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pterodactylterrace · 3 years

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Beautiful

Title: Beautiful

Chapter: 1/1

Summary: I'll take just a moment with you, rather than a lifetime without.

Rating: T

Warnings: Drinking, fluff, death, pregnancy. Definitely not my greatest work, but it makes me feel some kinda way, so I thought I’d share anyway.

When his Ma used to tell him about when she first met his Pop, Syverson always thought it was a dramatic, romanticized version of events. How could you possibly know someone is right for you the second you meet them? You need time to get to know them, to see if you can tolerate living with all the fucked up parts of them before you decide they're the one you'll stick with for the rest of your life.

Now though, his blue eyes catching on a pair of green ones from across the bar, Syverson was beginning to think she may have been onto something. Something about that girl felt... right. A little voice in the back of his mind told him 'yup, she's the one we're gonna marry'.

Being a little old fashioned, he'd asked her for a dance, clumsily moving to some sort of made up rhythm that most definitely wasn't the song that was playing. Her laugh. Oh God her laugh. He swore his heart beat to the sound of her laughter, so pure and carefree. It was a sound he wanted to keep hearing for as long as he could.

He'd spent most of his night with her after that. They shared many rounds and found themselves lost in conversation. Before either one knew it, it was last call. Syverson offered to walk her home, willing to do almost anything to prolong his time with her. After all, he never knew when he would see her again.

They had barely gotten out of the bar when she'd stumbled off to the bushes, violently throwing up the last several rounds of drinks. Syverson dutifully held her long brunette strands from her face, his large hand gently rubbing her back, his callouses catching on the soft material of her dress.

In spite of that, he'd still managed to get her number. He didn't bother waiting the 'required' three days before calling. Games were for boys, and he wasn't about to waste time he could be spending with her. They had their first official date later on that week. Syverson broke out his 'good' shirt and everything, no matter how ridiculous he felt in it. Dress clothes and Syverson just didn't mix, but he couldn't just take a pretty girl like her out wearing one of his usual t-shirts.

She'd been delighted by the flowers he'd bought her on their first date. Surprised when he got more for their second, and downright shocked when he continued the tradition for their third. For some reason, he absolutely refused to show up at her door without flowers for her. The first one had been from a store. She could tell from the cellophane wrapping. The other two, she suspected he picked himself. The image of such a burly man delicately trying to pick flowers was both silly, and endearing.

She'd been reluctant when Syverson mentioned wanting to introduce her to his parents. His meeting with hers had gone off without a hitch, her father commandeering him to the study for most of the night, luring him in with scotch, and promises of framed pictures from when she was growing up. The two men were fast friends, and her mother was delighted with how well mannered he was. She just wasn't sure what she would do if his mother didn't like him. He was definitely a mama's boy, though he'd probably kill any man that dared to say that to his face.

He'd reassured her over and over that she was going to love her. He was almost desperate for the two most important women in his life to like each other. Thankfully, they had hit it off almost as well as Syverson had with her father. He was almost a little jealous (fine, he was definitely a lot jealous) when his mother offered her the spatula to lick when they were making cookies. He was the chief cookie dough spoon licker, and he had a t-shirt form his childhood that proved it. If it meant they liked each other, however, Syverson was willing to relinquish his title. This time.

He was gobsmacked when his mother handed him a pillow and a spare blanket that night, shooing him off toward the couch. It only took one stern, raised eyebrow from his mother to keep him from protesting. He knew she expected him to wait for marriage. She also knew that he hadn't. He was well aware she knew of that fact as well, but that didn't mean had to put up with it under her roof. She had raised him to be a gentleman, after all.

The pair of them found a beautiful home out in the country, a ton of property for kids to play on and for Aika to run freely. There were even a few apple trees in the far back of the property. That's where they got married, under those trees, who's fruit was the same color as her eyes. It took a few years of work to turn it into their dream home, but it was their labor of love. They had ripped the inside down to studs and rebuilt everything just how they wanted it. Syverson put in a fence around the property, a project that took over a year to complete.

It was just a week after they had finally finished the last of their renovations that her water broke, all over the brand new tile floor in the kitchen. It was also two months before her due date. Syverson had done his best to stay calm for her. He was just as terrified as she was, but she needed him to be strong. The most terrifying moment of his life was when she gave her final push and the doctor began wiping off the baby. The silence was like a knife to the heart. A team of people were rushed in and began working on the tiny infant.

"What's going on?" She had whispered, turning tearful eyes up to her husband, her heart dropping more and more with every passing second. Syverson had slid around the bed, peering over the nurses heads at the little girl that had just been brought into the world. They were sucking out her nose and mouth, vigorously rubbing her with a towel, trying to get her to take a breath.

His world started spinning again when he heard her first tiny cries, steadily growing louder and louder as she made her unhappiness known. He was sure to wipe the tears from his eyes before he turned to his wife, carefully taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles. "She's ok. She's ok."

Walking his daughter down the aisle was the hardest thing he ever had to do. He was a good guy, sure enough. He treated his baby right. That didn't make it any easier to give her away to her new life. That day was only the second time his wife had seen Syverson cry.

He could tell he was getting older, and that the years hadn't been kind. His knees clicked whenever he moved, his back was in constant pain, and he developed tremors in his arms. His wife had aged beautifully, however. The lines around her bright green eyes only underlined their beauty, and grey had been threaded gracefully through her hair. Now, though, was the most difficult time of his life. They had found the cause of the tremors. A tumor, deep in his brain, and an aggressively growing one at that. The risk of operating on someone his age was too high. It was getting closer and closer to his time to go, and he never felt so powerless in his life. All he had ever been able to promise his wife before was that he would be there for her. What could he tell her now? He was leaving her all one. There wasn't going to be anyone at home to take care of her anymore.

Her small, delicate hand found it's way into his palm, still rough even after all the years. She didn't want him to go, but they both knew his time was coming. "Don't cry for me, darling. I had a good life. The Lord blessed me with a little girl and a beautiful wife. I promise, I'll see you again one day."

"Where's Teddy?" The most heart wrenching words that had ever left her mother's mouth. Her mind had started to go in the years following her father's passing, and lately she'd been forgetting more and more. Telling her mother that her father had passed years ago was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do. She watched her mother break all over again. She vowed to never tell her again. Every time after that she had told her mother "he's in the garden".

"Teddy." Her mother's weak voice broke through the monotonous beep of the monitor.

"He's in the garden, Mama."

"Teddy." She repeated, her eyes fixed just beyond her daughter's face.

"I told you I'd see you again, darling. What do you say we go home, beautiful?"

Taglist: @Xxxkatxo @Weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient @summersong69 @mis-lil-red @lharrietg @amberangel112 @mansaaay

#captain syverson #captain syverson fanfiction #captain syverson x ofc #sand castle #sand castle fanfiction #henry cavill fanfiction #teddy syverson

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

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Dreams, Chapter 3

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 3

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2344

Summary: It’s Christmas in Wisconsin for Sam and the reader.

Warnings: angst (sensing a theme here), alcohol, slow burn

Christmas Eve was a Thursday, which meant you were working. You’d predicted it would be slow, but there were big chunks of time where no one was in the bar at all. Christmas carols on the radio helped pass the time, and you drank a little more of the almost-coquito you’d thrown together in the back at the beginning of the shift than you needed to. It reminded you of your aunt and the way she’d smell of coconut through Boxing Day every year when you were growing up; welcome nostalgia you could tolerate like pressing a thumb into a bruise and distracted you from the evisceration of thinking of Dean. The day shift had left the bar understocked, so Sam spent a good amount of time going up and down the stairs refilling refrigerators and cutting fruit for drinks. Around 10 or 11 the people who didn’t want to wrap up the night when their in-laws went home straggled in, a handful of regulars that you generally liked but had a tendency to get a little rowdy when left alone together. It didn’t help that they showed up a few drinks in.

The merriment was infectious, and it was sweet to hear grown men proud of the gifts they’d gotten their loved ones. One even brought a few bottles of homemade maple syrup to give to the others, sliding one sheepishly across the bar to you. You were pouring out a round of coquito when Sam came up from the basement with a towel tossed over his shoulder.

“Everything should be good,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t cut it in months and the ends fell gracefully around his shoulders. A piece fell oddly across his forehead and you reflexively fixed it for him.

“What did you two get each other?” a regular, Steve, asked with a relaxed finger pointing between you and Sam. His cheeks were ruddy with whiskey and winter air.

“Oh. I—uh, we don’t really do gifts,” Sam offered placatingly.

“Man, where did you find this girl? Listens to classic rock, drives a stick shift, and doesn’t ‘do gifts’?” another, Joe, added.

“You better be buying her some presents or someone else will.” Jake, a customer you’d always felt safe around since he tossed out a rude guy for you a month back, chimed in.

You and Sam had never explicitly said that you were together. People just assumed, and it was easier to go along with it than explain the truth, especially because you didn’t look similar enough to be siblings and you still couldn’t shake your need to cling to him from time to time. It was almost never an issue aside from periodic mild teasing. This Christmas talk was a departure from the non-explanations you and Sam usually gave and you found yourself waiting for a cue on where to go. Sam seemed to be having the same thought, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

You spoke before the moment had a chance to become too pregnant. “You know how hard it is to buy presents for a guy who doesn’t like having stuff? If he buys me something, I’ll have to get him something too!” You hoped it sounded smooth, your lying out of practice in the months since you’d had a cover on a hunt. Sam smirked gratefully at you.

Joe shook his head wistfully. “Seriously, where did you find her?”

“She’s pretty great, isn’t she?” Sam’s voice sounded sort of soft around the edges, almost like he was tired but not quite. When you looked up at him, that pebble of self-consciousness you’d felt at the hardware flipped in your stomach again and you glanced away in favor of a one-armed hug you intended to look affectionate. Sam did the same, encompassing your entire shoulder with his hand.

When you drove home that night, warm and full of coquito, Sam played Christmas carols.

“I think we should do gifts.”

It was the first thing you thought when you woke up, and you said it into Sam’s chest as you laid there before you opened your eyes. You could tell from the rhythm of his breathing that he wasn’t all the way asleep.

“Hmm?”

“I think we should do gifts. We should really do Christmas if we’re going to do it, and that means presents. What do you think?”

You felt as much as you saw out of the corner of your drowsy eyes that Sam raised his unpinned arm to rub the sleep out of his. “Mmm, okay? I mean if that’s what you want.”

“Thank you,” you said as you nestled deeper into him.

“‘S already Christmas though.” Sleep pulled Sam’s words together like taffy.

“It can be goofy stuff; I just think we should open presents under a tree and everything. Seems like the kind of thing we should do, you know? Like trying to be normal.” You couldn’t bear saying out loud what you meant, that Dean would’ve wanted presents and stockings and eggnog and Santa hats and a big roast if he could’ve, to fall asleep after watching the stars glitter off of falling snow.

Sam heard anyway.

“You’re right,” Sam murmured. He rubbed your upper arm absentmindedly.

“I’ll wake you back up when the bathroom’s free,” you offered, carefully rolling over him to get out of the bed. He nodded with closed eyes and flopped over onto his stomach.

About an hour later, a wet haired Sam slid into the Impala’s driver side and rubbed his hands together to warm them up. You could tell from the puffiness around his eyes and his overcompensating casual tone that he’d been crying. He set his phone to pipe Your Inner Fish through the stereo and backed down the driveway over snow tamped down over the last week.

It had been years since you’d gone Christmas shopping, as much as this could be considered Christmas shopping. The town you’d settled in had exactly 7 businesses on a tiny main street, including 1 small inn, a grocery store, the hardware store, a coffee shop (the most reliable internet in town, much faster than your place) and 3 different places to get a burger. You met Sam in the grocery store after grabbing what you wanted from next door in hardware, catching him just as he came out carrying a bag with a long pipe of wrapping paper stretching far past the top. When you left, there were only two other cars in the parking lot grabbing their own last-minute things.

You wrapped your presents on the bed. It wasn’t like riding a bike as you’d hoped it would be, and your sloppy corners started you down a mental spiral. What a completely asinine thing, wrapping hardware store presents to put under a stolen tree. This wasn’t the Rockwell painting you wanted to present as sacrifice to Dean’s memory. It was cheap and stupid, a sloppy high school production when Dean deserved Broadway. He always had. As much as the three of you had never really done Christmas, Dean knew how to make something special while maintaining the air of not caring. You remembered waking up on his made-up anniversaries: six months from the first time you kissed, three years since he realized he loved you (three years minus 53 days before he said anything), 14 months since you’d figured out how to put a gun back together in the dark. Even in the most podunk little towns he’d find gorgeous bouquets and put together great meals in tiny kitchenettes; drive miles away to pick up a cake for Sam’s birthday or pepper motel rooms with festive streamers and silly string. Two quick, hard breaths through your nose to collect yourself and you finished the wrapping. That would have to be good enough.

Sam was crouched in front of the fireplace with a bellows, a plucky little fire kicking into gear with his help. “All yours,” you called out, grateful your voice didn’t crack.

“Thanks. It’ll only be a second.”

He was right, and came back to you on the couch in only a few minutes with two wrapped bundles. You shyly handed him what you’d wrapped and took his.

“Uh, Merry Christmas I guess,” Sam said. You noticed the edge of discomfort in his voice and were sickly grateful not to be alone in your tentativeness as you popped open the scotch tape holding the paper on the rectangular package. Before you’d uncovered it, Sam had his first gift unwrapped.

“Nice! They had these at the hardware store?” he asked, snapping open the clamshell package on the cheap purple noise-cancelling earbuds you’d picked up.

“I’m sure they’ll sound like they were made underwater, but I figured you could hide them pretty easily if you wanted to wear them at work, listen to your podcasts while you restock or whatever.”

“That’s a really good idea.” He looked down at the headphones considerately for a beat.

You pulled the paper off your present to reveal a notebook and two ballpoint pens. It had a leatherette flexible plastic cover that felt smooth under your fingertips and was about the size of a standard hardcover novel. You opened it to see inside, and a few photos dropped out.

“I just—you didn’t have any—I can take them back if you want,” Sam stammered, but you heard him as if through those checkout-aisle headphones while your eyes blurred. These were pictures you hadn’t seen for years. The one on top of the loose stack in your lap was outside Bobby’s house. It felt like a lifetime ago, leaning over the railing of the small porch to kiss Dean as he stood on the ground in a sweaty t-shirt covered in engine grease. Under that was one you remembered used to be the background of an old phone, where you, Sam, and Dean huddled together in a booth at some bar you’d forgotten the name of in Montana that had girls dressed up as mermaids swim around in big tanks, part of the same theme that explained the blue fishbowl drink partly out of frame in Dean’s hands. There was one you didn’t recall with you and Dean stretched out on a nondescript motel couch, his arm protectively covering you as you coiled up into his side, both clearly asleep from the closed eyes and slightly parted lips. The last was a picture you hadn’t seen since the last time you went to Jody’s house; it had touched you then to see it hanging up on the wall, you carrying Dean piggyback while Sam clutched his knees laughing. It was the same day Claire had turned 16 and you had no idea why you’d needed to convince Dean you could carry him, but the whole thing had ended up with everyone rolling on the ground, grabbing at laugh-opened rib pains for what felt like blissful hours.

You weren’t surprised at the silent tears that were pouring gently down your face, but wiped at them harshly with your sleeve so they wouldn’t drip. “Sam—” you croaked. “I don’t…I didn’t—thank you. How did you find these?”

“They had an instant photo printer at the grocery store. I’ve had a flash drive with some stuff on it for a while.”

You passed through each picture again, studying them like the gospel. It was almost hard to match the photos to the memories, memories having been replayed and multiplied and color-saturated in your mind over and over again, too big to fit into these little pieces of cardstock. But Dean was so beautiful, and you all looked so happy.

“It’s supposed to help to write about how you’re feeling, so I thought…” Sam trailed off.

“It’s perfect. I—thank you, Sam.” You met his eyes, stormy blue-green and taking on an amber reflection off of the fire. He looked nervous and almost guilty, like he had miscalculated and hurt you. Carefully slipping the photos back into the notebook, you set it on the table like it was made of crystal and threw your arms around Sam to tuck into him, knowing you were crying through his shirt but unable to stop. You realized you were murmuring thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou into the crook of his neck at the same time you felt the wetness of his tears onto your shoulder. Pulling him in tighter, you slunk back into the arm of the couch behind you. Sam slotted into the curve of your body, wrapping around your torso with powerful, gentle arms. His hair was silken when you began to stroke it, feeling his wracking sobs against your chest. It was impossible to gauge the amount of time it took for both of you to stop crying, skin slick and hot against each other on the old couch as your bodies hardened together like a mold. You felt dried out and sore and wouldn’t have pulled away from Sam if you’d had a gun to your head.

“Man, and we were doing so well,” you hummed into Sam’s hair.

“Were we?” Sam asked, and it was all you could do to laugh. Sam laughed too, the emotional and physical fatigue of it blending between you in the air. He adjusted his arm and you could feel the span of his hand across your lower back. The two of you sat there for a few more moments before you gathered up enough courage to let go of him.

“Want to open the other one?”

Sam nodded against your chest and slowly extricated himself, running a hand through his messed-up hair and rubbing his neck as he reached for the other present you’d gotten him. He tore through the paper unceremoniously and smiled down at the shoe repair glue and new boot laces. “You saw they split, didn’t you?”

You smiled back at him. “Would’ve just gotten you a new pair of boots but, you know, late notice. Maybe this’ll buy you some time.”

�� He handed you his second gift from the coffee table. Inside the foil-adorned wrapping paper were three bags of gummy worms.

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 4

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass , @anxiousbarnes , @deanwinchesterswitch , @akshi8278 , @itsjensenanddean , @flannellover67 , @weepingwillowphoenix , @tj-drinks-tea , @whatareyousearchingfordean , @winchestergirl2 , @winchest09 , @samwisethegr8 , @fawnxng , @nurse-sarahrn , @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love , @deanwanddamons , @stressedoutkitten , @winchestershiresauce , @tatted-trina6 , @percico-heronstairs , @downanddirtydean , @mamitoqueens , @queenoftheunderdark , @lyarr24 , @waywardwifey , @thinkinghardhardlythinking , @wonder-cole , @sergeantsea

And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

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sanakoreanlangblr · 3 years

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2021 Goals

Heyy! I’ve decided to put my goals for this year here, hoping that that might motivate me further, and maybe motivate someone else as well. Good luck everyone! And please take extra care of yourselves and your health, mental or otherwise! Everything else can wait.

This year has been difficult for all of us. As for me, even now, the upcoming semester is a big question mark. Currently I’m studying in France, and this semester I was supposed to go on an exchange to Taiwan buuuut that’s not happening anymore, as it has been cancelled. So per my school’s requirements I need to find an internship in the place of expatriation, which is a pain now. And that basically just means I have no idea where I’m going to be in the coming year or what I’m gonna be doing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Sorry, needed to complain for a bit, as I am going absolutely insane with the stress…

Anywayyyy, I still hope I will be able to uphold most of these goals, wherever I will end up. I tried to not make them overly big, so that I won’t get burned out too fast. But I have a whole year for those, some of these have dates for which I could expect to finish but I will not keep to them very strictly. Whatever happens, happens :))

Also, sorry if there are any mistakes, English is not my first language!

Korean (A2 -> B1)

1. Do 100 lessons of grammar from the HowToStudyKorean website.

I’ve started a few grammar books but in the end decided to settle on this website as I like its explanations best, and it provides the most example sentences when introducing each point. A nice touch is also the fact that it includes a list of a number of new words before each chapter, which gives me some new vocabulary to learn :)

So far I’ve divided the grammar points introduced in lessons into „to learn”, „to revise”, „already know”, and turns out I have:

66 „to learn”

35 „to revise”

32 „already know”

So if I did 3 points a week, I should be done around August.

2. Read 2 little stories per week from “Easy Korean Reading for Beginners”.

There is 30 stories in the first one (I already did 5), so I should be done by the middle of April.

3. Do one chapter per week from “My first hanja guide”.

I just got this book for Christmas and haven’t had the time to fully go through it so we will see how it goes.

4. Do Anki at least three times a week.

Every day would be preferable but I know that would last like a week at most.

5. Have iTalki lesson at least once a week.

That one is not a problem as I have been doing one or two per week for the last year, but I would just like to keep it up.

6. Try writing at least twice a month, and at least 2 pages.

Yeahhh that one is a bit of a bother, as writing still takes me a long time so we will leave it a twice a month and see how it goes.

7. Watch one youtube video per week on Korean grammar or vocabulary.

Generally I would say my goal is to use Korean more, as I know quite a lot but when I’m speaking I tend to go towards the easier words and grammar, which is why I am thinking that writing more could help me. And also I really want to focus on learning vocabulary as that’s always been a pain for me, I’m more of a grammar lover :))

French (A2 -> hoping for upper B1/ beginning of B2)

1. Finish the intermediate grammar book. I’m currently doing „Grammaire Progressive du Français” Intermediate edition, for A2/B1.

The problem is that my grammar knowledge of french is a mess , so going through this book is a bit of an annoyance, as most chapters I technically know but each time I find some nuance I wasn’t aware of... therefore I need to go through it, even the chapters I would have assumed I know :|

So I divided the chapters the same way I did Korean, into „to learn”, „to revise”, „already know”, and I ended up with:

14 „to learn”

34 „to revise”

4 „already know”

So technically if I did 2 points a week, I should be done in June.

2. Read the two french books I got for Christmas (“Les aventures d’Alice au pays des merveilles” and “Le tour du monde en quatre-vingts jours”).

3. Read at least two of the Harry Potter books in French.

I have started the first one this week, and I can tell it’s gonna be a very very slow process. It’s the first book I’m reading in french so it’s a bit difficult and frustrating but hopefully it’ll get better as I go along.

4. Watch at least 4 french movies, with french subtitles.

5. Learn a french song.

6. Read one story per week from „French Stories for Beginners”.

These are quite easy, but they are a nice practice for switching to books later on.

I don’t know if I’m gonna keep this one in, depends on how much my reading of actual books will progress.

7. Get to point 5 on the Duolingo tree.

I use Duolingo mostly as a revision tool, so I’m not really going to focus on it much, but still want to keep it up.

8. Watch one YouTube video per week (on any topic).

9. Listen to two podcasts per month.

10. At least one iTalki lesson per week.

11. Do Anki at least 3 times a week.

I really need to listen to french more, as I’m good at reading and I usually understand that pretty well, and I’m not the worst as speaking, but I am absolutely terrible at listening :| So that’s a priority.

Chinese (tbh I don’t know...end of HSK1/Beginning of HSK2 -> let’s say the goal is HSK3 for this year)

1. Finish the book „Integrated Chinese”

I’m having a tough time to pick a book from which to learn but I guess for now I’ll continue with that one.

Again, I divided the points in the book to „to learn”, „to revise”, „already know”, and ended up with:

47 „to learn”

11 „to revise”

15 „already know”

So doing 2 a week I should be done in July.

2. Learn 15 characters a day

I am way behind on learning characters.. I remember the words well but I didn’t put enough time to learn the characters at the start and now that’s gonna be a bit annoying to catch up on :|

3. Finish the drama „Go Ahead”.

4. Watch 3 Chinese movies, with both English and Chinese subtitles.

5. Have one Italki lesson per week.

6. Learn a children song in Chinese

7. Watch one youtube video per week on grammar.

8. Do Anki twice a week.

Generally focus more on characters. My speaking isn’t terrible (well besides the tones), but I need to work on the grammar a bit more as I seem to mess up the structures quite frequently. I need to put more work outside of my lessons. Since I found out I’m actually not going to Taiwan this semester my motivation has fallen a bit, but on the other hand I now have more time to prepare for fall, at which point I will hopefully be able to go!

Personal

Read 20 books.

I have always loved reading but in the past two years the amount of books I’ve read has gone down, which upsets me a bit… On the other hand the amount of fanfiction I’ve read is tremendous, so there’s that. However I would like to make more effort to read this year, especially since I’ve accumulated a huge pile of books over those few years.

2. Workout regularly.

Right now I’m at home, so that should be easy to do. I don’t really know what’s gonna happen this semester, so we’ll see what I’m going to do about that later.

3. Eat better.

Meaning: cut down on sugar, eat more veggies and fruit.

4. Get a bit closer to my ideal weight

I’m not necessarily focusing on that this year as the previous one has been hell and really managed to deteriorate my mental health back to high school levels... but still hopefully working out a bit and eating less sugar, more veggies, I will be able to lose a tiny bit of weight. But overall I just want to focus on being a bit healthier.

5. Clean out my wardrobe

Sorry that’s a silly one but I’ve been getting to it for half a year now and I’m just too lazy to do that... maybe once I put it here I will have some motivation

6. Take care of my face and hair

So my sensitive skin hates wearing masks and needs extra care these days I need to really focus on it and baby it, to not go back to the awful red mess it was two months ago

As for my hair, I have kind of 3a curls which I haven’t been taking care of properly and plus I damaged them with hair dye (still I refuse to give up ginger hair, I blame Merida). So now during lockdown and quarantine season I finally had some time to read up on hair care of curls, and honestly after a month I can already see the difference, and well I hope for the best :)))

7. Get a tattoo

It’s something I’ve always put off since I either didn’t have the money or time. And now again both are problematic, so I will wait for the decision until I know what my school semester is going to be like. Maybe this time I will find a good moment! (Although honestly saving up for travelling after all this is over is also a great idea :))) )

8. Don’t go to sleep at 5

Yeah so during lockdown and because of online classes my sleeping schedule got so messed up I don’t even know what to do about it anymore. And while my goal isn’t to switch it to 10 pm, cutting it to 2 am at max would be nice

9. Watch 25 movies

10. Sell/donate the things that I don’t need

I’ve accumulated a huge pile of books, movies, CDs, Xbox games, art products - that I need to get rid of - and I’ve been saying that for like three years now, about the same pile of things. I will try to do that one this year!

I hope everyone’s 2021 will be a ton better than 2020! Keep fighting!

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baoshan-sanren · 4 years

Text

Chapter 14

of the wwx emperor au that’s now more like the terrible horrible time the Lan Sect is having ugh

It does not take long to leave the noise of the disciples and their game behind them.

The path around the mountain is wide, and appears to have been well tended throughout the warmer months. Still, the evidence of the recent autumn storms is everywhere, frequently forcing them to detour around fallen branches and uprooted brush.

The first time Nie MingJue offers him a hand in assistance, XiChen nearly trips over nothing but his own feet. Although they hardly come upon any obstacles that require such attention, XiChen accepts each time, and each time the anticipation of the next seems to grow.

XiChen’s hands are not soft by any means. His calluses are not only present on the areas so frequently affected by sword practice, but years of playing the guqin have hardened his fingers as well. They are not hands that must be treated with care, yet Nie MingJue does, his grip light and gentle. Each time, the warmth of his palm inevitably travels to XiChen’s face, and XiChen very much hopes that the color in his cheeks can be ascribed the cold mountain breeze instead.

“How do you like the Peach Blossom Pavilion?” Nie MingJue says, and XiChen finds himself surprised by the question.

For all the insinuations the Royal Companion had made about Madam Yu being attentive to their accommodations, at no point has anyone actually inquired after their comfort. XiChen is fairly certain that most of the guests are unaware of the Lan Sect’s current residence in the Immortal Mountain City.

It is logical, that the General of the Emperor’s army would keep a close track of everyone’s accommodations, and express some interest in the matter. Still, XiChen so rarely considers his own comfort, that it takes him a few moments to formulate a response.

“It is peaceful,” he says finally, “I like it very much.”

It is far removed from the palaces usually occupied by distinguished guests. It is also small, and does not require a sea of servants to maintain. These are all welcome things to the Lan Sect, who do not want to be in close proximity to the others, and place great value in peace and silence. However, XiChen does not know how to voice any of those benefits without making them sound like grievances.

“It is one of the oldest structures in the Immortal Mountain City,” Nie MingJue says, “do you know the story behind the name?”

“Only that the Empress Immortal had settled there upon first arriving to the Immortal Mountain.”

Nie MingJue nods, and helps XiChen navigate two crude stone steps, worn down by centuries of wind and rain. The path evens out again, but the incline is now noticeable. The air is so rich here, that XiChen can almost taste the coolness of it on his tongue.

“At the time, the Empress Immortal was only a rogue cultivator,” Nie MingJue says, “A capable one, but not yet renown enough to form an Empire. It is said that she could feel the inherent power of the Immortal Mountain, and had chosen to settle here precisely for this reason. I, however, am more inclined to think that she was simply searching for some peace and silence.”

The words are followed by a small smile in XiChen’s direction, and XiChen cannot help but smile back.

“The Peach Blossom Pavilion is named for the peach tree that grew in its place. The legend states that the Empress Immortal spent her first night underneath this tree, and that the tree bore fruit the next morning to provide her with nourishment.”

This part of the story is unfamiliar to XiChen, and he listens attentively, wondering where it could possibly lead.

“She built her first home next to that same peach tree, and when the autumn storms took it down, her second and her third. Although she still traveled far and wide, the Immortal Mountain became a place she considered her own, a shelter from the rest of the world.”

Ahead, a small pile of rocks obstructs their way. Larger boulders had dislodged at one point, but the majority of them had rolled past the path itself, crumbling into the fissure below. Still, when Nie MingJue offers his hand, XiChen takes it.

“Eventually, the peach tree died. Most commonly it is said that the Immortal Empress was gone too long, and found it already withered on her return. Some prefer to think that a storm had uprooted the tree, a lesson on the inconsistency of all living things when faced with the might of Heavens. Others say that enemies of the Immortal Empress destroyed it on purpose. The details vary from one region to another.”

At one point, Nie MingJue’s fingers had tightened around his own, and now, XiChen cannot seem to shake the tingling sensation that envelops his hand from fingertips to his wrist.

“The story is always clear on the aftermath, however. The Empress Immortal was still young, and already extremely advanced in cultivation. She had not yet learned that spiritual power has its limits, and that the natural progression of life cannot be altered without consequences.”

The path is steadily rising now, curving more sharply around the mountain face, the trees growing scarce.

“She was determined to have her peach tree. In order to accomplish this, she sunk all of her power into the mountain soil. She exerted herself to such an extent that her death should have been the outcome. And although she lived, nearly half a century would pass before her spiritual power recovered.”

The next curve stops XiChen in his tracks.

The mountain face is steep here, but not so steep that it cannot support growth. A field of grass and wildflowers stretches in front of his eyes, waving in the mountain wind. And in the middle of this field, dozens of peach trees stand tall, each one in full bloom.

They are beautiful. The color of their blossoms is so vivid, it seems painted on with a heavy hand, the innermost flowers so dark, that they resemble droplets of blood. The breeze easily snatches their petals, carpeting the field in an ocean of pink and white.

They are lovely, and yet, the longer XiChen watches them, the more unsettled he feels. It takes him a few moments to pinpoint the source of his unease, and then it is so obvious that he feels foolish.

It is late autumn. No peach trees bloom in autumn.

“They bloom all year long,” Nie MingJue says, “They never age, and they never bear fruit.”

“Oh,” XiChen says, more of a breath than a word, and easily lost in the wind.

They are not real.

There are so many wondrous things one can accomplish with spiritual power, but no amount of skill or strength is capable of creation. Spiritual power cannot turn back death, and it cannot give birth to new life.

XiChen remembers this lesson so clearly, that for an instant, he is back in the Library Pavilion at Cloud Recesses, hearing his uncle’s calm voice, smelling the gardenias growing by the pavilion windows.

All things are born, and all things must die. Even the greatest cultivators in the world, those who reach immortality, will one day be nothing but bones and dust in the earth, their last purpose to nourish new life. He had committed the lesson to memory then, but he does not think that he fully understood it until this very moment, faced with a dozen blooming peach trees in the late autumn.

Frozen in a moment, forever unchanging. Beautiful to see, but lacking everything that makes them truly alive.

A deep, inexplicable sorrow envelops him, and he feels his breath stutter in his chest.

“I have upset you,” Nie MingJue says, voice heavy with concern, “Forgive me. That was not my intention.”

“No, I--“

XiChen does not know how to explain himself. His happiness or melancholy are so rarely addressed in words, that he does not possess the vocabulary necessary to speak of them.

“I am not upset, I am only-- sad for them, I suppose.”

He cannot meet Nie MingJue’s eyes. He feels silly, and wonders if the man thinks him ridiculous.

“You must think me foolish.”

“I do not,” Nie MingJue says.

He sounds upset at the implication, but whatever other words he may have to say never come.

There is an unexpected noise behind them, a sound of many boots traveling the same path. XiChen turns to find a dozen men in the uniforms of the Imperial Guard.

The man leading them, a tall youth XiChen does not remember meeting before, bows to Nie MingJue and addresses him directly.

“General Nie, forgive me. I have been ordered to take Young Master Lan into custody, and escort him to the Jade Sword Palace.”

XiChen feels every part of his body turn numb at the words.

“Into custody?” Nie MingJue says, “For what reason?”

“For the attempted murder of the HeJian Fan Sect Leader.”

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di-kut · 4 years

Text

Morning

Pero Tovar x Reader

A/N: I am again writing Tovar to avoid writing other things. Set in the same world as this, a small (meant to be) oneshot I wrote on my main blog, but much earlier in time. Reader and Tovar wake up after their second night together. They talk. Things are weird. I don’t really know what this is except I wanted more so here it is. This is very short and unedited. You don’t have to read the other post to read this one.

The sound of someone moving about the kitchen wakes you. It’s a slow, syrupy sort of wakening. Your eyelids and limbs feel thick and heavy. The blankets are pushed back to your waist. Dust mites float gently through the stream of late morning light in the window. Piece by piece the cottage comes into being. The boots in the corner. The clucking of the hens. More of a scrabbling. You blink slowly. The kitchen has gone quiet again.

The night before settles in your mind. You push yourself upright, throw off the covers. Turn your head to the boots again and the heavy leather cuirass. Had thought they were your husband’s, still half asleep. Realise now how they could not possibly have been. Your legs shake when you touch your feet to the ground. Makes you flush, from your hairline to your breasts. The bruises are constellations on your thighs and your stomach. Around your nipples. The shape of his mouth. The soldier. Tovar. You hear things being shifted in the kitchen again. Hear the hens, the scratching, still stuck in their pen. The sun is climbing well above the trees, the sky a bright, brilliant blue. You have not slept so late in months.

You dress with shaking hands. Your head feels full of wool and your mouth dry. You did not drink ale. Had never drunk ale. Until last night. Until the soldier you had only met once, and now bedded twice, had bought it to you. From England, he’d said. Your hair is so tangled you give up braiding it, listen to the sounds of the stranger digging through your things. Through your life. Think of the meagre purse of coin in the drawer with the cutlery. Your dress is the same one you had worn yesterday. Cotton. Used to be a pretty blue, one of your favourites, now threadbare and faded. Piled under the arms and around the neck. You wrap the woollen shawl over it, high around your neck despite the warmth. A necessary protection. Make your way to the kitchen.

He is sitting at your table. Elbows crowded around his plate, legs splayed beneath. Wearing his trousers and his undershirt, but not his armour. His dark eyes find you immediately, knowing and unreadable. His scar pulls at his left eye as he eats, rips the bread with thick fingers and shoves it into his mouth. Smiles when he sees you. It isn’t a particularly nice smile – certainly not friendly. A secret smile, a knowing one. One that makes you flush pink all over again. You lean in the small doorway, unsure. Feel displaced in your own house, feel like he seems more at home here than you do. And maybe it’s true. You certainly haven’t felt as if you belonged in the cottage in months. You envy him. At ease in a place he does not know. Think it must be his life to live like that, from place to place. Feel suddenly very small and very childish in your small corner of the world.

“Sit,” he says to you.

You hesitate. Lean back slightly into the small bedroom and then step out. The floor is stone in the main part of the house, and cool even in the warm summer. Makes you curl your toes as you walk and settle into the stool across from him. Wince when you sit too hard.

He does not miss it. His smile grows, from secretive to smug. “Be careful, yes?” He doesn’t expect an answer, but you nod anyway. “Here, eat.”

You take the large piece of bread he rips off for you gingerly. Hold it over the table in front of you and watch him. He bites into his. He is not gentle, or well mannered. Crumbs fall all around him. Your eyes drop to his mouth, the same mouth which had last night been between your legs. Had called you beautiful. He chuckles. It draws your gaze back up. You go red again and bite into the bread, look away from him completely.

“You are shy. You look at me. You did more than look last night.” You can’t meet his eyes. Stare at a knot in the wood of the tabletop. He laughs again. “Very shy. Your husband does not do such things?”

“I – No.” You swallow. “My husband did not… He never…”

Tovar pushes the rest of the bread towards you. “You must ask him to do this. It makes it much more enjoyable for you, yes?” You are glad he does not expect an answer, this time, because you can make none. You are so flushed it makes you almost dizzy. “Best not to say to him where you get this idea from. He may not like that.”

“My husband is dead.” You say. Still staring at the knot in the wood. “He died when the attacks came from the east. Last summer.”

Tovar is quiet. You risk a glance. He is watching you still, but the smile is gone. He looks almost – pensive. Like he is lingering between two thoughts. He does not say sorry. He does not offer you any condolences. And it makes you guilty, but you are glad. Do not wish to hear anymore pity or second-hand sadness. He just watches you with his dark eyes. You take another small bite from the bread he’d given you. The bread he had brought with him from the inn in town when he’d followed you in the dusk back to your cottage. The bread you had watched him take from the bag of another man, a traveller with a velvet doublet and silk undershirt. It is very good bread. Filled with dried fruits and nuts. You push yourself up carefully and cross to the small chest of drawers. Pull the top drawer open and pretend to search for a knife. Stick your hand in far enough to pick up the purse which is still there and test its weight in your palm. Return it and pull out a long, serrated knife for the bread. Sit back at the table across from him.

He grins at you. “I did not steal your coin.”

You slice a piece and nibble at the side of it. Disappointed. Thought you had been more subtle than that. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You do. And you are wise to check this.”

You say nothing to him. Continue to eat until you cannot anymore, and you push the last of it back to the middle of the table. Tovar takes it without another word and wraps it again in the wax paper it had been stolen in. Places it on the wide bench at the side of the room. Picks up one of the rags slung over the edge of the beam beneath it and wipes the crumbs onto the floor, nudges your arms off the surface of the table so he can wipe it over. You watch him, surprised. Had not expected him to show such care.

You need to let the hens out. To check the gardens. You had planted a bed too early in the winter and it had failed, and the rest you had planted too late. Had let the winter vegetables sit for too long before harvesting them. Had not turned the soil in preparation for summer. And now you were behind. You had not grown up on a farming property, and what you had learned from your husband you had never expected to have to do alone. Had expected to be able to afford to keep on your manservant. Had expected children. Had expected him to live longer. You rub at your brow and move into the bedroom to ready yourself. Don’t know how to ask Tovar to leave. Not sure you trust him in the cottage alone.

Tovar joins you while you dress, does not comment when you turn your back to him, pulling on your apron and attempting to tame your hair into a braid. Have to comb it for some time. He watches you openly. Pulls on his boots while you struggle with the knots. Watches your hands while you braid. Stares at the bruises trailing the length of your neck and jaw, phantom touches left behind, a trail from your ear to your nipple, disappearing beneath your dress. Does not seem to care that this embarrasses you. If anything he seems to enjoy it more because you squirm under his heavy gaze.

“I am going. I must go back to the camp.”

You nod without looking to him. Concentrate on tying the scarf around your hair.

“You will be sore today,” he says. As if this means nothing. As if he is simply observing something. And he is, you suppose. But it makes your stomach twist up and your thighs ache at the memory of him between them the night before. “You should not work too hard.”

The question tumbles out before you can stop it. Before you have even registered the thought. Not jealous. Not exactly. Curious. Scared. This is a world you have never known before this man, this soldier. A world you did not explore even with your husband. Are not allowed to talk about.

“Is that normal?” You frown.

“Hurting? Some types of hurting, these are good. Should not be a bad hurting.”

“No, I – ” You pick at your nailbed. “Not hurting. When, when you, with your mouth. You have done that before? With others?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

And the whole things makes you feel childish again. Silly and small. He is surprisingly kind. His is not laughing at you any longer. “This thing. Knowing these things. This is easier for men, because we are not blamed to seek these flesh comforts. But you should not feel bad for learning them. If they make you feel good.” He shrugs. “This way you can find many more things you like which will make you feel good.”

“There are more ways?”

He does laugh at this. “Many ways.”

“My husband, he never…” You cut yourself off. Horrified you would bring him up with this man, like this. Different to explaining his absence. Comparing them. You clamp your mouth shut. Tovar crosses to you and lays a hot, large hand over your shoulder. “How long are you staying in town?”

“I do not know. A week, maybe. And then we will go east again. This is how my life is.”

He sounds pleased with this. You do not ask him if you will see him again. He pulls his armour over his head and straps it around his torso. Collects his sword from where it leans. You walk him through the kitchen and into the stable, a wooden shack built against the stone wall of the cottage. His horse is mottled white and brown. Makes your mule skittish. You stay with him until he leads the mare out through your yard and into the fields surrounding. Far enough out of town that there are no people to watch him go. Close enough that you can hear the distant clamour of the regiment of army overflowing the village. You close the gate between you.

“Do you worry you will die?” You ask as he swings onto his mount.

“We will all die.” He says simply. “This is why we do the things which bring us pleasure.”

#look i am just soft for pero rn #and avoiding two other writing things like the plague #this is just so self indulgent again #i dont know what this is #honestly #pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #my fic #fic #the great wall #pedro pascal

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zootopiathingz · 3 years

Text

Between the Odds

Part Seven: Picnic Date

A couple days passed since the two had their "special" night together, and since then they didn't get much time to themselves, especially not for romantic activities. They had to work later than usual, so when they got home they were too exhausted to do anything except order takeout and watch movies. While they loved having chill nights in, they were eager to actually do something that most couples did.

But that was going to change tonight, as Nick had something very special planned for his girlfriend. Luckily for them, they were able to clock out early with no excuse, since they had been working hard all week already and they deserved a couple hours off. So after work, Nick told her that he had a surprise for her, but they would need to wear nicer clothes for it.

They made a quick stop at her apartment first to change out of their uniforms. Nick put on his casual green Hawaiian shirt and brown pants—his favorite outfit—while waiting for Judy to get ready. And while she was in the other room, he snuck a bottle of champagne from her fridge so he could bring it with them.

He heard footsteps coming from the hall, and he turned his head to see Judy walking out from her room wearing a navy blue floral dress, and of course her carrot pendant. Somehow she just looked more and more gorgeous every time he looked at her.

Judy noticed him gazing at her, and yet again she felt her heart flutter. She recognized that look in his eyes. It was similar to the one from the night they made love, and she knew exactly what it meant. "What?" She asked with a shy smile, blushing a little.

Nick shook his head, realizing he had been staring for too long. "Nothing." He said, wanting to avoid saying something cliche or cheesy. She would likely just make fun of him for it, anyway. "You look great."

"Thanks." She folded her paws together. "So are you gonna tell me where we're going? And why we're bringing champagne?" She asked, noticing the bottle he was trying to 'hide' behind his back.

"You'll see. Just trust me, Carrots." He said nonchalantly. "Now come on, we're losing daylight."

Hearing him say that made her assume that whatever they were doing was going to take place outside. She obliged and followed him out the door and back outside the building to the car.

It was quite a long drive to this mysterious location, so it was no wonder Nick was in a hurry for them to get dressed. Wherever they were going was far from the rest of the city, definitely not anywhere Judy had been before. By the time they arrived, the sun was already beginning to set, but it was creating a beautiful picture in the sky for them to look at, so it was perfect.

Like he usually did for his surprises, Nick made her cover her eyes as she stepped out of the car. From what she saw, they were just on the outskirts of the city where there was little to no mammals around. He guided her toward a specific spot, making sure she didn't trip, then finally allowed her to look when they reached their destination.

Judy moved her paw down and opened her eyes to see Nick setting a blanket down on the grass with a basket sitting next to him, and above them were a couple trees with lights hanging from the branches. She definitely wasn't expecting this, and though she had her suspicions at first, she was glad that this was the outcome.

"Aww Nick! You did this for me?" She asked in awe, looking around to admire the scenery. They appeared to be in a park/garden of some sort, but since there was no one around, it was the perfect place to spend some time alone.

"Well, I owe you a real first date." He said, pulling out a couple glasses and plates from the basket. "And I thought this was the perfect place where no one would interrupt us."

Judy smiled sweetly at him, walking over to join him on top of the blanket. "It's perfect." She said, sitting down in front of him. "How did you know I've always wanted my first date to be a picnic?"

"Lucky guess." He shrugged, popping open the champagne bottle and pouring them each a glass.

"You really do know me better than anyone." She said amazed, taking one of the glasses.

While she took a couple sips, Nick pulled out the food that he brought, which included many fruits and vegetables (mostly carrots), a salad for her, sandwiches, and desserts. It was a small meal, but it would be enough to satisfy their hunger for the evening.

Judy raised her glass, indicating she wanted to make a quick toast for the hell of it. "To us."

Nick chuckled and lifted his glass to clink against hers, "To us."

The two ate their meals in mostly silence, occasionally commenting on something interesting they saw pass by or how nice it felt to finally be on a date. After the crazy week they had, this is just what they needed, to slow down and enjoy their time together as a couple.

To think that a week ago they were just friends/work partners. But so much happened since Judy's birthday and honestly, she could hardly believe any of it was real. Was it all just some bizarre glimpse of a birthday wish? Was she even good enough to be dating Nick?

Well, here she was, in the middle of nowhere being pampered by her favorite mammal in the world. Even if it felt too good to be true, she knew in her heart that it was.

"So how's your dinner?" Nick asked, noticing that she was finishing up her salad.

"Delicious." She answered, giving a thumbs-up.

"Well, I hope you saved room." He said, pulling out a box of chocolate covered strawberries from the basket.

Judy gasped with a smile, her eyes lighting up. "I swear, you're a mind reader!" She laughed, wiggling her tail. "I— how did you know—"

"I know lots of things, Carrot cake." He winked playfully, taking a strawberry out of the box and holding it up so he could feed it to her. Judy giggled and shook her head, but nevertheless took a bite from it.

After the two finished eating, leaving a couple scraps to save for later, Judy stood up and walked onto the grass, looking up at the lights above her. Nick glanced over at his girlfriend, confused as to what she was doing or what she had in mind. But before he could ask questions, she took a step closer to him and reached her paw out, "Come on, let's dance."

Nick raised a brow at her, setting his glass down after finishing his drink. "There's no music."

"Who cares?" She shrugged, grabbing his paw and pulling him off the ground. "We'll make our own music."

"God, that has to be the corniest thing you've ever said." The fox scoffed, letting her lead him out into the open grass. "And that's saying a lot."

"Shut up." She scowled at him before smiling again, resting one of her paws on his shoulder.

Even though Nick was reluctant, he decided to give in and do what she wanted, since he wanted her to enjoy herself. He wrapped his arm around her waist and brought her closer to him. Their free paws met and held onto each other as their bodies began to sway together in synchronization to an imaginary melody.

Surprisingly, the silence wasn't uncomfortable. Something about the sound of nothingness around them—other than the occasional breeze or street noise from afar—made the moment more romantic for the two of them. Everything about the setting was perfect already. The lights, the sunset, the trees and flowers. They didn't need music to make it better.

"I really did mean it when I said you look great." Nick said, a little out of the blue. He figured she was aware of that already, but he just wanted to be sure. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but he never had the right words. He had never been good at expressing his feelings, not since he was a kid. But Judy understood this, so she didn't mind that his compliments were basic. She still enjoyed them.

"I know." She said, squeezing his paw. "And you look great, too."

"I know." He repeated in the same tone as her just to be silly.

Judy scoffed, but nonetheless smiled. He then took her by surprise when he released her waist so he could spin her around, making her laugh in amusement. Nick took that as a sign that she liked it and spun her again, a couple more times so she could go in a circle. The hem of her dress rose up and revolved with the rest of her body as she twirled like a ballerina around her boyfriend.

She and Nick soon paused to give her a break, but after a moment she grabbed both of his paws and started to go again, this time spinning him with her. The two laughed in complete bliss, staring at each other as their bodies whirled around in a circle. It was a good thing they were alone now, since if anyone saw them like this, they would easily detect what was going on between them. But none of that mattered right now. All they were focused on was each other.

Eventually, the two had to stop to prevent themselves from getting too dizzy. They both sat down against one of trees, having a perfect view of the landscape around them. Judy breathed heavily, resting her head against the bark of the tree. "See? That wasn't so bad."

"Yeah, yeah." He said dismissively, lifting his arm up, "Just come here."

Judy looked up at him and scooted closer, laying against his body, resting her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her to ensure she'd remain close, leaning comfortably against the tree.

They both stared off at the sun setting over the horizon, now almost completely gone, leaving the world in the darkness of night. The moon and stars were already occupying the sky, as well as a few clouds and the pinkness of what was left of the sunlight. It was a beautiful sight, one they rarely got to see while living in the city. Judy used to watch sunsets all the time in Bunnyburrow, but none of them were ever as beautiful as this one.

The two remained like this for almost an hour, laying in comfortable quietness, just enjoying each other's company. But now that it was dark and it was going to be getting late soon, Nick figured it was time to go back so they could get their rest.

But as he looked down at the bunny, he saw that she had fallen asleep already. There was no point in waking her up just to take her back home, since he could easily do that without disrupting her slumber. He slowly and carefully sat up and pulled her legs into his lap so he could scoop her up in his arms bridal style. He then stood up and walked back towards the car, laying her down in the backseat so it would be more comfortable for her.

After gathering the dishes and leftovers into the basket, Nick started the car and began to drive back into the city. It wasn't as long of a drive this time since there was less traffic, but it still took half an hour to get to the side of town where they lived. Soon enough he arrived back at Judy's apartment complex and carried her in his arms, making his way inside and up the stairs. He wasn't concerned about the picnic supplies at the moment, he could always deal with that later. Right now his main priority was Judy.

Nick pulled out the spare key from his back pocket and unlocked the door, carrying the bunny all the way into her room. He very carefully laid her down on the bed, pulling the blanket over her body to keep her warm. At first he intended to go back to his place so he could go to sleep, too. But as he gazed down at Judy, he suddenly wanted to stay with her for as long as he could. She looked so peaceful while she was asleep, and he wanted to be around to see her like this all night.

After going back to grab the picnic basket and blanket, he decided to stay, since everything he needed was here, anyway. Besides, he knew she wouldn't mind. If anything, she'd be glad he stayed with her.

He quickly changed into his nightwear and crawled into bed with her, wrapping his arms around her to hold her close. To him, she was the most precious thing in the world, so she deserved to be treated as such.

Nick kissed her cheek and laid his head on top of hers. "I love you, Carrots." He whispered, causing a smile to instinctively appear on her face.

#zootopia #judy hopps #nick wilde #judy x nick #wildehopps #zootropolis #zootopia fanfiction

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eternalstrigoii · 4 years

Text

Wild Strawberries

Borra (Maleficent: Mistress of Evil) x Desert Warrior Dark Fey Reader

“They are strange people,” you said of the flower sprites fluttering about. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them – they were lovely, kind little things – but they had the most judgmental habits of tugging at your hair with their tiny hands and practically demanding you wear a skirt next time you came through their territories.

Diaval shrugged, picking berries from one of the wild strawberry vines coiled around the bridge at the heart of Aurora’s kingdom. “They don’t understand you either.”

“What’s there not to understand?” You crooked your finger and the vine sped along the wood, blooming as it went. Sweet, white petals ripened into thick, luscious fruits that bent their stems under their weight.

“For starters, why you never brush your hair.”

It had been braided, once. You hardly recalled it, though the fact that you knew surprised you. You supposed your mother must’ve done it, because no one else had ever taught you, and no one else had ever told you what else you should’ve done with it.

“Because you don’t preen yourself, Raven.”

Well, you do, but the circumstances were a bit different with nesting pairs. It was easier to preen each other, and, frankly, the bonding time was nice. You could tend to Borra while he plotted, comb out his plumage and bathe the dust from his skin.

He flushed. Brightly. Remnants of your teasing about his and Maleficent’s relationship lingering in his thoughts, no doubt.

“You’re a liar to pretend you haven’t committed yourself. That woman loves you, and you love her. With your big mouth, you must’ve said it.”

“With your big mouth, why haven’t you?”

You grinned, as pleasantly surprised by his willingness to retort as you were the way Borra draped his arm over your shoulder. “Because her mouth’s occupied, Raven.”

You took a bite of the strawberry you’d summoned to your fingers, deliberately letting the juice well at your lips. You thought he’d kiss you, take it from you, but no – his lips closed around your fingers while he held your eyes, and the warmth of his tongue loosened the other half from them, leaves and all.

If your friend had words for either of you, he’d gone completely ignored. Borra’s eyes darkened like a sandstorm; he brought the tip of his tongue against the pads of your fingers, letting them linger in his mouth before letting go. The tips of your talons caressed his lower lip.

“I think that’s enough,” Diaval said of his basket, having given the both of you his back. You supposed he might continue, but you’d slid your fingers through one of the leather straps crossing your mate’s chest right before reaching out to pat him – a bit too hard.

Were it not for the fact that he was your friend, you might not’ve warned him of your departure at all.

You guided Borra after you, your wings canted deliberately so he could watch your hips sway. It was nearly summer, you had become rather deliberate with your dressing – or, rather, the low sling of your trousers and the extra swath of skin revealed by them.

You beat your wings once, knowing he’d follow.

He plucked you right from the sky when he decided you’d gone far enough.

You laughed; his arm around your waist and swift descent made your wings flatten backward and your arms encircle his neck. There was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that you knew meant only good things.

He gave you a rough little shove when you landed.

It was a game you were playing, then. Maybe hunter and prey. You let yourself tumble and dug your heels into the soft earth, pretending to back away as he stalked toward you with flared wings.

“Oh, protector of the moors!” you faux-cried. “I’m a good fey, I’ve done nothing!”

“Are you?” he purred, and the thrum of your nerves heightened. “Because I am not.”

You could’ve curled your toes right then.

His chin raised, and the curl of his fingers summoned the roots of the tree you’d crawled towards to ensnare you. You gave him a play-squeal, a sound you’d never make if you hadn’t thought he wanted to hear it. His new branches lifted you, pulled your struggling body flush against one of the old trees.

“Quiet, now,” he removed your leather chest plate with far too much talon. “I’m sure we have an audience.” He cast it to the ground without regard for the hard and heavy sound it made. His branches curled, tugging your arms back at the wrist.

“Oh, but Borra!” you kept up your silly tone, “You’re protector of the Moors! You may have caught me, but there is only so much you can punish me for!”

He gripped your chin suddenly, the bite of his talons into your jaw leaving your game forgotten in the wake of your hunger.

“Do you deserve to be punished?”

The right answer was, unquestionably, yes. But you wet your lips and tried to raise your chin in false defiance.

There wasn’t much left to take off. You canted your hips toward him when he puddled your trousers around your ankles, and he caught you trying to untie his rerebrace with your teeth. His low, fond chuckle undermined the firm, “No,” that followed.

“Please?” you sassed, and you knew it was just what he’d hoped for. His branches tightened, the pressure pleasant as another lashed across your collarbone to hold you still – to keep you bared before him.

“I always catch you.” His eyes burned. “You’re mine.”

Your eyes fell half-lidded. You felt molten. When he gripped your hips as though the cover of his body truly needed the addition of his wings, you almost thought he’d be kind enough to take you.

Instead, he sunk his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder, and the moan that left you was entirely involuntary. You loved it when he marked you.

He left a trail from your throat down, lingering in each spot long enough to leave a deliciously dark bruise. His tongue traced your rib, and you gasped in delight when he finally sunk his teeth into the flesh of your hip. You’d enjoy that one most of all – and the blush you knew it’d garner from the young queen as well as Diaval.

He traced his thumb along your seam.

You arched toward him, willingly offering yourself. But that was too easy; he retreated, just enough to leave you straining against confinement. Your breath came in quick little puffs like he’d put you in heat, and when his stroking paused as he slipped a finger inside of you, you swore you could’ve cried out.

“Do you hear what I do to you?” He placed much too soft a kiss at your waist. “What a beautiful, whimpering mess you become?”

“I need you,” you whined. Yes, you were, and he knew it – he knew he was your truest weakness.

You were in an extremely vulnerable position, and yet, your Borra knelt before you. He never failed to remind you of your security when teasing hedged too close to truth, and the gentle slotting of your thighs over his shoulders gave you something else to focus on.

Like his tongue.

Quick, light, and much too gentle. He flicked his tongue over your seam and your body sagged pleasantly. “Oh stars.”

He grinned and repeated it. Many, many more times, pressing the tip against your apex, circling, stroking, tasting you as you tasted agave when you lived in that desert cavern with one another, like you were the sweetest part of the desert and the moors.

“Please.” You were breathless, his mouth fixed where you needed it to be, wet tongue and sharp teeth so much and yet not enough, not after all his teasing. “Borra, please!”

He growled, and the sensation made your toes curl. You boosted your hips of your own volition only for his grasp on them to tighten. He kept you still while his tongue buried inside of you, wholly at his mercy. Every deliberate stroke, every languid circle wound the coil of your pleasure. You were panting, your lips parted around moans that refused to fully form.

When he met your eyes, you throbbed with need. Your mate, ever attentive, closed his lips around your most sensitive spot, and you nearly stripped the bark off the tree with your horns.

“I want you to scream for me.” He flicked his tongue and a jolt of pleasure made your captive legs jump. But you were his to control. His to own. The liquid heat pooling in your belly leaked onto his tongue.

“Then take me,” you purred. “Claim me, Borra. Show them where I belong.”

The branches on your wrists squeezed gently. He forced you to endure the sweeping caress of his tongue, the gentle rocking of his fingers. He kissed you until you were a squirming, writhing, whining mess, your toes buried in the moss and body secure in his grasp.

“Yes,” you whispered at first, breathless. “Yes, oh, yes. Please. Skies, Borra, do you want me to beg?!”

This time, he didn’t deny you.

You cried out for him. His fingers, buried in your warmth. His gentle kisses. You pulsed around him, desperately trying to rock your hips, practically begging for more. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough until you felt him inside of you, until he was joined with you and all the moors could hear the pleasure you gave him in return. If he was to own you, let him own you, let him mark you with his teeth, sink his talons into your flesh, fill you with him.

The branches around your wrists were slow to slacken. The ones you summoned in retaliation, not so much.

You had the nerve to sweep him onto his back right out in the open, like he wasn’t going to fight you. You held him fast, grinning with no lacking measure of wickedness at his struggle, or at the way his trousers hung exceedingly low on his hips.

It was your turn to stalk toward him. Flare your wings. But you weren’t making a show of yourself, not after how he’d undone you already.

That didn’t stop him from staring. He even forgot to pretend to struggle.

You tugged at his waist, loosening his trousers and then tossing them into the mess of clothes he’d made. He was already yours, his body prepared for your union.

You dropped your head to taste him anyway.

He groaned, the languid roll of his hips betraying that he was still in control. Even pinned there, under you, with your hand on his hip like it was warning enough, you were the source of his fixation, your mouth engulfed and caressed him.

Horrible man; he made such a lovely sight of himself. His head tossed back, hair splayed beneath him. The way the sun found freckles of gold otherwise hidden in his skin.

You could’ve – should’ve – teased him after the pleasure he took in teasing you, but he was always more patient. You mounted him swiftly, the sudden fullness enough to make you gasp.

He pulled on the branches you’d ensnared him in, and you curled your fingers to tighten them. “Lie still.”

“Suren,” he growled, all performative warning. You felt him twitch inside you, and your body responded. You’re soft around him, pliant and warm, and he wants you. Now that you’re in control, all he can think of is giving you what you’ve been asking for.

You rolled your hips. The low, hungry purr he made dissolved into a groan, and he did his best to rise to meet you.

“Lie still, Borra.” You pushed his chest down, though it did little to stop him.

He’s so strong. His hips bucked. You fluttered around him and your nails curled, leaving small, stinging scratches that were quick to heal. You started to rise away from him, and were it not for another branch that came to your call, trapping one of his legs at the ankle, you thought he might’ve been able to overtake you whether or not that would’ve been fair.

He growled again, low in his chest.

You put your finger to his lips, and he took it between them again. This time, he trailed the tip of his tongue along your talons. He sucked them lightly, and there was a part of you that hoped there was some strawberry left over for him to taste.

You thought you’d be able to move against him slowly. Linger, as though he could’ve resisted had it not been his mouth giving you attention. But you don’t.

It’s so good. It’s so good rutting yourself against him, the way you come apart and stop yourself only to do it again, every time tightening that coil of need in your belly a little tighter. He will need to grip you when it’s ready to burst, he will need to keep you there against him so you don’t back off, but until you need him to, you growl like a wild animal, your head thrown back and body welcoming.

“Look at me,” he snaps, and you quiver around him as you do. You love it when he commands you, and you know your body tells him so.

He loves what he sees. Your eyes blown, your mouth parted. His eyes burn like wildfire. He’s ready to take you, mate you, claim you, leave large, hungry bruises all over your breasts. You haven’t fucked him like this since you were last in the nest, grinding against each other in the confines of one another’s wings.

You let the branches go and he seizes you. Your hips are flush against his. You move hard only for him to take over, rolling over on top of you, pressing your wings into the soft grass, and you can feel it go to seed wherever your skin touches, the dandelions rising, coming to a head, their petals blooming, divulging, becoming seeds to be cast off. You can’t be close enough. He’s buried to the hilt inside you, grinding on you like your talons aren’t embedded in his shoulders and you aren’t keening like a dying animal while he watches, his eyes so hungry and his sharp teeth beyond his curled lips belonging in your skin.

And then you’re there, and he is, and neither of you stop. Not at first. Because it’s all happening in a rush and your head falls back and he’s buried so deep inside of you and all you can do is scream. More warmth, more heat, joins with you, and you squeeze your knees to keep him there, not that either of you are in any state to part ways.

And then his head drops. He’s breathing hard as he kisses your throat, your shoulder, your collarbone. He should be biting, but no – his mouth is gentle and his fingers soothe the marks his talons made in your flesh.

You clutch him. Your fingers bury in his hair to keep him there, flush with you. The sun on your skin is nothing compared to the warmth of his body against yours, and you can do absolutely nothing but bask in it.

“All that for a strawberry,” he purrs, and you groan out loud. He laughs, the beautiful, damnable man, and captures your mouth again.

You kiss for much too long. You honey even longer. You are hot and limp and so very pleased when he finally moves to lay beside you, and there is nothing you can do but grin at him with your sharp teeth and the promise of future mischief when he touches your chin and guides you back to him again.

There is a part of you, only dully aware, that hopes Diaval wasn’t expecting help.

If you liked this and want to see other work, click here.

#Borra x Reader #Borra Maleficent #Maleficent Borra #Dark fey #part of the U.W. Universe #There Is No Plot Only Zuul (lemons)#M:MoE #Suren of the Cavernous Dark

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ahatintimestorybook · 3 years

Text

Hopes and Friendships Chap. 2-The Witch and The Believer

Hello! I’m so glad you're enjoying this AU!

So updates may be a tad bit slow this month. Not only because my birthday is this Saturday, but just last week my dog who I had for 17 years (and is also my first dog ever) died and I was a broken mess. Couldn’t write as much as I used to, so I had to take a bit of a break to clear my mind and rest. I was able to get this story done as it was halfway before everything crumbled down. Luckily, my friends, my family and work seemed to help at least, which helped writing this story faster even if it was little by little.

Enjoy!

The sun started to rise over the town, as the light started to wake up Mu and Boss from their sleep. The two crash landed in a tree and after a while of struggle to free themselves from the branches. They decided to sleep there as sleeping on the ground or anywhere else would have someone catch them in the morning.

Mu groaned and slowly opened her eyes seeing the sun rise. She slowly stretched, but almost lost her balance forgetting she was still up the tree she crashed into. Mu sighed as she caught herself and went to wake her familiar.

The witch shook her cat, but he groaned not wanting to wake up. “Hey Boss! Wake up you lazy cat!” Mu shouted. However, Boss didn’t wake up and still wanted to sleep more. Mu groaned and grabbed Boss by his tail, which quickly woke him up, and held him up ready to drop him to the ground.

Boss yowled seeing his witch was going to kill him. “Are you crazy!” He yelled. “Why do you want to kill me?!”

Mu smiled and gave a snicker as she pulled him back and put the cat on her lap. “I had to wake you up somehow.” She told him. Boss gave a growl as Mu straightened herself up, grabbed her broom which was sitting up on a branch right above them. “Well come on, we better get back before Headmistress Elizabeth knows we’re missing.”

Boss nodded and went up on the broom as Mu flew up, but the ripple she entered in earlier was no longer there. She then flew around hoping to find some way back to Speranza but no ripple was around.

Mu was getting frustrated. “Great! Do you remember how we came here?” She asked.

“I do!” Boss replied. “We flew at night, and went through Magic Ripple. Can’t go back till tonight.” He explained.

“Great!” Mu groaned. She knew Headmistress Elizabeth was gonna flip, finding out she flew off and not flew off in another part of Speranza, but in another world! Another bad thing on Mu’s list of troubling behavior. She decided to fly down back towards the tree till she heard a voice coming her way and quickly hid.

“Oh witch!” Harriet called out. Since she woke up this morning, Harriet quickly jumped out of bed and wrote a note to her dad saying where she was going. Harriet hoped that the witch didn’t fly off while she slept. “Witch! Where are you?” She called out.

Mu looked from behind the tree and glared. “How could a mere normal girl know about witches?” She asked.

“I don’t know.” Boss replied with a shrug. He looked down and saw Harriet look around the bushes, which confused him. “We may have to keep our distance, normal people might be magic hunters.” He warned. Mu nodded, but as they kept watching they saw Harriet pull out a stick with a leaf at the top.

“Huh?” Mu wondered, tilting her head in confusion. “What is she doing?” The witch hopped on her broom and was ready to fly off. Boss noticed and quickly jumped on the broom as they followed Harriet from the sky.

The normal girl was using her stick and twirling it around, mumbling some spells as she pointed the stick at trees, bushes and even a puddle of water. Mu just rolled her eyes with how stupid Harriet was acting right now.

“Parappa! Ping! Oh Miss. Witch, appear!” Harriet commanded, pointing at a tree hoping the witch would appear. The child sighed seeing the witch wasn’t going to appear there either. “I know you're out there! Miss. Witch, or Mr. Witch!” She called out.

Mu went behind another tree and watched Harriet look for her. She was surprised how Harriet hadn’t given up finding her yet. Though Mu was the best in hiding even when someone tried to use their magic to find her. However, that will all change when Mu’s umbrella hits the branch, which rustles the leaves.

Harriet gasped and turned around facing the tree. She smirked and pointed her stick wand at the tree. “Parappa! Ping! Witch, appear!” Harriet shouted, pretending she was unleashing a large amount of magic. However, when Mu didn’t come out from the trees, the young girl sighed thinking it was just a bird or the wind and started to walk away.

Once Harriet was far away, Mu was able to appear from the tree branches and sighed seeing she was gone. The young witch tried to get up to her broom, but she lost her footing and fell on the ground.

“Ow.” Mu groaned. She slowly got up and gasped to see Harriet right in front of you.

“I KNEW IT!” Harriet yelled. “I KNEW THERE WAS A WITCH!” She yelled. Mu was freaking out as Harriet continued yelling excitedly about how she found a real live witch. “All these years I knew magic existed and today is finally the day a witch is here! Right in front of me! A real live witch!”

“Shush!” Mu yelled as she covered Harriet’s mouth. The young witch looked around and saw there was no one around and pulled Harriet aside behind the tree. “Listen here little missy. Don’t just be yelling witch out in the open. We could get in major trouble!” She explained.

Harriet removed Mu’s hand from her mouth. “B-but you're a witch!” She reminded her.

“W-well maybe I’m not a witch. I could just be a normal little girl who loves dressing up as a witch.”

“Nope she’s a witch.” Boss interrupted as he jumped up from the tree.

Mu blushed in embarrassment and glared at her familiar. “Boss shut up!” She yelled.

Harriet gasped in amazement and quickly scooped Boss into her arms and hugged him tightly. “A talking black cat!” She beamed. Soon Harriet started to snuggle the black cat, who now was starting to feel uncomfortable. “Oh you're so fluffy, and cute! I always wanted a cat, especially a black and fluffy one, but my dad is allergic.”

Boss tried to struggle out of Harriet’s grasp, but the young girl had a grip on him preventing his escape. “C-can’t breathe.” He gasped. “Mu help!”

Mu smirked and crossed her arms watching Harriet hugging the air out of Boss. Soon enough Harriet let go of the cat, who was breathing heavily from the human girl’s death hug. Harriet took a deep breath and smiled. “Sorry. I’ve just almost dreamed of seeing a witch.” She said calmly.

“I could see that.” Mu replied.

“So…” Harriet started, leaning towards Mu. “Got a name?”

Mu nodded. “I’m Emily Nerine, but everyone calls me Mu.” She introduced herself. “And this is Boss, my familiar.” When she introduced Boss he sat up proudly causing Mu to roll her eyes.

“I’m Harriet Kidd!” Harriet introduced herself. “It’s nice to meet you Mu!” She held her hand out hoping Mu would shake her hand in reply. The young witch looked at the human girl up and down before slowly grabbing her hand and shaking it. Once the two girls let go of their hands, the two girls stood there awkwardly. “Well...um...what brings you to Subcon?” She asked, hoping to break the silence.

“I just went on a flight across my home world, Speranza and just somehow landed here in Subcon.” Mu explained. “Is that what you call Earth?”

Harriet giggled. “No, silly.” She replied. “Earth is our planet, Subcon is just my hometown.”

“Oh.” Mu realized, sounding stupid just now. Harriet giggled again. She was starting to like this witch more and more now. Soon Harriet’s giggles stop when the young girl hears Mu’s stomach rumble. The young witch started to feel hungry as she hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

“You sound hungry?” Harriet noted. She then smiled having an idea where to take Mu. “H-hey we both haven’t eaten yet, so let’s have breakfast together!” She suggested.

Before Mu could deny the offer, Harriet took her hand and started walking. The young witch wondered what this girl wanted from her. Since her arrival all Harriet has done to her was greet her with kindness. “She must be up to something.” Mu thought.

Soon Harriet took Mu and Boss to a small waffle kiosk that was located in a grass field in the park. This kiosk had some benches so the two girls could sit and talk. Harriet led Mu and Boss to a bench so they could sit while Harriet went into her pocket and took out her wallet to order the food.

Mu and Boss watched Harriet walk up to the counter and order the food and then looked at each other. Not long after, Harriet came with two trays each with a waffle on them. Harriet’s waffles were pink with blueberry syrup and fruit while Mu’s had a chocolate flavored waffle with whipped cream and chocolate chips. There was also one small waffle for Boss in case he was hungry too.

“Go on, try it! My dad loves to take me here.” Harriet urged the young witch.

Mu looked at the waffles and then looked back at Harriet who was already eating hers. The young witch was starving and the sight of the waffles made her mouth water. Mu then grabbed her fork, took a piece of waffle and put it in her mouth.

The young witch eyes widened with how good the waffle tasted. “Wow this is good!” Mu beamed.

“They’re waffle cakes! You take a cake mix and turn it into a waffle!” Harriet explained before taking another bite into her waffle cake.

Mu giggled and soon the two were eating their waffle cakes! Boss tried his waffle cake by eating it in one bite, enjoying how good it was. While eating Mu, looked up at Harriet and asked her a question. “So Harriet, why do all this for me?” She asked.

Harriet stopped eating, confused a bit. “Well I’m just being nice. Plus I already said I like witches and have never met one in person before.” She explained.

“But why?” Mu repeated. “You must want something from me.”

Harriet sighed and dug into her pockets as she pulled out a picture. In the picture was her, when she was little, her dad and a woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes that shined like snowflakes.

“Because a witch took my mother.” Harriet revealed.

~~~~~~~~~

Quick little Author’s Note: I did some looking up on last names and Kidd is a last name. So yes I did a pun. Also Nerine is a kind of Spider Lily. I was trying to think of a creative last name for Mu for this AU and figured why not do a flower!

#Witch Mu AU #Hopes and Friendships #ahit mustache girl #hat kid #mafia boss ahit

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coffee-or-murder · 3 years

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Harvest Day

Told from the perspective of my Drakewarden/smith half elf boy as he meets one Annabeth “Lemon” Bakhuizen. He has a crush, his family embaresses him, but he’s too lovestruck to really notice. Also his drake thinks he’s silly and just wants apples.

The door to his room was thrown open, the handle striking the wall with a crack, startling him and his drake awake with displeased grunts. Aodhán hissed at the short thin figure before pushing open the window and slipping out into the dark with a grumble. He turned bleary eyes to see his father striding into the room encased in a massive green sweater, a long thick yellow scarf wrapped around his neck that barely covered his wide grin and made his long eleven ears stick out horribly, and a pile of knitwear bundled in his arms.

“Da’ what-”

“Get up Tadhgán it’s Harvest Day! We have so much to do and only a day to enjoy it!” he exclaimed as he walked to the bed and dropped the pile onto his lap. “Put those on and come out for breakfast. Aodhán’s scarf is the orange and yellow one. Make sure he wears it,” he ordered before turning and practically skipping out of his room.

“It’s not even light yet!” he yelled after him, only getting a near maniacal laugh in response. His father loved Harvest Day, clearly, and always went a little crazy every year. The Bakhuizen Estate orchards grew nearly every fruit you could bake into something, but their apple orchard was by far the largest. They had nearly every color of apple you could imagine. After they’d done their main harvest, they always opened the gates to the townspeople so they could come and pick their fill. The morning was spent picking apples and catching up with neighbors, a picnic in the orchard for lunch, more picking, and then the town held their yearly Harvest Fair. There would be dancing and music and more food than they could ever eat. Strangely enough there were never any leftovers, no one could tell you who finished off the food. Tadhgán sighed, shrugging into the dark rusty red sweater, and hanging the brown and orange scarf around his neck. The sweater was a little tight on his broad shoulders, but not enough to be a problem. Da’s finally getting the hang of knitting these things. Simple breaches and works boots were hunted down easily enough, and he ran his fingers through his blond hair to tame it. He gathered up the long scarf for his drake before walking into the kitchen. Da’ was stirring something in the pot, oatmeal most likely, and singing one of his many poems barely in tune. His poor mother was still half asleep, head resting heavily on her hand as she glared down at her eggs and sausage. Tea was cooling in a mug next to the plate, but she was clearly not awake enough to notice it yet.

“Morning Ma’,” he said quietly, chuckling as she grunted in response. As he walked past he reached out to ruffle Ma’s short dark hair, laughing as she swatted at his arm and jumped just out of reach. He’d pay for that later he knew, but it was always fun to tease her a bit when she was like this. Tadhgán opened the side door to the forge and smiled. The main forge was burning brightly, casting shadows all around the large open room and bathing Aodhán’s dark red scales in the orange light as he stared into the molten core of the forge.

“Look. They are nearly waking,” the drake rumbled as he reached a claw down and shifted one of the eggs closer to the burning core.

“I expect they’ll hatch by the end of the week. Won’t be happy about winter being right around the corner though,” he chuckled. His throat always felt a little strange when he spoke Draconic, like he’d gargled salt water wrong. Aodhán purred, or as close as a drake could get to purring, before he turned to look at him. Gold eyes quickly settled on the scarf in his arms and he sighed.

“Again?”

“Every year. You know how much Da’ loves Harvest Day,” Tadhgán sighed. The drake hissed in annoyance, but let him wind the scarf around his neck and secure it with a messy knot. He patted his friend’s side before turning back to the kitchen and joining his family at the table. They ate in silence, his mother clearly still unhappy about being woken up so early, before gathering their baskets and slings to leave. Tadhgán quickly saddled up Aodhán, the two large baskets gently tapping the drake’s sides as he walked beside him. His parents were just ahead, Da’ linking their arms together and kissing his Ma’ hand. She grunted in response, and Da’ took the hint to stay quiet until she actually woke up. Da’ was such an early riser, and so happy about it, but it always took Ma’ awhile to get going. The walk to the Bakhuizen estate wasn’t too terribly far since they were already on the outskirts of town proper, and the fall air was crisp and cool. There were a few other people walking up the road to the estate, and they waved to each other. Thankfully everyone seemed to have come to the silent agreement that it was far too early to talk, so they all enjoyed the walk to the gates. They loomed ahead, easily twice the height of Aodhán, made entirely of bright white stone and gray metal. The gates had been pushed open, and some of the family were standing just inside to greet them. They had fresh scones and who knows how many kettles full of coffee or tea or ciders set out on a massive long table. A tiefling boy and firbolg were helping a half orc woman and halfling man sort out little cloths for people to wrap their scones in. The halfling made sure everyone walking in was at least offered a drink and a scone, but waved at Ma’ instead. Tadhgán waved for her, shaking his head at the offered food as he followed his father to the orchards.

The Bakhuizen family weren’t bad people, just a little strange. Their matriarch, a very small nearly ancient halfling named Rosalind, had a strange habit of adopting seemingly random children and raising them in the estate. Some of her children or grandchildren had done the same, to the point where there were so many different races of people living behind the sprawling estate walls it was practically it’s own city. They had quite a few bakeries in different towns, though the one in their town drew the most tourist attention out of them all. They had more money then they knew what to do with thanks to their various business ventures, but with Rosalind still making all of the company's business decisions and refusing to simply give her family money without working for it, they mostly had their heads on right. Mostly. Of course some of the family was entitled and rude, but you have those people in nearly every family. The big scandal was that after Rosalind’s first husband, a local turnip farmer, passed away she took a tall elegant looking elf as her husband. They seemed very happy together though, and he would often carry her around the orchard during the harvest and feed her apples as they quietly chatted. So a little batty, but all around good people.

“I’m awake now,” his Ma’ grumbled, waving back at him before squinting up at the sunrise and rubbing her eyes. Da’ gleefully leaned up to kiss her cheek, and squeezed their linked arms before he chattered away about all of his plans for the day. His mother’s dark brown eyes simply gazed down at her exuberant husband and she smiled softly. They were a bit of an odd couple too, a human drakewarden smith and an elf writer turned househusband, but certainly not the strangest here.

“Will I get baked apples again?” Aodhán asked as he kept pace.

“I think your chances are pretty high. I can always throw an apple down to you and you can roast it yourself,” he answered. His drake rumbled, clearly pleased at the promise of the sweet treat and trotted a bit faster. The group quickly approached neat rows of immaculate apple trees, all heavy with fruit and stretching on for nearly as far as they could see. The other groups quickly broke off, heading in the direction of their favorite apples and following the helpful wooden signs staked into the ground. His family kept walking, occasionally coming upon other townsfolk or Bakhuizen family members having their own fun picking or playing chase together. A halfling woman wearing the Bakhuizen crest embroidered into her shawl was glaring angrily up into a tree, hands on her hips and a scowl marrying what could have been a pretty face.

“You get down from there right now! This is not what young ladies do!” the halfling woman screeched up into the massive apple tree. Tadhgán looked up and felt the breath leap out of his lungs. A halfling girl was in the boughs of the tree, dark chestnut hair haloed in the sunrise. Large dark green eyes sparkled with mischief as she plucked another bright yellow apple and slipped it into the nearly full sling across her chest. She grinned, full lips curling up as she stared defiantly down at the woman.

“Clearly it is, since I am in fact doing it and still a young lady,” the girl said. The wind caught her long thick braid, the yellow ribbon holding the strands together fluttering like a banner. Gods she was beautiful. His heart was pounding, and Aodhán rumbled, questioning his rider’s sudden nerves.

“Listen to your mother and get down here before you fall!” the woman snapped. She stomped her foot for emphasis, but the girl looked entirely unimpressed. Her gaze suddenly met his and what little air he managed to get back was gone again as her grin widened.

“You there! Will you help a lady down?” she called out to him. His tongue suddenly felt too heavy to move and he nodded instead, taking a step towards her.

“Should we find you a ladder?” Da’ called up. She started to walk on a thick branch towards Tadhgán and shook her head. Her pants were nearly skin tight, showing off the curve of her thigh even as the large white shirt she wore covered the rest of her body. The sun still shone through the white fabric, showing just a hint of the gentle dip of her waist. She had no shoes. How had she climbed up with no shoes? Or ladder?

“You look pretty strong. Think you could catch me?” she asked instead, leaning over slightly to look at him with her head cocked. Her mother screeched something, he wasn’t really listening to be honest, and he nodded again. She couldn’t have been more than three feet tall after all, and he was nearly twice that. He’d worked in the forge and trained as a drakewarden since he could walk, so he certainly had the muscle mass to carry something as small as her. Still, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest when she simply fell off the branch towards him. He lurched forwards, catching her in his arms and holding her close for a moment. Apples. She smelled like apples and lemons and something baking. “Excellent job sir,” she said, patting his forearm with her tiny hand. She was so tiny, and shockingly warm against the chill.

“No problem,” he mumbled, leaning over to put her on the ground. His hands flexed at his sides as she dusted her shirt off and beamed up at him.

“Thank you for catching me. My name is Annabeth Bakhouzin, but you are very much welcome to call me Lemon,” she said with a small curtsy. She used the billowing fabric of her tunic as a skirt when she curtsied. He gulped, trying to swallow around the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. Aodhán cackled behind him, nudging his back and grunting for him to get it together.

“Ah I’m Tadhgán McGowan at your service Miss. Lemon, the smith’s son,” he stuttered. She cocked her head to the side -gods her eyes were such a dark green he could barely make out her iris- and scrunched up her nose a bit.

“I’m sorry your accent is a little hard for me. Your name is Tadhgán correct? Like tea-gon?” she asked, confused. He gulped, and nodded. Clearly he was not up to speaking. She smiled again, before turning around to face her mother, her braid swinging at the motion. “There. Mr. Tadhgán helped me out of the tree, and now I am solidly on the ground again. If you’ll excuse me, I have a new recipe to test with these lovely apples,” she said before looking back at him and winking. “If you come by the party tonight I’ll be sure to save you a couple turnovers. My new recipe is going to win the baking contest for sure.”

“He’ll be there lass, don’t worry. He’s an excellent dancer too,” Ma’ called out, smirking at her son as Da’ held back his laughter behind his hand. Lemon beamed at his Ma’ and nodded, waving at them as she ran off, closely followed by her still screeching mother. He watched her run away, the yellow ribbon streaming behind her, and he could barely catch his breath.

“I remember the first time I met your mother,” Da’ sighed dreamily from beside Ma’. “Harvest Day is the best day of the year. It’s so romantic. Why when I met your mother I-.”

“Don’t tease the boy. He’s embarrassed enough,” Ma’ chuckled before leading Da’ on deeper into the orchard. Aodhán rumbled behind him, pushing his head into his back to get him moving again. Maybe Harvest Day was worth getting up before the light for, especially if he got to see Miss. Lemon again. Maybe later they’d need an extra hand around the estate?

#dnd lemon #dnd tadhgan #dnd story

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i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years

Text

Black - Chapter 7

Yes, I still am not done with this irregular, random, weird travel blog...

Fandom: the Hobbit

Characters : Thorin x OC, many others

Setting: Before the unexpected journey lol

Rating : Mature (not yet...still...but a little)

Warnings: none, it's just light-hearted silliness

It's a longish chapter (around 4k words...sorry)

“All is well, Master Dwalin. Do not distress yourself!” She called out to the vision of prowess stomping towards her.

She would not necessarily be welcome here, she knew, but it made her feel safer already to know that, at the very least, they would not have looked on as she was raped and murdered by some stranger.

“The lass has chased away a grown man with a tree branch. Aye, she might be well assorted to Oakenshield.” Balin laughed, carrying the infant easily back to the settlement. She remembered the impossible weight in her arms, pushing down on her bones and compressing her flesh, and she was amazed at the strength of these beings.

“May I borrow a knife?” She asked the two warriors who were apparently waiting for her to take her back into the confines of the settlement, Thorin looking positively eager to take her to safety and slightly annoyed at the delay.

Dwalin handed her a small blade and she knelt again, opening a small wound in her forearm and sticking the bloodied knife-edge into the ground. It was a hungry earth, she knew for she felt its thirst, and old nan had told her that dung and blood fertilised the soil best.

“What are you doing, lass?” Dwalin approached, cautiously, suspicious of an obviously insane woman with a knife. “Gardening, Master Dwalin, gardening.” She replied with a small chuckle. Maybe, she could get some seeds out of those vegetables she had bought. When dawn broke, she would inspect the wilderness around the Mountains in search of herbs and fruits she could use for her other, meagre talents in hopes that she could be of service in any other way.

“Mistress? Mother asks what is to be done about the food you have brought…” The blonde kid came up to them, exclaiming: “Oi, mistress, you’re hurt!” and offering a rather dubious handkerchief right away.

“Oh, no, I’m fine.” She looked to Thorin, seeking his help in explaining. “She does things differently.” Thorin said tonelessly but inclined his head at her to get her to answer the original question of his nephew.

“Come, Mistress, you must be cold. Really, uncle, to have that poor woman sitting on the cold ground.” Fíli seemed outraged and dragged her away towards the settlement, shaking his head at an equally indignant Thorin.

“So…about that food.” The young man asked again, pointing at the cart nobody had touched hitherto. “It was a gift…”

Thorin had said it would be welcome, but maybe they distrusted her that much? “I have purchased it from a merchant from the Shire and Thorin has been there all the time, I have…there is…it’s good.” She stammered, biting her lip, she had never been so far from home and comfort; she felt painfully outmatched by all these gloriously self-possessed people around her.

“Oh yes, nobody said there was anything wrong with it. No…but it’s yours, Mistress. Uncle said you’ve bought it.” Fíli replied gently, steering her to a nearby bench and twisting his moustache. Evidently, he was trying on the role he would have to fill sooner or later; she hoped it would be later, much later, for she could not even envision the death of one Thorin Oakenshield.

The very man approached and lifted his hands when she wanted to defer that decision to him. “You bought it with your past, woman, you decide of its future.” He declared and waited.

“What are you talking about, Master Dwarf?” She mumbled, waving at the cart and the foodstuffs within. “These are offerings to the venerable royal family and their people.” She spoke to the young prince, handing him what little was left of her savings.

“Woman, did you just hand him your money?” Thorin roared. “Yes, Master Thorin, didn’t you?”

“That’s not the same thing.” He protested. “I am not a kept woman, Master Thorin, and I am not your guest. Your people cannot bear another idle mouth to feed, another idle body to warm, isn’t that the truth you tried to hide from me?”

He retreated one step, startled by her candid words. “That first night, you took me in, you gave me food.” He murmured.

“And I will continue to do so, Master, I will forage and hunt, I’m used to walking to markets to sell my wares and I shall go on doing just that. I have survived on my own for a long time and I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

Her pride shone bright in that second as she went toe-to-toe with a king, with a man she respected, with a person she venerated for his kindness and generosity. “I want you to be my guest.” He said, just a tiny bit petulant.

“And I’m telling you that I don’t want to be your guest. You are my master…and my friend. Have I ever offered you less than my service?” She barked back, proud and strong, standing in the middle of the courtyard with her cart.

“I have made a vow, Thorin-king, I have promised hard work and humility to purge the sins of my forefathers. Have you forgotten about that? I shall not renounce my promise to the creator.” She went on, softer.

“You are delivered. Men don’t work for the likes of me.” Thorin retorted, with deceiving calm.

“I am not a man though, am I? All kinds of people work for their king if their king works for them, and women have worked for a man since the beginning of time.” She smiled. “I am not a slaver!” He exploded.

“They are not your people.” As soon as he saw her face fall, he knew that he had gone too far, that his words and his pitiful mastery of them had failed him; like wild horses, they had run off and trampled someone he cared for.

“Thorin!” The princess, beautiful and wreathed in flames of just anger, stormed into the yard and let both her palms clash heavily onto his broad chest.

“Do not listen to him, he did not mean it the way he’s spoken it; Thorin has ever been a mulish, overly proud, misspeaking fool.” She whispered to the frail creature huddled in her hurt as a babe in a blanket.

“It runs in the family.” Thorin hissed and earned another withering, punitive stare from his sister.

“Your gifts are very welcome. What he means to say is that we do not want to be seen as the kind of people who take advantage of the…goodwill of a gentle maiden such as you. We are said to be ruthless and greedy.” Her eyes went dark with sadness. “There are things that may point into that direction. If you were to sacrifice that tender life of yours in service to a…homeless people, it would shame us.” Her royal hand rested heavy and solid on the frail and shivering one.

“I would be part of a great destiny, of retribution, of redemption, if you permit, Milady.” She whispered, begging under her breath. “Such faith have you in a king without a crown, without a realm, without an army?” The princess was surprised.

“Such faith have I in the person who’s led me out of misery and through peril to a safe haven, yes.” She replied firmly.

“Harbul…” Thorin sighed, much to the dismay of his sister and the onlookers. He had called her “mudlike”, which was in itself not a compliment, but when she looked up to question him on his choice of name, he smiled: “Creature of mud, creature of soil, fertile daughter of water and earth.”

She bowed to him, accepting “mud” as her name, as her epithet, as her identity, amongst those strange people who were so private with their own names. Her previous name was strange and outlandish to them, so she encouraged the outraged crowd to address her by a word of their own language.

They were so proud of their heritage that it was unimaginable to them to feel honoured to be given another name in a foreign language, but she hoped that at least Thorin would understand. “I am sorry.” He murmured as he took her arm to go into the dining hall, small and cramped as it might be. So, he did not understand.

“If I had been less hasty, if my words had been less careless, please believe me that I’d have bestowed a name worthy of your courage and your loyalty upon you. I’d have praised your beauty and your good heart rather than harp on your own erroneous vision of yourself. I am truly sorry.” He whispered into her ear, while his sister still looked at him as if he had crawled out under a rock.

“Don’t…I love it.” She beamed up at him, trying out her own name tentatively. “I feel like I’ve arrived.”

“From dust to mud? I don’t want that, I don’t want you to stay a slave to ghosts forever.” He sounded exasperated by her meekness. “Some of us are born for greatness, harbingers of momentous change and icons of a bright future, Master Dwarf. You are more than just a man, you’re a promise, you’re an oath, you’re the physical embodiment of an excellence spanning centuries and millennia…and some of us…are not.”

“Arzâm, that’s what I should have named you.” He groaned. “Woman, growled impatiently, has worked perfectly for us this far, no?” She grinned, then, overcome with curiosity, she asked: “What does it mean then?”

“It means “faith”; despite everything you say about yourself, it is what I think of first when I think of you.”

“And do you think of me often?” She laughed. “Yes.” He gave back in a serious, ponderous tone.

“Then I shall accept that name as well. Faith, it suits me well.” She was still smiling, shedding her old skin and everything she had been born into with an easy shrug that confused and amazed Thorin.

At the closed door though, she hesitated, then stopped completely.

“I…Should I go in there? I can eat out here.” The woman henceforth and forevermore known as Faith offered.

“You are not a dog, woman, come in. There are still dwarrows who want to meet you…and they’re pushing against this very door from the wrong side.” With an impatient call through the wooden partition inviting unseen people to please clear the doors, Thorin gave it a hearty shove.

Excited murmurs and threatening growls erupted in a sound like waves crashing onto the shore.

“I am unwelcome.” She whispered, biting her lip to keep her calm while Thorin moved with impervious determination through the throng of people towards a table where his nephews were already seated.

“Let me leave, Master Thorin, I beg you.” His hand only tightened around her arm as he pushed her forward, feeling miserable because he was treating her like a prisoner now, but she would not just scurry away to eat scraps of the food she had bought herself. “Don’t be afraid; these are the sounds living, breathing beings make…Okay, dwarrows might be a little louder than the fine people you’ve grown up with, but…” He gave her a crooked smile.

It was true; she was overwhelmed with the sheer volume of the cacophony of life around her. After years of wandering in an endless, wooded tomb, she had almost forgotten what vivacity sounded like.

“If you go any slower, uncle, she’ll be dead of starvation before you make it to the table. We’ve all seen the beautiful maid you’ve brought along with you, now make haste, we want to eat.” The younger one of the nephews called out and ducked behind his brother to avoid Thorin’s glaring look. Only, he had not minded his own mother who gave him a sharp rap on the head that might have broken Faith’s neck from the look of his head flying forward and almost knocking over a pitcher.

“Friends, kinsmen, join me in welcoming Mistress Faith who not only has provided this dinner, but, as I am told, has also chased away a potential intruder AND tried to hold a pebble.” Dís announced, apparently silently agreeing with her son’s assessment that Thorin’s dignified and regal entrance was basically just annoying and boring.

General laughter from the surrounding crowd made Faith look around in wonderment and interest. “Why is that funny? That infant was adorable, why wouldn’t I try to hold it?” She looked up at Thorin questioningly. “They’re heavy and notoriously difficult. Your new friend here was a terror.” He grinned as they reached the table, nodding at his sister.

“I was absolutely nothing of the sort; I was a proper angel compared to my older brother.” She spat back and, for a moment, Faith thought that she would stick out her tongue in defiance.

“Fíli was a fussy baby, but Kíli was not all that difficult.” Dís informed her as she pushed the woman down on a chair with a force that made her bones creak. “They must have been so adorable.” Faith sighed under her breath.

“They were okay.” Thorin grumbled, but his eyes were warm. She remembered the stories he had told her on the road about their first weapons and their first ponies; she had traded him old women’s tales for recollections of his beloved family and so she knew that he loved those rambunctious boys more than his own life.

“Also, that baby was not difficult at all.” She turned back to Thorin. “It tried to scalp you!” He exclaimed. “Nonsense, it merely played with my hair…It was charmed to find someone who let it touch their hair.” She rolled her eyes at him.

“Well…you may touch mine, for good luck, as you say. Would that make you feel less nervous?” It was a surprising offer and she shook her head immediately. “Oh no, I won’t touch your hair, in the dining room, in front of everyone!” She hissed under her breath which made him break into booming laughter.

Fiddling around with his braids for a second, he pressed a small metal bead into her hand under the table.

“For good luck.” He winked. “Thorin-king, you cannot do that.” She blushed. “I am king; I can do what I want.”

Being back home with his people brought out that other side of him as well, she noticed; he seemed to have a streak of wicked, quick-witted humour that made her head spin. She knew this to be a joke for she was fiercely aware that she had only known one single person in all her life who had lived observing a more extensive array of rules and restrictions than her: Thorin.

“Be true to your name, woman, and have faith in me, have faith in my people. We are a private folk, suspicious, distrustful, wary of outsiders, but we also know a gem from a pebble, and we value loyalty above all else.” He said with that weighty, serious tone that made him sound so much like a king of old.

He served her prime cuts and a good heap of vegetables. “Eat your greens, Thorin-king!” She whispered as she understood that he was trying to smuggle her his portion as well. Despite the face that he made at her, he shoved a fork full into his mouth grimly and stared her down defiantly.

“Thank you, Mistress.” Fíli bowed his head at her with a cheeky smile. “At your service, prince.” She replied, her deference marred by the grin she couldn’t suppress. “Do you want to walk with Kíli and me after dinner? We can show you the others.” The prince offered eagerly. “Others?” Faith was immediately interested.

“Don’t overtax her.” Thorin cut in, stern, afraid that too many dwarrows at once might still make her run for the hills.

“Oh, please say I may go, Master Dwarf. Please.” She begged, grabbing his arm with both her hands. “Well, my nephews can open the doors for you.” He said with a sly smile and had she not been in the dining room in presence of a good many of his subjects, she might have smacked his arm for his cheeky insolence.

“Will you heap blessings on them as well?” Thorin asked, a tinge of jealousy piqued within his heart. “I shall beg the great creator to be merciful to those who would follow you into the great unknown, yes.”

“That great creator you always talk about…who is he?” Thorin shoved away his plate and turned to her fully, to the surprise and confusion of the other people in the room. “Well, he’s the great creator. We are not given his name, Thorin-king. He is one and he is many. He is the source of everything.”

Thorin made a gesture that encouraged her to go on. “He’s the beginning and from him flowed all powers and things, which in turn created new things. Creatures of mud. Creatures of stone.” She smiled up at him with open warmth.

“We believe that Mahal has created us. Hewn us from stone and Eru Ilúvatar gave us consciousness.” Thorin murmured in a low voice to her. Faith raised her hand and puckered her lips in strenuous concentration. This sounded familiar…had she perverted her nan’s stories? Had she diluted the tale?

“He is one and he is many, from him all things sprang, the holy maker of things, fashioner of chains and forger of wonders…the name escapes me, Thorin-king, but I might have heard of that Mahal.” She whispered, more to herself than to him until she became aware of his burning gaze upon her focused face. “Yes, I might have known that story…” She repeated.

“That’s a part of the great creator that had no bearing on my life though, I am sorry.” She went on, apologetic. “The story doesn’t end there; Yavanna, his wife, is queen of the earth, bringer of fruits, protectress of all things that grow.” Thorin interrupted her.

“So, you’ve given the different parts of the great creator names?” – “It’s what people say…there are many names and a lot of stories, I thought you might like them.” He smiled gently; he had seen how she was grounded in her faith and how she thrived on stories and tales. This was a gift to her, and he hoped that she would not be offended.

“Hmmm, interesting.” Faith was consumed by curiosity now. “So, you were hewn from stone?” – “No, not me.” He laughed.

“Durin then? Was Durin hewn from stone?” She asked, remembering that mystical first king. “Yes…”

“And he had a long beard?” Faith beamed up at him. “Yes, he had a long beard.” Thorin chuckled, amazed by her naïve fascination and earnest wish to learn; to her, all of this were stories, fairy tales and pretty lies, but his people had cherished and passed on those accounts for generations.

Faith’s mind was churning with questions; to her, there had always been a notion of sacrifice and devotion to her observance of her belief and she wondered what might please this Mahal.

“Have I leave to go to the nearest river in the morning?” She asked Thorin as their plates were cleared away. “What for?”

“Have I leave to use one of your furnaces?” She went on, not answering his question.

“I accept your faith, I accept your vision of the creator, and I hope they might accept my way of honouring them.”

She would go and collect loam, purify it to clay and turn it into pottery, he understood. Offerings had ever been her way of expressing and observing her faith; he had seen her twice bleed onto the ground and a hundred times call out to the great creator while offering her time, her tears, and her pain to him.

“What for?” He repeated slowly. “To give thanks for the walls that encase me, for the man who’s saved me, for the creation of this beauty that fills my soul to the brim, Master Thorin. I have seen great wonders, they were gifts, and gratitude is expected.”

When he didn’t reply, Faith went on softly: “I have surrendered my life to you, I have surrendered my name to you, let me worship the way I always have and hope that it finds grace.”

Industry and creation had ever been pleasing to Mahal, Thorin thought and he could barely imagine that any Valar could be displeased with such ready and absolute devotion. One could have believed that her soul was easily swayed, but as he looked into her eyes, he discovered that her belief had only deepened thanks to his words.

“I’ve told you about Yavanna because she sounds like someone you’d feel…close to.” Thorin went on, disregarding his nephews who were chomping at the bit to get the poor woman away from him. No doubt, they had some mischief in mind.

“Many times you’ve called me king of stone, immutable and intransigent…” He went on. “Strong and steady.” She corrected.

“Well, allow me to call you queen of growth then, queen of thriving things, queen of change.” The way his face melted into a dazzling smile made her feel weak in the knees; he was the fire and the smith in equal measures, and she would never grow accustomed to the flashing blaze that engulfed her unexpectedly.

“Let us call you queen of moving away from the grumpy old dwarrow.” Kíli said cheekily and pulled her by the arm, almost tearing the whole limb out of the socket. “Gently!” Thorin warned his nephew, who apologised but kept drawing her away.

“So…how do you find uncle?” Kíli asked as soon as they were – almost – out of earshot.

“What are you talking about? He’s just over there! I had no reason to search for him this far.” Faith replied with a smirk.

“Haha, funny, no, but…how do you find him?” The young prince insisted, not discouraged by her side-stepping.

“I find him much restored in his health and mood now that he’s amongst his kin.” Faith provided amiably.

“Mahal’s beard, woman, do you think he’s cute?” Ah, the impatience of the young, Faith thought, increasingly enjoying this little game. “No, prince, there is no creature on this earth less probable to be called “cute” than your uncle, the king.” She chuckled.

“Really? Look at him, look at the fuzzy beard…Is it the beard? Really, he could grow a proper one, not like Kí here…He has his reasons to wear it short…It is the beard, isn’t it?” Fíli plunged into the conversation.

Faith wondered how good the king’s hearing was and how he’d feel about her being asked inappropriate questions about him by his intrusive but adorable nephews. She also knew that beards and hair were not up for discussion usually.

“There is nothing wrong with the king’s beard.” – “You can call him Thorin, he’s not here…You can call him everything you like…” Fíli was an irreverent creature, Faith thought, cheeky to a fault, but she felt warm affection wash through her immediately, nonetheless.

“I shall call the king what he is. A king. Your most revered uncle. A man deserving of respect and esteem.” She said severely.

“You sound like mother…Come on, give us something. Any little thing, you like the beard then?”

“He’s a good man.” Faith said slowly. “But do you think he’s handsome? I feel like he hasn’t been told that he’s handsome lately. Mom tells him he looks like a raincloud that was stuffed inside a rotten tree trunk for too long.”

Faith knew that it was a trap, but she couldn’t help herself. “I am pretty sure that the honourable princess would never say anything quite as callously untrue to her brother, the king.” She cut in sharply.

“You should tell him that he’s handsome.” Kíli looked at her with huge, wet eyes pleadingly. “No, I should most definitely not do anything of the sort. Are you out of your mind, good prince?”

Faith bit her lip, that was no way one was to speak to a prince.

“I am not. He’s my uncle, I am fond of him…and he’s lonely. Also, he’s worn his best tunic tonight and you did not comment on it, did you? Screaming at him and all.” Now, he was making her feel guilty; she had indeed almost argued with Thorin tonight.

“Durin blue and all…” Fíli added. “You know Durin?”

“The one hewn from stone with the long beard, yes. I have not had the pleasure as that was before my time, but yes, I have been made aware of him.” Faith replied cautiously; she knew not if she was allowed to talk about this to other people.

“Do you think him ugly? It’s okay if you do, many of your kind do. We had just hoped that you’d…cheer the old boulder up with your feminine guiles.” They seemed dejected by her words and Faith was quick to want to reassure them. One would have thought that she had insulted their Mahal and Durin by not answering their question and their sad eyes broke her heart.

“Who? The king? He’s the most beautiful creature in the world.” Faith almost stumbled over her own words.

“Oh really? Can you tell him? Please, tell him.” Strong hands closed around her arm. They must have been adorable as children, Faith thought again, no wonder Thorin loved them with such fierce intensity and tender indulgence.

“To his face?” Faith was doubtful that this would be a good idea. “To his goofy, fuzzy face, yes.” Kíli laughed.

“Kí…Let’s go meet a friend of ours. I think you’ll like him.” Fíli grabbed her sleeve ever so delicately and gave it a gentle tug, apparently afraid to damage his uncle’s plaything. “I am not made of sugar.” Faith laughed.

“You have no idea what they’re like if you dare…touch, take, damage or steal what they consider theirs. Great-granddad, he was…intense.” Fíli chuckled, but there was a darker, painful truth behind his light tone. Faith retraced their family tree, potential centuries of history, reciting under her breath: Thorin II, son of Thráin II, son of Thrór. What had happened to them? Thorin had spoken at length about the family that lived, about the people she’d meet, but he had avoided the subject of his forefathers as much as possible. What did the prince mean by “intense”?

“I am not his. Not in that way. I am a tool, not a valued possession.” Faith tried to protest, but heavy dwarven brows raised in evident mockery stopped the gush of indignant words immediately.

“Yeah, that’s probably why I can already feel our mother’s breath on my neck…Uncle didn’t want to let you go, let you out of his sight…as if we’d ever let any harm come to you.” Fíli puffed up with wounded pride. “The king says you have a tendency to mislay and lose your…things. Toys. Ponies.” Faith dared interject.

“This is different! Mother would…oh, she’d be furious and so would uncle. No, we’ll take you to see Ori and let uncle introduce you himself to the rougher fellows. Do you have any valuables?” Kíli asked in a nonchalant tone as they led her down a narrow corridor.

“No?” Faith patted the pockets of the dress that didn’t belong to her, just in case the previous owner had left anything in them.

“Good, because Nori will pick your pockets.” They both laughed. “Oh…maybe I should have brought something of value then?” Faith felt bad and slightly irritated at the boys for not having warned her beforehand.

“Here, it’s your own coin you handed to me so gallantly. It will make the old boy happy.” Fíli handed her a coin and she tucked it away in one of the skirt pockets diligently. “You’re a good sort, Mistress.” Kíli grinned, giving her a small slap on the shoulder that propelled her a few feet forwards.

“Be careful, Kí! Uncle will not let her come with us anymore if she’s all bruised afterwards!” His brother reprimanded the young prince immediately who apologised with another one of those melting puppy-eyed looks that made her heart shudder with maternal instincts. “I have to toughen up.” She just smiled.

“No, we need to learn delicacy. Ah, here’s one who will know how to act…Ok, he’s fled. We’ll get him!”

They ran off, after a reddish flash dashing around a corner, with surprising agility. To Faith, it felt like watching wolf pups chase after a deer; there was the distinct cuteness of youth, but already, one could not oversee the instincts and the single-minded determination of predators, of warriors, of flowering strength and power.

Sighing, she decided to follow them, praying that there would be no doors to open or sullen dwarrows to confront before she found them. In her mind, she turned over the question if it would really be appropriate to tell the king that he was handsome…She had said so before, but she had spoken abstractly, never really adopting the tone his nephews so ardently claimed was necessary. The mere possibility that those two rascals could be right when hinting at the king’s loneliness overruled her sense of propriety and what little pride she had left. Once she’d find her way back to her companion, she’d tell him.

“Mistress? Here’s Ori.” Kíli shoved another youngish dwarrow towards her who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in her presence. Her heart froze. Two other silhouettes appeared from the shadows and the hairs on her neck raised in gooseflesh.

#thorin oakenshield #stuffy thorin #nephews #fíli and kíli are pests #Ori ran #a bit of theology #not serious #don't come for me #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #writing #longer than expected

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tumblinglringlring · 4 years

Text

Small Things

Writing a Dwalin x reader fic that no asked for? It's more likely than you think!

Rating: G

Relationships: Dwalin/reader

Tags: Post-Erebor, Fluff, I’d tag this Au Everyone lives/nobody dies but no one died at the end of the third movie sooooooo

After the Battle of Five Armies, the realization that the reader will never go back home to earth hits them hard. Finding you crying, Dwalin comes over to comfort you.

Inspired by that one scene from the office between Dwight and Pam where he finds her crying and attempts to comfort her.

When you first arrived in middle earth, right outside Bilbo Baggin’s hobbit hole and right during the dwarven company’s meeting, you had been shocked and surprised at the turn of events in your life. One minute you’d been smelling the flowers you’d just grown in your window box and had just been stung by a bee and the next you’d been on the floor gasping. When you’d black out you’d awoken to the faces of Gandalf and Thorin and Company looking down on you. Who knew you were allergic to bees?

Gandalf had practically dragged you on the quest and while Thorin was hesitant at first, you had proven yourself useful in your knowledge of his future and that of his quest. Thankfully you had taken the time to see the Hobbit movies back on your world. To protect this knowledge, Thorin had assigned Fili and Kili to look after you and Dwalin to teach you fighting basics. While you got along well with the two princes, the gruff dwarf seemed only to begrudgingly stand your presence. At least at first. It seemed he had warmed up to you infinitesimally during the trip as he was always keeping an eye out for you. He’d nearly knocked out Kili when he took one of his pranks too far and had caused you to cry. He was also the first to you after a fight, ensuring you weren’t injured, but always had some piercing criticism about your lack of skill or sense of preservation.

Admittedly your fighting skills were horrendous. You had not been athletic back home and that didn’t seem to change in middle earth. However your knowledge proved useful during the battle of five armies. With enough warning, the dwarven, elven and men war staticians were able to use your information to rout the Orc and Gundabad army. And ensure none of the line of Durin perished. But that had been months ago. Now that it was apparent the elves or Gandalf had no way of returning you back home, the extent of what you lost back home had started to hit you.

Everything was gone. Your family, your friends. Your job. Your apartment that you had scrimped and saved for, filled with little items you had collected during your life that made a home a home. But it was more than that. There were no malls. No movie theaters. None of your favorite books and movies were here. Heck even the types of music were different and you doubted you’d hear anything resembling a pop or rock song ever again.

What ended up doing you in was a cookie of all things. When you’d spied the chocolate chunks in it, you’d nearly squealed in joy at the idea of a chocolate chip cookie. Taking it to your favorite indoor park (surprise it was the only one inside Erebor), you sat amongst the fruit bearing trees and had taken a bite.

But it wasn’t the same. The chocolate was different, not like the nestle chips you’d had growing up, and you realized that you’d never again taste something as simple as a chocolate chip cookie from home ever again. As you munched on it, tears began streaming down your face and soon your body was wracked with sobs, that you desperately tried to hold in lest you’d cause a scene. To the few dwarrow who had approached you offering assistance, you’d only held out your cookie and cried about the chocolate or something or other. Perturbed, they left you alone. And perhaps that was better, no one needed to see you ugly crying over a cookie of all things.

Hearing the sound of heavy footsteps behind you, you braced yourself to try and deflect another well meaning offer of help.

“Who did this to you,” the familiar gruff voice of Dwalin said. However you couldn’t answer him. He’d only look down on you. Shaking your head, you tried to stifle your sobs causing your whole body to shake with the effort. However soon a fur jacket was placed around you and you looked up to see Dwalin standing to your right, staring right at you. Knowing your face must look a mess, you quickly looked away and tried to wipe your tears with your sleeve.

“What did he do,” he grumbled as he dug for something in his pockets.

“What? No -it’s-it’s nothing,” you sniffed, blinking up at him only to see him handing you a spare rag. Taking it, you loudly blew your nose before offering it back, Dwalin only pushing it back into your hands. “Thanks.”

Eyeing you a moment, he sat down beside you causing you to furrow your brows. Why is he staying here? His distraction was enough to quiet your sobs and soon you were only sniffing.

“You don’t have to stay,” you said in a small voice. You were sure he had much better things to do than sit next to a sniveling girl.

“I know,” he sighed, “I don’t mind.” Feeling him place a tentative arm around you, you relaxed under his touch.

However this unexpected kind gesture touched you and you began crying in earnest as he rubbed circles on your back. Placing the half eaten cookie on your knee, you held your face in your hands as he pulled you closer towards him trying to sooth you. You felt him pick up the cookie a moment and thought you heard utter a quiet “oh.” before replacing the cookie back on your knee.

“I’ve heard a woman’s monthlies can be quite trying,” he began - giving you pause - “But if ye’d like I can take you to Oin.”

Then it clicked. And you couldn’t help but laugh, in fact you were doubled over in laughter and every time you quieted down a bit, you saw the look of surprise and confusion he gave you and it started another fit.

“You stupid, ignorant dwarrow,” you laughed, wiping the tears from your eyes, “It’s not that.”

“Bloody hell woman,” he grumbled, “Then who did this t’ye?”

“It’s nothing,” you sniffed, feeling another surge of sadness threaten to spill more tears from your eyes, “Please it’ll seem silly to you.”

“Tell me who did this, and I’ll take care of it for ye,” he urged, turning to you to wipe a stray tear from your cheek, “It cannot be silly t’cause ye such pain.”

“It’s not a who,” you said, shifting nervously in your seat, “It’s more of a what.”

“A what?”

“It’s a what that bothers me,” you murmured, eyes watering, “It’s a lot of whats.”

“Woman ye aren’t makin’ sense,” he sighed, exasperated, “Out with it. The sooner ye tell me, the sooner I’ll take care o’it.”

“It this,” you held out the cookie to him, not able to meet his eye, but you could just tell he had raised an eyebrow at your explanation. “It doesn’t taste the same.”

“I’m gonna need more to go on, lass.” Taking a deep breath you started to tell him. How the chocolate was different from back home, how you’ll never get to taste it ever again. How you’ll miss everything and nothing was the same. Dwalin nodded as he listened to you and not once did he make you think he wasn’t taking your mourning and sadness seriously.

“And what worse,” you sniffed, “There’s no one else in the whole world who will know what those things were like and remember and commiserate with.”

Taking a bite of the cookie, you noticed you felt a little better now that you had told someone. Lighter almost.

“Lass I may not be able t’understand what ye lost, but I’d be honored if ye’d tell me more - when yer ready o’course,” he added, his ears pinking slightly.

“Oh Dwalin, I don’t want to bore you with it,” you said, breaking what was left of the cookie in half and offering him a piece, “But thank you, though. I feel better.”

“Glad t’be of service,” he smiled softly before taking the piece and popping it into his mouth, “Now why don’t I walk ye back home and ye can tell me all about this favorite book o’yers.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23936305

#bfroggers fic #the hobbit #dwalin x reader #erebor #the hobbit fanfiction #Dwalin #fluff #dwarrow #modern girl in middle earth #I'd tag this au everyone lives/nobody dies but no one died at the end of the third movie sooooooooo

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gingerteaonthetardis · 4 years

Note

Ten (or Femme!Ten) works behind a grocery counter (deli, bakery, etc.), and crushes on Rose when she regularly comes to shop. Rose has a protective boyfriend who doesn't like the way Ten looks at her. (Based on a real couple I know and love.)

FEMME!TEN. okay. okay!! femme!ten is my new religion. i decided to give her a blend of canon traits and my own daydreams. anyway, thank you for this prompt, it was so much fun to write! also, i have no idea how things worked out for the real couple you know, but i imagine it went... absolutely nothing like this.

also, a big thank you to thinky for the title, and for fangirling over femme!ten with me for... hours and hours.

finally, please note that, despite the contents of this fic, i have nothing against blueberry scones.

read on ao3.

𝕊𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕖𝕤, 𝔹𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕆𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕔𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕥𝕙

The Girl was back again.

Di didn’t actually know her name. As far as she knew, the pretty blonde who came in once a week and paid cash was just ‘The Girl,’ a title which felt both deliciously mysterious and patently ridiculous. But the joy she felt every time they interacted was something she kept to herself, a harmless—but rather silly—secret.

Her crush was probably Di’s best kept secret, actually.

The rest of her co-workers—or the close ones, anyway—already knew about the part of her life when she’d been a bloke, and that she was working at the grocer while finishing her doctorate in a field that nobody could pronounce. They knew that she had exactly zero understanding of football, and her favorite task was decorating the birthday cakes, because she liked to remember people’s names and imagine them eating her words. She had a weird sense of humor, maybe, but was generally sociable and, on the whole, good at befriending people.

But when The Girl was around, she just clammed up.

The first time she saw her, she was barely able to fill the order—a fresh baguette, please, and did they carry any fig jam? Asked with a cheerful sort of hopefulness. Like asking for bread at a bakery counter was almost too much to expect, too much of a delight to hope for. Di had gone so silent and stupid that she ended up silently thrusting the baguette at The Girl, and then sending her to what was, most likely, an entirely random and incorrect aisle.

The next time, she did better. "Aisle eight. Promise. I checked this time," she offered, with a self-deprecating grin, one hand raking through her messy hair—probably only making it more messy. The Girl smiled back.

And Di knew she was a goner.

It seemed to come so easily, that smile: like a sunrise slipping over the horizon at dawn, and just as bright. How could one little human contain that vibrancy, that much generosity of spirit, casting light wherever she went? Everyone in the shop seemed to lean toward her when she came in, like flowers stretching toward a lone ray of sunshine slicing through a lightless forest.

Or maybe Di was just smitten.

They were perfect strangers, but every time The Girl stepped up to the counter with her sparkling smile—now with a hint of mischief, because they had a little shared joke: Still in aisle eight? Or has the jam moved?—it ceased to matter.

Di was a moth, and The Girl was a flame, and each time she came and bought her bread—always something crusty and fresh, something Di could almost picture The Girl biting into—she felt herself circling closer. Closer to saying something. Anything.

It didn't even have to be clever—she would've settled for Hi, I'm Di, and I'm pretty sure you're the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen, as embarrassing as it might have been. Even one of her typically useless observations would’ve been welcome. Like, Excuse me, why do you like fig jam so much? Is it the complex decadence of the sweet fruit, broken up by bitter seeds? Is it because you know that the Buddha sat under a fig tree to gain enlightenment, or that the Biblical Promised Land is said to be full of figs?

Do you know that sometimes, I look at you—smiling simply because I'm giving you bread—and I think I understand what all those great men were looking for?

Or maybe not that.

Today was different, though. The Girl was back again, and there was something strained, almost frayed at the edges of her face. Her smile was forced.

"Hello," Di greeted, cursing her own lack of creativity. She shifted her weight awkwardly, plimsolls squeaking against the hardwood. "The usual today?"

The Girl nodded, a flare of sincere happiness stretching her cheeks. Di flushed. How could she be so beautiful, smiling like that? How could it be directed at her?

Di, you useless lesbian, she berated herself, trying not to let her jaw go slack.

"Is my jam back in stock?" The Girl asked.

Di nodded. "I'm happy to say it is." And she was—happy, that is. She couldn’t help but be, with The Girl’s curious eyes looking up at her. She reached for one of the fresh rolls, still warm from the oven and resting cozily on their tray, and a little paper bag to put it in. "How many?"

"Just one," The Girl replied, standing up on her tiptoes to peer over the counter. “For my lunch.” Her pink-tipped fingers hovered over the glass, ready to catch herself. And The Girl’s chin barely made it over the curve; she really was quite small. Or maybe it was just Di’s own lanky height that made the contrast so apparent. She’d probably be able to wrap her long arms around her twice.

The image that suddenly leapt in front of her eyes—of pulling The Girl into a hug and tucking her nose into her hair—was so completely absorbing that Di nearly fumbled the roll in her hand, only just getting it into the bag. The Girl didn’t seem to notice, sniffing eagerly and briefly sighing at the scent of fresh bread before glancing up and offering one of those winning grins.

Was she mental, or was The Girl blushing now?

"And could I—I mean,” The Girl stuttered, “I'd like some scones, please."

Di grinned, one dark eyebrow arching over the frames of her glasses. “Trying something new today?”

The Girl chewed her lip, glancing anxiously over her shoulder. “No, they’re for my boyfriend.” When she turned back, her face was pinched and pale, but she still managed a smile. “Can’t stand ‘em, myself.”

“Me neither,” Di agreed. It wasn’t technically the truth; she’d never actually thought of scones for more than one second, outside of putting them into bags for people. She did just that, moving on autopilot while her brain whittered away.

The Girl seemed so tense, and why did she keep glancing back? Was her boyfriend liable to get lost if left on his own? Di almost snorted at the thought. Following the path of her gaze, she looked out past the bakery section—and saw The Girl’s boyfriend. It was impossible to mistake him.

For starters, he was watching The Girl like a hawk. Not necessarily in a creepy way—just very, very intent. Jealous, like a dragon looking over a hoard. He wasn’t very tall or broad, or particularly anything at all. In fact, Di would’ve described him as “utterly forgettable,” had she given him more than a first glance. Certainly not even in the same universe as The Girl and her ridiculously sparkling beauty. But dull-looking as he was, with his pasty skin and forgettable face, he seemed determined to stake his claim—even from across the shop—crossing his arms and shooting a scowl their way. Was he actually directing that look at her?

Di couldn’t imagine why.

She looked back at The Girl, who was beginning to look seriously uncomfortable, furrowing her brow when she looked back at her boyfriend.

And Di struggled for the right thing to say. Something friendly, but also something suggesting that The Girl could do far better than Painfully Average Adam, or whoever he was.

But The Girl beat her to it, turning her shoulder firmly away from her glaring companion. “I like your specs,” she blurted out, forcing a quavering smile. “They’re… classy.”

“Oh!” Di blinked, shell-shocked. “Thanks.” She was honestly grateful she got those two syllables out, what with her heart climbing her throat like it was Mount bloody Everest.

“And they, er—they really suit your face. The cat-eye.” The Girl rocked on her feet and then added, “I’ve been meaning to say for weeks, but I didn’t—”

“No, it’s fine. Thank you. Really.” She beamed, pushing her black-framed glasses back up her nose. She likes my glasses. She thinks I’m classy. Those incomprehensible facts rebounded around her mind, and it took all of Di’s substantial brain power to tamp her smile to a not-mad-looking level.

“It’s just… I work at Henrik’s,” The Girl said, and it almost sounded like she was building up to a babble. “Not the eyewear department, but I—”

“Rose!” The voice echoed, too loud, across the space between the grocery proper and Di’s counter.

The Girl—Rose, Di realized—turned to face her boyfriend, who was tapping his watch and looking irritated. But she hardly noticed him, because… Rose. Di felt a bit lightheaded at the sudden rush of knowing that came over her.

Of course The Girl would be named for a flower. She bloomed.

“Sorry,” Rose mumbled, turning back to the counter. “How much do I owe you?”

Di answered instinctually. “Nothing. I’ve got it.”

“What?”

“I’m serious. If you’re in a hurry—”

“I wouldn’t want you to get—”

“I’ll be fine,” Di chuckled, waving her arm vaguely. “Go get your boyfriend.” She wrinkled her nose around the word, and The Girl—Rose, she reminded herself giddily—pressed her lips together, unable to entirely suppress a laugh of her own. But then she sighed, looking longsuffering.

“Right. Should do that.”

“Probably, yeah.” She pushed the bag across the counter, the scent of blueberry scones wafting behind them. Now that she thought of it, they were awfully sweet-smelling, for things that tasted like sawdust. How rude of that boyfriend, to ruin Rose’s perfectly good rolls with his too-sweet scones.

Rose’s smile—a real one—flashed at her. “Thanks, er—what’s your name?”

“Di.”

“Di,” Rose repeated. She tried not to shiver at the way her name sounded. “Cool. I’ll see you later, then.” Di just grinned and made another little swatting motion, hurrying her away from the counter. Rose giggled, the tip of her tongue peeking between her teeth. It was the loveliest sound in the world, and Di tried not to stare. But she couldn’t quite help it.

She watched as Rose rejoined her boyfriend—who shot a parting glare her way. Seriously, what was this guy’s problem?—and made for the door. They were just out of her sight when—

Aisle eight.

She forgot her jam!

“Shit,” Di cursed. She hastily pushed a little plaque that said “Closed” to the front of the counter and grabbed a pastry bag, only pausing to scribble a few words onto it. And numbers. She smiled dizzily, wondering when she’d turned into such a risk-taker. She liked to keep a low profile, dating-wise; she definitely wasn’t one for giving her number out to strangers. But this seemed like the sort of opportunity she couldn’t miss.

Anyway, she was feeling brave.

Di jogged around the counter, skidding past the display case full of sweets and making for the aisle where Rose’s favorite jam was stocked.

She knew, of course, because she’d checked. Because—and she stifled a triumphant laugh in her throat—she really, properly liked this girl. Her kindness, and her fondness for fresh bread, and the way she looked out at the world and saw something to smile at.

And it was entirely possible that The Girl, that Rose, liked her, too. As her hand wrapped around the little glass jar with it’s pristine label, she made a mental note to pay for it later, and shoved it into the bag, rolling down the top so her message would be obscured.

And then she ran after them, right out the door.

“Rose!” She shouted, and her voice cracked, echoing across the parking lot. She searched the rows of cars, hoping to spot a familiar blonde head. And she did. Rose was about to get into a boring, nondescript car, with her boring, nondescript boyfriend. She called out again. “Rose!”

Rose looked up, her face already bursting into a wide smile, one with all her teeth, and that same pink slip of tongue. Would wonders never cease? She was even lovelier than before—even brighter and more beautiful outside of the shop—and Di had to stop running, if only to catch her breath.

Rose shut the door again, saying something Di couldn’t make out to her boyfriend, and then jogged across the parking lot. Di extended the white bag out in front of her, meeting Rose halfway. “You forgot your jam,” she explained happily. When Rose reached for the bag, their fingers brushed, and she felt sparks light up her insides. Di’s smile only grew. “You don’t owe me for it either.”

“Actually,” Rose countered, “I owe you for a lot of things, I think.” And then she wrapped one of her small arms—the one holding her bag of fig jam and Di’s hopes—around the taller girl’s ribs, squeezing lightly. Di squeezed back, and all the butterflies in her stomach took flight, soaring up toward the mellow blue sky. She wondered if this was the start of something. She hoped it was.

And she quite liked hope.

#I LOVED WRITING THIS OMG #femme!ten x rose #tenrose #tenth doctor #rose tyler #timepetals #dw #ficlet #abbey.txt #thanks for the prompt!#tardisinateapot

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ggukstummy · 4 years

Text

it’s cold where you lay

one line description: warmth seems so out of reach for namjoon.

pairing: namjoon x reader

au: non-idol au

genre: angst :(:

warning/s: death, mention of suicide (please notify me if there are more warnings I should place!)

word count: 3.4k

It’s cold where you used to lie.

Namjoon tosses and turns, gets rid of his blanket then realizes it’s even worse without it. He doesn’t bother covering himself with it again, ignoring the chilly air. How do people sleep? How do people sleep like this?

How do people sleep when you’re gone?

It’s cold, so cold. The thundering rain falls loudly outside, goosebumps litter his skin and he shut his eyes feeling creases form on his forehead from how hard he does it. He can’t sleep when his mind goes nowhere but your face, your figure, you.

And he wonders once more. Where he went wrong, what he could’ve done to make it all end nicely, realizing it’s useless but he couldn’t give up, not when it’s so cold where you used to lie.

Right beside him, in his bed.

“Will- will you be my girlfriend?”

You did not expect that coming out from your crush. Kim Namjoon, your resident high school hot smart guy, he’s cute and his dimples are adorable.

You were Namjoon’s seatmate for a whole grade, and that’s how the two of you met. You loved listening to him rambling about Science, and definitely surprised when you found out he liked the same band as you did. Admittedly, you had always been interested in him, but you never thought that the feeling was reciprocated.

He wasn’t popular or anything, but people liked him. And he had brought a bouquet of flowers for you, a classic that you appreciated. The people passing by, although very little since it was after school hours when scheduled clubs are finishing for the day, they were whistling and cheering on both of you. The floral arrangement was really attracting attention. You really had no idea how he pulled it out of nowhere.

“Um-” Blood rushing through your cheeks, you softly took the flowers from him, “I mean, if you’re okay with me. I- I liked you since we were seated together as well.”

The both of you blushed so hard that day, neither of you could ever forget.

A sniffle comes out of the poor man, heartbroken and longing. He desperately wishes for you back. The bed seems emptier and emptier, what feels like ten hours has only been two minutes.

The bed he lies on is too open, too spacious. Where was the warmth he had? Gone. Not here anymore, clearly not where she should be

Namjoon knows he has to rest if he wants to be able to make it to his job the next early morning, but maybe a sick leave is needed. He just wants to be alone.

Alone with you.

“I’m sorry Namjoon-ah,”, Jin had told him when he came earlier to the apartment you both used to share. Jin coughed, feeling the lack of care on his index finger when it ran over a dresser and it came back covered in dust, “But she’s gone. And it isn’t healthy for you to stay hung up on her when she’s not here anymore. Please, I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Namjoon understood that. Understood that more than anything.

Especially when he’s here, on the bed, cold and empty.

He shivers, trying his hardest to go back to sleep. But his thoughts feel like a storm, and he is but a sailor trying to pass the sea. Curse the waters. The more he wills himself to sleep, he was brought to another memory instead.

“Namjoon!” You squealed, hands shooting towards your neck, “That tickles!”

The book you were reading had fallen onto your lap when you decided to focus on his teasing hands instead, “Cut that out, I’m trying to read!” You swatted at him, almost daring those fingers to come back and try poke your neck. The smile on your face was bright and Namjoon would die for it.

“But you just look so beautiful, my darling.” He chuckled, rising up a bit from his position to have his big warm palms coming to cup your cheeks, kissing each of them with big smooches. “Also I just want to cuddle you.”

You placed the book onto your nightstand, sighing but understanding nonetheless. The lamp on the bedside table was then turned off, and you went under the covers to have said cuddle party with your beloved, limbs tangled contently. Namjoon was smelling your hair, kissing your face, touching and feeling you right beside him, where you belong.

His darling.

The book you were reading is still there, and he vowed to never move it. Anything, any little thing that would remind him of you will stay the way it was.

Next to it sat his phone. His fingers move to grab it without thinking and then turned it on, the bright screen glares at him but he couldn’t care less. He smoothly taps the gallery, bringing him to a picture of you and him under a tree by the Han River for a picnic. It’s an automatic action, one he has been doing for the past weeks. Just looking at your face.

Another sob comes out of his throat, the pillow is stained wet from his tears and his mind running in circles around one person. You. Again and again, he just can’t seem to tuck your form away and rest. He has too at one point, has to stop and leave you as memory, but maybe not tonight. Not now when the wound is still bleeding, so fresh and so painful.

The phone Namjoon holds he brings closer to his heart.

“...(Y/n)..”

He looks once more at the empty space beside him.

It’s cold where you used to lie.

“Say cheese!” The lovely mother had been taking her son to Han River when the both of you asked her to take a picture, and she had complied with a friendly nod and an “Okay!” before taking the phone Namjoon had handed her and snapping a few takes for you.

You thanked the woman as Namjoon takes the device back from her. Checking the photos before nodding and looking at the woman to give him his thanks as well. The boy waved at the both of you as his mother took his hand.

Satisfied with the picture, Namjoon sat back on the picnic blanket you brought, then took a good look at the inside of the basket filled with sandwiches and fruits, sodas and water bottles. He picked out a yummy looking egg sandwich, blissfully munching on it and taking a chug of water in between. You stare at him in contentment as you chew on your grape.

A giggle came out of you, and Namjoon looked in worry.

“Darling, don’t laugh while you eat.”, he scolded, “You’re going to choke.”

You wipe your mouth, before taking another napkin to wipe the side of his, “I’m just happy you like the sandwiches,” you let go of his chin after, “And this was such a sudden date too, I’m glad my last minute sandwiches taste nice.”

“Everything you make tastes nice,” He mumbled, finishing the whole sandwich before digging through his jacket pocket, “I thought I brought my UNO cards, did I forget them?”

“Oh, I thought you did,” You chuckled, hands coming to your neck to bring heat. It was oddly cold, you suppose it’s because of the clouds blocking the sun. “You want to play UNO for a while now, maybe check the your bicycle’s basket? I’ll stay and watch the food.”

“Already on it,” He nodded, “It’s a pretty long walk from the bicycle lot to here. I put your favorite curry bread in there, have some!”

“You did?” the excitement you radiate always makes it worth buying it from the bakery far from where you live. He strokes your head with his warm palm, an equally warm smile painted on his face.

“I did, enjoy it. I love you.”

“Love you too!”

He grinned to himself as he heard your small “Aha!” and the tear of the paper packaging. Walking to where you parked your bikes together, he busied himself with looking at the birds and humming a tune. The sky was cloudy and it looked like it could go either way, sunny or rain. He took note to take the raincoat out of the basket in front of your bicycle, after the last time the both of you got rained down while biking, you always had one ready.

That was a sweet memory. Namjoon’s lips pulled up to form a silly smile and recalled when the both of you cycled desperately to get out of the rain- which wouldn’t happen because it was already drizzling- and gave up to eat in a shop on the side of the street, both of you soaking and gulping the ramen served there hungrily. His insides felt giddy just thinking about it.

“I WANNA SWIM MAMA!” a shriek came from a boy who looked to be 7, maybe 8. Ah, it was the son of the woman who took the picture of the both of you. “YOU NEVER LET ME SWIM!”

“You may not, Haneul.” She chided gently, crouching to talk to him, “It’s so cold right now! Do you really think it’s a good idea? It isn’t allowed as well, and you don’t wanna break rules, do you? Now lets go back home and we can buy your favorite pudding tonight at the grocery store, okay?”

Namjoon’s thoughts instantly went to how lovely it would be if the both of you could be parents one day. He had always dreamed of being a dad, and even had impulse bought a pair of blue baby shoes. You promised someday he’ll get his wish granted, once you both graduate college and have a stable living.

It was a nice dream.

Namjoon finally arrived at his destination, locating your bikes and finding out that indeed, he had left his cards where his girlfriend told him he did. He took it out, and your raincoat was not forgotten too. The man was about to go back to you until something caught his eye, a little ladybug on the handlebar of your bike, he watched it move with great interest for a minute or two, before the first cold raindrop hit his cheek.

Looking up to the sky, it was dark. Way darker than he thought it was supposed to be when he saw the clouds before. Thoughts forgotten on the bug, he pulled the hood of his jacket up to his head and started to do a little run back to where you were.

It was only drizzling, and he didn’t know how it happened, but the light drops of water soon turned into a full blown rain with a thunder accompanying it. He was running the direction people around him were rushing to opposite, where the parking lots were. He took out his phone he pocketed and turned it on only to be faced with the camera screen, reminding him that he hadn’t exited the app yet from when you both had taken a picture, still sunny earlier.

The call he made to you after he exited the app was directed to voice mail, and his panting was clear when he calmly told you to get ready to run back to where the parking lot was so you both could find shelter in the nearby areas first.

Two minutes later - you guys picked a picnic spot too far and secluded, he supposed- Namjoon arrived at his destination. The basket was there, the picnic blanket folded and the rest of the food tucked in safely, he would know, he had picked the basket up and checked.

But where were you?

“HANEUL!”

A terrified scream had his head snap towards the direction it came from, his body following suit, and his heart dropped.

He felt cold.

Namjoon saw the mother from before, and saw her son Haneul, too.

Only the boy was in the river.

And you were too.

“HANEUL!”

Her frantic shrieks were raspy, and Namjoon ran- stumbled- towards all of you.

“(Y/N)!”

Upon being closer to the river, it was an even more terrifying sight. The waters were unfriendly, raging and angry. The currents strong and cruel, you were barely holding on to a rock, your fingers looked bloody, but your hold on Haneul was tight.

Namjoon had never did anything so rash before, but without any thought, he ran into the river, past the mother and his hand stretched out as if it could grasp you and bring you to him

“NAMJOON!” You cried, eyes struggling to open as water was flying everywhere, you felt like crying. The fingers you sacrificed to grip the rock hurt the more time passed by, and every second you spent in the cold water submerged up to your neck felt like eternity. “TAKE HIM! YOU CAN’T CARRY THE BOTH OF US BACK- TAKE HIM!” Your words were barely heard over the roaring river.

He didn’t know what to feel, looking at the child. Should he feel angry? Angry that he couldn’t leave the boy to get taken away by the currents? Angry that he couldn’t let him drown and just take you back to land in his hold, where it was at least safe? Where he could at least envelope you in his warmth?

The rain continued to thunder, and with a heavy heart he raised his hands to let you give Haneul to him.

You had transferred the boy to his care. Haneul was passed out and too cold, but Namjoon could care less. The man felt goosebumps but it didn’t come from the figure he was holding, it came from you.

Your fingertips were freezing, you were soaked to the bone, your strength rapidly seeping out the longer you fought the currents trying to drown you to the bottom of the river, your lips were purple and borderline blue and when he made eye contact with you he knew you were almost at your limit.

“(Y/n)- (Y/n) I can’t do this. I’m leaving the boy, you’re more important.”

“NAMJOON!”

You had screamed at him when he was about to let go of Haneul into the deep river.

“Please- just please take him back. I promise I’ll be fine. I’ll- I’ll wait here. You can save me once you take him back so please- please just take him back.”

Your teeth were chattering and it was hard to look into your eyes when Namjoon realized what he was about to do. The man gritted his teeth and nodded before he used all his might to go back with the extra baggage, his thighs weren’t giving up anytime soon. His grip on the boy tightened as he silently apologized about what he had intended to do just before. The agonizing struggle paid off when he finally reached dry land- as dry as it can get with all the rain.

Namjoon put the boy down, not dropping him but not exactly gentle with him either, and wasted no time turning around to dive back into the water to get to you.

But you-

It felt like slow motion.

The mother’s eyes widened in terror, another stranger had come running to the scene and was watching with alert, ready to do anything if anything rash happened, maybe he hadn’t noticed the hope drain from your eyes. Maybe all he noticed was Namjoon’s terrified stare at your self.

Your mouth moved to whisper, and he didn’t know how he heard it so clearly over all the other sounds clashing, but he did. He heard you.

“I love you-”

A crash.

The waters rose.

You were gone, and the river took you with it.

Namjoon screamed, shrieked, cursed the crying woman and the other stranger he didn’t realize had arrived who pulled him back to prevent him ending his life. He kicked and flailed around, desperate to jump back in to save you. His wails hurt his throat, but that didn’t stop him from trying to get out of the man’s hold for the next hour until the rain stopped and the police were called.

He remembered it like it was yesterday, but it had been a month. And he didn’t know what happened since then. He just remembered breaking down when they- when he found your body floating on the river. It had been sunny too, and although it framed your figure beautifully- even when dead- it was far too warm.

It was cold.

Namjoon felt cold on the day of your funeral.

A black suit, a black tie, appropriate attire.

His hair had been combed and his shoes were polished.

And he had watched your casket lower down into the deep hole prepared. He had watched your family and friends weep. And he wished he could too, but he wanted to stay strong in front of you at least.

He wanted to stay strong because he couldn’t be back when you needed to be saved.

He wasn’t fast enough, he wasn’t quick enough, he wasn’t enough.

And although he promised himself not to cry, the very thought got him bawling moments after the last guest left, the mother who had brought Haneul with her. She was crying the hardest, no doubt feeling guilty about everything. And Haneul- the boy didn’t understand what happened. He was too young, and as much as Namjoon wanted to hate him- he couldn’t. Because he was a boy who only wanted to swim.

Namjoon sat right beside the very ground you were buried, head in his arms and his cries so loud yet so quiet it blended in the graveyard. It was cold, but not the weather.

Him.

Namjoon imagines the soil surrounding you, imagines how nice it would be if he can muster up the courage so he would end up right next to you. Maybe he should try hanging himself again in the bathroom, maybe this time he wouldn’t chicken out. Jin is sleeping out in the sofa in the living room, if he could be quiet enough, it should probably work.

He contemplates the idea of being together with you again, and smiles. Maybe he should take the stool- but..

But who would remember you? Who would remember your love? Who would remember the look on your face when you just woke up, eyes cloudy and hair messy? Who would still think that’s the most beautiful sight to have ever graced this wretched world?

Only him.

So he takes his mind off the rope he hid in the kitchen cabinet, and shuts his eyes tight. The tears start to crust, and he hugs himself and the phone tighter, hoping desperately that it would warm you someway, somehow.

Because you aren’t where he can hold you anymore.

Because you are alone in the river, in earth.

Because my darling, it’s cold where you lay.

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