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seiwas · 6 months

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grow on me like a dog loved fondly: prologue | kamo choso

wc: 1.0k

summary: your regular to the flower shop is more than what he seems.

contains: written with f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, animal shelter employee choso x flower shop owner reader, implied that reader is shorter than choso, flowers, small talk.

a/n: the promised choso drabble! depending on how this is received, i intend for this to be the prologue to a longer choso fic i have in mind!

You have a regular on the weekends.

Business in the flower shop tends to be slow during winter, with less occasions having the need for flowers and even less buds blooming during the season.

But even with the expected decline in customers, Saturdays always guarantee one—

The bells attached to the store doors jingle, allowing in a gust of cool air that tickles your cheeks from where you’re crouched down. The peonies in your hands were delivered just yesterday, the ends of the stems needing a slight trim to keep them fresh for longer.

You turn, standing up to face your visitor. A purple scarf is wrapped high around his neck, with white fleece running down the length of his arms—a sort of undershirt to the short-sleeved uniform worn atop it. The outfit is familiar enough, but what truly distinguishes him are the two spiky pigtails on the sides of his head.

There are a few things you’ve managed to pick up from four-line exchanges with your regular (six if you’re lucky): 1) he works at the animal shelter a few streets away, 2) the flowers he buys are for the front desk, a weekly replacement he deems necessary to keep the place looking alive, and 3) who he is, his name—

—‘Choso’, if the tag on his uniform says anything.

The tag that is now, also, just a hand’s reach away from you.

You look up, pocketing your plant nippers. The peonies dangle between your fingers.

“W-welcome!” you stutter, focusing on the thin metal chain running across his nose.

It’s new, an addition that intrigues you more about the man in front of you.

The look he gives you is lazy, gaze deadpan, almost empty. Anyone else might find it snobbish and off-putting, but you’ve gotten used to it—an almost magenta puffiness that surrounds his eyes, bags of fatigue that usually hang underneath.

He continues to stare, unmoving.

Considering all your previous interactions, you’ve realized, he isn’t scary or rude or anything of that sort—he’s just awkward.

A bit quiet and unbothered, maybe, but still just awkward. You don’t think he’s ever started an interaction with you first.

“Is there any flower in particular that you’re looking for?” you ask, motioning around your store.

The selection is limited this season—a few camellias and clusters of Japanese primrose with an abundance of peonies and daffodils.

His head turns as he glances around the store, pigtails bobbing slightly with each movement. When he faces you again, he shrugs, voice deep and firm as he asks, “Do you have any recommendations?”

It’s an odd feeling, borderline awkward and nervous; you have no idea why your mind is blanking.

“Um,” you clear your throat, tucking the peonies between your fingers into your apron pocket, “daffodils are bright and friendly, good for entryways and front desks, I think.”

He eyes the daffodils to your right, buckets of stems holding yellow and white. The store stays quiet for what feels like a good minute before he nods, agreeing to your suggestion.

“The usual?” two clusters, wrapped in newspaper.

Your question echoes throughout the shop, lingering while you pick at which daffodils look best.

“Yes, but two of them.” he answers in monotone, before adding on, a soft hesitancy, “Please.”

You smile to yourself, picking more daffodils for another bunch.

Both of you make your way to the cashier, another bout of silence surrounding you as you crumple newspaper and pull at tape. He always watches, you notice, his focus set on your practiced handling of stems and leaves.

You look up momentarily, seeing that he keeps his head down, “The pigtails are cool.”

He doesn’t say anything, and for a while you’re afraid you might have offended him, but he responds, voice low; it’s soft, gentle in a way you never expected it to be.

“Thank you.” you catch him shifting his weight from your periphery, hands digging deeper into his pockets, “The dogs think they’re chew toys when I wear it this way.”

You most certainly were not expecting that, either.

This is the most initiative he’s taken to add onto the conversation.

You grin, chuckling under your breath, “That must be fun.”

It’s faint, but you think you hear him laugh a little.

When the flowers are completely wrapped, you set them aside, making your way behind the cash register. You punch in the cost, ready to bill him before he speaks again.

“Actually, would you happen to do deliveries?” he seems shy asking it, barely looking you in the eye.

“Yes!” You nod, grabbing a pen and paper to hand over to him, “Just write down your contact details, the address you want it delivered to, and when you’d like it to be delivered.”

Another thing you’ve realized, is that despite appearances and what he seems to be, Choso handles objects gently; the pen and paper you’d just given him were taken lightly from your fingertips. Even the strokes of his penmanship are slow, the tip of the pen barely creating an indent on the small sheet.

“Will you be having both of these delivered?” you ask, holding up the bundles of daffodils.

“Just one.” he answers promptly, before adding on again, “Thank you.”

And you know you shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t be so nosy, but—

“What’s the occasion?”—

Flowers are rarely in demand during the winter season.

—“If you don’t mind me asking,” you follow-up quickly.

The immediate quiet makes you think you might have gotten too comfortable again, made him feel weird about your questions—but he answers.

“My brothers,” he finishes the final curves of his writing, “they’re coming to visit.”

The piece of paper is handed to you, and you hum, acknowledging his response. You go over his details, reciting it to him to double-check. But when you land on his address, your eyes go wide, a little ‘oh!’ slipping out.

He furrows his brows, confused.

You definitely, most certainly did not expect this.

“Sorry,” you shake your head, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, “Just—“ you chuckle, “I think we might be neighbors.”

thank you notes: @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for sending me lil prompts that somehow birthed into this!! + @yemmuishomeforthementallyunwell for feeding the choso brainrot 🥹 + @mysugu @soumies for being my angels, lights of my life!! listening to me ramble abt this and helping me pick music, hash out plot, pick title, everything! ily

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #choso x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #choso fluff #jjk x you #jjk fluff #choso x y/n #jjk xyou #shotorus.writes #jjk #choso #im also still too lazy to do the banner #ill add it tomorrow #if this doesn't work out i'll still write the longer fic someday!! just wont be a priority!!#but i have lots of themes i kinda wanna touch on alr

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itsswritten · 14 days

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a new chapter

Pairing: Fairy x Azriel (technically no Az in this, but there's a nod to him if you look)

Word Count: 2.1K

Summary: The start of fairy's story. (Can be read on it's own, but if you read the other parts the pieces of the puzzle will come together.)

Wings Universe - More from this world.

The sting from the cuts had dulled as you continued to pull the thorn covered weeds with your bare hands. The feeling becoming numb as the pointed spikes drew blood across your delicate skin. You had never been afraid of hard work, never turned away from getting your hands dirty— but perhaps even this was beyond your ability.

“Y/n,” your best friend, Elodie, whispered with a melody of sadness, the warmth of her own hands gently coming to your shoulders to stop you.

You hadn’t realised till then that you had been crying. Crying while you helplessly tried to save the meadow you so dearly loved. But the meadow you loved was nowhere to be seen. The entire court had been ravaged by vines and thorns, and where no plant grew lay decay and ruin.

In a dishevelled state you wiped the tears from your eyes, faintly smearing dirt and blood across your face. Scrambling to your feet, you looked at your friend. The same sadness drowned her own expression. Whatever hope you held onto, no longer lived within her.

She had only stayed so long for you. The guilt began to gnaw at your gut as you took in Elodie’s dejected expression, dark circles sunk beneath her eyes that mirrored your own.

After Feyre had left, after the upheaval of Tamlin’s court, after the war– things among the land became estranged.

The court was deemed unsafe.

And after multiple conversations with the fairy council an evacuation had been ordered. You supported the move of all creatures, animals, birds, insects across the borders. And then species of Fae and Fairy relocated to the other courts too.

Not you though. You couldn’t bear to leave your home. Not when it so desperately needed your help, now more than ever.

Especially as Tamlin’s sorrow and anger seeped into the soil like a disease, transfiguring even the most beautiful flowers. Turning them into deadly ominous growths.

You had pleaded with Tamlin, even begged on your hands and knees. Head pressed to the floor by his feet. You had requested that he fix things, asked if you could go seek the help of the other High Lords, cried that you couldn’t bear to see the court turn to ruin.

But he had dismissed you.

Tamlin too consumed by his own self-deprecation and hatred hadn’t wanted help, hadn’t wanted to save his court– or himself.

So you tried instead. A small group of fairies stayed– your friends, colleagues. People who held you in high regard and respect, people who loved you and believed you when you said you could make a change. But as the weeks turned to months it was only you and Elodie that remained. Somehow, by some stroke of luck there was a small part of the meadow you had managed to maintain. Little blue dahlias bloomed much to the disarray that surrounded them. With time though, the buds began to decay and today you found your little patch of hope overgrown with darkness.

“Let me speak with him one more time.” Somehow you mustered some strength in your voice, composing the wobble in your tone.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Elodie asked mournfully, her stature limp with hopelessness.

It wasn’t. Wisdom and smart ideas were long gone. All you had left was desperation. You weren’t afraid of begging, didn’t care how pathetic you might look. You had to try, at least one more time.

With that you made your way to the manor house, patting down the torn dress that sagged under the despair that filled the air. You pushed yourself through the dark branches that covered the home, the sharp limbs scratching at your skin as you forced your way inside.

The floorboards creaked under your feet, the manor now derelict and plagued by the sharpened vines that crushed the framework.

This place, just like the court, was once truly beautiful. It was a tragedy what had become of it.

“Tamlin?” You spoke softly, knocking gently on a door that hung to the side on one hinge. Sharp growths sunk into the walls, causing the brick to crumble under its grip. The plant stretched out like roots across the building, the dark energy festering and growing from inside the room.

You hadn’t needed to knock, but nervously, you had wanted to. Let him know you were here. Unsure what a surprise might spiral him into, and perhaps nervous to what you might find when you entered. You were psyching yourself up.

You could sense him in the shadows, crouched over his desk shrouded in a darkness you never thought could exist in Spring.

“The meadows…” you continued, stepping in when he didn’t respond. “There’s nothing left anymore–”

“Why are you still here?”

“Why?-” Surely he knew. You almost wanted to scoff. This was your home, a land you had committed to protecting and preserving. Had your pleading all those months ago not been clear? Did he even remember?

“Because it is my duty, as it is yours, to ensure the land flourishes and is a sanctuary to all creatures and fae. I am here because I believe we can fix this–”

“Stop.” He cut you off. “Stop with your self righteous bullshit. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Tamli-”

“STOP!” He cut you off like a sword cutting a blade of grass, sharp and swift but with a sting you felt pierce your skin. Tamlin had stood to his feet in defiance, his hands– no, claws, slamming onto the desk in front of him.

The wood groaned under his weight, splinters splitting under his talons. The darkness permitted in the air only grew. Vines slithering on the walls like snakes, while their razor edges glinted in the dim light in a taunt.

Was this person even Tamlin anymore?

The male before you resembled something more similar to the beasts you knew roamed the Middle.

You swallowed hard.

Your relationship with Tamlin was passing, as amicable as it needed to be. As was most fairy and fae connections. You’d always gotten on better with his emissary Lucien, but the beautiful redheaded Vanserra had left with Feyre and not returned.

Your livelihood, your duty as a fairy had always existed outside of Fae law. You were the Mother’s firsts, her obedient children created to take care of the land. Fairies did not care for control or power. So when the Fae came along– those beautiful but greedy creatures flourishing in their power, fairies had chosen to stay out of their way. Moulded and conceded to their will you could say.

Your kind hadn’t objected when they began to split the land. When they picked rulers and chose borders. Fought over titles and possessions. This wasn’t because fairies were weak.

No, that was something many misunderstood.

But because it wasn’t important to your kind. You didn’t care to rule, didn’t care for wealth or power. It was your love for the land that would always come first.

And it was your unwavering adoration for the earth, the droplets that filled the rivers, the kaleidoscope of flowers, and the blessing of all creatures that brought you here–again. Pleading with Tamlin.

You felt for Tamlin, you truly did. You weren’t privy to the intricacies on what had happened among him and the now High Lady of the Night Court, and you certainly weren’t impressed by his questionable actions in the war. But your heart had ached for him.

However, he was now choosing to be an obstacle in your life’s mission. Your patience was wearing thin.

“Tamlin. You’ve wrecked the land.” You said sharply, deciding you weren’t going to dance around your words. No longer dance on that thin line Tamlin had drawn.

“I. Don’t. Care.” Tamlin growled out.

Your fists curled at your side, your wings striking back in frustration as a glow simmered faintly around you.

“You Fae should do right to remember that we were here long before you divided up the lands, and created your silly borders. Segregated fae and animals, we allowed you to reap the benefits on this structure, on the condition that the land would always remain protected–”

“You would do right to remember exactly who you’re speaking to.” Tamlin snarled, the vibrations of his growl rippling through the room as the weight on his talons crushed the desk in front of you.

Perhaps if you weren’t so stubborn you might have backed down. But you see fae, had always underestimated you and your people, dismissed your kind. And now you were angry…angry that all your hard work for years had been wasted, that your loved ones had been made homeless, and that your words were never valued enough by the courts to be listened to.

There was a vibration of power in the room, your fairy dust began to quiver in the air. This energy, pure and light sung within the pockets of air in the room, and while any onlooker would assume it was Tamlin asserting his dominance, they would be quickly corrected by the shock etched into the High Lords face.

As it was your energy causing a shift. Splitting up space with beams of light, fairy dust spreading and scattering in the room, Tamlins vines began to retreat to whatever dark pit they came from.

Just as his vines cowered, Tamlin took a step back.

Just because fairies had never cared for power and control, didn’t mean they didn’t possess it.

You felt a grip on your arm, tight but gentle, and then a slight tug. It was Elodie. She had fought her way through the deadly plants, perhaps pulled by the beaconed glow you were emitting. A warning look on her face, as you tempered your power swiftly. “He’s not worth it.”

Your gaze flickered back to Tamlin, his expression bore one of surprise. His brows furrowed, frame finally resembling something more fae than beast. His eyes flickered between the two fairies in the room, fairies he had always assumed to be glorified gardeners. You could almost see the gears in his mind turning, as he began to question everything he’d ever known about the fairies that lived in his meadows.

You didn’t want to wait for whatever reaction may come from his revelation. Elodie was right. He wasn’t worth it. You had spent more than enough time trying to save his court, it was time to save yourselves.

Straightening your back, you looked Tamlin directly in the eyes. “We can’t work here anymore, it’s not safe for us and honestly, our talents are wasted in this void.” Elodie looked at you with a proud smile, a softness in her eyes. “If you change your mind Tamlin…just call on us okay?” You didn’t wait for him to respond, simply leaving him a small conch on his desk.

𓇢𓆸

“Where to now then?” Elodie spoke, placing her hand gently in yours as you both stood on edge of Spring court. Your eyes were still, staring at the dark shrouded forest you had always called home, no semblance of familiarity remained.

“Your cousin from Autumn wrote to us, said we could join her?” Elodie continued, squeezing your hand gently.

Her warming touch pulled your glassy eyes from the forest behind you. Fully turning your back on the only place you’d ever known. A ripple of sadness cursed under your skin, panging in your chest.

Is this what heartache felt like? At least, some version of it you assumed.

But what help would a heartbroken fairy be to the land, to the Mother?

You held onto that. The resilience that had kept you in Spring till now, a stubbornness that wasn’t going to allow you to give up.

“How about we experience it all Elodie?” You smiled widely at your friend, pulling on those tiny slithers of hope you had left.

Elodie tilted her head, a bright smile spreading across her lips at the notion. You had both always toyed with the idea of travelling, experiencing the terrain of the other lands, furthering your studies and training in the seasons and their creatures.

“Oh do you really mean it y/n?” There was a giddiness, a spring in your friend's step that hadn’t been there for a while.

“We could go see it all, the Pegasus’ of Day, catch a tan in Summer…even check out those Illyrians you find so handsome in Night,” She teased, bumping her shoulder against yours.

You were laughing now, like a pair of young girls again. Linked arm in arm as you took the first steps out of Spring. An excitement simmered in your gut, of what adventures would unfurl, what type of people you would meet.

You weren’t sure what this next chapter would bring, where you would find yourself in a year's time. But as you glanced back over your shoulder, the darkness of Spring feeling further and further, you hoped one day beauty would return to your home.

Whether you would also return to it, only time could tell.

a/n: I felt like fairy deserved a little backstory <3 show aspects of her character you perhaps haven't seen yet! But yes for those wondering...her and Elodie will absolutely be going on a girls trip across the land. Who would you like them to meet before they end up in Night Court? 👀 I'm sure Helion would be an amazing host and would adore her and Elodie...there's also Autumn, her cousin is there so it would only make sense if she meets Eris right?? What mischief do you think these two get up to? and with who? 😏

forever tags: @lilah-asteria @illyrianbitch @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan

wings tags: @megscabinetofcurios @minaethrym @scorpioriesling

#wings universe #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar azriel #acotar fanfiction #angst #acotar series #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #fairy x azriel #fairy reader x azriel #azriel x fairy

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ghouljams · 11 months

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My brain does weird things. Anyways, I think Love would steal Liebling’s seed (assuming she didn’t throw it out) and plant it for her. That just seems like a very Love thing to do.

This is really dubiously canon... Love had sticky fingers and her luck finally runs out, or does it?

You stare at the sprout pushing its way out of the dirt in your little terracotta pot. You spritz it with water, and watch the leaves curl happily. Like fingers.

"Hey Si?" You call over your shoulder. You've made some... well you hesitate to call them bad, but questionable decisions in your life. Usually your luck carries you through, but you think it may be running out on this particular gamble.

Simon hums from the couch, half listening as he sketches the monarch wing you'd found into your journal. You don't know if this is really worth his attention. You don't really know what it is. You sort of... stole it.

"Is it stealing if it was technically trash?" You ask, without really thinking. Simon's sketching stops, and he turns to look over the back of the couch.

"What did you steal?"

"Weird seed the bestie didn't want." You poke one of the leaves, letting it wrap around your finger. That gets Simon's attention. He's quick to get off the couch and over to you, pulling your finger out of the plant's grip.

"Christ Love, is that what you've been nursing all week?" Simon looks over your hand with concern, you nod until he kisses your palm giving it the all clear.

"What is it?" You poke Simon's cheek to get your hand back. He lets you go to pick up the pot and inspect the new growth.

"No clue," he tells you, "did, uh- shit-"

"Lieb."

"Works well enough," Simon pokes at the plant, watching the leaves move, "Did she tell you want it was?" You shake your head. He pinches a leaf between his fingers, inspecting it. "Doesn't look dangerous."

"Then I'll keep watering it." Simon shakes his head but settled the pot back on the windowsill.

"We'll keep an eye on it."

"We?" Simon flashes you half a smile, you return it in full force, "I love when we do stupid stuff together."

You don't know how long it's supposed to take flowers to grow, or even how they're supposed to grow, but it feels like this is going really weird.

You stare at the giant flower bud that's blossomed in your little terracotta pot. It sort of reminds you of a cabbage. It feels like a rose when you pet it, the petals under your fingers silky and soft. You don't know quite what to do with it. Simon sets a cup of tea next to your head where you're resting it against the windowsill.

"Looking good Love," You hum at the kiss he presses against the top of your head, "How's the cabbage?"

"She's fine, still overgrown and weird." You sit up, grabbing your mug and letting Simon take over the daily plant inspection.

"Doesn't look deadly yet."

"Yet."

"Yet," he agrees. You both sip your morning cup and stare at your poor decision making skills.

"You haven't put any magic in it to make it big." You confirm for the thousandth time.

"Not a drop, gardener must've dreamt this up." He reminds you, also for the thousandth time.

"Maybe we can enter it in a gardening fair or-"

Simon yanks you away from the bud as the petals quiver and bloom. You're very quickly put behind your very tense partner, forced to look around him at whatever is going on. You've never seen a flower open up that fast, but you think gravity must be doing the lions share of work. The actual rose is huge, far bigger than the bud would've suggested, and heavy enough to finally break the little pot it had been growing in.

Simon is faster than you, grabbing the flower as it's weight causes it to tumble off the windowsill. You tense, your breath caught as you wait for him to do anything, move any muscle.

"What? What is it?" You whisper after too long a moment without a breath.

"I don't-" He mumbles, catching the end of his sentence behind his teeth so he can curse, "Shit."

You peak over his shoulder, hoping you won't see your weird plant smashed to bits. Instead you stare down at a baby. The smallest thing you've ever seen cradled gently in Simon's arms, blinking big brown eyes and white lashes up at both of you. Your heart swells.

"Holy shit," you breath, watching it yawn and wiggle in its rose petal wrap. It's perfect little nose scrunches with the motion and you need a second to adjust to how cute that is. "Did we do that?" You press closer against Simon's back, and reach to stroke your fingers over the downy hair on the baby's head, "I mean she's got your eyes, it's gotta be-"

"I don't know," Simon mumbles.

"Well what are we supposed to-"

"I don't know!" He snaps, and you finally look at him. At the absolutely confusion and concern dripping from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. You've never seen him cry before, well not like this at least.

"Give her to me," You tell him, sitting back and holding your arms out, he looks unsure. "Please Simon," you soften the ask, pulling a tether so he knows you're sure. He's so careful, if a little clumsy. You have to adjust his hold as he's passing the infant to you and it seems like he's watching the way you shift her in your arms for his own reference later. You hold the baby close against your chest, feeling that strange comfortable purr rise in your throat as she blinks her big eyes closed.

"What the fuck do we do?" Simon whisper yells at you.

"Call Soap right the fuck now and text Lieb that I'm gonna fucking kill her," you coo at the dozing baby in your arms. Simon nod and scrambles to find both your phones.

#fae!Ghost #oc: love #this is fluff for them since they didnt get to experience changelings #idk do we wanna give the disaster couple a baby?#i feel like Love would be the mom from mean girls? like 'if youre gonna drink id rather you do it in the house'#the cool mom that everyone thinks is insane #she is kinda insane tho #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost #ghost mwii #cod x reader #x reader #Ghost crying because he doesnt know what to do in the most extreme way anyone has ever not known what to do #i do think hed cry over his and Love's kid though #and i think those could potentially be tears of joy at having a baby with Love even if neither of them know how it happened

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rutilation · 5 months

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youtube

This opening is replete with symbolism.

Flower language has been a recent fascination of mine.

Do you want to make my new hyperfixation your problem? If so, then let's take a deep dive into the first opening before the new one airs tomorrow.

Before I start, here are a couple of things to keep in mind.

While the use of flower language in this show mostly lines up with Japanese hanakotoba, there are still a number of flowers here that hold particular significance within Chinese culture, and thus have additional meanings that don't line up with those from Japan. I’ll be mentioning them alongside the Japanese meanings where I deem it relevant.

The following will contain light spoilers of content from the novels/manga which has not been animated at the time of writing. I'll try to be vague and sparing with it, but there are a few flowers I can't discuss without them.

Past the title card, the opening begins with eight blooming flowers dancing through the frame in rapid succession. These represent the storylines covered by the first cour of the anime in order of appearance, and each can be found in the episode(s) they signify. From the top:

Rhododendron: This plant is all over the first two episodes, so I'm going to cover its appearances before delving into its meaning. In episode one, there are two shots of the buds of this plant, one as Lihua gives birth, and then again as the doctor examines her baby. They're finally shown in full bloom as one of her ladies disregards the branch Maomao used to warn of the toxic makeup. In the following episode, Gyokuyou has seemingly taken a liking to the flower that saved her daughter's life, and a few clusters can be seen in a vase during several shots before Maomao uses them as an example of a seemingly innocuous plant that could cause accidental poisoning, and indeed, if you look closely at the background during the scene with the soldiers, you can see what appear to be rhododendron shrubs. There are actually quite a few different possible meanings for the many granular varieties of Rhododendrons/azaleas. Luckily, the characters said the name of the plant out loud for me: shakunage. So, this is Rhododendron subg. Hymenanthes. In hanakotoba it means dignity and majesty, but also, on account of its poison, danger and caution. Those last two meanings clearly line up with its ominous usage in these first episodes, growing and maturing as the babies grew sicker. But in addition to their function as a warning of danger, I think there's a case to be made that they also represent Gyokuyou herself. As I stated earlier, she starts keeping them after the first episode, and Hongniang later starts growing the closely-related azaleas in the jade pavilion as well. As for how its meanings apply to her, Gyokuyou is regal, magnanimous, and never loses her composure (unless it's at Jinshi's expense lol,) but she's also described by Gaoshun as shrewd and cautious, being unwilling to hire any lady she doesn't absolutely trust, and constantly gleaning information to send back to her family. These all fit with the dual meanings of rhododendron. In Chinese culture, rhododendrons and azaleas represent womanhood and passion, as well as home and a desire for homecoming.

Cotton rose: A type of hibiscus, this represents Fuyou, decorating both her person and her chambers in episode 3. It means 'delicate beauty' and 'graceful lover.' I think these are referring to both her skill in dancing, as well as her affectation of frailty and neuroticism. As far as I could dig up, its unique tendency to change color based on the time of day doesn't have particular bearing on its meaning in either Chinese or Japanese culture, but the story itself uses it as a metaphor for Fuyou hiding her passion, will, and cunning behind a wallflower exterior.

Balloon flower: In hanakotoba, it represents undying love, sincerity, and grace. These grow in the crystal pavilion, adorn the iconography of Lihua's furniture, and likely inform her blue and violet color scheme. Its last two descriptors gesture towards Lihua's style and personality. She's elegant and staid, but she also takes everything quite seriously, and wears her heart on her sleeve. As for the undying love element, I see that as alluding to her love for her son, her agony at his passing, and her hopes of reclaiming that love again through having another child.

Violet: This one actually tripped me up for the longest time. The flowers in the opening looked like hostas to me, but no matter how closely I looked at the backgrounds in this show, I couldn’t find anything along those lines. Eventually though, I caught on that these must be the violets from episode five, even if they’re a different color from those shown in the episode. And also droopier. Anyway, violets mean humility, sincerity, and ‘a little bit of happiness.’ In the episode proper, they are crushed underfoot as Maomao narrates about the lengths she had to go to keep herself safe while growing up in the red-light district, illustrating how even the modest aspirations of an ordinary peasant are in perpetual danger in such a cutthroat environment.

Chinese aster: Daisies and asters are my least favorite flowers to identify. They all look the same. As such, I’m a little less confident about this one, but I think it’s a Chinese aster. The leaves and buds look similar, and the context in which it appears in episode six suits its meaning. As Lishu’s ladies disparage her so-called pickiness, a shot of this flower opens the episode. While the Chinese aster’s meaning changes based on color, white in particular means ‘please believe me.’ I think that speaks for itself

Toad lily: This appears twice during episode eight, where Maomao gets drawn into the mystery of an attempted murder during her vacation. Toad lilies symbolize hidden thoughts and intentions, alluding both to the possible conspiracy on the part of the women of the brothel, and to the fact that Maomao will never really know the truth of the incident, having to content herself with speculation.

Sacred bamboo: This one is easy to miss, because while the plant is in full bloom in the opening, it’s laden with berries in the show proper. This is Nandina, a.k.a. the sacred bamboo, a mainstay of autumn and winter floral arrangements in both China and Japan. It’s considered auspicious, symbolizing a reversal of ill fortune into prosperity--the precise opposite of how it’s presented in episode nine of the show. There, Maomao fiddles with the plant as she contemplates all the instances she’s seen of good fortune being struck down by tragedy, and the prospect of that same sword of Damocles falling upon her head as well, a harbinger of eucatasrophe being used to symbolize straight catastrophe. Also worth noting is the fact that the plant is very poisonous, so much so that it has a reputation for killing any birds which try to eat its berries; I think that bit of trivia might be the inspiration behind the decision to ironically invert its lucky image. In addition to its central appearance in episode nine, it can also be seen in Lishu’s chambers in episode ten, mixed in among the vases of white camellias.

Japanese azalea: These mean passion and steadfastness, alluding, in my view, to Fengming’s devotion towards Ah-duo. Fun fact: did you know that honey made from toxic azaleas, termed ‘mad honey,’ is sometimes manufactured on purpose? It’s not super legal in most of the world, but apparently it can be used as a psychedelic.

After this, we see a panning shot of seven flowers, with the top four representing the high-ranking concubines, and the bottom three representing the high-ranking courtesans. While the first set of flowers grew from buds and flew across the screen, this set consists of still images. If I were to hazard a guess as to why, I'd say that it's because those previous flowers were conveying the movement of emergent stories, while these upcoming flowers portray the relatively static personality traits of individual characters. I'm going to tackle these in reverse order, as the first three flowers to appear are somewhat tricky to talk about.

Peony: This flower represents Gyokuyou, and in addition to appearing in her non-diegetic floral backgrounds, it also decorates the tapestries of the jade pavilion. In Chinese culture, peonies are one of, if not the most, important flowers. They represent feminine beauty, pride, honor, renown, wealth, prosperity, high-status, opulence, and a nobility of spirit. They are considered to be the king of flowers, and were historically only permitted to be grown by nobility. All of these superlatives are likely alluding towards Gyokuyou's status as the emperor's favorite consort, with the best shot at becoming empress.

Balloon flower: See above.

Lily-of-the-valley: This means purity, chastity, humility, and 'happiness will come again.' While the first three all seem to fit Lishu on their face, I find myself curious about the fourth meaning. I'm only partway through the third novel, but if this indicates that, at some point in the future, Lishu finally catches a break, then I'll certainly be happy to see it.

Dendrobium: In China, orchids in general are associated with elegance, refinement, and good taste, which fits with Maomao's description of the garnet pavilion as being beautiful in a minimalist sort of way. They also represent the virtues of an ideal gentleman-scholar: integrity, humility, temperance, and nobility. Furthermore, they are considered emblematic of spring; it, along with bamboo, chrysanthemum, and plum blossom, represent the four seasons. Returning to Japanese symbolism, the flower associated with Ah-duo seems to specifically be Dendrobium nobile. Nobile in particular means 'honest and to-the-point' in hanakotoba, likely alluding to Ah-duo's candid personality, and the fact that she is on casual terms with the emperor.

Regarding the final three flowers, the show itself doesn't explicitly tie any one of them to a particular courtesan--their flowers only appear as a group in episode twelve. But, by contemplating their meanings, and with some help from the characters' wiki pages, we can make some educated guesses.

Yulan Magnolia: This one, I'm guessing, represents Joka. On one hand, I'm kind of dumping her with this because the other two flowers just seem to fit the other two courtesans better, but its attributes nonetheless seem to accord what we know of her character--which admittedly isn't very much. In hanakotoba the yulan magnolia means nobility, sublimity and a love of nature. In China, its pretty similar: purity, nobility, dignity. It's also worth noting that they're commonly planted around Buddhist temples in China, and have been for many centuries, granting them an air of spiritual profundity. Joka is said to be aloof and cold, which is part of her appeal as a courtesan. While chrysanthemums and plum blossoms have a warmer aspect to their meanings, the loftiness of magnolia hews more closely to her characterization. Then there's the matter of her name, which is apparently a stage name. It translates to 'Lady Ka' (or 'Hua,' if you want to go with the Mandarin pronunciation.) Now, the 'ka' in her name is written as 華, and in the story, that character is only permitted to be used by the emperor and his family. So, for her to use it, even as a stage name, is a pretty bold pretense to nobility.

Chrysanthemum: In Japan, chrysanthemums are associated with nobility and the imperial family. In China, they are associated with longevity, endurance, and vitality, on account of their long-lasting blooms that persist late into autumn. I think this is most likely to be Pairin's flower. She's one of the few courtesans who's in her line of work because she wants to be, and is flourishing in an environment where others are desperate and debt-ridden. That covers 'vitality,' and Lihaku can attest to her endurance, if you know what I mean... Moving on, its mentioned in the novels that she's actually in her thirties, but still looks quite young, again harkening to the chrysanthemum's persistence.

As far as symbolism is concerned, chrysanthemums do seem to fit her character better than magnolias. But, something that gives me pause is her name, which means 'white bell,' on account of yulan magnolias being white and having a bell-like shape. I still think it's most likely that the chrysanthemum, and not the magnolia, belongs to her, but it was too notable a coincidence to not at least mention.

Plum Blossom: We can safely assume this one refers to Meimei, as her name is written with the character for plum. As plum trees are among the earliest to bloom each year, and will even bloom while snow still covers their branches, both China and Japan associate them with resilience, hope, inner-strength, and renewal. We don't know much about Meimei either, but my impression of her is that she seems to be the nicest and most even-keeled of Maomao's sisters.

Following this parade of showy flowers, we finally glimpse the emblem of our protagonist, Oxalis corniculata, the creeping wood sorrel, downcast and huddled amidst the underbrush of a forest. Whereas the other flowers we've seen thus far are primarily ornamental (even if some are also edible/medicinal,) wood sorrel is herbaceous and weedy, and is unlikely to grace any vases, wreaths, or arrangements. If it were spotted in a noble's garden, it would likely be uprooted, but to the peasant who finds it growing in a ditch, it's a tasty snack.

In hanakotoba, wood sorrel means joy, 'shining heart,' and 'a mother's love.' All three descriptors, I believe, are relevant to Maomao's character. Despite her flat affect, Maomao has a strong passion and sense of joie de vivre driving her through life. Those further along in either the novels or the manga will recognize 'a mother's love' as (somewhat ironically) gesturing towards her complicated relationship with her mother. As for 'shining heart,' I think that will become apparent as we go further through the opening.

But, before we do that, I'd like to take a moment to examine the moments when wood sorrel appears in the show itself. Thus far, by my recollection, it has appeared in episodes one, three, and twelve. The opening shot of the first episode is of a wood sorrel, informing the viewer in no uncertain terms that this is Maomao's flower, (in case the opening was too subtle.) In the third episode, several wood sorrels dot the field where Fuyou sits with her lover, symbolizing how Maomao has aided and protected them. In episode twelve, a single wood sorrel is tucked inside a lavish bouquet of her sister's flowers, a visual gag paralleling them fussing and fawning over her.

Returning to the opening, Maomao is shown contemplating a subtle glow in her closed hands while a reflected, sunlit version of herself glances back at her. Then, as all the previous flowers fall away, as Maomao casts the light up into the air, its glow illuminating her face, the wood sorrel finally stands upright, and blooms in full.

Now is a good time to mention a relevant characteristic of creeping wood sorrel: it only blooms in direct sunlight. When crowded by other plants, it curls in on itself, closing both its flower and leaves. This serves as a clear metaphor for Maomao's personality; under most circumstances, she seeks to be invisible and unobtrusive, but when she's in her element, she commands attention and respect.

Following this, we have her magical girl-esque transformation sequence, with her outstretched hands forming the shape of a blooming flower as she dances through a whirl of yellow wood sorrel petals. She then bows down in imitation of the flower, taking the light back into her chest (there's that shining heart I mentioned earlier,) as she dissolves into the stoic, unassuming version of herself once more, closing out the opening. (Jinshi who?)

I'd like to end this analysis with an observation. While the real wood sorrel exists at the perpetual mercy of outside forces, Maomao is not merely reacting to a light source that exists beyond her control. The light exists within her, and she chooses when it will shine down for all to see, and when she will hide it away in the depths of her heart. To those who've gotten this far, thank you so much for reading.

#the apothecary diaries #i like being mean to a certain someone #but i will note that i'm familiar with the interpretation that the lyrics of the op are written from his perspective #and i would agree that that reading has merit

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stressedbisexualtm · 10 months

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[< - LOTS OF WORDS - >]

trafficblr, hear me out on this:

We've all seen the idea that the life series are seasons, right? I normally see it like this: third life - winter, last life - spring, double life - summer, limited life - fall/autumn. But I think of it more like this: third life - fall, last life - winter, double life - spring, limited life - summer. Listen:

I think it would be more interesting (and true to the series) if third life was fall. The main reason people say third life is winter is of course because of the "RED WINTER IS COMING!" line, but the truth is, red winter was on its way. Red winter was coming, but first comes fall. People are more tight-knit in third life, always staying true to their real, solid, established alliance, and we see this all the way until the end of the series. It reminds me of fall, but I can't explain how. I feel like the visuals of the season match up, with the lighter greens and browns that cover most of the server, the stone of the Crastle and Dogwarts, and the tans and yellows of the desert. People are getting nervous, scared, and towards the end, more bloodthirsty than before. As the final battle of dogwarts begins, you can see the first snows of a very, very painful winter. Grian, being the winner, shares some of these traits. He's quick to judge and slow to make allies, unsure of who might betray who next. He does keep his closest ally with him until the very end, where they decide theyre going to win together no matter what. Grian, at the end, is tired of the nervousness and painful loyalty that comes with autumn. He is ready for winter to begin.

And so we move on to last life. Here, at last, is our red winter. Death is rampant and vicious here, our first red name appearing in only episode 2. Everyone is cold this season- when you're red, you're out. There are no true alliances or friends, though people tend to fall into patterns when they need to. The reds are much more bloodthirsty this season, being unable to contain themselves around anyone else (though we see our one or two exceptions). So by the time the canary falls, this season's fate is sealed in a bloodbath. No one who has made it this far is arguing that winter this year is red. This season was much more muted visually, the world being covered in dark greens, browns, and greys, as well as the snow covering a decent portion of the map (again, playing into the winter theme). Scott started the series warm, and while he never did get that bitter edge winter has, he was certainly ready to grow outward again into spring.

Double life. A brand new season, full of hope and expectancy, though that fades as time goes on (like things that only bloom in spring). It's new, it's exciting, and for some, it's full of love (as spring is typically seen). Things get intense, but there's always this air of excited mystery. Everyone has played at least one game before, so they know what to expect. Or they think they do, because at every turn there is something new. Secret soulmates? Why not! Leaving your soulmate and choosing someone else? Wonderful! FISHING A WARDEN TO DEATH?! Well, anything for the content.... Pearl, to me, also fits her season. She starts out excited to meet her soulmate, albeit a bit nervous, but she's turned away almost immediately. And, well, who could blame her if she cried? (After all, 'april showers bring may flowers', or whatever it was) She picks herself back up (a plant budding after its flower falls off) and makes it alone. She makes it to summer. And if, in the end, she learned how to plant her seeds, who was going to stop her?

And, well, limited life. Alliances, while having establishing members, are flimsy and easily remade. Everyone is wild, and spontaneous, and most people aren't really gunning to win anymore. There are go-getters, and nobody likes losing (they'd like winning even less..), but no one is playing as seriously as they were before. Everyone has played at least 2 games by now, most have played 3, and this time around dying doesn't even cost you a whole life! It only costs you 30 minutes, which out of 24 hours? Basically nothing until you hit red. Alliances shift with the wind, and not everyone is quite playing by the rules. In the end, Martyn wins. Martyn is... a wild card. He could be like summer, if he wanted to. He could be like spring, or fall, or winter. He's a traveler, a shifter, a knight, anything he needs to be. And if that doesn't go with the fluidity and changeability of this season, then I don't know who else could have won.

#is this anything #honestly i didnt really compare them to the seasons AT ALL but I hope the message was received #trafficblr #3rd life #last life #double life #limited life #life series winners #grian #scott smajor #pearlescentmoon #martyn inthelittlewood #generic talking tag

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why-am-i-here-someone-save-me · 7 months

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Holy shit Luci wrote something for the first time in *checks history* JANUARY FIRST JESUS CHRIST-

um anywayssss. Have some Signora content because we stan a girlboss in this household-

TW: Signora is dead, technically SAGAU, Reader is implied to be a deity/supernatural entity, character death, flower symbolism, platonic relationship between characters

Flowers & Fated Reunions

The woman knew she had died. That much she was certain of. In a way, she supposes it wasn’t too painful of an end. It was certainly less painful than many of the deaths she had been responsible for carrying out through her life. The electro energy had killed her before the sting of the blade could reach her. But if she was dead, then where was she? The place she found herself in seemed to stretch on forever in all directions. What might have been a sky was nothing more than a featureless white void, contrasting boldly with the scenery that surrounded her. For as far as she could see there were beautiful purple flowers blooming and swaying in an unseen breeze. They were gorgeous, but unfamiliar. She had amassed no small amount of knowledge over her long lifetime, and yet she could not begin to recognize this strange flowers.

“Lovely aren’t they?”

She whirled around, her eyes locking onto the form of the one who’d spoken, the guarded light in her eyes fading slightly as she recognized them. A million questions filled her head, and yet the words that escaped her lips were not one of them. “What are they?”

The familiar (e/c) eyes broke away from the field of flowers and met Rosalyne’s, filled with a warmth she had not felt in a very long time. “They are purple hyacinths. They are considered a symbol of a love ill-fated…” The creator’s eyes returned to the vast landscape of violet petals once again. After a brief moment of silence, they spoke once again, softer this time. “Such a flower seems to represent your story all too well, doesn’t it?”

Before Rosalyne could answer they knelt down and cupped one of the many blooms in their hand, a bitter smile on their face. “…I’ve never really liked them. To love so deeply, only to lose it… Isn’t it just too cruel? Perhaps some believe it better to have loved and lost it than to have never loved at all. But I have never been able to share such sentiments.”

The flower seemed to start to wither in the hold of the creator, as if it knew it was unwanted, the countless other plants that grew around them beginning to do the same. In mere moments the endless field was nothing more than a barren stretch of earth, the purple flowers having left no trace of themselves behind. The creator stood and turned to the woman, eyes full of light and a small smile on their lips.

“Perhaps they ‘La Signora’ yes, but you are more than that alone. You never overcame the loss of your loved one, but neither did you ever give up on that love. Not once did your affections falter, not once did you hesitate to follow through with that which you believed would return him to you. You loved, you lost, and thought it is a part of you; you are far more than that alone; you are Rosalyne.”

The creator knelt down once more, motioning for the other woman to do so as well. They reached out and laid their hand upon the soil, a faint warmth filling the area before, quite suddenly, sprouts began to emerge from the empty earth. Sprouts quickly became stems, growing taller as buds began to form. Before long the new buds bloomed, small rounded flowers hanging down from the stem which bent to the side under their weight. The petals were a soft white, and although she was not sure why, a sense of longing that she had carried for so long she’d forgotten it was even there lifted from her heart. Hesitantly she reached out and brushed her fingertips against the blossoms, the softness of the petals calming the racing questions that filled her mind. These flowers were also unfamiliar to her, yet they brought a sense of peace to her that she could not help but relish in.

“…They are known as the Lily of the Valley. While purple hyacinths might represent La Signora, they are not destined for you Rosalyne. The Lily of the Valley stands for a returning happiness, the reunion of love that was once lost. They stand for the next chapter in your story.”

The flowers began to sway more fervently as the once gentle breeze grew stronger, the sound of the creator’s gentle laughter dancing within the wild winds.

“You’ve kept him waiting long enough, don’t you think? The two of you belong together after all, so there’s little point in lingering here.”

Rosalyne felt the field begin to grow distant, as though she were seeing it through a foggy mirror. The creator embraced her as the surroundings steadily faded away.

“It’s okay Rosalyne. You can take off your mask now. It’s okay.”

The rest of the world faded away into a soft white light, before she felt herself drift off into a dreamlike sleep.

———

(E/c) eyes slowly opened and adjusted to the light, a yawn escaping from their form as the sat up. A bittersweet smile formed on their lips as they caught sight of a familiar white flower in the corner of their eye. Turning towards it they sighed softly. They hadn’t been able to save Rosalyne, but at least they had done what they could to help her find peace.

A/N: It’s ya gurl Luci back writing apparently! Is this an official return to writing fanfiction, or is it a one time thing? Hell if I know! I guess only the future will tell. Regardless, we stan Rosalyne reuniting with her bby in this blog! @dunno-why-im-here-either yuyu i wrote a thingy again how much worse did my writing get after my hiatus I need to know plz-

#luci writes #guess I’m writing again now #actually I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone left bc I’ve been omega dead #genshin impact x reader #sagau #la signora #genshin signora #genshin sagau #sagau x reader #platonic #la signora x reader #signora x reader #genshin impact #Genshin x reader #sagau signora

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m1d-45 · 1 year

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GASP I had another idea. What if, since Xiao now knows who the real Creator is, he prays the them and not the faker on the throne? And when he next visits the creator as a bird, they are excitedly showing him a new bit of power they suddenly got, not knowing that it was his own faith that restored a bit of their glory??? -sibling anon, who is just vibing with this idea like it's a rubix cube

combined this ask w your other one, and sorry this is kinda late/reads weird. been busy and i am tired 👍

word count: 723

xiao knows the one on the throne isn’t his god, and his curiosity about you has turned into conviction.

you’re his creator. you have to be.

you’re soft where they’re harsh, you gently pet his feathers where they snap out orders. he knows he’s only one against many, he knows he doesn’t stand a chance and giving you the worship and praise you deserve, but… he tries.

he’s forfeited all but basic politeness to the fraud, limiting his interactions with them and instead spending his time with you. he spends more time in his bird form than human, at this point, curled into your side as you wander liyue. he takes patrols where you are to keep the others away from you, always ‘just missing’ wherever you are. sometimes he brings you things in return for your eternal kindness, hiding things as a human to lead you to them as a bird.

your bird. your little songbird, perched on your finger as you flip over the coin of mora he brought you with a smile. perhaps he should be ashamed, that an adeptus such as him is reduced to eating from another’s palm, but he’s not. not when it’s you. not when he finds your image the one in his mind when he’s in danger, not when he finds himself defending liyue in your name, not when he makes offerings to you instead of the fraud.

your little bird, your xiao. he knows he can’t do enough on his own, he knows that his small acts of protection aren’t nearly what you deserve, but…

as he flies across liyue, a coin of mora clutched in his claws, he hopes that it will help you in places he can’t.

he lets out a call when he spots you walking between the trees, tucking into a dive. you turn, the same smile on your face as every time that you see him, and he lands in your hand, the coolness of the coin contrasting with the warmth from your hand.

“little friend! welcome back, pretty bird.”

he chirps back at you, settling in the curve of your hand as you pick up the coin he brought you. however, instead of telling him about your day, or continuing on your walk, you reached for the branch of a nearby berry bush—thankfully, one that was edible, though you didn’t go for the fully grown ones instead, you pulled off a small part of a branch with a flowering bud on it.

“look, i learned how to do something new today!”

he chirped, moving closer to your wrist to watch your actions. you held the branch between two of your fingers and carefully brushed over the flower, something green sparking under the pad of your thumb. as he watched, the small bud bloomed, a bright red berry sprouting at impossible speeds.

something like a yelp left him in surprise, his wings puffing up as he tried to make sense of it, and your attention quickly shifted from the branch.

you moved him up and cooed nothing at him, unaware of how far xiao’s mind was from the situation.

you had made the plant bloom. dendro had answered your call, when he knew for certain that nothing had bent to your will when he’d first found you.

he knew being near you was calming—it was why you were constantly surrounded by birds and butterflies, it was how he was clued in to your divinity, at first. the way his karma seemed to settle and fade- even now, his shock washing away under your touch over his wings.

something featherlight pressed to the top of his head and he blinked himself from his thoughts, looking up to see you pulling away.

you don’t say a word, carefully plucking the berry from its stem with one hand. in your other, xiao is frozen again, this time for an entirely different reason. his forehead is alight, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, the problem of your blossoming godhood pushed aside and buried.

you put the fresh berry in your other hand, in front of xiao, and he dipped his head to nip at it.

blessed is he who partakes in the divine.

#m1d : [chats]#m1d : [secrets]#sibling anon #bird!xiao shenanigans #the line on my ‘non-writing related asks’ tag is REALLY BLURRING #also yeah um. it’s big delay between posts time again 👍#been busy been tired used all my brain juice in dms and these bird xiao snippets #wait. dms. shit.

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velidewrites · 6 months

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Don’t Look Back

Five hundred years ago, the humans fought hard for their freedom in the Great War and won. Now, their former masters seek retribution in a rebellion that grows stronger year by year. When Elain Archeron finds out marrying Greysen Nolan might be the only solution to keep her family safe from the ancient, cruel Fae, she doesn't hesitate to fulfil her duty. What Elain doesn't know, though, is that the man with the fiery hair and russet eyes is not her fiancé, but his killer—and when she finally finds out, well…it will be far too late to turn back.

Rating: Explicit

Notes: Happy Holidays @rainbowdolphinrealm! I absolutely loved being your Secret Santa for the @acotargiftexchange and getting to know you over the past few weeks! My little elf has told me there may be some Azris angst in the background, and a surprise Azris treat is also sleighing your way soon 👀

Read on AO3 or continue for Chapter 1 below!

*Please note that for reasons beyond my control (insanity) I have given this fic way too much lore. Here is a map I've drawn!

Chapter 1: The Visitor

Elain had never thought she would be dreading the spring. It was the season her gardens bloomed, the season that melted the lakes around the manor to reflect the fluffy clouds dotting the sky above. The flowers she’d planted over the harvest would sprout to life, their sleepy buds erupting into colours Elain would dream of all winter. Two years ago, her father had gifted her the most extraordinary tulips for her birthday, the intricate paintings over the pack of seeds promising shades of violet she’d never seen in New Prythian. He’d brought them right from the fields of the Montesere province far on the Continent with a vow to bring her along on his travels next year—so that she could see their beauty for herself.

Her mother died the spring after.

Father had gone anyway, but Elain—Elain stayed. She had lost all desire to travel, anyway, especially when the circumstances of the death had hardly been expected. The Continent had assured them the Fae rebellion was not a threat to be taken seriously, and that the Governor had everything under control. Out of the eight human clans looking after their world, Lord Nolan had perhaps been the only one Elain would put her trust in. If he claimed the scattered remains of the faeries of old were entirely harmless, then it must have been the truth.

Until a small group of them had broken into the Merchant’s manor and killed his wife in her sleep, with magic so corrupted and vile that not even a speck of blood had left a stain on her sheets. One moment, she was deep in a peaceful slumber, and the next, she was simply…gone.

Everything had happened very quickly after that. Orders had come in from wherever Father had sailed off to, and the manor had been fortified with ash-dipped iron from Vallahan—made by the Forge himself—and spells Father had acquired from his trades with the North. All entirely legal and ratified by the Governor—according to Father, at least. Elain knew better than to ever question the Merchant.

The manor, though fortified to the teeth, had not been enough to keep Elain or either of her sisters safe. The very last order came in with the Merchant himself, a rare smile on their father’s deep-creased face as he announced it to his daughters. Elain had never seen Nesta so horrified as her older sister had been in that moment—pale as the moon, whiter than the sheets their mother had died in. For Nesta Archeron, the eldest daughter of the feared Merchant of New Prythian, was to marry.

Somewhere along his usual search for old faerie artifacts, abandoned over the centuries after the Great War, Father had found his way into an alliance that would secure his territory’s position on the island. With Nesta’s marriage, there would be no Fae slipping past his borders, no other clan opposing him—no human ruler to ever deny him whatever faerie secrets they’d been holding in their keep. It was an alliance that rattled the seas all the way to the Governor’s seat in Rask—perhaps even crooked the crown on his greying head an inch.

Nesta, after all, had been promised to none other than Tomas Mandray. To the son of the Harvester.

Every human territory had a role to play in the new world order—after the Great War, order seemed to be exactly what the humans needed. Their freedom, won by bloodshed and sacrifice, broke them free as slaves of the Fae. Elain still dreamed of the horrid images her governess’s books taught her—of humans in chains, gleaming with white-hot magic, burning spells into their skin that made any chance of escape nearly impossible. Had it not been for the courage of the six ruling queens, all hope would have been lost. Five hundred years later, it would have been Elain in those chains, her sisters, her Father, even the all-powerful Governor. Even the Harvester.

His territory—the dark, somber island of Hybern—was one Elain would never so much as think of travelling to. Pretending the work the Harvester did there did not exist made everyone’s lives a lot easier. While the Merchant dealt with old Fae artifacts and traded them across borders, the Harvester’s work involved a lot more of getting one’s hands dirty. Enchanted faerie objects, after all, were not the only things believed to have valuable properties. High Fae hearts, for example, promised a long life, untainted by illness.

And the Harvester…well, the Harvester delivered them. Amongst many others.

The marriage had taken place shortly after the summer, and neither Elain nor her father had been invited to witness the nuptials. She had simply watched the ship sail off West as she lost yet another sister.

She would not think about that right now—not when spring had finally arrived again. Soon, her tulips would bloom again, flecks of pinks and violets shining softly under the young, shy rays of sunlight. Elain would not be there to witness it—right after Nesta’s marriage, Father had left for the Continent again, and this time, Elain expected the order.

She was to be married next.

My dearest Elain,

It is with a full heart that I bring you the joyous news of our latest triumph. I have successfully docked in Saetre, and the Governor has received me warmly—as expected. As I’m sure you have already guessed, he was most pleased with the offerings I have bestowed him. You’ve seen them yourself—the old Illyrian dagger seems to be his favourite as of right now, though I have not yet even shown him the rest of the treasure I have acquired from the Wildlands. I can already imagine his eyes light up as I hand him the pair of wings your sister had sent in from Hybern. I shall convince him to display it right above his throne, I think—a testament to Nesta’s success.

Our deliberations commenced shortly after dinner—a roast turkey and the most exquisite stew, if you’re interested. I have already sent a footman along with a separate letter containing the recipe—so that you may have the maid try it out in the weeks before my return. Winters in Rask are quite unforgivable, and I must admit a hearty meal like this was exactly what I needed. Rask rears its own livestock, you know—an impressive one, too, if I do say so myself. To not be dependent on Braemar for your dinner plans—imagine that! I am growing quite tired of the Huntsman raising his prices every harvest. Ridiculous.

Anyway, I digress. Rask has consumed my attention entirely, as I’m sure you can tell. I am confident you would enjoy it here, too. Winters are rough, yes—but I remember how much you’ve always wanted to visit the provinces in the West. Just imagine your beloved tulip fields, illuminated by golden sunlight—imagine being able to see them at your whim. What a life that would be, would it not?

My sweet Elain, I am writing to tell you that it could be. You know how dear our family has always been to me—but you, my beautiful daughter, have always been closest to my ageing heart. It is precisely why I had devoted all my efforts, all my resources, into this agreement. Elain, it is one for the pages of history. A union like no other.

You see, the Governor—Lord Nolan, our very ruler himself—was so impressed with your dowry, and concerned with the fate of our family in the past year—that he had offered his son, nay, his heir, as a candidate worthy of your hand. Your hand in marriage, Elain.

Indeed, the past year has brought our family hardship unlike ever before. I do mourn your mother still, and the loss of our young Feyre continues to be a fresh wound in my heart. It is only fair we honour them, would you not agree? Your sister, your brave, headstrong sister, has already taken that first step—and look how happy she is with the Harvester’s son. She holds power like no other human in our family ever had—right now, she is perhaps the most powerful woman in Prythian. Perhaps even more than the Siren herself. Elain, with your beauty, your grace, your heart—you could outshine them both.

I am sure you were too young to remember meeting Greysen Nolan—you were only five, after all, and he only twelve—but he has grown into a fine young man, and as heir to the Governor, he is the most eligible bachelor our world has to offer. A fine marriage like this would give us the protection we need—New Prythian would never have to deal with faerie filth again. Our people would be safe, Elain—and all because of you. My beautiful Princess.

I do hope this news brings some comfort to your healing heart. Lord Nolan has bestowed his son with a title prior to your official engagement. The Visitor, as your fiancé is now called, has taken on the role of supervising all clans and their work—of ensuring their role in our world guarantees our continued survival amid the growing rebellions in Old Prythian and Vallahan. Elain, as wife to the Visitor, your dream will finally come true—you shall accompany him on all his travels, see the world as you’ve always wished! It brings me joy to know I have assured you that fate.

I am to remain in Rask until the snow melts. The Visitor and I shall set sail for home with the coming of spring, and we shall host a celebration in your honour. An engagement ball envied in the eyes of any other young lady in Prythian, New and Old!

I am told Greysen (is it too soon to address him as such, do you think? He is to be my son-in-law) enjoys roses the most. Perhaps you could show some thought and consideration and embroider a pattern on your ball gown? I trust that this letter gives you enough time in advance. You’ve always been so skilled at crafts and other projects of creative character.

Be safe, my sweet Elain. Better times are coming—and sooner than you think!

With love,

The Merchant

Elain discarded the letter on her nightstand, thinking she might puke if she so much as tried glancing upon it again. From the neat, elegant cursive to the tone of the very words, the message reeked of her Father—of the Merchant . There were so many things wrong with its contents that the anger she’d been stifling in the pit of her stomach for the past few weeks had bubbled all over again, threatening to burn its way up her throat. Elain had never been any good at art—that was Feyre, the Merchant’s other daughter the Fae had only taken a few months ago. Taken and never returned. She was likely dead, her body discarded somewhere in the Wildlands. And Father didn’t even care.

He didn’t care that it was him Elain had always wanted to travel with, not Greysen Nolan, not anyone else. He’d promised to bring her along, at least once. Now, it was too late. He would lose his final daughter—for the safety of New Prythian. Naturally.

A new wave of guilt crashed into her with a sudden force, killing the fire inside her with little effort. She didn’t want the marriage, that much was true—but, her father’s personal agenda or not, the Fae rebellion was as real as the Visitor, no doubt already sailing her way. The Fae, though very few in number thanks to the work of the human clans, still posed a very real threat—her mother and sister were the prime example of how dangerous those creatures were. Five hundred years ago, they’d nearly won the War—had nearly rid the world of all humans and enslaved whoever remained. Until the humans turned their own magic against them—and took their freedom back. They have continued to preserve it ever since.

The clans of Old Prythian had always been successful in dwindling the numbers of whoever remained—the Fae, in all their mighty immortality, could hold out for centuries, using their magic to roam the lands in secret. Three hundred years ago, most of them had been pushed far north to the Wildlands, old faerie territories Elain had read about in her studies. There was little information on the former Solar Courts and their rulers—other than that the most powerful of them had a history of cruelty that could make the Harvester himself flinch in horror. Some part of her was glad the territory had been reduced to rubble—that, at the very least, the humans’ ancient killers could no longer rely on their fortresses to lock them all up.

She had seen the Huntsman’s reports on recent rebel activity in Braemar, though. The faeries may have been few, yes, but those foolish enough to crawl out of the Wildlands caused problems that would usually send shivers down Elain’s spine. The Huntsman’s own daughter, stationed in the North under the Guardian’s protection, had been slaughtered no more than six years ago when their outpost was attacked. Father had told her stories of fresh, crimson blood, gleaming on the thick, white coat of snow.

For what had to have been the hundredth time in the past few weeks, Elain debated that perhaps, an alliance with the Governor’s son would not be such a terrible thing. She may not have known him—let alone harboured any affection for him—but their marriage would strengthen the clans. If she married Greysen, perhaps no one else’s daughters would be slaughtered, no one else’s mothers killed in their sleep or sisters hunted in the forests surrounding their own homes. Elain could protect them—in whatever way she could.

Either way, she had no choice.

***

The forest rippled with the sound of teeth tearing into flesh. Over the centuries, they had grown longer— sharper , which was just as well. He needed as much protection as he could get these days, especially with weapons so difficult to come by. The camp was already growing unsettled, and he could feel the tension weighing on the air whenever he returned. The past few winters had been difficult enough.

The coming of spring was a welcome change. Spring meant they could hunt—the new year brought on as many animals as it had opportunities. The prey in his arms, grasped by the claws he’d sunk deep into its skin, just so happened to be both.

And what an opportunity it was. They’d been wishing for it for decades—centuries, even, or perhaps even more. Like many others, he found himself losing count of the passing years. They all seemed the same—eat, sleep, move, hide. Kill had only recently started to disrupt his routine. Yet another change he welcomed.

He spat out the blood, nose wrinkling with distaste as if on instinct, and watched as the liquid settled into the mossy earth. The body fell to the ground a moment after, leaving a heavy thud in its wake, heavy enough that he could have sworn it echoed between the trees. He would get an earful for not being careful later. The thought made his eyes roll as he wiped his nails clean on his crumpled shirt.

He pulled it over his arms, then, letting the fabric float away with the gentle spring breeze, and took a deep, steadying breath. The small, golden rays of sunlight peering through the budding leaves warmed his bare chest, and he tilted his head up to the sky, soaking up the sensation until the quiet gurgle at his feet inevitably commanded the return of his attention.

He sighed, kicking away the arm resting on his boot. The body rolled to the side, baring the unpleasant face to his sight yet again. For what must have been the fourth time in the past two minutes, he felt himself grimace. Something so ugly should not have been this finely dressed.

This, however, was a problem he could easily take care of. Holding his breath to avoid the stench of his prey’s spilling guts, he kneeled to free it from the immaculate, navy-blue jacket, dark, charcoal trousers and boots before its blood managed to stain them. The formerly pristine shirt was unfortunately already lost to him, though he supposed his own would do just fine.

For a split second, he wondered if the body should be buried. It would take little effort on his part, and he knew it had been travelling with a party before trailing off the carriage path to piss. It would be best to not leave any evidence behind, lest any of the man’s companions decided to follow their master and look for relief in the forest as well.

He sighed again, a sound he feared was starting to become a signature of his lately. With a flick of his hand, the dirt rustled quietly, and the ground parted, swallowing the body entirely.

Good. This was good. He only wished he’d taken a good look at the man’s face before letting the worms dig into the body he’d so benevolently left open for them. He needed the memory unscathed for the spell, and right now, he could not for the life of him remember the colour of his prey’s eyes. Oh, well.

He got dressed quickly, finding the fabric a little too tight in the shoulders. Come to think of it, the trousers also seemed to be a tight fit, his thighs unusually restrained by the silken threads. He would have to walk more slowly, he supposed. Ripping his seams open in front of dozens of humans was hardly the surprise he’d spent the past two months carefully devising.

Rising to his full height, he closed his eyes then as though for concentration. The tingling on his skin was hardly pleasant, but he endured it all the same until the memory in his mind finally faded away. There was no stream nearby to look over his reflection, but he knew the glamour had worked, anyway. It always did.

To those who knew the man he’d just murdered, he would appear as Greysen Nolan—the newly titled Visitor, hell, the Governor’s own firstborn son. He couldn’t help but smirk.

It seemed that Daddy was in for one hell of a disappointment.

***

Elain could not breathe in her gown.

“Just a few more minutes, Princess,” the seamstress repeated, the sound muffled through the needle she’d clenched between her teeth.

The nickname did little to ease her nerves. The Princess was hardly her official title, but her father insisted the staff—that everyone in New Prythian called his one remaining daughter as such. She used to adore it as a little girl, though upon further reflection, she had no doubt she’d earned a few spoiled brat ’s in those years. Still, the name seemed to have stuck, and, as she always did, Elain felt her cheeks flush furiously in response.

“I’m not a princess, Lavinia,” she reminded the seamstress, trying her best not to make her tone sound too pointed.

The woman scoffed. “You might as well be, Lady Archeron. The Visitor is a titled man, and if that wasn’t enough, he is the Governor’s heir.” She adjusted the ribbons adorning Elain’s sleeve. “Our royalty may be long gone, but everyone knows the throne resides at Rask.”

Elain hummed. “There is a reason we are no longer ruled by six queens. To anoint a new monarchy would be to dishonour their sacrifice.”

The seamstress scrambled quickly, “Of course, Lady Archeron. I only meant—the Governor holds a lot of power in the realm.”

Elain sighed and looked into the mirror. “I suppose that much is true.”

“You don’t seem very excited,” Lavinia remarked, meeting Elain’s gaze in her reflection. “Surely the Visitor is an excellent match?”

“Certainly,” Elain nodded. But excellent was not someone Elain was looking for. She wasn’t looking for anyone, truthfully, and yet here she stood, watching Lavinia touch up her gown for the final time before her engagement ball was to commence. “This is good, I think. You’ve done a wonderful job—as always.”

The seamstress offered her a smile. “Try to be happy, Princess.”

“Of course,” Elain lied.

It was clear enough that Lavinia had left her alone, quietly excusing herself out of the room. Elain could hear her mutter instructions to the guards at her door—she was to be escorted downstairs, whenever she was ready. Apparently, guests had already begun pouring in, and the Visitor was to make his grand entrance shortly.

Elain hadn’t even seen Father yet. Wherever he was, he clearly would make his appearance once the public had gathered in full.

It was to be expected, but Elain felt her heart sink nonetheless. She could use a few words of encouragement right now. Usually, it had been Feyre offering them without Elain even having to ask. But Feyre was gone. Had been gone for a while.

And she wasn’t coming back.

Exhaling shakily, Elain looked into her own eyes in the mirror, ignoring the tear welling up in one corner, her expression stern.

“You’re doing this for them ,” she told herself. “For Feyre, and for Mother, and for Nesta, so that no one else has to suffer like they had.”

Her reflection nodded, the pearls in her ears sparkling with the movement. She breathed out again, one last time, and braced herself for the three quiet knocks on her door.

“It’s time, Princess,” the order sounded shortly after. Elain, of course, obeyed.

The gown was a pain to walk in. It was beautiful, to be sure—she hadn’t lied when she’d complimented Lavinia’s work—though that hardly made it a comfortable garment to wear. Elain appreciated the way the corset hugged her curves, or the way it perked up her breasts, but she also appreciated being able to take a breath without immediately choking on it. She had never squeezed into a dress so impossibly tight. The flowers—roses—crafted by the ruffles of tulle rested attached at her hips, the ribbons of her sleeves caressing them as Elain made her way down the hall. The gown spilled down her body in petals of ivory and a dusty pink, making Elain herself look like a blossoming rose, floating with every step.

She almost enjoyed the thought until she remembered Father’s letter once again—until she remembered Greysen Nolan’s favourite flowers were, in fact, roses, and the gown’s very design served to appeal to his tastes instead of her own.

Had it not been for the guard’s heavy boots sounding behind her, Elain would have entertained the idea of turning back. Would Father drag her downstairs himself? Would he lock her up in Greysen’s carriage and ship her off without second thought? Elain had never once thought her own engagement ceremony would ever feel like an execution. And yet, here she was, followed closely by the Merchant’s personal guard, dressed up like a doll for a man she didn’t even know.

The somber thought accompanied her down the marble steps spiralling down to the ballroom, consuming her so thoroughly she could hardly feel the countless stares watching her every more. Father must have invited more people than she’d thought—dignitaries from all over the island, perhaps even the Continent itself.

Perhaps her seamstress was right—perhaps Rask was the closest they could get to royalty, and Elain truly could not have found a more advantageous match. She also could not have married at all.

But then she met her father’s gaze, and the guilt hit her with a familiarity that nearly swayed her off the stairs.

His eyes—brown, exactly the shade of her own—were shining with pride so unabashed she could not help but smile in his direction. She was doing all of this for him, too was she not? For her family—so that they may never see misfortune again. Nesta had been strong enough to proceed with her own match. Why should Elain be any different? She could do this—otherwise, watching that pride dim from her father’s gaze might just be the thing that killed her.

Slowly, she made her way up the dais to meet his extended hand. Behind them, two high chairs she supposed had been made to resemble thrones sat waiting for the Lord and Lady to be. Elain’s heart quickened in the constraints of her corset.

“This is real, Elain,” Father murmured over her shoulder, as though he could hear how loudly her heart thumped in her chest. If he did, he’d grossly misinterpreted the reason behind it. “This is truly happening.”

Elain swallowed something thick in her throat, and forced another smile as she turned to face him at last. “I know, Father.”

The white of his teeth nearly outmatched the chandeliers above. “You look absolutely spectacular,” he complimented, his smile wider as he noted the tulle roses. “Are you ready to meet your husband?”

She supposed there was no turning back now.

Father nodded to the guards. “Invite the Visitor in.”

Every single head in the ballroom turned as two, white-gloved hands turned the golden, ornate knobs and swung the doors open.

Elain held her breath—then counted to three. Four. Five.

On seven, he entered.

She’d spotted his jacket first—a deep navy-blue adorned with fine, silken thread. Fitted, charcoal trousers and boots, echoing quietly off the marble floor as the Visitor finally stepped into the light.

Elain’s breath caught in her throat.

He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

His long hair was like molten fire, a stark contrast against the depth of his jacket. Shades of red, auburn and orange, falling down his back in waves as the firelight danced on his golden brown skin—almost like greeting an old friend. There was something raw about his beauty—he was hardly one of the perfect, polished aristocrats she’d danced with at other balls. No, there was a cruelty about him—as if he’d been crafted by the same flame that gleamed playfully atop the chandeliers warming her skin, melting every guard she’d ensured to build up, every reason she could think of that made him the worst fate the world had in store for her.

Elain could have sworn that fire sizzled in his russet eyes as he reached the dais—as he stopped before her and bowed at the waist.

When he looked up again, their gazes locked and held. “It is an honour to make your acquaintance, Lady Archeron,” he greeted, his voice smooth and deep. “My name is Greysen Nolan.”

#this looks like a cover of a reverse harem novel I PROMISE YOU IT IS NOT #there is a perfectly acceptable amount of smut in this fic #we're just going purely off vibes #and the map LOL #acotar gift exchange #elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien fic #elucien fanfiction #acotar #my writing

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infinitegalahad · 10 months

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AMERICAN PROMETHEUS AND HIS ATHENA - CHAPTER 2

Pairing: J. Robert Oppenheimer x Female Indentifying! Reader Summary: You and Robert fall into a routine of your Friday Physics meetings with the never skipped dinner after. But as the tension grows stronger, the meetings suddenly cease to be about Physics with a newfound realization; and sudden change Word Count: 3.4k Warnings: N/A Notes: GOD, HE LOOKS SO HOT THERE!!! Anyways! Not even twenty-four hours later. I know, I'm very unwell and couldn't help myself. Thank you so much for all the love and support so much! The next part should be coming out very soon. And let me say, it may or may not get spicy *insert evil cackling*. I am also working on a new and refined masterlist! It'll be linked here, along with a taglist if you are interested.

Masterlist | Taglist

The image of you and Robert formed, and your Friday afternoon meetings with him soon became a little routine between the two of you. However, this barrier created a bond and broke through the force of physics into something else.

You would always arrive ten minutes before, and Robert certainly noticed this. He enrolled you in watering his flowers outside, which you had no issue doing. Robert insisted on paying you ten dollars, which you felt guilty for taking. Every Friday, when you walk down Shasta Road, the flowers are more giant in bloom, full and radiant in their muted colors. Robert had even put a tiny vase of pomegranate flowers on his desk. In one of your meetings, he confessed that he didn’t know such a plant was growing in his garden. You told him now he had pomegranates to make with his meals. After each session, Robert gave you a pomegranate to go home with. Like him, they were hard to resist.

The first hour of your meeting would be about physics, but the length of an hour began to shorten down to thirty minutes, forty-five minutes sometimes. You could sense that Robert wanted to get out of Physics much as you on your late Friday afternoons together.

And then Robert would ask that same old question of wanting to stay for dinner. He’d preface it with the meal he was making, which was starting to fall into the pattern of recipes you recommended.

And without fail, you would always say yes, lacking hesitation.

In the first set of meetings, Robert would cook. He’d ask you to go into his living room to turn on one of the records. You’d ask what record, and he answered with any since he would like what you would put on. In the third week of meetings, Robert stopped directing you to his record player, as you soon could locate the record in the middle of his bookshelf.

Simeusolty putting on a Prokofiev’s Cinderella Record, Summer Fairy began to play low. The intricate and angular melodies to powerful and dramatic orchestration played as you ran your fingers across the bookshelf, observing the elective collection of books Robert had collected. Running your fingers against the thin pages, you looked down at his coach. Two pillows were propped up, and you could see his coffee table in the light. A copy of Sentimental Education rested beside the ashtray of many burnt-out cigarette buds. Robert was in the same chapter as you were.

Most of the time, you would get bored sitting at the island table as Robert smoked, cut, and cooked. All you would do is drink his Martinis, which you hated before but now loved. Without asking, you simply started to help Robert with the cooking. Robert never protested against this.

As the two of you cooked, your conversations ranged in topic and vulnerability.

Robert asked about your family life and hobbies. You told him you had family in New York City but spent a lot of time hiking in Europe or the Southeastern United States being outdoors. Your mother was much older than your father, but it was never an issue. You were the youngest of three much older siblings, two of whom were your step-siblings. You were into reading and art outside the classroom but absolutely loved the outdoors. Some things you didn't even share with Hatomi, you ended up sharing with Robert.

Robert also shared parts of his life; in each part, you two learned that you were somewhat similar, as Robert would say, “kindred souls” who have found each other. Robert was also from New York City, but like you, wanted to escape the East and came out West for a change and its natural beauty. He also enjoyed the outdoors, a found horseback rider. In his youth, he was an avid rock collector and even told you that when he applied for a club, they asked him to come to be a keynote speaker. It fits his character.

One night, as you cut vegetables and Robert sauteed the chicken, he blatantly asked if you have a boyfriend.

You turn to him, and instead of being flustered and embarrassed, you deadpan and say no, before asking if he has a wife.

“Had,” Robert corrected.

Robert had been married to a woman named Kitty, whom Robert said was similar, yet harsher than you. They had divorced three years back, and two had two children together who were three years apart, Peter and Toni. Kitty had moved out to Pittsburgh with their two children but would visit with them every month. Robert did not seem sad by the divorce, saying they still cared for each other but no longer loved one another.

The two of you remained silent until dinner was ready that night.

Your meetings further continued with no issue after that conversation.

It was like any other Friday night meeting. You closed your Physics notebook as Robert got up to prepare dinner, which would be chicken with pomegranate seeds, asparagus, and mashed potatoes which you taught him to cook. You got up and snuck beside Robert, taking pomegranate seeds and putting them in between your lips.

He looked over and smiled, shaking his head. He mumbled something under his breath in which you missed.

“Robert, you must stop asking if I will stay for dinner,” You casually teased, bringing another seed to your lips. You moved the bubbly and wet seed around your lips, adding a glossy red color to the center of your lips, “Especially when you know the answer.”

Your playful words hung in the air, accompanied by a faint smile that danced at the corners of your mouth. The atmosphere was light, and the tension between you and Robert was more of an enjoyable banter than anything serious. The act of painting your lips with the seed was oddly captivating, a unique blend of sensuality and playfulness that added to the moment.

On the other hand, Robert appeared slightly flustered but still managed a sheepish grin. "Well then, why do you always stay, y/n?”

You chuckled softly, savoring the gentle rhythm of your exchange. "Maybe it's your irresistible cooking that keeps me coming back, or perhaps it's the charm and wit of the company."

In mock astonishment, Robert feigned a dramatic sigh, his hand on his chest. "Ah, so you're saying it's not my dashing good looks that have you hooked?"

You playfully rolled your eyes, a mock expression of disbelief on your face. "Oh yes, Robert, your dashing good looks are definitely a bonus. But it's the entire package that keeps me intrigued."

The two of you shared a lighthearted laugh, the energy between you bubbling with a mix of familiarity and affection. Clearly, this banter was a delightful ritual you both enjoyed, a way to express your fondness for each other without saying it outright.

Robert leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "I might have to keep asking about dinner just to hear your flattering reasons."

You raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Well, if that's your plan, then I'll just have to keep giving you reasons, won't I?"

The playful challenge hung in the air, the unspoken understanding between you both weaving a tapestry of shared moments and shared jokes. As the evening continued, the seed on your lips became a symbol of this unique connection, a touch of color that spoke volumes about the newfound chemistry you shared with Robert.

After finishing dinner and cleanup, Robert invited you to his living space. From what you have seen in his house, the living room was by far the biggest. The room smelt like oakwood with its Mahogany shelves of aged books and artifacts from Europe. Prokofiev’s Cinderella plays slowly as Robert and you rest on the couch, only a few inches apart.

In a quiet moment that exudes an air of undeniable allure, Robert reaches into his pants pocket to fetch another box of cigarettes. His fingers move with a graceful confidence, effortlessly withdrawing a sleek pack of cigarettes. The soft glow of ambient light plays upon his lean features, enhancing the sharp angles of his jawline and the subtle smirk that graces his lips.

As he taps the pack against the palm of his hand, a sense of anticipation seems to envelop the surroundings. The action is as deliberate as it is captivating, every movement purposeful and measured. With a smooth and calculated gesture, he slides a cigarette from its sanctuary within the pack, drawing attention to the meticulous attention to detail that defines his every action.

Bringing the slender cylinder to his lips, his eyes remain fixed on the horizon, an enigmatic gaze that hints at depths of both experience and mystery. His fingers deftly produce a matchbox, which, when opened, reveals a single matchstick ready for ignition. The flame is brought to life with a flick of his thumb, illuminating his features momentarily and casting an enchanting glint in his eyes.

The first inhalation is a languid dance between his lips and the cigarette, an intimate connection that only accentuates his innate allure. A plume of smoke curls gracefully from his lips, an ethereal veil that frames his visage like a work of art. The atmosphere seems to pulse with his intoxicating energy as if drawn into the magnetic pull of this captivating moment.

As he exhales, the tendrils of smoke disperse into the air, a testament to his ability to command the space around him and the elements that entwine with his presence. The remaining smoke dances and swirls in the air, mimicking the invisible threads of attraction that weave between observer and observed.

You watch the smoke dance across the dark room in its dark and light hues. Robert sees you in admiration of the smoke (and him, but that’s a secret you keep to yourself) and pulls a stick out, holding it out in front of you. There’s no need to respond verbally; you let him put the cigarette between your lips.

Robert’s fingers, capable and elegant, hold the cigarette with a reverence that speaks of his attentiveness to the details that matter. The slender cylinder is presented not as a mere object but as a gesture of connection, a bridge between the worlds of conversation and quiet contemplation.

He raises the matchbox, its lid flipping open with a soft whisper of anticipation ember at the tip of the match glows with an ephemeral beauty, casting a warm radiance that highlights the contours of his hands and the contours of your cheek.

Drawing the match to the cigarette, the flame bends obediently to his command, transferring its life to the waiting tobacco. As the cigarette ignites, its end glowing with an ember-like intensity, Robert's eyes meet yours, a silent acknowledgment of the shared moment.

Robert brings the cigarette to your lips with a tender elegance, his fingers barely grazing your cheek in a caress that sets the heart aflutter. The touch is fleeting but leaves a lingering impression, a sensation of connection that transcends the physical realm. The smoke dances gracefully from the lit end, curling into the atmosphere like a wisp of shared conversation.

The gesture encapsulates more than a simple offering; it encapsulates his genuine nature and ability to infuse even the most ordinary moments with a touch of extraordinary intimacy. In this ephemeral exchange, the barley touch of Robert’s fingers against your cheek lingers like an echo, a reminder of the subtle and beautiful connections forged through the simplest gestures.

You fall back and take a drag into the cigarette, exhaling the smoke. It was your first time with a cigarette, so you inhaled too much smoke and coughed slightly.

Robert looks back at you, and like a sly predator watching its prey, he too leans back. You can feel the weight of the pillow sink back. Your mouth nearly drops the cigarette as you look over, goosebumps now appearing over your legs. Shifting in your position, you don’t move farther away. Oppenheimer’s another atom bond, in which you feel connected, despite your differences.

Hearing your mother’s and older sister's voice ridiculing dating a man who could be one of your brother’s ages, you take another drag and exhale smoke as the nicotine soothes your anxiety.

“I understand now why people smoke.”

You can feel Oppenheimer’s intense stare, not that it bothers you at all.

There’s a small silence for a few minutes. The two of you bask in the setting sun, watching the smoke play against the hues of the sun. You swear you feel your eyes get heavy, both from the buzz of the alcohol and the nicotine of the cigarette.

The couch feels lighter as you feel Robert get up and walk over to the bookcase. Admiration mingles with a sense of awe as you watch your professor navigate the rows of tomes. His movements are measured and deliberate as he selects a book that promises to unfurl a tapestry of thoughts and ideas. The act itself is a testament to his insatiable thirst for knowledge, a quality that you have deemed extremely handsome to the tall and slender man.

He walks in front of you and flips through the pages, putting the book down in your lap.

You put your cigarette in the ashtray and hold the book to examine it, “Les Fleurs Del Mal.”

“One of my recommendations to you,” Robert responded as he sat back on the couch. The room suddenly got hotter as he felt closer than he did before, “It’s scattered poetry. You can skim, but I don’t recommend it unless you want to enjoy it.”

Your speculation proved to be true when Robert pointed to a page in the book, feeling his thigh scrap against yours. Butterflies danced in your stomach as your cheeks got that burning sensation again.

“These are some of my favorites,” Robert pointed, his finger gracing the page, “That I want you to read.”

Halting your breath, you look at him, and he’s looking right at you. More like right into you. Robert's eyes are like an ocean; they're truly the bluest you have seen. They hold a depth that draws you in, in which you find yourself lost, embraced by an intimate connection that speaks volumes without a single word.

“Read?” You almost stutter, “to myself?”

“Outloud, dear.” Robert’s smooth voice politely commands.

Suddenly, your limbs feel both hot and weak. Robert leans in closer, taking another drag of his cigarette. His gaze does not once leave you.

You put one hand on the page and the other on the soft pillow as your fingers soften the material. Clearing your throat, you look at the first poem and take in a deep breath to contain a noise of ecstasy and pleasure.

I know your heart, which overflows With outworn loves long cast aside, Still like a furnace flames and glows, And you within your breast enclose A damned soul's unbending pride;

But till your dreams without release

Reflect the leaping flames of hell;

Till in a nightmare without cease

You dream of poison to bring peace, And love cold steel and powder well;

And tremble at each opened door, And feel for every man distrust, And shudder at the striking hour - Till then you have not felt the power Of Irresistible Disgust.

My queen, my slave, whose love is fear, When you awaken shuddering, Until that awful hour be here,

You cannot say at midnight drear :

"I am your equal, O my King!"

Robert only responds by turning the page to the following poem, A Carcass. In the corner of your eye, his hand rests on the couch, only an inch away from yours. Before looking back at the page, you uncurl your fist, lying all of your finger against the couch, less than an inch away from Robert’s.

Recall to mind the sight we saw, my soul,

That soft, sweet summer day:

Upon a bed of flints a carrion foul,

Just as we turn'd the way,

Its legs erected, wanton-like, in air,

Burning and sweating pest,

In unconcern'd and cynic sort laid bare

To view its noisome breast.

The sun lit up the rottenness with gold, To bake it well inclined,

And give great Nature back a hundredfold

All she together join'd.

The sky regarded as the carcass proud

Oped flower-like to the day;

So strong the odour, on the grass you vow'd You thought to faint away.

Robert’s index finger is now hooking onto your smaller pinkie. You relax your hand as his hand covers yours, his touch gentle and alluring. You don’t know much you’ll be able to read in a controlled state. Robert turns to the next poem as his hand covers yours, his thumb stroking the top of your hand.

“My personal favorite,” He murmurs—Love’s Lighting.

Gulping, you proceed to read, slowly breaking down.

Last night as I lay awake in bed A flash of you came into my head And into my heart, and straightway fled.

It passed from the chamber suddenly,

Leaving no trace to know it by

But a tightened breast and a wet, glad eye.

Like a moonray soft it came and went,

Which glimmers through where the cloud-wrack's

rent,

Hovers a moment and then is spent;

Or a bee against a window-pane,

Which taps but once and never again, Some autumn day, before the rain.

For one brief moment I felt it stealing Along the verge of thought and feeling

As though some great vague thing revealing,

As though for that moment sad and sweet

My soul was out in the infinite, And Life and Death were as one to it.

You close the book and look at Robert, catching his eyes before looking at your intertwined hands. His hand covers yours, his fingers laced within yours. He gently squeezes your hand, propelling you to move closer to him, which you do.

“Your eyes,” You murmur as Robert brings you closer to him, your faces an inch apart, “There blue. But there’s something in them. There’s a spark, an explosion. There’s a burning desire, surrounded by the never-ending sea.”

Robert is just as enchanted as you are. He brings his free hand to your cheek, stroking your smooth skin like you are a fragile China doll.

“If there is a god, he spent more time on you,” Robert confessed, moving to the back of your hair, entangling and losing himself within the silkiness.

“Y/n, you are among the most beautiful creatures I have seen. Can you let me kiss you?”

Your hand moves to Robert’s cheek, and he leans into your touch.

"If there is a god, he spent more time on you," Robert confessed, his voice a warm breath against your skin as his fingers delicately traced the contours of your hair, entangling and losing himself within the silkiness.

"Y/n, you are among the most beautiful creatures I have seen," he murmured, his gaze locked onto your lips with a mixture of desire and reverence. His thumb brushed your lower lip in a gentle, teasing caress. "Can you let me kiss you?"

Your heart fluttered in response, your chest rising and falling with each anticipatory breath. Your fingers moved to cup his cheek, feeling the slight stubble against your palm as you leaned in, your lips drawing closer to his. The world around you seemed to melt away, leaving only the soft, charged atmosphere between you.

His lips met yours in a tender, lingering kiss. It had been your first, so you let him overtake as you enjoyed. It was a dance of sensations, a slow exploration of desire and affection. The touch was gentle, as if he was savoring every moment, every nuance of the connection that formed between your lips. His mouth moved against yours with delicate precision, a symphony of longing and intimacy that left you breathless.

As the kiss deepened, you could feel the possessiveness in the way he held you, his fingers threading through your hair, anchoring you closer. His hand, which held yours found the small of your back, a reassuring pressure that drew you impossibly nearer.

Time lost meaning as your lips moved together, a rhythm that spoke of shared longing and a connection beyond the physical. It was a kiss that whispered promises of intimacy and trust, an unspoken understanding that bound you together in that stolen moment of tenderness and desire.

As Robert kissed and held you, you loved the sensation of being adored. The romance between you, too, however, was forbidden. He was thirty, and you were a teenager, albeit legal, but recently, a little girl. But you couldn’t resist, and he couldn’t control his desire. After all, Life and Death were as one to it.

#carrie writes #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x reader #oppenheimer #oppenheimer x reader #robert j oppenheimer x reader #j robert oppenheimer

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southernmermaidsgrotto · 2 years

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🌿How to harvest & dry herbs🌿

⚠️This is just my personal approach based on research, mentors and my own experience, please do your own research too ⚠️

Some general guidelines:

These are all recommended for both uses, magical and medicinal, but particularly for plant material you’ll want to give medicinal use.

Always harvest ~10 meters away from contamination sources (roads and cars, railroads, constructions, factories, etc. Even more serious stuff like landfills and heavy metals) Plants can absorb toxic chemical compounds from any these sources, so if you plan to ingest them or apply on your skin etc, avoid contamination sources. Examine your area to find where it’s safest to harvest plant material from.

Only take up to 30% of plant material, preferably less (leaves, flowers, berries, roots) this is to allow for healthy regrow.

Don’t take material with visible harm, illness or bugs, such as yellowed or bug bitten / holey leaves, etc. Educate yourself to recognize different possible bugs or parasites or plant illnesses that may affect your local flora to avoid these.

Sometimes you’ll have better results with fresh materials, you don’t always need to dry them. Know when to use what, depending on your goal and what compounds you want to extract, and how it’s best to extract them.

If you prefer fresh, you can keep fresh herbs in a vase with water for up to a week, more or less.

Clean the branches & leaves by soaking them or washing them in saltwater to scare away little critters, and dry them stem-up, making small bundles with stems fairly separated so everything is well aireated, and always away from sunlight. Do not clean with alcohol, detergent, or any other substances. Just water or salty water will do.

Roots, flowers, berries and bark can be dried in drying racks or basquets. Separate them from each other, specially flower petals, to dry them thoroughly and keep in a dark place until they’re fully dried (you’ll know if they crack when handling them and don’t feel soft anywhere anymore). For roots, bark and berries, move and rotate every so often to make sure they dry evenly, or just dry them in the oven if you’re brave! (be careful not to burn them)

Aromatic herbs should be harvested before they bloom, when you see the fully formed buds and their smell (and taste!) is strongest.

When cutting the stems, cut at an angle to allow for healthy regrow.

Always make sure you’re harvesting what you think you’re harvesting. Learn to identify plant species properly, and always, always research about lookalikes it may have, as they could be toxic or poisonous or harmful in some way. This is necessary for safety reasons.

Store everything in glass jars or paper bags, away from humidity, to prevent mold. I don’t recommend plastic bags or containers as they can more easily retain humidity but that’s me. Check on your stuff often too!! Different things will last more or less time on the shelf.

⚠️Extra reminder to always check which part of the plant is medicinal, check if any other parts could be toxic or harmful, check for dosages, contraindications, possible allergies, and possible interactions with anything else you’re taking!!!!!!!!

For specific plant parts:

Flowers: Harvest as soon as they’ve fully bloomed, during the full moon.

Berries and fruits: Harvest right after the first frost, generally in autumn. Look for deep color and tight, glowy skin. I like to harvest these under a waning moon.

Seeds and pods: Collect these when all flowers are gone, usually in late summer, under a waning moon.

Leaves: Ideally, collect these from bright green and flexible limbs, the first warm days of spring when there’s new sap and no flowers yet, but for many species you can take some leaves all year round. Under a waxing or full moon does it for me.

Bark: Harvest during the first warm days of spring, when the sap rises. You’ll find newly formed bark easier to peel off. Rather than peeling the trunk directly, cut off a branch or limb and peel it off completely, it’ll cause less harm to the tree or bush. Under a waxing moon it is.

Roots, rhizomes, tubers: Harvest after all the leaves are gone, around late autumn, but before all the good stuff stored in them is used during the winter. Under a waning or new moon.

Some superstitions:

These are more specifically for the magical properties of the plant.

Some folks say you shouldn’t harvest plant material with iron scissors or other iron tools, as iron scares away the spirit of the plant, and thus, the potency of whatever your working on will be less.

For some plants, you’ll find specific prayers, chants or charms, more or less complicated rituals, to harvest specific parts at specific dates. This is, again, for the spiritual properties rather than medicinal. I am the type to believe proper harvest makes both the work and the medicine stronger, but it’s up to you to decide how to go about harvesting certain plants considered “sacred”, and even what plants are considered “sacred” will also change depending on your own practice, culture, tradition, region and more, so do your research!

It’s common belief to not speak while you’re going to harvest the herb, and neither when coming back, as to not alert the spirit your intentions and out of respect for what it gave you or what it’s doing for you.

But while you’re there, after harvesting, let the plant spirit know why you’re in need of it’s aid and leave some kind of offering in return (again, do your own research on specific plants and their folklore, but some general things such as water, sugar or eggshells, and more traditional things like a certain number of coins, will likely work just fine)

With some plant species, particularly the poisonous kind, or some associated with the devil in folklore, you’ll likely find ways to protect yourself from the spirit’s anger upon being unearthed or cut. These range from giving praise to the spirit in the form of poems, songs, or offerings before getting to harvesting, to drawing circles in the dirt around it with holy water, a knife, or your own hand, and may even be having to cut the branches or unearth the plant in a specific manner (some say backwards, some say away from you) to prevent it from harming you. Sometimes simply carrying protective charms will do. Learn the folklore of each species you work with!

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breelandwalker · 1 year

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Flower Moon - May 5, 2023

Ready your gathering baskets and your best shoes for traipsing, witches - it's time to greet the Flower Moon!

Flower Moon

The Flower Moon gives us the fulfillment of the first flush of the Pink Moon, with fragrant blossoms greeting us at every turn and heralding the merry month of May. The floral name for this particular cycle is shared by a number of indigenous nations, include the Algonquin, Anishnaabe, and Dakota. Other names include Budding Moon and Frog Moon (Cree), Planting Moon (Dakota and Lakota), and the Moon of Mulberry (Choctaw).

European names for this moon include Milk Moon (Anglo-Saxon) and Hare Moon (Celtic, allegedly). Modern pagan circles sometimes call it the Grass Moon as well, since the flourishing of grasslands is more common in some areas than the appearance of flowers.

Notes: This year, there is a Penumbral Lunar Eclipse accompanying the Flower Moon. This is a barely visible shadow on the full moon which will be visible largely in the Eastern Hemisphere. Check your local astronomical forecast to see if it will be visible in your area.

This full moon peaks during daylight hours in the Western Hemisphere (around 1:35pm EDT), so the moon may appear to be full on both the nights of the 4th and 5th. It also falls about three-quarters through a Mercury Retrograde, so take whatever steps you deem appropriate.

What Does It Mean For Witches?

As we pass the spring rites and move toward the summer season, it's the perfect time to celebrate your growth and the ways in which you want to flourish. This is the season for romance and love, and not just that which comes when we put on flower crowns and go a-Maying. This is a time to love ourselves as much as each other, and to be reminded of our own beauty and strength. Remember the things you love about yourself and consciously take a moment to remind your loved ones how much you care for them.

It is also a time to celebrate fertility, be it animal, vegetable, mineral, or spiritual. Put new plans into action, start that project you've been meaning to do, embark on that new hobby or activity you wanted to try. If you have a long-term goal or a big project, now is the time to outline your path to completion and plan how to direct your energy so you don't burn out halfway through. Don't hold back - break through the walls of imposter syndrome and anxiety, indulge in your creative urges, and let your inspiration soar. What you choose to plant and nurture now determines what you will harvest later in the year. And above all, remember to have FUN!

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

If you've been feeling the urge to do some flower-related magic, now is the perfect time! Familiarize yourself with the wildflowers in your area and if possible, maybe grab your basket and scissors and go on a foraging trip. Remember to properly identify flowers before picking them, don't overharvest, and don't take anything from private property without permission or from national parks full stop. You can press the flowers with a notebook and something flat and heavy, or you can dry them in hanging bunches, in a cardboard tray, or in a low-temp oven for later use.

This is also a good opportunity to get your hands in the dirt and connect with the land where you live. If there are plants in your care, take a little time to do some pruning and watering. Check them for spring pests and treat where needed. Give them some love - talk to them, sing to them, encourage them to grow tall and strong and abundant. Bless them as you tend their plots and reaffirm your commitment to be a good caretaker.

As an exercise, try making flower crowns, garlands, bouquets, wreaths, or centerpieces using plant correspondences, flower language, or color magic for a desired effect. This can be done with real flowers or silk ones, depending on how long you want to keep them around. Try your hand at making flower water with roses or other blooms - it makes a wonderful base for moon water!

Experiment with recipes for dishes and drinks that use edible flowers too! Whether it's color-changing butterfly peaflower tea, sweet and peppery nasturtium, adorable pressed pansy shortbread cookies, or the tried-and-true comforts of chamomile, flowers have many tasty secrets to offer. Don't be afraid to add botanicals to your health and beauty routine as well! (Just make sure nothing's going to negatively interact with your meds or irritate a pre-existing condition. Safety first!)

Whether you do so with your near-and-dear, your witchy circle, or by yourself, celebrate everything that blooms - including you!

Happy Flower Moon, witches! 🌕🌼

Further Reading:

Flower Moon: Full Moon in May 2023, The Old Farmer's Almanac

Moonrise and Moonset Calculator, The Old Farmer's Almanac

Flower Meanings: Symbolism of Flowers, Herbs, and More Plants, The Old Farmer's Almanac

Floriography, the Language of Flowers, AllFlorists.co.uk

Flower Moon: The Astonishing Full Moon of May 2023, The Peculiar Brunette

How to Dry Flowers 5 Ways, MasterClass, June 7, 2021

DIY Floral Water or Hydrosol, Patti Estep, Hearth and Vine, July 4, 2021

17 Edible Flower Recipes, Better Homes and Gardens, March 8, 2022

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison

(If you're enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

#Flower Moon #witchblr #lunar magic #moon magic #witchcraft #lunar calendar #pagan #secular witchcraft #flower magic #green witchcraft

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

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Night Gallery

Various Yanderes (F, M, G.N) X G.N Nightguard Reader

A concept story for a haunted art gallery that branched past what I originally wanted. Feedback is appreciated.

An art collector with a taste for the abnormal opened an art gallery comprised of the world's most bizarre works of art fifty years ago; just a week before his death. The gallery remained open and in the care of his family due to a sudden boost in popularity the following month.

Prior to when you applied for the job, the gallery had never needed a Nightguard in its entire lifespan; but a recent string of break ins lead to the new owners change of heart. It was for their safety, rather that those who residing with the galleries walls. As most have grown accustomed to their new lives, they will do anything to protect them; finding solace in the one paid to do the same.

You begin your shift in the garden. On top of your guard duties, you also tend to the plants after one too many gardeners quit over being bitten during the day. The roses nipped and hissed at you when you first started working here, but now they purr at your feet or wrap around your ankles so that you couldn't move; allowing you to shower them in a nutritious bath. Greedy little things, but with good reason.

"Ahh... Thank you, my dear."

Behind the patch where the flowers grew, there was an elevated stand on which the statue of a rose bud stood. With enough water, the stone flower would blossom. A wriggling mass of stems gather in its center, forming the upper torso of a human made of thorns and roots. Its face splits open, a living, red rose blooming from the crevasse. Its singular eye stares down at you; body craning over its podium to get the best look it can.

"It's so nice to see your face again, Y/n. Makes up for the lack of sunlight those awful artificial lights try to replicate."

You smile. Rosebud was one of the easier inhabitants of the gallery to deal with; mainly due to the fact they couldn't move on their own. They were mostly gentle in nature, and normally just chatted the ear odd of you - the only human both it and its roses tolerated.

"Your petals are as healthy as always, Bud." You reply, pouring the remaining water in the can on a rose that nuzzled your foot. "You still get sunlight while you're asleep."

"Yes, yes, I know, but I'm far more beautiful in the sun. You should have seen me when the park was closed for a week. I was a masterpiece! But enough about me for now at least. Since you can here so early, you probably have to visit the others now.

You glance at the clock; confirming their theory. The roses shoot up your legs at the comment; thorns crawling at the ends of your pants.

"Sorry, boss asked me to come here first."

"Well ignore the man next time. I do not mind waiting, if it's to spend time with you. Let's welcome a new dawn together, Rosetta."

You shake the last flower off your leg. "Will do, Rosebud."

"Thank you. Please take one of the little ones with you before you head away, they miss you so much when you're gone."

Rosebud plucks one of the roses, and hands it off to you; careful not to prick you with their thorns as your hands meet. The rose's petal lips kiss up your hand andover your cheek before you're able to put it in the water can for safe keeping.

"I need to get going. See you later, Rosebud."

You reenter the gallery through the main gate. More of its residents seem to be awake, but no one left their habitat yet. A mermaid splashes you with water to get your attention; blowing a kiss as they beckon you to their painting. A star shoots across a night sky in the stained ceiling of the central hallway. Despite the many dangers, your job definitely was one

"Heyy. Hey, Y/n come 'mere. I have found something~"

A shadowy hand waves you over to a painting frame; your uniform hat tossed back and forth between the silhouette's many hands. The room behind it was filled with junk; most stolen from the lost and found box a few feet away. The plaque beneath it read: "Finders Keepers."

Enticed by your missing cap, you walk over; knowing it wouldn’t be easy to get it back. "What do you want now?"

The scavenger giggles. "I want to make a trade. Y/n found something, and I found Y/n's hat."

"Is snatching my hat when I wasn't looking really finding it?"

"No, but I found Y/n so I found it."

The scavenger was one of, if not the most active paintings. It would search around for things people lost to take back to its frame, and on occasion chased you around to do the same. It leaves the prettier items of its collect out for you either as a lure, or present for you. You even found a watch stuffed in your locker once. Thank God the gallery didn't have working cameras.

The only way to get the scavenger to go back on its own other than going yourself to give it something you owned. It claimed your items were the highlight of its collect. Even candy wrappers were enough to please it. With nothing else on hand the last time it hunted you, you had to give up the hat off the top of your head. The only problem was that your boss was upset over you losing it.

"Give me that pail."

Your face scrunches in confusion. "Why do you want this?"

"Y/n held it, so it's something that's theirs. Therefore I want it. You want your hat back, right?"

"..Fine, but if I get in trouble for losing it, I want the wallet you stole last week."

"Deal."

You hand it the watering can, remaining at arm's distance as you snatch your hat back. The scavenger giggles in glee at its new treasure, and you take it as your cue to leave. As soon as you leave, it pulls the rose out of the pail; its many hands crushing the flower into a bloody pulp.

"I found them first, pest."

Continuing your night leads you to the second floor. Your job didn't require you to inspect them all, but you had to remain active - for more reasons that one. This is the moment when you really had to be on your toes. The higher the floor, the more dangers its residents were. Since most knew you weren't there to cause trouble you were safe from harm, but with that came their obsessions with you and wanting you to join their world. The shift was almost over, so you should be fine.

"Y/n? Is that you?"

Shit.

Down the end of the hall, a woman turns in your direction. Blood stains the collar of her long, once white dress; the fabric now an off colored pink. She smiles beneath her veil - the woman in red.

"Hello, my love."

Her official title is "The woman in white.". A classical oil painting of a young woman in front of a cottage sitting in a bench swing tied to the tree outside; her beautiful laced dress blowing in the wind as she swong forward. At least, that's what it look like in the beginning.

Over time, she grew closer to the ground; sitting stationary in the bench in today's time. Her clothes as white as a dove's wing became stained; another splatter added with each missing person's report that came in.

"Welcome home. Just give me a moment, and I'll be with you." She turns back to the painting in front of her, a scream ringing through the hall as she slashes it with her palette knife. Not all of her victims were human.

There were many more changes to her than just her attire. What once was a dolce painting who only caused the occasional disappearance now was one with a vicious strike against any who tried to interfere with her objective.

You were already gone the second she took her eyes off you, booking it around the corner and off to any place you could hide. You dive for the receptionist's desk and squeeze beneath it just as you hear her heels stomping away in the opposite direction. She was after you right after you ran away, but unfortunately was one of the slower one and lost you as soon as you were out of sight.

"Careless again, were we Y/n?"

You look up at the man leaning over the desk, smiling back at you with a perfect row of pearly whites. You hear the tap of his foot against the tiles as you both watch each other.

"She'll come back soon you know.."

You nod. He unclips the pocket watch from his belt.

"Two others are active tonight as well.. I'd say about three hours is fair for this round. That should give you enough time if you hurry."

You nod again, slower; unsure of your safety of you didn't take his help.

The Director grins. "Shall we head to the fifth floor?"

He leads you up to the fifth, and final floor; and exhibit that had yet to be unveiled. Stepping over the velvet gate, you walk through the darkness with only a faint light in the distance. You take a sit at the table at the end of the room; him taking the opposite. There's a pot of tea brewed between you two. He was waiting for you. As he always did.

"Let us have another wonderful time together, Y/n. And if you aren't so lucky in the morning, a blissful eternity."

There was only one rule your boss gave you when you first applied. Always leave the gallery before the second hour of dawn. You didn't need to him tell you why that rule was in place.

It's currently 3am.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere imagines #male yandere #female yandere #yandere insert #yandere story #yandere writing #tw yandere #yandere fic #yandere drabble #yandere concept #yandere monster #Night gallery tag

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goforth-ladymidnight · 2 months

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A Mother Always Knows

For Tamlin Week 2024, Day 1: Heir of Spring

@tamlinweek

Summary: Rosalin, Lady of the Spring Court, gives birth to her third son and discovers that the High Mother has chosen him to be the future High Lord of the Spring Court.

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.8k

Read on AO3, or read on below:

“It’s a boy,” the faerie midwife announced proudly, before swaddling the squalling babe up and delivering him gently into the arms of his mother. “He has a fine set of lungs indeed,” she said over his wailing cries, and there was an amused twinkle in her eyes when she added, “Just like his father.” She chuckled fondly when the babe settled in. “The wee little beastie.”

Lady Rosalin gave her a grateful, though tired smile, then turned her attention to her newborn son. His face was still swollen and red from crying, but he had a tuft of hair that would turn out to be as soft and pale as thistledown. Time would tell if he inherited her blue eyes or his father’s green ones. He had a fine appetite already, though, and latched quickly to her breast. As he drank, she stroked his downy cheek and gently rocked him. While she had hoped for a girl, she could not help but fall in love with her newest little boy.

She had already given Magnus two sons, Angus and Fergus. Twins. Births among High Fae nobility were already a rarity, but to bear twins that lived past infancy was a miracle. Or a curse, though she would never dare say so.

For only one son could inherit the High Lord’s mantle, while the other would have to serve him in a lesser capacity. As would the third, one day. She did not look forward to that day, when she would lose her husband and be forced to witness one son challenge the other for his title. The magic of the Cauldron always chose the Heir, but few were willing to accept the High Mother’s will, let alone their own mother’s. If she had her way, she would choose the eldest and be done with it, but Fergus was only five minutes younger than his brother. It was hardly fair. And now they had another brother to contend with, no matter how young and innocent.

Such was the nature of the Spring Court, ruthless and fierce despite its inherent beauty.

Rosalin sighed and let her head fall back against the pillows as the servants helped the midwife take away the bloody linens and clean up the room, preparing for the High Lord’s arrival. No doubt he was already being informed of a successful delivery and was on his way to see her.

She turned her head to look at the bouquet of roses by her bedside. Her mate had had them delivered the day before, freshly cut from the garden he had planted for her. He knew that she would be missing them, and had included a single rose of every color in the bouquet. She smiled. For all his fierce, overprotective habits, he did love her.

Her vision was beginning to turn double as she drifted off, then she lifted her head with a start.

She wasn’t seeing double. There were now two roses of every color blossoming in the vase. Her mouth fell open as she realized that new roses were budding and blooming right before her eyes. She glanced around, but the midwife and the servants didn’t seem to notice. As quickly and as carefully as she could, she shifted the baby to the other breast. He let out a small growl at the interruption before latching on again in earnest.

The sound should have made her laugh—the wee little beastie—but it only made her want to weep.

Did the midwife know…? No. She couldn’t know. Not when Rosalin herself didn’t know. At least, not yet.

With her heart in her throat, she reached out and carefully turned the cut-crystal vase to see if her suspicions were correct.

Her heart sunk to the depths of her aching womb as she saw what she had not hoped to see.

One half of the bouquet had continued to bloom, while the other half had not.

Only the roses closest to her had grown despite being cut from the bushes outside.

No… Only the roses closest to the baby.

Her son.

The High Lord’s son.

The true Heir of Spring.

She made sure no one was looking, then, with a pained groan, shoved the vase off the table.

The crystal shattered, and the roses scattered.

And her innocent child began to cry.

The servants swarmed around her, fretting as she tried to soothe her squalling babe.

“It’s all right. It’s all right,” she told them as well as her newborn.

She hoped it would be. By keeping his secret, she could keep him a little longer.

If anyone found out that the High Mother had chosen the third born son as the Heir of Spring, he wouldn’t live to see another sunrise.

Such was the nature of the Spring Court.

After all, her husband had once had a brother, too.

As if the noise had summoned him, which it probably had, he appeared in the doorway like a thunderclap.

Rosalin cradled the baby against her breast and prayed that Magnus wouldn’t notice how the roses he had picked for her had doubled since their son was born. No such sign had appeared when the twins were born, even though there should have been, but the magic knew better. She knew better.

A mother always knows.

“What happened?” he demanded, stalking closer. Although he was normally quite handsome, even for a High Fae, with his long brown hair and sun-bronzed skin, he was terrifying now. His green eyes flashed, and his claws and teeth were already long and gleaming as he searched for the threat to his mate and newborn child.

The servants fell back, trembling as they swept into deep curtsies at his approach. Only Oona, the midwife, stood by Rosalin’s bedside, staring the High Lord down.

“A vase broke, Your Lordship,” she said firmly over the baby’s cries. “It was an accident. Nothing more.” When the High Lord stood there, growling skeptically at the mess on the floor, she added, “So, unless you plan on cutting the mischievous sprite responsible into ribbons, I suggest you put those claws away before you hurt someone.”

If Oona hadn’t been the one to deliver the High Lord himself, she might have felt his claws for her audacity, and borne the scars forever to prove it.

Magnus growled again, but he curled his claws into his fists to hide them. “Is that what happened?” he asked his wife roughly.

Rosalin quickly nodded, although her heart was still beating fiercely. “The vase slipped. That’s all.”

In the tense silence that followed, the baby hiccuped then snuffled against her shoulder. Rosalin gently patted his tiny back. It had been a long day for both of them.

Magnus’s fierce demeanor softened as he silently waved a hand over the shattered mess. The crystal vase reformed itself on the table, but the fallen roses remained scattered on the floor.

“Fresh roses from the garden,” he told the servants. When they bowed their heads and stood to carry out his command, he continued in a much gentler voice as he looked at his mate, “And make them red, for my Rose.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, and gave him a warm, glad smile. Their son’s secret was safe, at least for a little while.

Magnus stepped over the fallen roses to sit beside her on the bed. When he lifted his chin to kiss her, there was no sign of his claws. “And how are you, my Rose?” he asked, tenderly stroking the sweaty curls from her brow.

Tears filled her eyes at his gentleness. If only he could be this gentle with their sons. “As well as can be expected,” she said softly, then shifted the baby away from her shoulder so that Magnus could see him. “Look. Isn’t he beautiful?”

Magnus frowned, but he reached out a finger to stroke the baby’s rounded cheek. “He’s so small,” he murmured.

Oona spoke up before Rosalin could object. “He will grow, as you did, my Lord,” the midwife said, then gave the royal couple a short curtsy when Magnus turned his annoyed frown on her. “I will go and speak to the nursemaid, my Lady,” she said, ignoring the High Lord. “Then you and the child must get some rest.”

“Thank you, Oona,” Rosalin said before the High Lord could scold her. She was only doing her duty, after all.

When the servants had gone and left them alone, Magnus at last reached for the baby, and Rosalin reluctantly handed him over.

His secret is safe, she reminded herself as she watched her mate’s spring green eyes sweep over the face of his future heir.

“Another son,” Magnus said quietly, even though no one else was around to hear.

“Are you disappointed?” she asked, hoping that the answer would be No. Their child was less than an hour old, and didn’t need to grow up under the shadow of his father’s disapproval.

Magnus sighed. “Only for your sake,” he replied, giving her a tight smile. “I know how much you wanted a daughter. Someday, I shall give you one.”

Rosalin let out a weary chuckle, despite herself. “Someday,” she agreed, decorously sliding the collar of her shift back into place. “For now, I am content with you, and Angus, and Fergus, and now our newest little one.”

Magnus’s frown softened as he chuckled. “You are so easy to please, my love,” he said, then kissed her again. He might have lingered had the baby not let out a small gurgle and began to squirm in his father’s arms. Magnus pulled away and addressed his son at last. “I suppose you shall need a name, as well, little one,” he remarked.

“What about Tam?” Rosalin offered.

“Tam?” Magnus repeated, clearly surprised that she had come up with a name so quickly.

She smiled shyly. “After my father, Tamhas,” she reminded him. “You did say I might use his name one day.”

Magnus’s brow furrowed as he pursed his lips, remembering. “So I did,” he conceded, though gruffly. “Although I had hoped for another little Rosalin…” He sighed and handed the squirming baby back. “I suppose it can’t be helped now.”

Rosalin smiled sadly as she nestled the baby in the crook of her arm. “He will make you proud, Magnus. I promise.”

The High Lord of Spring looked into his young son’s face. “Tam,” he repeated softly. “Tam-lin.” He smiled at her surprised expression. “After his mother.”

Rosalin beamed. “Tamlin,” she repeated as the baby cooed and reached for her. “I like it.”

Tamlin’s tiny fingers barely wrapped around one of her own, but his grip was strong.

It was then that she knew that he would live, and live a long time.

He might even inherit the High Lord’s mantle without bloodshed.

Tamlin. Her Tamlin. Future High Lord and Heir of the Spring Court. He would be a fine ruler someday. She could feel it.

A mother always knows.

#tamlin #pro tamlin #baby tamlin #we don't see much of tamlin's mom #so i wanted to write something from her pov #and i really liked the idea of tamlin sharing part of her name #so there you go #tamlinweek2024 #tamlin week #tamlinweek

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pjsk-story-summaries · 3 months

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Keep it Steady, Let's Aim for the Stars! Event Summary (WxS World Link)

TL;DR: Wonderlands x Showtime and the Virtual Singers encounter a strange, bustling new harbor area in the Wonderland SEKAI. While exploring, they find a map to a place called Star Island. However, a gust of wind blows the map away, only to be caught in the wings of a giant Phoenix. The group decides to chase after the Phoenix to recover the map.

While asking around the harbor for information, Rui, Rin, and Miku encounter a group of lonely zombie plushies. The rest of the plushies were scared of them due to their off-putting nature and tendency to bite as a greeting. Rui recognized himself in the way the plushies had convinced themselves that they were better on their own since nobody would understand them anyways, and vows to help them. With the help of the other Virutal Singers and his troupe, they put on a modified version of the Potato Ghost story to show the other plushies the zombies just wanted to be friends. As a reward, they learn that someone who knows about the Phoenix lives nearby.

Unfortunately, a large river blocks their path forward. Turtle plushies ferry others to the other bank, but at the moment, they're all too busy to take them. Nene and Luka come across an anxious turtle who dreams to one day ferry others across the river but is too scared to get in. Nene recognizes that fear, and with a little encouragement, tells the turtle about her own experience. She'd messed up before and was too scared to step on stage, but even so, she'd never stopped dreaming. Things are still scary, but the most important things are to find the courage to take the first step, friends to push you along, and the will to keep going. Moved by Nene's words, the turtle plushie manages to face their fear and enters the water. Thankful, they decide to take the rest of the group across the river.

Once across, they arrive at the house of Leon, a stuffed lion who's long studied the Phoenix. He tells them all about the Phoenix, as well as his dream to one day fly alongside Phoenix. He knows his dream is impossible, though. Emu, remembering how she had once felt in regards to the Wonder Stage and Phoenix Wonderland, cheers Leon up. As long as you hold your dream close and keep friends by your side, there's no problem you can't find a way to solve! Her words motivate Leon to not give up. The gang all follow him to the place Phoenix is most commonly seen.

After a bit of waiting, Phoenix flies down to greet them. Phoenix agrees to carry Leon, on the condition that they catch Phoenix flying in the sky first. Rui modifies Robonene to be able to leap high in the air, but she only has three chances and requires someone else to throw a net up. Tsukasa and Leon volunteer. The first two attempts fail, and Leon begins to doubt himself. Tsukasa, reminded of his own feelings of inadequacy, teaches Leon to turn those feelings into fuel. On the third and final attempt, though Phoenix dodges the net, Tsukasa leaps up and just barely grazes Phoenix. Though they failed their mission, Phoenix, impressed by their tenacity, promises to let Leon ride on Phoenix's back if they do manage to catch Phoenix one day. Phoenix also returns the map as a reward for their efforts.

Back at the harbor, the group inspects the map. They realize the different islands represent the shows they've done, and the various unmarked ones places they have yet to see. Tsukasa also comes to realize that the ship represents his evolving dream to "Aim for stardom, and together with my friends, we will embark on our journey of growth to many places". They try to sail towards Star Island, but the currents push them back. One day, once they've become true stars, they'll be able to sail there.

A plant bud blooms in the harbor.

Fan Translation (source: WxS translation team) / Second Focus Song (Tetrad that Illuminates the World) 3DMV / 2DMV

Opening: The Virtual Singers had called Wonderlands x Showtime (and Nenerobo) to the strange new harbor town Rin and Len had found in the SEKAI. KAITO theorizes that Tsukasa's evolving feelings may have manifested this place, but none of them know what those feelings might be. They decide to explore and learn more. Len realizes they can board the ship on the harbor, and Emu finds a strange map inside. Upon inspection, they learn there are many islands scattered about, leading to a grand one called Star Island. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind blows the map away. A grand Phoenix swoops down, and the map gets caught within the Phoenix's wings. The troupe decide to chase after the Phoenix and reclaim the map.

Rui Chapter 1: They start by talking to many plushies around the harbor town; however, none of them have seen the Phoenix. When talking to the innkeeper, Rui, Miku, and Rin learn the wide variety of plushies are visitors from the various islands. They come across a group of run down zombie plushies off on their own. The rest of the plushies are scared of them, since they have "twisted personalities" and bite when approached. The innkeeper tells the three that those zombies mean no harm; it's just how they greet people.

Rui decides to approach the zombies, letting them bite him and him biting back. The zombies don't trust Rui, however; they fear he's just pretending to be their friend to get what he wants, since everyone else is scared of them. They know they won't ever fit in with the others. Rui realizes they're just like he was back then.

Rui Chapter 2: Rui explains how he had given up on ever trying to fit in, since he thought nothing would ever change. However after meeting Tsukasa, Emu, Nene, and the others, he realized just how much he truly wanted to perform with others. He's changed since then; he even fought for his selfish wish to stay together as a troupe. Miku tells him his dream isn't selfish at all. Rui decides to help the zombies get along with the others, since he knows they don't actually want to be alone like they say they do.

He gathers the zombies, as well as the rest of his troupe, and puts on a modified version of the Potato Ghost play from "It's On! Wonder Halloween!". The show helps the other plushies realize the zombies were just trying to be friends, and that there truly isn't anything to be scared of. Rui reflects on the power of shows and how they truly can connect others. With that, the zombies reveal that someone who knows about the Phoenix lives nearby.

Nene Chapter 1: A large river blocks the path between them and the one who knows about the Phoenix. Turtle plushies often ferry others to the other side, but they're all currently busy. They split up to go try and find an available one. Nene and Luka stumble upon a shy turtle who's dream is to ferry others, but after a storm flooded the area, it's now too scared to swim. Nene understands what it feels like to be terrified, but still unable to give up dreaming. Luka urges Nene to talk to the turtle.

Nene Chapter 2: Nene approaches the other turtle, and with reassurance from Luka, explains how she dreams of being a world-renowned actor, but after she'd forgotten her lines as a kid, became too scared to stand on stage again. She's still scared of a lot of things, especially the future, but she knows it's important to find the courage to move forward anyways. (It helps to have friends alongside you to give a push). The most important thing is the courage to take the first step.

Moved by Nene's words, the turtle successfully gets into the river. They then happily swim with Nene around the bay before taking the rest of Wonderlands x Showtime to the other side of the river. Nene reflects on how the future will be scary, but as long as she keeps moving forward with courage, she'll be alright.

Emu Chapter 1: The gang arrives at the house and greet the one who knows about Phoenix, a stuffed lion named Leon. Emu explains their situation, and Leon agrees to help! He's been researching the Phoenix, who's revealed to hail from Star Island, for a long time now. Leon's dream is to fly alongside the Phoenix one day, but he knows it's impossible. Everyone around him says so. That statement reminded Emu of the time she'd felt the same, when Shosuke told her her dream to save Phoenix Wonderland's image was impossible.

Emu Chapter 2: Emu reassures Leon that it's important to have dreams, no matter how impossible they may seem. As long as you hold your dreams close, you'll find a way to make them reality! She knows what it's like to not be able to achieve your dreams, her friends gave her the courage to not give up and worked together to make them come true. It's all about working together!

Moved by Emu's words, Leon decides to ask the others to help him fly with the Phoenix. Len suggests that he tries asking to fly on the back of the Phoenix. The group all follows Leon to a place where the Phoenix is most likely to be. While leaving, Len comments on Emu's ability to make everyone smile, and how she'll be able to spread that all across the world now.

Tsukasa Chapter 1: While waiting for the Phoenix, Tsukasa realizes he and Leon have similar dreams of chasing the impossible. Suddenly, the Phoenix arrives, so Tsukasa yells for Phoenix to come down. Leon explains his dream to Phoenix, but Phoenix refuses. Tsukasa refuses to leave, however. Phoenix decides to comply, but only if they manage to catch Phoenix flying in the sky. Len suggests using a net, like the one they'd used to catch Lion Dance Robot. Rui decides to modify Robonene so that she can leap up great distances, almost as if she were flying. However, she's limited to three jumps, and she can't throw the net herself. Leon volunteers to throw the net, so Tsukasa decides to go with him.

Tsukasa Chapter 2: After a bit of practice, Leon and Tsukasa are ready to go. On their first attempt, the wind blows the net off course. On the second, Leon throws too early and the net misses. Leon apologizes and begins to doubt himself. Tsukasa knows what it's like to want something so desperately but not be close enough to grasp it, remembering back to his feelings over Rio. He knows dreams aren't things to be extinguished so easily. Take that pain, embrace it, and turn it into the fuel to chase them! No matter what happens, the others will be there for them.

Motivated once again, Nenerobo leaps with Leon and Tsukasa for the final attempt. They get close, but Phoenix dodges the net. With one last ditch effort, Tsukasa jumps out of Nenerobo's arms and just barelt touches Phoenix before falling back to the ground. Emu notices one of Phoenix's feathers stuck to his back. Phoenix flies down to great them. Though the others didn't manage to capture Phoenix, Phoenix is impressed by their tenacity. If they manage to one day catch Phoenix, Phoenix promises to let them fly on Phoenix's back. Before flying off, Phoenix returns the map as a reward for the touch. Both Tsukasa and Leon resolve to keep chasing their dreams.

Closing: The group inspects the map further, realizing some islands are marked with references to shows they'd done in the past, while others remain unmarked. KAITO guesses that the ship has gone on it's own journey towards Star Island, just like the others have been chasing stardom. Tsukasa realizes that his feelings have evolved to take the form of "Aim for stardom, and together with my friends, we will embark on our journey of growth to many places".

Emu decides to try sailing the ship to Star Island. Together with the help of the harbor's plushies, they push the ship out to the water. However, the currents keep pushing them back to the harbor. Though they can't go yet, Miku is certain they'll be able to make it someday. Tsukasa dubs the ship, "Pegasus Special Deluxe Wonder" as he asks the others to continue moving forward towards their dreams.

A plant bud blooms near the ship.

[Note: Since multiple translators worked on this event, there are variances in how the new characters are translated. Specifically, Phoenix is referred to with both he and she pronouns by other characters, and Leon is also called Rion. I avoided pronoun use for Phoenix and used the localized Leon since it looks closest to "lion". When this event runs on the EN server, I will update this with their official naming conventions.]

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