#♡ 𝚁𝙾𝚂𝙸𝙴 & 𝙵𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙸𝚂 ⤷ like the moon you pull me closer ; bathe my body in your lavender skies. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

flownintothesun · 1 year

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⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐣𝐨𝐲 . (𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝!𝐚𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐦)

⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── a closed one-shot for @batteredoptimist.

𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖, like ripples in a stream — like the day they first met, scared and alone in the world somehow coalescing into this — the single greatest moment of Francis’s life. There are pieces of a before that he will likely never get back — but she in her love has made the present divine. A tree and two shovels wait off to the side of the garden — a willow tree to plant out a ways, that they can run to and hide in, and love under. Something grown because of their joined hearts. Francis thinks that there’s just a little bit of magic in that, the way that it lingers in her and everything that she touches — the way the world comes together and grows in delight at her fingertips, becoming something new, becoming something beautiful. He understands, because she’d given that to him, too.

With his violin tucked under his chin, hand firm on the bow, he ushers out a shaking breath — this is it — the moment to end all moments. This is what happens next, what happens forever, what is and what will be — and he greets her with song as she steps into the garden, the first note flitting out of the instrument so joyfully that if there were a heaven to reach, Francis’s music would have found it. It’s not ‘here comes the bride’, it’s the song that he’s been writing for her since the day they met and began their love story. It’s the song he hears in the whispers of the wind, and feels with her breath against him just before a kiss — this is her hands over his in this same garden, teaching him about herbs and how to plant flowers. This song is the light she has given him, and what he now gives back, heart and soul.

Not another sound fills the air as he plays, save for Ben’s collar, jingling in a light breeze that he can only imagine is picking up her dress and carrying her toward him like magic — because that’s what she is. She is the only sign of real magic in the Universe. He plays her hope, he plays her joy, he plays her trust and most of all, he plays her love, and when he finishes, there aren’t many dry eyes in the audience as his violin is handed over to Muriel, and he reaches out for her hands. They are warm in his, soft despite their hours spent in the dirt. They, and she, are home to him.

The wedding is unconventional, here, in the garden outside of the farmhouse. Their feet are bare, and he knows by the scent of her approaching that Rosie wears a crown of flowers, and also that they grow all around them — quick and beautiful as he imagines heather in the moors must be. It’s not elaborate — Muriel had made the cake, and no one’s wearing a ballgown or a tuxedo, and when they dance, it will be like they do around the fire, at home, with their family, singing songs and loving this new life that they were given together.

“Dearly beloved,” the borrowed pastor pulls him from his thoughts, “We are gathered here...”

Francis smiles, a tear streaking down his cheek, a curl brushing it away, loose and wild in the breeze, “I’m sorry, pastor,” he interrupts to some gentle clucking in the background. Could be chickens, could be Doris. “But can I please just...kiss her now? And will someone please come and tell me how absolutely breathtaking my bride is?”

He lifts their entwined hands to her cheek, “I love you so much,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss her lips, smiling into it as his hands shake, “I am enchanted to be loved by you.”

#batteredoptimist #➤ 𝚅𝙸. 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂 ┊ francis devereaux.#♡ 𝚁𝙾𝚂𝙸𝙴 & 𝙵𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙸𝚂 ⤷ like the moon you pull me closer ; bathe my body in your lavender skies.#⋆ ⚓︎ ⋆ ── 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 ┊ 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑖 𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑢𝑝 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔?

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