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#autumnal scene
autumnmylife · 2 years
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Walkers in Drum Manor Forest Park near Cookstown in County Tyrone can enjoy this autumnal scene-Northern Ireland-Autumn 2021
Photo by David Brownlow
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cametotheshowinsd · 6 months
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The autumn chill that wakes me up, you loved the amber skies so much;
🍁TAYLOR SWIFT × FALL🍁
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maureen2musings · 4 months
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Autumn in Finland
niko.laurila
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lionofchaeronea · 6 months
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October, Jules Bastien-Lepage, 1878
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crawley-fell · 4 months
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Don't do your magic act. Please. Please! I'm actually begging you.
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pagansphinx · 4 months
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Santiago Rusiñol i Prats (1861-1941) • Fauno viejo (Old Faun) • 1911 • Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía , Madrid
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windowsmillennium2000 · 5 months
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x
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oldfarmhouse · 7 months
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sharing🍁memory
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florencemtrash · 2 months
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Brown Eyed Beauty — Lucien x Reader
Fond, childhood memories are few and far between for Lucien. But he's reminded of every good thing when he looks at you.
Author's note: DAMNIT! Brown eyes deserve to be treated with the same tender reverence as any other color. This one is for all the brown eyed beauties (and Lucien lovers) out there.
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There was a hidden stream Eris had taken him fishing once, back when he was a stringy child with two eyes and soft hands.
“You’ll need to build up your strength and the calluses on your palms, then the fish won’t be able to slip out of your grasp so easily.” Eris told him, standing up to his knees in the gentle current, pant legs rolled up with the ends dripping. His body was slim as a reed, but strong, and on the cusp of adulthood. Pale bruises were scattered across a pale, freckled chest, purple, green, and yellow.
Lucien watched with bated breath as Eris tracked a shiny, silver-pink body darting between the rocks, his eyes untricked by the bending of sunlight as it dove into the water. 
There. 
Eris leaned down and dipped his hands into the stream with lightning swiftness. “Gotcha.” 
His hands broke the water. The salmon writhed, fighting with every gasping breath and splashing water onto Eris’s already soaking trousers.
“Here.” Eris stretched his arms out to where Lucien stood in the shallows. The salmon was giving up, the rhythm of its whipping body slowing. “It’s tired. Try holding it now.” 
Lucien held on for five seconds before the tail slapped him across the face, startling him so much he dropped the fish and its scaly, sleek body began to race downstream.
“No!” Lucien dove for it, red hair slipping under clear waters. The current was stronger than he expected, or maybe it was just that he was weaker than his brother. He felt something pulling downward, keeping him submerged.
His first response was to panic, to flail his arms and legs out uselessly. But then he stopped. It was peaceful down here, the water so clear that he could catch every grain of sand splashed over brick-brown rocks like stars. Tiny fishes, silky smooth with beady eyes, darted in and out of crevices. Light behaved differently underwater, fragmenting and casting lovely golden shapes on stones the color of fresh-pressed coffee. 
Here it was calm. Here was a place where Beron’s power couldn’t touch him. Here he was safe. 
A strong hand grasped the back of his shirt, hauling him up soaking and sputtering with a brackish taste sliding down his throat. 
The bruises on Eris’s cheekbones stood out on his pale skin, the fright in his eyes turning to anger. 
“What the hell were you thinking?!” Eris yelled and all but tossed his sopping body onto a yellowing patch of grass. 
“I’m sorry,” Lucien mumbled. He sat, shivering in the Autumn chill until Eris caught another salmon and assembled sticks in a neat circle of sand, lighting it with a snap of his slender fingers. 
“Tomorrow we’ll come back,” Eris promised as Lucien sank his teeth into the juicy, pink flesh. The skin was perfectly crisp and grease dribbled down his chin hot and slick. Eris wiped it away with a soft swatch of moss. “I’ll teach you to swim properly.” 
He didn’t seem to mind the descending cold, and for that Lucien was grateful. It meant he would get to keep Eris’s shirt until his was finished drying on the cracked log. 
But unbeknownst to them, Beron had come home earlier than anticipated with their other brothers. Eris was whipped ten times for leaving the Forest House unattended and Lucien was locked in his room for three days. They never went back to that stream — at least not together — and Lucien learned to swim on his own in less forgiving waters. 
Lucien still clung onto the memories of that day. Good memories from his childhood were far and few between. 
“You’re staring again.” You sighed contentedly and shifted in the little cradle of earth you’d claimed for youself. Yellowing, waist-high grasses swayed above you, occasionally bowing down with slender fingers to tickle your cheeks. A hundred yards away the Sidra tumbled over stones, rolled onto gray-sand beaches. The air tasted of salt and seaweed. Crisp, tangy, clear. 
“How did you know?” Lucien asked, and you could hear the gentle caress of his smile in the words.
You cracked open your eyes against the sun’s assault high in the midafternoon sky. Sure enough, Lucien was staring at you, golden eye whirring. You ran a languid finger down the bond, light and airy as a kiss. He braced his arms by your head, sinking down until his body was pressed flush against yours. 
You smiled. “I can feel it. It’s my special talent.”
“Oh?” Lucien chuckled.
“I’ve cultivated it over the years. A product of having a brute like you chase after me like a hound goes after a fox.” Not that you’d ever gone far. 
Scarlet strands of hair slipped out of the braid you’d arranged hours ago. They hung around his elegant, scarred face like liquid fire, casting a warm glow onto his already tanned skin. You tucked them back behind his sharp ears. Traced the curve of his bones until he was leaning into your touch.
“You wound me,” he murmured, kissing your palms. 
You blushed, feeling the brush of his full lips against your sensitive skin. “I didn’t mean it.” 
He smiled — a crooked, boyish smile. “I know.” 
He looked into your coffee eyes. The light bent differently when they touched your irises, curving around the bends like honey, cutting amber crescents at the edges of their rich color. You closed and opened them slowly, letting the light pour in like cream into coffee, swirling and setting them aflame. 
Lucien was back in that stream. The world was still. There was nothing that could hurt him. Just clarity, peace, and the riverbed glittering beneath him. 
“I love you, Y/n.”
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geopsych · 4 months
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Maybe not too interesting, just some things from a walk. Sunrise, a fence with leaves, curious squirrel, and a little early morning crow maintenance.
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niddy-writes-randomly · 6 months
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September 30, saturday : September slipped away fast. Something died in the far distance. You are not the old you anymore.
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yesterdaysprint · 11 months
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Autumn leaves, Paris, 1949
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🍁🍂🎃
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maureen2musings · 5 months
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foxglove_and_ivy
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lionofchaeronea · 6 months
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Autumn, Helmer Osslund, 1907
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Alec at the cemetery | Dark Angel 2x11
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