#‘old pot. drooping flower. new pot?’ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

woodelf68 · 3 years

Text

Lessons Learned And Praise Well Earned

@lokijiro prompted: "Frigga regularly reads books to her tiny sons. One day, she realises that Loki can read, even though she hasn’t really started teaching him yet." Loki is around the equivalent of 3 years old here, and let's say Thor is somewhere between 5 and 6. Word count: 5918

----------

Odin eyed his eldest son. Thor was not usually one to dawdle over meals, but he was quite clearly dawdling now. Since he wasn't putting any more food on his plate, Odin assumed Thor was done with his breakfast, but instead of saying anything he was just sitting there quietly, fiddling with his spoon, as if he didn't want to call attention to himself.

"If you're finished eating, Thor," Odin said, not ungently, but very much aware of the time, "I will walk you down to your tutor." It was not far; they had set up an unused room at the opposite end of the family wing as Thor's new classroom, but Odin wished to personally introduce Thor to Master Egilson and see his son settled in before descending to the lower levels of the palace and beginning his own day's work.

Thor sighed and put his spoon down with a clank and pushed his chair back. He wasn't sure how he felt about starting formal lessons with a tutor. On the one hand, it meant he was growing up and was one step closer to being able to train as a warrior, on the other hand, he wanted to go outside and play as he usually did every morning instead of going to sit in a stuffy old room learning...well, whatever it was that he was going to be learning. He had been trying to take a cautious wait and see attitude towards it all, except every time he looked at his little brother, Loki looked so forlorn at being forced to stay behind in the nursery that Thor felt horribly like he was deserting his brother.

"I'm ready," he said resignedly, standing up without any enthusiasm whatsoever.

Odin got to his feet as well and clasped a reassuring hand on Thor's shoulder. "It's all right to be nervous on your first day," he said. "But I'm sure you'll do well."

"It's not that," said Thor. "It's just that Loki -- "

As if one cue, Loki jumped up from his place at the table, his own breakfast nearly untouched in his unhappiness. "Are you sure I can't come too?" he pleaded, looking at his father. "I'll be good; I wouldn't cause any trouble."

"Oh no, sweetheart." Frigga rose and stepped up behind him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "You're too young. But we'll have fun while Thor's gone, I promise, and it's only for a half day. He'll be back for lunchtime and then you can have the rest of the afternoon to play before dinner."

"But it's not only a half day," protested Loki. "It's a half day every day." He could feel the tears starting to gather on his eyes and his lower lip trembled. "For... forever ."

Odin's lip twitched. "Not quite." He didn't mention that Thor's half days would at some point become full days of lessons, because he could see that Loki was quite distressed enough already. "Yes, your schooling will go on until you grow up, for there are a great many things that you will need to learn as princes of this realm. But you will be able to join Thor in his studies long before that, and then it won't seem so bad, eh? But for now you have your own very important job to do, right here."

"I do?"

"Mm-hm." A few steps took him from Thor's side to Loki, and he bent and reached down, Loki immediately lifting his arms in response. Odin picked him up and settled him on his hip, looking Loki in the eyes. "I know you're going to miss Thor, but your mother was telling me just this morning how glad she was that she would still have you to keep her company while Thor went off to his lessons. And I was glad too, for I don't like to think of your mother being sad and lonely any more than I want you to be."

"Oh." Loki twisted around and looked back at his mother.

"It's true," Frigga confirmed. "I've been looking forward to the chance to spend some time alone with just you, the way I did with Thor before you were born."

"Oh," said Loki again, his brow furrowing. He hadn't thought that his mother might miss Thor, too. "So my job is to keep Mama company? So she's not lonely?"

"It is. Can I rely on you to do that?"

Loki nodded. He didn't want to think of his mother being sad, either. "Yes, Papa."

"That's my good boy," Odin said approvingly, and kissed him before handing him off into Frigga's waiting arms. "Now, Thor." He held out his hand, and Thor slipped his own smaller one into it without hesitation. "Let's not keep your tutor waiting."

Thor took a deep breath, but he did feel a little better about leaving Loki now. He squared his shoulders. "All right. I’ll see you later, Loki.”

"’Bye." Loki gave a tiny wave.

"Have a good day, my son." Frigga went over and pressed a kiss to the top of Thor's head. "Loki and I will come and get you at lunchtime; stay with your tutor until then."

“I can walk back to the nursery on my own.”

“But we might not be in the nursery. And besides, I wish to speak to your tutor this first day and I think Loki might enjoy seeing your classroom.”

“Oh. Very well.”

Frigga waited until Thor had followed his father out of the room before turning and surveying the remains of Loki's breakfast with a frown. "Hey." She jiggled him gently. "Do you think you can eat a little more of your breakfast now? And then when you're finished, we can go down to the garden."

And Loki, his throat feeling less tight than it had earlier, found that he could.

----------

Outside, without Thor to pull him away into whatever game he wanted to play, Loki stayed close by Frigga's side, following her around as she tended to the plants, a subdued and quiet little shadow. She didn't bother trying to draw him out, figuring that would come naturally after Thor returned from his lessons in the afternoon; instead she filled the silence by telling him the names of all the herbs and flowers, and what they were good for -- cooking and medicines and scenting things, teas and potions and dyes. When he roused enough to express interest in the last, she gathered enough material to make up a small dye pot, bundling it with a length of twine and placing it in her basket, figuring she would let him help dye some raw wool and then spin it into yarn for him to play with, a special project just for the two of them while Thor was at his lessons. After that, her clever little son proved he had been paying attention to what she was doing when he began pointing out spent blossoms for her to snip off with her pruning shears, his lower vantage point making it easy for him to spot all those that were closer to the ground.

“Thank you, my darling,” Frigga praised as she bent to snip another dead flower head off, tracing back its stem to where a new bud was forming and making the cut above that. Loki beamed and circled around the shrub, easily navigating the tight space that would have caught at her skirts.

“Here!”

There were three crumbly brown flower heads grouped closely together, half-hidden at the back of the shrub. As soon as Frigga had snipped them off, Loki moved to the next bush, his sharp eyes seeking out browned or drooping flowers, and Frigga had to hasten on, what was usually a leisurely stroll for her turning into an attempt to keep up with Loki’s pointing finger and expectant face as he embraced the hunt like a new game.

“Where next, Mama?” Loki asked as they reached the end of the next row, ready to scamper on ahead.

“Hold, wait a minute,” Frigga said, straightening up and stretching, her back beginning to ache from repeatedly bending over. She thought how much simpler it would be to simply let him snip the dead heads off himself. He was a careful child, far more so than Thor had been at his age, and she thought he might be able to handle a pair of pruning shears safely without hurting himself, at least on the easier to trim plants -- nothing thorny, or that had thicker, woody branches. “Loki, if I could find or have made a smaller pair of shears that would fit your hand, would you like your own pair so you can trim off the flower heads yourself?”

Loki’s face lit up. “Yes!”

“I’ll see if I can find some, then. You’ve been a very good helper to me this morning. What say we do that area under the trees and then go back inside and you can pick out some books for me to read to you?”

Loki turned and skipped backwards in front of her. “When will I get my shears?”

Frigga laughed and dropped her own into the pocket of the apron she wore to protect her clothes. “I’m not sure; I’ll ask the head gardener if they can know where I could get any small enough for you, but I really think the smith might need to make them special. Perhaps in two or three days; it depends on how busy they are. Here, turn around and watch where you’re going; I don’t want you to trip.”

It was cool and pleasant in the shade of the trees after being in the warm, bright sun, but by the time they got back to the nursery, Frigga was ready to pour herself and Loki glasses of the cold lemonade that she had sent for, and then settle herself in the comfortably cushioned window seat, a light breeze blowing in fresh around them. Loki scrambled up to sit beside her with the selection of books he had chosen and leaned into her side, looking at the pages of the picture books as she began to read. When she noticed it was time to go pick up Thor, Loki jumped down and made for the beautifully carved wooden door leading into the corridor, bouncing impatiently on his heels as she put away the books.

“Come on, Mama,” he said impatiently, and Frigga smiled as she pushed the door open and took his hand in her own.

“There, it was not so bad spending the morning with just me, was it?” She swung their arms together as they walked towards Thor’s classroom.

“No,” Loki admitted. “It was nice. Did I keep you from being sad?”

“You did indeed, my darling. Thank you.” She saw the door at the end of the hall had been propped open and released Loki’s hand, pointing. “Go on.”

Loki ran ahead and into the room, his eyes quickly finding his brother already standing next to a small desk and talking to a pleasant-looking young man. “Thor!” He threw himself at his brother.

A wide grin split Thor’s face as he caught his brother up and lifted him briefly from his feet in an exuberant hug. “Loki! I missed you!” Lowering him back down, Thor put his hands on Loki’s shoulders and turned him towards his teacher, beaming with delight. “Master Egilson, this is my brother Loki.”

“Hello, Prince Loki,” the tutor said with a smile. “Your brother has been telling me a lot about you.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hm. According to Thor, you’re the best little brother in the entire kingdom.”

Loki flushed with pleasure.

“What about me?” asked Frigga from the doorway, smiling. “Did I rate a mention?”

Master Egilson turned and bowed respectfully to her. “You did indeed, your Majesty.” He picked up a paper covered in Thor’s blocky writing from his own, larger desk and read from it. “ My mother is the queen and she is very beautiful and very kind. Everybody loves her .”

Frigga felt her own cheeks pinken. “Oh. Well, what else have you been doing all morning besides saying flattering things about your family, Thor?”

“We did reading and writing and numbers and Master Egilson told me the story about how Asgard was created.”

“I can write,” Loki informed the tutor.

“Can you?” Master Egilson smiled and fetched a clean slate, laying it on Thor’s desk along with a piece of chalk. “Do you want to show me?”

“You don’t have to -- “ Frigga began.

The tutor shook his head. “Nonsense, I would be pleased to see the skills of a future student.”

Loki climbed up onto the chair, kneeling on the seat, and picked up the chalk. The tutor wasn’t surprised to see him begin to write his name -- it was the first thing most children learned -- but instead of scrawling “Loki” in large runes over the whole of the slate, they were unexpectedly small, and neat. He saw why as Loki started a second tidy row underneath them, hesitating briefly over the cross stroke of the nauthiz rune before angling it in the correct direction and finishing up. Loki Odinson , the slate read. The youngest prince glanced up at the tutor expectantly.

“Very good,” Master Egilson said warmly, and meant it. “Your parents must be proud of you.”

“We are,” Frigga assured him, and held out her hand towards Loki. He scrambled down from the chair, looking pleased with himself, and took her hand.

“Can we go now?” asked Thor. “I’m hungry.”

“We may, and lunch should be waiting for us as soon as you wash up. Master Egilson, may I have Thor’s paper to keep?”

“Of course.” The tutor handed her Thor’s writing practice sheet, smiling and tousling Thor’s hair as he took his place at his mother’s other side. “You have good boys; Norns willing, I look forward to many years of teaching them.”

“They say mothers are prejudiced, but I quite agree with you. I couldn't wish for any better.” Frigga smiled down at her sons. “Good day, Master Egilson. Come on, boys.”

Thor chattered animatedly all through lunch, telling them all about his lessons and what he had learned of his tutor. Master Egilson had an older sister, and a young nephew and a niece on the way. His parents were bakers. He, Thor, liked him very much. After they were done eating, Frigga took up a basket of needlework and led her sons outside to the wide lawn, where Thor immediately took off running, calling to Loki to chase him. Loki shot off after him, and Frigga simply sat watching them for a while as they ran about yelling, Loki’s screams of delight just as loud as his brother’s every time that Thor turned and chased after him, Thor deliberately keeping just behind his brother for a while before speeding up and swooping Loki up in a hug that tumbled them both to the ground. When Thor had burnt off the worst of his pent-up energy from the morning, he began practicing his latest accomplishment, setting his hands to the ground and kicking his legs up into the air in a handstand, managing a few wobbly steps forwards before toppling back to the ground. Loki, of course, tried to imitate him, and Thor ceased his own efforts to help, holding Loki’s legs straight up while Loki walked forwards on his hands. Frigga heard him cheer Loki on and felt as if her heart would burst with love for both boys.

“I see the princes are in high spirits today,” a voice said from behind her.

Frigga turned and saw the Lady Gná, and smiled, gesturing to the place on the bench beside her. Lady Gná sat down gracefully.

“They are; they were kept apart from each other for the entirety of three hours this morning while Thor had his first lessons with a tutor and are still rejoicing in their reunion.”

Lady Gná laughed. “How did the lessons go?”

“Quite well, I think. Both the tutor and Thor seemed cheerful enough when I collected Thor. And I think Loki will benefit from having some time where my attention isn’t split between the two of them every day.”

“Mm.” Gná took out her own needlework from a bag hanging at her waist. “I dare say you might enjoy the break, too, or am I wrong? Meaning no disrespect, but your Thor is a boisterous one.”

Frigga laughed and finally took out her own project, although her eyes rarely left the boys for long. “You’re not wrong. Loki was such a blessing in more ways than one; I can’t imagine the handful Thor would be if he didn’t have a brother to play with. It at least gives me a chance to sit down occasionally and just keep an eye on them.” She took a few stitches in her embroidery and smiled in reminiscence. “No one was happier than Thor when Loki started walking -- and I’m sure Loki learned as early as he did because he wanted to keep up with his big brother.” She glanced up again and grinned. “And now look at them.” Both boys were, briefly, upside down at the same time, legs waving in the air.

Lady Gná laughed. “Truly we have a pair of ambitious and talented princes. Who amongst us can say we sought to learn to walk on our hands once we had mastered doing so on our feet?”

Frigga chuckled, and then gave a small exclamation as Loki overbalanced and thumped down hard onto his butt, knocking Thor over as he did so. Nonplussed, the boys righted themselves and looked towards her.

Loki ran over. “Mama, Mama, did you see me? I was standing upside down on my own!”

“I did indeed; we were both very impressed.” She ruffled his black hair. “You remember Lady Gná, don’t you? Sif’s mother?”

Thor made his best bow. “My lady.”

Loki looked around, as if to make sure the aforementioned girl wasn’t here. “Sif bit me,” he said accusingly.

Lady Gná sighed. The last time she had brought her little hellion over to play with the princes had not ended well. “I haven’t forgotten, Loki, and I am sorry. We are trying to teach her better manners, I promise you.”

“See that you do,” he said sternly, and it was so obviously a phrase that he had picked up from his father that both adults had to smother a laugh. Loki leaned against his mother’s legs, suddenly tired now that he had stopped moving.

Frigga smoothed a hand over his curls. “Ready for your nap, sweetheart?” With the disruption in their usual schedule, she’d been waiting to see when and if he looked like he needed one.

Loki frowned. He usually had a nap after lunch, but he also had usually had the whole morning to play with Thor.

“Here,” said Lady Gná briskly, rising and putting her needlework away. “Why don’t you just lie down on the bench and lay your head in your mother’s lap? Close your eyes for a few minutes and if you don’t feel sleepy, then you can get up and start playing again. I shall take a bit more of a walk while Sif is down for her own nap.”

Frigga looked up at her friend gratefully. “Thank you, Gná, and tell Sif hello from me. Come on, Loki, that sounds like a fair suggestion, doesn’t it?” She patted the space beside her, and after a moment, he climbed up and settled himself as suggested.

“Just for a few minutes,” he said.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Thor promised, and went in search of a stick with which to practise sword moves. Frigga began to sing softly, and her youngest was asleep in her lap before she’d finished the last verse of the song.

The days fell into a routine. In the mornings, Frigga enjoyed her time spent alone with Loki, working in the gardens or reading to him or pursuing any other paths his interests went down. He had his own specially-made gardening shears now, sized to fit his small hands, and was careful never to put them away dirty. And she’d shown him how to dye wool, and how to make a simple braid from the yarn she’d spun from it, and he had yet to grow tired of wearing the yellowy-green bracelet he’d made from it. In the afternoons the boys played together, and Loki would take a short nap, and then after dinner, they would usually spend some time at the child-sized table in the nursery where the drawing paper and other art supplies were kept, although Thor was now also using it to do small assignments for his tutor on occasion. Frigga often saw their fair and dark heads bent close together, but one night when she came over to see what they were doing, Loki quickly pulled a blank piece of paper over whatever it was he had been working on, and Thor straightened back up in his chair, a list of vocabulary words in front of him.

“Are you making a surprise picture for me?” she guessed.

“Yes,” said Loki, and looked at her expectantly until she took the hint and left them to it. She did get a picture later that night, but she couldn't see why he would have been hiding it; it was fairly similar to his usual offerings, though no less cherished and saved for that. But since whatever was absorbing her boys' interest was giving her an hour or so of peace and quiet every evening, she was perfectly willing to leave them to it.

----------

"Always be polite to a bilgesnipe, there’s really no call to be rude; Always be polite to a bilgesnipe, and he might not decide that you’re food!"

Frigga gave a little "rawr!" in Loki's ear as she read to him from one of his favourite picture books -- the words and pictures silly enough to delight a small child while still conveying the importance of good manners -- and he giggled from his position in her lap, where he was curled up quite happily. A few weeks into Thor’s new schedule of morning lessons, Loki now sent him off quite cheerfully in the mornings, seeming to enjoy the time alone with Frigga as much as she did, seeing her little boy open up about all the things he was interested in now that he didn’t have to wait for a chance to be heard amidst Thor’s chatter. And he obviously relished being able to choose more than one book everyday for storytime, more than content to sit still and listen long after Thor would have gotten restless and begun interrupting with commentary or jumping up to enact out exciting portions of the stories that he’d chosen.

Frigga turned the page and kept reading until she got to her favourite set of pages in the entire book, the illustrations showing a larger boy boosting a smaller one up so that he could reach the plums hanging from a low tree branch. What made the pictures especially endearing to her was the fact that Thor, years ago, had very carefully coloured in the smaller boy's hair -- originally fair like his own -- so that it matched the black of his new little brother's.

"Always be nice to your brother, remember to say 'thank you' and 'please', and if you are nice to your brother, he'll help you pluck fruit from the trees!"

"'Might help'" corrected Loki, pointing at the page. "You left out a word."

Frigga looked at him in surprise. His finger had hovered directly above the word "might".

"You're right," she said. "So I did." Thoughtfully, she turned the page. "Can you read this one?" she asked.

He could, not perfectly, hesitating on some of the bigger words, but he was undoubtedly reading. Frigga hugged him tightly when he had finished reading the rest of the book, Frigga helping out whenever he stumbled on a word. "I am so proud of you! When did you -- " Yes, he had been pointing at and asking about some of the words in the books lately, but -- “Oh! You and Thor, in the evenings! Has he been helping you with reading?”

Loki nodded. “The more I learn now, the less I’ll have to catch up on when I start lessons. So Thor and I can study together.” His chin jutted out with determination, and Frigga’s heart melted as she hugged him again, already planning to do the same to Thor as soon as she saw him next. It was the walking all over again, Loki not wanting to be left behind, and Thor doing everything that he could to make sure that didn’t happen.

“Well, you have made a very good start of it, and now that I know you’re ready to learn to read, I’ll help you with it every day, too.” Her eyes sparkled. "Shall we practice a bit, and surprise your father tonight?"

Loki's face lit up with pleasure at the thought. "Yes, please."

----------

“Papa!”

Two small bodies ran at Odin as he entered the family quarters and collided with his legs. He leaned down to hug his sons, the cares of the day slipping from his shoulders in the face of the boys’ happiness in seeing him. It was always one of the best parts of his day.

“Hello, boys. Did you have a good day?” He straightened up and ran a smoothing hand over each boy’s hair.

“Yes, Papa,” they chorused.

Odin looked at them closely, Their smiles seemed even brighter than usual, a certain simmering of excitement under the surface suggesting that they had something to tell him. “Well, let me freshen up and you can tell me all about it at dinner.”

However, once they were all gathered around the table in their private dining room and tucking into a delicious meal, Odin began to wonder if he’d been mistaken when nothing unusual was mentioned when they shared what they’d been doing during the day. That is, until the boys finished eating ahead of everyone else and didn’t ask to be excused, merely sitting and waiting and watching him. Odin took his time enjoying his dessert, once more sure that something was going on as Loki began to fidget in his chair. But it wasn’t until he leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh that Loki looked at his mother hopefully.

“Now, Mama?”

Frigga smiled. "Yes, now."

Loki jumped down from his chair. "Would you like me to read you a story, Papa?" he asked, nearly bouncing with excitement.

"Don't you mean you want me to read you one?" Odin asked.

“No, I’m going to read it to you,” Loki said firmly.

“Ah, very well, then,” Odin said indulgently, thinking that Loki was simply going to recite it as best as he could from memory; Norns knew he was pretty sure he had the entirety of some of the boys’ most favoured books stuck in his own head. “Shall we adjourn to the nursery, then?” He got up and Thor immediately jumped up as well, Frigga rising more gracefully with one of her cryptic smiles on her face and taking his arm when he offered it.

“Papa, does “adjourn” simply mean “to go”?” Thor asked. He knew its general meaning from what Master Egilson called the context of a sentence, but he was learning to pay more attention to the specific meanings of words.

“It means, in this case, that we are moving from one place to another. It can also be used to indicate the stopping of a meeting to be resumed later, for instance “the meeting is adjourned until after lunch”.”

“That’s how Master Egilson used it the other day,” said Thor thoughtfully. “He said classes were adjourned till the morrow.” He liked the sound of the word; it sounded grown-up and important.

Odin nodded, Loki ducking under his arm as he pushed open the heavy door into the hallway and dashing ahead to wait impatiently by the nursery door. “That is a correct usage. Go see if you can help your brother.” He watched as Thor and Loki both put their hands to the nursery door and leaned in, managing to push it open between the two of them. Loki ran to get his book and Odin went to sit down in his usual chair facing the hearth, Frigga taking the other. Thor plopped down on the rug in between them and picked up one of the three dimensional puzzles from the basket on the hearth, fiddling with it.

Loki came back with his book and Odin took it, setting it down next to him before leaning over to help lift Loki up onto his lap. Loki squirmed around for a moment until he was tucked comfortably in the crook of Odin’s arm and held out his hands.

“Ready.”

Odin gave the book to him and Loki opened it and began to read. And Odin’s eye widened as he realised that Loki was indeed reading it, no doubt helped by the familiarity of the verses, but not missing a single word on any of the pages. Occasionally he paused, but never for long, and Odin looked from the book to the expression of concentration on Loki’s face to Frigga, whose cryptic smile had given way to one beaming with pride. Even Thor, sitting at his feet and listening, grinned up at Odin when Loki finished the book in triumph.

"Loki can read!" Thor announced needlessly. "Did he surprise you?"

"He did indeed." He looked back down at Loki, who was gazing up at him expectantly. "That was very well done, Loki; I am most impressed. I didn't even know that your mother had started teaching you to read yet."

"I hadn't," said Frigga dryly. "He partly picked it up all by himself, just following along when I read and asking the occasional question -- and partly because Thor has been helping him ever since he started his own lessons, because Loki doesn’t want to waste any time catching up once he’s allowed to join him.”

Odin looked from one son to another in amazement. Mine, he thought with a fierce surge of pride. My boys. He spared a second to think scornfully of Laufey, and what a fool he had been to so casually throw away the great gift he had been given in Loki. His now, though, and he would make sure that Loki’s intellect and talents were nurtured instead of wasted.

“I am so proud of both of you,” he said warmly. “You, Thor, for helping your brother, and you, Loki, for learning to read so early! My clever, clever boy." Giving him an extra tight squeeze, Odin kissed the top of Loki's head and saw the tips of Loki’s ears redden in shy pleasure at the praise, but he was grinning as he gave a little wriggle of delight in Odin’s lap. Odin decided to tease him a little. "Does this mean that you won't need me to read you any more stories now, though?"

"No! I like it when you read them to me too," Loki hastily assured him.

Odin’s eye twinkled. "Very well then. Why don't you pick out another one and I'll read it to you and Thor this time."

"I'll get one!" Thor jumped up and raced over to the low bookshelves that held their books. "Is this one all right, Brother?" He pulled one out and held it up for Loki to see.

Loki nodded, too content with his position in his father's lap to get down and pick out another. He drew his legs up and turned so he could lay his head against his father’s chest, Odin’s arm tightening around him and holding him secure. Thor came back and offered the book he’d chosen to his father and leaned comfortably against the side of his chair, folding his arms atop the chair’s leather-padded arm and resting his chin atop them.

“I Want To Be A Warrior,” Odin read. The book’s cover showed a young boy looking up at a man clad in the armour of the Einherjar. The book spoke of what it meant to be a warrior, to swear oneself to the defense of the kingdom, and went on to describe all the things a boy training to be a warrior would learn as they grew to manhood. Thor had already memorised what all the different pieces of armour and the different types of weapons were called with all of the single-minded focus that a young child could turn on something that they were deeply interested in.

“I want to be a warrior,” Odin read. “I want to serve my realm, and my king. I will fight to protect my home, and my people.”

“I must be strong ,” recited Thor. “I must be brave." His eyes were bright with fervour.

Glancing at him, Odin had no trouble imagining his son grown tall, clad in bright armour and with a sword sheathed at his side. Thor listened with rapt attention and an occasional interjection, and Odin had reached the unlabeled illustrations near the end of the book which allowed a boy to test his memory before he wondered if he should have been involving Loki more in the reading of this book. He glanced down at his son, but Loki looked contented enough snuggled against him, his head resting right over Odin’s heart and a sleepy half smile on his face. A soft smile touched Odin’s face in return as he remembered learning that trick, that an unhappy baby could be soothed by the sound of their parent’s heart, recalling all the times he had half-dozed off himself in the nursery with a sleeping babe sprawled atop his chest, afraid to move lest he wake them before he could return them to their cradle or cot. Loki especially had seemed to crave that close contact even more than Thor had, and Odin had often wondered darkly in those early days how long Loki had lain there alone in that temple before he had found him, before Loki had learned the sound of his father's heartbeat and that it meant comfort and safety and no longer being alone, even before he had learned the sound of his mother's. It still filled Odin with satisfaction that even now, with Loki happy and flush with accomplishment and the success of his surprise, that his son obviously found comfort in the sound, in his presence. He rubbed Loki’s back gently; he would miss it when his boys were no longer small enough to hold entirely within the safety of his own arms.

“Papa, turn,” Thor prompted, when he realised his father had become distracted.

“Hm? Oh, sorry.” Odin turned the page and Thor touched the illustration of a sword, moving his finger along it as he named the parts of it.

“Pommel, hilt, crossguard, tang, blade,” Thor rattled off, no doubt dreaming of the day when he would have a real sword of his own.

“Very good,” said Odin, and briefly ran his hand over Thor's silky hair as Thor moved on to enthusiastically list all the various types of polearms shown on the facing page. Glancing up, he saw Frigga watching them with the same deep contentment in her eyes that he could feel in his heart. No doubt one day both their sons would be fine, strong warriors. But for now, he liked them exactly the way they were.

#loki #thor #odin #frigga #ficwoodelf #lokijiro #marvel fic #lessons learned and praise well earned #tumblr prompt fics

38 notes · View notes

blackswallowtailbutterfly · 3 years

Text

I just...want to work in the garden and do nothing else. Stop only to eat and pee. I go in when the daylight’s done. And then all I want to do is look at more plants I can order and talk about my garden. All my plants are native to Ontario or nearby. All with edible parts except one. So. Plant species I have/am getting this year are:

001. Achillea millefolium (common yarrow) The red-flowered cultivar seems to have died over the winter, but the non-cultivar is growing strong and is also creeping past the stone border to become one with the grass. lol

002. Actaea racemosa (black snakeroot/black cohosh) Next weekend!

003. Agastache foeniculum (anise hyssop) Literally migrated from the place I planted it to a place it likes better, I guess. As in, there is no plant where I planted, but there is an anise hyssop in another part of that bed. You do you.

004. Allium canadense (meadow garlic/Canada garlic) Spreading slowly but reliably and super tasty.

005. Allium cernuum (nodding onion) It has flowered each year--this is year 4--but hasn’t spread at all. Very tasty, and I’ve bought some friends to help it along.

006. Allium schoenoprasum (chives/wild chives) Absolutely yum and doing very well.

007. Allium stellatum (prairie onion/autumn onion) Hopefully coming by the end of this month!

008. Allium tricoccum (ramps/wild leek) It will be quite some time before it even makes flowers which hopefully let it spread, so I won’t be able to reap the benefits for a while. But, both plants did come up this year and have now died back as expected. Hopefully they’ll continue to come up.

009. Amelanchier canadensis (Canadian serviceberry) Caterpillars. Are. EATING IT. Gypsy moth caterpillars. This is going to be a problem for some time until they pupate, I guess. Plant’s generally okay, though. I won’t be getting fruit anytime soon, though.

010. Anaphalis margaritacea (pearly everlasting) Very healthy plants keeping the sunflowers under some control. This spring was my first year eating the shoots. Can’t say anything about the taste specifically, as they went into a pasta sauce, but that sauce was delicious.

011. Andromeda polifolia (bog rosemary) Next weekend!

012. Aquilegia brevistyla (smallflower columbine) Growing very well, more flowers this year. Next year I’ll eat some (flowers, only the flowers are edible).

013. Aquilegia canadensis (Canada columbine/red columbine) Flower stalk doesn’t seem as tall this year, but it still has a lot of flowers. They’re a lovely refreshing sweet snack (just the flowers).

014. Arabis alpina (alpine rockcress) Next weekend! I had one last year, but it didn’t survive the winter. The poor thing was so root-bound there was no soil in the pot, so I’m not surprised it didn’t make it. Hopefully the new one will be in better condition.

015. Arctostaphylos uva-ursi (bearberry/kinnikinnick/pinemat manzanita) Not doing great and I’m not sure why. That area is reasonably well-drained and it gets part sun, part shade. Oh well. Maybe I’ll move it to the hill in the back. It seemed to like the hill I had it on at my old apartment.

016. Argentina anserina (silverweed cinquefoil) Hopefully coming by the end of this month!

017. Arisaema triphyllum (jack-in-the-pulpit) It came up! I was sure it had died last year. But no, it’s fine. Male this year. Hopefully female next year (I’m trying to see if the berries can be dried into edibility like the corms, and if they can I want to make jam or something with them).

018. Armeria maritima (thrift sea-pink) Drooping! It’s a drought-tolerant plant that will die if over-watered so I don’t water it more than once a week and I don’t water deeply, but it’s been hot so maybe it needs more or maybe I managed to overwater it anyway. Frick. Flowering very nicely though.

019. Aronia melanocarpa (black chokeberry) Doing just fine. No flowers and I don’t expect them for another couple of years at least, but it’s growing well.

020. Artemisia frigida (prairie sagewort/fringed sagebrush) Already spreading in the bed. Should look very nice when it fills in.

021. Aruncus dioicus (bride’s feathers/goat’s beard/buck’s beard) Growing more quickly than the internet told me it would! And going to flower this year too, which will be lovely.

022. Asarum canadense (Canada ginger) Doing fine for now, but burnt a lot in the sun last year. Likely to do so again. I’m going to plant something in front of it to shade it better. See, I wouldn’t have put it there if it was full sun because it’s a shade to part sun plant, but that area isn’t full-sun, it’s part sun; however, the sunlight it does get is very strong in the summer and the poor thing gets burnt.

023. Asclepias incarnata (swamp milkweed) Growing like a beast! Flowers were gorgeous last year. I don’t expect this to be any different, and maybe some monarch butterflies will pay it a visit.

024. Asclepias ovalifolia (oval leaf milkweed/dwarf milkweed) Hopefully coming by the end of this month!

025. Asclepias syriaca (common milkweed) Mine seemed to come up much more slowly than those I’ve seen elsewhere, but it is a fairly young plant. I expect it will come up earlier next year. And it’s doing fine now.

026. Asclepias tuberosa (butterflyweed) Hasn’t come up yet, but they can take till middle of June to start emerging, so I’m not going to worry about it yet.

027. Asimina triloba (pawpaw) All three trees are alive, though with very different rates of growth. I got them at the same size at the same time, but in trying to figure out what the best thing was for them, I planted one on a hill next to the door of my at-the-time apartment, one by the fence at the opposite side of the yard, and the third I kept in a pot, which I brought in for the winter. That spring, the potted tree leafed out first at the end of April, and the one on the hill in the middle of May. The third didn’t bud at all. I continued to water it, but I was sure it was dead. Then the house my apartment was in caught fire so I had to go to a new place (same landlords, so still allowed to plant on the new property) and didn’t want to leave my plants behind. It was the end of June. All my plants were potted. and I was going to leave the lifeless stick behind AND THEN IT SUDDENLY HAD BUDS. So I potted it and took it too. All three survived the transplant, but the tree I had initially taken inside (but is now outside) is the biggest, and that little stick is still the smallest. lol

028. Asplenium trichomanes (maidenhair spleenwort) Very little still, but seems healthy. I hope for its fronds to spill over my newly constructed garden wall when it’s bigger.

029. Athyrium felix-femina (lady fern) Doing very well, as a fern that can tolerate full sun.

030. Caltha palustris (marsh marigold) It is a marsh plant and there is no pond on the property to plant it, but there is a leaking eavestrough, which I thought would do well enough along with heavy watering. So far I have been correct.

031. Campanula rotundifolia (harebell) Very lush and green. I struggled to keep it alive that first year, but three years later it’s perfect.

032. Cardamine concatenata (cutleaf toothwort) Sometime this summer!

033. Castilleja miniata (paintbrush) Sometime this summer!

034. Ceanothus americanus (New Jersey tea) Not ready to use in tisanes yet, but growing well.

035. Cerastium arvense (field chickweed) The first two years the thing was barely alive, but this year’s it’s moment to shine as it spreads and flowers.

036. Cercis canadensis (redbud) No flowers this spring, but wonderful foliage. Fingers crossed for next year.

037. Comptonia peregrina (sweetfern) Next weekend!

038. Coreopsis lanceolata (lance-leaved tickseed) The first plant I attempted died, but this one’s doing very well.

039. Cornus canadensis (bunchberry) Next weekend! I mean, my plant from last year would likely be fine if the squirrels hadn’t dug it up, as would the one before that (because that one came from the old place and had survived the winter just fine!). So, I’m going to plant the new one in a different spot and hope the fluffy-tailed rodents leave the poor thing alone this time.

040. Cornus florida (flowering dogwood) Just a baby still, but its leaves are nice and green. I had one before it that really liked the hill I had planted it on back at the old place but died in the pot before I could put it in its new home.

041. Cystopteris bulbifera (berry bladder fern) Doing just fine. I love my ferns.

042. Dalea purpurea (purple prairie clover) Hopefully coming by the end of this month!

043. Deschampsia caespitosa (tufted hair grass) Not doing too well. Was fine last year, so I’m not sure what’s going on.

044. Echinacea purpurea (purple coneflower) I’ve always loved these. They’re edible, medicinal (with caution), have lovely flowers, and attract lots of pollinators including bees and butterflies. Mine is doing perfectly. No flowers yet this year, but very green healthy foliage.

046 Erythronium americanum (trout lily/dogtooth violet) Still no flowers this spring, but they did come up, so maybe next year.

047. Eupatorium purpureum (sweet-scented Joe Pye weed/gravel root/purple Joe Pye weed) Soon! Also, do you know how this is eaten? Its root is literally burnt and then you use the ashes to flavour your food. The plant is otherwise poisonous, so how it was found out that it could be used this way conjures up amusing scenarios for me.

048. Fragaria vesca (woodland strawberry/wild strawberry/alpine strawberry) I have strawberries! They’re far from ripe yet, but developing well. They’re also spreading over the hill I planted them on and will hopefully give the garlic mustard and dog-strangling vine a run for their money.

049. Fragaria virginiana (wild strawberry/Virginia strawberry/common strawberry/mountain strawberry) Because one native species of strawberry isn’t enough, I have both. This one is also making strawberries and nicely filling out the area I put it in.

050. Galium boreale (northern bedstraw) Newly planted! The first one of these I planted didn’t survive the winter, but I hadn’t been able to plant it until autumn (because I hadn’t yet been told where I could plant). This one has the rest of spring, the whole summer, and fall until frost to establish itself, and I’ve seen a number of them growing wild at the edge of the ravines, so it should be fine.

051. Gaultheria procumbens (American wintergreen/eastern teaberry/boxberry/checkerberry) Next weekend! I actually already have one and have had it for a couple years, but it’s another that came so root-bound there wasn’t any soil in the pot. I planted it hoping for the best, but it seems to be in a very slow decline. So I’m going to plant another one, hopefully not so root-bound and that will maybe either give it a boost (plants of the same species will often help each other when sick by transferring nutrients) or else take over when the first one dies.

052. Geum aleppicum (yellow avens) I didn’t plant this, and I can’t find it for sale anywhere anyway, but it’s a common plant that shows up as a weed. Being native as well as edible, it’s allowed to stay wherever it isn’t directly in my way.

053. Geum canadense (white avens) Same as above. lol Anyway, both species have attractive foliage. They’re likely not used as garden plants because of how common they are as weeds and because their flower stalks are long and leggy. But I’m happy to have them.

054. Geum rivale (purple avens) Newly planted! This one is offered as a garden plant, though fairly rare, and I’ve finally got my hands on one! All of the Geum species in my garden seem to be doing just fine, so I expect this will fine too. It’s the first plant I’ve put in a new area that doesn’t drain very well which makes it perfect for plants like this one that grow in clay on stream banks.

055. Geum triflorum (prairie smoke) Green leaves. Flower stalks up. This is a pretty reliable plant because it doesn’t die back in the winter, it just sort of sits there waiting for spring and then resumes growth like nothing happened. The first year it drooped a lot but once it established itself there was no stopping it and the transplant went smoothly too.

056. Grindelia squarrosa (gumweed) Hopefully coming by the end of this month!

057. Helianthus divaricatus (woodland sunflower) This is a sunflower that can actually stand a fair bit of shade. I thought mine had died last year due to the foliage and stemming dying back after a squirrel broke it and it and it was still summer. But it’s come up this year and I’m starting to think nothing short of cooking a sunflower’s roots will actually kill it.

058 and 059. Helianthus nuttalli (Nuttall’s sunflower/common tall sunflower) and Helianthus pauciflorus (stiff sunflower/beautiful sunflower) All I know is, I ordered both, I received two small plants, by the time I got them in the ground they were barely alive, that area is now being overtaken by sunflowers, and it could be one species, or it could be both, I don’t know. I did thin out some shoots this spring and add them to a very flavourful pasta sauce. I also thinned out a bunch of their roots last fall. To look at them, you wouldn’t know that either of these had happened, and I’m going to have to thin out more. They’re also putting up shoots between the stones of the cement path. There will be sunflowers here until the end of time.

060. Helianthus tuberosus (sunchoke/Jerusalem artichoke/suntato) Because I don’t learn, I planted yet another sunflower species last year, in a different area, because dammit I want my suntatoes that taste like artichokes. I planted one last year. I took and ate a bunch of tubers in the fall. There are currently five plants. This should be interesting.

061. Heliopsis helianthoides (false sunflower/sweet oxeye) After getting off to a rocky start last year, this one’s doing just fine, and also looks to be living up to its resemblance to sunflowers in more than just appearance.

062. Hibiscus moscheutos (swamp rose mallow) One of them appears to have died so I hope the other isn’t headed the same direction. Seems to be coming up normally though. Also I learned the flowers can change colour from year to year which was a huge surprise to me from the first year to the second. No idea what it will be like this year.

063. Hierochloe odorata (sweet grass/vanilla grass) It flowered last year, which was lovely. I hope it does so again this year. Foliage is nice and green anyhow.

064. Humulus lupulus (common hop) Growing nicely now, though its first several shoots died this year. It seems to just be a very impatient plant in the springtime despite not being very frost hardy. So it put out shoots, which died in the frost, and then put out more, which also died, etc. until finally there was no more frost so it just kept growing. That’s one way to do it, I guess. lol Most other frost-tender plants tend to be more cautious about when they put out new growth. had a hop plant at my old apartment, which really liked the place I put I put it in, but it died when I potted it to try and take with me.

065. Impatiens capensis (jewelweed/spotted touch-me-not) Hopefully coming by the end of this month!

066. Juglans nigra (black walnut) This tree has likely been on this property since before I was born. I tapped it spring before last. I’ll tap it next spring too. Seems to be a healthy tree.

067. Kalmia latifolia (mountain laurel) They’re not native to Ontario but they are native to eastern North America, in the Appalachian mountains. I figured if they could survive mountain weather they could handle south Ontario winters, and so far it has. It’s not edible but I fell in love with them a long time ago when reading David Attenborough’s The Secret Life of Plants. And they’re making buds this year!

068. Lactuca canadensis (Canadian lettuce) Yes! We have a native lettuce. Most people will pull it up as a weed along with dandelions and thistles, though. I let it stay wherever possible. It’s not like I can just buy a new one, so I count myself lucky when they come up in my garden.

069. Lilium michiganense (Michigan lily) It made smaller ones, but they don’t seem to have survived for whatever reason. The older ones are very robust this year, though, and are budding with what looks like will be many flowers.

070. Lilium philadelphicum (wood lily) Newly planted! I have not had much luck with these, but hopefully this year’s the year. I have two plants, so maybe they’ll help each other.

071. Lindera benzoin (spicebush) No flowers or butterflies yet, but it’s a healthy bush and lives up to its name.

072. Linum lewisii (blue flax) Newly planted! I’ve wanted these for a long time but the places that carried them either wouldn’t deliver or didn’t have them as plugs or potted stock (I find seeds too unreliable). But now I have a couple in the large stone garden pot that I specifically filled with dirt that would allow for good drainage, for those plants that can survive the cold but not sitting in water.

073. Lupinus perennis (sundial lupine) Soon! Or I already have it. Not sure. See, I was sent an email by the company saying I’d probably accidentally gotten a bigleaf lupine instead and they gave me a coupon for the following spring to get a confirmed sundial lupine, but there is a chance I already have it. Either way it’s a nice plant, so whether I have two plants of the same species or two different species is fine.

074. Lupinus polyphyllus (bigleaf lupine/common lupine) I actually haven’t been able to find this species available for delivery anywhere, so if that is what I currently have, then I’m delighted and this is the best plant mixup that could possibly happen (there have been a number). Whatever it is is a very attractive plant even with just the foliage. I hope it makes flowers this year.

075. Mahonia repens (creeping Oregon grape) Speaking of plant mixups! The first time I ordered this I got a Potentilla nepalensis instead. I didn’t know it at the time, as it had a tag saying “Mahonia repens”, but then it flowered...I wouldn’t have minded terribly much if it had been a native Potentilla species, but “nepalensis” is definitely not that. Well, I emailed the company with a photo and they promptly delivered not one, but two creeping Oregon grape plants, and both seem to be doing okay, making new growth, survived the winter, which the potentilla did not.

076. Maianthemum stellatum (starry false Solomon’s seal) They seem to be doing well! They flowered, but I don’t know if there will be berries. Next year maybe, but then you don’t really see Maianthemum berries until late summer, so maybe there will be a couple this year.

077. Mentha arvensis (wild mint) It’s doing exactly what mint does. Tastes wonderful, which is a great reason for thinning it out and pulling it out from between the sidewalk stones.

078. Mertensia paniculata (tall bluebells) Currently flowering. Despite the name, though they do grow taller than their cousin the Virginia bluebells, I wouldn’t say they’re a bigger plant overall. Very nice though. The flowers are a delicate light blue.

079. Mertensia virginica (Virginia bluebells) When I planted the rootstock in the early summer and nothing came up at all, I thought they had died. But nope! They came up vigorously this spring, with huge leaves and incredibly blue flowers. The flowers are don and it’s starting to die back now, but what a gorgeous springtime plant it is.

080. Monarda didyma (scarlet beebalm) My theory is if you put two members of the mint family next to each other, they’ll keep each other at bay. I’m probably wrong. Anyway, this is already spreading in two directions. Last year caterpillars at a lot of its flowers. I hope that won’t happen this year.

081. Monarda fistulosa (wild bergamot) Has become a very big plant, but politely hasn’t really left it’s immediate area. They make great dried flowers after the winter, by the way, as the seedheads retain the scent. Especially if you squeeze them.

082. Monarda punctata (horsemint) This is starting to fill out now, but compared to the other members of its genus took a very long time to go past a teeny tiny little growth. Last year it got huge shortly after I planted it, so we’ll see if it does that this year. I hope so. The bees, wasps, and other pollinators absolutely loved it.

083. Myosotis laxa (smallflower forget-me-not) I didn’t plant it, I can’t even find it available for sale. It just grows as a weed. It’s just as blue as other forget-me-nots, but with stems that are very leggy and even smaller flowers than the popular garden species. But it’s native so it stays where it’s not directly in my way. It’s very prolific, lots of plants in the garden.

084. Myrica gale (sweet gale/bog myrtle) Only just started making new growth. It seems to be on its way out and I’m not sure why, but it makes me sad. I think last year was really hard on it being so hot so early and I didn’t have a hose then, so I was stuck carrying buckets of water up from my apartment in the basement. But I have a hose this year and I’ve been watering regularly, so maybe, just maybe, it will spring back into action this year. It’s such a pretty bush when in full foliage and the leaves taste like green tea.

085. Oenothera fruticosa (narrow-leaved sundrops) Next weekend! I’ve grown another species which has finished its lifecycle (they’re biennial) and sadly doesn’t seem to have successfully reseeded itself. But maybe this one will.

086. Onoclea sensibilis (sensitive fern) This poor thing struggled hard last year. I planted it between a tree and the house, but it still got a lot of sunlight. Still, it came up this year, and in my experience, second year plants tend to be much more hardy, so we’ll see. It’s doing fine for now.

087. Opuntia fragilis (fragile prickly pear) I did put it in a fairly dry area that gets full sun, but it does struggle in the winter and spring. It is starting to bounce back, though, just like it did last year, and the pieces it scattered are making roots of their own. All of whom are spiky bastards.

088. Opuntia humifusa (eastern prickly pear/devil’s tongue) This did just fine. I had it in a big stone pot which I moved to an area that gets no rain or snow on it, and it’s making new growth now that I’ve moved the pot back into the full sun. It like to spike me whenever I move the pot.

089. Osmundastrum cinnamomeum (cinnamon fern) Next weekend!

090. Oxalis stricta (yellow woodsorrel/sourgrass) It’s not technically native to Ontario, but it is native to Michigan and moved up here decades or possibly centuries ago. I didn’t plant it and you can’t find it in stores because it’s considered a weed, but it is coming up in my garden, it doesn’t hurt anything, and it is a delicious little plant, so it stays.

091. Parthenocissus quinquefolia (Virginia creeper) I didn’t have to buy this because it was already in the yard (it’s common in the ravines), but if it wasn’t I would have, because it’s gorgeous and I like the taste of the berries. It’s a native relative of Boston ivy, so if you’re wanting a wall climber, please get Virginia creeper instead. They’re available at a lot of garden centres and online.

092. Phlox divaricata (woodland phlox/blue phlox) It’s growing, but I think one of the white avens is overcrowding it, so I’ll probably dig that one up and eat it so the phlox can have more space.

093. Podophyllum peltatum (mayapple) Three plants in last year. One plant up this year. Oh well. It’s growing nicely, so hopefully it will spread.

094. Polygonatum biflorum (smooth Solomon’s seal) Hopefully coming by the end of this month!

095. Polystichum achrosticoides (Christmas fern) It doesn’t die back in the winter! I mean, the leaves get kind of yellowed, but otherwise just hangs out and makes new growth in spring. My first attempt with ferns (ostrich ferns) was a failure, but so far all my other fern species have been successful and are currently thriving.

096. Prunus americana (American plum) It’s very top heavy when leafed so it flops over whenever it rains which is kind of funny, but it seems to be doing fine.

097. Prunus nigra (black plum/Canada plum) My first black plum died, but this one seems fine.

098. Prunus pumila (sand cherry) Soon! And it better bloody be a sand cherry and not a purple-leaf sandcherry, which is a hybrid, like the last company I ordered one from sent me. But that company didn’t specialize in native plants and carried both plants, whereas this company does specialize in native plants and does not advertise the hybrid at all.

099. Prunus serotina (black cherry) This is the very cherry that is used to flavour black cherry ice cream! But my little tree (not that little anymore lmao) hasn’t made flowers yet. It has nice foliage though it keeps trying to grow into the neighbour’s fence. Don’t know why. The sun doesn’t come from there. Maybe it will flower next spring.

100. Pycnanthemum tenufolium (slender mountain mint) Despite being part of the mint family, this is actually a very polite plant so far that stays in its immediate area.

101. Pycnanthemum virginiana (Virginia mountain mint) Just as polite as its cousin. My first died and I blame the person who lived in another unit who decided that garden bed was an ash tray. I managed to put a stop to that, got all the cigarettes out, dug out a stump, added new dirt, and planted a new Virginia mountain mint as well as bride’s feathers. That particular tenant isn’t there anymore and nobody else does anything with the outside, except to put a garden hyacinth there, which I’ve left in its pot and been watering. I’m not just going to leave the poor thing to die. Anyway, the Virginia mountain mint flowered last year and I hope it does so again this year.

102. Ratibida columnifera (yellow coneflower/upright prairie coneflower) Newly planted! I don’t like to get the cultivar versions if I can avoid it, but I will if that’s all that’s available, or in this case, to get the plants I really wanted, I needed to get something that would put me over the minimum cost. But I didn’t want to leave it at that, so I bought a non-cultivar this year so they can be friends.

103. Ratibida pinnata (gray-headed coneflower/yellow coneflower/pinnate prairie coneflower) This almost flowered last year and the I accidentally broke it with the hose. That will not happen this year. I don’t see a flower stalk yet, but the leaves look healthy.

104. Rhus aromatica (fragrant sumac) It’s putting out flowers, but it did so last year and nothing happened, so I guess we’ll see this year.

105. Rosa blanda (smooth rose) A rose without thorns! Or almost. It’s got leaves out, but it’s a slow grower for a rose and hasn’t flowered yet.

106. Rubus occidentalis (black raspberry) This was supposed to be a red raspberry because black raspberries are easy to find in the ravines, but that’s okay, and I did order a new red raspberry which will hopefully actually be red. lol

107. Rubus strigosus (American red raspberry) Soon! Sometimes considered a variety of Rubus idaeus, which is the one you find in grocery stores. There is one patch I’ve found of them in the ravines, but they’re not nearly as common here as the black raspberry. Hopefully this new plant I get will actually be the red raspberry.

108. Rudbeckia laciniata (cutleaf coneflower/green-headed coneflower) There are two plants with very different leaves growing there. One of them I hope is the plant I intended, but won’t know until they flowers. They’re both doing well, whatever they are.

109. Sambucus canadensis (common elderberry) It’s making flowers this year! I learned the hard way that this species does NOT like being transplanted to a pot, which I had to do to take with me to my current apartment. However, it did eventually bounce back and didn’t mind being transplanted to its current location, which it likes just fine.

110. Shepherdia canadensis (Canada buffaloberry) Next weekend!

111. Solidago canadensis (Canadian goldenrod) I tried to buy this plant but they accidentally sent me an aster species instead. However, there are a bunch of goldenrods growing a different area that I didn’t plant and I believe to be this species.

112. Solidago nemoralis (gray goldenrod) Droops a lot but bounces back quickly.

113. Solidago simplex (spike goldenrod/sticky goldenrod/Mt. Albert Goldenrod) I’ve tried this once before and it died, possibly from being small enough that the ledge it was next to prevented it from getting enough sunlight. I’ve planted the new one far enough from the ledge that it does not get shaded by it, so hopefully that will do the trick.

114. Spiraea alba (meadowsweet) The first year in the new place it struggled a bit, but it’s fine now and it flowered last year.

115. Symphoricarpos orbiculatus (coralberry) Next weekend! It’s also the first time I’ve seen it available anywhere.

116. Symphyotrichum ciliolatum (fringed blue aster/Lindley’s aster/northern heart-leaved aster) A very polite aster, or maybe it’s just being kept under control by the sweet grass (055). Its foliage is that lovely gray-green colour often referred to as “blue” when people talk about holly, spruce, and hosta leaves, and its flowers are that pale blue people often think of as purple or periwinkle but shows up digitally as light blue.

117. Symphyotrichum cordifolium (heart-leaved aster) Doing fine where I planted it.

118. Symphyotrichum laeve (smooth aster) I didn’t have the tag and thought this was a violet when I planted it. It now thinks it owns the space, but looks very nice when it’s in bloom.

119. Symphyotrichum lanceolatum (panicled aster/lance-leaf aster/willow aster/tall white aster/eastern line aster/white-panicle aster/narrow-leaf Michaelmas daisy) Lots of common names. It decided it belonged on the sidewalk last year, but surprisingly agreed when I placed its branches behind the stone line of the garden. We’ll see if we can come to the same agreement this year.

120. Symphyotrichum novae-angliae (New England aster) Not flowering yet this year, but looks it’s getting ready. They’re such a lovely rich violet to purple and I love that they flower so late into autumn too.

121. Taraxacum officinale ceratophorum (fleshy dandelion/horned dandelion/rough dandelion) Obviously didn’t buy it. lol But it is in my garden along with non-native subspecies. Since they don’t harm the plants they grow among, they can stay as long as they’re not in my way.

122. Trillium erectum (red trillium) Next weekend! And I possibly already have one. See, I ordered three trillium species last year as bulbs and planted them, but lost two of the tags. Only two species came up and only the one with the tag flowered this year. So I don’t know if the one that didn’t flower was erectum or grandifolium, so I ordered both again.

123. Trillium flexipes (nodding trillium) It came up this year and it was lovely. Died back now though.

124. Trillium grandiflorum (great white trillium) Next weekend! And I might already have one: see 109. Ontario’s provincial flower. I once made a set of coat of arms style designs with each of the provincial flowers and animals.

125. Urtica dioica gracilis (stinging nettle) Planted itself in my garden back at the old place and if I didn’t trust the other plants would be safe after I left (I was right, by the way; the whole backyard has been turned over) I definitely didn’t think this would be either, so I potted it to take with and got stung for my trouble, but it’s happy in its new home. Lives up to its name, of course, but I did eat a few of the tops earlier this year in soup and later in pasta sauce, so I suppose we’re even.

126. Vaccinium angustifolium (lowbush blueberry/wild blueberry) When you see “wild blueberries” in the grocery store in Ontario, it’s this. It always seems to struggle with mould in the spring. Every year I’ve had it. I got it a friend in hopes it would help, but they seem to both be dealing with it now. I’ll have cut back the bad branches and hope that helps. It usually does, but I don’t know why it starts in the first place. None of the neighbouring plants are suffering.

127. Vaccinium corymbosom (highbush blueberry) This is the species you’ll most often see in the grocery store in Ontario as “blueberries”. My bush always makes some flowers and berries, but it’s not doing great right now. Not sure why. It doesn’t get mould the way the lowbush blueberries do. I hope it’s not on its way out. You can get them at a lot of garden centres, but there’s usually a minimum amount of plants or a minimum cost, and garden centres that specialize in native plants don’t often carry these, while garden centres that don’t often don’t have any other native species or at least not any I need or have room for. So for my purposes they’re kind of hard to get.

128. Verbena hastata (blue vervain) Was off to a slow start this year, but it’s doing just fine now.

129. Viburnum acerifolium (mapleleaf viburnum) Next weekend!

130. Viburnum lentago (nannyberry) It’s doing fine, just fine, but I doubt I’ll get any berries for some time yet.

131. Viburnum nudum cassinoides (Witherod viburnum) A lovely little bush so far. Maybe I’ll get flowers next spring.

132. Viola adunca (hookedspur violet/western dog violet/early blue violet) Hopefully coming by the end of this month! My first go with this plant was not successful. Hopefully better luck this time.

133. Viola blanda (sweet white violet) Exactly what it says on the tin. There’s a delicate pink to the centre, and the foliage is nice too.

134. Viola canadensis (Canada violet) It’s tall for a violet, and spreading nicely with lots of flowers.

135. Viola labradorica (purple Labrador violet) Next weekend! Despite it’s name, it is also native to Ontario.

136. Viola sororia (wood violet/blue violet) This is most common violet you see generally, which makes it hard, though not impossible, to find in garden centres. However, they’ve planted themselves in the yard and I’ve successfully transferred one to one of the beds. I have other place I want to put the rest before I dig up that area.

137. Vitis riparia (riverbank grape) I have two plants because I didn’t realize when I bought it that hiding among the weeds in another part of the garden there already was one. Oh well. Guaranteed cross-pollination of two genetically diverse individuals. They’re both doing well.

138. Zizia aurea (golden alexanders) They’re doing well. It looks a lot like wild parsnip, which it is related to, but it’s much more friendly, and I ate some this spring.

I may be able to order more. We’ll see. One of my go-to places says they won’t ship until “opening day”. I guess they mean when their area reopens, but that might not be till next year. Meantime, I will continue to construct my garden wall in the back.

#garden #plants #native North American species #native species of Ontario

32 notes · View notes

stanelyurisisaliveandwell · 3 years

Text

The ones we leave behind (platonic!Hank MCcoy x reader)

Okay so this is my first EVER fic... okee

Summary: Y/N basically has the same powers as wanda maximoff. She was part of the original Xmen (first class). At there time she is only 14 while they were all like 17-18(i tried to research their age but it was really confusing). Umm... this will take place during days of future past a short while before Logan comes and i will kinda be bending time and shortening thew length between events.. idk

Warnings?: idk angst? language?

Y/n sighed. She could take the silence most nights but something about tonight was different. Its not like sleep came easy to her, she had always struggled with sleep. She was was sleeping in Raven’s old room, wrapped in one of Alex’s old shirts that fit her like a night gown. Growing up on the streets, Y/n learned that it was better to stay awake at night in order to avoid getting hurt. Eventually her eyelids drooped and she was pulled into a very light sleep.

The nukes were charging at them full speed. Y/n stared in horror as they got closer and closer. It wasn’t the kind of problem you could run from, hell even if it was, her feet were stuck to the floor. She was quickly pulled out of her daze by the feeling of being pushed backwards. She looked up to see that Raven, Sean, Hank and Alex now surrounded her. They all had seen her there, crumpled on the ground, her battery had been drained from the battle and they dove in front of her.

Y/n jolted wake again. Drenched in sweat. Whenever she closed her eyes she was haunted by that beach. The feeling of death looking down on all of them, ready to strike. She looked at the portrait of them on her bedside table, their smiling faces serving as a reminder of the hole they left behind them. She couldn’t take it any more.

Cold air hit her face as she wandered onto the grounds. What had once been a beautiful garden was now a desolate weed infested patch of land.She felt a tear roll down her cheek, nothing had been the same after Cuba. Raven, Sean, and Alex were all gone. And Charles.... Charles couldn’t even look her in the eye. To be honest, she was almost disgusted by him. The man who had been her father figure to her was gone. Replaced by an empty shell of an addict. She was still young but she could see the ruin that had become of him.

“Hey,”

It was Hank, the only person she had left nowadays.

“Hey yourself”

“Did it happen again?”

“Yeah...”

Hanks face contorted with concern. The poor kid, he had always seen her as like a little sister... They all had. She was only 13 in Cuba. She was only 13 when her life nearly ended. They had all stepped in front of her that day, Haank didn’t know where they were tonight, but he could speak with confidence that they would all do it again in a heart beat.

“How bad?”

“The normal, you know..” Her voice trailed off before she took a deep breath to recollect herself.”I was on the beach again and I couldn’t move. But this time i was alone. I was the only one on that beach and the nukes got to me. and.. and I couldn’t move!” She choked on her words, finally collapsing into Hank’s her brothers arms.

They sat there for a while. Hank stroked her back and whispered calming words into her hair that they both knew were lies.

Finally she sat up. Hank gulped, he already knew what she was about to ask. It never changed.

Drying her eyes she looked up at Hank with those big eyes he could never say no to and asked those damned words “Any new news?”Hank could almost say it with her at this point.

He shook his head.

“FUCK!”

Hank looked down in suprise. It had been over a year and the girl had never broken down. What he saw when he looked down broke his heart even more. He saw a broken girl, almost completley different from the young teen he had met a few years ago.

“FUCK! Ugh!”

An old flower pot lifted into the air and smashed against a wall a few feet away from their heads as she continued to scream. It had been so long since had seen her use her power, he was in awe all over again.

“shit!shit! shit! GODAMMIT!”

Another pot hit the wall.

“Hey! Y/n stop! Y/n/n hey.”

Hank pulled her into his chest while she writhed, trying to break free.

“Shhh.. y/n/n. Its okay. calm down-”

“NO!”

She finally broke free sending Hank (and several pots) flying into the wall.

“NO! I’m sick of pretending like its okay!”

“Y/n-”

“Pretending like they are all out there living their normal lives! Pretending like they didn’t just disapear!”

“Y/n/n”

“You think that I don’t see the way he (*Charles*) is practically gone at this point!? How he never even comes out of his room?! How YOU scurry around fufilling every one of his orders! Providing him with that... that... THAT DRUG thats DESTROYING him! Destroying us!”

Y/n was in the air now, red vines of light surrounded her and her eyes went form their normal y/e/c to a glowing ruby red. Tears were streaming down her face at a rapid pace and the old shirt billowed in the cool night wind. Hank watched in horror and despair as the little girl he had once knew broke into a million peices before his eyes.

“You know every night I try to reach out to them...” She faltered, sinking a little closer to the ground. Finally she was able to choke out the rest of her sentence, “ Alex and Sean”

“And do you know what I hear every time?” She was barely whispering.

Hank leaned foward, hanging onto every word that came out of the broken girls mouth.

“screams”

“oh god...” Hank’s stomache dropped

-----------------------------

I kinda hate this ending but idk how else to end it sorry. :(

#hank mccoy #hank mccoy x reader #platonic!hank mccoy x reader #x men fanfiction #alex summers x reader #alex summers #sean cassidy #havok #beast #banshee

92 notes · View notes

currebunz · 3 years

Text

An Adventure’s Charts: Zhongli + Tea

AO3 Link

Six hours, that's how long Venti had told you Zhongli's tea would take. You helped him brew the tea, providing him with the leaves he had requested. It was supposed to be a luxurious blend suited for the finest of nobles in Liyue. And it would be if you had gotten the proper tea. However, the situation had provided you with the perfect opportunity to put the consultant for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor in the "mood". It wasn't that you could never get alone time with him like this, quite the opposite. Zhongli dedicated most of his time to making you feel like you were the most important person in the world. Because you were to him. Whether it be long walks down the streets of Liyue or a dinner he had made sure was paid for in advance, Zhongli never had to break plans with you. Of course, time in the bedroom was the same. All you had to do was call him or tell him your very desire. He would dutifully see to it that you were satisfied. The great Archon's skill exceeded simply wielding a polearm and left you tired by the time the sun was in the sky. And yet, you wanted to see how he would look when he was the one with overflowing desires. Those sharp eyes of his never told you what he was truly feeling.

The First Hour

"Hm? Have you already poured the water?" Zhongli asked as he noticed the kettle was gone. You were holding it securely, hoping he would stay away from the teapot. "Yep, leave it to me. I've seen you do it so many times now. I think I know how you like it" you smiled at him. Zhongli was quiet, but a graceful smile stretched across his face. "I see, I suppose you have a point. I must be careful if you are watching me so" he said with a chuckle. You set the kettle down, raising your brow at him. "And why do you say that?" you asked. You took a seat across from him at the small table in the room. Zhongli closed his eyes as if thinking carefully about his next words. But he was recalling his favorite memories of you, the times you spent together. His eyelids lifted and his eyes were shining with a soft light that nearly made you melt. "Because I wouldn't want you to see me at anything but my best," he said proudly. For a moment, you were touched. A hand was already over your heart as you took in his words. But then a playful grin slipped onto your lips.

"Then maybe you should forget your wallet less?"

The Second Hour

Zhongli had read to you the report he was given in regards to a Funeral he would be organizing. You always helped him prepare for it, as much as he would let you. Time and again, he reminded you that you didn't have to do work for the parlor was you were not employed there. But you had reassured him that you didn't mind and it gave you an excuse to spend more time with him. Hu Tao had also caught on to the few times you and Zhongli became "passionate" with your work. The master stated that you might as well work if you are going to play around in the parlor. You were just glad she let you back in. "Hm, we'll need more Glaze Lillies. I trust you will accompany me tonight to collect them?" Zhongli asked. "Of course, we can go after our tea" you agreed. Zhongli nodded, turning his report in his hands as he continued to tell you about the preparations needed. Hearing him talk so eloquently always made your mind wander off to the times he would lay with you and talk until you fell asleep. He would always ask you questions before telling you a story about Rex Lapis. As much as you wanted to stay awake, you always fell asleep hearing his soothing voice.

The Third Hour

Zhongli was looking over some papers while you were watering the plants around your shared home. Occasionally, he would bring home a new flower claiming it reminded him of you. A few times, you had to tell him he had brought back a vegetable or fruit. But he assured you it was on purpose and explained the many uses of the plant. You didn't have the heart to call him on his excuses, as you enjoyed watching the light dust of pink as he realized his mistake. "You see, I heard that you can make a good soup base with these chilis. Not only will you have a good meal, but we will also save money" he explained as if you didn't know. "Mmm, sure darling" you hummed as you watered your vegetables. If it weren't for you selling and giving away herbs, you'd have a full garden in your own house. The number of plants in your home a nice look, but Zhongli didn't only stop at plants. He occasionally brought back treasures and odd things as well. You had a nice collection of old relics and antiques he had acquired in the ruins during his exploration. From plates to hairpins, he would bring you back anything that he thought would put a glint in your eyes. "Do you like it?" Zhongli would ask. You would always stay quiet when he brought you back something. His eyes would slightly droop as he waited for your approval. Sometimes, you almost forgot to answer him.

"I love it"

The Forth Hour

You were sweeping outside and looking out at the harbor. Zhongli had let you pick where you wanted to stay and naturally you picked an area near the water. You were always calmed by the peaceful view of the large sea. Besides, it was cheaper than living in the mountains. Sometimes in the morning, the two of you would watch the sunrise and watch the sea turn blue. At night, you both would watch the sunset over the horizon before retiring for the night. On the more special nights, you would request Zhongli walk with you at night near the water. He never resisted you, creating soft moments as the two of you passed lotuses on the water. Your home was just big enough for the two of you, but sometimes you wondered if he would mind another one running around the house. The topic of children never came up, but it wasn't off the table either. Zhongli never had a problem with children and the kids around the area enjoyed talking with you. The broom in your hand squeaked as your grip had tightened on the broom. A cute image of a small child with Zhongli's features made you almost squeal in joy. Only his voice brought you out of your fantasy.

"The tea is almost ready"

The Fifth Hour

Whenever Zhongli made tea, there were always snacks. Only the finest of treats were allowed and Zhongli was always eager to pick something out for you. But after a while, he began to trust your taste and let you pick something not as expensive. But his favorite treats were the ones you made by hand in the kitchen. Zhongli would even eat the mistakes you made, offering you tips and encouragement for your next attempt. Knowing how peculiar he was, it had surprised you at first. But you knew why he still at your mistakes, even if he didn't admit it. "Your getting better at handling the rice cakes, you must mold it with the care of holding an egg yoke" he observed from over your shoulder. "It would help if you weren't always perched on my shoulder" you giggled. Zhongli's eyes widened and he stepped back a few steps. "I apologize, I simply enjoy watching you work is all" he apologized. But when he watched you he would walk closer without knowing. You were used to having him stand over you like this, you just liked teasing him like so. Once your treats were ready, you placed them on a dish and brought them to the table.

The Sixth Hour

"Hm, it has a nice aroma," Zhongli said with a satisfied smile. He was still unaware of your trick and you began to feel guilty. But you reminded yourself that the payoff would be worth it as Zhongli would putty in your hands. "It does, doesn't it? Is the tea ready?" you asked him. Zhongli nodded, taking out two teacups. As he poured the tea, you could see the amber liquid flowing into the cup. The way he poured tea was always so graceful as if he was serving a lord. It was simply another perk of being with Zhongli, nearly everything he did was beautiful. He waited until you both had a full cup before setting the pot back down. "Let us not wait any longer, you've been patient enough" Zhongli smiled at you. Grabbing your cup, you brought the rim to your lips. But you didn't tip the cup and instead looked at Zhongli. He closed his eyes as he sipped his tea. He always told you that doing so would allow you to envision the story behind the tea. But there was no way you could miss the sight of him when he drank tea. Zhongli was still for a moment, his brows furrowing. Then, he slowly set his teacup down. His neck bobbed as he swallowed and he slipped a finger into his collar around his neck. "I apologize for this, but I'm afraid I cannot allow you to enjoy this tea," he said as he stood up.

Before you could ask, Zhongli had walked around the table and lifted you into his arms. You held onto him tightly as he walked to your shared bedroom. He placed you onto the bed before loosening his tie. "It would appear there was an underlying effect in this blend, I cannot determine why but I feel as if you are the one responsible," he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. You were speechless as you felt him put his knee between your legs. "Therefore, I expect you are capable of dealing with the consequences of your actions" he continued as he reached for your cheek. His gloved hand cupped your face and his thumb stroked across your cheek. "The tea may have seeped for six hours, but I don't plan on stopping for much longer than that" he hummed in delight.

#zhongli #genshin impact #zhongli x reader #mild spice

80 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

From Eden: One

Warnings: noncon sexual acts, mentions of mental illness; tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The mc suffers from agoraphobia. After a new neighbour moves in across the street, her home becomes even more of a prison.

Note: So I've decided to try something new. I'm hoping that you don't mind the new format. This story is written in first person in the form of diary entries. Transcripts will be included at the end of chapters to accomodate any who have issues reading the images.

I am still working on Omerta but chapter 12 is taking me a little bit longer to complete so hopefully this can tide you over until tomorrow. Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!

As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3

Transcript:

Sunday

It rained today. I hoped it would break the humidity but the air is still balmy and thick. The garden is starting to droop without the usual June sunlight. The shrubs look healthy but I don’t know if the mums will bloom. It is late for them.

The windows are clouded now the rain is gone. Once they dry, it will be suffocating again. I should have pulled out the old patio set last weekend but Lorena was here for the groceries. My meds are running low, I’ll have to remind her.

Oh, I found the old afghan grandma used to use. The one with the knitted flowers. Not a single hole. I’ll wash it and hang it over the loveseat in the lounge. It still smells of her. It’ll be two years next week. I miss her.

The kettle is whistling. Lorena bought a new flavour of tea; a spiced rooibos. It smells more suited to the winter but I’m anxious to try. It’ll boil over if I keep writing.��

I found a documentary on a country house in the British Midlands. I might watch that with my tea. Or maybe fall asleep on the couch. Again.

Monday

I have a new neighbour.

Today, I went out to check the bulbs I planted two weeks ago. I don’t think they’ll bud. It was humid and I had sweat in my eyes as the large truck pulled up across the street. The orange moniker on its side was faded and its white paint was almost yellow. I peeked out the gate as they backed it up.

The beeping was horrible, almost deafening.

A car was just behind it. I shouldn’t be so curious but grandma always said I was a watcher. Watching is easy; doing is… difficult.

My new neighbour is a man. He has dark hair and a thick beard. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw the rest of him. His arm shone in the sunlight. It’s metal! I’ve never seen anything like it. I never saw a prosthetic that ended in anything but a hook or a blunt stump. I guess, I never really thought much about it.

I think he saw me too. It is hard to see behind the ivy that covers the front gate but I swore he could see me. I hid before I could make sure of it. It’s rude to stare. That’s what grandma would say. So went back to the flower bed and dug up the bulbs. They were dead.Lorena is coming tomorrow. I’ll ask her to grab more.

Tuesday

Lorena came buy today. She commented about my new neighbour. I acted surprised.

I gave her my list and reminded her of my pills. She was gone for a while before she returned. When she returned, I helped her bring in the bags. We unpacked them and she told me about her new niece; Cora. I think that’s a pretty name but Lorena thinks it’s too old fashioned. She said I would like it given my usual tastes.

She asked if I was wearing grandma’s shirt. I lied and said I wasn’t.

I showed her the garden and she had some tea after helping me set up the heavy iron patio set with the mosaic tabletop.

She showed me pictures of Cora. She said when she marries Shelby, she wants to adopt but her sister offered to be her surrogate. I thought that was nice.She left shortly after. I’m in the garden, staring at the old shed as I write. The frame around the window is starting to fall apart. I should fix it soon. And maybe clean the--

Later

The man was at the gate. The one with the metal arm. He scared me.

I hid behind the ivy as I looked out at him. His eyes are very blue. Piercing. Despite the heat, they made me want to shiver. His metal fingers wrapped around one of the curlicues of the gate. He said hello and that his name was Bucky.

I nearly swallowed my tongue as I ran away. I didn’t dare grab my diary until the sunset. He was gone, thank god. I hope he doesn’t come back.

Wednesday

Doctor Tisha called today. She wants me to come in at the end of the month to have my prescriptions reviewed. I told her they were helping much better than the old ones. No more vertigo or manic fits, but my dreams are really vivid. She also reminded me that I should make more of an effort to go beyond the garden. The pills can’t do all the work. Well, I think there are parts of me that just can’t be fixed.

I cleaned out the birdbath but the shed window is still drooping. There’s a spider web above the door and I’m working up the courage to open it. My grandma was always the brave one; she called her slippers ‘the exterminators’. She always made me laugh.

Then the man returned. His knuckles make an odd clinking on the gate when he knocks. I didn’t move at first. I’d rather have faced the spider and her web. But he kept on and it was getting rather annoying.

He pulled some of the ivy aside as I got close. I kept to the edge and peeked out at him. He held a box of freesias.

“Hey again.”

He speaks as if he knows me. I don’t like that. He didn’t even care that I didn’t answer.

“I see you like to garden so I thought I’d bring you some flowers. To introduce myself…. Better. I’m sorry if I scared you yesterday.”

I didn’t know what to say. The freesias were all shades of red, orange, and yellow. Young with a bit of growing still to do. I shook my head.

“You don’t want them?” He asked.

I frowned so hard it hurt my cheeks. I haven’t talked to anyone by Lorena or Doctor Tisha since grandma died. I was never good at that.

“No, I don’t know you.” I felt as if it was someone else talking.

He blinked and I suddenly felt very dizzy. I ran back to the shed and ripped the door open without thinking. The web caught in my hair as I slammed it shut behind me. I sat in the shadows as I tried to wipe away the web. The old rubbermaid lid warped beneath me, if not cracked.

I didn’t come out until the musty air made me sick. As I ran into the house, I noticed he had left the flowers on the other side of the gate. I locked the door behind me and shuddered. I swore I felt eight legs crawling down my arm.

Thursday

Sure enough, the flowers are still there. They haven’t wilted at all despite the intense heat of the sun. June is in full effect and the days get brighter and longer.

I found the old weather vane grandma said was swept away in a storm. It was hidden behind the row hedges along the stone wall around the yard. It’s bent but fixable.

I went inside to eat at noon. I looked out the window as I ate; the strawberries were sour. I saw a shadow through the gate. I watched for a while, sure it was the shifting of the sun. Then I saw the metal fingers and the man’s square jaw as he tried to see past the ivy. He knelt and touched the dainty petals of the freesia. He lifted one of the small pots to sniff and placed it back in the box.

He left shortly after. I won’t go back out. I need to work on the house anyway. All this dust is making me sneeze.

Friday

The flowers are still there.

I refuse to look at them. Instead I focus on my own. I brought the old sony tape deck out to listen to the radio. Grandma always said it was older than me. I believe her. The speakers crackle and the antenna kept falling off.

The robins and sparrows were at the birdbath and a pair of cardinals have taken up in the old painted birdhouse around the back. The squirrels broke the window frame on the shed. Well, I’ll deal with that next week.

The flowers are starting to bloom nicely. I thought they might not, given the late showers and the sudden drought.

There was a monarch butterfly by the carnations. It flew away before I got too close. My mother liked monarchs. I remember she had one framed in her room. Like the picture of her in grandma’s.

I try not to think of her. Or grandma, too much.

It makes me sad. Doctor Tisha says this isn’t grandma’s house anymore, it’s mine. My life is mine, she tells me. It’s never really felt like it but I’m trying.

Saturday

The lock on the gate is broken and the flowers are gone. They didn’t go far. I found them planted by the lilies. I had tears in my eyes and my hands shook terribly as I wound an old bike lock around the gate. I picked up the pieces of the old latch. It’s totally ruined.

I haven’t been out since. I’m scared. Was it him?

It seems like a kind gesture but the memory of the busted lock makes me think otherwise.I’m confused. What does he want?

He should’ve let the flowers wilt and die. Or maybe I should just learn to tell people to leave me alone. Out loud.

#Bucky Barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x oc #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x oc #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark!bucky barnes x oc #dark!fic #dark fic #fic #series #from eden #au #marvel #mcu

423 notes · View notes

isolemnlyswearpevensie · 4 years

Text

Hot Chocolate in the Summer | Sirius Black x Reader

Warnings: None

Era: Marauders era (Graduated)

Word Count: 1k

Summary: On a brisk summer evening, Y/N and Sirius reminisce about their past

Request: A Sirius black x reader when you and Sirius get married and/or have a child together right after Hogwarts

A/N: First Harry Potter imagine on this blog! Yay! I hope you enjoy <3

Masterlist | read on ao3

Being a young father wasn’t what Sirius imagined when he thought about his life plan. Y/N wasn’t either if he was being completely honest. He always imagined himself a young bachelor who would charm bartenders out of free drinks or ride around his motorcycle until dawn with no hesitation. That all shifted when he met the love of his life during his fifth year.

Sirius didn’t pay attention to people outside of his house, or, really, anyone outside of his close circle of friends. His friends were his world, and other relationships outside of the circle were jeopardizing. A new clique member could throw off the dynamic, and if worst comes to worst, break up the tight bonds they had. Sirius was not about to let that happen because he was dating some silly girl.

In Herbology, debatably Sirius’ least favorite class, he was paired up with Y/N for a project. He had been partnered with James originally, but they goofed off in class, broke four pots, and lost the privilege to even look at each other. Y/N was the best in the class and was very well behaved, so naturally, Sirius was stuck with her.

He thought she was shallow at first; just a know-it-all that would boss him around and get under his skin. But, as they worked together, he discovered that she was the exact opposite of that. She was sweet, funny, sarcastic, and most of all, smart. Y/N was muggleborn, yet she came to Hogwarts knowing more about the school than Sirius did. How she knew, Sirius didn’t know, but it was still impressive. Not to mention, they shared a ton of the same interests. Y/N’s father was an auto mechanic and when he showed her his bike for the first time, she knew the exact model. I helped Dad work on one of these last summer, she explained.

The real test before asking her out, though, was how James reacted to her. James was the end-all-be-all opinion. Y/N had the boy wrapped around her finger within three minutes of meeting him. Sirius asked her to Hogsmede right then and there.

Their wedding had been quaint; only friends and Y/N’s immediate family. The meadow they chose to get married in was bustling with life, whether that was clovers and dandelions, or bumblebees and wildflowers. A nearby stream could be heard from the reception, as could frogs, and lightning bugs lit up the venue when it got dark. It was simple, fresh, and beautiful. Y/N had a gorgeous, flowing dress and a flower bouquet of sunflowers and red roses. Sirius wore a red bowtie. It was the perfect wedding to start a perfect marriage.

Except, it wasn’t perfect. Six months after their wedding, the couple had discovered that Y/N was pregnant. The two had spoken about kids previously, but they had decided to wait many years until they started a family. They had plans to travel, to see the world, and be happy-go-lucky young adults. After many evenings of discussing what to do, the happy couple decided to be the best, most badass parents a kid could have. Not long after Sirius and Y/N, James and Lily announced that they would also be having a child. That meant the new additions to the marauders would have a built-in best friend, and that made the couples happy. While the timing wasn’t the best, due to the war, at least they weren’t alone.

On May 15th, 1980, Y/N gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Ellie Marlene Black. She looked exactly like Sirius, with hints of Y/N. It was love at first sight for Sirius and when Y/N saw him hold her for the first time, she knew that Ellie would be daddy’s little girl.

“Who knew it got cold at night,” Y/N said one summer evening as she rocked her daughter. Her and her husband were standing on their porch watching the sunset; Sirius sat comfortably in a chair with his legs spread out while Y/N paced. Ellie wasn’t falling asleep. Instead, she tugged at Y/N’s hair.

“Well, it tends to do that every day, love,” Sirius answered, sipping on a beer and watching his girls with an amused look on his face.

“I didn’t ask for sass, mister.” Y/N continued to bounce the one-and-then-some-year-old.

“Ah, come on, darling. Give it up, she’s not going down.”

“Gid id up! Daddy!” Ellie reached her grubby fists towards Sirius. Sirius scooped her up and blew a raspberry on her tummy.

“Yeah, that’s right! Give it up, Mama!” Sirius situated Ellie on his hip and kissed her cheek.

It was interesting seeing him interact with Ellie. Here Sirius was, barely 21 with long hair, a leather jacket, piercings, and tattoos, holding a toddler that absolutely adored him. The contrast was insane. It was especially odd seeing them together when Y/N visited him at work. Sirius was an apprentice at a magical tattoo parlor in Diagon Alley, so it was always fun watching the customers’ reaction to Ellie’s precious deminer.

“I’m going to go make us a treat, babe.” Y/N calls, opening their screendoor and walking back into their kitchen. Sirius hummed in response. A few minutes later, Y/N returns with two mugs of hot chocolate.

“Baby, it’s the middle of August.” Ellie’s head was starting to droop and her thumb was in her mouth.

“Yeah, so? It’s cold outside. Do you want it or not?” Y/N’s smiled ear to ear.

“I never said I didn’t want it,” Sirius remarked back, taking the cocoa from his wife and taking a sip. The warm liquid warmed his body and left him feeling a little groggy. He stared lovingly at his wife. How did he get so lucky?

“You’re so beautiful, my love.” Sirius comments, taking a sip of the cocoa again. “You’re such a good mom, too. Ellie adores you. I adore you.”

This made Y/N flush a deep red. No matter how many times he compliments her, she still feels like the nervous school girl who was paired to do a project with him. How far they’ve come since then.

“You’re the amazing one. You work two jobs to support us...I can’t even imagine how hard that is. And the Order is so dangerous-”

“It’s all worth it to see the my two girls so happy.” Ellie was now asleep on Sirius’ chest. Her thumb was placed in her mouth and her body was limp.

“I love you, Sirius.”

“I love you even more, my love.”

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #harry potter #harry potter x reader #sirius black x you #marauders #marauders era #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #james potter #james potter x reader #regulus black #regulus black x reader #hogwarts #ben barnes #caspian #prince caspian #king caspian

360 notes · View notes

ukulelecal · 3 years

Text

Bloom - Part Three

The story of flowers.

Pairing: Poet!Luke Hemmings x Female!OC

Warnings: mentions of alcohol/drinking, anxiety, bit of angst, fluff as well

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: the finale!! i really really loved writing this and i hope you all enjoyed reading it. if yall are interested i would love to write more about luke and devon in the future!! anyways. like always, i ask you to remember how important reblogs and feedback are, and i hope you love it!!!

series masterlist

my masterlist // posted on ao3

Moving back in with Luke was as painless as moving could be.

It was much easier than when Devon left in the first place. She didn’t have help then, and there was the anxiety about moving to a whole new place and starting grad school all while going through a breakup. This time, Luke was there, and she was going to a place she knew and loved.

Within a week, Devon was packed up and ready to go again, after a quick pause for the official release of Luke’s book, a cause for celebration. All her belongings were taken by the movers and her and Luke flew back home without a hitch. Ashton was still in the process of packing up his own belongings and assured the couple that he would be out within a few days, cracking a joke about making sure to keep the noise down until he was gone. Devon and Luke sped up the process by helping him pack and transfer everything over to Calum and Michael’s flat.

Finally, they were alone. And thank God for that.

“Is it weird being back?” Luke asked over breakfast the first morning that it was just the two of them. Devon shrugged.

“I thought it would be, but it’s really not. Feels natural,” she explained. Luke smiled in satisfaction, feet rubbing against each other under the table.

He was so glad to have her back. As much as he liked living with Ashton, he needed his girl back. He needed to wake up next to her, share good morning kisses and cuddles until daily duties finally pulled them out of bed. Ashton didn’t make nearly as good of a dance partner while making dinner and definitely never gave Luke a good night kiss.

Now that Devon was back, they could go back to all their normals from before. Luke could lay his head in her lap while she read a book and he wrote. At least, he would try to. The feeling of Devon gently scratching his scalp always distracted him and made him sleepy.

Devon, ever the early riser, could sneak out of bed in the mornings to make a run to the local cafe down the street from their apartment complex for coffee and pastries and be back before Luke ever noticed she was gone. She’d always climb back into bed with him for a bit if she didn’t have anywhere to be, knowing he hated to wake up without her there.

Things had finally fallen into place.

With breakfast finished and cleaned up, Luke and Devon got themselves ready for the day before meeting in the living room.

“What now?” Luke asked, throwing his arms out. “We have the whole rest of summer until you start school again. What do you want to do?”

“Not to be boring, but first things first, I want to see if I can get my old job back,” she chuckled, causing Luke to roll his eyes playfully, though he understood. Rent and loans wouldn’t pay themselves. “But, I haven’t been here in a year. I want to do it all.”

Luke smiled, stepping towards and snatching up his car keys.

“Let’s go, then. Summer won’t last forever.”

Back in Bertha, Luke drove Devon to the office building where she used to work as a receptionist. She hated it, if she was honest with herself; the people there were stuffy and boring, but the job paid well, and that’s all she needed until she finished grad school and got a permanent job. A quick conversation with her old boss had her rehired, the woman expressing how Devon was always the most organized receptionist they ever had, before she made her way back to Luke.

“I am officially a receptionist again starting Monday,” she announced with fake enthusiasm as she shut the car door behind her. “Anyways, I’m thinking a walk in the park and then the panini place a few blocks down for lunch, if that’s okay with you.”

Luke didn’t answer. Devon looked up from clicking her seatbelt into place to find him staring at her with an adoring grin, eyes twinkling with love.

“What?” She mumbled sheepishly, heat rising to her cheeks.

“I’m so glad I’ve got you back, honey. I love you so much.”

Devon barely had the chance to return the sentiment before Luke was leaning over the center console, beard tickling her as he pressed a needed kiss to her lips. He reached over to give her knee a squeeze before throwing the car into reverse.

“Off to the park!”

The walk was relaxing. Luke and Devon both found solace in nature, absorbing up the sunshine and fresh air. Devon realized she needed an updated picture of him in all his beard and glasses glory for her lockscreen. She picked a few daisies from the ground and tucked them behind his ear, using her free hand to cup the side of his face opposite from the flowers and took the picture. It was adorable; his eyes squinted from the sun and his grin was full of joy. She loved it, wasting no time in setting it as her lockscreen. He teased her about it, but a picture of her laughing across the table from him at the restaurant quickly became his new lockscreen.

It was an amazing day. The best day either of them had had in a while, right up there with Luke’s book release. They drifted off to sleep that night with smiles on their faces, ever so content and ever so in love.

One evening some weeks later, Luke hopped in the shower while Devon wandered around the bedroom until he was done so they could watch a movie. She stopped in front of the small book shelf in the corner, eyes landing on The Life of a Flower. She picked up the book, fingertips trailing over the familiar orchids on the cover.

She had read it all the way through a few times, and it didn’t take long to realize that the entire book was about her. The very first poem in it was The Orchids, the first poem Luke had written for her. It started off happy, all poems about their loving relationship, but they slowly got more tragic as the book went on, poems about their breakup. Many of the poems had flower themes, including the flower referenced in the title of the book being a symbol of their relationship and it’s journey.

The final poem was called Sunshine Can’t Save Me Now. It was about a broken man - Luke, surely - trying to save a flower that was already dead - his and Devon’s relationship. He explained that he was at a very low point when he wrote it, admitting that he didn’t have much hope at the time. It was the right way to end the book, considering the state of Luke’s life when it was finished.

It took Luke a half hour to calm Devon down when she finished the book for the first time. She couldn’t stop sobbing as he held her, assuring her that everything was okay now. Her tears were caused by a mixture of resurfaced painful memories and the pure heartbreaking beauty of Luke’s poetry.

She let out a deep sigh. Just thinking about it made her want to cry. The poems really revealed how Luke was feeling about the breakup. He opened up to her about going through a bit of a rough patch, but his poetry said far more than what he ever said to her out loud. She only wished things could have been different; maybe the book would have had a happy ending.

“You ready, babe?”

Devon’s head snapped up at Luke’s voice, seeing him step into the bedroom with wet curls and only a pair of joggers on his legs. She quickly put the book on the shelf and grinned at him.

“Yep, I’m ready.”

She walked towards him, expecting him to turn and go into the living room, but his large hands rested on her forearms, stopping her.

“You okay?” He asked with concern. He didn’t miss the frown on her face when he first walked into the room.

“I’m alright, bubs. Come on,” she insisted, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the living room.

“You sure?” He coaxed as they sat down on the couch together. She looked up at him with a smile and nodded. He searched her face; she really did look alright. He sighed and pressed a prickly kiss to her cheek. “Okay.”

Devon tossed a blanket over the two of them as Luke pulled up the movie. She cuddled into him easily, head resting on his bare shoulder. With an arm wrapped around her shoulders, his fingertips gently danced over her forearm, the touches subtle but meaningful.

They greatly appreciated the quiet moments like this. No expectations, worries, or watching eyes. Just the two of them, flowers in a pot rather than a field.

Devon felt her eyes start to droop, as they did most times when they watched movies at night and she got too comfortable. Luke would tease her relentlessly about not being able to stay awake through an entire movie, but he was more than happy to hold her sleeping figure until the movie ended, then carry her into bed with him.

Halfway through the movie, Luke glanced down to see Devon’s eyes closed, noticing her breath had slowed down. A soft grin spread across his face. She looked so peaceful when she was asleep. The weight of school and work weren’t twisting her face. She was at ease, calm.

Luke’s lips ever so softly connected with Devon’s forehead. The tickle of his beard made her stir for a moment, but quickly settled back into his shoulder. He wanted this forever. He wanted Devon to fall asleep on him every night, fall asleep with her in his arms and wake up with her right there next to him. He had known that for a long time, but at the moment, the love he felt for the stunning woman right next to him was overwhelming.

He watched her sleep for another moment before an idea popped into his head.

He quickly paused the movie and gently scooped Devon up into his arms. She cuddled into him, thankfully staying asleep as Luke carried her into the bedroom. He laid her down on the bed and pulled the sheets carefully over her. Once he was sure she was still asleep, Luke quickly moved into the spare room and pulled out his most recent notebook.

The words came easily, flowing out onto the paper as water flowed through a stream. The poem was short but heavy, a depiction of white roses to match a white gown. A vow to love forever, through whatever life may throw at them. Through sickness and in health. He let out a deep breath once the final line was written.

Luke would save the poem for later; now wasn’t a good time. But one day, Devon would hear it, and have a brand new ring on her finger to go along with it.

…

The rest of the summer was certainly one to remember.

Devon and Luke were lucky to have similar work schedules. Their days off typically lined up, and even if they couldn’t see each other much during the day, they were always both home to have dinner together.

Luke’s book was doing well in sales and reviews. Readers begged for more, desperate to find some sort of closure on the wilting relationship detailed in the book. They had no idea that things worked out in the end, the flowers revived.

Summer came to a close. Devon’s second and final year of grad school was starting, only two semesters away from her master’s degree. Luke had some promotion opportunities for The Life of a Flower lined up, and was starting to think about a second book.

He was hesitant to quit his job at the bookstore. He didn’t feel like he was established enough in the poetry world to be financially stable without a more steady source of income. If he could just write all day, every day, he would. Until then, he would stay a manager at the quaint store in the city.

“Are you nervous?” Luke whispered to Devon the night before her first day of classes. The couple was cuddled up in bed, Devon’s head on Luke’s chest.

“A bit,” she sighed. “I guess I’m more nervous about what comes after I graduate.”

She figured a master’s degree would open more opportunities, but there was always uncertainty when it came to job hunting. She had time before she needed to start looking, but the thought always made her worry.

“Don’t be nervous, honey. You’re the smartest person I know. I have every faith in you that you’ll be amazing. And remember, I’ll always be here.”

His words brought a smile to her face. He always knew just what to say when she needed comfort.

“I love you,” she whispered as she began to drift off. She heard his return of the sentiment before sleep took over, her final sleep before being thrown into the whirlwind of a final year of grad school.

…

First semester was nothing short of overwhelming.

Devon was swamped with assignments, constantly scrambling to get things done between classes and on her breaks at work. She spent hours at her computer, back aching and eyes burning, pressure heavy on her shoulders.

It took a lot of deep breaths and reevaluation to remind herself that she only needed to get through two semesters, and she would be done. She would have her master’s and grad school would be over. School being done meant a job hunt, but she tried not to think about what came next. She needed to stay focused in the present.

Luke wasn’t around much. He was away a lot doing interviews and signings for his book, taking up extra hours at the bookstore in his free time to save money - for multiple things he had in mind.

When he was home, Luke’s mission was to make sure Devon stayed sane. He could see the stress school was putting on her, and she tended to overwork herself. He had to force her to take breaks, even if it meant physically lifting her from her desk chair and carrying her into the kitchen to eat. She would always give in, but it never lasted long until she scurried back to her studies. Saturday nights, however, were always reserved for date night. No work, no school, no commitments to anything other than each other. It was their favorite night of the week in which they got to relax and let their minds drift from responsibility.

Winter break was like a sigh of relief for the couple. Devon got her first proper night’s sleep in months, putting Luke’s worried self at ease. They divided up the time between Luke’s family and Devon’s family, of course setting some time aside for themselves. It was relaxing, refreshing, and the perfect break before second semester.

Now just a few months away from her master’s degree, Devon had to bring her A-game. She had her thesis paper to worry about, along with the dreaded job search. It was a lot to tackle all at once, but she was prepared for the challenge. She had her eyes on the prize, and all the stress would be worth it in the end when she fulfilled her goal.

Luke still had promotion things to do, but he was starting to focus on writing more. He wanted his second book to have a story like his first one did. He planned on making it a sequel of sorts, a tale of his and Devon’s saved relationship after their breakup period, but not in a way that a reader would have to read The Life of a Flower to understand.

It was only a couple weeks into the second semester that Devon’s workload quickly got massive. Between gradual work on her thesis paper, class assignments and her job, things got difficult pretty quickly. Luke was busy as well, cranking out drafts upon drafts of poems that he wasn’t even happy with. He knew he needed to slow down and focus on quality over quantity, but it was difficult when he knew publishers would want options.

Luke and Devon’s individual stress began to put a stress on their relationship.

There was hardly time for each other. Devon was usually out of bed before Luke in the mornings, and it was a guessing game to see who would retire to bed first at night. No matter who it was, it was always at an hour far too late. It affected Devon especially, who was used to turning in early most nights. There were rarely good night or good morning kisses, and most dinners were whatever was easiest and quickest.

Actual date night got canceled most Saturdays as someone was usually too tired to go out; it had gotten to a point where the closest semblance they had had to a date in weeks was a trip to the grocery store.

All of the tension built up more and more, and eventually it led to the little time they had to spend together being full of petty arguments. It started with Devon snapping at Luke for leaving his pants on the bedroom floor, and it only grew from there. Little things that used to not bother them much caused ridiculous bickering.

It was scaring Devon. Their relationship was starting to feel like the days leading up to their breakup. Tense and bitter. Every little argument with Luke left a foul taste in her mouth, and she didn’t want to let it go on. They promised each other that they were going to make things work, and that meant they needed to sit down and talk like adults.

Devon knocked softly on the spare bedroom door where Luke had shut himself away to work, as usual. She heard a soft “come in” from inside, and gently pushed the door open.

Luke looked up from his notebook, and she quickly noticed the dark circles under his eyes. What pained Devon the most was that they had probably been there the whole time and she had been too frustrated to notice. Not frustrated at him, either; it was school and work, and she was taking it out on him.

“You alright?” He asked, seeing the worried look on her face. She simply sighed and stepped forward, taking his open arms as an invitation to take a seat on his lap.

“Can we talk, bubs?” She whispered. Luke’s hand gently rubbed her thigh as he nodded in agreement. Devon continued. “I’m sorry I’ve been so rude to you lately. It’s not an excuse but school has just been a pain in the ass.”

“It’s okay, honey. I’m sorry too. I think we’ve both just been really on edge lately,” he mumbled, pulling her closer. “We need to find time to unwind.”

Devon hummed in agreement, leaning her head on Luke’s chest. The gentle thump of his heartbeat was comforting as she took in his touch. She couldn’t remember the last time they were so close physically.

“My spring break is coming up next month. Maybe we could go somewhere? Even if it’s just for a few days?”

Luke smiled a bit at the suggestion.

“That sounds nice.”

Perhaps a getaway would do them good. They could leave all work and school behind and just have fun together. The last time they took a trip was spring break junior year of undergrad. They spent most days getting drunk and making out on the beach. They laughed until they forgot what was funny and ate their way through the local restaurants. Maybe they were overdue for a nice vacation.

Devon leaned up to press a kiss to Luke’s scruffy chin.

“Let’s go to bed, bubs.”

The two of them climbed into bed at the same time for the first time in a long time that night. Luke pulled Devon into his arms and they exchanged a good night kiss, thoughts of a vacation lulling them to sleep.

…

Luke and Devon eventually decided on going back to the beach for spring break. They didn’t have much money to go anywhere fancy, and they had a lot of good memories associated with the place. Devon insisted on taking her car for the drive, unsure about Bertha’s ability to make it through the trip, but Luke still insisted on being the driver.

With luggage loaded into the trunk, the couple hit the road.

As passenger, Devon got the aux. She played the road trip playlist that she perfectly crafted for the occasion, and the drive was spent singing along and dancing in their seats.

Devon glanced over at Luke. It was golden hour, a gorgeous glow casting over the gorgeous boy that she was lucky enough to call hers. He looked so happy and in his element. Devon squeezed his hand that was resting in her lap.

“You’re staring,” Luke mumbled without returning her gaze, a small smirk on his face. She giggled.

“Can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”

A blush spread across his cheeks under the orange glow of the setting sun. She squeezed his hand again as a reassurance before turning her eyes back to the road.

Soon enough, Luke pulled into the parking lot of the small hotel they had booked a room at, the same place they stayed at junior year. It wasn’t exactly a five star establishment, but they didn’t expect to be spending much time there anyway.

After loading their small amount of luggage from the trunk, they made their way into the quaint lobby to check in. The walls were covered top to bottom in tacky beach decorations, coastal throw pillows on the white couches. It wasn’t what Devon would call good interior design, but it was fitting for the location and only made her more excited for the trip.

“We’ve got a reservation under Hemmings.”

The man at the front desk handed them their room keys and a pamphlet with some local attractions and restaurant recommendations. They were off to their room afterwards, a small thing but plenty for the two of them.

“Remember the last time we came here?” Devon asked as they got settled in, carrying her toiletries into the bathroom.

“I remember coming, but I can’t say I remember much of the actual vacation.”

Devon laughed at that; they spent a good majority of the trip drunk. She couldn’t say she remembered many specifics either, just some tidbits. Based on the blurry pictures they found in their camera rolls afterwards, they could imagine they had a good time.

Luke pulled on a clean shirt before joining Devon in the bathroom where she was leaning over the shower, setting her shampoo and conditioner on the wire shelf on the wall. She turned around to face him, finding a small smile on his face.

“C’mere, honey,” he hummed with open arms. Devon flushed and melted into him, feeling him press a kiss to the top of her head. “This was a great idea. I love you.”

“I love you too, bubs.” She puckered her lips for a kiss that Luke gladly delivered. “How about we walk around to find a place for dinner?”

Luke agreed and the two were out the door. Hand in hand, they strolled around the small beach town. There wasn’t a chain restaurant in sight; every place was a local business. They didn’t look like much on the outside, but the couple were firm believers that the holes in the wall and the greasy spoons were usually the best places.

A taco restaurant with a calming seafoam green exterior beckoned Devon and Luke inside, sitting down for dinner. The slightly run down building was no comparison to the delicious food.

With full stomachs, the couple made their way to the beach. The spring breaker crowd was thin at the time, most people gone for dinner, but surely it would fill up again later at night for the real fun.

Luke and Devon slowly strolled down the beach, carrying their shoes in their hands that weren’t interlaced together. The sun was barely still peaking out, and a cool breeze began to rip through the air.

“I forgot how pretty it is,” Devon commented as they walked. The setting sun over the ocean was a lovely sight to see. Luke hummed, dropping her hand in favor of wrapping it around her waist.

“I love it,” he mumbled in response. “And I love you, honey.”

Devon turned her head to press a chaste kiss to his shoulder, leaning her cheek on the spot.

“I love you too, Lu.”

They walked until they reached a wooden bench swing. It was a bit creaky but comfortable, Luke using his feet to slowly swing them back and forth.

“I’d like to live here one day,” Devon said dreamily. “On the beach. Maybe after we retire. We’ll be that old couple that sits on their front porch all day and watches the waves.”

Luke could picture it perfectly. They would be the laid back grandparents that took the grandkids to the beach all the time, having bonfires in their backyard on warm summer nights. They would have their own little beach house with a porch swing and a dog. He wasn’t too keen on growing old just yet, but the thought definitely made the future seem bright.

“One day,” he affirmed. “But what about now? Where do you want to live after you graduate?”

“I think I want to stay where we are.” She glanced up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Is that where you want to be?”

“It is.” He bent down and pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “We could live anywhere and I would be happy as long as I had you, Dev.”

“You’re so cheesy,” she chuckled although her heart soared. She felt the same way; white picket fence house or tiny apartment, she would be content so long as she had Luke.

“I’m a poet. It’s my specialty.”

The couple laughed before falling into silence again.

Luke meant what he said. He still wanted to be in the city and close to all the job opportunities for Devon, but he wanted more than their little apartment. It was perfect for college students, but they had always yearned for something more. Once Devon got a job after graduation and if his book sales continued to be successful, they could achieve their dreams soon.

The rest of the trip was pure bliss. They spent their days lounging on the beach and popping in and out of antique shops in the town. There were many photos, many laughs, many heartfelt kisses. It was exactly what they needed to recharge and regroup. After weeks of tension, they were finally at ease.

All too soon, it was back to reality. Devon had a thesis paper to finish, and Luke had a book to get back to work on. However, they were confident that the workload wouldn’t put such a strain on their relationship this time. They had a newfound energy to power through and make things work.

Time flew by, and before either of them knew it, Devon was only two weeks away from graduation. She was only two weeks from having her master’s degree. She had to admit she was proud of herself. Grad school was no walk in the park, and she was about to finish. In a world that seemed to be against her, she was succeeding.

It was both an exciting and stressful time in her life. She was approaching the finish line, and she even had a few job offers lined up. No more receptionist work for her.

There was one thing that was bringing her down; the damn thesis paper.

Her first draft was done, but she wasn’t happy with it. She spent hours editing and rewriting, fingers cramping from all the typing. She only had another week to finish, and the panic was starting to set in.

“You’re working yourself ragged, honey,” Luke said one afternoon, not missing the concerningly dark circles under Devon’s eyes or the fact that she had been wearing the same shirt for three days. He placed his hands on her shoulders, thumbs working the stiff muscles. “Come on, take a break.”

“I don’t have time, Luke,” she huffed, eyes never leaving her computer screen. “I only have a week to finish and this paper is shit.”

Luke felt his heart break in his chest. It pained him to see her so stressed out and unsure of herself. Devon was a perfectionist; she would settle for nothing less than fantastic for her paper.

“Devon, look at me,” he mumbled, gently grabbing her chin to turn her face towards him. Exhaustion weighed heavy on her features.

One look into Luke’s sincere blue eyes had Devon’s own watering. Her bottom lip trembled as she turned around in her chair to stand up. She collapsed into Luke’s arms, a pained sob escaping her lips.

“It’s so hard, Lu,” she choked out. “It’s so hard.”

“Oh, honey,” he cooed, slowly walking backwards until they reached the bed. He laid down and coaxed Devon to join, still crying into his chest. “It’s alright, just let it out. It’s okay to cry. I’m right here.”

She sobbed until she had no tears left, cries subsiding to the occasional sniffle. She felt a sense of relief, letting out a deep breath.

“You okay, baby?” Luke inquired. He only got a nod in response. “I told you you needed to take a break, Dev.”

She sighed and mumbled something incoherent, burying her head further into Luke’s chest.

“What do you want to do now, honey?” He asked. “You want to take a nap? I know you’re tired.”

She did want to nap. She wanted to sleep for days, but life didn’t allow that.

“Shower,” she grumbled, voice muffled. “Then nap.”

“Alright,” he agreed softly, thankful that she wasn’t fighting him on taking a break anymore.

While she showered, Luke straightened up her workspace a bit, knowing the mess would only stress her out more. He also prepped some celery with ranch dressing, one of Devon’s favorite snacks, for her to munch on before she went to sleep.

Devon let the hot water soothe her aching muscles. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, relishing in the warmth. She didn’t want to take too long of a break, but Luke was right; she was working too hard. If she was well rested, felt good, and paced herself, she would do much better.

After her shower, she changed into one of Luke’s clean t-shirts and her most comfortable pair of leggings. She stepped out of the bathroom and walked back to the bedroom, quickly noticing her tidy desk and the plate of celery on her nightstand.

She could have started crying again, just because of how sweet he was. He had a certain knack for being able to make her feel better instantly.

“I’ve got a snack for you to have before you take your nap,” Luke explained, standing up from the edge of the bed. “Celery and ranch.”

She stood up on her toes to press a grateful kiss to his lips.

“Thank you, bubs.”

Curled up in bed, she nibbled on her snack until she could barely keep her eyes open. Setting the plate back on the nightstand, she moved herself to lay down and curled up next to Luke.

“Don’t let me sleep too long, okay?”

“I won’t, I promise,” Luke assured. “Just go to sleep, honey. You need it.”

Devon dozed off contently. With Luke by her side, she was ready to take on the next two weeks.

…

Devon’s knee bounced the whole flight to the city of her grad school, as much as Luke tried to calm her down. She wasn’t sure why she was so nervous; she had been through graduation ceremonies before. All she had to do was walk across the stage, get her diploma, and shake a few hands. It was simple.

“Why are you so nervous, honey?” He had asked, rubbing her thigh to soothe her.

“I don’t know,” she huffed. She reached for Luke’s hand on her leg to fiddle with the rings on his fingers. “I don’t think it’s the ceremony that I’m nervous about. It’s just...I don’t know.”

The fact that she didn’t know what was bothering her only stressed her out more. She knew there really was nothing to worry about. She had gone through her bag a million times before leaving for the airport; she had her cap and gown, as well as the dress and heels she bought for the occasion and enough clothes to last the trip. Her phone was tucked safely in the pocket of her joggers along with her wallet. Pretty much anything else, she could either live without for a few days or buy it there.

If she wasn’t worried about the ceremony and she knew she packed all the essentials, then what was she so nervous about?

Luke dropped it for the rest of the plane ride, but once they got to the hotel, getting ready to meet Devon’s parents for dinner, the way she paced around the room and fidgeted with everything she could get her hands on was starting to make him nervous.

“Everything is going to be fine, Dev. You’re getting your master’s and your parents are going to be there to see you. I know they are so proud of you. You worked so hard for this. Isn’t that exciting?”

The realization finally hit.

Devon’s parents expected a lot from her. She knew they always wanted the best for her, and she did everything she could to make them proud. Her parents were loving people. They always said that they would be proud of her no matter what, but Devon never felt like she was doing enough.

“That’s just it, Luke. What if it’s not enough? What if they expect more?” She rambled, straightening her necklace for the thousandth time.

“What more could they expect? You just finished grad school. That’s a huge accomplishment,” he tried to reason with her.

“Anything. They could expect anything else.”

Luke realized what was happening. The need to make other people proud bled into a need for herself to feel accomplished. Even if her parents told her a million times that they would always be proud of her, she would always need more. She needed validation.

“Devon Murphy. Look me in the eyes.”

He grabbed her shoulders to stop her pacing. She stared up at him, eyes wide with nerves.

“I need you to realize that your worth is not measured by physical accomplishments. Your worth is not measured in grades and degrees. And even if it was, you’ve done better than the average person. You say your parents will want more, but I know for a fact that you have already made them more proud than you can imagine. You will always be enough.”

Devon wasn’t sure when she had started crying, but Luke used his thumbs to wipe the wetness off her cheeks. She definitely needed to hear that. Unable to find the right words, she leaned up to kiss him, a silent expression of her gratitude.

“Love you,” she whispered against his lips. He grinned and gave her one last peck before pulling away.

“I love you too.” He wiped away the bit of smudged mascara under her eyes. “Are you ready to go?”

Devon nodded. Hand in hand they headed out the door and to the restaurant.

Devon’s parents were ecstatic to see her. They hadn’t been able to visit since the holidays, and they were simply overjoyed to see their daughter and watch her get her master’s degree.

They were excited to see Luke as well. From the moment Devon first brought him home to meet them, they knew he was the one. They looked at each other like they were the entire world. Luke was kind and respectful. They had full faith in him to be a good man for their daughter.

Naturally, they were shocked when Devon told them that her and Luke broke up. It was the last thing they ever expected, but they knew deep down that things would work out in the end. They were right.

The meal went smoothly. The lively conversation put any anxieties Devon was feeling at ease, and as the night ended and her and Luke were off to bed, she was ready.

…

Devon took her time to get ready in the morning.

She got up early so she could take a long shower, cleaning well so she felt her best. She blow dried her hair and took her time doing her makeup. She did it lightly, wanting to look natural but not washed out in the inevitable countless photos she would be taking.

Slipping on the orchid purple color dress she bought, she glanced at herself in the mirror.

Luke’s words from the evening before rang in her mind. This was a huge accomplishment. She had done many amazing things in her life. She was enough.

Devon walked out the bathroom with a smile, ready to go. Luke was sitting at the small table in the corner, hunched over his notebook. He had already changed into his dress shirt and slacks, ready when she was.

His eyes widened when he saw her. She was simply glowing with confidence and pride, as she should. He smiled brightly as he stood up to meet her.

“You look stunning, my love,” he mumbled. He shook his head softly. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you, bubs.” She glanced past him at his notebook. “What are you writing?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckled.

He grabbed Devon’s black gown from where it was hung on the closet door and handed it to her along with her cap. With a deep breath, she was ready to go.

The ride to the school was short. Devon and Luke met up with her parents beforehand.

“We are so proud of you, sweetheart,” her dad announced, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“We always knew you would do amazing things,” her mom added in, tears welling up in her eyes.

Devon finally felt like she had done enough. Looking at her parents, she knew that they were truly beyond proud. She was enough.

“Don’t cry, Mom,” Devon chuckled warmly, pulling them in for a hug. “I wouldn’t be here without you two. Thank you.”

They talked for another minute before a different familiar voice called Devon’s name. She turned around to find Luke’s parents walking up, big smiles on their faces. Her mouth dropped at the surprise, heart bursting. Luke hadn’t told her that he invited them, but it made her so happy that they were there as well. Her relationship with them was very strong.

“Liz! Andy! Oh my gosh, thank you for coming!” She cheered, sharing hugs with them as well.

“Luke invited us. We’re so proud of you, Devon. We wouldn’t miss this,” Liz said, Andy piping in his agreement.

Devon couldn’t contain her smile, glancing at Luke in appreciation. This was her family, all together and there to support her in her biggest accomplishment. She felt proud, excited, and loved. She couldn’t ask for more.

The three couples chatted and took a few pictures until it was time for Devon to go. She exchanged hugs and kisses with each person before heading off to join the rest of her graduating class, Luke and the parents going to find their seats.

The anticipation as she waited to enter the gymnasium was killing her, lined up in a sea of caps and gowns. She shifted her weight back and forth, making small talk with the person standing in front of her that she had never met just to pass the time.

Eventually, the line began to move, walking right towards the next chapter of their lives.

The sound of Pomp and Circumstance filled Devon’s ears as she walked inside. The massive crowd made her heart rate pick up a little, both in excitement and nerves. This wasn’t just her big day. So many other students were feeling just the same as she was, so many other families beaming with pride. It made her feel good to be a part of something so grand.

Devon quickly glanced around for her family, but the crowd was too big to spot them. She took her seat in the folding chair, and the ceremony began.

Many people made speeches, most of which Devon wasn’t familiar with, but listened intently anyway. Before she knew it, it was time to call names. The first half of the alphabet flew by, and suddenly, it was Devon’s turn.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she stood at the bottom of the steps, her smile wide. After every all nighter, all the stress, she did it. She finished grad school. She had her master’s degree in social work.

“Devon Murphy.”

The crowd cheered as she walked across the stage. She could hear a few cheers that stood out among the rest, and she knew exactly who they belonged to. She couldn’t help but laugh as she was handed her diploma and shook hands. Nothing was funny, but she had never felt such a sense of pride and joy.

Devon barely heard the rest of the ceremony. She was buzzing, staring at the diploma resting in her lap. She did it.

Her attention was regained when the people next to her stood up, and she quickly followed, walking out of the gymnasium. Everyone made their way to where the graduates could meet their guests. It took a minute to find them in the crowd, but she spotted them.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the group as she ran towards them, pulling them all into a group hug. They all chorused their congratulations and pride. The love between them was strong, pride immeasurable.

Devon hugged her parents and Luke’s parents individually before she got to him. His smile crinkled his eyes, grabbing her face and pressing a firm kiss to her lips.

“Congratulations, honey,” he mumbled once he pulled away. “You did it. I am so, so proud of you.”

The group took many, many pictures before heading off to have a late lunch. Luke refused to tell her where they were going on the drive there, but soon enough Luke pulled into the parking lot of a fancy steakhouse.

“This place is like, the same price as my tuition, Lu,” she stated, giving him a look.

“Only the best for our graduate,” was his simple response, sending her a wink before getting out of the car. She rolled her eyes playfully but followed, grateful for the treat.

Luke and Devon’s parents meet them inside, talking to the hostess for a moment before being led towards the back of the restaurant. Devon followed, confused when they passed all of the tables in the dining room.

“Where are we sitting?” She whispered to Luke, but her question was answered when the hostess opened a door that led to an outdoor patio. String lights were strung through the awning, a perfectly set table for six sat in the middle. There were no other tables out there, telling Devon it was private.

“You guys!” She exclaimed, glancing around the group with a grateful smile. “This is too much.”

“You just got your master’s degree, Devon. This is the least we can do.”

The group all took their seats, a server quick to come and take drink orders.

The meal was phenomenal. The food was delicious, and it was also nice to be able to have everyone together. Devon and Luke’s parents had only met a couple of times, so they were glad that this was an opportunity for everyone to be together.

After dessert, Luke rested his hand on top of Devon’s on the table. She looked at him with a grin, but he looked nervous. She furrowed her eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?” She asked. She snuck a glance around the table, noticing that they were biting back smiles. Now more confused than concerned, she turned back to Luke.

“Nothing’s wrong, honey,” he assured. “I, um...I have something for you.”

Luke grabbed Devon’s hand and pulled her to stand up with him. She glanced back at the group; they had pulled their phones out, holding them up.

“Lu…” she murmured under her breath, heart rate picking up and heat rushing to her cheeks. He sent her a comforting smile and took a deep breath.

“I’ve been trying to write this poem for you for weeks now. I just haven’t been able to get the words right. But this morning, I finally finished it. I’d like to read it to you, if that’s okay.”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond before he pulled a neatly folded piece of paper out of his pants pocket. Trembling fingers unfolded it, Devon watching as a million thoughts of what this might be ran through her mind. Luke held the paper in one hand and reached for Devon’s with the other.

The poem was beautiful. It spoke of a seed that budded into a vibrant flower, one full of life that lit up a room. The flower radiated love and kindness to all. It spoke of a love that was true and pure. Devon was barely holding back her tears by the time he finished reading, squeezing his hand.

“That was incredible, Luke,” she whispered shakily, smiling. He squeezed her hand in return and set the paper on the table.

“I just have one thing that I want to ask you now.”

He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a small black box. Devon gasped, finally putting the pieces together. Time went in slow motion as he sank down to one knee, opening the box. She didn’t even look at the ring. She was staring at Luke, at least trying to, through her tears. Her hands covered her mouth in shock, heart racing.

“Devon Jo Murphy...will you marry me?”

All she could do was nod. Words completely escaped her. She hardly even registered the cheers from her family as Luke slipped the ring onto her finger. He quickly stood up to meet her, pulling her in for a bruising kiss. Their tears mingled together, arms wrapped tightly around each other.

“I love you so much, Devon. So fucking much.”

“You’re my world, Luke. I love you with my entire heart.”

They finally pulled back and looked at each other. Their eyes were red rimmed and their smiles beaming. They laughed, so full of love and joy. They were shortly joined by their parents, congratulating and hugging.

Everything about Luke and Devon was beautiful. The love they had for each other was as abundant as a field of flowers. Bright, joyous. A college seminar led to a wonderful, blooming relationship. And bloom, they most certainly did.

30 notes · View notes

darkhymns-fic · 3 years

Text

“Welcome back.”

With Lloyd, Colette had never felt more at home.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel, Zelos Wilder, Phaidra Brunel Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: Written for Colloyd Week, Day 7: Free day! And yep, this is a day early because quote day fic isn’t finished just yet. But this is also about a quote so it fits the theme still?

Colette had always been searching for a place to belong to.

When she first met Lloyd, it had been by chance. She didn’t meet him on his first day of school, when he had already been fifteen minutes late, earning a frown from the new professor but forgiven when he explained how far he traveled just to get here. It had not even been on one of the few trips that Lloyd had gone along with Dirk to Iselia, the dwarf picking up supplies to fill up their food pantries, and any extra seeds and tools for the vegetable garden he was just starting. On the former, she had been away at the Church for her routine lessons, and on the latter, she was always at home, the language of the angels swimming in her head as she devoutly read the scriptures from heavy tomes.

When she was already receiving her lessons as the Chosen, they only told her about her fate once she turned six – all with fanciful words of how she would take her place in heaven with the goddess and rest peacefully. But even back then, she understood the meaning of it.

So one day, with that knowledge deeply part of her, Colette had to leave her room, her house, and the books far away, so that she could breathe. She left in the middle of the day, thinking only to go as she snuck through the front gate to the forests surrounding Iselia, all before they would implement guards to prevent such a thing from happening again. She walked and walked, until the brush at her feet grew darker and the trees closed in, until the light dirt pathway slowly started to vanish.

She walked until she couldn’t anymore, the sun all but blocked out from the thick boughs overhead. There was no more path to lead her anywhere, the entire floor overtaken by snaking roots and shrubbery. The air felt cold around her. The shadows stretched wide, making the woods feel like early evening when it was still in the middle of the afternoon.

Or had she really lost track of time?

She stumbled over a stump – or it could have simply been a pebble, or only air. But she fell onto her knees, her hands clutching the grass between her fingers, thinking over and over the words that the priest had left her. And her grandmother, trying to soften the blow, with peaceful hands that stroked through her hair, but not denying the truth of what it all meant.

“Chosen, you will be like a friend to the world. And once you grow older, you will have to leave, but that is what happens to all of us,” Phaidra had tried to soothe, an old scripture book still laid at her knee along with Colette’s head. “It will just be a little sooner than most…”

She felt a hand take her own – but it wasn’t familiar, and it fit inside her own like a puzzle piece.

Colette blinked. She saw that she was on her feet again, grass stains on her bare knees, and on the sleeves of her dress. And right in front of her was a boy, his hair sticking up in wild ways, his eyes blinking along with her own. In a red shirt and suspenders that held up dark shorts, she wondered if this was someone from school that she couldn’t seem to recognize yet.

“Hey! Where were you going? It’s dangerous down this way!” The boy’s palm was just against her own, a little damp, scuffed with dirt. She realized why that was so.

“Oh! But my hands are dirty…” she could only trail out, still feeling a bit light-headed. Hadn’t she left her grandmother in the kitchen, and then had gone out the back door? What would she think…?

The boy tilted his head, the motion of it catching her attention. It reminded her of the neighborhood dog that she always wanted to pet whenever she saw it. “Are you okay? You were walking by yourself and being really quiet…”

She saw in his other hand that he held what looked like a long stick. The end of it was freshly snapped, like a jagged point of a knife. He tapped it against the ground, keeping in an even tempo.

“Ah? Where… am I?” Colette arced her head to look around her, but the trees looked unfamiliar, and she could hear the rapid flow of a river nearby. But this wasn’t anything like the small glades that were in Iselia. “Who are you?”

Another blink, and there was something about his eyes. Full and matching the shade of the tree bark, yet catching the light of the sunshine. They were in a sunny place now, the previous shadows from her wandering gone.

“You should tell people your name first before asking theirs, you know!” The boy huffed, but then looked embarrassed right away. “I mean…I guess I did just come up to you. I’m Lloyd! I live here. Well, near here. Not this place though. There’s a lot of mean wolves around.”

And still, Lloyd hadn’t let go of her hand. He was gently leading her away from the darker part of the forests, back out into the light with the pathway, with the flowers that lined parts of a nearby field, white petals drifting in the breeze. And on that same pathway, she saw what looked to be the largest dog in the world.

Colette had almost forgotten to say anything, still dazzled by sights out from the shadows, by the dog that looked so fluffy to the touch, wondering what it would be like to dig her hands through the fur – and by the boy next to her, his eyes still catching that light.

“I’m…Colette. I’m the…” She paused, and suddenly the title that she had always known felt deeply heavy in her chest. She couldn’t finish.

“The…girl that got lost?” Lloyd finished for her, grinning wide then. “You’re silly! I was playing with Noishe when I saw you. You shouldn’t wander off! Or, that’s what my dad says.”

The dog named Noishe padded up to her, ears drooped low, sniffing at her curiously. She reached out to pet it, and the warmth she felt from scratching the dog’s head was the same as Lloyd’s hand in hers.

“I was lost,” she admitted, but the smile touched her lips easily, feeling refreshed. “But then you found me.”

And since then, it was hard for Colette to forget the shape of his grin, the touch of red on his cheeks. From playing? From the sun shining down on them both? Or because their hands stayed together? She remembered how much she didn’t want to grow up then, even more than before.

“Well, it’s good I found you,” Lloyd admitted. He was leading her and Noishe up a hill, past the rushing river, and soon she could see the shape of something in the distance. A house? Right in the middle of the woods, almost as if out of a fairytale…. “But I don’t know how to get you back home…”

Colette looked at the house as they moved closer; the weather vane in the shape of a rooster on top of its roof, the wooden shed to the right, the multitudes of potted plants that lay near the front door. She pointed at it suddenly. “There,” she said with full conviction. “I live there.”

“Huh?” Lloyd blinked, back to her then back to the house that looked so far off from everything she had known. “You do?”

“Well…today I live there. Maybe not tomorrow.” Colette scuffed her shoes against the dirt, excitement running through her chest, like the rush she had felt when she ran through the woods with complete abandon. But different this time, because she knew where to go. “Is that okay?”

Maybe another boy would have found her strange, or weird to suggest such a thing. But Lloyd only laughed, and excitedly pulled her along the makeshift bridge across the river.

No one had ever accepted her so easily.

“Sure it is!” Lloyd said, his happiness beaming out from the eyes that she couldn’t look away from. “So… welcome back, Colette!”

In the Church, the priests taught her the language of the Angels; an ancient script that only those of the cloth and the Chosen they watched over would be able to decipher. They taught her to memorize the landmarks of the journey that she would travel to, the names of ancient heroes that conversed with goddesses and how she would one day be as close to such figures when the time came. They taught her to watch and listen from a distance.

But Lloyd taught her to use her hands.

When Lloyd had first come to Iselia, she’d see the way his fingers would tap on the desk, (and ever since they first met, he’d always choose the desk closest to her – as long as he wasn’t late) starting off light, then faster, louder until the Professor would shush him across the room. But his hands wouldn’t stop moving then. Instead, they’d take something else, like the pencil he’d been chewing on, or the small little carving knife he always liked to carry around. Sometimes he’d draw lines on the paper, or carve them onto the wood.

And no matter what, he’d always show her what he made.

“That’s dad,” he’d point out to her, tracing the jagged edges of a beard, sprouting so wildly from a circle that was his father’s face. “You remember him, right? He’s really big!” And of course she did, recalling the adult with thick arms and a heavy beard, the way his laughter boomed inside the home when he first met her then. He hadn’t minded that she wanted their home for her own, at least for that one day.

Then Lloyd would draw a shape that she was familiar with, a furry creature standing on four legs, standing a head above the sketchy scribble that was Lloyd’s father. Scritch scritch came the sounds of Lloyd’s pencil on paper, his tongue just sneaking past his lips in concentration.

“I can’t draw at all,” she said, fingers curling around her dress, all as she kept scooting closer to Lloyd to see his work better.

“Huh? How come?” He sounded so curious. And though she still only knew Lloyd for a little bit, she didn’t think he was teasing her about it.

“Ah, it’s not really something meant for me?” It was the best way she could explain it. Why would a Chosen need to learn to draw?

“But you want to, right?”

“Well…”

Lloyd’s hands, even back then, had dwarfed her own. She felt the calluses against his palm as held her wrists gently, the lightness of his fingers as they seemed to dance over her knuckles, adjusting the shape of her hand. The pencil he gave her slipped easily into her grip.

“Just copy mine here. Try drawing Noishe!” He grinned at her, all teeth and stretching his cheeks that she thought she could see dimples. It made her stare, fascinated, and how this was something no one had told her about at all.

With his hands guiding her, she learned to draw for the very first time. It wasn’t anything particularly amazing, and her own doggy was lop-sided, complete with uneven ears and an oversized tongue. She had tried to capture the likeness of Noishe on that first day she had seen him standing beside Lloyd, on how the light made the green of his fur that much brighter, like the fields that surrounded Iselia.

Yet even as she saw the stark difference between her and Lloyd’s, his voice thrummed next to her in pride. “See? You can draw just fine!”

“Lloyd! Are you bothering people now?”

Raine’s voice was sudden, and with that, Lloyd had to let her go. The warmth of his hands left, even though she could remember the shape of it.

But still he smiled at her, inclining his head just a bit until so that only Colette could see. Only for her.

When she would go back home, she would try to practice drawing too, all within the margins of her own scripture books; little butterflies and happy dogs, and the wide-eyed smile of someone that filled her head during the day.

Her heart felt so, so full.

It was only natural for people to leave their home, to leave their friends behind.

Colette was just doing it sooner than most.

Outside, as the floorboards of the balcony creaked underneath them both, she went over the lie in her head, turning it over like a fine piece of jewelry. In the dark, she could hide away any small tells, any moments that Lloyd would catch her in.

She had to try not to laugh, because how easy it was to just let it free, a small giggle filled with every worry and fear in its waves.

“You know, this will be the first time we ever go somewhere that’s not just in Iselia.” Lloyd leaned back against the railing, his smile lighting something within her that it was almost too painful. But she took it as something good, something she would remember once she was on the last leg of her journey and… “We’ll get to see the whole world together!”

A world where she could be so easily lost, maybe forgotten. But she should want that for him, at least. “That’s what you always wanted to do, isn’t it?” she asked him, remembering the little dreams he’d tell her she’d ride on Noishe, his hand over her own to keep her steady, fingers entwining through green fur. “I think in a regenerated world, you can finally do that even more.”

The moonlight caught his eyes, and already she wanted to go and embrace him. But wouldn't she just trip right into the wood, with his hands reaching to keep her balanced? “Yeah. Maybe after the world’s regenerated, we can go on another trip together too. How about it?” He said it so casually, as if such dreams were not nearly as impossible as touching the stars in the sky. “But maybe once you become an angel, we can go back home for a little while. Is that okay?”

It was childish for her to wish for anything different.

In her heart, she brought with her the scent of oak as she left with Raine and Kratos in the early morning, the remembered texture of finely polished wood when she had leaned on the railing with Lloyd, looking up at the stars. And she kept the shape of his smile, lit up by the moon, tracing it over and over in her head.

Even if she had to lose a friend, she could keep parts of it, couldn’t she? These small memories that kept her mind afloat as she walked further away from home.

And when Lloyd lived in the new world, maybe, if he wanted to, he could do the same for her.

If he wanted to.

For a while, after Remiel called her forth and she felt her heart shatter in her chest, Colette had been adrift.

She knew of death, but she didn’t know how it would be for her. Would it be like the shutting of a door, cutting off light for her and leaving her in the dark? Or would it be like going to sleep, stuck in dreamlessness, never on the verge of waking up again?

Instead it was like she was floating out to sea, half-blind, with no compass to point out her way, and no sail to take her home. And through it all, she was left with the imprints of memories she had trouble placing.

She remembered the shape of the temple she would pray at, the scent of the tea her grandmother would make for her, the sad smile her father would sometimes have… and Lloyd, his hand in her own.

The longer she was away, the more she was beginning to forget.

Colette drifted as voices danced around her, half-remembering who they were, until she would forget again. Sometimes, she would still feel a hand inside her own, yet find nothing there.

And other times, she would see shadows out in the distance. The faces of friends she knew, and friends she didn’t yet. It was strange to see the new among the familiar, but in all of that, she could still see Lloyd, a passing ship that she tried to call out to. But, he couldn’t hear.

Or did he not want to hear her?

In all her drifting, she felt alone. And the fear that came when Remiel took away the last remaining thread of her humanity was her only companion.

There’s nowhere for you to go.

Colette tried to grip back the hand she could still feel. But it wasn’t real. It couldn’t have been. Even if she sometimes saw his face.

Lloyd will grow up. He will go away, the fear inside her said, continued to say. And you want to keep him locked in place?

When Sheena had spoken to him back in Sylvarant, he had smiled and laughed. She saw that now, in passing, like quick flashes of light. When a man with brilliant red hair had half-embraced Lloyd, he had grumbled but didn’t push him away. When a girl with eyes so familiar spoke, Lloyd would always turn to her.

She didn’t want him to keep from meeting these new people, new friends.

But then, what of her home?

Nowhere to go.

For a time, she stayed out in that nameless ocean, drifting and drifting, slowly losing her way. It was hard to look out for any familiar light through the darkness, easier to try and sleep. Still, she thought she felt that hand, the same hand that had brought her up to his house with no hesitation. But isn’t he gone? the fear in her kept asking. Why would he stay behind for you?

It was difficult to not be selfish.

“So that I could have a home to go back to.”

In that ocean of darkness and fading memories, she felt the hand there, remembered how it held the broken pieces of something precious. She would have accepted it as it was, kept it locked within her grip that she wouldn’t even give way to the angels. And once, when light flooded her senses, when she felt such a force try to take away a precious gift, she was able to keep that promise to herself.

Faces that she knew and didn’t know, all of it so much that she couldn’t even stay standing. But there was solid ground, and there was a hand to bring her back to her feet.

“Colette!” Lloyd called out, bringing her near, almost embracing her if it weren’t for the remnants of dirt on his jacket (and she could strangely recall a rigorous climb up a cliffside..) “You remember me?”

“Lloyd! Of course I do.” She felt the weight of the necklace on her, keeping her rooted, no longer adrift. “I think with this… I was able to find you.”

His smile always left her warm, left her nerves singing. “Heh, welcome back then. We missed you.”

Only did she realize just then – could a home be more than a place, but a person that lights your way?

There were little figurines on the stand, half of them already covered in snow.

“Are you looking for a souvenir?” spoke the salesman of the cart, decked in multiple layers, his mittened hands grasping one of the small things that had nearly drowned within the white. The finer details of its ears pressed flat against its head, the snout that made up its front, along with the embedded gems that served for its eyes – it all reminded her of something so familiar. She felt bad just getting one, and clumsily handed the gald to the salesman, carrying both charms in her shaking hands.

Was it because she was afraid? Or just so cold? The chill spread across her now unmarked skin, made her bones feel stiff, made her lungs ache from the sting of the cold air. Was she still afraid it would all go?

“They bring you luck,” the salesman had told her just before she left, his smile hidden away in the caverns of his scarf. “And we could all use a little luck nowadays.”

She wondered if she would have such luck now. She couldn’t stop shivering as she went to Zelos, asking a dear favor of him as she gave him the snow bunny to bring to Altessa. “Maybe he’d like it?” she asked of the other Chosen, wondering if he thought she sounded so childish just then. “It could go with his home, or maybe he could give it to Tabatha once she’s…”

Zelos patted her shoulder, and something in his motion felt more freeing. Maybe even relieving. “Anything for you, angel. Don’t mind doing a little delivery if it means I get to leave this place.”

“Ah, you don’t like the cold?” she asked him. But, no, she could see the smile on his face too, hear the little snicker that left his throat. “Or is it something else?”

“Don’t worry about it… but thanks for asking.” Zelos placed the bunny in his pocket, more carefully than any other gift he had ever received from a lady. “But you still got that other one, right?” He nodded to the snow bunny still clutched in her hands. “Make sure to give that guy a good home, too.”

Home has always meant something else to her, and maybe Zelos saw that too. With a wink, he left with the others on the Rheairds, and soon found herself rushing back to the inn, the cold biting her cheeks.

“Welcome back, Colette,” Lloyd had said to her, his gift hanging from her neck with a comforting weight. But in words, she heard something else too when he said that…

Or was that just wishful thinking?

Colette was all shivers as she rushed towards the inn, boots sinking into the snow, soaking them through. One charm flew across the ocean in the dark to reach a kind but grumpy dwarf, reminding her of Dirk in small ways, if not all.

The other stayed clutched in her hands, small enough to hide away from sight. It was nothing more than a toy, a childish thing, yet it felt as nice to her as the necklace she wore.

"Lloyd," she called out once she'd had the courage to knock on his door, to see him silhouetted against the windowpane and the snow flurries just outside. The room was doing all it could to stay warm with the heater in the corner, but she didn't mind the chill. It kept her awake as she kept asking. "Do you wanna go for a walk?"

She hated her own doubts, how much she worried for Lloyd to choose something else. But his smile to her gave her the answer, even before he spoke.

Home was warm with him.

“Welcome back, Colette.”

“Thanks.”

“Hmm? What’s wrong?”

“Ah well, I really like it when you say ‘welcome back.’

“Uh? Why?”

“Do you remember when you said it to me when I returned to my normal self?”

“You mean the time at Fooji Mountains.”

“Yeah. I was so happy. When you tell me, ‘welcome back,’ I really start to feel like I’m really back.”

“I see. I’ll say it at any time and as many times as you like!”

Colette was running late.

She had spent so long in Iselia throughout the evening. The temple where she had once endured hours of lessons and ritual was now a refuge for the orphans of fallen cities such as Palmacosta and Luin. The teachings of Martel couldn’t leave her, even after everything. She couldn’t help the prayers that fell naturally from her lips, or the soft remembrances of helping others. Many priests still made their pilgrimages, though it was now that they would stop at Iselia, to follow the once-Chosen in her charity.

But she hadn’t meant to stay so long…

In her haste, she had decided to use her wings, though only doing so once she was far enough away from the village. Easier to get past the trees and the steep cliffsides, the winding of the river that would make her circle around if she were on foot. But she could still follow it, knowing where it would eventually lead to.

She heard Noishe barking up ahead. “Ah, Noishe!” she called out, pink fluttering behind her, trailing stars as she saw the shape of the dog running across the grass – and the shape of a home she had long grown to know.

At the door, silhouetted by the firelight inside, was Lloyd. He waved both arms to her, his jacket unbuttoned and hanging loosely from his shoulders. “Colette! Welcome back!”

She hadn’t really meant to fly that much faster – already she was going at a fast pace as it was. But the sight of him made her want to fall that much quicker to the earth. Already Lloyd was there to catch her, his arms moving around to clasp her tight, feet stumbling to keep them upright.

“S-Sorry..” Colette apologized, winking in both amusement and shame. “Guess I must have tripped.”

“In the air?” Lloyd laughed, his voice traveling through her in a steady rhythm as they stayed close, one that she was beginning to know by heart. “But I can tell it was a good day for you.”

A nod, hands pressed lightly to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. “It really was. But, I’m glad to be home again.” She stayed there, in his hold, with the crackling of the fire in the forge nearby, hearing the footpads of Noishe as he walked around outside, happy enough to sleep knowing that everyone was back home. They were only staying here for a few weeks while Dirk was away, and then they would need to go back on their journey, but…

“What is it, Colette?” he asked, his voice soothing, his words sincere. He hadn’t let up his grip.

“Do you think you could…say it again?” She could fall asleep in his arms if she let herself, and there were times that she did, never having felt safer than she did right now. “I just like hearing it.”

She felt his hand – the hand that had once pulled her out of the dark – lift her chin to kiss her. It was just one of many that he gave to her, but it left her in a sea of sweetness all the same.

“Hey, Colette,” Lloyd whispered against her hair, then kissing her forehead lightly. Even within this home, and the cold wind at her back from the still-open door, she felt his warmth over everything else. The necklace around her neck and pressing against skin, the figurine she could feel at his chest, still tucked close. All these things that made her feel like she belonged.

“Welcome back.”

#tales of symphonia #colette brunel #lloyd irving #colloyd #colloydweek2021 #fanfiction #one shot

11 notes · View notes

cordria · 4 years

Text

Flowers

Danny skulked into his house through the back door with the intent of avoiding his parents. He’d had an extremely wonderful day thus far - no homework, no ghosts, a decent grade on his math test, and even a compliment from his science teacher on the project they were working on - and he had zero desire to run into someone who could ruin his winning streak with a reminder about chores.

It was for nothing, as his mother was sitting at the kitchen table. Danny’s shoulders drooped.

“Hi Sweetie,” she said. “How was school?”

“Fine,” Danny muttered, toeing off his shoes and dropping his bag near the door. “I’m going to-” he stopped, realizing there was someone else at the table with his mother. He blinked at the strange woman. “Hello.”

The woman had a kind smile with large dimples, an oversized nose, and a large black curly hairstyle. She also looked vaguely familiar. “Hello.”

“Danny, this is Katie. She and I were good friends in college.”

It clicked in Danny’s mind. The woman was in a lot of his mother’s pictures from college. “Hi,” he repeated. Taking advantage of the fact that his mother was chatting up an old friend (although ‘friend from college’ made the little hairs on his neck stand on it - that phrase never seemed to bode well), Danny edged around the table with the idea of vanishing up to his room.

“She’s a botanist,” his mother continued, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Danny wanted to not be here. “Katie was just passing through after picking up some specimens, but she’s agreed to stay for a while and help me with an experiment I have going. She had a unique idea for it.”

“Sounds fun,” Danny said. He was nearly out of the kitchen.

“She’ll be staying in Jazz’s room.”

Danny hesitated. Having another scientist actually in their house meant he’d have to be careful to toe the line for a few days. “Okay…”

“Can you clean Jazz’s room a little before you relax?” His mother sent him a smile. “Make sure there’s nothing lying around?”

“Oh, Maddie,” the woman said, waving her hand, “I can do a bit of cleaning. I just appreciate the offer! Let the young man go do his thing after a long day.”

Danny was about to nod and agree with that sentiment, when he remembered Jazz sucked at hiding things. Like notebooks and photo albums full of secret-breaking information. “Ah… I can clean. Jazz is a neat freak anyways, it’ll only take a minute.”

“That’s sweet of you.” Katie sent him a huge smile. “Thank you.”

“New sheets and things too, please,” his mother added. “I know Jazz keeps her room clean, but it’s been almost a month since someone was in there. They’ll smell dusty.”

Danny waved his hand and took the chance to escape the kitchen. He trotted up the stairs, sending a quick text to Tucker that he’d be late logging into their game.

Jazz’s door was the second on the left, and the door was already open, a suitcase sitting on the bed and a coat draped on the desk chair. Danny felt something odd at seeing these strange things in his sister’s room, but he shrugged it off and glanced around. He knew about the notebook and the photo album. Now where did she hide them?

Poking around at the books on the bookshelf, Danny noticed what looked like a glass suitcase sitting on the ground. Pausing in his search for the notebook, he knelt down and studied what was inside. The glass was tinted, like sunglass lenses, and the objects inside were blurred and hard to see. They looked something like plants. Which made sense, since the woman was a botanist. Kinda weird, though, keeping them in such an odd container.

Danny left the plants to continue searching for anything secret-revealing, spending nearly fifteen minutes and not finding anything. “Perhaps she’s better at hiding things than I thought,” he muttered, slinking to the hall closet and getting a new set of sheets. “Or maybe she brought them to college.” It took only a few minutes to get the new sheets on the bed, new covers on the pillows, and to dump Jazz’s in the laundry. He lingered a few more minutes, eyes drifting over the room, trying to think of anywhere else things could have been hidden.

Feeling confident his secret wouldn’t be revealed, Danny headed towards his room. Tucker was waiting.

“Danny!”

He stopped, one foot in his room, and let his head fall back. He debated pretending not to hear his mother’s call. Twenty more seconds and his noise-cancelling headphones would have been on and he’d be surrounded by the sounds of an alien world. But his conscience tugged at him. “What?” he yelled.

“Need your help for a moment!”

He groaned, twisted on his heel, and slumped down the steps. Making sure every hint of his body screamed ‘I don’t want to be here’, Danny slunk back into the kitchen. “What?” he asked.

The kitchen table was now covered in paper. Graphs and charts and pages full of numbers were everywhere. His mother looked up with a grin, seemingly oblivious to his posture. “Katie has a terrarium up in Jazz’s room. Can you grab it please? And then, down in the lab, we’ll need some equipment. The portable lab kit will do, I think.”

Really? Danny thought as he headed back upstairs. Couldn’t do this yourself?

But after those couple annoyed thoughts, he did start to wonder what was in the terrarium that they’d need the porta-lab. Slipping back into Jazz’s room, he knelt down next to the terrarium and studied it a little closer.

There were five plants inside. They weren’t potted like a normal plant - their roots were dangling in the air, and the plants were suspended in the middle of the terrarium by glass rods. Two looked something like orchids, one looked like some sort of vine, and the other two looked like tiny trees. They looked like very normal plants, other than the lack of soil.

He shrugged and grabbed the terrarium, hauling it downstairs. “Here,” he said, setting it on top of the mess of papers.

“Thank you!” Katie chimed, reaching forwards and pulling it closer.

In a hurry to get back to Tucker and his game, Danny took the stairs to the basement two at a time. The portal was humming calmly. He headed straight to the self where the porta-lab was kept, snagged it, and headed back up the stairs. It joined the terrarium on the table.

The glass door was open and Katie and his mother were peering inside. Despite the desire to run upstairs and get into his afternoon fun, Danny lingered, curious.

His mother dug through the lab supplies, pulled out a huge pair of gloves, and handed them over to Katie. “Perfect,” the woman whispered, reaching into the terrarium with gloved hands, and slowly releasing one of the plants from the glass rods holding it in place, and pulling it out of the terrarium.

Danny felt himself tensing, waiting for something bad to happen. Maybe it was a ghost flower, like those blood blossoms. There had to be a reason for the lab supplies and the strange, tinted glass. It’d be just his sort of luck, too, after such a good day.

But it was a normal plant. Six long green leaves. Limp white roots dangling from Katie’s gloved fingers. A small but pretty white flower hanging from a stem.

Danny was almost disappointed. “What is it?” he asked.

“Dendrobium pacificum florid,” Katie said with a smile. “A rare and quite expensive orchid.”

“It’s just a plant,” Danny said.

Katie glanced at him. “What were you expecting?”

Danny sent his mother a confused glance. “You’re doing a project… on a normal plant? No ghost… anything?”

Katie laughed. “Ghosts? Are you still on that, Maddie? Jack and Vlad too, I suppose.”

Maddie’s smile twisted into a small frown. “There’s potential-”

“Yes, yes,” Katie interrupted. “I heard all about it many times in college. God, it’s hard to believe you three never gave that pet theory up.”

Danny could see his mother’s hackles rise. “It’s not really a pet theory anymore, if you’d follow the news.”

“Of course, dear,” Katie said, her smile indulgent. Then she turned to Danny, ignoring the look on Maddie’s face. “And we’re not doing an experiment on the plant. We’re doing an experiment on it’s genetics.”

Still with a frown on her face, Maddie nodded. “Vlad sent-”

Every muscle in Danny’s body tensed.

“-along some rather interesting data he said he’d collected and Katie’s an expert in biogenetic engineering, especially when it comes to plants. We’re hoping to see if we can recreate some of… this,” she waved her hands at the messy stack of papers, “in a plant.”

“Uh-huh,” Danny said, trying not to sound too interested. But with Vlad involved, he needed to know what this experiment was about. “What are you trying to get the plants to do? Grow fangs and attack Da... uh… someone?”

Katie laughed. “No. We’re trying to translate a unique bioluminescent trait into the plant. Like what a firefly uses to glow.”

“A… glowing plant?” Danny asked.

His mother sent him a tight smile. “Yes.”

Danny looked down at the porta-lab, at the ghost equipment and the beakers that still had traces of glowing ectoplasm clinging to them and the sensors, and put two and two together in his mind. “Will this glowing plant be able to… float?”

Katie leaned forwards. “Floating is impossible, but the bioluminescent trait caused some sort of odd gravitropism. It was the interesting part of Vlad’s research, one of the reasons I agreed to this.”

Danny blinked, glancing at his mother in hopes of a translation.

Maddie’s smile was sharp. “It’s a bioluminescent plant with odd gravitropism, Danny. Not a glowing plant that floats, of course. Ghosts are a… silly pet theory.”

“Ah,” Danny said.

“I’m more interested in studying the gravitropism to be honest,” Katie said, turning the plant around and around in her hands. “Bioluminescence has been done before, of course. This plant has just the right sort of genetics for what I’m seeing in this data. Fortunately it’s flowering. Unfortunately, it’s such a slow grower it’ll be years before the pollen and ovules we’re modifying will be large enough plants for good study.”

“Think about it,” Maddie said, leaning forwards and poking a finger at the papers, “a way to create organisms, living beings, with… bioluminescent and odd gravitropism.”

Danny didn’t particularly want to think about it. He didn’t want his mother figuring out how to create plants that could glow and float. A half-ghost plant. He felt the hair raise on his neck at the idea of his mother realizing that a half-living, half-ghost creature was possible.

Surely Vlad didn’t want her to either. What was the man thinking?

“I’m going to… go,” Danny said. “You guys play with your plants.”

He ducked out of the kitchen, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he headed up the stairs. He went through his blocked number list, found the one he wanted, and hit ‘call’. “Hi, Vlad,” Danny said when the phone picked up.

“I’m busy, Little Badger.”

“What’s with the data my mom’s looking through?”

Vlad scoffed. “Merely theoretical information. I’m hoping she can help me solve an instability issue I’m working through.”

“Theoretical, huh?” Danny slumped into his room and shut the door. “You’re not planning on her using any of that information?”

“Maddie doesn’t have the skill, interest, or technology to actually do anything with the data I sent her. It’s not even the complete set of data. I’m just using her analytical skills to find a mistake. It’s harmless, Daniel.”

“You remember Katie, from college?”

“No.” A pause, then, “The flower girl? Black hair, big nose?”

“You mean the botanical biogenetic engineer? Yes, that one. She’s sitting at my kitchen table, looking through your ‘merely theoretical information’ and planning an experiment with my mom.”

There wasn’t a response to that.

“Hello?” Danny said after a long thirty seconds of silence. He pulled the phone away from his face, realizing he’d been disconnected. He couldn’t help but smile. “Well. That was rude.”

When the doorbell rang just a few minutes later, Danny glanced out the window to see Vlad’s limo double-parked outside. Setting his headphones over his ears, he finally logged into his game. It’d certainly be interesting to watch Vlad try to talk the information back out of his mother’s hands, but Danny was ready to tune out the world and play his game.

#dannymay 2020 #quick writing #having a little fun lately #maybe writing will make my head screw on the right way again #dannymay2020

250 notes · View notes

torbeag · 3 years

Text

SUPER SPECIAL Orchid Announcement!!

congratulations to

SHIREEN

on completing her bloom yesterday!

with only one spike, Shireen nonetheless managed to produce 15 blossoms for a truly stunning display! I'm a little concerned about the number of leaves she dropped in the process of blooming (3 out of the 8 she had at the beginning of the season), but she seems to be in good health, so it's probably nothing to worry about.

but wait, that's not my only news!

welcome

XOCHITL !

I bought this orchid online through a fundraiser for an orchid club, and my parents kindly agreed to make the pickup since I had work that day. when I made the purchase, I didn't know what color the blossoms would be (most plants in the sale were donated by amateur breeders with little documentation of their hybrid lineage), but the listing photo showed a magnificent 6-branched flower spike. the buds in the photo were light green, suggesting that the flowers would be white, green, or yellow, rather than pink or purple. as it turned out, the blossoms are indeed yellow with stunning red patterns.

unfortunately, when Xochitl arrived she was in a sorry state. she desperately needs a larger pot, and the stakes she came with were much too short to support her 20 inch main spike. worse, she was bone dry, with withered, discolored leaves and drooping flowers. I was worried some of the blossoms would drop off before she could complete her bloom.

however, after several days of careful watering (and a much needed restaking), Xochitl is doing much better! her leaves are getting back to a healthy state, and nearly all her blossoms are back to normal. she even opened a couple more! she still needs a larger pot, but I don't want to add any additional stress until she's fully recovered from her severe drought experience. (Nadia needs to be repotted too, so I'll probably move Xochitl into Nadia's old pot, since the sizing looks about right.)

#my buddies my phals

7 notes · View notes

makinghappy · 3 years

Text

The Elders + Love: Choop

The Rest: Ho-Tan, Vex, Pressley, Flowers, AO3 (All)

It had been a long, long day of meetings at the Chamber of Elders. Aside from their usual meeting/catch-up with Debbie, they also had to meet with the leader of the new ‘Wisp Tolerance and Understanding’ group that had popped up a few weeks ago. Two meetings in one day was almost double the usual, and all the Elders were feeling it. Choop, as designated leader (maybe? No one’s sure who’s actually in charge anymore, especially since Ho Tan sits in the middle now) was trying to keep a close eye on the rest of them, but he himself was getting bleary eyed by the time 3PM came around. Vex had already dozed off 3 times, and Ho Tan’s handwriting had become almost illegible, mixed in with strange doodles of what seemed to be eyes in the margins. Pressley had been massaging his leg for the past 15 minutes and Flowers was fidgeting even more with his robes than usual. They technically had to go over the notes of the day before they could fully retire, but Choop couldn’t bring himself to keep them on the uncomfortable out of date Luxi-Bum 6001s another second, especially when Vex’s head drooped onto his shoulder for the 4th time.

“Right. I think we’re done for today. Come along Chaps and Lady.”

“But the notes haven’t been properly recounted for the evening!” Ho-Tan protested even as she immediately started climbing down from the tall bench, bringing her book and Quill with her. “How else will we know that Debbie’s aunt’s 3rd birthday is this Saturday?”

“I thought it was her 60th?” Flowers asked as he helped Pressley down, a hand staying around his waist after the shorter man had reached the floor.

“Oh…Well I suppose I was rushing while writing.” Ho-Tan squinted at her book, and Choop couldn’t help the fond smile that was thankfully hidden by his moustache.

“We can worry about that another day, Ho-Tan. For now, I think we should all go about our days and come together in the sitting room later-on. It’s been a long day and I for one would like a game of Yonopoly.” And Choop walked out the Chamber, but instead of heading to his personal chambers he quickly crept into the kitchens.

A few hours later, all the Elders were once more sat in their ‘living room’, as Debbie called it. Vex was sat on the sofa gently playing with Ho-Tan’s hair who was sat on the floor scribbling in her personal book. Flowers was next to Vex, thankfully clothed from the waist down and massaging Pressley’s knee which was propped up on his lap while Pressley semi-dozed on the rest of the sofa. Choop wasn’t present yet, and all the Elders were equally confused at his absence.

“You don’t think he’s been kidnapped, do you?” Ho-Tan asked, her hand twitching at the concept as she imagined the oldest Elder in such a situation.

“Oh no, dear girl. I’m sure he’s just busy doing Chief Elder things. It’s a busy job. He’ll be here soon, I’m sure of it.” Vex assured, his ‘wise’ words soothing Ho-Tan’s nerves as she settled back into the re-plaiting of her hair.

“He might be redoing his hair, who knows how long that must take to keep in shape” Flowers ponders, grinning at the bark of laughter from Pressley.

“It does look fantastic though.” Vex responds, followed by the group all muttering agreement before settling back into a comfortable silence.

It’s not much later that the room’s door opens wide, led by a silver rolling tray with plates and a large silver pot on it, being pushed by the missing Elder himself. He looked very much un-kidnapped but was wearing a yellow flowery apron over his robes. All the Elders perked up at the sight, followed by gasps of appreciation.

“Oh Choop!”

“I say Old Boy!”

“Choop Stew! Get In!”

“Smells like carrot.”

Choop grumbled them all out of the way and quickly served up the stew in the pot to the nice china bowls they had yet to chip and handed them out to the rest of the Elders, shooing them back to their seats.

“What’s the occasion for all this then? You usually only make your special stew for Special Occasions.” Vex asks around a mouthful of carrot.

“We haven’t forgotten one, have we?” Ho-Tan started flicking through her book to cross-reference the dates, being stopped by Choop gently taking the book out of her hands and replacing it with a piece of bread.

“No no, Old Girl. I just thought we’d had a long day, so I made some food. It’s nothing, really, don’t get all het up the lot of you. It’s just some salty water.” Choop brushed off all the following compliments, very obviously NOT tearing up slightly as he helped himself to some stew before settling in on the Couch next to the now sat up Pressley. He also Very Deliberately Did Not look away to hide his blushing cheeks after receiving an extra kiss on the Cheek from Ho-Tan and Flowers before retiring to bed.

#Chief Elder Choop #Wise Elder Vex #vice elder flowers #lord elder pressley #scribe elder ho tan #Yonderland #The Chamber of Elders #Do they have a ship name?#The elders yonderland #My Fic

19 notes · View notes

expectingtofly · 4 years

Text

SPN Stay At Home Challenge

Week 8: Hope

The angels have fallen, Heaven is broken, Castiel burns through a grace that isn't his own. Everything seems hopeless, but Dean is determined to help his homesick, heartbroken angel and give him a home on Earth.

Words: ~1.5k

also posted on ao3

Hope in the Form of One Small Bee

Dean is worried about Castiel. The angel has been holed up for days in the room he and Dean share in the bunker, hardly speaking, hardly moving. Dean knows a thing or two about hiding away in his room, but in those hopeless days he distracted himself with music, with drinking, with crap TV and horror flicks. Castiel lies on their bed in silence, curled up in one of Dean’s old T-shirts, and the sight makes Dean want to crumple.

Sam says, talk to him, but Dean isn’t good with words, he knows that. So he invites Castiel on a drive. He even offers to let Castiel get behind the wheel, but Castiel only shakes his head and sinks in on the passenger side. They drive with the windows down, fast, because Dean hopes Castiel might find some resemblance in it to flying. But Castiel’s shoulders stay slumped as he stares out the window, and when they return to the bunker he retreats to their room without a word.

Sam says, give him time, but Dean is worried, scared, and that makes every quiet day stretch on interminably. He finds himself spending hours in the library, staying behind when Sam goes on errands and cases because, if Castiel does leave their bedroom, Dean doesn’t want him coming out to an empty bunker. Seated in one of the library’s leather armchairs, Dean reads more than he has in years, pores over dusty, thick volumes on angels: their wings, their powers, their grace. None cover how to help a homesick angel.

Even though he knows angels don’t eat, he feels compelled to bring Castiel food, hopes a familiar meal might spark a happy memory. Castiel takes the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Dean offers him, but when Dean returns an hour later, there’s only one bite missing and Castiel says, thank you, but it doesn’t taste like anything.

Sam says, it can’t be easy, losing his home, his family. Using a grace that isn’t his own. Being an angel among humans. Every night, Dean sinks under the covers, wraps his arms around Castiel and holds him close. Sometimes Castiel nestles up against him and Dean believes his angel will become his old self again, and sometimes Castiel doesn't move, as if Dean isn’t there, and Dean feels hollow inside.

When he whispers, I love you, and presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead, Castiel whispers, very softly, I love you too, and Dean hopes it means he hasn’t failed this angel who he loves, but doesn’t know how to help. Castiel never cries. That’s an answer Dean can’t find in any of his books: Do angels cry?

It’s when Dean is on an errand, Sam convincing him to leave the bunker for the first time in days, that he realizes it. He stares at a stuffed crochet bee—yellow and black stripes, two antennas, small black eyes, white wings, thin line of a smile (one stitch out of place but it adds personality)—and realizes Castiel doesn’t have any belongings. Even his clothes, the suit and trench coat, are originally another’s.

This reminded me of you, he tells Castiel and feels silly holding out such a trivial thing, offering a stuffed animal to an Angel of the Lord. But Castiel takes the bee from him and gazes at it. This is for me? he asks, tracing the bee’s smile. It’s yours, Dean says.

Castiel looks up at him with a small smile of his own that creates a flutter of hope inside Dean. Thank you.

This, at least, is something Dean knows he can do—give Castiel things, material things he can hold in his hands, that will ground him to Earth. He buys Castiel a fluffy, blue blanket—its color the closest approximation to Castiel’s eyes he can find—cotton shirts with pockets and stripes, a yellow bath towel. He places books on the nightstands in their room: westerns with amber and rust covers, a children’s book about a boy and his dog which he thinks Castiel will appreciate because the dog is named Sam. A small plant sitting in a teal pot, its curling green leaves tinged yellow down the center. A mug which says, Morning, Handsome, and which he tries to hide from Sam when he makes tea for Castiel every morning and night (because even if Castiel can’t savor the taste, seeing him sit up to hold the mug and breathe in the steam, drink in the warm liquid, gives Dean a similar warmth inside).

They’re yours, Dean says, repeats. All yours. He hopes it is enough.

Castiel takes every item in his hands when Dean returns from long shopping trips, turns them over and studies them. In the days that follow, Dean finds him bent over his books, turning the pages slowly, sees him returning from a shower wrapped in his yellow towel. In the morning, Dean wakes as Castiel rises to water his plant and trace its leaves with his finger. The stuffed bee takes up permanent residence on their bed and Dean pretends to grumble—You’ve left me for him. Castiel hugs his bee defensively and Dean can’t help but smile.

Castiel wears his new shirts—they are very soft—and sits on the floor in the laundry room, reading, waiting for his clothes to emerge clean and warm. Sometimes, Dean catches Castiel watching through the dryer’s glass door as his stuffed bee tumbles inside in a rough imitation of a bumblebee’s corkscrew flight. Castiel’s quiet listlessness, the droop of his shoulders as he pulls his bee out and holds it against his chest, fills Dean with an anxious doubt. How can warm cotton and yarn ever replace the light and warmth of Heaven that Castiel sunned under for millennia?

His name is Buzziel, Castiel says one night as Dean pushes the bee aside to take the angel in his arms. Dean hugs both Castiel and this strangely named bee. Buzziel? he asks, stressing the -iel. Is he an angel bee?

Castiel nods and Dean watches him run his finger along Buzziel’s wings. And Dean realizes that no matter what he buys Castiel, an angel will always miss Heaven.

I’m sorry, Cas. Castiel doesn’t speak and Dean learns angels do cry.

Sam shows Castiel a video of Marie Kondo and the earth-bound angel spends hours folding his new clothes into neat bundles and organizing them in his new dresser. He frowns down at his plant, at its wilting leaves turning brown at the edges. If I had my grace I could heal you. Dean introduces Castiel to nature documentaries and they watch for hours and hours. Most shows are slow and plodding, but Dean finds comfort in the weight of Castiel leaning against him, the way Castiel holds Buzziel on his lap, his rapt focus.

They watch a documentary on beekeeping and Dean points to a bee seated on a purple flower. There’s Buzziel. Castiel smiles so he starts naming every bee on the screen, Samiel, Bobbiel, Jodiel, hoping to keep Castiel’s smile on his face for a little longer. He feels the hollow space in his chest filling with something like hope, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge for fear it will disappear and leave him emptier than ever before.

When he wakes one morning, it seems his fears are realized because the space next to him is empty, save for Buzziel staring at him with his crooked smile.

He and Sam search the bunker and just when he grabs the keys for Baby to search outside, the bunker door creaks open and Castiel walks down the stairs. There’s dirt on his bare feet and he’s holding his plant. She needed sunshine.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief, pulls Castiel close, hears the crinkle of leaves. I thought you left. He holds Castiel at arm’s length to look in his eyes. I know this isn’t Heaven. But I’ll buy you anything you want. Anything to make this feel like home.

Castiel stares back at him, his eyes serious, his hands around his potted plant. Heaven isn’t my home anymore. My home is here with you, he looks over Dean’s shoulder at Sam, and you.

And Buzziel, Dean says. Castiel smiles. And Buzziel. A relief Dean hadn’t dared hope for fills the bleakness inside him and he pulls Castiel close, feels the warmth of the sun on Castiel’s clothes, his bare arms and dark hair, a reassurance that Castiel will be alright.

Thanks to @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen @helianthus21 for creating this challenge, and I just have to give credit to this week 3 fic by @wingtrap for sparking the idea for this fic :)

Tagging: @spnwaywardone @good-things-do-happen-dean @becky-srs

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in my spn fics :)

#spnstayathome #deancas fic #destiel #set sometime in season 9 #i need to stop writing sad cas fics #and let this angel be happy for once #maybe next week #fingers crossed #expectingtoflywrites

84 notes · View notes

takethehighwaytoheaven · 3 years

Text

The crysanthemums by John Steinbeck

Warning: This story is NOT mine(No hell) Hope you like it

The high grey-flannel fog of winter closed off the Salinas Valley from the sky and from all the rest of the world. On every side it sat like a lid on the mountains and made of the great valley a closed pot. On the broad, level land floor the gang plows bit deep and left the black earth shining like metal where the shares had cut. On the foothill ranches across the Salinas River, the yellow stubble fields seemed to be bathed in pale cold sunshine, but there was no sunshine in the valley now in December. The thick willow scrub along the river flamed with sharp and positive yellow leaves. It was a time of quiet and of waiting. The air was cold and tender. A light wind blew up from the southwest so that the farmers were mildly hopeful of a good rain before long; but fog and rain did not go together. Across the river, on Henry Allen's foothill ranch there was little work to be done, for the hay was cut and stored and the orchards were plowed up to receive the rain deeply when it should come. The cattle on the higher slopes were becoming shaggy and rough-coated. Elisa Allen, working in her flower garden, looked down across the yard and saw Henry, her husband, talking to two men in business suits. The three of them stood by the tractor shed, each man with one foot on the side of the little Fordson. They smoked cigarettes and studied the machine as they talked. Elisa watched them for a moment and then went back to her work. She was thirtyfive. Her face was lean and strong and her eyes were as clear as water. Her figure looked blocked and heavy in her gardening costume, a man's black hat pulled low down over her eyes, clod-hopper shoes, a figured print dress almost completely covered by a big corduroy apron with four big pockets to hold the snips, the trowel and scratcher, the seeds and the knife she worked with. She wore heavy leather gloves to protect her hands while she worked. She was cutting down the old year's chrysanthemum stalks with a pair of short and powerful scissors. She looked down toward the men by the tractor shed now and then. Her face was eager and mature and handsome; even her work with the scissors was over-eager, over-powerful. The chrysanthemum stems seemed too small and easy for her energy. She brushed a cloud of hair out of her eyes with the back of her glove, and left a smudge of earth on her cheek in doing it. Behind her stood the neat white farm house with red geraniums close-banked around it as high as the windows. It was a hard-swept looking little house, with hard-polished windows, and a clean mud-mat on the front steps. Elisa cast another glance toward the tractor shed. The strangers were getting into their Ford coupe. She took off a glove and put her strong fingers down into the forest of new green chrysanthemum sprouts that were growing around the old roots. She spread the leaves and looked down among the close-growing stems. No aphids were there, no sowbugs or snails or cutworms. Her terrier fingers destroyed such pests before they could get started. Elisa started at the sound of her husband's voice. He had come near quietly, and he leaned over the wire fence that protected her flower garden from cattle and dogs and chickens. "At it again," he said. "You've got a strong new crop coming." Elisa straightened her back and pulled on the gardening glove again. "Yes. They'll be strong this coming year." In her tone and on her face there was a little smugness. You've got a gift with things," Henry observed. "Some of those yellow chrysanthemums you had this year were ten inches across. I wish you'd work out in the orchard and raise some apples that big." Her eyes sharpened. "Maybe I could do it, too. I've a gift with things, all right. My mother had it. She could stick anything in the ground and make it grow. She said it was having planters' hands that knew how to do it." "Well, it sure works with flowers," he said. "Henry, who were those men you were talking to?" "Why, sure, that's what I came to tell you. They were from the Western Meat Company. I sold those thirty head of three-year-old steers. Got nearly my own price, too." "Good," she said. "Good for you. "And I thought," he continued, "I thought how it's Saturday afternoon, and we might go into Salinas for dinner at a restaurant, and then to a picture show—to celebrate, you see." "Good," she repeated. "Oh, yes. That will be good." Henry put on his joking tone. "There's fights tonight. How'd you like to go to the fights?" "Oh, no," she said breathlessly. "No, I wouldn't like fights." "Just fooling, Elisa. We'll go to a movie. Let's see. It's two now. I'm going to take Scotty and bring down those steers from the hill. It'll take us maybe two hours. We'll go in town about five and have dinner at the Cominos Hotel. Like that?" "Of course I'll like it. It's good to eat away from home." "All right, then. I'll go get up a couple of horses." She said, "I'll have plenty of time to transplant some of these sets, I guess." She heard her husband calling Scotty down by the barn. And a little later she saw the two men ride up the pale yellow hillside in search of the steers. There was a little square sandy bed kept for rooting the chrysanthemums. With her trowel she turned the soil over and over, and smoothed it and patted it firm. Then she dug ten parallel trenches to receive the sets. Back at the chrysanthemum bed she pulled out the little crisp shoots, trimmed off the leaves of each one with her scissors and laid it on a small orderly pile. A squeak of wheels and plod of hoofs came from the road. Elisa looked up. The country road ran along the dense bank of willows and cotton-woods that bordered the river, and up this road came a curious vehicle, curiously drawn. It was an old spring-wagon, with a round canvas top on it like the cover of a prairie schooner. It was drawn by an old bay horse and a little grey-and-white burro. A big stubblebearded man sat between the cover flaps and drove the crawling team. Underneath the wagon, between the hind wheels, a lean and rangy mongrel dog walked sedately. Words were painted on the canvas in clumsy, crooked letters. "Pots, pans, knives, sisors, lawn mores, Fixed." Two rows of articles, and the triumphantly definitive "Fixed" below. The black paint had run down in little sharp points beneath each letter. Elisa, squatting on the ground, watched to see the crazy, loose-jointed wagon pass by. But it didn't pass. It turned into the farm road in front of her house, crooked old wheels skirling and squeaking. The rangy dog darted from between the wheels and ran ahead. Instantly the two ranch shepherds flew out at him. Then all three stopped, and with stiff and quivering tails, with taut straight legs, with ambassadorial dignity, they slowly circled, sniffing daintily. The caravan pulled up to Elisa's wire fence and stopped. Now the newcomer dog, feeling outnumbered, lowered his tail and retired under the wagon with raised hackles and bared teeth. The man on the wagon seat called out, "That's a bad dog in a fight when he gets started." Elisa laughed. "I see he is. How soon does he generally get started?" The man caught up her laughter and echoed it heartily. "Sometimes not for weeks and weeks," he said. He climbed stiffly down, over the wheel. The horse and the donkey drooped like unwatered flowers. Elisa saw that he was a very big man. Although his hair and beard were graying, he did not look old. His worn black suit was wrinkled and spotted with grease. The laughter had disappeared from his face and eyes the moment his laughing voice ceased. His eyes were dark, and they were full of the brooding that gets in the eyes of teamsters and of sailors. The calloused hands he rested on the wire fence were cracked, and every crack was a black line. He took off his battered hat. "I'm off my general road, ma'am," he said. "Does this dirt road cut over across the river to the Los Angeles highway?" Elisa stood up and shoved the thick scissors in her apron pocket. "Well, yes, it does, but it winds around and then fords the river. I don't think your team could pull through the sand." He replied with some asperity, "It might surprise you what them beasts can pull through." "When they get started?" she asked. He smiled for a second. "Yes. When they get started." "Well," said Elisa, "I think you'll save time if you go back to the Salinas road and pick up the highway there." He drew a big finger down the chicken wire and made it sing. "I ain't in any hurry, ma am. I go from Seattle to San Diego and back every year. Takes all my time. About six months each way. I aim to follow nice weather." Elisa took off her gloves and stuffed them in the apron pocket with the scissors. She touched the under edge of her man's hat, searching for fugitive hairs. "That sounds like a nice kind of a way to live," she said. He leaned confidentially over the fence. "Maybe you noticed the writing on my wagon. I mend pots and sharpen knives and scissors. You got any of them things to do?" "Oh, no," she said quickly. "Nothing like that." Her eyes hardened with resistance. "Scissors is the worst thing," he explained. "Most people just ruin scissors trying to sharpen 'em, but I know how. I got a special tool. It's a little bobbit kind of thing, and patented. But it sure does the trick." "No. My scissors are all sharp." "All right, then. Take a pot," he continued earnestly, "a bent pot, or a pot with a hole. I can make it like new so you don't have to buy no new ones. That's a saving for you. "No," she said shortly. "I tell you I have nothing like that for you to do." His face fell to an exaggerated sadness. His voice took on a whining undertone. "I ain't had a thing to do today. Maybe I won't have no supper tonight. You see I'm off my regular road. I know folks on the highway clear from Seattle to San Diego. They save their things for me to sharpen up because they know I do it so good and save them money. "I'm sorry," Elisa said irritably. "I haven't anything for you to do." His eyes left her face and fell to searching the ground. They roamed about until they came to the chrysanthemum bed where she had been working. "What's them plants, ma'am?" The irritation and resistance melted from Elisa's face. "Oh, those are chrysanthemums, giant whites and yellows. I raise them every year, bigger than anybody around here." "Kind of a long-stemmed flower? Looks like a quick puff of colored smoke?" he asked. "That's it. What a nice way to describe them." "They smell kind of nasty till you get used to them," he said. "It's a good bitter smell," she retorted, "not nasty at all." He changed his tone quickly. "I like the smell myself." "I had ten-inch blooms this year," she said. The man leaned farther over the fence. "Look. I know a lady down the road a piece, has got the nicest garden you ever seen. Got nearly every kind of flower but no chrysanthemums. Last time I was mending a copper-bottom washtub for her (that's a hard job but I do it good), she said to me, 'If you ever run acrost some nice chrysanthemums I wish you'd try to get me a few seeds.' That's what she told me." Elisa's eyes grew alert and eager. "She couldn't have known much about chrysanthemums. You can raise them from seed, but it's much easier to root the little sprouts you see there." "Oh," he said. "I s'pose I can't take none to her, then." "Why yes you can," Elisa cried. "I can put some in damp sand, and you can carry them right along with you. They'll take root in the pot if you keep them damp. And then she can transplant them." "She'd sure like to have some, ma'am. You say they're nice ones?" "Beautiful," she said. "Oh, beautiful." Her eyes shone. She tore off the battered hat and shook out her dark pretty hair. "I'll put them in a flower pot, and you can take them right with you. Come into the yard." While the man came through the picket fence Elisa ran excitedly along the geranium-bordered path to the back of the house. And she returned carrying a big red flower pot. The gloves were forgotten now. She kneeled on the ground by the starting bed and dug up the sandy soil with her fingers and scooped it into the bright new flower pot. Then she picked up the little pile of shoots she had prepared. With her strong fingers she pressed them into the sand and tamped around them with her knuckles. The man stood over her. "I'll tell you what to do," she said. "You remember so you can tell the lady." "Yes, I'll try to remember." "Well, look. These will take root in about a month. Then she must set them out, about a foot apart in good rich earth like this, see?" She lifted a handful of dark soil for him to look at. "They'll grow fast and tall. Now remember this. In July tell her to cut them down, about eight inches from the ground." "Before they bloom?" he asked. "Yes, before they bloom." Her face was tight with eagerness. "They'll grow right up again. About the last of September the buds will start." She stopped and seemed perplexed. "It's the budding that takes the most care," she said hesitantlv. "I don't know how to tell you." She looked deep into his eyes, searchingly. Her mouth opened a little, and she seemed to be listening. "I'll try to tell you," she said. "Did you ever hear of planting hands?" "Can't say I have, ma'am." "Well, I can only tell you what it feels like. It's when you're picking off the buds you don't want. Everything goes right down into your fingertips. You watch your fingers work. They do it themselves. You can feel how it is. They pick and pick the buds. They never make a mistake. They're with the plant. Do you see? Your fingers and the plant. You can feel that, right up your arm. They know. They never make a mistake. You can feel it. When you're like that you can't do anything wrong. Do you see that? Can you understand that?" She was kneeling on the ground looking up at him. Her breast swelled passionately. The man's eyes narrowed. He looked away self-consciously. "Maybe I know," he said. "Sometimes in the night in the wagon there—" Elisa's voice grew husky. She broke in on him. "I've never lived as you do, but I know what you mean. When the night is dark—why, the stars are sharp-pointed, and there's quiet. Why, you rise up and up! Every pointed star gets driven into your body. It's like that. Hot and sharp and—lovely." Kneeling there, her hand went out toward his legs in the greasy black trousers. Her hesitant fingers almost touched the cloth. Then her hand dropped to the ground. She crouched low like a fawning dog. He said, "It's nice, just like you say. Only when you don't have no dinner, it ain't." She stood up then, very straight, and her face was ashamed. She held the flower pot out to him and placed it gently in his arms. "Here. Put it in your wagon, on the seat, where you can watch it. Maybe I can find something for you to do." At the back of the house she dug in the can pile and found two old and battered aluminum saucepans. She carried them back and gave them to him. "Here, maybe you can fix these." His manner changed. He became professional. "Good as new I can fix them." At the back of his wagon he set a little anvil, and out of an oily tool box dug a small machine hammer. Elisa came through the gate to watch him while he pounded out the dents in the kettles. His mouth grew sure and knowing. At a difficult part of the work he sucked his under-lip. "You sleep right in the wagon?" Elisa asked. "Right in the wagon, ma'am. Rain or shine I'm dry as a cow in there." It must be nice," she said. "It must be very nice. I wish women could do such things." "It ain't the right kind of a life for a woman. Her upper lip raised a little, showing her teeth. "How do you know? How can you tell?" she said. "I don't know, ma'am," he protested. "Of course I don't know. Now here's your kettles, done. You don't have to buy no new ones." "How much?" "Oh, fifty cents'll do. I keep my prices down and my work good. That's why I have all them satisfied customers up and down the highway." Elisa brought him a fifty-cent piece from the house and dropped it in his hand. "You might be surprised to have a rival some time. I can sharpen scissors, too. And I can beat the dents out of little pots. I could show you what a woman might do." He put his hammer back in the oily box and shoved the little anvil out of sight. "It would be a lonely life for a woman, ma'am, and a scarey life, too, with animals creeping under the wagon all night." He climbed over the singletree, steadying himself with a hand on the burro's white rump. He settled himself in the seat, picked up the lines. "Thank you kindly, ma'am," he said. "I'll do like you told me; I'll go back and catch the Salinas road." "Mind," she called, "if you're long in getting there, keep the sand damp." "Sand, ma'am?. .. Sand? Oh, sure. You mean around the chrysanthemums. Sure I will." He clucked his tongue. The beasts leaned luxuriously into their collars. The mongrel dog took his place between the back wheels. The wagon turned and crawled out the entrance road and back the way it had come, along the river. Elisa stood in front of her wire fence watching the slow progress of the caravan. Her shoulders were straight, her head thrown back, her eyes half-closed, so that the scene came vaguely into them. Her lips moved silently, forming the words "Goodbye—good-bye." Then she whispered, "That's a bright direction. There's a glowing there." The sound of her whisper startled her. She shook herself free and looked about to see whether anyone had been listening. Only the dogs had heard. They lifted their heads toward her from their sleeping in the dust, and then stretched out their chins and settled asleep again. Elisa turned and ran hurriedly into the house. In the kitchen she reached behind the stove and felt the water tank. It was full of hot water from the noonday cooking. In the bathroom she tore off her soiled clothes and flung them into the corner. And then she scrubbed herself with a little block of pumice, legs and thighs, loins and chest and arms, until her skin was scratched and red. When she had dried herself she stood in front of a mirror in her bedroom and looked at her body. She tightened her stomach and threw out her chest. She turned and looked over her shoulder at her back. After a while she began to dress, slowly. She put on her newest underclothing and her nicest stockings and the dress which was the symbol of her prettiness. She worked carefully on her hair, pencilled her eyebrows and rouged her lips. Before she was finished she heard the little thunder of hoofs and the shouts of Henry and his helper as they drove the red steers into the corral. She heard the gate bang shut and set herself for Henry's arrival. His step sounded on the porch. He entered the house calling, "Elisa, where are you?" "In my room, dressing. I'm not ready. There's hot water for your bath. Hurry up. It's getting late." When she heard him splashing in the tub, Elisa laid his dark suit on the bed, and shirt and socks and tie beside it. She stood his polished shoes on the floor beside the bed. Then she went to the porch and sat primly and stiffly down. She looked toward the river road where the willow-line was still yellow with frosted leaves so that under the high grey fog they seemed a thin band of sunshine. This was the only color in the grey afternoon. She sat unmoving for a long time. Her eyes blinked rarely. Henry came banging out of the door, shoving his tie inside his vest as he came. Elisa stiffened and her face grew tight. Henry stopped short and looked at her. "Why—why, Elisa. You look so nice!" "Nice? You think I look nice? What do you mean by 'nice'?" Henry blundered on. "I don't know. I mean you look different, strong and happy." "I am strong? Yes, strong. What do you mean 'strong'?" He looked bewildered. "You're playing some kind of a game," he said helplessly. "It's a kind of a play. You look strong enough to break a calf over your knee, happy enough to eat it like a watermelon." For a second she lost her rigidity. "Henry! Don't talk like that. You didn't know what you said." She grew complete again. "I'm strong," she boasted. "I never knew before how strong." Henry looked down toward the tractor shed, and when he brought his eyes back to her, they were his own again. "I'll get out the car. You can put on your coat while I'm starting." Elisa went into the house. She heard him drive to the gate and idle down his motor, and then she took a long time to put on her hat. She pulled it here and pressed it there. When Henry turned the motor off she slipped into her coat and went out. The little roadster bounced along on the dirt road by the river, raising the birds and driving the rabbits into the brush. Two cranes flapped heavily over the willow- line and dropped into the river-bed. Far ahead on the road Elisa saw a dark speck. She knew. She tried not to look as they passed it, but her eyes would not obey. She whispered to herself sadly, "He might have thrown them off the road. That wouldn't have been much trouble, not very much. But he kept the pot," she explained. "He had to keep the pot. That's why he couldn't get them off the road." The roadster turned a bend and she saw the caravan ahead. She swung full around toward her husband so she could not see the little covered wagon and the mismatched team as the car passed them. In a moment it was over. The thing was done. She did not look back. She said loudly, to be heard above the motor, "It will be good, tonight, a good dinner." "Now you're changed again," Henry complained. He took one hand from the wheel and patted her knee. "I ought to take you in to dinner oftener. It would be good for both of us. We get so heavy out on the ranch." "Henry," she asked, "could we have wine at dinner?" "Sure we could. Say! That will be fine." She was silent for a while; then she said, "Henry, at those prize fights, do the men hurt each other very much?" "Sometimes a little, not often. Why?" "Well, I've read how they break noses, and blood runs down their chests. I've read how the fighting gloves get heavy and soggy with blood." He looked around at her. "What's the matter, Elisa? I didn't know you read things like that." He brought the car to a stop, then turned to the right over the Salinas River bridge. "Do any women ever go to the fights?" she asked. "Oh, sure, some. What's the matter, Elisa? Do you want to go? I don't think you'd like it, but I'll take you if you really want to go." She relaxed limply in the seat. "Oh, no. No. I don't want to go. I'm sure I don't." Her face was turned away from him. "It will be enough if we can have wine. It will be plenty." She turned up her coat collar so he could not see that she was crying weakly—like an old woman.

#john steinbeck #Thecrysanthemums #i really enjoyed this #Hope you liked it too lol

8 notes · View notes

therealjammy · 3 years

Text

The Worth Of the Wait (Witness)

AN: Posting this here for the Tumblr crowd, but also in the hope it’ll garner a bit more audience. It’s quite angsty, so please bear that in mind xx

The title that isn’t in parenthesis is from Ivan & Alyosha’s song by the same name

Words: A little over 2.5k

And since it falls unto my lot

That I should rise and you should not…

—

There was something in the reading of ghosts Dani had done that mentioned souls were doomed to wander the grounds around which they died due to unfinished business. As to what that business was, the spectre had to find out on their own, a task that began as soon as one came to.

No such task was set forth when Dani woke the first evening after her death, collapsed on the shore of the lake on her knees, not knowing it was the same spot Jamie had knelt just hours earlier. No sense of purpose filled her, only the strangeness of the afterlife, the emptiness of the manor’s grounds, and a bizarre, echoing loneliness.

Here, Dani did not bear the weight of the first Lady of the Lake. No second gaze watched from within. No claws tore away pieces of her. She was Dani once again. Almost whole, but not quite1.

She walked the grounds to grow used to her new body and life. She mused that this must have been what the astronauts who landed on the moon felt like—terribly weightless, yet able to come back to the ground by sheer force of will. So light. Like floating on air. But she wasn’t hovering. The afterlife wasn’t nearly so stereotypical. There was grass underneath her feet, and gravel, and brick. Dani was pleased that the muted feel of them all did not terrify her. The downside, however, was everything she took in reminded her of Jamie. And Hannah and Owen and Flora and Miles. So much so that she dropped to her knees for the second time in the middle of the statue garden and allowed herself to feel another knife. It slid beside the one that’d pierced her chest at the sight of Jamie in the water, reaching for her, agonized screams distorted by the thick, choking medium. I won’t, Dani had said. Don’t reach out for me to take you; this is the only time I will not accept your hand.

The book said nothing about the loneliness one would feel in the afterlife, nor the emotions that ghosts were still capable of feeling, nor even the fact that ghosts could have their own ghosts.

—

Time was nearly impossible to tell here. The days varied in their colors, of course, so Dani knew the hours, but she could not count the days. Or the weeks. She only knew the beautiful grounds, once kept tame by Jamie and a series of others before her, were slowly being reclaimed. The hedges lost their shapes. The statues in the statue garden wore masks and robes of moss. The rose garden and the white iron table and chairs were covered in leaves and surrounded by weeds, and armies of aphids munched greedily on the wilting roses. The church was dark and drafty; the candles had dust gathering in them, and the benches were covered in it, too. Jamie’s beloved greenhouse was overgrown, looking the part of a houseplant jungle that was now home to spiders and large, fearless rats. Soon many varieties of leaves and arms of vines would cover the bench, concealing the evidence of a deep first kiss and—on a different day—a thick half-hour’s lovemaking.

Concealing life so that they might live their own. Jamie would say that, or something similar to it. Part of nature, innit? Inevitable. Uncontrollable, once set free.

Dani was not bound to the lake. Not entirely. And so she spent a series of nights on the greenhouse’s bench, on her bed of plants and cracking cushions, perfectly content to lose herself in memories that hadn’t been sharp for years.

—

It could have been months, or even years later, that Dani began to hear voices. They were faint and far away, like music drifting from an open window several stories up, the voices unidentifiable, the words a string of incoherence. There were no others on the grounds; what others there were had moved on to somewhere else the second the Lady of the Lake settled herself inside Dani. But the voices were there, whispering in the woods and the lake, the greenhouse and the church, wherever Dani managed to find herself. Was it possible, she wondered, for someone dead to lose their mind? It shouldn’t have been. It would be cruel of the afterlife to make her repeat an act that had already been done. The voices were not memory, either; memory did not tickle the eardrums or raise one’s hackles.

It didn’t take long for Dani to shrug the voices off, thinking them a new music serenading her world. She often fell asleep to them—a different kind of lullaby.

—

The first time Dani was called to the land of the living was an accident.

She was walking through the woods, admiring a golden sunset slashing through silhouetted branches on the way to the spot where Jamie’s carefully grown moonflower once sat. Dani seated herself on the log she’d occupied, watching the shadows lengthen on the iron the moonflower had used as an anchor to grow against, thinking of Jamie and her going-out-on-a-limb monologue, of the kisses that followed and the laughter-filled ascent up the stairs that led to them making love in Dani’s bedroom, with no hesitation after Jamie’s, “It’s not too fast?” A voice shattered her thoughts, clear as day, a whisper.

“Where are you?”

Jamie.

Heart leaping, feeling more alive than her new life had lately allowed her to be, Dani ran, ran through the woods and the gardens, past the empty greenhouse, church, and manor, calling Jamie’s name. “I’m here!” she shouted. “I’m here, Jamie!” No avail. No reward. Just the whisper, again and again. “Where are you?”

Once again, Dani found herself wading into cold water, and once again fell and sank, but it was not to the lake’s silty, reedy bottom.

There was water underneath her hands. And wood. Not even an inch of it, but still it lapped at her hands, an insistent, icy tongue. There was hissing. And further away, the sound of sirens. Dani stared at the floor. Light finished oak. Skinny pieces. She knew this floor.

Looking up, in a state of dizzying disbelief, was looking into the flooding kitchen of the apartment. Their apartment. The sprinklers were spraying water. Something must’ve caught fire, but Dani wasn’t looking for that. Her gaze was trapped by the cracked front door and the unmistakable figure of Jamie, soaked to the bone, sitting between the oven and the sink, the posture of someone who had slid there in defeat, not quite weeping but on the verge of it.

The strangest part was how ardently she stared into the water.

“Where are you?” Jamie said.

“Here,” Dani would have said, and reached out to her, had she not felt herself being pulled back.

—

Several times, the breaking through happened, each as jarring as the first, until Dani learned to expect it. Until, one winter evening, when the grounds of Bly were dusted with frost, she only thought of Jamie and was instantly over her shoulder. They were in The Leafling, the winter plants and flowers in full season. Outside, there was snow, and fresh flakes were falling like cigarette ash from a steely sky. Jamie was in dark jeans and a black turtleneck, her curls pinned up in a bun, a few unruly ones dangling over her eyes, her hands putting the finishing touches on a pot filled with pansies.

“It’s a very ironic name,” Jamie had said once, back when they first opened the shop and rotated the flowers out depending on the season. “Call this flower a pansy but it survives the winter.”

“Maybe we should call it a toughie,” Dani suggested. Jamie shook her head, smiling, but she ended up making a chalk art sign that read, “These toughies survive the winter!” and placed it appropriately in front of the pansy display. They’d sold out within the first two weeks.

The signs that were in the flower shop now were not written by hand in Jamie’s half-messy cursive. They were all typed and displayed on boards. Including the sign on the door, which was flipped to closed.

There was life here, Dani realized, her heart seizing in her chest, continuing despite the gaping loss Jamie obviously still felt.

How many times, Dani wondered when she returned to Bly, to the greenhouse, had Jamie thought of giving up? It had to be several, by now.

It took a special sort of perseverance to overcome the call of death.

—

Time hardly existed at Bly, but Dani found a way to keep track of it. She watched Jamie and knew the months went by, staying longer and longer, until she hardly found herself at Bly at all.

She watched Jamie change. Her hair got longer and less wavy. Grey began to show. Slowly at first, and then they were as sudden as weeds. Dani watched efforts of romances, all of which ended in apologies and the showing of the ring she’d slipped onto Jamie’s finger in the nineties. She watched The Leafling change hands. Watched Jamie pack up the apartment and move into a small house in a different town. Watched her fly to Paris and step through the doors of A Batter Place for the first time in ages. Owen was still there, dressed in white chef’s uniform. And Hannah’s picture remained where it was, too, her kind, smiling face forever immortalized.

Jamie stood by the doors. Jet lag sagged her shoulders. Made her eyes droop like half-dead leaves. Yet there was determination, Dani saw, mixed with an oncoming wave of nostalgia.

Owen was a few tables away, smiling, pouring refills of wine into two guests’ glasses. He glanced in Jamie’s direction, owner’s instinct kicking in at the sight of someone loitering in the entryway, looking back at the customers, and then giving Jamie a long double-take.

“Please excuse me,” Dani heard him say.

He and Jamie approached each other slowly.

“My god,” were Owen’s first words to her, “you’ve gotten old.”

The laughter that erupted from Jamie’s mouth was the sweetest music.

They sat at the same table that’d seen them a little over a decade ago, talking over French cuisine and wine, until long after closing and long after everyone else left. There was much to say and then nothing at all, a silence settling over the old friends that was comfortable.

There was a bit of happiness in Jamie’s life at last.

—

Jamie’s life had changed since seeing Owen in Paris. It was lighter. She walked with new purpose. There was, however, one constant. Jamie always left doors cracked. Always left something filled with water—the kitchen sink, the bathroom sink, the tub, a watering can—and gazed into it, much like she had that day in the kitchen. The habit could have started long before that, Dani theorized, but there was no plausible way to be certain. The only thing that was certain was the statement these habits made: I’ll wait for you. In those moments, Dani’s heart ached in her chest, its own clenched, frustrated fist.

On a blustery spring day in 2007, Dani followed Jamie around her plant-populated kitchen as she had a conversation with Owen over the phone. Jazzy piano floated from a speaker somewhere Dani couldn’t see, the volume low. She only heard Jamie’s side of the talk.

“This makes me feel really fucking old.”

“Well, wasn’t she twelve the last time we talked to each other?” A smile. “I’m giving you shite, you moosher.”

A pause.

Her tone turned serious. “You’re sure you want me there?” A pause. “You know they might not remember me.” Silence. Then, with another smile, “All right, you’ve convinced me with your battering on about it.”

In the past, Jamie threw on whatever outfit was convenient: old, soft T-shirt tucked into worn jeans, jacket pulled on over it; paint-splattered overalls and flannel shirt; sweater and jeans and a grey-blue coverall caked with soil. Her style came together in the nineties. It was polished in the New Millennium. She planned her outfits with a little more care, and she looked stunning in all of them. It was, thought Dani, no wonder the younger women that floated in and out of Jamie’s life fawned over her.

The occasion she talked about with Owen was, much to Dani’s surprise, Flora’s wedding. The man she’d been smitten with at seventeen was the same one she was marrying at twenty- eight. Jamie marked the date in the calendar hanging on the fridge.

In the days that followed, a melancholy shadowed Jamie. Dani saw it on her face, and deep in her eyes. She believed Jamie was thinking about their own union, how they had to practically beg for it to be civil while all some people had to do was slide a ring on a finger and ask for a license. How Flora’s life stretched for acres ahead of her while Dani’s own was an uncertain countdown. Dani saw, as she’d gotten rare glimpses of, Jamie scribble the thoughts down in a notebook with yellowed edges. (She had usually left Jamie when she wrote. That time was hers alone.)

She turned the page. Her pen hovered.

Jamie began a new note.

We should have grown old together. Watched each other change. Kept track of the lines that appeared around our eyes and mouths. Made love until we were too ancient to do it properly. Found other ways. We should have had our whole lives ahead of us. It seems unfair I get to be the age I am. But we had our time, Poppins. Not many people get that.

The note wasn’t a goodbye. To Dani, it was more of a reminder.

Epilogue:

Witness

The asylum-turned-hotel was surprisingly cozy, even by dead people’s standards. Nestled in a sort of grove in Northern California, Dani liked the rustic look of the place and how pleasant it looked against the late afternoon sunlight shining through the trees. It had a sitting room just off the lobby, populated by comfortable couches. Despite the spring warmth, a fire crackled in the fireplace, and the wedding guests gathered around it, some with drinks in their hands, others empty-handed. They chatted amongst themselves until, rather abruptly, Jamie announced, “I have a story.”

Dani settled behind her, back to the warmth of the fire. Bly did not call back to her. Nothing held her but Jamie, whose command of the room was absolute.

She hung on every word.

She felt light. She felt like she could fly at the way Jamie narrated the story that held everyone so raptly; her voice wavered from tenderness to melancholy to, at the end, devotion. A sense of purpose.

It hit Dani as suddenly as cold water. Her purpose. Her unfinished business. It had only taken seven years and countless witnessing of someone perpetually in wait.

Jamie filled the hotel’s sink. And the bathtub. She cracked open the door, just a little, letting in a small bar of white light. She turned a chair to the door. Waiting. Expectant.

Dani knew then.

If Jamie waited for her, Dani would wait for her in return.

She set a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, a promise she would, hopefully, feel.

Endnotes

1. A reference to my favorite novel, Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones

The lines before the start of this work are from “The Parting Glass”

#the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #fic stuff #kate writes things #i'm proud of this one still

15 notes · View notes

nikibogwater · 4 years

Text

Home Away From Home--a Tales of Arcadia fanfiction

"She was trying to make the best of it--after all, it wasn’t like Douxie had much else to choose from when he brought her here. But a creature of sunlight and nature could only stand the dank, grey-lit quarters for so long before she began to wilt. "

Nari is struggling to adapt to New York City, but her family is there to remind her where home truly lies.

The companion to The City Never Sleeps. Very, very, VERY extra special thanks to @poetryinmotion-author for both beta reading and talking me through two encounters with writer’s block. This story would not exist without her.

Read on AO3

Or under the cut:

A rundown studio apartment in New York City with drafty windows, moth-eaten carpet, and no air-conditioning was probably the last place one would expect to find an ancient woodland sorceress. Yet this was in fact the very place that Nari of the Eternal Forest had to call her home for the time being. She was trying to make the best of it--after all, it wasn’t like Douxie had much else to choose from when he brought her here. But a creature of sunlight and nature could only stand the dank, grey-lit quarters for so long before she began to wilt.

Douxie had done everything he could to make it bearable for her, bless him. He bought her a score of houseplants to brighten up the place, subscribed to a gardening magazine, even gave her the only available bedframe so she wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor (which smelled strongly of cigarette smoke and made her sneeze every time she walked in). Winter was just around the corner, and they were lucky to have a roof over their heads at all. At least she had the balcony, where she could easily soak up the sun’s rays for a few hours in the afternoon. And the plants were good company, their spirits always shining with gratitude whenever she tended to them. Archie stayed with her most days as well, and they whiled away the hours together as they waited for Douxie to return each night. Really, it wasn’t that bad, she told herself.

But she was miserable all the same.

She missed the spacious halls of Camelot castle, the feeling of grass beneath her bare feet, the smell of a forest glade drenched in morning dew. She missed the freedom of roaming wherever she pleased without burdening another with the task of watching over her. She missed having long discussions with Merlin about magic, missed the way he would pat the top of her head gently and call her “my dear” whenever he was in a particularly good mood. She missed the sounds of birdsong in the early morning, missed the days when magic could be felt flowing freely in the wind, missed everything about her life before the Order ruined it and forced her to go into hiding in this dusty mousehole on the top floor of an ugly and dilapidated old building.

Today was especially bad. It had been cloudy all day, but a dry sort of cloudy, without the promise of refreshing rain. She felt sick and tired, but didn’t want to sate herself on cheap human fare. Archie had been out all night before hunting rats and checking the stasis traps Douxie had set nearby, and though he’d made a heroic effort to stay awake and keep her company, he was now sound asleep on Douxie’s mattress. Her plants were sad today too. Some of them were getting too big for their stands, and she could sense their longing to grow more freely, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask Douxie for bigger pots. So she simply sat on the floor beneath one of the drafty windows, in the only patch of dull grey light that was managing to seep into the room, watching the dust motes drift hazily around her. It would be dark soon, but not the pleasant kind of dark, with stars shining above and moonlight stretching across the landscape. The heavy, hazy dark of a city whose lights never dimmed, that never bothered to peer into the beyond and search the stars for their magic.

She could sense Douxie was happy today, even without having him nearby. His soul was flickering brightly, thrumming with quiet excitement. He had managed to find a better paying job at a bookstore nearby, and was able to come home most evenings now. Yet another reason she couldn’t tell him she felt like she was suffocating here. She didn’t want to ruin the first good thing that had happened to him since he’d gotten stuck with her. She could feel him approaching the apartment now, sense him on the other side of the door, before she heard the jingling of his keys as he undid the magic seals on the door.

“Good evening, comrades!” He burst into the apartment with all the bravado of a knight fresh from slaying a dragon. Archie groaned and put a paw over his ears. “I come bearing gifts!” He held up a large paper sack in one hand and replaced the seals with the other. Nari plastered a smile on her face and joined him in the kitchen area, where he set his burden down on the grease-stained counter. Archie followed behind her begrudgingly and jumped up on the wizard’s shoulder.

“A new succulent for the fair forest goddess,” Douxie said brightly, pulling a tiny potted plant out of the bag and presenting it to Nari with a flourish. “A can of tuna for our resident reptilian feline.”

“It had better be white,” Archie put in as Douxie placed it on the counter.

“And of course, dinner for the master wizard,” he finished, removing a microwavable lasagna and tossing the bag to the side.

“What’s got you all excited?” Archie asked, jumping from Douxie’s shoulder to the counter in order to inspect the can of tuna.

“The assistant manager at the bookstore is being sacked for swiping quid from the cash register and there’s a very good chance I’m going to be taking his place. Which means I’ll be able to drop the part-time gig at the cafe and have Saturdays off.” He ripped open the box in his hand and pulled out the slightly damp-looking lasagna.

“Every week?” Nari asked, perking up. “For the whole day?”

“Every week,” Douxie replied, flashing her a grin. “Well, apart from any special circumstances that may arise.” He shoved the tray of lasagna into the microwave and scanned the box for heating instructions. “I can finally take you to Central Park. You’ll love it there, Nari. They say it’s like the forests back home in Camelot. We might even find a Kelpie or two living in the Pond.”

“Don’t be absurd, Douxie. Kelpies only live in Europe,” Archie said, pawing impatiently at the tuna can. Douxie merely shrugged as he punched the time into the microwave. Nari smiled and looked down at the plant she held in her hands. She doubted any park could compare to the forests of Camelot, but it might be nice to feel real grass beneath her feet again...

...Or perhaps it would only make things worse. A taste of what she was longing for, just enough to reawaken her drooping soul, only for it to be locked back in this birdcage of an apartment.

Douxie opened the can of tuna for Archie and left him to enjoy it on the counter, while the wizard dropped onto the tatty sofa nearby to wait for his food to finish heating. Nari joined him, still cradling the succulent, clinging to the sensation of Douxie’s aura pulsing and swirling next to her. Archie had an aura of his own, being a wizard’s Familiar, but comforting as it was, it wasn’t the same as the latent power of a true magic-wielder. So she treasured the moments Douxie was nearby, when she could feel a piece of the home she so desperately missed. He leaned back with a satisfied sigh and stared up at the ceiling, leg bouncing impatiently, as his eyes darted from one crack in the plaster to another.

“...We need a TV,” he said suddenly. “There’s nothing to do here. How do you two even stay occupied all day?”

“Talk to the plants,” Nari answered.

“Enjoy the peace and quiet,” Archie put in around a mouthful of tuna.

“Discuss magic.”

“Recount embarrassing anecdotes about you.”

“You what?” Douxie picked his head up off the back of the couch and shot Archie a judgemental look. The Familiar looked up from his tuna long enough to respond with a smug grin, while Nari smothered a giggle with her hand. The microwave beeped before Douxie had a chance to say any more about it, but the wizard did flick Archie’s tuna can out from under his chin as he passed the counter.

The smell of cheap microwavable pasta burst into the room as Douxie opened the microwave, and Nari had to swallow a gag. It was truly amazing, the kinds of garbage humans could eat without qualms. Douxie even looked eager as he pulled a fork out of a drawer and dug into the tray without bothering to get a plate. He gave a satisfied hum as he chewed and flopped back down on the sofa, balancing the floppy tray on the palm of his hand. Nari shifted further down the couch and tried to focus on her new plant friend instead of the rubbery cheese Douxie was winding around his fork.

“Nari, did you eat t’day?” he asked through stuffed cheeks. “There wasn’t any sun this afternoon.”

“I was not hungry,” she replied, not looking up from her succulent. She could feel Douxie stop and stare at her. “I’m fine.” She flashed him what she hoped was her most convincing smile. “Just didn’t have an appetite today.”

“You should still eat,” Douxie insisted. “Lasagna?” He offered the tray. “There’s enough for two.”

“No thank you.” She gently pushed his hand back. “I will eat something later.” Douxie continued to scrutinize her for an uncomfortably long moment, hazel eyes fixed determinedly on her face. She was tempted to shapeshift into a flower and fall between the couch cushions. But he would definitely know something was wrong if she started hiding from him. So she went back to gently stroking the leaves of her new friend and ignored him. Finally, he sighed and leaned back, digging into the lasagna once more.

“What’re you going to call that one?” he asked, gesturing to the succulent with his fork and dripping cheese onto the sofa.

“It looks like a Beauregarde to me,” Nari answered, relieved that he was letting the previous subject drop. “But I will not know for sure for a few days yet. You have to really know a plant before you can name it.”

“Whatever you say,” Douxie chuckled, stuffing another bite into his mouth. Silence fell between the three of them as he practically inhaled the rest of his dinner. He dropped the empty tray on the floor at his feet and sank back into the couch with a satisfied groan. “I’d forgotten what it was like to eat dinner before eleven pm.” Archie had emptied his tuna can by now and was lazing contentedly on the counter, washing his face. Douxie stared at the ceiling again for a few minutes, before sitting up again and summoning his guitar. Nari perked up and set the succulent aside, scooting closer to him on the sofa. He strummed a few experimental chords, and Nari could feel his magic rolling and turning with the sound.

“Douxie, has it occurred to you that perhaps using your staff for band practice could lead to magical accidents?” Archie said from his place on the counter.

“It’s fine,” Douxie replied distractedly, still focused on his instrument. “I’ll be careful. Besides, I broke my last non-magic axe on a Gumm-Gumm and I can’t afford to replace it yet.” The guitar gave an electric whine as his fingers danced on the strings, drawing a raucous melody from it that sparked like lightning within his aura. Nari could sense his ease and familiarity, the energy with which he played, but she also sensed a touch of melancholy. He’d played in a band back in Arcadia, hadn’t he? That was one of the many things he left behind when he fled with her. He plunged into a series of particularly high chords that made Archie wince and cover his ears and felt like a barrage of icicles striking her ears.

“I am still not sure if I like this ‘rock music,’” Nari admitted, once he relaxed back into lower, less screechy chords, his aura unwinding from the tight knot it had twisted into and swirling contentedly around him.

“It’ll grow on you,” Douxie assured her. “Even Archie’s acquired a taste for it.” Gradually, the music lost some of its electricity, and began to flow like water as he coaxed an ancient melody from the strings.

Suddenly, Douxie’s magic wasn’t just around her; it was inside her. She took in a sharp breath as the familiar tune he was playing opened a door in her mind and flooded her head with memories. She knew this song. She’d heard it back in the days of Camelot. She could see the city now, clearer than in her dreams, see the mother gently swaying her child as she hummed, feel the thatch beneath her bare feet where she was crouched on a rooftop, watching, observing, waiting--

“Douxie!” Archie barked suddenly, and just like that, the image shattered as the music stopped and Douxie looked up at his Familiar with confusion. Archie wasn’t looking at him, however, but was staring fixedly at Nari, who could finally breathe again. “I think you should stop,” he said to the wizard.

“...No,” Nari pleaded. “Don’t stop...” Her mind told her to stop, to retreat from these memories, but she was like a creature slowly freezing to death desperately grasping at searing flames in order to feel something besides the cold. She looked up to see Douxie giving her a sideways look of concern. “I am fine. Please keep playing.”

Douxie shifted uncertainly, but readied his fingers on the strings once more. Nari clenched her hands as the song began again. The wizard’s magic rushed out in tandem with the music and slammed into her mind, scraping and digging until all of her most cherished, painful memories were exposed. She could see the wooded glens and meadows blanketed with wildflowers, feel the raw, untempered magic drifting on the wind around her, feel the sense of home, of belonging pounding on the inside of her skull. As though from the end of a long tunnel, she heard Douxie’s soft, untrained voice quietly singing the lyrics in the ancient tongue, and hearing it again felt like wonderful burning knives digging into her heart.

Burning. Camelot was burning. She could see it now, see the blood spilt around Killahead Bridge, feel the heat of Bellroc’s merciless flames, hear Skreal’s cold cackle mingling with the screams of their victims, feel the dirt and ash beneath her fingernails as she mowed down legions of Arthur’s knights as though they were nothing more than an army of ants beneath her heel. It was too much. Tears were burning beneath her lashes, and she could feel her chest heaving, but there was too much smoke, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t--

“--ri! Nari!” A firm hand on her shoulder jolted her out of her vision, and she heard a tremendous crash and the sound of leaves shuddering, as though a great wind were passing over them. She sucked in a gulp of air, feeling the chill of tear tracks on her face as she opened her eyes. The apartment was in complete disarray, as though someone had come through and ransacked it. Several dishes were lying in pieces in the cupboard, and Douxie’s mattress had been tossed clear across the room. She could feel the spirits of her beloved plants trembling in their pots, and the weight of slowly dissipating magic in the air. “Nari? Nari, what’s wrong?” Douxie was clutching her shoulder frantically, his staff lying forgotten on the floor. “Archie, what happened to her?”

“This is exactly why I told you not to use your staff for common music-making!” Archie berated him, coming out from behind the counter where he had taken cover. He had shifted into his dragon-form, which meant he must have been startled pretty badly. “Your magic and your music are intertwined. While you are using your staff, there is no separating them, and there is no predicting how they will affect your environment or the people around you.” Douxie snatched his hand from her shoulder as though he’d been burned.

“Y-you mean I...?” he stuttered, a look of horror dawning across his face. Archie ignored him and leapt up onto the sofa, placing a gentle paw on Nari’s leg.

“Nari, my dear, are you alright?” She heaved a gasping sob and frantically shook her head, hugging herself and trembling as though she had just stepped out of a freezer.

“What h-happened?” she whispered.

“You’ve had a magical outburst,” Archie soothed. “Douxie’s magic broke open one of your emotional pools and you lost control for a moment. But you’re safe now, and no one was injured.”

“I’m sorry, I’m s-sorry!” she wept. “I’m so sorry!”

“H-hey...Hey, Nari, it’s alright. No harm done,” Douxie murmured, hesitantly reaching for her shoulder again. She shook her head again and sobbed.

“B-Bellroc always used to l-lash out like that a-and I hated it, they always killed so many a-and destroyed so much just because they were angry, and I n-never wanted to be like--”

“Nari, this was nothing like that,” Archie said firmly. “You were reacting to an unexpected magical stimulus, that’s all. You were not lashing out in anger or fear.”

“B-but I feel so...” She stopped short, swallowing the words that were rising in her throat, suddenly acutely aware of Douxie’s shrunken and paled aura. He was already feeling guilty for his part in this incident. She couldn’t tell him why his music had shaken her the way it did, that it wasn’t only a reaction to his magic, that the problem went far deeper than that.

“...You feel what, Nari?” Archie encouraged softly. She looked down into his steady golden gaze with tear-blurred eyes, and felt the words smash through the barrier and come tumbling out of her mouth.

“I feel so sad!” she burst out. “I hate it here, I feel like I am suffocating every minute of the day! I want to go home, back to the forest, I want to feel real grass again, I want--” She choked and couldn’t finish the sentence. She could feel Douxie’s aura twist sharply, as though she had struck him, and it sent a new wave of tears cascading down her cheeks.

“Nari...” he breathed. “I...” She didn’t let him finish. She could feel his aura pulling away from her, feel him closing off because of his guilt, and like a starving animal whose only food was about to be taken away, she lunged at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly and burying her face in his shirt, refusing to lose the one of the few pieces of home she still had. He stiffened, but she only clung to him tighter, muffling a wail in his jacket. A moment later, she felt his arms tentatively settle around her, his left hand coming up to cup the back of her head. “...Alright, easy,” he whispered. “Easy, Nari, that’s it...I’ve got you.” She sniveled furiously against his chest, wishing she was a more delicate crier. “Um....Archie, put the kettle on, will you?” he spoke over the top of her head. His hand moved from her head to her shoulder, where his thumb rubbed a few gentle circles. “That’s all you need, a good hot cuppa.” Nari choked out a half-laugh, half-sob.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m sorry I am not happy here. I know you are doing your best.” She felt him shrug.

“Frankly, I’d be a bit concerned if you were happy in this dustbin. I know this isn’t the best place for you, and I’m sorry we’re stuck here. But this isn’t permanent, I promise. Soon as I have enough stashed away, we’ll get a nice little place in the suburbs somewhere, with a garden. I can’t...I can’t bring back Camelot for you.” She felt his aura dim slightly, and heard the unsaid I wish I could. “But I will make things better for us. I promise.”

“Kettle’s on,” Archie said as he strode back over to them, returning to his cat form. “Douxie’s right, Nari.” He hopped up on the sofa beside her, and she felt him nuzzle against her elbow. “This isn’t permanent. You’ll be out in the sun again soon.” Nari gave a long, drawn out sniffle and nodded. “I think perhaps in the meantime it would be best if you practiced out on the balcony, Douxie,” Archie continued. “At least until you can acquire an instrument that won’t channel your magic.”

“No,” Nari said suddenly, pulling back. “I wasn’t ready the first time but...I want to hear that song again. It...When I heard it, I could see home, really see it. And it hurt but...” She paused, looking between Archie and Douxie. “...but it also helped. I do not feel the sorrow pressing down so heavily now.”

“...Are you sure?” Douxie asked. She nodded, scrubbing away the last of her tears from her cheek. “Well...I can never say no to a free audience.” He picked up his staff from the floor, and it shifted back into his guitar. “I’m not as sensitive as you are, so keep your hand on me so I can feel your aura,” he said. “If I feel your magic starting to overflow, I can stop.” Nari nodded and placed her hand on his shoulder. Archie climbed into her lap and settled there with a purr. Douxie sent her one more questioning glance, and she responded with an encouraging smile.

The chords were gentler this time, and Douxie’s magic moved slowly, almost timidly, around him. His eyes darted rapidly between the strings and Nari’s face, watching for any sign of distress. But she leaned against him and closed her eyes, letting the images of home dance behind her lids as his airy and somewhat wobbly voice hesitantly joined guitar’s. The fields, the lakes, the city, drifted in and out of her mind like friends passing by, and though she felt the ache of homesickness, it wasn’t sharp or burning like the first time. It felt...bittersweet.

Then, a new image joined the old; a boy, far older than he looked, in dark clothing, with a black cat on his shoulder, both smiling down at her as they started their new life together.

Camelot may have been her home once, but now it was gone. Yet she wasn’t lost. She had a new home right here in her arms. And as the kettle on the stove began to whistle and Douxie reached the end of the song, she felt certain that this home was far better than the last.

#tales of arcadia #toa #wizards: tales of arcadia #wizards: toa #fanfiction #douxie is an excellent big brother #archie is a therapy cat #and nari is a plant mom #found family feels

29 notes · View notes