around the low, square neckline that was so delicate and fine, it reminded her of the patterns of sparkling sea foam on the sand. The bodice snugged in around the waist, and fastened almost invisibly up the front in a series of minuscule, gold hooks and eyes, while the skirts fell away in a fountain of heavy, forest green fabric to the floor. It would be finished with a delicate, muslin scarf around her shoulders, secured with a silk peony. There were even matching shoes, which were surprisingly easy on the feet, even if the heel was a little higher than those she was used to.

Nel actually felt comfortable in herself as she moved about in it, which she rarely did when dressing up for dances, and she tried to draw on that confidence as she descended the stairs carefully, one hand on the bannister in case she stumbled.

She met Winnie just coming out from her fitting, wearing her own, cream and peach confection which she somehow managed to make look spectacular. Nel was sure that she would have looked like an upturned peach cobbler if she’d put that on.

Her friend paused in the doorway when she saw her and gasped. “Nel!” she cried out. “Oh you look beautiful. The fit is perfect! And that colour! Why, I declare that the all gentry of Wessex will be prostrating themselves at your feet!”

Nel shook her head with a little blush, a dark curl escaping from the tight arrangement pinned at the back of her head above the collar and out of the way of the tailors’ fingers, and she continued down the stairs.

“Lady Winnifred,” came Mr. Nancarrow’s warm tenor from the other side of the doorway into the drawing room. “Forgive me, but you dropped —”

He stepped across the threshold and into sight, holding a muslin kerchief between the slender fingers of his right hand, but he looked over to his left and caught sight of Nel on the staircase.

The kerchief fluttered forgotten to the floorboards.

His lips parted and she watched him inhale slowly.

No, Mr. Nancarrow was most definitely not only interested in men.

There was no way Nel could still try to believe it after seeing that expression on his face, and she tried to hide a smile.

Winnie turned to glance at him and artfully hid her own little smile before dropping easily to retrieve the abandoned kerchief. She rose and leaned fleetingly in to whisper something in Mr. Nancarrow’s ear before flitting back towards the foot of the stairs just as Nel reached the last step.

Edmund immediately turned red from his collar to his ears, and swallowed visibly. He shot Nel one last glance and ducked back into the drawing room without a word.

Nel raised an eyebrow. “What did you say to him?”

Winnie just squeezed her shoulder. “Prostrating,” she whispered with feeling, and flitted away upstairs like one of the Fair Folk.

When Nel entered the drawing room, Edmund was standing beside Mr. Fordyce with his eyes on the floor and a lingering warmth to his face, but as she crossed to them and Mr. Fordyce declared that the creation was truly a triumph, Mr. Nancarrow raised his dark eyes at last and offered her a very small smile and a single, slow nod.

That one, gentle expression from him was more affirmation than any amount of twittering drivel from Mr. Fordyce as he paced around her and appraised her like an expensive piece of Wedgewood pottery on a plinth.

She watched Edmund take a step away from Mr. Fordyce as the man trotted around behind her and then went back towards the window to leave Edmund to make any adjustments, since he had been the one to make the dress and not Fordyce himself.

Edmund’s dark cane made a now-familiar clunk on the floorboards, and it sounded unusually loud to her while all the other sounds in the room seemed to fade.

“If I may?” he said to her in a soft undertone while the master tailor paced about near the window, utterly absorbed in the sound of his own voice. Nel had no idea what he was saying or if it was even addressed to her.

Edmund’s dark gaze had snagged momentarily at a piece of lace trim around the neck of her gown and he gestured towards it.

She glanced down and saw the problem, and then nodded.

“Of course,” she whispered, tilting her head a little in the opposite direction. It exposed her throat and collarbones, and gave him all the access he would need to free the lace from where it was folded over on itself. Her heart was beating like a trapped bird in her throat and she was sure that Edmund would see it thudding frantically against her skin.

And while Fordyce blathered on to his own reflection in the window about the fact that the cut of the dress and the padding were more important than the underlying body, and how his assistant had clearly understood this when making the patterns for the dress from Nel’s measurements, Edmund slid his fingertips carefully against the exposed skin of her chest.

Goosebumps prickled to life in their trailing wake.

Her breath hitched and she tried not to gasp.

Gently, he withdrew the tiny fold of lace that had been tucked under between the neckline of her bodice and her skin, and smoothed it flat again with his fingertips.

Nel exhaled shakily, angled a little away from him. If she’d had to look at him in that moment, she wasn’t sure she could have weathered the heat in his dark brown eyes. Her whole body thrummed like the rigging of a ship in a gale, and if he kept it up much longer, she would founder on the shore.

Wearing the dress he had made — had touched in every stitch and hem and seam — Nel did feel as though his hands were on her already, around her waist, on her hips, her shoulders, the small of her spine. There wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t prickling.

His knuckles brushed her collarbones as he withdrew his touch. Nel ached all over for him to linger, but he didn’t, and when he was done, he took half a step back and smiled.

“Perfect,” he breathed, meeting her gaze directly.

___

Nel's dress, for those interested. It's a little early for the period, but shhh. It's gorgeous.

I hope you’re still enjoying it, and I hope you’ll consider reblogging as well as leaving a like if you enjoyed it. Take care of yourselves, and I hope you have a lovely day/night wherever you are, and whenever you read this.

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#laces for a lady #i'm flyign out the door as i post this and i'm so late but HERE IT IS I HOPE YOU LIKE IT THANK YOU FOR YOUR ENTHUSIASM SO FAR #I CAN'T WAIT TO HEAR WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS CHAPTER #lemme know about mistakes and i'll fix them when i get back later

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pastel-paramour · 1 year

Text

Beast in the Moonlight

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.6k

Tags/Content Warnings: Atsushi x F!Reader, Were-Tiger!Atsushi, BLOOD, EXTENSIVE INJURY, Biting, Scratching, Inhuman Genitalia (Atsushi), Rut (and by extension, implied breeding, though not specifically mentioned), Dubious Consent (if you squint), Fangs, Claws, Pinning, Oral (Fem!Receiving), Unprotected Sex (no pregnancy), but also fluff!

Seriously guys, he is a were-tiger, doing tiger things with tiger parts. Read at your own discretion. Just know that they love each other very much, and everyone makes it to the end!

Dried blood stuck in the crevices in your skin.

Has anyone seen Atsushi?

Deep red and purple bruises mottled your shoulders, chest and collar bones.

No, I haven’t seen him for about a week? Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him or his lady…

Shining spit slicked off sharp fangs in time with ragged panting above you.

Dazai, go out and find him, he’ll need to be here for this.

Your back bowed away from the floor, mouth agape in a silent wail as another, agonizing orgasm ripped through you.

Do I have to?..

You’d lost count of the days and nights. Atsushi’s punishing thrusts into you now the only thing keeping time.

You vouched for him, he’s your responsibility to manage.

Fine…

Someone had to come looking for you soon…

***

Sunlight came streaming in through your shop windows, blanketing it in glittering gold. You straightened up the blooms in a crystal vase to put into the refrigerator at the front of the shop when you heard the bell on the door ding.

“Oh sorry!” You said, “We’re not quite open yet!” you flicked your sleeve off your wrist and checked the time. It was five minutes past 8. “Well nevermind!” You chuckled, a light, rosy blush dusting your cheeks, “I guess we are!”

You finally turned to look at the guests who’d entered your little shop, and found Dazai, tall and lean, the morning light casting a glow behind him.

“My darling belladonna!” He cheered, sweeping up your hand into a chaste kiss. Your face flushed again. You knew this man was bad news romantically, but he did always know how to make you feel special, “How are you this morning?”

“Oh, I’m-” you trailed off when you noticed that Dazai wasn’t alone. Next to him was a young man you’d never met before, not older than 20, if even that. His clothes were a bit of a patchwork version of a working uniform, and his belt was much, much too long. His hair was a peculiar shade of gray, almost white, and his eyes… Where Dazai was rimmed in the yellow light of the morning, this one’s eyes held it captive.

“W-who’s your friend, ‘Samu?”

Dazai briefly looked perplexed, like he’d forgotten anyone was with him at all until he looked over; “Oh!” He clapped as he righted himself, “How rude of me! This fine young man is the newest member to join the ADA. Say hello, Atsushi!” Dazai clapped him rather harshly on the back, to which he seemed to startle and bend sharply at the waist.

“Good morning, ma’am! My name is Atsushi Nakijima! It’s nice to meet you!”

You were briefly stunned, then your hand flew to your mouth as you tried to contain a giggle. “It’s nice to meet you, Atsushi..” You said before giving your name in turn.

It had been a while since you had a visit from the ADA. Normally it was Naomi and the other girls that stopped by, picking up fresh blooms for the office, very occasionally Kunikida would make a visit personally, picking up a polite arrangement, probably as an apology gift on Dazai’s behalf. Dazai rarely used to stop in until he met you, then it seemed like he went out of his way to visit once or twice when time allowed, always flirting and chatting you up. You didn’t mind. He was always pleasant, if a little forward, but his demeanor always seemed to have a bit of a sad cast, like paper curling at the edges, or a petal just on the right side of wilting.

Atsushi had a similar sad look, only, instead of a flower nearing the end of its life, he was more like a sprout that hadn’t had enough water or sunshine, bowing under its own weight, but given the proper attention…

You misplaced your hand reaching for something across the counter and managed to tip over another vase, spilling water and flowers everywhere. You cringed, curling into yourself, waiting for the crash, but when you un-scrunched your eyes you saw Atsushi knelt on the floor, the distinctly unbroken curves of the vase in his hands, and petals clinging to the silver strands of his hair.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!” You clambored to the floor to start picking up the scattered stems when Atsushi held one out to you, a long stem tipped with the playful pink ruffles of a carnation, all his nervous energy dissipated holding that flower out to you, washed away by the rising sun. You completely missed the small smirk curling the edges of Dazai’s lips, as well as the chime of the bell as he slipped out of your store.

***

You went out with Atsushi several times since that day, to markets and coffee shops, your sundresses fluttering in the breeze, wrapping around your legs or lifting in just such a way that Atsushi tried very politely not to notice. You’d hold hands all the way back to his office, even being invited in to say hello to the other members of the ADA before excusing yourself back to your store.

The first time you made love to Atsushi, it was in your apartment. There was no glistering golden light like that first day, but the more characteristic gray skies of Yokohama weren’t quite so oppressive that day. The room was cast in the bluish hues of early morning, and you sat on the floor by your window, sipping your coffee and watching the city wake up.

Atsushi crawled across the floor, between your legs, his eyes still that same shade of molten honey as he leaned in and kissed you. This kiss wasn’t like the sweet pecks he’d leave on your lips at the end of a date, there was something lingering, searching in it, in the way his tongue dipped out to trace the pout of your bottom lip, the indulgent sound of your lips parting and your mingling breath.

Then he did it again, and again, and longer this time as he wound his hand around your waist to pull you close to him. You nimbly untucked his buttons from their buttonholes before skating your nails down his bare chest until you met the waistband of his pants and undid his fly the same way. You slipped your thumbs through his belt loops, pushing him back until he sat against the floor and you tugged the bottoms down.

You traced the outline of his cock through the thin cotton of his boxers, heart leaping into a gallop at the way his breath hitched in his throat, syrupy need dripping into the well between your thighs. You crawled over his body until you were straddled over his hips. He let his own hands wander up your oversized sweatshirt, tucking it up over your breasts so he could palm them, flicking his thumbs over the furled peaks of your nipples, his lip tucked between his teeth as you mewled into his touch.

You reached behind you, untucked him from his boxers, and easily sank yourself down onto his lap with a gasp. One hand flew to your hip with a groan, his legs already shaking with effort to restrain himself. You leaned forward, pushed your chest against him.

“It’s okay, Atsushi…” You whispered against his parted lips before you kissed him again, wanton and needy while you ground your hips down on him. You broke your kiss with a gasp when he started to rock into you, filling and hitting all the best parts of you. You threw your head back, relishing in the feeling of him. His arms wound their way around your waist again, pulling you closer, closer to him so he could breathe in the scent of your skin, taste the salt on it as he licked a stripe up the valley of your cleavage. Your nails raked through his hair, seeking their tangled purchase as you rode him, the cant of his hips rubbing taut circles over your clit.

Your name tumbled from his lips, “I’m gonna-”

“I know…” You breathed, “It’s okay, baby, I’m safe, we’re safe.”

With that, you felt him twitch inside you as he shot thick and hot inside you. The sensation of him fucking you through his release made you wind tighter around him, until the chord in you snapped, and you came down shuddering on his cock until you were both holding each other, still panting with him softening inside you.

***

The seasons came and went, and the gray sleet of the winter was slowly threatening to melt into spring. Your busy season kind of snuck up on you with all the time you were spending with Atsushi, although you noticed he hadn’t quite been himself as of late. When you had finally wrapped up your Valentine’s day in the shop, you untucked a hidden bouquet of your best and brightest blooms and made the short walk down to the ADA offices.

When you walked through the door, however, everyone seemed surprised to see you there.

“Where’s Atsushi?” you asked.

“He isn’t in today, we honestly thought he’d have plans with you?” Tanazaki said.

“I thought we did…” You looked down at the flowers in your arms and chewed the inside of your cheek, the first ache of tears already stinging your eyes, “Well, thanks anyway…” You turned and hurried back out the door, despite several of the detectives rising from their seats after you.

Night had fallen by the time you reached the dorms, stepping over the lazily rippling puddles reflecting the yellow glow of the street lamps.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The door snicked open, though only part way. Even so, Atsushi couldn’t hide those liquid gold eyes from you.

“Hey you…” You greeted sadly.

“Hey…” Atsushi replied, still holding the door barely open.

“I got you something…” You held the bouquet in view of the door, trying to hide your dismay that the flowers were already starting to droop; “Can I… come in?”

Atsushi chewed his lip, torn between his own politeness and… something else. Ultimately, as it normally did, the former won out, and the door creaked open the rest of the way. You stepped in, halting just inside the door and shuffling awkwardly.

“Thank you.” Atsushi murmured, taking the flowers you brought to the kitchen and placing them into a jar of water. The flickering fluorescent somehow made the rest of the apartment seem darker, save for the light of the full moon filtering through the window. You stepped out of your shoes with an outstretched hand,

“Atsushi, are you-”

Your words died in your mouth when he flinched away from you.

“Did- did I do something wrong?” “No, it’s just… Now’s not a good time.”

Something sharp gnawed at the inside of your chest. Not a good time? You’d had these plans for weeks.

“Atsushi, can you please just tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, okay?” He snapped. If you looked closely, you could see the light sheen of sweat across his forehead.

“Are you sick? If that’s it, you can tell me!” You reached out a hand again to feel his forehead, only for him to grab your wrist.

“Yes. That’s it. If that is it, will you leave?”

“If that’s it then I want to take care of you! Why’re you being this way?”

“I don’t need you to take care of me. I need you to get out of here!” Atsushi yanked your arm, his grip tightening painfully around your wrist.

“Atsushi!” You ground out, “You’re hurting me!”

In an instant, faster than you could think, your hand snapped out and a sharp smack rang through the darkness.

You could hear a feather fall in the silence that stretched out between you two, your thudding heartbeat the only thing sounding in your ears. You weren’t sure how long the moment was before you spoke,

“Atsushi, I- I’m so sor-“ you yelped when Atsushi crowded you against the counter, face hidden in your neck and his hand smoothing softly over your wrist.

“M’sorry… M’sorry…” he murmured against your neck, setting aloft little flutters in your belly.

“Atsushi..” you breathed, “you’re not the one who-“

Your sentence again died on your lips when his clasped over the curve where your neck met your shoulder. He was so close. So close. So close you could feel him, hard and rutting against your thigh. Confused as you were, the feeling of him wanting, needing you so badly sent a shiver of warmth to the pit of your belly and between your legs. You tangled your hands through silver strands while he sucked on your neck.

“F-fuck… you smell so good…”

Your eyes flicked open at that particularly odd statement, you opened your mouth to say something, but a pained yelp crowded out the words as Atsushi sank his teeth into you. Sharp teeth, followed immediately by a harsh, bristled tongue lapping at the warm blood that had begun to ooze from the bite.

“A-Atsushi?” You stammered. He raised his face to meet yours, and where there were once sweet, sad, golden eyes, there was now the harsh and calculating stare of a predator. His pupils narrowed to little more than slits, and his breath went ragged.

“I’m sorry…” he huffed, before he reached up between you, gripped the fabric of your shirt in his fists and rent it apart like he was tearing tissue paper.

“Atsushi!” You scolded. He was long gone, though, lost in dressing your neck and chest with rough, wet kisses. Goosebumps pricked your flesh the further down your belly he went, and you flushed when he tucked his head under your skirt. He came face to face with your clothed pussy, pressed his face to the quickly moistening fabric and breathed in deeply, exhaling in something between a moan and a growl that had your blush deepening dramatically.

As quickly as he’d done your shirt, he tucked his hands under your skirt, and again the popping sound of seams tearing filled the night air. What followed was nearly enough to make your knees buckle.

A broad, coarse tongue lapped a stripe over your cunt, finishing with a flick over your clit. Your head rolled back;

“Oh fuck, Atsushi!” You found your fingers again twisted in his hair, tighter now than you’d ever dared before, pulling him closer to you. Embarrassing as it was, you couldn’t stop your hips from bucking against and riding his tongue.

“Fuck, don’t stop. Don’t you dare fucking stop…” you panted, unsure if he even heard you, if you even cared. His arms snaked up around your thighs, his fingers pressed dimples into the pliant flesh of your ass. Just as you were about to crest the edge, long crescent claws snicked into your flesh, and Atsushi used his fortified grip on you to pull you along his tongue, back and forth, rubbing a rough circuit over your clit. The rush of pain, of Atsushi’s tongue against your cunt, of your orgasm crashing over you had your muscles seizing until you shook with a whine, “Fuck~”

Atsushi gripped your hips as your knees buckled underneath you, rising to meet your lips. His cock was rigid in his pants, and hot against your thigh as he rubbed himself against you in earnest, no doubt trying to relieve the ache while he kissed you.

“Fuck.. Fuck I’m so sorry…” He huffed against your mouth between sloppy kisses, “I can’t… I can’t…” He couldn’t seem to get the words out, instead hauling you up by your ass onto the counter, following shortly after, caging you in onto your back with trembling arms. He yanked roughly at his belt and fly until the offending articles were shifted down over his hips.

The first thing you felt was warmth, and your head fell back against the counter, eyes closed. Though your eyebrows knit together when he slid against your slick slit, and where you expected smooth skin, maybe engorged veins, instead you felt ridges, dimples and spines. Your eyes flew open, suddenly aware of just how tight your skin felt, how warm the room was, how close Atsushi was as he bowed his head, panting in the crook of your neck, his fangs grazing the tender bite from before. You shivered as something wet trickled across your neck.

You carded your fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, twisting and untwisting them.

“Go ahead, baby…” you breathed, but Atsushi shook his head and said nothing, only continued threading his cock through your pussy. Your body surged, your fingers knotted harshly in his hair, “Fuck me, Atsushi.”

What fell from your lips next was something between a choked moan and a scream as he bit down on the flesh of your shoulder again, drawing fresh blood and another rush of endorphins to flood your brain while he shoved himself inside your drooling cunt. You felt every inch of texture as he fucked into you with absolute reckless abandon, every ridge and crevice and spine rubbing up against your velvety walls. The hooked end of his cock seated itself deep inside you, so deep you felt the muscles in the deepest parts of your belly cramp in protest.

Your hands fell weakly from his hair, his own quick to press your wrists into the counter while he fucked you, your pussy still wet from your previous release, and another almost embarrassingly close.

Why? Why were you reacting this way? Shouldn’t you be frightened? Running for your life?

Your mind sloshed through these questions, swiftly melting between the pain and pleasure of Atsushi’s claiming bite and his massive, inhuman cock slamming into you. When you felt his claws bite into your skin again, your cunt snapped shut around him and gushed around his cock. At your suddenly tightening pussy, he released your shoulder to heave ragged breaths against your abused skin. You felt his hips stutter, and his cock swell as he came. He came and came and came until you felt it spill out around him spattering your thighs and dribbling down the crack of your ass as he fucked it all into you.

He stilled above you, breathing still heavy and saying nothing. At length, he pushed himself off of you. The ache started to settle into your shoulder, so you rolled your head weakly to the side to look at him. His eyes were closed, probably exhausted by the way he still seemed to be catching his breath. He gripped the collar of his shirt and yanked it over his head, the sheen of sweat of catching the moonlight, highlighting the toned planes of his chest and abs, shadowing at his hip bones with his pants still slung low over them, granting a full view of his slowly softening cock. He didn’t even bother to slip out of his pants, or even acknowledge you at all before he collapsed onto his couch, unconscious.

Your own chest heaved as you turned your head toward the ceiling again. You brought shaking fingers to your neck and winced, pulling away to reveal bright red blood that dripped down your palm.

You had to take care of this. Now.

You pushed yourself up, your muscles trembled in protest, but you got yourself off the counter, the fresh blood smearing with you, dark in the blue light of the moon. Though you had to catch yourself on the edge with your good arm, you were able to limp around to the bathroom. You flinched at the light when you flicked it on, but once your vision adjusted, you surveyed the damage.

Deep purple, almost black bruises spread from your neck to your collarbone, blooming like grisly petals around the bloody red pistil across your shoulder, dripping down your chest. You swallowed though your mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and brought still trembling hands up to the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet. You rifled around, cursed when several bottles and containers clattered into the sink, but eventually you were able to produce some disinfectant, cotton balls, even a gauze pad, though it would be too small to cover the full extent of the damage.

Where the fuck was Dazai when you needed him?

You hissed at the burn of the disinfectant spreading through the wounds, but the blood wiped away from your chest, what had dripped down your legs you decided to leave alone, applying small plasters over each cut, gnarled and angry from being used as a handhold for you. When you were done and satisfied, you leaned against the counter and gave your reflection a weary glare. A wave of exhaustion swept through you, fair enough you supposed, and you were sure Atsushi would have a (doubtlessly tearful) explanation for you in the morning.

That’d have to be enough. You left the bathroom, not even bothering to turn off the light, and shuffled back to the living room until you found the first soft surface you could, and collapsed face down into a somehow overstuffed and deflated beanbag, slamming almost immediately into a deep sleep.

When you awoke, the moon was still high in the sky, a long way from morning. You’d moved little from where you’d fallen asleep, only your hips were hiked up, skirt falling over your back and Atsushi behind you, gripping the plush cheeks of your ass, spreading and squeezing them.

“Atsushi?” You groaned. You tried to turn over, only to be reprimanded by your aching shoulder. Then you stilled at the feeling of Atsushi’s thumb circling your clit. You moaned into the touch, pushed back against it until the now familiar warmth of his dick pressed against your ass.

“So ready for me… Just for me…” he murmured, not to you, more like at you, in your direction as he thumbed idly up and down your pussy, still dripping with his cum and your new wave of arousal.

He sucked in a sharp breath as his hand flew to your hips again, shifting the tip of his cock to slot at your entrance. He didn’t sheath his claws, just used them again to pierce your skin with new holes, pulling you onto his dick with a guttural grunt as he punched the air from your lungs. You couldn’t push yourself onto your elbows, so you rocked back on your knees to meet him as best you could, but ultimately gave up and let him fuck himself into your pussy, slamming against your g spot, and rubbing every spot in every right way.

You let your face fall into the cushion, reveling in the way he filled you. It made you feel dirty, being fucked like that, but something about it set your blood on fire. You gasped at the feel of his arm around your waist, pulling you up against his chest while he continued to rut into you, his nose nuzzled against your neck, breathing in the salty scent of your skin. He pulled away suddenly, almost like he was offended at what he found there. He removed one hand from your hip and reached for your shoulder, snatching away the bandage you’d applied there and earning a yelp from you.

His grip was iron around your waist, his free hand coming to rest on your chest. He licked a long stripe up the column of your neck, still unmarked on that side, until he kissed the crook of that shoulder, only to immediately follow with his teeth again.

You were dizzy with the feeling, a strangled gasp all that you could force out as he fucked you harder with his teeth in you.You traitorous cunt clenched, and Atsushi growled around your flesh, his claws sinking into your chest, raking long, oozing stripes down your front. You cried out, eyes burning with tears as they ran down your cheeks. But God it was so good…

Syrupy sobs bubbled from your lips, rippling into the night until they were cut off by Atsuhi’s fingers flying to your mouth. You choked on them briefly until your tongue idled over his knuckles, the coppery taste of your blood painting your tongue as you avoided cutting yourself further on his claws, their cruel points pressed threateningly into the tender flesh lying just underneath your tongue, making saliva pool at the root of your tongue until you had to flex it, push the spit out the sides of your mouth so you didn’t choke, until it dripped down your chin and across the welling blood on your chest, tracking it down your body like grisly watercolor.

Atsushi’s hips snapped into you in that same way you knew he did when he was about to cum. Even if he didn’t say anything, even if he left all this evidence of such violence on your body, you knew it was still Atsushi. Your breath came in time with his thrusts, and you could barely find the words, especially around his fingers,

“C-cum… Please…”

You weren’t sure at this point if you were pleading for you or for him, but one arm gripped your waist, the other falling across your chest as he held you to him and came inside you again, surprisingly just as much as last time. Only now, he didn’t stop, he didn’t pull out. He held you there, and slowly pumped into you, fucking you through your orgasm. Even when he let you go and you fell forward onto the beanbag chair, sweating and panting. His hand trailed up your back, between your shoulder blades to the back of your neck, pushing down the whole way until you were pressed into a pretty, perfect arch for him to trace all the way back down, leaving raised pink welts across your back where his fingers had been.

He adjusted himself, supporting his weight on the middle of your back, pressing down on your ribs as he continued to buck into you. The position made you ache, like you couldn’t get enough air, and those damned claws hooked into you at such a harsh angle, all you could do was cry pitiful tears while he huffed over you,

“One more… Please just one fucking more…”

***

Dazai hopped up the stairs two at a time, the blue-grey light of the coming dawn betraying that it was, unfortunately, a workday. Another that it seemed clear that Atsushi was planning on missing. Dazai was all for playing hooky, but this was drastically cutting into his schedule, between slacking off and dicking around, he just didn’t have time for this.

He rounded the corner and stopped at Atsushi’s door, giving the door the old rat-a-tat-tat,

“Oh Atsushi~” He singsonged, “Wakey-wakey eggs and bakey…” But no one came. His face fell, that needle in his mind dropping right back into the executive groove.

Trap. Kidnapped. Ransom. Murdered.

No. There’s no blood, or sign of struggle. No traces of explosives or poison, unfortunately…

Dazai listened carefully through the door. He didn’t hear voices, or the telltale sounds of suited men turning the place over. Instead he heard the rhythmic waves of heavy breaths, followed by a loud growl like cracking thunder.

Fucking shit…

He slammed his shoulder through the door, the doorjamb splintering and flying into the entryway. And the sight he was met with was truly something to behold.

First of all, you were naked, something Dazai had previously only dreamed of; your eyes half closed, tracking shadows over your tear-streaked cheeks. Not an inch of skin unmarred from your neck to your breasts as they rebounded with each punishing thrust. He couldn’t even say that the amount of blood seeping into your skin hadn’t entered those late night fantasies.

And then there was Atsushi… one hand around your neck, cruel talons piercing the skin and drawing new rivulets of blood to run down your collarbone; his other arm about your waist, holding you up since you couldn’t seem to do so under your own power, and rutting into you like some kind of fuck doll. Your eyes rolled over to him, hazy and struggling to focus as your mouth hung slack in a silent moan.

“Jesus!” Dazai started, bounding across the room, arm outstretched. Atsushi choked as Dazai’s palm met his throat, toppling him to the ground as you fell to the floor with a thud. His eyes were wild, then distant, until finally they closed, his claws and teeth retracting to their normal state. “Yeah, whatever that was, why don’t you sleep it off, buddy…”

“Don’t…” Dazai heard you whisper hoarsely behind him, “Don’t hurt’im…”

He turned on his heel to address the next priority. He flipped you over onto your back, and as he inspected the damage, his lips pressed into a hard line and he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose. Your skin was perforated with what could have been mistaken for small knicks if not for the thick tracks of dried blood trailing from them. Still, they were nothing compared to the deep gouges criss-crossing your chest and back, some of them scabbed but most of them either made or reopened recently enough to still be oozing blood. Some of them looked like they’d been at least somewhat treated, but eventually you must have given up trying.

Christ, you weren’t just fucked. You were fucking mauled…

At length, Dazai huffed a chuckle through his nose, a smirk curling his lips as he said, “You little freak… Had I known you had it in you, I’d have made you mine a long time ago…” He swept a curl away from your face, and tucked it behind your ear. You responded with your own dazed laugh before your face went ashen, and your head rolled limply to the side.

“Fucking shit.” Dazai cursed before he strode to the bathroom. Open packages of gauze and plasters littered the counter and the floor, disinfectant containers practically turned inside out in the sink, bright red streaks standing stark against the white counter and walls. He returned with a swiftness, his heart breaking into a steady trot as he knelt next to you.

“Alright pretty girl, you can’t die on me yet.” He muttered, shrugging out of his coat and untucking his shirt to reveal a wide expanse of bandages zigzagged over his torso. He untucked one end and started unwinding his body.

“Damn it Odasaku… Could have had her bleeding and broken on my dick, but ohhh nooo, ‘that’s what evil people do’...” He grumbled to himself before taking the bandage between his teeth and tearing it. He untucked his phone, and with a few swipes he cradled it against his shoulder as he applied the gauzy strip to the worst of your wounds, the clean white darkening uselessly. The phone only droned half a ring before the line clicked open.

“Yosano…” Dazai greeted cheerfully, “How do you feel about making a house call…”

***

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, nearly drowning out the late morning sunlight slanting through the windows. The tap tap tap of Yosano’s toe keeping time to the thudding of Atsushi’s heart. She was the one to break the silence first.

“Fascinating.”

Atsushi’s face crinkled in confusion, “W-what?”

“Just, I’ve never seen anything like it. Like, sure, you’re a were-tiger, but I never thought an ability would have this much of an affect on your physiology.”

“Um… thank you?”

She leaned forward suddenly, nearly toppling Atsushi out of his seat.

“Let me study you!”

“What?! No!”

“Oh come on…” Yosano whined.

Before Atsushi could reiterate his absolute refusal,

“I hate to interrupt…” Dazai droned, leaning against the door frame, “I just thought you’d like to know that she’s awake.”

Atsushi leapt up from his stool so fast, it was still spinning as he raced down the hallway. He almost skidded right past your room until he saw you, sitting up, gazing out the window. Despite the bandages wrapping you up from your neck and disappearing beneath your gown, you were still so pretty. Where the light in Yosano’s office was sterile, artificial, the sun gleaming into your room seemed to curl around you.

Even though Atsushi tried to tip toe into the room, you knew he was there, and turned to him with a wan smile plastered helplessly on your lips.

“Hey you…”

“Hey…”

Atsushi was curled into himself, looking far too much like Dazai’s withering petal, and not nearly close enough to the flourishing sprout you had seen him become. He was well and truly eaten up by what had happened, just like you knew he’d be.

You reached out and patted the empty space at the edge of your bed, a seat which he took, however hesitantly. A long silence stretched between you, until you both opened your mouths to speak only to devolve into embarrassed chuckles,

“You first…” You nodded for him to go ahead.

He chewed his words, no doubt a storm of guilt whirling and thrashing inside him.

“I… don’t even know how to tell you how sorry I am. It feels so stupid even saying it out loud, I-”

“Nothing to apologize for.” You cut in.

For the first time since he sat down, he looked at you, eyes wide and searching.

“You could have died.”

“But I didn’t.” You said, “And you could die any day, being a part of the ADA. I mean, have you seen Yokohama?”

You chuckled, but trailed off when you were the only one laughing. You placed a hand on his knee and said,

“Listen… It’s something that’s never happened before. Now we know and we can be better prepared for next time.”

“Next time?” Atsushi looked up at you gain, and was equal amounts horrified and intrigued by the mischievous glint in your eye.

“When do you think we can do that again?..”

#bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #atsushi x you #atsushi x y/n #atsushi x reader #bsd smut #you're a were-tiger #grow some were-balls #paramour writes

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prettygirlmjmjmj · 8 months

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Solo self care activities

When I want to truly take care of my mind, body or self and dedicate time to me, I often struggle. I get weighed down by details and worry about what I’m going to do. If you’re anything like me, then I’m certain this list will help. If not and you’re just bored of doing the same old self-care, here are some activities to help switch things up for you! I like to pick 4 - 8 (a mix of high energy and low energy activities) and try to do all of the ones I have selected this month.

Have a dedicated self-care bath. Use your fanciest bath gel, add a bath bomb, throw in some flower petals and dried lavender, light your sweetest smelling candles and decorate your bath space with crystals (rose quartz or clear quartz are my personal favourites for self-care). Spend a long time in that bath, reading or watching your fave show and just taking time for yourself before you start your more extravagant bath routine. If you don’t have a bath/access to one have a super fancy shower instead!

Go on a walk through a green space in your area. Grab a water bottle or iced drink, put your headphones in and put on your hot girl playlist or podcast, find out where you want to go and start walking. Regardless of if it’s a twenty minute gentle walk through the park or a two hour plus hike in the woods, get out and get some fresh air. Walking is such great exercise and it’s so much fun especially when you’re in a beautiful space and taking joy in the world around you. You don’t need to have the most stamina, start small and work your way up to a longer or harder walk.

Bake something! Think of your favourite baked good and find a recipe for it. Change it up to your preference by doing something like adding hazelnuts to your brownie batter or strawberries to your cupcakes. I personally prefer baking from scratch but if you aren’t the most confident baker or don’t have the time the definitely get a box mix. If you’re on a diet or just trying to eat healthier, now is the perfect chance to find a new healthy dessert! For example, healthy muffins are super easy and delicious. You can add fruits and nuts to make them more nutritious meaning they are super versatile and unique for you.

Write a love letter to yourself. This activity is so simple and so fun. Grab your favourite pen and a piece of paper and start writing to your future self. I love to write down my goals, habits I’m trying to start or break, things I’ve been enjoying lately and things I’ve been looking forward to. I try to be as positive as possible so future me reading the letter either feels accomplished having completed the goals and tasks or cheered up and motivated to get back to completing them and pushing myself. If you feel like giving future you a treat, you can even include things! Dried flowers, stickers and ribbons can be such a fun thing to include and help make the letter even more exciting to find and read.

Buy yourself flowers. I love receiving flowers and in my opinion there’s nothing that helps make a space feel fresher and lighter than a colour bouquet of flowers. Buying them for yourself means you can pick and choose the style and type of flowers making the bouquet even more special and perfect for you and your space. As the petals begins to fall you can collect them and dry them out, saving them for letters or journals or scrapbooks. If you don’t like buying fresh flowers due to allergies, pets or the fact they’re more temporary, I recommend buying dried flowers! These keep for ages and are very versatile. You can buy them online or see if florists near you have them. Of course, if you feel like splurging a little, the Lego flowers are adorable and double the self care as you get to spend time building them!

Organise your favourite photos into a scrapbook/journal. This is a brilliant way of keeping your memories in a more special place and being creative. I find it so easy to get lost in journaling or scrapbooking as I arrange my photos and add pretty paper, stickers or washi tape pieces. Pinterest has some beautiful scrapbook spreads which can help give you inspiration! A detailed page like this will look lovely in a more simple journal and if you find that you really love this craft, plain paper notebooks are very cheap and accessible, making scrapbooking a fairly easy hobby to start. Digital scrapbooking is also an option! Make a digital collage or find a website/app which allows you to create a full on scrapbook spread.

Give yourself a manicure or pedicure (or both!). Grab your favourite nail polish, a file and a base coat and get shaping and painting. Taking care of your nails is so relaxing and such a simple way to elevate your style. I have a dedicated nail care routine, but if you don’t then still take the time to care for your nails Abu adding a protective layer of polish. If you have the money or love doing it, definitely get your nails professionally done! All in all, getting your nails done either by a professional or yourself is so fun and worth it. This is also a great activity to do with friends. Invite some people round, have a nice meal and put your favourite show on whilst you all paint your nails. This is also a nice way to get some colour/style inspiration for your own nails!

Do some gardening. Check what seeds would be suitable for planting at this time of year, find a spot in your garden/balcony/allotment and plant the seeds either in dirt or a pretty pot. If you're feeling nervous about growing something from seed find a plant and help it to flourish! If you don't have an outdoor space, house plants help brighten a space and make it feel more cozy and homey. I love gardening and its so relaxing taking care of your little plant babies and watching them flourish.

Go to the local bookshop! I love book shopping and could do it for hours even if I only buy one book. Bring a friend or family member with you and buy each other one of your favourite books to try. I try to support independent bookshops over chain ones but if you don't live near any, buy your books from wherever. A cheaper alternative is to borrow some books from a library - you can normally get loads of books and can step outside of your comfort zone because you don't need to risk spending money on something you may not like. You can even look for academic books and learn something interesting or relevant to your academic career.

Try a new workout, like Pilates or hot yoga. Find a YouTube workout or tutorial that interests you and give it a go. Even if you cant do all of the moves or finish the workout it's still fun to give it a go and step outside of your athletic comfort zone!

Go to a museum or gallery. Look up museums and galleries that interest you, exhibits that are on and ticket prices and find a museum or gallery that you'd love to go too. So many museums have a very low admission cost and are often even free. I love going to museums (especially history ones!) and always learn and see something interesting.

Find a film you'd love to see and go to the cinema. I love going to see a film on a big screen and get film snacks like popcorn. Lots of cinemas not only have modern films on but also do older movie nights. A local cinema near me is doing a Halloween themed night and I am definitely planning on going! I enjoy going to the cinema with friends, but if you have a film you'd love to watch and no one you know is interested, go anyway and make a solo date out of it.

Go on a picnic. I love picnics so, so much. I always make a few jugs of homemade lemonade (when I want it to look prettier I make raspberry lemonade) and bring baked goods, cut up fruit and veggies and sandwiches, although if going with friends we typically decide who's bringing what. If the weathers bad or its too cold then an indoor picnic can be fun and very cute!

Watch the sun set or rise. Whichever option you pick, it is a great time to be creative! Journal, scrapbook, take photos, paint or sketch, sunsets/sunrises can be so awe-inspiring and really help you feel more creative. I love watching the sunrise in the winter with a cup of matcha and my journal.

Do some kind of art class. I personally love pottery painting but getting out and being creative is always fun, especially when you get to try activities that you may not be able to do at home. This is such a fun thing to do with your friends, I love pottery painting with my friends and going out for a meal afterwards.

Go to some kind of outdoor market. It doesn't have to be food (although I love a good food market), it could be a farmers market or craft market! This is a great opportunity to get outside and support your local artisans and farmers. You can find such cute items and speciality fruits and vegetables that might be harder to find in your local shops. I adore seasonal markets and will definitely be visiting Christmas markets come December and autumn markets if I can find any near me.

Have a beach or lake day. I am 100% a beach girl but I know that lakes are also very fun. You can find so many activities to do at a beach or lake, from collecting shells and rocks, sunbathing, reading, swimming and so much more. Salt water is great for your skin and swimming is a super enjoyable form of exercise. If it's too cold for a swim, a walk along the beach/lake is also fun and normally much more quiet.

Have a day off from devices. I know this is harder and if you literally can't not use devices due to work or other commitments, just try using no social media and sticking with just emails, messages and phone calls. I always find that this day to be super relaxing. I just let my friends or contacts know the day before that I wont be available the next day and do some activities I often struggle to find time for.

Have an everything shower! These are always very fun and make me feel so clean and organised afterwards. This is also a good way to polish your routine and find out what works really well for you. My everything shower is pretty detailed but if you prefer to keep it simple then absolutely do so!

Go to a coffee shop and study! You don't have to study for school, research something that interests you (or study for school). Sip your favourite drink, get a yummy snack and study in a way that helps and interests you.

Read a comfort book. This is a favourite of mine and I love re-visiting a book from my childhood or a new comfort book. If you aren't a big reader listen to an audiobook instead!

Refresh your morning and night routines. Find out what isn't working and change or remove it from your routine. I love working on my routines and adjusting them depending on the season or a variety of other factors. Changing your routine will help you to find the best routine for you and ensure that you stay healthy and happy.

Sort through your wardrobe. Every few months I go through my wardrobe and work out what I'm regularly wearing, what I'm not using and what I don't like any more. Instead of letting the items I don't like waste away in my wardrobe I try to donate them to charities or gift them to friends who would love them. You can also sell them on apps such as vinted or depop and make some money of off old clothes. Keeping your wardrobe tidy helps make it easier to find clothes, plan outfits and saves you plenty of time when picking an outfit. Sorting your wardrobes also a way off switching out your light summer clothes to your warmer winter clothes and so on, making sure you keep up with the season and weather.

Make a wish list! Whether it's for your birthday, Christmas, a celebration or just so you know what to get when you want a treat, a wish list helps you keep track of what you want and saves you from buying an item you don't love as much. I have wish lists for clothes, books, self care products and room items. Just editing these, adding to them or taking things away, is so much and I enjoy making brand new wish lists.

Finally, do a deep clean of your space. Put your favourite playlist or podcast on, fill up your water bottle and make a checklist of what you'll deep clean and get going! The more often you deep clean your home the easier it gets. Even if you can only bring yourself to deep clean your bedroom, it's still a start and I guarantee that when you finish deep cleaning you will feel so much better!

Thank you for reading! All my love, mj.

#glow up era #self care #self love #glow up journey #glow up #self development #that girl #clean girl #pink pilates princess #that girl lifestyle #that girl energy #that girl routine #that girl aesthetic #becoming that girl

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luc3 · 1 year

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Black Elderberry. [French Folks Traditions]

In the 19th century, the peasants of France still attributed magical properties to the Elderberry, and its wood was sometimes used to make sorcerer's staffs and divinatory wands.

In the legend, Judas, after having betrayed Christ, would have gone to hang himself from an Elderberry branch. Thus, it is said in Vienne, that the person who breaks an elderberry branch in the garden of his neighbors will betray this one in the year, even without wanting it and without knowing it.

It should also be noted that in certain regions, Elderberry served as a panacea : everything was good in Elderberry for healing, in the past. But that following the curse linked to Judas, its powers had been supposedly removed.

Protective Magic :

Côtes d'Armor : Elderberries are planted near houses to ward off evil spells and snakes. It is also used to protect livestock (diseases and evil spells) by placing a branch in the cows' litter.

Yonne : Pick up a branch of Elderberry on the passage of the Corpus-Christi procession and then place it in an apple tree, it'll protect it against caterpillars. (?!)

Lower Brittany, Côtes d'Armor : You should never hit a cow with an Elderberry branch, it will make it sick, or cause its milk to dry up. Same thing for pigs. Moreover, if you burn Elderberry wood, you risk preventing the hens from laying eggs.

Magical Medicine:

Côte d'Armor : It is said that the Dlderberry is a "doctor", because the fairies took refuge in the flowers to flee the world when it became too mean. (a special one for my dear @lailoken )

Vienne, Vaucluse : the patient who touches an Elderberry will get better in the next few days, and to cure fevers you have to slip his name and date of birth into a previously hollowed-out elderberry tree.

The feast of Saint John is (of course) favorable to the Elderberry, whose virtues it multiplies.

In the Gospel of the Cattails it is said that warts are cured by rubbing it with an Elder leaf on the eve of Saint John, a leaf which is then buried. As the leaf rots, the wart dries out.

In Upper Brittany, Elderflowers collected on Saint John's Day are used to make an herbal tea to treat sick eyes.

Witchcraft :

Jura : We know the story of a sorcerer who introduced a little excrement from the person or animal he wanted to bewitch into a hollowed-out elderberry stick. He then fixed this stick in running water while reciting a prayer. The victim had stomach aches as long as the water agitated the stick.

In addition, Collin de Plancy in his Dictionnaire Infernal reports that : "when one has received some curse from a sorcerer whom one does not know, one hangs one's habit from one ankle and strikes on it with an elderberry stick; all the blows will fall on the back of the guilty sorcerer, who will be forced to come, in all haste, to remove the spell."

I learned SO MUCH HERE (snakes / little neighbors / sick eyes) while I came confident and persuaded to find other things in these quotes... Thus I'll continue to thank and pay tribute by posting the work of J. Fournier on the subject. (Once translated.)

Pic 1 @incroyables-plantes ; pic 2-3 @lherbier-d-elsa

Quotes arranged by me from the Dictionnaire de la France Mystérieuse by MC Delmas.

Also @graveyarddirt, I know you have some and you'll like it Sis' <3

#Sambucus Nigra #Black Elderberry #Great Grand'Ma #Great Old One #mountain gods #<3 #diary #Them #PS: if we could commit suicide collectively concerning the tumblr layout thing?#French Folks Traditions

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shopeast · 2 years

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4 Gorgeous Dried Flower Arrangements for Fall

Try one of these dried flower arrangements so you can take advantage of the entire autumn season.

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wacky-nameless-inventor-24 · 4 days

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You don’t have to do this but I would love to see you write another story in the Fenro Witch AU where it’s the 1 year anniversary of Boyd’s death and Gyro and Fenton decide to go to Boyd’s grave to pay their respects with flowers with Fenton at some point giving Gyro time alone to say how much he misses Boyd and maybe you could have it that in certain parts such as them walking to Boyd’s grave, we cut to the past on the day of Boyd’s death showing how it happened, Gyro and Fenton’s reaction to finding Boyd (which would probably have a lot of crying, grieving, Gyro holding onto Boyd rocking him in his arms and begging him to wake up), and Boyd’s funeral. Only if you want to write this of course. 😊 ❤️

UAAAAAGH HUGGING GET OUT OF MY HEADDDD IVE HAD A FIC SIMILAR TO THIS PLANNED FOR FOREVER ty for giving me an excuse to write it <3333

Also! purposefully got this done just in time because May 18th is the 1 year anniversary of this au!!

cw- major character death, hanging mentions, implied self harm kind of I think also this is almost 5k words long just so you know how much is under the read more-

Though they never discussed it aloud, they both knew what day it was.

They never needed to plan the day, they both just knew what to do.

Neither of them needed to say it.

It was cloudy that morning, the way it’d been cloudy on that day before. Heavy clouds that hung in the air, weighing down on the earth beneath them. Threatening to spill colder rain on an already freezing day.

The clouds were so thick it was still dark when they got up. Fenton lit a candle, and together they made their way downstairs. Gyro didn’t say a word, and Fenton knew he’d have to watch him today. It would be rough.

Fenton got the flowers and blanket ready while Gyro prepared the food, cutting fruit from last fall that had been magically preserved. It was still much too early in the year for any fresh fruit, so they’d have to make do.

The flowers too- the frost had killed all of the wild ones growing around the house, so they only had a dried bouquet from last year.

“It’s alright,” Fenton said, mostly to himself, as he arranged the faded, crisped plants. “We’ll bring him fresh ones as soon as spring starts.”

Gyro didn’t answer, but the duck hadn’t expected him to. Now as he listened, he realized the sound of cutting from the kitchen had stopped. “Are you done?”

No answer.

Fenton peered in through the doorway, robes swishing as he moved. “We don’t need too man- what happened?”

“Accident,” Gyro grunted, holding two of his fingers tightly in his other hand. Bulb sat on the counter next to him, trying to sniff his fingers, and there was blood on the knife. “Wasn’t paying attention.”

Fenton frowned, he would really need to watch Gyro today. “How bad is it?” He asked as he stepped into the kitchen, moving to one of the medical cupboards.

“It's fine,” the witch grumbled, looking defensive. He still let Fenton take his hand and examine the injury. Bulb looked quite interested too, and mrowed at Fenton, as if asking him to fix the cut. “It’s not that deep.”

It wasn’t, but it went right across the pads of his middle and pointer fingers. Quite an annoying spot for both an injury and a bandage. Fenton wrapped it for him without saying anything, and offered to finish cutting the fruit.

At last they were ready, Fenton held the picnic basket in one hand and interlaced his other arm with Gyro’s. It was just bright enough that they could see fine in the gloom, and Fenton looked up to the sky as they set off. “Hopefully it doesn’t snow.”

Gyro didn’t comment.

The cemetery was brighter, there were no trees above in the clearing to block the meager light that struggled through the clouds. There was a single tree in the center of the headstones, with huge spreading branches and even further spreading roots. Right now its limbs were bare, they creaked in the wind.

Other than that, the forest was quiet.

The plot they were looking for was on the edge of the cemetery, near the treeline. Gyro stopped, reading the headstone as Bulb wound around his legs and Fenton laid out the thick blanket on the crunchy dead grass.

Boyd Gearloose.

The date was exactly one year from today.

“You want to do the flowers?” Fenton asked as he reached for their basket.

Gyro just nodded, he looked simultaneously too numb and emotional to speak.

Fenton sat as his partner sat the flowers down in front of the grave with great reverence. The headstone was small, it didn’t match the make of the others in the cemetery, and the bouquet nearly obscured the engravings.

Gyro then slowly sat on the blanket next to the duck, resting his head on his shoulder. Fenton gently put an arm around him, and Bulb curled up in his lap.

They sat and watched the grave until Fenton’s bottom and back ached, until the clouds had let up to allow more light into the world and Fenton’s neck felt stiff. Still, he refused to move until Gyro did, wanting him to be as comfortable as possible. To let him take his time. He knew they’d be out here for a while, this was why they’d brought food.

At last Gyro let out a deep shuddering breath, turning to bury his face in Fenton’s neck. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Fenton wasted no time in wrapping him into a hug and pulling him closer.

“I miss him so much,” Gyro breathed through tears, his beak was tucked right up beneath Fenton’s. “All the time.”

Fenton didn’t answer, rubbing Gyro’s shoulders and staring at the grave. Blinking rapidly when tears pricked his eyes and taking a breath.

“He turns ten in a few months, right? He’d- he’d be so tall by now.” Gyro shifted his head just slightly so he could see the headstone. His tears wetted Fenton’s feathers and his robes.

Last year their grief was too fresh to do anything for Boyd’s birthday. Gyro hadn’t even gotten out of bed that day, but that was a regular occurrence then. Their house was still under construction then, they barely had a roof on their first story, and were sleeping in the living room. Fenton only got up to prepare food.

Gyro hadn’t eaten.

“He’d like it out here, don’t you think?” Gyro’s voice was cracked. “Especially the peach trees in the summer and the apples in the fall- it’d be so much easier to have more help with harvesting.”

Fenton let out a soft sob, holding his partner closer. Tearing his gaze from the headstone as he nuzzled against Gyro. “He would’ve loved to help.”

This was all too much. The wound was too fresh, they were picking at the scab too early. Fenton wanted to get away, he’d suddenly rather be anywhere but here. The cemetery was alright on most days, but on others he avoided the place more than the superstitious villagers did.

Right now he didn’t even want to think about it.

But he didn’t move. Gyro needed to be here today, and Fenton had spent the last year supporting him, pulling him through this. He wasn’t going to stop today.

So he clung to his partner and sobbed along with him, too overwhelmed to do anything else. He cried until his head hurt and his face ached and then he cried some more. Gyro only curled tighter against him, letting himself be enveloped by Fenton while also holding himself. And Fenton held him, kept him there.

Trying to be and to find as much comfort as possible as they unwillingly reminisced on what had happened that night.

—

They were in a tree, there was a branch digging painfully into Gyro’s back.

The witch ignored this as he scanned the nearby houses, searching for any hint of what the angry mob had done with Boyd. This was a temporary refuge, and he needed to use it to figure out a way forward.

Fenton was in the tree next to him, one hand wrapped tightly around a nearby branch as he bit his other fist, trying to keep himself quiet while he sobbed. He was unable to tear his gaze off of their house as it went up in smoke, now a blinding hot beacon in the dark cold night.

Nothing would be left when the fire went out. That much was clear already.

Gyro absently rubbed his back while he searched, trying to keep his panic down. As crazed as the mob was now, he was sure they wouldn’t kill an actual child, right? Besides he had the gallows in his view, the nooses hung thankfully empty. It had been a narrow escape.

Every now and then a group of angry villagers would tramp past their hiding space, screaming with their pitchforks in the air. Gyro and Fenton would duck down while simultaneously pulling their legs up, trying to make themselves as small as possible. The cover of night helped- but the tree's lack of leaves did not. It was too early in the year for even any buds.

Next to him Fenton choked slightly, and the witch leaned over to kiss his temple. “We’ll rebuild when we get out of here.” The loss of their house he could stomach, they’d been needing to get out of the village for months now.

What he really couldn’t let go of was Boyd, he had to be around here somewhere.

As Gyro watched, the town’s mayor, the leader of the mob against them, stepped into the open ground between the houses. The witch’s eyes narrowed in hate, following the old man as he walked casually past the burning wreck of timber that used to be Gyro’s house. Fenton didn’t seem to notice him.

The mayor stepped over to the opposite side of the street, near the woods. He stooped and reached for something that Gyro had dismissed in his study of the area, a misshapen rock, or someone’s discarded shirt. Something small in the shadows, unassuming. Not anything alive- so it couldn’t be Boyd.

No.

Gyro stared as the mayor lifted the tiny, ragged thing, it hung limply in his hand.

No.

Seconds later Gyro had slipped out of the tree, storming past the burning house and into the clearing. “Don’t you dare hurt him- give him to me!”

The mayor glanced up, looking shocked, before his expression turned to a smile. He held Boyd’s body close- how dare he touch him- and Gyro caught sight of the blood running down Boyd’s head.

“They’re over here!” the mayor shouted.

Gyro hardly heard him as he strode toward him. “Give him to me before I curse you and this entire village-”

“You won’t get the chance.” The mayor lifted his head, smirking. Gyro was mere feet from him now. “You’re dead, witch.”

Sure enough, there came the sound of shouts and cries through the woods, from the edges of town. Lit torches appeared through the tree trunks, Gyro heard rushing feet. Alerted by the mayor’s cry, they would all be upon him in seconds. He froze.

But he couldn’t let that stop him. Gyro took the last few steps toward the mayor, reaching for Boyd. “Give him to me-”

His fingers barely brushed the feathers of Boyd’s temple before the mayor pulled him out of his reach. “Not a chance. In just a few moments, you and your witch accomplice will be joining him.”

“Give him-” Gyro broke off as something caught hold of his hand, something held him back. Instinctively he yanked himself away, not tearing his gaze from Boyd’s body. “Let go of me!”

“Gyro, wait.” It was Fenton, hanging onto his sleeve, pulling him away from the mayor, away from Boyd. “We have to get out of here, the whole mob will be here in a second-”

“Boyd!” Gyro tore his hand from Fenton’s grasp, throwing himself toward the little parrot’s body. Immediately there were strong arms around his waist, holding him back. Now in the middle of the street, Gyro was ready to fight Fenton to get to Boyd.

“He’s gone, Gyro. I’m so sorry.” Fenton’s arm loosened and Gyro broke free, only for his wrist to be snagged again. The shouting was getting closer, the torches drawing near.

“No, no, I have to get to him-”

“Gyro!” Fenton shouted. The witch started, looking back at him.

Fenton had tears in his eyes, his chest was heaving, his grip on Gyro’s wrist tightened. “We have to get out of here- please Gyro. I can’t lose you too. We’ll come back for him I promise- but we have to leave.”

The mob had nearly reached the street.

Gyro swallowed, and glanced back at Boyd.

The mayor smiled, canine teeth shining in the firelight.

Everything stayed frozen like that for a split second, as Gyro felt like he was free falling. The ground disappearing, wind whooshing past him. His stomach churning.

With a sob he half collapsed against Fenton, allowing the witch to pull him toward the treeline. Together they half stumbled, half ran, trying to get away from the mob behind them.

That night was a blur. Gyro was barely in reality, just conscious enough to stay upright as Fenton pulled him forward. They were always pursued by the fiery shouting monster, no matter where they went or hid the mob was close on their heels.

Gyro cut his feet, crashed into trees, tripped several times, but Fenton was always there, helping him up, pulling him along. No matter how many exits the mob blocked off Fenton seemed to find one last one, and get them out through it in the nick of time.

The witch’s lungs burned and his body ached, but he kept going. Nowhere was safe, they couldn’t stay in any hiding spot for long. He stumped through the forest, sobbing. They had to keep moving, had to stay alive.

Despite all of this, Gyro barely felt anything.

All of it was lost in a swirling haze of numbness.

At last they stopped, Gyro immediately crumpling to the roots of a tree. Clinging to the bark the moment he hit the ground, curling further in on himself as he sobbed. Fenton collapsed next to him, catching his breath, rubbing Gyro’s back.

“He’s gone, Fenton.” Gyro gasped, curling into a tighter ball, hardly caring where the rocks and roots dug into his back. “He’s gone.”

Fenton shifted, pulling Gyro further against him. Holding him tightly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

They stayed by that tree that night, sleeping in the roots against the trunk. Gyro curled up on top of Fenton, crying himself to sleep, while Fenton wordlessly held him and did his best to comfort him.

Nothing would help right now, but Gyro appreciated it.

The next morning, the witch woke slowly. Even in his sleep he’d still been clinging tightly to Fenton’s shirt, he slowly loosened his fist as he opened his eyes. His fingers were sore.

He wished it’d been a dream, he didn’t want to look up, to realize where they were. In the middle of the freezing woods.

Without Boyd.

Looking around and realizing all of this would mean it was true.

He could hear Fenton’s heartbeat beneath his head, feel the rise and fall of his chest. The duck’s arms were still wrapped around him, holding him close.

In a flash, Gyro sat up.

“How could you?!”

Fenton started awake just in time to feel Gyro’s hands landing on his shoulders, angrily pinning him against the tree. “Huh? Gyro wh-”

“You made me leave him behind!” Gyro shouted in his face. Fenton blinked up at him. “I wanted to stay- I wanted to get him back- but you wanted to leave! You made me leave him!”

“Gyro-”

“I left him with- with- no, you left him- this is your fault he’s not with us!”

“Gyro-”

“I shouldn’t have let you make me leave him- I should’ve gone back- I should go back-”

“Gyro!”

The duck’s shout snapped him out of it. He froze for a moment, staring at Fenton, hands still tightly gripping to his shoulders. Fenton’s eyes were wide, he looked startled and scared and worried. Hesitantly, as if he were dealing with a spooked wild animal, his hand slowly slid up Gyro’s back.“Gyro, I-”

That was all it took. The witch collapsed on top of him, head ducked as he sobbed into Fenton’s chest, his hands clutching at the shoulders of the duck’s shirt. Holding on to him as tightly as he could, never wanting to let go of what he had left. “I’m sorry-”

“Hey, sshhhh, it’s okay.” Fenton shushed him, rubbing his back. His voice cracked, and without looking up, Gyro lifted his hand to gently cup the side of Fenton’s face, to catch his tears with his thumb. “I’m- I’m sorry we had to leave him too.”

Gyro just swallowed, and held onto him tighter. He could feel Fenton’s shuddering breaths beneath him, the duck was doing everything he could to keep himself together. Gyro had completely given up on that by now, he let himself totally break down in Fenton’s arms.

Somewhere between five minutes and two hours later Fenton shifted, sitting up further against the trunk of the tree. Gyro was forced to sit up with him, but he refused to unbury his face from the duck’s chest. “Hey.” Fenton held the side of his face, trying to get his attention.

Gyro couldn’t bring himself to move.

Fenton understood. “As soon as you’re okay enough to be on your own for a little I’ll go get him, okay?”

The witch lifted his head. “No- no I don’t want to risk you too-”

“Gyro,” Fenton cut through his worries. “I’ll be safe, I promise. Things will have calmed down by now, now that it’s morning. I’ll sneak in and out and bring him back here so you can see him again, and so they won’t have him. We can bury him out here.”

Gyro sat back, looking around.

They were in the old cemetery.

They’d slept beneath the huge tree in the center of the headstones, perhaps the one safe place for them to go now. As afraid of the witches as the villagers were they were even more afraid of a haunted cemetery and wouldn’t step foot between the graves. It was a perfect safe haven.

“You brought us here on purpose?” Gyro asked.

Fenton nodded. “I figured they wouldn’t touch us if we stayed here- especially at night. We’d mostly lost them before I’d thought of it, so that theory hasn’t been entirely tested yet.”

The witch let out a breath. Burying Boyd here, in a haunted cemetery in the middle of the woods, where no one but them would come to visit him but them. Where he could be secreted away from the people who had killed him.

Gyro must’ve started shaking because a few seconds later Fenton was pulling him into a hug, squeezing him as tightly as he could.

“They killed him,” Gyro gasped through tears. “They hated us so much they killed him.”

Fenton didn’t have an answer to that, so he just held Gyro until the shaking stopped.

It was hours before Fenton left, no matter how much Gyro assured him he was fine the duck didn’t want to leave him there alone. At last he stood, leaning down to kiss Gyro’s forehead. “I’ll be back in an hour, alright?”

That felt like the longest hour of Gyro’s life. It was late March and freezing cold, and the witch stayed curled against the trunk of the tree, staring off into space. He’d cried himself out by then, so he simply watched the dead leaves blow past in the cold breeze, occasionally wiping his eyes.

Having no concept of time in this state Gyro had no idea how long it really was- whether it was one hour or four he would never know. He would sit and wait until Fenton got back and if he didn’t, if he’d been caught, Gyro would simply sit there until he wasted away beneath the tree.

Though, watching Fenton approach through the trees was the worst part.

Gyro was already breaking down by the time Fenton emerged into the clearing, Boyd’s small body held against his chest. Tears streaming down his face the witch reached for him, and Fenton gently passed Boyd into his arms.

“Careful with his head,” Fenton murmured. “They cleaned him up a little, but it looks like that’s where…” he trailed off, not needing to say it.

They sat together beneath the tree, holding Boyd’s limp body and sobbing. He was cold, too cold, and Gyro held him close to try and warm him up. Maybe if he was warm again, then he could wake up.

He never did.

Gyro rocked him the way he used to before putting him to bed, resting his forehead against the little parrot’s. “Boyd,” he whispered.

From next to him, Fenton made a sound like a cross between a choke and a sob.

“God Boyd-” the witch hugged him tighter, his arms a protective shield. “I’m so sorry- I should’ve stayed with you- I shouldn’t have let them take you-”

Of course he could protect him now, after he was already dead. Gyro had been no use in saving his life, in keeping him alive. “I should’ve tried harder to fight them, I promise I was doing my best for you but it-” he choked, “it wasn’t enough.”

Fenton’s arms around him tightened.

Together the three of them sank to the ground, Gyro and Fenton no longer strong enough to hold themselves up as they created a little protective circle around Boyd. Shielding him off from the rest of the world.

But nothing they could do now would make up for losing him.

They buried Boyd the next day, Fenton sneaking back to the village for food and a shovel. He came back with what looked like a little white fluff ball on his shoulder. “Hey, look who survived the fire!” the duck exclaimed as he approached Gyro with the food.

The witch glanced up, eyes swollen with tears, but no fresh ones in the moment. “What?”

Fenton sat next to him, passing him some bread and dried fruit. He then lifted the little puff from his shoulder. “It’s Bulb! I didn’t think he’d made it- but I found him in the woods right next to the house.” The duck hesitated. “What’s left of it.”

Bulb- Boyd’s kitten. The one that Gyro hadn’t wanted, but Boyd had begged for and cared for by himself to prove they could keep it.

Now it suddenly felt like it was all they had left of him.

Gyro sighed, reaching out to pet the little cream-colored kitten’s head. “Hey, Bulb.”

Fenton began digging a few minutes later, in an empty spot at the edge of the cemetery near the treeline. The ground was soft and the grass was dead, and the plot didn’t need to be very big. Fenton had it finished all too soon for Gyro’s liking.

He didn’t want to say goodbye yet.

Gyro saved four of Boyd’s soft grey feathers, and clung to them as Fenton lowered the little body into the ground. They’d wrapped him in a blanket that Fenton had taken from the village and laid some dried flowers down on top of him.

Fenton let Gyro put the first handful of dirt back into the grave, Gyro unfurling shaky fingers and letting the first fall loose. Letting go of the dirt felt like letting go of Boyd- releasing his hand for the last time.

A few moments later, Gyro threw up what little of the food he’d had at the edge of the trees while Fenton rubbed his back.

It really wasn’t much of a funeral, Gyro sitting at the edge of the grave with Bulb in his lap, numbly watching Fenton fill the dirt back in. He had too many thoughts whirling around his head to voice a final goodbye, he couldn't catch any of them and pin them down long enough to form a coherent thought.

The exercise was good for Fenton Gyro could tell- the duck had tears in his eyes as he worked but he put as much effort into it as his body allowed him. Sleeves rolled up, grunting, his face red with effort, he worked his way into a rhythm. Letting his emotions out that way.

Gyro couldn’t. He just stared at the hole as it slowly got more and more shallow, his body aching. Eventually Fenton dropped down next to him, sweating and out of breath.

Together they sat and stared at the grave until the sun went down.

—

It was a long time later that they both sat up, and Fenton wordlessly passed out the food. They ate mostly in silence, Gyro occasionally giving little pieces of peaches to Bulb.

Surprisingly the sun came out- the breeze picked up into a chilling wind, but it blew the clouds out of the way and allowed the warm sun to shine down. Fenton looked up as the sunlight hit them, smiling faintly. They could use a little sun right now.

Glancing back down, he realized Gyro’s hands were shaking.

The duck gently reached out and placed his hands on top of Gyro’s, steadying them. The witch swallowed, flipping his hand the other way to tightly interlace his fingers with Fenton’s. Fenton gave him a smile, which Gyro half heartedly returned.

He was trying. That was something.

“So much has changed since… since he was here.” Gyro voiced at last, clearing his throat. “It feels like we’re moving on without him, but… but then I come back here and suddenly everything’s exactly the way it was when we buried him.”

“The sun’s out,” Fenton pointed out. “And you didn’t throw up this time.” Gyro snorted. “So maybe things are better than then?”

The witch leaned back, propping himself up on one hand. “I suppose.” Letting out a heavy breath, he tilted his head back. “I didn’t even get to hold him one last time-” his breath hitched. “I wish I could’ve known I was tucking him in for the last time, there was so much I could’ve- I should’ve- said and done, I-” he took a deep breath. “I miss him.”

Fenton folded his legs tighter, looking back at the grave. “Me too.”

Even in a new place, Boyd’s empty space could be felt. Fenton missed him in the mornings, when he would make squealing noises to try and match the sound of the whistling kettle. The way he used to lay in the sun next to Bulb, soaking up the light just like the cat. In the afternoons he would pick flowers in the spring and present them to Gyro and Fenton, there were so many less vases of small wildflowers now. He used to sing the enchantment songs Gyro taught him at the top of his lungs just for fun, accidentally causing nearby flies to move in a particular pattern or the air to swirl around him. How when they tucked him in at night by telling him stories, he’d listen to theirs before telling an eternally long one of his he came up with on the spot- just so he wouldn’t have to go to sleep.

Fenton didn’t even realize he was crying again until Gyro had moved right next to him, kissing his forehead and wiping away his tears with his thumb.

The duck leaned into him, a fresh sob rising in his throat.

“I’m just so sad about it,” Fenton breathed, his face buried in Gyro’s shoulder. “All the time still. I- I don’t want to be sad anymore but- but I still want- I still need- to miss him.”

“I know,” Gyro murmured. “I’m sick and tired of being miserable but I don’t want to be happy without him.”

“Yeah,” the duck swallowed, wrapping an arm around his partner. “Yeah.”

The breeze blew past, ruffling their feathers and stirring the leaves. Doing it’s best to try and carry away some of their grief.

It wasn’t until the sun was setting that they made their way back to the house, Bulb walking at their heels. Fenton set up a fire near the back porch while Gyro put their things away. The day surprisingly had brought some life back into him- Fenton knew he could leave him alone for a minute.

They sat out on the back porch and watched the sun go down, both of them looking up at the stars and shedding a few last tears. At last they made dinner in the fire, sitting close to each other to stay warm on the cold early-spring night.

Gyro rested his head on Fenton’s shoulder. “Talk to me,” he asked.

Fenton thought for a moment, unsure what to talk about. If Gyro wanted to hear more about Boyd, or if he wanted Fenton to distract him from his grief.

So he recounted one of the fairytales from one of the storybooks inside. It was one they both knew, though neither had reread in a long time. They didn’t mind, it was something to fill the silence.

The witch let himself get really into it, doing impressions of the voices, acting out the scenes. At one point he stood to reenact a fight scene, and pulled Gyro up with him, letting him act as the damsel that Fenton was nobly trying to save.

Gyro spun around their imaginary battlefield with him, laughing and cheering as he collapsed against Fenton, listening to him recount the story.

Laughter like this from Gyro was all too rare these days, and Fenton pulled him close by the waist, pretending to fight off a great beast. Gyro collapsed into him, drunk off of laughter as he wrapped his arms around the duck’s shoulders and cackled into his ears. Fenton squeezed him tight, not wanting to let the moment go.

With one last dramatic whirl Fenton slayed their imaginary beast, and together they landed back in their seats by the fire, clutching to one another as they laughed. Gyro’s head on Fenton’s chest as he clung to his shoulders, shaking with laughter.

Fenton held on to him as their laughter died down, turning to a quiet contentment.

Gyro lifted his head, nuzzling the end of his beak against Fenton’s. “Thank you.”

The duck grinned at him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

11 notes · View notes

leebrontide · 2 years

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Growing a tea garden?

Full disclosure, I once had an actual Camellia sinensis tree that I loved dearly and flowered for me and was such a joy. But I misunderstood some aspects of taking care of it, and after 2 years, I lost it, which was tragic. I've yet to find another one in an in-person shop near me, so I remain tea-less, technically.

BUT, last summer I found out that there's something called New Jersey Tea. Which, despite the English name, is native to a lot of northern North America, including my own area. And native planting is always a thrilling bonus for me.

Look at it! It's so pretty!

Perfect for a combo native prairie/English cottage garden vibe that's going to go well with all our fruit plants. Being native it's not fussy and I can mostly plant it and forget it, which is ideal. Plus it's a pollinator favorite.

There's a sort of mostly-dug-up garden along the back porch because the previous owners took some apparently massive rhubarbs with them. It's a sunny spot with some decent soil, so a good spot for a garden, and plus then you'd be hanging out with these nice, aromatic plants.

Supposedly, when it's fresh the leaves have an almost wintergreen taste, but when dried it tastes like a spiced black tea. It has no caffeine. It was also supposedly a huge favorite during the US revolution, when tea imports were difficult.

So, then I started thinking about what OTHER plants I can use for making tea that will grow in my frigid home climate.

Canadian Ginger

Just like now New Jersey Tea has no particular relation to Camelia, this is nothing to do with the tropical grown ginger, which is the ginger you probably think of. BUT, it has a deeper ginger taste.

Swamp Mallow Hibiscus

So, again, you think of Hibiscus as being tropical. I only thought to check because one of my neighbors has a bigass deep red hibiscus that's been flowering away every summer for years. Apparently it's some kind of hybrid situation that lets them grow here.

I thought this sort of coloration would look better with the kind of garden I've got going, since I don't want to look tropical.

I adore hibiscus tea. It's tangy, it's colorful. It's refreshing. but I'll be honest, I haven't been able to find any reviews of what the flavor of these hybrids is. If you happen to know, please pass on your knowledge to me.

Fireball Bee Balm

This may shock you, but bee balm is another very pollinator friendly plant. I'm looking to get the fireball type specifically because I like this crimson color. the more common colors are between lavender and hot pink, which are not so much my jam. Plus, it's another native plant to my area!

They have the added bonus of being on the short side, and bunnies don't really like them, so they can form a perimeter around my tea garden to protect the other plants. We have a serious lack of predators in my neighborhood and the rabbits are OUT OF CONTROL. Last winter they ate every one of my cherry shrubs and my entire raspberry bramble down to the ground at the old house. I don't know what we need to do to get some birds of prey over here but we could use them.

Bee balm flavor is a little mint, a little oregano, and a little bit citrus, so that's a natural for tea.

Rose Hips

Apparently you CAN look up which kinds of roses have the tastiest rosehips! Rose hips are the seed of the rose, are in the same botanical family as apples. These are a few of the tastier heirloom varieties I've located. I likely won't plant all three of them. My porch isn't that big and I want to leave a lot of room for the new jersey tea.

Rosehips are lightly floral and tart/citrusy and are a fantastic source of vitamin C. You can of course also eat the flowers, but I don't plan to. My grandma always wore tea-rose perfume and I don't really want to drink a tea that feels like drinking how gramma smelled.

The two lefthand roses are both tree roses (from the middle ages!!), the one on the right is much more low-growing. So I suspect how I end up arranging these will determine which we get.

Anise Hyssop

Proper anise (the flavor for licorice) also doesn't grow here, BUT, anise hyssop has a similar flavor from the mint family. Again, it's usually a purple or pink color, but I CAN find it in an apricot tone, which I love.

Dropmore Scarlet Honeysuckle

Native to IA, not MN but still in the general right biome and so pretty resilient here. I only found out in researching tea gardens that the flowers make for tasty, very sweet, lightly floral tea! I knew you could drink the nectar out of them but this was news to me. And, of course, they make everything around them smell amazing.

I have 16 feet to work with, so plenty of room for plants.

A few other plants that wont be in the garden proper are raspberries, whose leaves have a milder and easy to store version of the fruit flavor, and mint. Both of these though are tremendously prone to conquering any area around them, and so they need some extra containment. We don't really do year-round container gardening here because the roots freeze and kill almost anything. But, the boulevard between the front sidewalk and the street, under the big maple tree, is slated for mint seeding in the spring, and the side garden already has raspberries I'll tell you about on another day.

Chamomile, lavender and echinacea all grow here and are thought to make tasty and healthful tea but...I don't like the flavor of any of them, so they aren't invited.

If you have other plants to suggest, let me know!

#Stormbrew House #gardening #tea #tea garden #long post #gardenblr #gardeners on tumblr #garden planning #Stormbrew Garden

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wild-karrde · 2 years

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One Step at a Time - Part 7

Master List | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: After a long (and somewhat unplanned) hiatus, WE'RE BACK. I have seriously missed writing these guys. As always, thank you to the absolutely phenomenal @teletraan-meets-jarvis for beta-reading this chapter for me!

Chapter Rating: M

Warnings: language, graphic description of injury

Word Count: 7.7k words

The months bled together at such a blissful speed that life prior to the end of the war almost seemed to be something Chuckles had dreamed rather than experienced firsthand. Every once in a while, there was a reminder of their previous lives: Arni’s gaze growing distant when talking about something they’d learned, undoubtedly at the temple’s archives, the way Nita’s eyes occasionally flicked to the compartment her kyber crystal was stashed in, as though she could still hear it calling to her, or a glimpse of Chuck’s armor when he needed to retrieve something from the storage locker he’d stuffed it in. The magenta paint on the plastoid was beginning to become more obscured by a thick layer of dust as time progressed. Unconsciously, he always brushed the stars on his helmet clear before tucking everything back into place and closing the door to it.

The ship became more of a home as well. The bunk the younglings shared was now lit with strings of lights that Arni had salvaged and arranged in certain constellations to teach Nita about the different star maps. Dried flowers and some of Arni’s drawings were stuck to the interior walls, and a magenta painted trooper doll with stars on its helmet rested against the new pillows Oksann had made for them. Chuck and Ry had installed a crude pull-down bunk for him against one of the main walls of the hold, but Chuckles found that he actually had grown accustomed to sleeping in the pilot’s seat. He claimed it was for comfort, but deep down, he was certain that it was that he slept too deeply on the bunk. There wasn’t a night that went by where he hadn’t been afraid Broog’s brethren would come hunting him, even with the months that separated the incident. He hoped that one day, he’d feel safe enough to sleep on the bunk regularly, but for right now, he wasn’t done looking over his shoulder.

The kitchenette of the ship was now well-stocked with three wooden bowls that sat near the sink, two of them smaller than the third with matching cups. A vase sat in the middle of the small table, frequently filled with whatever flowers Nita had picked that day. The trees around the ship had larger lights woven in among their branches as well, and the path to and from the ship’s main hatch had become worn with footprints, tamping down the grass until it gave way to dark dirt that would turn to mud in Sorgan’s occasional rains.

It’s another rain that woke Chuck, the droplets softly pattering against the transparisteel of the ship’s forward viewport. The pilot shifted in his seat for a moment before a low grumble of thunder sounded in the distance, finally bringing his consciousness fully to bear. His amber eyes fluttered open, taking in the dark clouds looming above, swirling in the planet’s upper atmospheric winds. Inhaling deeply, Chuck breathed in the smell of rain and damp earth as he stretched his limbs above his head. His shoulders popped satisfyingly, and he sighed, rolling his head on his neck before running his hands through his dark curls. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d had his hair this long, but it was beginning to bother him slightly.

Maybe today’s the day I’ll finally take Ry up on that haircut she’s been offering.

About the fifth time he’d brushed his sweaty curls out of his eyes the week before, Ry had offered him a piece of fabric to tie around his forehead, keeping his bangs out of his face.

“I know you’re trying to look less like a soldier, but you might be taking it one step too far with that mop,” she teased quietly. “Why don’t you let me trim it a bit?”

“I think I’d rather have Oks do it,” he joked.

“Togrutas don’t have hair. What makes you think she’s qualified?”

“I’d take my chances.”

Ry had rolled her eyes before getting flagged down by a patron. The topic hadn’t come up again, but now as he noted his dark curls hanging over his eyebrows, he blew at them huffily, seriously reconsidering the offer.

The sound of the bunk door sliding open made him turn, and he suppressed a smile as Nita’s sleepy form emerged. She shut the door to allow Arni to keep sleeping before toddling over to him, rubbing her eyes. She shook her head, and that’s when he noticed her bangs were hanging in her eyes as well, her silver curls dangling slightly lower than his darker ones. He chewed the inside of his cheek.

Definitely might need to take Ry up on that haircut. And see if she’ll do one for Nita as well.

He’d made a ham-fisted attempt at trimming Nita’s hair early on and wound up with her silver locks looking more like an abstract art installation than a haircut fit for a child. Nita had giggled uncontrollably at the way her bangs had zig-zagged like a rocky mountain range across her forehead while Arni promised they could probably fix it. Chuckles hadn’t stopped apologizing until Arni had rectified the damage as much as they could.

Yeah. Gonna have to comm Ry later.

He grinned at the little Pantoran. “Morning, kiddo. You’re up early.”

Nita blearily returned the smile before leaning against the arm of his seat. “The thunder woke me up.”

Another bolt of lightning flashed in the sky, close enough to be followed by a loud growl of thunder seconds later. Nita jumped a little, reflexively stepping a little closer to Chuckles.

“You’re not scared are you?” he asked, glancing down at her.

“No,” she said, but he didn’t miss the way she chewed nervously at a fingernail. Leaning over, he scooped her into his lap, pulling the blanket he’d used the night before up over them both. Another bright flash of lightning erupted outside of the viewport, the thunder chasing it with an even louder roar this time that rattled the freighter. Chuck could feel the rumbling in the floor of the ship beneath his feet as Nita gripped his shirt, snuggling more into his chest.

Every now and then, Chuckles thought about how naturally he’d felt affection for the two younglings and how easily the hugs and snuggles had been when they were needed. He wasn’t certain if it came from constantly being surrounded by his brothers growing up, which often resulted in being tackled to the ground as a sign of affection or holding one another when things got tough. Either way, he’d never felt hesitant holding Nita or hugging Arni when it seemed that it would help, and they’d never appeared to feel uncomfortable around him, and he was grateful at least that much had been easy as they figured out how to be a family. He wrapped his arms around Nita a little tighter.

“I’ve got you, honey. It’s alright.” He rested his chin on top of her head, and he felt her shudder slightly.

“Why is it so loud?” she muttered with a hint of annoyance that made Chuckles grin, as if the fear was an inconvenience for her. He chewed the inside of his cheek to try and quell the laughter at her furrowed brows and exasperated expression as she glared at the storm clouds.

“You know, when I was a cadet, I used to be afraid of the thunder too,” he said quietly. “You know what one of my trainers told me?”

Nita’s large golden eyes turned upwards to meet his. “What?”

“You know how everyone has their own set of gods or deities that they worship?”

She nodded.

“Well, the trainer told me that thunder and lightning were just them having a petty squabble. When the thunder comes, it’s because they’re really mad and are yelling at one another. My brothers and I used to try and decide what they might be arguing about. It was always silly stuff, like who had the most stylish outfit or whose turn it was to spin the galaxy on its axis.”

Nita giggled in his lap, turning to face the viewport and letting her head gently rest against him. “What do you think they’re arguing about today?” she asked.

Chuckles stroked his chin contemplatively as another flash of lightning and low rumble of thunder erupted outside. Nita jumped at the sound again, pressing back against Chuckles. He wrapped his arms around her a little tighter, and he felt her hands grip his forearms through the blanket.

“Oh, that definitely sounds like Kunik today,” he concluded.

“What’s a Kunik?”

“Kunik is the name of a Trianni goddess, and she’s all about bitter retribution and swift death. She’s not a lot of fun and really can’t take a joke.”

Nita huffed a quiet laugh, pulling the blanket up under her chin. “Who do you think she’s mad at?”

Chuckles shrugged. “Probably Nododo. He’s a Gungan god that is quite the prankster. I imagine he probably did something that got under her skin, and she’s letting us know all about it.”

“What do you think he did?” Nita asked.

“Maybe swapped her sugar for salt. Perhaps he dyed her hair in her sleep. Moved the stars in her constellations around. I hear she’s very particular about those.”

Nita giggled softly, facing forward and letting her head rest back against Chuckles as the lightning flashed again and the rain slapped against the viewport with a renewed fervor. When the thunder roared again, louder than before, Nita leaned forward on his lap.

“KNOCK IT OFF, NODODO!” she shouted, and this time, Chuckles couldn’t contain his giggle. He tipped his head back and laughed, loud and joyful from deep within his chest. He’d been having more of those moments lately, where he laughed from amusement rather than nerves or fear. His shoulders were relaxed, his chest warm as he grinned down at the young Pantoran.

“You tell ‘em, honey.”

Nita smiled, pushing herself off of his lap and coming to stand at the flight console, raising herself up on her toes as another bolt of lightning streaked past. “THAT’S ENOUGH, KUNIK!” The thunder ignored her scolding, but this time, she didn’t withdraw.

“JUST APOLOGIZE ALREADY!”

Chuckles leaned forward. “YEAH! APOLOGIZE!”

“YEAH!”

“What’s all the shouting about?” Arni asked, poking their head out of the bunk. Their lekku draped over the edge of the mattress, dangling towards the floor as they sleepily stared at Nita and Chuckles. The birthmark on their cheek stretched as they yawned before rolling out of the bunk and slowly making their way over to stand next to Chuckles’s chair.

“Kunik and Nododo are fighting, and I want them to just make up already,” Nita said matter-of-factly before turning back to the viewport, watching for more signs of the godly squabble. Arni shot Chuckles a questioning look.

“Tell you later,” he whispered. Arni nodded.

---

“Alright, kiddo, out of the water!”

“Oh, come on! Five more minutes!”

“Nope, I promised Ry we’d be over before supper so she could trim our mops. Now come on,” Chuckles teased, waving the towel he’d brought at Nita. She huffed a sigh before diving under the surface of the pond once more and swimming towards where he and Arni stood in the shallows. Arni had their pants rolled to their knees and was crouching in the water, sifting through the mud.

“Find anything?” Nita asked as she surfaced, clambering towards Chuckles, who wrapped her up in a towel, scooping her out of the water and carrying her towards the shore. The little Pantoran squealed as Chuckles rubbed a corner of the towel over her hair, ruffling it playfully. Her damp silver hair stood on end, and she giggled as she tried to smooth it down, only driving Chuckles to ruffle it more before blowing a raspberry against her cheek.

“Nothing interesting today,” Arni replied, tossing the stone they’d been examining and skipping it across the surface.

“That’s alright, kid. Less to carry with you. It’s a longer walk anyway,” Chuck said as he continued wading towards the shore.

The pond had become a frequent stop for the three of them when traveling into the settlement together. Arni had discovered it during one of their treks into the common house, wandering a little off the main path to find the clear little pond that seemed to be teeming with rocks and shells that the Twi’lek wanted to study. Fed by the rainwater, the pond was as clear as transparisteel in its shallows, revealing a treasure trove of items, and on the deeper end, it faded to a deep blue where you could still see a good distance into its depths. The first time they’d stopped, both of the younglings had stripped down to their underthings and waded in while Chuckles stood nervously on the shore.

He had never told the two younglings about the accident that had left the large scar across his face, but it was what kept him from wading into the crystal blue water. The fighter he’d been flying that day had a cascading failure that started with an electrical short in the system and completely fried all of his flight hardware.

“MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?!”

There was no response as the cockpit filled with the smell of burnt electronics and the craft began to lose altitude. Chuckles frantically tried to activate the control surfaces to slow his descent, but the fighter began to dive in an uncontrolled spin. The sky blurred past, and then the ocean, and then the sky again. It had been one of Kamino’s rare sunny days, the perfect day for flying. Until it wasn’t.

Kriff. Not like this.

His heart leapt into his throat, quickly followed by his stomach as the cockpit flipped over again. He swallowed bile as his pulse hammered in his ears. Every emergency alert was screaming at him, the red and yellow alarm lights beginning to blur as his vision wavered. He fought against the urge to black out.

Handle. Find the eject handle. Under the left side of your seat.

The fingers of his left hand fumbled for the handle, his right hand braced against the side of the fighter. He felt the smooth metal rod with the grip on the end and almost giggled with relief. He tried to time it right, to where he was pointing towards the sky so he wouldn’t be shot into the sea.

He really tried.

He pulled the handle. He waited.

Nothing happened.

He tugged again.

Nothing.

Chuckles let loose a roar of a curse, his eyes welling with tears of frustration.

Not like this.

He gripped the handle and pulled with all of his might as the fighter swung upright once more.

The cockpit began to open. The charges blew. Chuckles felt his seat lurch before his body was slammed into the canopy, his helmet flying off and his face connecting with the shattered transparisteel. He felt warmth on his cheek as his body connected with the surface with a sickening thud. Blood ran in his eyes. The clear, razor-sharp shards rained down on around him, glinting in the sunlight as they sliced through his black undersuit and any exposed skin.

And then he was falling.

It felt like an eternity before his chute deployed, and when it did, the sharp tug of it made him yelp in pain. Every inch of his body ached and several places felt like they were on fire, but none of his flesh was burning. He reached up with a trembling hand and touched his face. His cheek seared, and his fingers came back covered in blood. He screamed in agony.

The water should have been a welcome embrace, but it was just a new threat to his survival. The salt in the water felt like it was embedding itself in his wounds, stinging the raw and bloodied flesh and adding to his pain so much he turned his head and vomited. He fumbled to try and feel for the flotation pack he had on his seat. His body barely functioned, and his frustration and fear grew. The seat was already underwater. The first wave rolled over him.

He was underwater, trying to keep his mouth closed, and yet his mouth was still filling with water. One of his arms wasn’t working, and it took forever to unlatch his flight harness and orient himself upwards.

Follow the bubbles. Remember your training. Focus. Survive.

Every kick against the water shot pain up his leg to his hip. He fought the urge to scream as he flailed towards the surface. His head broke the water, and he gasped for air, but just as soon as his lungs filled with air, another wave plunged him under once more.

He wasn’t certain how long he’d spent in the water, fighting death less and less with every passing wave. He had wondered what drowning would feel like, if he would hurt more than he already was, or if it would be a welcome relief. Just as he’d almost decided to let the next wave take him, the rescue ships had arrived. Ungentle hands had yanked him aboard as he screamed. The medic leaning over him had sworn under his breath, his helmet’s modulator doing little to mute it. Chuckles tried to take in his injuries, but every time he turned his head, he found broken limbs and bloodied flesh that he didn’t recognize. A slight pinch in his neck brought him the mercy of unconsciousness.

The recovery had been long, leaving permanent pain in some joints that would haunt him when the weather changed. His scar was the most visible reminder, but the dreams of black, cold waves pulling him under while water poured in through his cheek was what haunted him the most.

The first time Arni had waded out into the water, beckoning him, Chuckles had hesitated. His heart was hammering in his chest as his fingers drifted absently to the scar on his face. He had shuddered.

But he’d watched the two children squeal and splash in the water, their joy softening some of the fear he still harbored. Nita had waded out to a deeper part, paddling clumsily, her head occasionally slipping under the surface. She spluttered.

“Do you know how to swim, honey?” Chuckles had asked, his chest tightening with concern.

“I’m fine,” she called back before splashing awkwardly back to the shallows.

In that moment, Chuckles decided his fear was worth overcoming to ensure Nita would never flounder in the water the way he had that day.

You’re their pilot. Their protector. This is how you keep her safe.

Taking a deep breath, he had stripped off his shirt and boots and waded in.

Visiting the pond had become a regular occurrence after that. Chuckles would teach Nita to swim and float while Arni dug around in the shallows for various treasures for them to catalog in their journal or bring home to decorate the ship. They found shells, beautifully worn stones, and even a few fossils. Other days, they joined Chuckles and Nita swimming, giving some pointers when Nita struggled and cheering her on when she mastered certain skills.

With time, Chuckles’s memory of the water changed, replaced with the memory of Nita squealing triumphantly as she made it across the pond’s depths and into his arms and Arni gleefully showing him their latest discovery. Soon, the water became a place he looked forward to visiting, a place that brought joy instead of fear.

Now, as he waded to the shoreline, the feel of the warm mud between his toes made him smile as he looked down at the tiny Pantoran he cradled, who was squirming in the towel he had wrapped around her. Arni was close behind, heading for where they’d placed their boots and socks. Chuckles set Nita on the grass before clambering up next to her, picking her outer clothing up off the grass and handing it to her. Nita mumbled something about wanting to swim a little more as she pulled her tunic over her head, and Chuckles smirked at her indignance.

“I know, I know, but we both really need haircuts, and we all know I’m no good at that.”

Nita gave him one last glare before she sat down to pull her boots on. Chuckles smiled at her, unphased. He’d seen what her real anger looked like, and he knew this wasn’t it.

Maker help anyone that crosses her when she’s a teenager.

He picked up the rucksack he’d carried, eyeing the mid-afternoon sun as he stuffed the towel back into the bottom of it. The days were lengthening as Sorgan’s northern atmosphere entered its summer season, and he was grateful that they weren’t likely to be walking home in the dark. Nita and Arni both pushed themselves to their feet, and the three of them headed back towards the main path that led to the settlement.

After another half an hour, they arrived at Ry and Oksann’s dwelling. It was a simple mortar and thatch building with a single front window that faced what served as a street. A few boxes of flowers hung from the window’s ledge, vines trailing down to the ground that were dotted with purple blooms. Arni stopped to examine them as Chuckles rapped his knuckles on the door. It opened and Oksann stood there, smiling at the three of them. She signed a greeting that Chuck returned before standing aside and welcoming them in.

Chuckles had been in the dwelling a few times, but he never tired of it. While their freighter had certainly turned into a more comforting place to reside, there was something to be said about a dwelling that was set firmly on the ground, one that was well-lived in and full of evidence of the people and the love that was housed within. It always smelled of earth, herbs, and whatever Oksann was cooking that day. The walls were covered in herbs and vegetables hanging to dry along with some paintings Ry had done and a few holos. The dwelling only had a main living area, a kitchen, a fresher, and a small side room that served as a bedroom. The main area centered a large wooden table that always seemed to be covered in projects that were clearly delineated between the two women. Ry’s side always had datapads and flimsi notes scattered across it while Oksann’s end had her embroidery or some other project laid out neatly, oddly complementing Ry’s chaos.

The outside light still trickled in through the windows, casting long shadows and highlighting dust that swirled in the late afternoon light. Oks took the rucksack off Chuck’s shoulder as he removed his goggles and face mask. Setting the bag on the table, she peered inside and signed a quick thank you before carefully removing some of the items he and Arni had repaired for them. Arni stood to the side, signing to explain the fixes that had been made as the Togruta smiled patiently at them, letting them explain every facet of the repair. Her hand drifted over to some of the embroidery on the table, passing it down to Nita.

What do you think? she asked.

Nita smiled as she signed back with one of the words Arni had taught her. Pretty.

Oksann ran her fingers through Nita’s curls, playfully pushing some of them into her eyes as the little Pantoran giggled.

“Definitely time for a trim,” Ry observed from behind them, coming from the kitchen and wiping her hands on a towel. Coming to stand next to her wife, her eyes roved over the items Chuck and Arni had repaired for them. “Thanks for taking care of these so quickly.”

“Not an issue,” Chuckles replied. “Especially since you’re helping out with the haircuts.”

“Alright, don’t build me up too much,” Ry teased. She squatted down in front of Nita. “You want to go first, sweet girl?”

Nita nodded, and Ry lifted her up onto the table, sitting her on just the edge. “Just the bangs and a bit of a trim then?”

Nita looked over at Chuckles, and he nodded at her. “Tell her what you want, kiddo. It’s all up to you.”

The little Pantoran grinned. “Yeah, I want to keep it long enough to tie up in the ribbons if that’s alright.”

Ry walked over to where a clean stack of laundry was sitting folded in a well-worn chair, pulling a towel from the pile and wrapping it around Nita’s shoulders. “Alright? That sounds perfect to me.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a pair of scissors and a comb and immediately went to work on Nita’s silver tresses. Chuckles pulled out a chair next to the table and sat down to watch as Nita’s feet swung while Ry worked, occasionally pausing and tilting the little girl’s chin so that she could inspect her work. Arni had pulled Oksann over to the corner and was signing at her while pointing at some of the vegetables and herbs that were hanging up to dry. Arni had been teaching Chuckles how to sign, and he had learned enough words to at least gather that Arni was asking Oksann what each bundle was and the drying process. The Togruta explained everything in depth, and he couldn’t help but smile at how Arni’s eyes lit up with each new bit of knowledge that was imparted upon them.

The kid loves to learn about anything and everything. And even more impressive, they remember it all.

“Alright, I think that’ll do it,” Ry said after a while, brushing the last trimmings of hair out of the way and stepping back to see the final result. Helping Nita down, she guided her over to a floor length mirror that was leaned up against one wall. “What do you think?”

Nita stepped closer to the mirror, turning her head and carefully inspecting the haircut from every angle before nodding firmly. “It’s good. Thank you.”

Ry smiled at her. “Glad to help.” She turned to Chuckles. “Alright, your turn, Pops.” She removed the towel from Nita’s shoulders, shaking the clippings into the floor, and draping it over Chuck. She strode to the refresher, returning a few seconds later with a pair of powered clippers. Leaning down, she ruffled his curls experimentally. “So just a trim or you want me to buzz it all?”

“A mohawk!” Nita exclaimed. Chuckles turned and raised an eyebrow at her. She shrugged. “You had one when you found us, and I liked it. I was sad when you shaved it off.”

“A mohawk huh?” Ry asked teasingly. “Somehow not surprising in the least.”

“It was dyed a funny color too,” Nita added, coming to stand directly in front of Chuckles, her chin resting in her hand as she appraised him. “You should dye it again.”

Chuckles tipped his head back and laughed loudly at the tiny Pantoran before him. Nita furrowed her brow as Chuck leaned forward in the chair, his smile threatening to split open his face.

“And what color do you think I should dye it, honey?”

Nita’s eyes widened at the burden of the choice. She glanced over to Arni, who was watching the entire exchange with quiet interest. “Just a second,” Nita said quickly before walking over to Arni, whispering loudly. “What color do you think?”

Arni leaned over, whispering into her ear, and her eyes lit up before she became quite serious, nodding to Arni as if to confirm her agreement. She turned back to Chuckles and Ry. “Blue,” she stated with a note of finality.

Ry chuckled before turning to her wife and signing something. Oksann laughed quietly, tapping her finger on her chin before she nodded, signing something back. “Seems as though she might have the flowers we need to make a blue dye. No promises about how well it’ll work, but we’ll see what we can do. She’s done clothing dye before. Surely hair can’t be that hard.”

“You’ll have to bleach it first.”

Ry shrugged. “Easy enough. Believe it or not, I used to bleach some parts of my hair, but gave up when the common house got busy.”

Chuck’s eyes widened. “Now that is surprising.”

Ry nudged him in the shoulder. “Watch it, or I’ll shave something weird into the sides.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened,” he joked.

Nita squealed with delight. “YOU’RE GONNA HAVE BLUE HAIR! YOU’LL BE BLUE TOO!”

Chuckles’s smile widened at the realization as to why they’d chosen that color.

I’ll match the kids.

Ry rested her hand on his shoulder as she addressed the younglings. “Alright, why don’t you two go help Oks get dinner started and then go see if you can find those flowers out in the garden? It’ll take a while for the broth to simmer, and the bread needs an hour or two to bake, so better to start sooner than later. Think you can handle that?”

Both of the younglings nodded eagerly, scuttling off towards the kitchen with Oksann in tow, giggling loudly. Chuckles stared after them, his smile wide until he felt Ry watching him.

“What?”

She shrugged. “Just the first time I think I’ve heard you genuinely laugh in all the time that I’ve known you. It’s a nice sound.” She ran her fingers through his hair again before her hands trailed down the stubble on his face that he’d allowed to grow out in a short haphazard beard. “You could use a shave too.”

“What, you don’t like the beard?”

“That’s less of a beard and more of a womp rat’s nest, Chuckles.”

He smirked. “Doesn’t exactly grow in even around the scar, but I don’t have anything to shave with on the ship. At least, nothing I’d trust around it after my first attempt with the clippers. Almost wound up with even more of a scar.”

“Well lucky for you, I’d hoped to coerce you into a shave today, so I bought supplies. Also, next time a trader comes through, I’ll see if I can grab you a real razor. Seems like there’s a little bit of everything nowadays. And I can’t have my employees looking like Wookiees. Well, unless they’re actually a Wookiee. Now stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Ry strode back to the refresher, returning a few minutes later with a bowl of hot water, a small towel slung over one shoulder, and a box, which she set on the table next to the chair. “Alright, do you trust me?”

“With my life. Most days.”

Ry rolled her eyes. “Good.” She pulled a straight razor from the box next to her along with a smaller towel and other shaving supplies. Taking the small towel, Ry dipped it into the bowl, which was steaming slightly, drenching it completely and wringing it out before gently draping it on his face. “Relax,” she said quietly. “I’ve done this before.”

“When was that?” Chuck asked, his voice slightly muffled by the towel.

Ry paused before exhaling sharply. “My father, a long time ago. He injured his hand on our farm, and he was stubborn and refused to go to the healer, so it never really worked the same. He tried to shave with it despite everything, and wound up bleeding all over the place, so I took over that task. I could at least get him to agree to that much. My mother had a tremor in her hands, so there was no way she could do it.”

“I guess you come by your stubbornness honestly,” Chuckles joked quietly from beneath the towel. When Ry didn’t answer, he pulled the towel off and looked at her. Her gaze was locked on the straight razor in her hand, distant, and her eyes were misty. “Ry, I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to dishonor his memory.”

Ry huffed a laugh, rubbing at her eyes. “No, you’re right. My mother always said I was more like him than anyone.”

“Were they both lost in the attack?”

“No, actually. Dad died the winter before, and Mom followed shortly after. I was fortunately on my own when our settlement was attacked.” She set the razor down, coming over and taking the towel from his hands, flipping it over her shoulder again as she reached for a bottle of oil, rubbing it between her hands before she placed her hands on his face, gently working it in. Chuckles had the sudden realization he couldn’t remember the last time someone touched his face. Ry’s hands were calloused and rough from her work at the common house, but she was unexpectedly gentle. She reached over for a second bottle, working its contents into a lather before carefully smearing it on his face. She rinsed her hands and dried them before picking up the razor. “Alright, now the trick is for you to not move, got it?”

Chuckles looked at the glinting blade before swallowing hard. “Got it.”

Ry firmly gripped his face, tilting him to the angle she needed. His fingers nervously flexed at his side as she brought the blade to his skin. Her eyes darted down to them, and she stepped back. “We don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable, Chuckles.”

He exhaled deeply. “No. It’s ok.” He met her eyes. “I trust you.”

She nodded, approaching again, and he felt himself relax as she pulled his skin taut and the blade made its first stroke near his sideburn.

Ry worked quickly, cleaning the blade in the water as she worked her way down his cheek and across to the other one, moving cautiously around the scar on his cheek. She made certain to narrate everything she did, and slowly, he felt his shoulders release their tension. There was something oddly intimate about it, and Chuckles slowly felt some of the nerves slip away.

You trust her. She won’t hurt you. You can let your guard down here.

Ry shaved away the remnants of his mustache before carefully working the blade over his chin. “And now, the neck. This part’s the trickiest, but I’m good at it. Just don’t fidget.” He swallowed again, and he knew she saw by the way her eyes followed the bob of his Adam’s apple. “You’ve trusted me this far, and you’ll look silly if I quit now.”

“I trust you,” he repeated.

She placed her hand on his face, tilting his head as she ran the blade in short, sure strokes over the skin on his throat. After a few minutes, she stepped back again, rinsing the blade a final time and setting it on the table. She took the towel off of her shoulder, gently wiping at his face. “There. That’s better,” she said softly. “And not a single cut. Told you I was good.”

Chuckles grinned. “Never had a doubt.”

She rolled her eyes at that. “Alright, time to do something about that hair.”

Swimming by @ninjigma

---

The dye Oksann had fashioned out of her flowers wasn’t necessarily vibrant, but it definitely held the color for a long time. Even several weeks later, as Chuckles was preparing to walk into town for the morning work at the common house, he grinned at his reflection in the mirror on the freighter. It was a face he hadn’t seen since before the end of the war, one he recognized more, clean-shaven thanks to the razor Ry had procured for him with a short mohawk that wouldn’t get mashed down under a helmet this time. He ran his fingers through the blue strands.

Wonder what other colors Oks can make. Definitely might have to get a little experimental. I bet she can whip up teal. I think I liked that color the best.

Throwing a jacket on, he checked on the younglings in their bunk one last time. They were both fast asleep still, Arni snoring quietly with one of their lekku flung over their eyes while Nita was curled up in a ball, clutching her trooper doll. He slid the freshly greased bunk door closed before opening the hatch and stepping outside.

The days were getting warmer, but the mornings were still comfortably cool. The grass alongside the path was dewy as Chuck made his way into the settlement. His goggles and face mask were in place once more. While he trusted Ry and Oks, he still wasn’t ready to put his faith in strangers yet.

Maybe someday it’ll be safe to be a clone outside of an Imperial uniform, but not yet.

As he approached the common house, loud voices carried to Chuckles’s ears from inside, and he slowed his stride.

Who is Ry terrorizing already? We’re not even open for another hour.

Pushing through the door, he froze at the sight of stormtrooper armor and Imperial grey. An officer stood facing Ry, datapad in hand. Four stormtroopers flanked him, E-11s gripped tightly as they stood at attention. Ry’s hands were on her hips, her eyes blazing and jaw clenched. Oksann stood behind her quietly, hands clasped in front of her.

“This is a private establishment. You have no right to come in here and interrogate me,” Ry snapped.

“I actually have every right, Miss-“

The sound of the door swinging shut behind Chuckles drew everyone’s attention. He stood there, frozen, his pulse hammering in his ears. The Imperial officer that Ry was arguing with turned to appraise him with an entirely disinterested expression, as if Chuckles were a child that had wandered into an adult conversation and rudely interrupted them. Ry met his eyes behind his goggles, her expression shifting slightly before it hardened again.

“We’re still fucking closed,” she snarled. “Come back in an hour.”

Chuck’s heart stuttered in his chest as he realized what Ry was doing. He glanced at Oksann. Her hands were hanging at her side now, and her left one was clenching and unclenching rapidly. On a second look, Chuckles realized she was signing to him.

You have our hearts. Be safe brother. Run.

Chuckles mumbled some apology at Ry. He could have sworn her eyes were glistening, and she gave him the slightest nod, jutting her chin out defiantly.

The clone turned, walking outside as slowly as he would allow himself.

“Hey, wait a minute, mohawk.”

He froze. The voice was the same as his own, a brother. The last time he’d heard a brother’s voice, it had been seconds before he killed him. Now, he resisted the urge to reach for the blaster at his hip.

It’ll only get Ry and Oksann killed too. Just let them take you.

His heart fell.

Please let Ry and Oks take care of the kids. Or at least get them to a safe place.

He turned back to face them. One of the stormtroopers had begun to stride towards him. Ry’s eyes were frantically flicking back and forth, but Oksann was moving towards him quickly. She stepped in between the two of them, signing something angrily at the stormtrooper. The trooper went to shove Oksann out of the way, and that seemed to snap Ry out of her stupor. She charged forward, grabbing him by his shoulder bell and shoving him backwards.

“Don’t. Touch. Her.” The venom in her voice was apparent.

“I don’t know what the kriff she’s saying,” he muttered.

“She’s telling you to stop fucking harrasing our patrons.”

“I need to see his identification.”

“He’s a drunkard that stumbles in here every morning. You’ll be lucky if you get a coherent sentence out of him at this hour.”

Chuck’s knees were shaking under him. The stormtrooper stared down Ry for a moment before his commanding officer sighed in exasperation.

“Stand down CT-1793. If he’s a regular, you may inspect his credentials later.” The clone trooper stared at Ry for a few more seconds, who met his visored gaze unwaveringly, before turning and striding back to his squad. Chuck could see some of the tension leave Ry’s shoulders as Oksann turned to him, resting her hand on his chest. Her eyes shone as she gave him a small smile, pushing him towards the door. Ry turned to face him, her voice cracked with anger, but he knew it was more frustration than anything. “I told you to get out. Now go.”

Chuck nodded. He stumbled back outside on unsteady legs, trying to keep his breathing even.

You’ve got to get back to the kids. You’ve got to go.

He turned the corner and broke into a sprint back towards the ship as soon as he was out of sight, swallowing the lump in his throat and ignoring the sting in his eyes as he ripped his commlink from his belt. As soon as he got far enough away from the settlement, he clicked the comm on.

“Arni, you there kid?”

It felt like it took an eternity for the Twi’lek to answer, and Chuck was about to try again when the youngling’s voice crackled through the link.

“Yeah, Nita and I just finished breakfast. We were about-“

“Kid, listen to me.”

Something in his tone must have given it away. Arni fell silent.

Chuck was panting, more from the tightness in his chest than the running.

“Pack up the ship and prep it for takeoff. We’ve got to go.”

Arni didn’t answer for a moment, and Chuckles could practically picture the kid looking around the ship, realizing their home was about to be uprooted, that there would be no goodbyes. He wondered if Nita had been within earshot.

“Alright,” they replied quietly. They didn’t need to ask why.

“I’m jogging back now.” He paused. “We’ll be alright.” He knew the reassurance sounded hollow.

“Ok. I’ll try to get pre-flight done before you get here.”

“Thanks kid.” His voice cracked, and he huffed in frustration as he tucked his commlink back in his belt.

The entire run back, he kept replaying the last moment with Ry and Oksann in his mind. They protected us. They didn’t have to, but they did. His eyes stung again, and he finally ripped off the goggles and face mask, pausing to bend over, his hands gripping his knees tightly as he fought the sob threatening to rip from his chest.

Another home lost.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he clenched his teeth tightly as he unleashed a muted roar, squatting down to pound his fists into the dirt, once, twice, and then burying his face in his hands.

Gotta keep moving.

He inhaled and exhaled sharply, straightened, wiped his eyes, and continued jogging.

When he turned into the grove of trees that the ship sat in, he could hear arguing, and his chest tightened again. Arni was up in the trees, pulling the lights down while Nita stood on the ramp of the ship, one arm clutching her doll while the other pointed accusingly at Arni.

“Nita, please, we have to get going. Can you make sure all of the stuff in the kitchen is stowed?” Arni’s voice was strained, and he could tell they were trying to reason with the tiny Pantoran.

“I told you, you must have heard Chuckles wrong. We can’t be leaving. We should wait until he gets here. Otherwise you’re just messing up everything for no reason.” Her voice was angry, and his heart broke. At the sound of his footsteps, her head whipped around, and the hopeful expression she wore nearly shattered him. “Chuck, you gotta tell Arni to stop taking down the lights.”

He stopped in front of her, squatting down. “Nita, honey, we have to go.”

Her bottom lip trembled, and he watched the last inkling of hope fade from her eyes. “But we can’t. What about Ry and Oksann?”

He rested his hands on her shoulders. “They’re going to be just fine. In fact, they made sure I got away from the Imperials safe. We can’t let that effort go to waste.”

“But what if the Imperials leave? They might! Then we could stay.”

Chuckles sighed, cupping her cheeks that were steadily dampening with tears. “Honey, we can’t stick around and find out. It’s too risky. I have to keep you and Arni safe. It’s what Ry and Oksann want. It’s what I want. We will make another home somewhere.”

Nita was no longer trying to hold back her tears, whimpering quietly. “But I wanted here to be our home.”

Chuckles pulled her into a hug. “I know honey. Me too.” He leaned back, wiping her tears with his thumbs. “But you know what? My home is wherever you and Arni are. As long as we’re together, we have a home. Alright? Pinky promise we’ll make another good one somewhere.”

He held out his pinky. Nita stared at it for a few seconds before turning and walking wordlessly back into the ship, sniffling loudly. Chuckles stayed frozen for another moment, his pinky still extended before he sighed, pushing himself to his feet. Arni hopped to the ground with a thud behind him, winding the lights around their arm. “Pre-flight should be about complete. I’ve got everything else packed.” Their eyes followed Nita’s small form as she disappeared inside the ship. “Will she be alright?”

Chuck rested a hand on their shoulder. “Yeah. She’s upset. She doesn’t understand yet. But she’ll be alright.” He looked down at Arni, meeting their brown eyes. “You did well.”

Arni nodded, but didn’t say anything. The two of them walked up the ramp to the ship.

Chuckles slid into the pilot seat as Arni went and got Nita strapped into one of the rear jump seats. Chuckles peered over his shoulder at the tiny Pantoran. Nita’s gaze was distant, her eyes still red with tears, and she clutched the trooper doll tightly to her chest. Arni was speaking quietly to her, but she wasn’t responding much. The most she did was nod, which Arni seemed to find acceptable. They gave her hand a squeeze before slipping into the co-pilot seat next to Chuckles.

“Where to?” they asked, pulling up the navicomputer display.

“The nebula. We can think of something there. How are we on supplies?”

“Can probably hold up a week, two if we stretch it.”

Chuck nodded, punching on the engine ignition. The engines whined from a few months of no use before roaring to life. He checked their status readouts, satisfied that they were functioning nominally before taking the steering yoke. It felt almost foreign in his hands after the last few months. He sighed.

“Alright. Let’s get out of here.”

Tag List: @seriowan @partoftheeternalsoul @rosmariner @misogirl828 @ellichonkasaurusrex @zoeykallus @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @gjrain20-starwars @dsburnerblog @staycalmandhugaclone @redheadgirl @fordo-kixed-rex @moonstrider9904 @rain-on-kamino @ladykatakuri

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bluntfish · 2 years

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Press-Me-Not, Gilded Anemone (Part III - Mutual Exchanges) [+18/NSFW]

Is it hard to ask for a date with an elusive man in the snow fields?

I am on my knees. I never thought I'll make another behemoth once more and my brainrot prevailed. Do I have the energy to make something akin to this? Perhaps in the future. No promises though. I underestimated myself last time after finishing CFL and god, I might as well do it again (in a different form since writing in this type of context got me wacked out). Still, thank you for reading this if you make it this far. You already made my day.

CW: sex (mostly mentioned but not purely explicit), comfort/angst themes. Minors DNI. 🐟

Your front door creaks open and closes behind you, where puddles of water pooled near the entrance. The sound of feet entering in. You’re back home, and Aurelius accompanies you this time. Warm lights fill the space with a flick of a switch. He sighs, removing his coat over one of your hangers and you do the same. The ornament on his turtleneck still hangs and swings when he lines his boots on top of your mats. He orients himself upright to adjust his sweater, then joins you in the kitchen.

Aurelius watches you opening the fridge, and sorting a few things. He then takes a glance over your countertop. It’s very neat and organized. Spices line up against the drawers, and your recipe box is stacked on top of the microwave.

“Do you mind if I look?” he inquired, holding the item of interest in his hands.

You nod with a hum. He shifts through it, noticing the neat handwriting explaining each dish and dessert.

“Huh,” he uttered, “are these yours?”

“My old man’s. He has much of a sweet tooth. Want me to make you some?”

“You don’t have to,” he says, closing the box back to its original place.

“Do you want a drink? I got fizzy pop and a few beers–”

“I’ll take a beer,” he quickly responded.

A beer can slid over the counter. Wiping the sweat from the can, he cracks the tab open and gulps the golden drink.

“If I knew you drink, I might have considered having a bar date instead,” you laughed.

You lead the marksman to your living room once more, arranged somewhat differently than his last visit. The sewing station was the same as ever, with your other coat waiting to be mended with a durable cloth scrap. The windowed door leading to the back view of the lake is closed shut. Two cans rest on the center table as you start up the fireplace. Aurelius takes a gander at the wall adjacent to the mantle. Photos of your family, how Raine used to be with the rolling plains and shimmering lakes. He eyes you as a wee child, and silently moves the corners of his mouth to a slight, upturn smile.

“You had a good life, (Y/N). These photos… you were loved.”

“No need to get so mushy with me. They’re what they are,” you softly giggled.

“But I’m serious. I wish I had something like that, even now.”

His stance was unwavering. Lost in memories and wistful look in his eyes, his hand fetters as it lowers to a side table. It’s decorated with more photos of your formative years. He nearly knocked off a frame but caught it in time. Sweat on the brow. You pretend you didn’t notice his fumble.

“Is your dad coming home soon?” Aurelius murmured.

“He’s out,” you hesitantly responded, “gone to my Aunt’s for karaoke.”

“He sings?”

“Pretty much. Won in some local competitions for a few years now. He won’t be back till the afternoon tomorrow. Probably.”

You walked to your sewing table and picked up a hefty, thick book. It’s decorated with embellished lines drawn on all of its corners. Similar to an embroidered handkerchief. The man walks up to you, curious about what you have. And you presented your pages. Sketches and notes of various plants and trees you observed in the wilderness or found online. Some, like the dried flowers Aurelius gave to you previously, were drawn in meticulous detail. Almost too lifelike for him at least.

“Wow,” he mutters with his eyes on you, “this is amazing.”

“Why, thank you for the compliment.”

“Where did you put the flowers by the way?”

Without saying a word, you gestured your hands toward your bedroom. He soon follows with a glimmer in his eyes. Gently the door was pushed open. The switch turned on to reveal what you have from the darkness. Homely and inviting your space was. Small knick-knacks laying on your shelves and windows. Your bed is tucked in the corner of your room, against the window. It can accommodate you, but with two people it would be a crowd. You’re trying not to come up with any ideas. Aurelius quipped about the corner of your room. His attention is on a pile of books on a table as you’re stacking more. Tomes of nature and wonder you read many times, but treated as paperweights for the meanwhile. He took a whiff of a familiar scent emitting from them.

“What are you doing over there?” he asks.

His hand glides over the hardcovers and nearly lifts one book till you stop him. Your hands, small and meager, overlap his.

“Flower pressing,” you said. “I want them to last a bit longer so I thought it would be nice to decorate parts of my sketchbook with those. They’re not done yet, so you have to wait. Maybe next week.”

“Sorry for being nosy,” he said with a smile.

You quickly withdrew your hand.

“Must be the liquid courage.”

“Maybe so,” he laughs.

“Well, Mr. Marksman, I have to cut the tour short,” you said gently shoving him out, “Your presence ever staying in my room will be unbearable to my psyche.”

“How so?”

“...I’ll get impure thoughts. And I don’t think you want to deal with that,” you replied with a muted voice.

He chuckles and plays along as he strolls out of there. If anything, the humble act of showing your room to him is endearing. Including your sudden modesty. You’re both back in the living room. The lights get dimmer as the fire warms the house. You sit close to Aurelius. The couch creases with both of your weights. Once again, he removes his glasses and tucks them around his zippered collar.

“So what do you want to do now?” he asks.

“It’s getting late. Are you busy tomorrow? Maybe we can talk later.”

“I mean, right now (Y/N).”

Thoughts rummage in your skull. Your arms rest against your chin as you lean over toward your knees. You’re contemplating. His hand draws upon his scarred face as he too thinks about what else to say. After meditating your mind further, you started to speak.

“About …the bed thing. How did you feel about it?”

The color of Aurelius’s face shot up.

“I-I was about to say. I felt like I was pushing myself but… I don’t know. Did you regret what we did? What have I done?”

“No regret came to mind. It was something that came up in the moment,” you nervously assured him, with your thumbs twiddling. “I thought if I didn’t do anything then, then I probably wouldn’t meet you again after that encounter. And you proved me wrong. B-But I did feel like it went too fast. If anything, maybe it was me that was pushing it too far.”

“I don’t think so,” he bluntly added, “though… I was worried that you didn’t enjoy it…”

“N-No I did! I wish it would…last longer.”

Aurelius stares at you. You return his glance. His arm reaches to yours and he’s holding your hands. Pulling you close to share his warmth. Engulfed by his warmth.

“It was reckless of me,” he whispers in a dour tone. “We barely know each other. I…I wonder why I agreed with it. But I won’t deny I got attached to you, (Y/N). You saved me.”

“I did?” you questioned.

“It’s been three years since I've devoted my life to the harsh climate of Raine. No sane person would opt to do so unless they had a death wish. But without it, I wouldn’t meet you. And I’m very thankful. However…”

His raspy voice trails off to the flames. You witnessed the fire reflected in his eyes.

“The solitude offered by the snowfields is what I wanted of course. But sometimes I feel I can't just be out here by myself. It’s very…lonely out here. I shared some of my thoughts with Marshal Zhong a few nights ago. It was… a response. But not what I was looking for. What’s your take?”

“Unsure if you want to be living on the tundra any longer, Aurelius?”

“It was the first thing that came to mind. It’s not like I have other places I can run to,” he admits.

“Then you could do both, you know.”

“Being a man of the snowfields and still be with you?”

“Yeah. You have an important job. You told me your stories, and I want you to keep doing that. Helping others when you can.”

“But came from a desire to escape–”

“Then does it matter what the original reason was?”

He was stunned by your sudden statement. The man paused with his head turned away. His hand is unmoving, his body still. Barely putting himself together, cracking from the pressure of the dark premonitions through his mind. Aurelius assumes to be a man made of restraint, though naturally, he is rather impulsive. Awkwardly he expresses this in his daily interactions, sometimes without thought. But intentional rashness has some caveats.

The last time he was acting on his heart fully cost the lives of his family in Utgard. His life spiraled as he was tugged and pulled by different factions. The city’s full of lions; fully capable to mash its plutocratic maws towards the destitute and those barely surviving. And Aurelius was well familiar with this game to the point of exhaustion. Those experiences became an extension of his current outings. As if it's all he knows. No peace in sight. A facade of a lone man wanting to connect not just nature but his kind. He doesn't know what's worse: admitting these feelings or dying without a breath of his struggles.

You sat in silence. The sudden cracks of wood burning across from you were the only sounds resonating in the space. Then, a breath. Out of your lips.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"...about me?"

"Yes," you stated, "I can't read minds. What’s troubling you?"

Aurelius shakes. His breathing shortens. His hand was unable to hold its grip, resting upon his lap once more. His teeth meet his lip for a second. Then he's calm. A pin was raised. The unnerving vibe brought upon the man you desperately wanted to know.

"I'm not a good person."

"What? Why would you say that?"

"I've done some horrible things. You won't understand."

"But that's not what you are–"

"Don't assume what you think of me," he howled faintly.

You froze.

“I am just as horrible as those rich bastards who ruined my life. I did what I do to survive. But for what? I never asked to have a life like this. The things I’ve seen since I was given this power,” he says while gripping his hands, nearly leaving marks on his palms, “Inhuman. A pawn. That’s all I was. And here is no different. I used to be like you. With my family and now its–”

More words stammered out of his mouth. The sudden rise of his panicked voice could jump even the largest of animals. His eyes could dig through your skin. Skinning you whole. Without warning, you grabbed his hand and pulled yourself to his side with your arms bearing nothing but sympathy. A tight squeeze. You remain still but shaken. Nothing can surmount the stream of words failing to break out. Failing to break out of your vocal cords.

“What are you doing?” he sternly said with a tremble.

Aurelius hears a whimper, soon a croak. Fresh tears soaked his sweater. He looks down as you clung on, losing his train of thought. He silently rubs your back, hoping it would calm you down. It doesn’t. He tries it again, this time his entire body captures you in the frame. You were finally able to put together sentences.

“Do you think I’ll ditch you because of your past? Because of the people turning your life upside down? None of that changes how I feel, Aurelius.”

He says no more. The realization hits him. Nearly admitting his pain he thought of the worse outcome. That you won't want to associate with him. That you’ll sever his interest and he’ll be alone. But why is that wish not coming true, he pondered. You were firm, stiff as soggy cardboard, and still admired this man with kind eyes. He is puzzled. Why would you want to be with a broken man like him, he thought. As if he doesn’t think the multiple occasions you shared with him were not enough. It was never enough to ease his mind of its uncertainty. And yet, you defied those claims.

“…you’re not going to let me go?” he inquired with his voice quavering.

“Fate dealt you a bad hand. I can’t fix any of your past, your regrets. But I told you many times, didn’t I? I care about you. We just have to move forward.”

He uttered a confused hum. A kind of hum he didn’t realize at first. Typically he will believe the first thing out of your mind but Aurelius has become cautious, more conscientious. He doesn’t have the grace to speak out loud about his woes, for the fear of losing you. He doesn’t want to lose anyone again amidst his self-loathing. So he zips up his lips, unsure what to say. Except, for one thing.

“I really didn’t deserve this,” he shutters to himself.

“You do,” you asserted, “live for your present, Aurelius. We want you to be around longer.”

“We?” Aurelius repeated with concern.

“It’s not just me. Marshal Zhong, the people you encountered and helped. How can you be bad when you’re just doing what you can? Anyone would understand that. I lived here for my entire life, but a city like Utgard could make a kind-hearted person twisted. You’re just unraveling. Trying to be whole again after being freed. Right? Is that the real reason why you came here? Just to start over?”

Your head rests against his chest, under his chin. The light of the flames radiates your face. It fills in the missing heat after shedding so many tears, till you caught a drop on your cheek. Aurelius succumbs. His eyes puffed up, trying to wipe off the rolling tears with his freed hand. However, it doesn’t stop the jumbled words of his apology. Like a child distraught by his actions, he pleaded for forgiveness. Several times, you assured him of each one. Truly, for a man who suffered for so long, he’s trying to come to terms with his former agony.

“Why does my chest ache when you’re being so nice to me? Your honesty knows no bounds,” he cries.

“It’s what I know best.”

The both of you were mentally exhausted. Aurelius reaches for his unfinished can, as he hesitates to take everything at once. Though, he pushed through and immediately set it down with a refreshed expression. All he does is just lay back on the couch, staring at the fire kindling itself. And you are in his arms now he has your attention. He nearly mouths something, then his raspy voice emerges from his lips.

“I’m sorry for the outburst.”

“It’s alright. Not like you’re trying to make me run to the hills.”

“Good. That would be bad," he mutters.

You grinned with a slight chuckle, calming yourself down from his warmth. His hand limps over to your shoulder as he exhales and breathes again. A sigh of relief. His watery eyes dry up, only perceiving the light in front of him. Across the darkness. Mutual silence. No words were spoken between the two of you. Communicating through your hands, you gently join his grasp for your touch. Once more, you felt his finger reaching. Another wrapping your palms. His heat sears your arms, your body. As if you’re roasted over a bonfire, waiting for someone to put it out. Yet it never does.

“(Y/N),” he said in a soft voice, “if you become anything in the world, what would you be?”

“What do you mean?”

“...I was thinking if you could be like…an animal, or a thing. What would you want to be, if you were that?”

“A tree. I’ll be a tree,” you responded after some thought.

“How so?”

“...I always want to protect others, even when I’m not physically strong enough to do so. That doesn’t mean I want to neglect my well-being. I want to be rooted, well-grounded, but enough to take care of the people I love.”

You didn’t include the sudden insight you picked from your inquirer. Aurelius feels like the first embers of a forest fire. His touch alone could make you combust; his finger is the ignition set off from that particular night. Rapid like a backdraft. As much as you want to be consumed by him, you decide to withhold such words for later. He’s touched by your thoughtful answer as you sit there swimming in your head.

“Oh,” he hummed, “I figured you'd say that. My other guess would be a kind of flower.”

You giggled, ignoring the burning desire deep in your corporeal essence. “Or I could mention being a rabbit.”

“I’m grateful you’re predictable at least,” he says in his usual blunt tone.

“What about you? What would you be?”

His face contorts into contemplation. The energy that left him, the mired thoughts drowned itself off. He was not certain of what kind of plant he wanted to become. Or if he had any such thought about it.

“Do you want me to help you? You got quiet for a minute.”

“Would be nice. Your thoughts?" he quietly pleads.

“I think…you remind me of an anemone. Do you know what those are?”

Something sparked inside Aurelius. The flower came to him in a mental image, swaying in the wind.

“What color?” he whispered in eagerness.

“A white one. It means sincerity or…a love that is forlorn in some places. It’s from a book I read a while back.”

The man follows your mental throughline, listening with all intent. He identifies himself as a pale, white bloom. Fresh in spring, reaching towards the sun. And you, the person who tended the fields in his mind, plucked him off the ground. Gingerly snipped by the stem. From your tender hands, you carried him home. You put him in your best vase and he basked in the sunlight and warmth. Facing toward you constantly, turning his attention as you walked around your dwelling space. For your favor, for noticing him among the myriad of flowers. For once in his life, he feels lucky. Lucky to meet you amid his other thoughts. And a thought it was.

“Aurelius?”

“Mhm? Sorry.”

His face was full of peachy wonder. His tone of voice is a bit brighter. He’s enamored. Smitten. That’s the emotion he couldn’t pinpoint. His heart pumps harder, leaning close to your face. Another bold motion as his hand wraps your shoulder. Pulling you closer. Lost in his mind, his lips brush past your ear to quietly proclaim his feelings.

“I really don’t know if…this is love, or it's me wanting to be close. But could you…let me take care of you? Take care of me? Please. There’s nowhere I would rather be right now than here, (Y/N).”

He grew silent. Then you felt something moving across your face. Your heart bursts out with his sudden kiss on your cheek. You clung on, flabbergasted by the smooth transition attacking your lips to your neck.

“Whoa there loverboy, let's slow down a second,” you protested. He didn’t turn away. He had gotten more delicate, more familiar. He could be drowning himself from the floral scents of his jacket former. Or could be you. His exhale is deep, deep as his body yearns to merge itself into its match. Melting, melding to each other till nothing remains. He leaves the last pluck on your lips once more, and intently gazes at you. Embarrassed by what he did, but willing to claim his guilty behavior outright.

“Was I too forward?”

You were too flustered to even speak. You express your bemused deposition with an audible confirmation.

“I… I… didn’t mind it. It’s…nice.”

He gives you a look. The kind of look when animals leer at each other in the wild. Ones that make the relationship between hunter and prey. The fawn to his gray wolf. The heat of this encounter is more spartan than last time. More controlled. You figured that he was still restraining himself. If you give yourself wholeheartedly to his desire, you’re not sure if there’s any sense of self left in him, in you, in both of your hearts. And one thought permeates through the threshold of reason, a single thought that could break this pining to pinning your bodies together with a tack.

“Are you…going to…?”

“If you want to,” he murmurs.

“I’m asking you,” you clarified without sounding too wanting.

“I don't want to push it. I can stop.”

You reeled him back as when he backpedaled his body away. You earnestly want him to follow through with his actions. But in the end, he grew restless. He can’t think in the good conscience of being wrapped up like this. In the dark and your presence. His mind is mush. Some of it, you thought, could be the self-conscious actions Aurelius does to justify his doubts. But for this relationship to survive, there’s another thing to address to him.

You prepared your conscience by a heave and proceeded to tell some of the unsavory things in life. In your life. Things don’t usually go to plan, as living on the tundra does. There are times when you feel defeated or unable to change. Death of a loved one. Stuck in the snow, crying alone behind a forced smile. Even a picturesque life with your family doesn’t show the true colors. You appreciate Aurelius praising the life you have, but it is like anything else. It is what it is. You are what you are. A person who experiences varying degrees of sadness, pain, and loss. Just like him.

“I never knew you went through all of that,” he remarked.

“You deserved to know. Now we’re even,” you chimed.

He takes this information in leaving only a smile written over his face, holding you ever close suddenly. You did your best not to utter a word though it surprised you regardless. The fireplace is getting dimmer, but you don’t want to move your spot. Neither does he. Darkness overtakes the majority of your vision. Barely make out any of the shadows. Outlines of his body you trace with your only sense of touch. Taut, just as you remembered. His core is just as strong. You hear his faint breaths reacting as you make your way feeling his thigh till you paused and looked at him. You assume he probably has blood rushing to his head.

“Mr. Marksman… I…” you stuttered.

“We’re not strangers, (Y/N). Call me by my name,” he says.

“Aurelius,” you said with conviction.

You can hear him gulp. A loud one in some ways. Your fingers dance their way from resting on his sternum to his zippered collar. One of his hands broke free, grasping you from fiddling with his glasses tucked between its teeth. You feel small when he’s holding your hand. You like this feeling a lot. Wanting to ball up in his arms. Enveloped by his body tenfold.

You carefully continued, “how are you going to treat me? Making out or getting started with the act? Pick your poison.”

“No offense but I have no clue."

“We can help each other. If that’s okay?” you mumbled.

“Sure thing, but I have an idea. Maybe get on top and we can start there?”

You remove the glasses from his sweater and set it aside. Your legs start moving over his, sitting on his lap. Unsure what you’re doing, you rest against his chest. You’re not trying to think too hard about what he has going on down there. Do you think he knows? He probably knows what you’re doing as he instinctively rests his hand on your waist, sitting back on the couch. He’s getting comfortable with the new sensation.

“Are you alright?”

“M-Maybe,” you meekly responded.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll do my best if anything,” he whispers with assurance.

You’ve always known Aurelius has a pedant for being sensitive to your wants and needs. You know he’ll go out of his way to make himself comfortable for you. He says with quiet bravado but he’s just as nervous as you are. You can feel his hand shaking, either from excitement or the unnerved anxiousness when interacting with a person. Gently you wrapped your arms around his neck and sighed. Sweat accumulates between the two of you. A hidden heat emerges from your stomach—a pit of flame.

“Or maybe you’ll show me instead,” he mumbles.

You’re nervous. Drawing upon his fingers to your chin like striking a match, Aurelius gently glances at your face. Lost in words. Undecided on what step to follow your bones too. You met his gaze after avoiding his eyes, avoiding any reciprocation. Yet you’re being filled with a tender kiss. He’s taking the initiative. His hand digs deep, tugging you closer to his body. Sharing his heat. No words, just action in play.

“I’m a little impatient. I hope you can forgive me,” he apologizes absentmindedly amidst his sudden kissing.

You are familiar with what happens when an animal is out of breath. Its lungs max out their capacity after exerting their energy output. Sweat ducts exit the body or the animal pants constantly to exhale hot air to cool down. Whatever it is, it fails to do its job. Your mind drifts akin to a white kite sailing across the sky. The bitter cold blows it through. Strong winds. Forces of nature overcame and witnessed through the light cracks of your window. An intimate sight you don’t want anyone to see, lest you incur the wrath of what had come.

You’re like a naked stalk with its petals plucked. Akin to a child playing “loves me, loves me not”. Clothes are peeled away. Parts of your skin are bare. And the friction against the soft fabric between your legs is making you lose your grip on reason. Aurelius is already far gone in his mind, other than his quiet quips. Questioning his actions, hearing your reactions. Till he pulls your lower garments, you quake with sudden consciousness.

“…protection.”

He blinks. You mustered a timid smile as you quickly got off of him, not making an effort to cover your body.

“I-I’ll be right back. I need to get something.”

You run off to the darker parts of the house while Aurelius sits withholding any sudden shouts. You’re in your father’s room. There was a time you found something, a secret that he didn’t share with you, and you kept it locked in your mind if anything came about when you needed it. And now it's the time. You opened the nightstand and found small packages untouched. Checking the date, and it's still good for the next few weeks. You take two or three and leave it as it is. Knowing your father doesn’t keep the inventory of his condoms like the number of logs you saw through on the daily.

You enter the living room. Moonlight spills from the sliding doors. Aurelius adjusts his sweater, his pants, and his hair. He’s waiting as the fireplace light dies out. The man pulls himself up from the seat once he caught your sight and walks towards you with an embrace. You wrapped his arms to catch your breath.

“O-Okay we can continue. Sorry, I just want to make sure we’re safe doing this so I got something for you to wear,” you informed him.

He murmurs something inaudible. You could barely hear it from his raspy voice. Soon, your feet are being lifted off the ground. You’re being carried. Aurelius silences your outcries with a kiss as you’re lifted above his waist.

“Where to?” he asks in determination.

“Oh. U-Uh…”

Your eyes instinctively glance at your bedroom door. Then he slowly brings his body over, nudging his head against the entrance, and carefully walks into the dark room. The window light beams over your bed. You realize where this is going. He collapses over the mattress with you in his arms. His hands run on your bare back reaching lower.

“W-Wait, what about my—”

“Morning. We’ll fetch your clothes before your father finds us like this,” he hushes.

He pops off the sweater, knowing his body can’t contain the heat he’s emanating. His cheeks are blazing. You’re examining his scarred chest in full view. The sheer mass of Aurelius’s maleness is radiated by the glow outdoors. It's like you're watching a sculpture making its first gesture in life. You gasped as he reached your inner thigh. Clumsily wrapping, pressing against his upper waist. Your heart races. His hair obscures his vision as he continues where he last started. You felt something growing. Something big. It’s distracting. His pants are pulled down. You’re pinned on the sheets. As if you’re going to be pressed like the flowers you prepared.

Aurelius opens one of your hands to take what you borrowed, and he looks at it carefully. He tears it open and is speechless as it falls on your chest.

“What’s the matter?”

“N-Nothing,” he says, picking it up quickly.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” you teased.

Taking it as a challenge, his fingers quickly stretched the rubber over his member. But his first attempt was too quick.

“Damn it.”

He frowns in frustration. It ripped after his fumbling for five seconds.

“Here, let me just–”

You sat up and opened another. You asked Aurelius to hold still. He tries, holding his breath. You reach down holding the tip and roll it on. Avoiding eye contact, only staring at his chest. You try to be covert about it, but you took a quick peek. How big is it, you wonder? You felt it doesn’t accommodate the size of your hand, lest what he’s going to do to your insides in a few minutes. Regardless, he utters a faint moan from your touch. You shutter; the chills set in. You pulled your head back and looked at him.

"It's on."

"Thanks," he mutters sadly. His ego was bruised.

"What's up? You want to be sexy about it?"

"I want to impress you," he huffs.

"You already have, big guy. If you already got me like this, you're doing something right."

He sighs in agreement. He leans over, taking in your words as you're laying back against the sheets. Your arms drape behind his back.

He murmurs to your ears. “Let me know when.”

You clung on, once more pressed against his weight. Hoping you’ll take in what he has. He glances at your pleading eyes. Sealing your lips shut then he gets to work. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t utter a faint sound. Just raw flesh meeting in unison. Gentle as gentle can be in your mind. Intimately whispering how he’ll treat you right in one thrust. Timidly proclaims his wants in another. At first. The moment when he truly relaxed, hell broke loose. You understand what he means when he gets selfish. You’re watching him making his decisions out loud with his hands. Becoming even less graceless and more coarse. And it excites you to see this man puppeteering himself without a master, without forethought. Just himself in the rhythm of bodies talking to each other.

It was all a blur. You’re praying for your father doesn’t connect the dots when he gets home. The puddle of clothes trailing to your room, underwear dropped on the ledge of your bed, and Aurelius taking your body as his own. You’re praying this night doesn’t end. You’re praying he’ll take you to the gates if you happen to die that night. You’re praying so hard that his passionate feelings will imprint on your torso.

“(Y/N)...” he uttered in sweat, “do you want me to stop?”

“N-No, keep going. I’m okay.”

His hands squeeze your mass. Fastening to your hips as you still hold on. Your brain came up with many excuses. Excuses to say when someone asks about your first time. Nothing is coming up. His sweat drops on your forehead, and you embrace him closer. His movement became erratic, but you didn’t mind. You utter small gasps, urging him to continue till the landmarks on your skin darken. Smothered. Claimed. The last thing you heard before his finish was a harsh groan. Twitching, then his muscles ease. The fire subsided into a flicker.

You curled up after cleaning up the act, tying up his condom to your trash can. Your clothes were picked off soon after Aurelius traced his steps from the bed to the couch. You, on the other hand, are sore on the sheets. It might take a century to recover what he did with your limbs. You crawled underneath the bedcovers till he entered the room door closed. He dumps the clothes on your center rug and then scoots onto your bed. You are afraid this will happen. The two of you barely fit on your mattress. He fixes this by lifting you off the bed, then lays down with you on top. Your legs tangling with his.

Aurelius stares at your ceiling decorations and you’re fidgeting your fingers around his neck. The wind is knocked out of him. He pants all wide-eyed. His head rested on one of your pillows while you gingerly rubbed his hair playfully.

“You were enjoying yourself,” you whispered to his ear.

“S-Sorry… I couldn’t help it. Was it too much? I can do it again,” he tiredly pleaded.

“Silly.”

You held him close as his arms wrapped around you, kissing him on the cheek. “You’re fine. You’re very manly, you know that?”

“M-Manly?”

“Is there a problem with that?”

He shook his head. The two of you lay there on the bed naked. Embracing still. Pondering what is to come in the future.

“Is it me or did I feel a lot better after sex?” he said while running his hand over his face.

“Did you?”

“Maybe I did,” he continued thinking out loud, “I feel like my mind floated somewhere far. Like a flower patch. Next time I’ll try better, (Y/N). I really lost myself, I think.”

“What if I told you that I enjoyed that?” you whispered to his ear.

“Really now?”

He blinks a few times. The room is dark, but you can tell he’s content hearing such praise. He quietly chuckles while you were smooching his lips a few times, giggles sneaking between each exchange.

“Maybe I should let myself loose more often. Thank you for listening to me. I’m sorry if I overwhelmed you.”

“No need to apologize. If anything, I’m relieved you got off of your chest.”

Your fingers join his, and your palm matches his palm. With this embrace, he sighs in silence.

“I love you.”

“Don’t say that out loud! My walls have ears,” you snorted.

He explodes into laughter till the two of you calm down staring at each other with tender affection.

“Didn’t you say before your pops will kill me if he finds us like this?”

“I mean, he could if he was in his prime,” you said, “but… I don’t think I’ll cry wolf for today.”

Shutting your eyes on his chest was the best feeling you had in a long while. You glance up, and Aurelius is out. You hear him snore softly, tuckered out from the energy he input for the night. You didn’t want to move or make the right decisions. You captured his heart, where you wanted him to be. And you hope he doesn’t let go.

When morning rolls about, you are awakened by the sun rays hitting your face, unmoving. Aurelius remains in the same spot. He’s still hugging you close as if he’s in a dream protecting you from danger. He murmurs in his latent slumber a slurry of words so nonsensical that it got you to chuckle.

“Aurelius,” you shake him.

“Don’t,” he stammered, “Stay. Stay with me.”

“Aurelius,” you call him again, “do you want breakfast?”

“Breakfast?”

“I can’t cook if you’re holding me tight, handsome.”

Aurelius sluggishly sits up, pulling your body along with his. His bed hair is impressive. It’s all over his face.

“Good morning,” you smiled, “ready to pretend that you got here during daybreak?”

“Do you want me to cover myself with snow on top of it?” he seriously contended.

“If you want to!”

The two of you followed up with your makeshift plan. Not blinking an eye about what happened a night ago. And soon, cooked eggs greet the morning rays from the window sill. Two plates, two cups, two of everything. He’s smiling more. Laughing even.

The weight of his past still affects him though he doesn’t have to carry it by himself anymore. At least with you, he’ll look forward to even the most cloudy of days. Chatting without a pine or yearn sometimes. And soon, you hope the first touches of spring will reach where you are. As long as you keep reaching, his touch will bloom onwards to better horizons. Your gilded anemone.

#dislyte aurelius #dislyte aurelius x reader #dislyte x reader #all three parts in total are a bit over 13k words and I can't believe I pushed through that djfkadjfkaj #anyway good night. idk what to write after releasing this. if you have a prompt feel free to send an ask #dislyte fanfiction #written by bluntfish

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