#in this case how to winterize flower beds

[laelior]

The Weight of the World

To: Master Operations Chief (ret.) Margaret Shepard

This letter is to inform you that your granddaughter, Lieutenant Commander Bethany Shepard, was presumed killed in action following the destruction of the SSV Normandy by unknown enemy forces on December 5, 2183. 

Lieutenant Commander Shepard’s service with the Alliance was an example to us all and her heroic actions in service both to Earth and the Citadel Council will never be forgotten. 

At this time, we are unable to publicly announce details related to the destruction of the SSV Normandy. At such a time when we are able, rest assured that the Alliance will lay Lieutenant Commander Shepard to rest with full military honors.

Please accept my sincerest condolences for your loss.

Adm. Steven HackettAlliance 5th Fleet Command

Anderson sat in the back of his skycar, numbly rehearsing the words of the letter in his hands over the neatly-folded Alliance flag and Alliance-stamped urn in his lap. God, for such a small jar it must have weighed a ton. Nevermind that it was empty.

His eyes continually wandered to the shallow, formulaic words on the flimsy paper in his hands, hoping that somehow they’d magically rearrange themselves into something less weighty than the gravitational pull of a whole damn planet before the skycar touched down.

Hackett had already sent nineteen letters just like the one in his hands to nineteen different addresses. Letters addressed to Preslies, Dravens, Tanakas and so forth. Letters only confirming what the rumor mill had already been circulating for months. Letters delivered by NCOs and junior officers with black bands around their arms as a thin show of solidarity for their losses. It had been tempting to pass this particular letter off to someone else, too, but some things just had to be done.

“We’re almost there, sir,” the driver said.

The skycar gently touched down on the street next to a neat little house with an immaculately maintained garden. Even in the dead of winter the hedges were neatly trimmed and the flower beds were freshly mulched.

The driver went out to ring the doorbell while Anderson slowly gathered himself for the news he had to deliver.

The woman who came out to the front porch to greet him after a moment was smaller than he expected. He’d never met her before, but Peggy Shepard was a legend in her own right. One of the founding mothers of the Alliance non-commissioned officer’s corp and one of the best damn sniper instructors the service ever had. Hell, her 500-meter longshot record had stood for nearly forty years and had only been broken a few years ago by Lieutenant Coats.

And she didn’t need a letter to tell her why he was here. That was obvious from the hard, steely look in her eyes that flicked to his uniform, the flag tucked under one arm, and the black band around the other. Her eyes lingered on the captain’s stars on his lapel and her hand twitched at her side, fighting the reflexive urge to salute. Old habits died hard, and habits drilled in by a lifetime of military discipline were harder to kill than most. When she looked him right in the eye, though, Anderson had to fight the urge to flinch.

Throughout his military career, Anderson had faced more threats than he cared to count, from the petty political rivalries that riddled the service right up to Saren himself. And just then he would have rather faced down Sovereign itself if it meant getting away from the look in her eyes.

She was no stranger to this ritual. A casual glimpse at the Shepard family tree told him how many of its branches had been pruned like this. But that never meant it was easy to be the bearer of this particular news.

“Ma’am,” he intoned formally. Formalities were good. They were safe. He held up the folded flag and offered it to her with both hands. But before he could so much as open his mouth to say the words that were the next part of the ritual, she held up a hand and drew in a shaky breath.

“It’s true, isn’t it? What they’ve been saying?” She asked quietly. No need to ask what they were saying.

Anderson could only nod stiffly. “I’m afraid so, ma’am.”

She quietly accepted the flag, taking the weight from him and hugging it closely to her chest. 

“The Alliance offers its sincerest condolences for your loss,” he intoned, getting back to the words of the ritual. “If there’s anything we can do for you….” He trailed off. There was nothing the Alliance could do for her that would remotely make up for the magnitude of her loss, and there was no point pretending otherwise. 

She nodded in acknowledgement of the harsh, unspoken truth that passed between them.

“I need to make arrangements,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, before turning back into her house and letting the door slam shut behind her. The large wooden door closed with a resounding thud that made him flinch with its finality. He set the urn and the letter down on the porch table next to the door and went back to the car, his duty thus discharged.

If it was a tragedy for a parent to bury their child, then it was an utter goddamn travesty for a grandparent to lower their grandchild’s casket into the ground.

The driver cleared his throat, cutting across the uncomfortable silence that filled the car. “Where to next, sir?”

“Norfolk,” he said, picking the closest Alliance base he could think of off-hand. The car began its ascent, leaving the view of the Shepard household behind.  “Drop me off at the officer’s club, and tell them to have a glass of Ardbeg 16 ready, no ice.”

Something to wash away the ashy taste of having been the one to send Peggy Shepard’s granddaughter to her empty grave.

[headspace-hotel]

nature things that a lot of people don't know about and weren't even taught about adequately, but they're actually really fundamental and important to know about

how rivers work. Where do they get started? how do they decide which way to flow?? what makes one river muddy and the other one clear?

[They flow downhill. Always. If a river is flowing a Way, that way is Downhill. They start with rain flowing or soaking downhill until it forms into a little trickle through a channel like a gully or drainage ditch, and the farther it flows the more other trickles flow into it from the land around it, until you have a stream, and the streams all flow downhill until they run into each other, and eventually you have a river which finally reaches the ocean. Rivers never flow FROM the ocean because the ocean is the most downhill you can possibly go. I don't think rivers usually split in two—a fork in a waterway is usually two rivers joining together.]

[On the subject of pollution, rain is usually supposed to soak slowly through the layer of leaves, roots, and dead plant material that covers most biomes. But if you tear up the plants and leave bare mud, or replace a forest with a muddy cow pasture, there's no filter, and mud and contaminants wash into the river. Just plain mud can be pollution.]

how soil works. What makes different soils different? Why are some soils good for growing a garden and others terrible? Does it need more fertilizer?

[The sand, silt, clay diagram is very simplified and only deals with one aspect of soil. Roots, soil animals, fungi, and dead plant material are all part of soil and affect its structure, making it spongy and full of holes and passages for nutrients, water, and new roots. Tilling can break hard soil, but tilling doesn't make soil light, fluffy, and permeable—disturbing the soil as little as possible, protecting it with a layer of plant material, and allowing the natural life forms of the soil develop their networks and tunnels and slowly break down the plant material layer does. This is also very simplified. Soil is COMPLICATED.]

what fungi are, and whether they are dangerous.

[fungi cannot harm you unless you eat them or unless they're growing inside your house and you're inhaling their spores in a concentrated space. There's like, one species in Japan that causes skin irritation. You can touch any other species without any harm whatsoever. *Most* of them don't harm your garden either—in fact, most plants connect their root systems to the fungal mycelium in the soil and receive nutrients from the fungus in exchange for the products of photosynthesis.]

Whether lichen harm trees

[no. They're just hanging out. But a LOT of lichen on a tree might be a sign that the tree is dying. It's not the lichen's fault though.]

What moss is??

[it's a plant, but a very simple plant that doesn't have any vessels for transporting water, so it has to live somewhere damp and soak it up like a sponge. There are hundreds of species of moss, and different species live on the side of a boulder vs. the top, or a living tree trunk vs. a fallen dead tree trunk!]

where bugs go in the winter? I straight up had a book as a kid that told me that they just die, without explaining how the species doesn't go extinct if the winter kills them all.

[Tl;dr they're usually hibernating in fallen leaves and dead wood and plant material. Some do this as eggs or larvae/caterpillars; in this case the adults do die, but their children sleep peacefully through the winter to awake in the spring. And still others hibernate as adults. This is why you don't clean up your flower beds until late spring.]

How Many plants there are

[WAY more than you think]

How ecosystems work apart from "everything is out to get everything else and take resources from other organisms."

[Competition and cooperation are both important in ecosystems! Weeds are competitive and they can choke out other plants, but they also protect the soil from erosion and harsh sunlight, keeping it moist and helping organic matter to build up. A lot of plants, when they're young, need to be sheltered by other plants that protect them from dryness, heat, and herbivores. This isn't even getting into how some plants will send nutrients to seedlings or to understory plants in a forest! Before industrial agriculture made monocultures dominant, people used and were familiar with cooperative relationships between plants a LOT more.]

The range of creatures that are pollinators, and how important the variety is.

[Bees, wasps, butterflies, moths, flies, ants, beetles, hummingbirds, and bats are all pollinators, and flowers are usually shaped and colored and scented to attract particular pollinators. Bees can't do everything, and honey bees are only one kind of bee. Red flowers and long tube shaped flowers are often for hummingbirds, pale-colored flowers that open at night need moths, and flowers that give off strong foul odors often attract flies. It gets WAY more complicated than that—sometimes a flower is only pollinated by a single species of bee or wasp or beetle.]

How many bees there are besides honey bees

[LOTS. And you've probably never seen most of them, if you don't regularly spend time around native plants! There are 140 species of longhorn bee alone, and most people haven't even heard of longhorn bees! There are well over a hundred bumble bees too! Bees come in bright, metallic green, blue, and pure gold. In the USA where I live, some of the most endangered bees are the adorable, fluffy bumble bees—the American Bumble Bee is threatened, and we have some species, like the rusty-patched bumble bee, that are critically endangered.]

[Please, please, please do not use pesticides on plants unless it is a necessity, and please do a LOT of research on the specific pesticide you are using and its effects on non-target insects. If there is any alternative, Do Not Do It. ESPECIALLY not pesticides that come in dust or powder form, ESPECIALLY in the USA, because regulations are so loose here that regular people can buy pesticides in dust form that are horribly toxic to bees.]

[How horribly toxic? A pesticide like Sevin dust will cling to the fuzz on every single bee that visits your plant—like pollen—and those bees will probably die. And in social bees, before they die, they will take the poison back to their hive (like pollen) and potentially kill the entire hive.]

[nereidprinc3ss]

like real people do

in which spencer gets home from a case and fem!reader is feeling extra clingy

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as a girl, non-sexual nudity/intimacy (again....??...), if you have daddy issues you'll prob like it, i should try therapy, technically suggestive, not even one whiff of plot, just cute shit a/n: wrote about a heatwave because winter makes me crave death. kisses!

It was hot in LA, and it’s a different, muggier kind of hot back at Spencer’s apartment when he gets home at four in the morning. The plan is to take a quick shower without waking you and then pass out for ten hours, but as soon as he opens the bedroom door, plans change. 

Even the sheer sleep-deprivation he’s experiencing can’t hamper the smile that forms when he sees you face down on the bed, fan on the highest setting and pointed straight at you, and conspicuously lacking a shirt. He drops his bag and folded suit jacket to the floor, trudging to the bed before practically falling upon you, pressing a trail of kisses up your spine.

A little sleepy grumble from you notifies him that his plans of keeping you asleep have failed, but he can’t find it within himself to be too broken up about it. 

“Spence!” you murmur, voice so quiet and scratchy with sleep but still drenched in pure adoration and joy. 

“Hi, baby,” he says, lifting his weight off of you just enough for you to turn over before he collapses on top of you again. He slips his arms underneath you and around your waist just as you wrap your arms around him. 

“You’re home.”

“I am,” he agrees, burying his face in your neck with a sigh. “And I missed you so much, pretty girl.”

He laughs when you kick the blanket away, attempting to wrap your legs around him like a koala bear. 

“Did you kiss any movie stars while you were gone?”

“Not a one,” he assures you, pressing his lips to your jaw like an offering. 

“Are you sure?”

“I am positively sure. Did you give up on clothing yourself while I was gone?”

“You don’t know how hot it was earlier when I was trying to fall asleep. There was no other option.”

He hums, his face still slotted under your jaw like pieces of a puzzle. 

“You should go back to sleep. I’m just going to take a shower and then I’m coming to bed.”

Your hands weaves through his hair gently, which doesn’t make him feel any less like passing out where he is. 

“Can I come?”

“To the shower?” He chuckles, rousing slightly. “You’re welcome to, but it’s not going to be very exciting. I’m exhausted.”

“That’s okay,” you assure him. “There will be no funny business whatsoever.”

“Okay. Come on, lovebug.”

He rolls off the bed, pulling you to your feet with just a little bit too much force. The momentum send you stumbling into him, but he catches you gratefully and captures your lips in a sweet kiss. 

“Wait,” you order when he tries to pull away. “Not done yet.”

“Oh, you’re not?” He laughs against you between kisses, but slowly the humor fades and he loops his arms around your waist, gently rocking the two of you back and forth for a very long moment. “You are in rare form tonight, sweet girl,” he murmurs, finally pulling away from the kiss for good. 

“I’m not all the way awake yet,” you admit. “What’s that called, again?”

“Hypnagogia.” He presses a kiss to your temple, loosening his hold on you. “I am also rapidly losing consciousness so we need to make this shower super quick, okay?”

“I know, I know! I said I would behave!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says dryly, tugging you toward the adjoining bathroom. You pout.

“Your lack of faith in me hurts."

Despite his hesitations, the shower remains PG-13. You cling to him pretty much the entire time like a flowering vine, but no untoward advances are made. 

“Okay, you’re going to have to let go of me long enough so I can put some clothing on.”

Spencer says it lightheartedly, but you huff dramatically anyway, sitting on the edge of the bed as he roots through drawers in search of pajamas. When he produces a shirt for himself, your favorite of his, you object. 

“Wait, I wanna wear that one.”

“Oh? I thought you don’t do shirts anymore,” he teases, tossing it to you before finding another for himself. You pull it over your head, getting up again to search for a pair of shorts as he gets dressed. 

“Well, since you’re so concerned that I’m a sex-crazed harlot, I figure I’d better wear some clothes.”

“I never said that,” he reprimands gently, pulling you backward by your waist. “If you decided to forgo clothing completely, I would respect that decision.”

“You think you’re so funny.”

The two of you land on the bed, a tangle of limbs as he pulls you close as humanly possible. 

“I think I’m delirious,” he admits. With a start you realize the room is lit with the very early beginnings of dawn—you don’t even want to know how long he’s been awake. Suddenly you feel very guilty. 

“Oh—I’m really sorry for keeping you up, Spence.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m comfortable with my choices.” His hand finds the small of your back, rubbing small comforting circles over the bare skin. “Now, go to sleep.”

“Okay,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Love you.”

“I love you,” Spencer sighs dreamily. “So much.”

And the warmth you feel then has nothing to do with the heatwave. 

[rottenomelet]

yandere jjk thoughts

warning:: nsfw! i’m eighteen and you should be too! hints of kidnapping, non-con, and coercion. nothing is ever really explicitly stated but - still.

a/n: there’s no real rhyme or reason behind this - winter is just my favorite time to snuggle up and read about crazy ppl. also i wrote this in lowercase originally so u see a spot i missed, no u didnt. u can leave requests for different characters if u wanna

Gojo Satoru

In no world could I ever imagine Gojo Satoru treating you like a real human being.

He is the strongest. There is no one who could destroy him. He can see all. And the issue isn’t just that he’s the best, it’s that he’s been told that since the day he opened his bright eyes. He has a big ego and it’s justified because there is no one better than him.

And sure he’ll indulge you. He'll laugh at your jokes and console you when you cry. But in the back of his mind, in every kiss to your forehead, in every smile, there will always be a domineering aspect. Because he knows that you are insignificant in the grand scheme of the world. you are only important because he deemed you worth something.

You’re not quite a toy or a pet to him. You’re more like - an indoor plant to him. Something that needs nurturing from his caring hands, watering and sunlight granted to you by him. You adapt and grow according to his needs and his conditions. But at the same time, you are to be cherished. never handled too roughly, case you begin to wilt. You don’t have to do much but sit and be nurtured and be pretty while he gives you whatever he deems necessary for your survival.

It fascinates him, really, how simple your little life is. How much you don’t know and never will know because as a flower, all you need to understand is that water and sunlight and love are given to you before you’ll even realize that you need it.

But you still have a job to be pretty and sometimes that’s sitting on the bed, still, as he observes you or bouncing on his cock. It just depends on the day.

Geto Suguru

Suguru is a calm man, a quiet man. He makes decisions based on logic. He is not exactly one for emotional outbursts, and even at his angriest, he rarely raises his voice.

But you.

A little non-sorcerer that can’t even see curses somehow made him look twice. Little unimportant you constantly runs through his mind. What you’re doing, what you’ve eaten, what places you’ve gone to. Who you’ve talked to, who your friends are. Your hobbies, your interests. Your lips and your eyes and that special something between your legs.

Just thinking about you, even innocently, makes him harden. It’s uncomfortable, it’s infuriating, it’s maddening.

He thought, surely someone in your family was a sorcerer, a powerful one at that. But no, your family is normal. You are, genetically, as average as they come.

He doesn’t treat you softly at first, doesn’t have a mind to. You’re a filthy little nothing, after all. When he fucks, he fucks without care. Suguru treats you like a doll, not made of porcelain but made of cloth, one he can throw around and still be in decent condition. He keeps a hand pressed to your mouth, to keep your voice down. A blindfold around your eyes so he doesn’t have to look into them. Your hands are bound behind your back so you don't touch him even by accident. Flat on your stomach, unable to see or feel or say anything is how you find yourself every time. He doesn’t even come inside of you, the only thing you’re grateful for.

It’s scary, how roughly he treats you. But it’s downright terrifying when he begins to lay softer hands upon you, begins to kiss instead of bite, caress instead of pinch.

Nanami Kento

He is a very traditional and stern man.

You are, silly, to him. stumbling and bumping and in general, unsure of yourself and what to do. But he sees potential. Even when you’ve tripped over thin air or broken something by accident, there’s a certain grace to your movements. A grace he wants to harvest and invest in.

And while he wants to give you direction, he also doesn’t have the patience or time to teach you like he wants. So, it’s best to ‘learn on the job’ when it comes to Kento.

Learn how to cook his favorite meals and bake the sweets he loves just right. When he’s okay with speaking and when he needs quiet. Remembering to kiss him goodbye every morning and remove his coat for him every night.

Learn how to suck his cock right - which vein is most sensitive, when to suckle and gag and slurp, what noises to make, and remember to always always swallow. He hates messes after all.

Learn his favorite positions. The lingerie sets he like best. How loudly he wants you to be. Accept his cum in your tummy with a smile.

It’s not hard - please him and you will be rewarded. Rewarded with pleasure, with time outside, with gentle hands.

And if you stumble or forget, he will easily remind you of your job.

Mahito

You’re his personal entertainment. You’re an experiment.

Mahito is incredibly laid-back, even lazy to an extent. He lets you roam and explore and fall. He doesn’t care what you do as long as you stay within the four walls he’s placed you in.

It's hard to understand him. For a curse, he’s always laughing, finding almost child-like joy in the most odd things. Whether that’s watching an animal documentary or wondering if a human’s neck can extend like the turtles on TV.

One thing you do know is that he likes games and he likes playing with you. The only problem is you don’t when the game starts and ends, the rules or even if you’re playing right. Oftentimes, you find yourself playing a game that you don’t know the rules of and Mahito has named himself the gamekeeper.

He usually starts by asking a question. Something simple like “What time did you wake up?” or “What did you eat today?”. You find out the hard way that no matter what you say, you’re always wrong.

Say you woke up at ten? Then you’ll find yourself pressing into the mattress, drooling on your pillow as he drills you, punishing you for waking so late in the day. You had a slice of cake earlier? Then don’t be surprised when you’re in the kitchen licking icing off his cock as punishment for an unhealthy lunch.

Itadori Yuuji

He's the jock that gave you a chance. That made you feel special and pretty and popular.

He's sweet. He gives you his hoodie when you’re cold. He drives you home after school. Buys you lunch when you can’t afford it. Takes you on nice dates.

He wants you sitting front row at all his games, wearing his varsity jacket so everyone knows you’re his girl. He twirls you and kisses you in front of the whole school when he wins, the whole thing right of a cheesy rom-com.

But, surely, you didn’t think he was doing all that for free? No, he wants compensation. He deserves a reward for treating you so sweetly. It's only fair.

It doesn’t matter if you’re ‘not ready’. No, no, you’re just nervous, sweetheart. But he’ll be gentle with you so calm down. Yeah, calm down when he slides a hand up your skirt on a date to the movies. Be quiet when he asks you for head in the janitor’s closet between classes. And don’t make a fuss when he slips his cock inside of you, raw, even though you begged him to use a condom.

‘Rubbers hurt,’ he says. ‘It feels better raw’,’ he pleads. ‘Don’t worry - I'll pull out.,’ he promises.

And you better be understanding when he comes inside of you. Afterall, he’ll buy you a plan b.

Choso

Whatever you do, do not stress this man.

He’s going through enough as is. The last thing he needs from you is any attitude or ungratefulness. Even an upset face will have you with your knees pushed beside your head and Choso making you scream, all while watching you with that same tired expression.

Choso is the oldest of ten siblings. He is used to dealing with bratty behavior. He handles your tantrums with grace - once you’ve finished throwing things and screaming, he’ll only ask if you're finished. And then he will be upon you.

But, beyond punishment, he is caring and quiet. He prefers it when you speak, likes it when you prattle on about your day or your favorite show. He likes it when you’re happy.

[alatusprinz]

trivial things they do that make you fall in love all over again

genre : fluff ( modern au, committed relationships? )

characters : xiao , cyno, kaedehara kazuha , tighnari , scaramouche x f!reader

albedo takes care of you in ways you never knew you needed. your powerbank, airpods or phone is never out of battery because he charges them when you're in the shower or sleeping. he can guess what you want for dinner from the way you're texting, and often has exactly what you've been craving for before you ever told him what you wanted to eat. he restocks everything in your home before anything ever runs out. takes and edits THE BEST insta-worthy pictures of you, everyone wonders if you hired a professional now. brings you your favorite snack and/or drink every time he goes to the convenience store because he is just so smitten he can't spend a minute without thinking about you. remembers your birthday, the date of the day you two first held hands, kissed and everything, the dates are engraved into his memory and he does mini-celebrations every single year no matter how much time has passed. sometimes, he comes behind you when you're busy with work and starts brushing your hair, and maybe braid them if you'd let him. he's amazingly good at styling your hair, then when he's done, he'll kiss you on the top of your head and whisper how beautiful you are, the most breathtaking person to walk this world.

tighnari, after being with you for a while, can read you like an open book. just as you're about to leave the house, he'll remind you something you were about to forget just now. he knows when you've had a bad day from the way you close the door, so he's bringing you a cup of tea and pulling you in a gentle hug without a single word needed. he knows exactly what you're thinking, too much to the point where you two say so many words at the same time. the longer he spends time with you, the more he finds himself syncing to your mannerisms- and frankly, he loves it. when you accidentally fall asleep while waiting for him to finalize his work, he'll gently cover you with a blanket (and if you wear glasses, he'll take them off gently and put them next to you with a kiss on your forehead.) he may not verbalize it often but you have him completely wrapped around your finger, he can't go through his day without searching for your presence every corner he turns. also, he would never let you go to sleep with tears in your eyes, no. over his dead body. no matter how bad the argument would be, tighnari would make sure you two were at least on surface-level understanding before comforting and apologizing to you before going to sleep with a gentle promise of discussing it again when you're both more rational tomorrow. grows different types of flowers and names them after you. tugs them behind your ear when they grow and bloom.

kazuha spoils you without explicitly meaning it. always lets you have the aux in his car and if he's playing music, always has your new favorite songs saved in his playlist so you two can both enjoy. he carries an extra set of mittens and scarf for you in case you're cold every single time you two go out on a date in winter. brings you peeled/sliced fruit when you're working and sometimes feeds them to you if you're too busy. when he's waking you up from your nap, he kneels next to the bed and kisses your cheeks and forehead while gently whispering sweet nothings until you're awake instead of leaning over. on a snowy winter day, he'll draw a heart in front of your window by his footprints on the fresh snow and call you over to make you see the giant (kind of unshapely) heart. still opens every single door for you after years and years of being together. buys you flowers and heartfelt gifts without ever needing a reason to because you being in his life is the greatest joy he has ever experienced. and if marriage is something you want, even after marriage, kazuha will never stop calling you endearments, saying i love you every day, and take you out on a date once a week at the very least. will gladly freeze for the night if you hog the blanket accidentally, and when you fall asleep while hugging his arm, he'd adore how cute you look while sleeping and gladly ignore/forget about his arm going numb because he doesn't have the heart to move you while you're sleeping.

scaramouche's affection is so lowkey that you need to pay attention if you want to notice. he always lets you walk on the inside of the sidewalk. he covers sharp corners of the table when you lean down. he gets you that concert ticket that's sold out within seconds somehow and leaves them in one of your lecture notes for you to find out yourself ( and has one for himself too, half to annoy you and half because he secretly loves seeing how happy you look at that concert). flicks your forehead every time when you start talking bad things about yourself in attempt to soothe your insecurities. argues with you about you "stealing his hoodies/sweatshirts" all the time but it's him who leaves them in your room secretly when you aren't looking, then claim he "forgot it" just because he loves seeing you in his clothes. once fought a guy who was trying to buy the last piece of snack you liked at a convenience store and successfully brought you the snacks- you never found out what happened to the other dude. he pauses the netflix whenever you leave the room even for 2 seconds. steals your jewelry sometimes (because it reminds him of you throughout the day), and dresses so well to the point he looks better in it than you do.

xiao, if you pay enough attention, shows every second of the day how smitten he is for you already. he texts you good morning the second he wakes up, and the last one to say good night. sends you random memes and cute pictures of animals and tag you with "looks like you" or if there's a picture of a cute animal couple, sometimes with "us." if you text him "my head kinda hurts ugh", he'll leave you on read for 20 minutes and by the time you're wondering what he's doing, you'll see him knocking at your door with painkillers, homemade stew, and a slice of cake he knows you like. extremely light sleeper so when you sleep together and you can't sleep or you're having a nightmare, he wakes up immediately and comforts you, shushing your tears away and hugging you, playing with your hair until you fall asleep. every time when he's coming over to your house, he has something he knows you like (a drink from your favorite cafe, your favorite desert, book or maybe a spare hoodie of his). brings you random pretty rocks and small stuffed dolls, pretty much everything he sees and reminds him of you- he will buy and give it as a present to you. knows you have like half his closet already but doesn't have the heart to ask for his clothes back because you seem so happy wearing them. sometimes calls you at midnight and takes you for a spontaneous motorcycle ride, and take you where the night view is the prettiest. wears that promise ring you got for him 3 years ago religiously every single day. talks to you how much he loves you and how much he wishes you'll stay by his side forever when he thinks you're sleeping (ps. you're not).

cyno, while he doesn't look like it, is the biggest simp if you see through his stoic exterior. he worships the ground you walk on, is willing to do nearly anything just to see you happy and healthy. he will listen to you talk and rant about things he has no idea about for hours or days if needed- not just listen passing-by, he never takes his eyes off you, and listens to every single word with great attention. he's also a living heater so he always warms up your freezing hands and feet without a single complaint. gives the best hugs, and he smells so good too, he will always be the comfort person you needed when you had nobody else to turn to. gives you his jacket even if it's minus 30 celsius outside and INSISTS he isn't cold, even if his nose is clearly turning red. carries the shopping bags for you even if you insist he doesn't need to, he really doesn't want to make you lift anything heavy. if you two order at a restaurant and you don't like your food, he'll gladly switch with yours with no complaints. instead, he'll have a soft, adoring smile when you have another bite from his dish and your eyes sparkle in excitement when you clearly like it better than yours. if you have any scars on your body, that's where he likes to kiss you the most. and he truly thinks the scar, or your entire body and soul is the most beautiful one he's ever encountered. will watch your comfort movie/series with you thousand times over without a single complaint just to see the smile on your face. has a custom-made hoodie that has the ugliest embroidery with a print that says "i love (y/n)" unironically and wears it around the house. not afraid to kiss and cuddle you even when you're sick and try to keep him away in case he catches it but he never listens, instead cuddles in even closer. when you two share a piece of food, he'll purposefully split it in like 6.5/3.5 and give you the bigger piece. oh and he says he'll love you even if you turn into a worm so, that's that.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

daddy az?? daddy cass?? what about daddy eris 🥺🥺

Oh, I've been waiting to write for our fire boy more.

Future daddy

Let's all be honest with ourselves here. Eris is not someone who would go bouncing off the rooftops when you tell him that you're carrying his baby. That is not to say that he isn't happy. He is. But he's so unbelievably scared that it overpowers everything else. Especially if Beron is still alive and in charge of Autumn.

Hence why, I think, he's getting you out of the main quarters. Somewhere deep into the woods. In some cabin that only he knows of. Somewhere close to winter's borders so that in case you could cross it and Kallias would take care of you for the time being. Because Eris is paranoid. He only trusts himself and his childhood healer who has been in his life ever since he was born. And so I think the beauty of the first months of your pregnancy is kind of washed away by all of this. The worrying. The panic. Eris constantly being on the edge.

But then it all slowly starts to change. One morning he noticed, while you're slowly getting dressed, the tiny bumps forming there and he's never the same afterwards. Eris rolls out of bed, sinking to his knees right in front of you, warm palm carefully caressing the little growing baby there. His eyes fill up with tears as he rests his head on your chest, "I've been such bad mate, such a bad father", he crocks out. "What are you on about, Eris?", you ask him feeling concerned. "You deserve so much more. I haven't even told you how happy I am... How much... How much I love you both", he breathes out. "We both know, darling. Believe me. We love you endlessly", you mutter while brushing his tears away.

And it all just changes. From then moving forward. The only way he can sleep at night is if his hands are resting on your tummy, so big spoon Eris is in full force. He never leaves without giving you and your bump a kiss. The same goes for saying hello. He too enjoys talking to the belly. But I would say that he reads to it more than tells stories of the day. Eris's days are too full of his father's brutality and he wants to keep away from the baby. So he reads the books that he had read to Lucien himself, or found in a little market. He's so good at making different voices for the characters and you can't help but look at him with so much love, already picturing him reading the same story to your baby when they are older and can understand or at least react to their father's voice.

Call me out on it but I think Eris is exceptional at making food and he also loves doing it. So on his free days, he is more than happy to cook for you or make sweet apple tarts. He's also working on a crib himself. Carving all the little woodland trees and creatures, squirrels and deer, berries and leaves. It's something that he's extremely passionate about and let's face it you would be sobbing once he shows it to you. Something so special. Made with so much love by their father. And I think he would like to leave space around the borders so he could carve out your baby's name and keep adding names with each new family member.

Takes you on walks through the forest because moving around is important. Hand around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other on your bump. Stopping to pick flowers for you and thread them through your hair. Plus imagine how nice his fire hands would feel again all the pains and aches. And he does it without even being asked. If you two are sat down on the sofa or even in bed, he always massages your feet. Stopping to rub your shoulders and back. Loving to just sway with you while he's holding up your bump once it gets heavier.

Not to mention a pack of wolf-breed dogs that are your army. Like, forget doing anything on your own. You're peeing with at least twelve eyes looking at you. Receiving bumps to your leg or side if you haven't eaten anything in a while and they start to feel your blood sugar dropping. Heck, trust them to bring you snacks from the kitchen. And the best naps in between all the fluff furs. Eris is more than happy that his doggos are so in love and protective of you two. It's that extra comfort for him. He knows they would fight till death to protect you two.

[frostironfudge]

Baby, Keep Those Off - Bucky Barnes

Summary: based on this request by @angieptt 'I was wondering how would Bucky react to listen to you mention about you being insecure walking around the house without pants on even though you love it but hate your body at the same time, and last time you mentioned something your last partner said "to me you are okay" , the last word breaking you and confirming in your head you are disgusting and not desirable even "when they love you".'

Word Count: 1.5k

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, you are responsible for your media consumption. fluff, angst, reader is insecure as stated in the summary, bucky comforts reader, insecurity over body mentioned, mild smut, allusions to implied future smut, also it's their first valentines together, they got together a year ago just after valentines day (basically last week of feb 2022 for reference incase their timeline is confusing), oral f receiving mildly described, bucky is a starving man, also bucky on his knees a delicious sight.

A.N. 1: thank you so much for sending in this request! i hope you enjoy what i came up with!❤️ i didn't go into a lot of detail into the insecurity because this is something i struggle with too and i didn't want it to get too much for me, i'm glad you sent this in though because mr. barnes knows how to take care of his girl 💖

Main Masterlist || AO3

Dust specks dance in the bright sunlight peeking through the blinds. The bed is warm yet cold. The sheets carry only your body lotion’s scent. The soft sheets nor do the blankets envelop you as you crave this morning. 

You miss the warm arms sleepily pulling you closer, lips slightly chapped that brush against your shoulder and neck. The stubble that draws laughter with your first breath when he nuzzles into you. The sleep laden smile that is whispered against your forehead. Cedar and amber surrounding you, grounding you. 

Unfortunately away on a mission leaving you pulling the pillows closer, burying your head into the piece of clothing that isn’t holding your favourite scent. Sighing against the pillowcase. 

The alarm clock has you know the date, it stares at you mockingly. Lifting up your phone does uplift your mood. A plethora of messages from the man who graces your lockscreen wearing the cat ears from the winter funfair you went to on a date for new years eve. 

You remember the laughter bubbling from your chest and Bucky’s scowl turning into a grin, the way he pulled you close, as snowflakes fell on your shoulders and hair as he kissed you senseless before stealing your phone from your back pocket and squishing his cheek to yours to take a picture. It had been your matching lockscreen ever since that night.

Bucky: Happy Valentine’s Day, my doll, I’m on the quinjet and you have me for the whole day, not sticking around for debriefing (don’t let the team know) 

Bucky: i know you’re sleeping, can’t wait to come back into bed with you just wanna hold you close and maybe let my hands wander 

Bucky: definitely let my hands wander. 

Bucky: I miss you doll. Counting down the hours to celebrate our first valentine's day. 

You laugh, sending him messages right back. 

You: Happy Valentine's Day, Bucky. Counting down the minutes till you get home. Can’t wait to feel your hands wander, maybe I could wear the gift I got.

You: I even brought a backup in case you rip the first one.

You: Yes there are two. Lacy and very pretty.

You know he has no option while on the quinjet, but teasing Bucky had its perks that led to a delicious ache between your thighs. Skin warming you roll out of bed, Bucky’s oversized shirt caresses your thighs and you chuckle as you spot the typing dots appear. 

He was letting your house sit since Alpine needed someone to be there. You smile thinking about how you met him just in the last week of february last year and now he’s yours to love and cherish.

When you exit the bedroom, flower petals trail from the door to the living room. You pause. Your phone chimes.

Bucky: Well, your early gift should be ready despite being a little tease. Go on see it.

Giddy with excitement the walk to the living room is even shorter as you round into the room a gasp leaves you. Bucky stands there with a bouquet of flowers in hand. Breakfast arranged on the table. When you look back from the table to Bucky his eyes are on your legs.

Oh shit, shit, shit. 

He was not supposed to see this apart from when you two were getting intimate.

Bucky traces his eyes over your limbs, his shirt being very lucky this morning. Well luckier than him. His lips part to declare his admiration before you scurry back. He frowns.

“Doll?” His feet carry him in strides to you.

“I’m, I’m putting on pants, I thought–, I know it isn’t that good of a thing to see…” 

He catches the door in time before you shut it, “What do you mean? This is honestly,” He just stares at your bare legs again, licking his lips, “Doll, fuck, is this how you roam around when I’m not home?”

“I, um,” Your fingers gripping the sweatpants halfway up your legs and you look everywhere but at him, twisting your fingers you try to find the words, “I don’t like how pants feel… for the most part… sometimes I don’t like how…” you pause, the day would be ruined.

“So you mean to tell me, I could have had this glorious, gorgeous, and fucking beautiful sight greet me everytime I’m home?” He pushes the door open wider. 

Your cheeks heat, “B-Bucky you don’t have to say that, I know it’s just okay.” 

His brows furrow at your voice growing quieter.

Bucky walks over to you cradling your face, “Doll?” your eyes meet his, he’s smiling. Softness and tenderness wrap around your heart at his loving gaze, “Doll, you look absolutely beautiful and I don’t need you wrapped up in lingerie to appreciate the beautiful woman I have and call my girl.”

You smile at his words, “But sometimes I don’t think I look good like this.” your admission is met by his lips brushing over your forehead.

“Doll, some days with our bodies are hard, but you know how you remind me to love my body and be kind towards it? Thank it for getting me through so much?” He rewards you with another forehead kiss when you nod.

“I’m right here to remind you to be kind and loving towards your body. Maybe even give a physical demonstration to allow me to thank your gorgeous body.” He laughs when you swat his chest lightly.

“It will be a long road or a short one, it's different for everyone. I’ll be there for you, every step of the way.” He promises.

The crack in your confidence fills in the slightest, he was right it would be a while before you’d be fully confident, “Thank you for saying that, Bucky.”

“I hope you know I’m not just saying that, I believe it, and we’ll work on it so that you won’t have to depend on me to make you feel confident, you will be confident from within.” He assures, you kiss his cheek.

“But I want you there to be jaw dropped each time I’m without pants roaming around our place.” You let the hope for a future with him slip. 

“Trust me Doll, all my blood went to my dick when I saw you. I had this whole cute speech planned and it all flew out the window. I was tongue tied. I still am but thats only till I look at those fucking gorgeous legs again, want them wrapped around my head.”

You bite your bottom lip, “Really?” 

“Baby, keep those off. That is my gift for this year and the next several years.” He smiles as he affirms his own want for a future with you, “And if anyone made you believe otherwise then I’m going to change your belief today. Also then track down and beat the shit out of them for making my girl feel underappreciated and made doubt her beauty.” 

Bucky moves his hands from your face, grabbing your hips, in a fluid motion you’re propped up against the door, legs wrapped around him and you can feel his hardness. Your sweatpants are a forgotten article and thought.

“No panties too? Fuck Doll.” He groans, the fabric rubs deliciously over your folds. Your whine goes right to his cock, “You aren’t wearing pants or panties at home anymore.” He groans, lips latching onto the exposed skin of your chest, his flesh hand rubbing the flesh of your thighs.

“Bucky–,” you moan as he nips at your skin, your legs tightening around his waist. He undoes all the buttons of the shirt.

“Can’t waste a drop, Doll.” Your legs are placed down, Bucky kneels, eyes darkened he stares at you like a man starved.

Your right leg over his shoulder your fingers move to his hair as he stares at your dripping cunt. The sight of him turning feral only sends thrums of arousal through you, your need for him increasing. 

“I’m going to show you exactly why the sight of you just in a shirt is fucking magnificent.” He kisses your inner thigh, licking his way to your folds. He kisses your aching clit then hums in delight. 

You ask for more of him needily.

He pulls away, looking back up at you with those darkened eyes and glistening lips and chin.

“You don’t mind that I’m skipping breakfast for my dessert right?” He smirks when you glare at him.

“James,” Your angered tone turns breathless as his mouth returns to devour you.

He moans against your folds, palms digging into your flesh. Oh you weren’t leaving the apartment as he had planned, he’d stay right here and worship you, hear you only remember his name.

-x-x-

A.N. 2: he's a menace. bucky is a menace. also happy valentines day to all you lovelies!!

bucky permanent tags: @slutforsexyseabass

permanent tags: @stevesmewmew @pandaxnienke

[feelbokkie]

The Gift of the Magi

Feelbokkiemas Day 2

genre: angst, fluff

pov: 2nd person

description: It's the day before Christmas and you have yet to get Chan anything. And on top of that, you don't have the money to buy him anything. (Bokkie adaptation of O. Henry’s Gift of the Magi)

pairing: non-idol musician!Chan x reader

warnings: swearing, money issues, mention of food

word count: 1,904

©feelbokkie (2023) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

☀️Feelbokkie M.list ☀️

🎄12 Days of Feelbokkiemas🎄

One dollar and forty-three cents.

That's all. You had been carefully putting money aside. A dollar here, a couple more dollars there. You had been careful. Making sure not to splurge when buying groceries. Staying away from fast food places. No new outfits. You even unsubscribed from your streaming services. You checked your checking account three times. One dollar and forty-three cents. And tomorrow is Christmas.

All you can do is fall back into your bed and cry. And so you do after letting out a frustrated scream into your pillow.

And while your crying dies down, the silence in your studio apartment consumes you. A studio apartment because that's all you and Chan can afford.

The apartment you two rented when you and Chan were much better off. When you would have wiggle room after paying rent, utilities, and all your other bills. When you both were working more and barely had time to see each other. And still, you were happier than, savoring those short moments you would spend with Chan. How his exhausted smile and dark eyes would light up when he saw you after a long day.

You finally stop crying, having no more tears left to cry. You walk over to your kitchen, grab a glass, and fill it with water. You take a sip before setting the glass down and going to clean your face in the sink. Drying your face and looking out the window without much care for what's going on outside. Tomorrow is Christmas and all you have is $1.43 to buy something for Chan. You saved all you could, but your paycheck isn't as big as it used to be. And everything is more expensive than before.

Only $1.43 to buy a gift for Chan. Your Chan. You spent too much time fantasizing about what to get him. Something worthy of him. Something he deserved. Something that would show him how much he means to you.

You look around the apartment, unsure of what else to do. Your eyes fall on the jewelry box that sits on your side of the bed. Not much sat inside. Just a few cheap rings, earrings, bracelets, and necklaces that you bought from second-hand shops or novelty stores. In a special compartment in the bottom lived the necklace that passed down from your mother who got it from her mother who got it from her mother and so forth. The chain and pendant were made of pure gold. The pendant was a flower made up of many small diamonds. It was one of the most expensive things in your apartment, apart from Chan's guitar.

A red electric guitar that Chan keeps in a case under the bed. The only place where it wouldn't be in the way in the entire apartment. Chan saved up for that guitar, you remember the look on his face when he brought it home. You also remember the music he would play from it frequently. You could listen to him play that guitar for hours. You haven't heard him play music since his amplifier broke. After all the money he spent on the guitar, he could only afford to buy a secondhand amplifier. It lasted for a good while. But now, with all the living expenses the two of you have, he couldn't even afford to buy a used one again. At least, not a decent one. So his guitar lives unplayed under your bed.

You let out a deep sigh before quickly getting dressed in your winter clothes, grabbing your necklace, and heading out into the chilly winter with tears in your eyes.

***

"How much for this?" You ask as you set the pendant of your necklace down on the counter.

The tired owner of the pawnshop you walked into looks down at you and back at the pendant.

"Just the pendant?" He sighs. You nod quickly, unsure of what else to day. The original chain that came with the necklace broke a while ago and you didn't want to put it on any old chain that you knew would break quickly. Repairing the chain was expensive and the least of your concerns, so the necklace sat in your jewelry box until you could afford a new chain or to fix the old one.

He licks his lips before turning around and grabbing something from behind him. He turns back around wearing one of those magnifying glasses you've only seen in movies. He carefully picks up the pendant and inspects it with a small monocular jewelry magnifying glass.

Thump, thump

Your heart pounds in your chest as time slowly passes by. You fidget with your hands as you wait anxiously for him to finish. His white hair covers his eyes. You wish you could read his expression.

"I can give you $400 for it," He finally says.

"Oh," You quietly reply. $400 is a lot, but it's not enough to get Chan a decent amp. Even with the sale the music store down the street is having. And you didn't want to get Chan a used amp. He deserves a new one.

"It would have been worth more with the chain. Any chain really," He adds.

You bit your lower lip to stop it from quivering. Your heart sinks to the floor. You try to hide your disappointment but as Chan loves to point out, you're shit at hiding your emotions.

"T-the chain broke," You finally reply, your voice wavering.

"I see," He mumbles. Sensing your desperation, he lets out another sigh, "Look, seeing as it's Christmas and that you've taken really good care of this pendant, I'm willing to buy it for $600. Final offer."

"I-I'll take it," You sniffle, finally able to breathe. You can make $600 work. You could get Chan a decent amp that you know would last him a long time. One that you knew that would make him happy. And that's enough to feel a bit better about selling your pendant.

***

You were able to make it to the music store before they closed and, lady luck finally being on your side, you were able to get the last amplifier that they had in your price range. It was one of the ones you were researching before that had a lot of good reviews. With the sale, you were able to afford the amplifier and the warranty. You even had a little left over to have them wrap the amp for you.

How you managed to carry it home by yourself is a mystery. How you got it inside the apartment and hid it before Chan got home is another one. By the time Chan got home, you were setting the table for dinner. Stew again, one of the easier things to make that would last a while. Unlike the meals that you and Chan used to cook, which were much more extravagant and would last maybe one or two days before you would have to make something else.

The smile that comes over Chan's tired face is enough to let you know that you made the right choice in selling your pendant.

The two of you talk about your days and a lot of small, mundane things that you talk about every day. Things you never get tired of talking about with Chan. You could listen to him read the ingredients on a box of cereal and be happy.

As the night ends, the two of you fall asleep in each other's arms. At some point, you wake up in the middle of the night and climb out of bed to pull the amplifier from its hiding place, putting it beside your ridiculously small tree. You couldn't afford to get a tree this year. You always preferred real Christmas trees and fake trees were out of your price range. Chan managed to get the top half of a real tree from a tree lot that got ran over. It came up to knees, but it was a tree. You set the amp next to the tree before crawling back into bed with Chan.

***

"Y/n, what's that?" Chan's deep morning voice asks you as he wakes up.

You had woken up early again and decided to make some hot cocoa for you and Chan to have while he opened his present.

"It's your Christmas gift, Channie." You hum as you get up to make him a cup.

"I told you, you didn't have to get me anything." He yawns, sitting up from the sofa bed.

"I know I didn't have to, but I wanted to. You deserve this." You walk back to the bed and hand him his cup. He presses a soft kiss on your cheek.

"Can I open it?" He asks, a wide grin taking over his face, melting your heart.

"Go for it," You smile back.

Chan sets his mug down on the floor and excitedly runs over to his gift. You sit up as you watch him tear off the wrapping paper. You set your mug down on the floor next to his. You watch in confusion as Chan's smile slowly drops.

"Y/n, how did you afford this?" He asks quietly, unsure of what to say.

"It doesn't matter, Channie." You reply softly.

"Y/n," He looks up at you, an expression you can read is all over his face.

"I...I sold the necklace my mom gave me." You whisper.

"You sold your necklace?" He repeats.

"Yeah, but it's fine because the chain was broken and--Chan?" You watch as Chan suddenly gets up and walks over to the rack where the two of you keep your clothes.

He's there for a moment, rustling through his clothes before he walks back over to you. He hands you a long, rectangular velvet box.

"Open it," He says softly, a sad look in his eyes.

You pull the ribbon off and open the box to find a gold chain. Almost exactly like the one that broke. One that would have been perfect for your pendant.

"C-han, " Your voice breaks as tears well up in your eyes.

"I love your gift. I was just shocked because...I sold my guitar to get you that chain." He sits down next to you, resting a hand on your knee.

"You sold your guitar? To get me this?" You ask, shocked that he sold his guitar.

"I knew you were devastated that you couldn't wear your necklace anymore and didn't want to put it on another chain that would break. So I thought...Looks like you had the same idea." He slightly chuckles.

You sniffle, unable to hold your tears back anymore. You fumble around as you try to take the chain out of the box. Chan's hands rest on yours, stopping you.

"You don't have to wear it, Y/n." He whispers. You finally look up at him, tears brim his eyes.

"I don't need a pendant. I can just wear it like this." You try to explain.

"Why don't we put our gifts away for now and save them for when we can both enjoy them properly? Huh? And then we can just spend the day watching movies. That's all I really need anyway."

"I love you, Chan," You mumble, trying not to cry harder.

"I love you too, Y/n," He smiles before pressing another soft kiss to your lips.

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

Red means that it wouldn't let me tag you (either at all or properly)

Taglist

@puppysmileseungmin @jiisungllvr @its-hannjisung @veedoesntknaur @turtledove824 @lanatheawesome @marked-unknown @kibs-and-bits 

[searchingforserendipity25]

celrond, 26? 😭🥺

Thanks so much for the ask @i-am-a-lonely-visitor! Here are some kisses on some scars <3

-

Celebrían found them very appealing, particularly when Elrond took the pestle in hand.

'Do not laugh,' she demanded, laughing herself, tapping him with her fan in that light, suggestive fashion that had been all the rage in the Eriador of her youth. 'It’s all in the grip, and how clear with intent your eyes go. Such beautiful hands you have, beloved.'  

Legs round and bare, she tilted on the edge of their rumpled bed, the better to watch him play apothecary for himself; and laughed, lower in her throat, when his ears warmed at the warmth of her admiration, and he proved very easy to distract from his tasks and trap back into bed.

Celebrían was generous of heart, and strange-minded at times. Elrond's hands were accounted good, life-saving, gracious and kind, and most days he did not disdain them at all; but they were not beautiful.

There were scars in them from old battles and skirmishes, accidental prickles when picking sea urchins from the sea pools of Sirion - nicks from weapons training and sparring, from long campaigns and hunting trips.

Tough calluses littered his palm, the likes of which no elven warrior or scribe, no lord or harpist showed; and in the cold the skin broke, red and angry, chafing at the winter, even as flowers bloomed through the frost when he walked his red and angry feet on it.  

The last time he had pressed his palm to his brother's, there had been fine lines already on Elros' hands.

Since then, none remained to share his insights with, no one who cared particularly for his advice on the brewing of Peredhel remedies. He brewed his own oils, in his stillroom in Lindon; in Imladris, he taught his children to work the copper cauldron and the ladle, the grinding stone and the glass vial.

Arwen liked dying best; Elladan enjoyed sparring with his mother, Elrohir played with poisons; and all of them carried little pots of balm in the pocket of their childish aprons, in case their fingers ached in the evenings after they played outside.

In high summer he sang to the bees in their homes, led them singing when it was time to swarm, and picked the honey himself, to offer with slick fingers for Celebrían - tithe and right, to be given over to the lady of the valley.

-

Elrond remembered his mother rubbing honey on his father's hands. Earendil's hands had seemed immense to him, broad and strong and rope-burned, made harsh by salt. He was so careful when he held Elros and Elrond - 

He remembered; he was nearly certain he remembered it. The past was never as unclouded in his heart as the future.

-

Celebrían followed his movements from the sick bed for many unspeaking days.

The light of her eyes, so dimmed, was wary with terror when she lay watching him grind athelas and lavender and honeycomb - the strength of his arms turned into a threat for her to be wary of. Any strength, of any kind - any instrument might be turned into a source of violence.

She did not scream, awake or asleep; the fear was a long and horrible spell, an enduring half-dream from which his gentlest touch could not rouse her, only return her to a different form of torment. There was no safety for her, even in Imladris; no potion or cantrip to heal body or soul, and no comfort to be had. 

In Valinor, Celebrían made her own ointments.

For the tending of scars; to massage her gnarled aches, perfume her wrists and neck, the dip of her spine. Her eyes were clear, keen and keener than they had been, steadier in their vigilance. Elrond embraced this version of his lady no less tightly; he curled into her height, and laughed as he wept when she swept him off her feet.

As a patient in Lórien, and a student amidst the gardens where every dreamer walked at least once in their life, Celebrían had learned much from the Lords and Ladies of the West, and more still from elves ancient and young alive.

In his absence, she had wrought against her war-fans anew, bound them with lace and poison, ridden with Oromë's Hunters, danced among Vána's revels, wept with Nienna and spoken with her own voice the glory and grief of those that loved Midde-Earth and had lost it.

The lady of the valley, a lover of sweetness, kept her door ever-open to her kin and her husband's without differentiation - kept it open for him, when at last Elrond was gladly swept into the shelter of her love and rested there for a time, nursing new wounds and sharing his grief, weary through and through as he was. They tended to each other in the evenings, bandages and oils laid out on the same desk; Elrond wept a little more, the first time Celebrían touched him, and there was not a shadow of fear in her eyes, only the cold memory of it in his heart.

-

They grasped hands and wound their arms, walking in the twilight through the high trellises like a courting pair. Celebrían's little finger was a small stump, her braces cold against his arm; Elrond's bones, grown frail and strangely hollow after so long carrying Vilya, were nestled in hers with care as they walked up the hill to the painted walls of her house.

In the spring after Arwen was wed and lost, Celebrían taught Elrond how to work the herbs of her garden and gather them to her precise requirements, and how to work the tight aches working in the garden or standing too long left her with, even in the Blessed Land.

 The stars were the same all throughout Arda, but brighter in these skies; and some creeping ivies with potent smells and sweetly cooling leaves blossomed only at night, their petals gleaming with the very same silver of Celebrían's tresses.

Her scar-ridged palms chafed against Elrond's lips. They tasted of lavender and starlight when he pressed a glancing touch of his mouth to them, of nectars whose names he knew not yet and was only starting to learn now.

'Lovely beyond all other sights,' he said, coy and sly, when his lady pressed them against his cheeks to tilt him for a greater kiss; and Celebrían laughed merrily at his plight, because his skin ran warm with blood under her grasp, and his knees no less liable to bend like reeds when she pulled him back into her arms.

[soracities]

where do you stand with living in the moment, feeling grateful, and how do you personally approach it?

It's interesting, I actually struggle a lot with staying in the moment even though I also tend to notice small things so easily--I could be having the worst day of my life but I will always notice the veins on a leaf, for example, or how light falls into the train carriage, or a patchy section of grass erupting between the footpath and the street.

More than anything I think that, even if I struggle with staying centered, the thing for me is making sure I find these individual pockets to slip into and you really can find them everywhere: watching steam rise from a cup of warm milk, a slant of afternoon sunlight in mid-winter, tree roots buckling the tarmac along a footpath, overgrown patches of ivy, a flower stall in the middle of the high street etc. They don't even need to be traditionally "romantic" or pleasant or picturesque things, either: there's something in a moment of sympathy for a pigeon hobbling across the tram tracks with an injured foot, or the patterns made by paint peeling off a dilapidated door, or even the geometric cross-sections of electricity wires against the sky (whether blue, or pink, or grey).

It's not necessarily that I actively root myself deeply in these moments (as I said, actively quieting my mind is hard for me to do), but more that, because I always notice them, and because I always take note of myself noticing them, because I feel something for them, even just fleetingly, they create a kind of interruption to whatever was going on before. The interruption might last a second and no more, but I've noted it for that second. It doesn't automatically make a bad day go away, but it's a nice reminder that a bad day doesn't have to be all consuming. There's always going to be something new to see, even if you have seen it before because each time you see it is it's own unique event. I'll be going through it and see a pigeon huddled by a window as the bus passes and when it's out of sight I'll still be going through it, but I'll be going through it having just seen a pigeon and there is a kind of momentary lull in that for me. The easiest way I can describe it is like a dark and empty room where all you've done is lift a single blind. The room is still empty, but also it's not--does that make sense?

In any case when I am trying to stay present my favourite thing is to try and find some kind of immersive activity--this could be a small craft like origami or braiding bracelets, but my favourite is to just go on walks along the beach or through a park and pay as much attention to things as I can: the smell of vegetation when I pass the wild compost heap, or if the grass has been cut, or the gulls picking their way along the sand, or the faraway voices of people and dogs. Sometimes, if I really, really need to calm my mind I'll narrate everything I do: now I am walking up this hill, now I am crossing the grass, now I can feel the mud because it's rained, now the hill is steeper and my legs are pushing harder and I feel it in my thighs etc.

Gratitude, I think, is maybe partly tied in with the whole noticing every little thing--it's not a conscious decision, but I think it does open space for it in a way even if I'm not thinking "I'm so grateful I saw that toddler dressed as Sonic the Hedgehog". It's like the open blind in the dark and empty room again: there's space for something, even if the room itself doesn't change.

But like the rest, there are a lot of things I struggle with where I do need to train myself to be actively conscious of gratitude: I have a series of cue cards tacked over my bed and one of them is, literally, "choose gratitude, bitch ❤️" (heart included). The rest involves me not letting my inner voice doom-monger my life as much which is difficult, but I try. By far the most important to me, though, is trying not to counter the compliments people close to me give by going "actually, I'm really not" or something along those lines. It's not about whether or not I can see these things in myself (some days I can, a lot of days I can't) but about acknowleding that I can't dictate what others see or feel: rejecting their kind words is, in essence, the same as rejecting them, and I don't want to do that.

None of this is to say they have all been failsafes for me or that I don't struggle with things because I do--but they're the scaffolds I have and use the most and that make the world what it is for me. Granted, I think I've always been like this, even as a childhood (I was the very opposite of an apathetic teenager)--so maybe I'm always tuned up this way already and that makes it a little easier; but, again, it doesn't make you immune to the world or to your own troubles so while it isn't necessarily a conscious thing, the older I get the more aware of it I become, and the more intentional I try to make my approach to things, if that makes sense 🤍

[pejite]

Thanks to the winter season, Edwin found himself with more leisure time, affording Wilhelmina the opportunity to slip away for moments to visit Mary Elizabeth and share a cup of tea. Wilhelmina always felt a pang of reluctance leaving the children in Edwin's care, but truth be told, he relished the chance to look after them. After all, for the rest of the year, his time with the children was often limited.

That particular afternoon, Wilhelmina rendezvoused with Mary Elizabeth for tea and conversation, anticipating news about her relationship with Edmund.

"How's the pregnancy treating you?" Mary Elizabeth inquired as she poured a splash of milk into her tea. Wilhelmina grinned and tenderly caressed her swelling belly. "Very well, but I'm eager to give birth and hold my baby in my arms." she responded.

"Oh…" Mary Elizabeth murmured, her chin propped in her hand, eyes shining with wonder. "How I wish I could be a mother again. I'd love to give Josephine siblings. When I see you with your husband and your brood of children, I envy you more than you can imagine."

"You're still young and have plenty of time to have more children, I'm sure." Wilhelmina remarked, setting down her tea cup and casting a curious glance at her friend. Mary Elizabeth chuckled at Wilhelmina's probing gaze. "Well, as I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, last week I met with Edmund and…"

"And…?"

"He's finally proposed to me." she confessed, prompting Wilhelmina to release the breath she'd been holding.

"Congratulations, dear." she exclaimed joyfully. "Do you have any plans yet? Considering Edmund works in London, at the same factory where you used to work, isn't that right?"

"Well…" Mary Elizabeth sighed wistfully. "We'll be moving to London with him. He's secured a flat and will finalize the purchase once we set the wedding date, which I hope will be here. I won't pretend I'm thrilled about selling this house and leaving the village, but Edmund has a promising job at the factory, so it makes sense to join him there."

Wilhelmina nodded pensively. "I'll make sure your parents and your late husband always have fresh flowers."

Mary Elizabeth offered a grateful smile. "In any case, in three weeks, Edmund will have some time off work and will come to make arrangements for the wedding. I'd love for you and Edwin to meet him."

On that very day, not long into the night, when Edwin returned from tending to the livestock at Abernathy estate, Wilhelmina stirred from her slumber upon hearing his arrival and made her way downstairs to the kitchen, where he was enjoying a glass of milk before retiring to bed.

"Hello, dear." Wilhelmina called out, her voice carrying softly across the quiet kitchen. "Would you like me to run you a bath?" Edwin shook his head, setting the glass down on the countertop and leaning against it. "No need, I won't be showering tonight. Tell me, how did it go with Mary Elizabeth? I was in such a rush to get to work when you got back home that you couldn't fill me in."

Wilhelmina placed the candleholder on the table, its flickering flame casting a gentle glow in the room. "She's finally tying the knot, they're moving to London."

"The bustling city..." Edwin remarked with a hint of awe, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of fascination. "Plenty of opportunities there, what with the factories springing up all over." Wilhelmina raised an eyebrow, her expression thoughtful. "Well, I reckon farm work is better, even if it's scarce at times. They say the city is dreadfully dirty."

Edwin chuckled softly, a warm smile playing on his lips. "Don't fret, dear, I've no intentions of uprooting us to the city." he reassured her, reaching out to give her hand a gentle squeeze. She looked at him with a playful gleam in her eye, and suddenly remembered something. "By the way! Edmund will be coming in a few weeks to have a chat with the vicar, and Mary Elizabeth thought it would be a good idea for us to meet him. What do you say?"

Edwin nodded in agreement, his smile widening. "Of course, but for now, let's head to bed." he said, his tone affectionate as his eyes twinkling mischievously.

[melina-ya]

What they’re like as boyfriends;

Characters; Izana Kurokawa, Kakucho, Shuji Hanma.

Warnings; yandere, toxic behavior.

a/n; I think I haven’t posted in like a month lmao. I’m in the middle of writing my finals rn so I was busy studying. But I’m back I think.

Izana Kurokawa;

Yandere.

Mostly in a soft way, but can get a bit obsessive/ controlling. In a toxic way.

Adores you. Is absolutely obsessed with you.

The second you caught his attention, it was basically over for you.

Made it his mission to get you to fall for him. And made it everyone’s problem.

Kakucho is tired, I just know it.

Courted you in the most obvious way possible. Everyone could tell he was absolutely whipped for you.

He’s lost so much in his life and it kinda made him a bit cray cray, so he just couldn’t lose you too.

And eventually you started falling for him too. Or maybe it was the manipulation.

You just couldn’t keep denying his attention. He was charming when he wanted to be. Bought you flowers and other gifts. Found solutions to problems you just couldn’t figure out.

Also you found it nice getting so much attention. You weren’t used to it and suddenly this idiot is following you everywhere, doing everything you tell him to.

This made him the happiest guy alive.

He was always gentle with you the entire time of your guys’s relationship. Until he wasn’t.

You’ve never witnessed any side of him other than his sweet puppy personality you loved so very much.

So what went wrong? You didn’t even do anything wrong. You were truly innocent.

It was the guy’s that hit on you at your friends birthday party tonight who just couldn’t take no for an answer.

Izana agreed that it wasn’t your fault, that however didn’t change that it happened.

So far he tried to hide his controlling ways from you, but after that incident it want possible anymore.

Hacking your phone and tracking it just wasn’t enough anymore. So he put a tracker in you. He also made sure you knew.

You were his. As much as he is yours.

Kakucho;

Now listen, is he a simp? More or less. Is he a softy? Absolutely. Does he also have a bad boy side? YES.

He’s a soft boy, but people often forget how much of a badass this man can be.

Like he brings you flowers at every little achievement in your life.

And carries you bridal style everywhere. Cuz you deserve it.

Or just stares at you attentively while you’re talking about something you’re passionate about.

Sometimes he can’t even fall asleep without the soothing sound of your voice.

But then on the other hand, he intimidates every guy he sees looking in your direction.

Then again, just because he has this kind of side to him doesn’t mean he wants you to see him like that.

In front of you he’ll always be the sweet boyfriend you know.

He’s a really good cook and loves cooking for you. If you ask nicely he, of course, would teach you.

Imagine standing waking up in the morning and not finding him in bed, but when you go to look for him he’s in the kitchen preparing your guys’s breakfast.

Livin the dream.

He’s a romantic at heart.

You know that tiktok where the guy like puts his hand on the edge of the table so she doesn’t hit her head? Yeah that’s him.

He’s not much of a drinker anyways but def wouldn’t get wasted or even slightly drunk in front of you.

You can drink as much as you feel like or nothing at all he would be there to take care of you.

When you finally met Izana it was super important to him that you two get along. Like wants you to act like literal siblings with each other.

10/10.

Shuji Hanma;

Loving him feels like the four seasons, depending on his mood.

It feels warm and loving and fun just like summer when he’s in a good mood. Which is usually the case.

Other times it can feel peaceful with a light breeze like the autumn sun when he feels windless.

Maybe sometimes a bit cold, uncaring and antiseptic like winter when something upset him. Would never tell you tho.

But then again devoted, adoring and affectionate like spring, when he’s feeling lovey-dovey again.

It’s almost impossible to predict his next mood. Kinda toxic.

Despite his sometimes bad mood he would never deny his love and adoration for you.

It doesn’t matter how mad he is, he still loves you. He just can’t control his emotions very well.

At the beginning of your relationship he wasn’t the most cuddly, that however changed over time.

His easygoing kinda crazy personality first didn’t let him be emotionally available towards you. He first saw you as only a little excitement.

But after you broke through that first wall of many to come he started seeing you as more. He fell in love. At first it seemed absurd to him, he didn’t believe in love. You were just fun to hang around.

Then he caught himself thinking about you, your laugh, your smile, that expression in your eyes. The moments he had with you just wouldn’t stop replaying in his mind.

He had to face it. He, the Shuji Hanma, Ikebukuro's “Shinigami”, fell in love.

His behavior towards you didn’t change much, so he thought. You caught him smiling, like genuinely smiling, at you once before he even realized he loved you and you’ve known since then.

Now he entrusts himself completely into your hands. He’s adorable.

Loves cuddling more than he thought he would. Literally lays right on top of you with his tall ass.

Plays with your hair and loves it when you play with his. Thinks it’s calming.

Believe it or not, he strictly doesn’t let you be any part of the gang life he loves so much. It’s fun to him, but would never risk the chance of you getting hurt.

Doesn’t even introduce you to Kisaki. Which means a lot, I mean he’s practically his lap dog lmao.

a/n; thank you for reading<3.

[saintsenara]

this piece was written for @ladiesofhpfest monthly minis, focusing on andromeda tonks.

grief is a theme which has been prominent in my reading and writing lately, and one aspect of grief which i am particularly drawn to at the minute is the fact that grief can often make the grieving quite unpleasant. the rage of grief, its vindictiveness and petty cruelty, are subjects which i think this fandom often shies away from. after all, nobody likes to think of their faves being horrible in their sorrow.

but i think andromeda makes a good case study for this feeling. i'm always struck in deathly hallows by how there's such a potent undercurrent of anger and disapproval in the way she deals with harry and hagrid. i like the description of her looking haughty - above and beyond the visual comparison it draws between her and bellatrix - and i like her complete lack of interest in doing anything other than talk about tonks and her fear for her.

i've written a lot about how i think someone in andromeda's position would understand the risk which tonks has taken on by joining the order (i'll die on the hill, written about in several of the pieces i did for the fest this summer, that she is aware that bellatrix has convinced voldemort to leave her and ted alone, which then becomes forfeit). and so here i'm thinking about just how furious she'd be when her fear and rage and warnings about that risk were proven to be completely justified - set around dirge without music by edna st. vincent millay. because andromeda does not approve. and she is not resigned.

Spring did not amble into summer that year, as it usually did.

It did not drift with mellow ease from April’s pale into May’s gold, lying idly on the grass in Richmond Park with the cracked-sugar coating on mini eggs on its fingers. It did not wake up one morning and put all its jumpers into storage, then fish them out again three days later when there was still a chill in the morning air. It did not spoon mint sauce onto its Easter lamb and watch as the tendrils of the broad beans curled themselves around their frame.

Death was squatting in her house, disarraying the furniture and stretching the sleeves of her cardigans, a winter’s dirge in his horrible voice and a sepulchral damp trailing in after him whenever he opened the door.

And although she had prided herself for years on her skill as a hostess, she was growing furious with her unwanted guest.

May was a month of rain and of rage.

For all the others - the other mothers in the club she had not asked to join, whose company she loathed, whose losses she refused to comprehend - it seemed that May was a month of silence.

She could picture them, sitting mutely by empty beds, the ephemera of childhood clutched in their white-knuckled hands, as if it will help clear the fog. She could see them searching through the gloom for the glittering past; the memories of summer’s haze which parents cast unthinkingly away, believing that there will never be a time when they will have to beg death to let them remember the way a seven-year-old face looked on a particular May morning.

She could picture them, sitting mutely by the fresh-turned earth of newly-dug graves, spring’s white flowers - apple blossom and yarrow; baby’s breath for their unbreathing babies - laid before headstones slick with the unseasonable squall. She could see them letting the rain mingle with the tears on faces rubbed raw, until the one cannot be distinguished from the other in the drops falling to the earth.

But she could not sit. She could not search or cry.

She could only spit; and snarl and scream until her teeth clashed through the dry and splitting skin of her lower lip and blood pooled in her mouth.

While death laughed at her.

They had never been able to work out where Nymphadora’s talent - the clay suppleness of tendons and bones, the shape-shifting malleability of skin and marrow - had come from.

Ted had been a solid man, substantial in the way that bookshelves are: never rickety; never uneven; smelling of wood polish and leather. He contained a hundred thousand little treasures; he was a source of knowledge, a place of solace on rainy days; a best friend in the aftermath of a lonely childhood.

And she herself was solid, in the way that music is: the tempo can be varied but the notes remain the same. One sister can strike out on her own, but there is a refrain which follows her, the same funeral dirge which lilts in the air after her sisters, letting the careful listener know that these three women are one and the same. No matter what one was pretending.

Nymphadora had none of her father’s solidity. She was an opal: gaudy and colour-changing and brilliant, but with a softness beneath it all. She was fragmentary and fractured. She had wanted her jokes to be laughed at. She had wanted to be taken seriously.

She had wanted to be loved, in all her contradictory, flesh-and-blood glory.

She lay now beside her lukewarm lover in the earth.

She did not speak to her daughter when she visited the graveyard, its pathways washed with rain, a yew sagging against the church’s ancient walls. She did not speak to Ted either, though he mouldered next to his daughter. She did not leave flowers leaning on their headstones. She clenched her fists until her nails pierced the dry and splitting skin of her palms, and blood dripped over her wedding ring to the ground.

She was too angry at them both; at how they had clearly been in cahoots to turn themselves into food for the worms, and leave her pouring tea for death and keeping the radiators blasting. This is how it had always been - Ted’s gentleness turning into permissiveness when it came to Nymphadora throwing herself from the tops of trees or telling old ladies who reprimanded her on her knicker-baring miniskirts to go swivel, and she was forced to become the strict one, the one who disapproved of burping and pot noodles and joining the Aurors.

Neither of them had ever listened, adventure twinkling in their identical eyes and schemes whirring in their swashbuckling minds. They thought her silly - nervous and elegant and a lover of order. In their unkinder moments, they thought her rigid, icy, cruel. She could still picture Nymphadora at the breakfast table - sixteen and sulking over being told off for overindulging at a party and being sick all over the hydrangeas - and how it had felt to know her eyes were raking over her mother’s heart-shaped face for the fragments of Narcissa and Bellatrix that a quiet life in a Muggle suburb could not erase.

But look at that. She was right and they were both dead. And she was furious.

She did not speak to her husband when she returned to the house, where death was laying on the sofa instead of babysitting. There were crumbs on the coffee table, the gingery shards of a whole biscuit now snapped and softening. Like Ted - with his hair the colour of saffron cake and his eyes like spring water - would be in the damp of May’s earth.

As a child, her after-dinner habit had been bridge - a constant torture since Bella would never pay attention long enough for them to have a really good game. As an adult, it was coffee and chocolate liqueurs on the sofa with Ted.

As a widow, it appeared to be screaming.

The morning dawned as grey as all its cousins; May was a month of rain and of rage. Death clattered around the kitchen, leaving eggshells on the floor and teabags staining the worksurface with their tannic drool. The disorder made her skin itch.

She looked at herself in the mirror, her face prickled and pink from a shower which had scalded her. The heat was a comrade; the water was boiled up to a flesh-burning point, her blood was hot enough to eat her marrow, turning her from the inside out into mulch. Somehow it all evened out.

Ted and Nymphadora were competing over who could decompose the quickest, laying in the graveyard and giving thanks for all the damp. It would putrify them all the quicker. Still, how shocked they would be when victory was snatched from them before their sightless eyes. If there was a prize for shattering first, the person they’d left behind would win.

Her day was one of half-drunk coffees and constant movement. She could not sit, there was no way of relaxing with a magazine on the sofa when death was leaving so many crumbs. There was no way of staying in the house when there were so many fragments lurking on shelves and in wardrobes. Ted’s jumpers curled up like newborn kittens in a drawer; his mismatched socks were lined up like limp orphans in the laundry basket.

A hairbrush, entangled with bright pink strands, lay on the stairs. She had told Nymphadora to take it up with her the last time she went to bed. Her daughter hadn’t listened.

She was so angry at her.

[balkanradfem]

So I haven't made many garden updates because of my mental health, I went into survival mode for a bit, but now things are looking up, so I have things to share!

The garden has started producing zuchinnis monstrously, I've somehow managed to get more than 6 zuchinni plants which is a Mistake and I should have known better. I've ran out of ideas so I've been looking online for recipes and then I found this video, which I believe is the most sinful video ever created, if you're into women and wanting to get severely tempted then and only then watch this.

I've managed to get poisoned again, nobody is surprised, but this time I didn't do anything except eat food that was more than 24hrs old, I thought it would be fine, it didn't taste like it went completely bad, it was more like, on the edge. I think it happened because I put raw chives in it, and it was like, a blended soup, so maybe I just shouldn't do that. It took me 2 days to recover, I'm alright now.

The rest of the garden is doing so bad it's kinda funny, I haven't been taking care of it like usual, and I've found myself not having enough seeds of everything I've wanted, like green beans, peas, potatoes, so I've decided to plant what I have, only to get seeds, without actually eating those things. I also want to learn to grow potatoes and onions out of seeds, I've never done it before but I'm very excited at the prospect! My potatoes are not currently flowering but I saw a big field of potatoes and they all had flowers, so I'm planning to just sneak in there and steal a few potato fruits - nobody here is growing potatoes from seed anyway and the fruits are very poisonous. (I will not eat them don't worry).

I've gotten a decent harvest of garlic, I'm very happy with it! I got above expectations amount of chamomile, and I got gifted a whole lot of thyme. I'm in the process of drying strawberries for winter and I love how much I've got already. Next zuchinnis to get harvested will get dried too, and then finally, I'll dry cherry tomatoes as well. I can't wait to have a stash of dried goods again, they were invaluable last winter.

My tomatoes are looking pretty bad this summer, and that's not usually the case, I wonder if it's the bad weather, or I just haven't done enough fertilizing this year. I've gotten a few tiny ones from my balcony, where I'm having a few dwarf tomatoes grow, but they've also been doing bad, and they seem to be dying already. Peppers are still tiny little things and I only hope that eventually they start to grow properly. Beans, on the other hand, are doing great, they've taken their space and they're ruling their lands, climbing up to the skies and creating tons of produce. I'm checking every day to see when I can start a harvest, I would absolutely love some beans.

I feel like this year is a preparation more than a great gardening year; the beans will fertilize my soil, the lessons I've learned about planting in strawberry beds will help me do a better job next year, the tiny amount of green beans and peas I've planted will give me the seeds to plant big amounts next year, and if I learn to grow onions and potatoes from seed, the next year I will have more than enough, and I will have the knowledge to keep producing these things forever, without ever having to worry about seeds again.

If anyone has recipes for zuchinni that only require potatoes, flour, garlic and spices, I'd love to know! I have poisoned myself with soup so I have to hit the pause on that. Once I get tomatoes and peppers it will be pizza time!

[tulipsforvin]

“Pages Transcended„

Louis J. Moriarty x GN!Reader

╰┈⪼ ୨ During your peruse through an unfinished book, you find a bookmark that interlinks your world and his. ୧

Nestled comfortably on your bed, you thumb through the pages of the book that you'd found during one of your little endeavours in the local library. You flip and flip through the pages, only to find the rest of the book completely empty after page 97.

Just as you're flipping through the rest of the empty pages, a voice calls out to you:

“Dinner's ready!”

You set the book aside and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, feeling your stomach rumble in hunger.

However, as soon as you took a step towards the door, a sudden gust of wind sweeps through the room and causes the pages of the book to flutter wildly.

In your haste to secure the book, your hand accidentally brushes against a hidden leather bookmark placed delicately between the pages that the harsh gust of wind had flipped open to, adorned with an intricate symbol.

It's aged - evident from how the edges have become charred. Emblazoned in the middle lies an etching of a circular shimmering silver labyrinth twisted with a shimmering gold one.

Suddenly, you hear the chirping of morning birds and the tantalising smell of spring flowers waft through your nose.

You gasp, surprised at the changes around.

“What the hell?” You whisper softly. You turn your gaze out of the window and are met with midnight and the breeze of winter air.

You pick the bookmark up, inspecting it carefully in your hand. When you do, the chirping and the scent of spring flowers disappears. You repeat the process of placing it back between the pages. Once you do, the noises and the smell returns. When you pull it away from the book, it disappears.

As you're about to put the bookmark back in the book for the umpteenth time to try and experiment with the changes the bookmark brings, you're called down for dinner yet again. This time, you finally, reluctantly, trudge down to join your family for dinner.

Over the next few days, you've made it a mission to read through the pages — both with and without the bookmark.

You've learned that up until the confront between William James Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes that occured during page 97, the rest of the pages are completely empty.

Blank.

Through the bookmark, you've begun to hear voices that aren't familiar to your ears and scents that aren't caused by the things in the atmosphere around you. But those only occur until page 97. Nothing else happens after that.

Although initially the bookmark had you questioning your sanity and stability of your mental health, you've now confirmed for yourself that this wasn't the case. You've confirmed that these morphism of your hearing and smelling senses weren't merely 'figments of your imagination'. These were real. They were happening.

As you prepare to annotate your findings, you grasp an ink pen, poised to add footnotes to the book's pages. The weather today was breezy and therefore, you put the bookmark between the pages so it doesn't flip over with the wind. With steady intent, you guide the pen towards the empty papers, ready to leave your mark.

But in a moment unforeseen, a solitary droplet of ink escapes from the pen's tip, descending onto the pristine page below.

The sound of an audible 'plop' makes you flinch. You look around hastily, trying to make sense of where the sound had come from.

You cower to the corner of your bed, biting your nails in anxiousness.

A few minutes pass. Nothing. Slowly, you crawl back to the book and with trembling fingers and a blurry inkling of what was currently occuring, you write down a few words:

'The scent of petrichor swarms the atmosphere, the striking of hooves against the earth heard loud and clear.'

Right then, as if your writing on the empty pages turned into a physical manifestation, you catch a distinctive whiff of earthy, wet soil and the clip-clops of hooves somewhere.

Before your very eyes, you watch as the pages that were only recently empty begin to fill with words in black ink, as if using what you wrote as a foundation to fill in the remaining gaps.

And then it clicks. How did it take you so long to notice?

One: All these empty pages — these sounds and aromas that seem to 'materialize' around you with every word you write, as long as the bookmark is placed over the pages.

Two: You are able to, somewhat, guide the story as some form of interloper. An intervenor, of sorts. An otherworldly meddler. An intruder from the beyond.

Thus, you began. Just before the confrontation between the two 'nemeses" occured and everything went downhill, you tore at the pages. Added new ones. Formed your own story. Your own twists and subplots. Experienced it, even (to some extent). You tore and wrote until he interjected.

Your eyes widen as the smudges of black ink transform into words before your very eyes on the half written pages.

“What power do you hold over our story?” Louis questions.

A sharp intake of breath from you, you look over your shoulder - half expecting to find a figure looming behind you. With tremor-stricken hands, you write back:

“You were aware of my presence in your world?”

Slowly, you watch with a mixture of fascination and fear as words begin to form before you once again.

“Partially. I was aware somebody was meddling with it.” Louis answers in a cautious timbre. “Although, your presence resembles a flickering entity more than anything else. Translucent and temporary — at it's very best.”

Your heart thumps violently in your chest. You write down once again:

“Since when have you known?”

“The very beginning.” He responds.

You feel your heart drop. A cold shiver goes down your spine and you feel hair stand on the back of your neck and arms. Just as you hurriedly attempt to shut the book, however, smudges morph into words yet again.

You realize you left the bookmark between the pages, and thus could still hear his voice.

“Intervener.” He calls out.

With a shaky breath, you hesitantly open the book once again. You write down: “What?”

“You, from an interdimensional space, do not belong in our world and yet you bring changes to it - harsh, though your changes have been.” Louis inhales deeply. “Help me.”

You blink in surprise. Your grip around your ink pen tightens as you write: “With what, exactly?”

“My older brother, William. Help him. Bring him hope. You have read up to the final arc, yes?” Louis questions.

How did he know? Were all of the characters aware of the changes brought by you or was Louis the only exception? You gulp audibly, feeling your palms grow sweaty.

“Answer me first. How did you know?”

“I keep a journal. Day after day I go through the previous page and find things I don't remember writing. Or to be precise, find things I experienced before you meddled.”

You wipe your palms at your clothes, unsure of what to do or say. A heavy sigh of resignation follows before you answer:

“How can I help?”

The two of you have conversed more and more lately. Just as Louis requested, you've provided your aid to his older brother. You've guided Sherlock Holmes to his older brother in hopes that William finds something to hold onto. A sliver of hope.

A reason to live. Although, you now find Louis complaining every now and then.

“You could not think of anything better, intervenor?”

You huff in annoyance, looking at the words in black ink before you. You write back to him:

“It's (Name). And why are you complaining? You were the one who said your brother needed salvation. Besides, William seems livelier now, no?”

“I would have preferred a more tolerable salvation for my brother. Furthermore, this doesn't really guarantee my brother's safety. In other words, you are terrible at this.”

“Ha..!” You scoff. “This little—” You take out the bookmark and shut the book in irritation before tossing it aside to the bedside table.

A few days have passed since you've opened the book. Today, you finally find the time (along with patience and tolerance) to deal with the unfinished book. You flip through th pages and your lips part open in surprise when you see words of apologies before you.

You snicker, placing the bookmark between the pages. You pick up your pen and write:

“I wasn't aware you had the capacity for apologetic prowess, Louis. But thank you, nonetheless.”

“How fortunate we are to have such a riveting conversation after so long.” Louis responds almost too quickly, his lips quirking up in a subtle smile.

You grin as you write down: “Entirely enlightening.”

“Oh, absolutely.” He laughs warmly.

His laughter, through the bookmark, makes it to your ears and you feel yourself joining in unwillingly, unable to prevent the butterflies in your stomach at the sound of it.

The laughter from you two dies down and a comfortable silence fills the atmosphere. Louis is the first to break it:

“Thank you, (Name).” Louis whispers softly. “For all of this.”

You feel yourself stiffen momentarily. You had imagined him calling you your name before. But finally, to hear a physical manifestation of it? It felt nothing like you'd felt before.

“Louis, I-” You scratch that out. “Yes. Your welcome.”

You'd made a grave mistake. How could you fall for an existence alternate to yours? So different, so far the two of you were.

You felt your throat dry, your heart thump dangerously and your body get heated.

It was akin to being wrapped in the gentlest of blazes, this love of yours. You knew it would scorch and singe and yet you sustained because in the end, the flames were his.

“Louis, don't you think you're burning yourself out?”

Your writing on the page is lazy and indulgent, taking your time as the nip travels over it.

“With what?” He inquires. “By helping out my brothers?”

You pause, nitpicking over your words.

“Louis, I know you've dedicated your life to your brothers' cause, and your loyalty is admirable. But I can't help but feel that you're underestimating your own value and potential. You have so much to offer beyond what you've already committed to. Have you ever considered exploring different paths or dreams for yourself?”

“I appreciate your concern, but my purpose has always been to support my brothers' cause. It's what defines me, and I find fulfillment in that.” Louis responds adamantly.

You frown, unwilling to back down yourself. With a sigh, you write down once again:

“I understand your dedication and it's truly commendable. However, have you ever thought about what you truly desire for yourself? Your skills, intelligence and passion could be put to use in various ways. You have the potential to make a significant impact in areas beyond the cause you've devoted yourself to.”

“I've always believed that my role is to assist my brothers, to be the support they need. I find purpose in that unity.” Louis replies quickly, not bothering to go over your words.

With a sigh, you quickly write down:

“Your life holds value beyond the cause, Louis. You deserve to explore your own path, to find joy and fulfillment in things that resonate with your own heart.”

When he doesn't answer for a long time, you write again. “Louis? Are you there?”

“It's.. a difficult notion to consider. I've never allowed myself to think about it before.” Louis answers thoughtfully.

You smile softly, feeling like you're getting through him. You respond to him by writing:

“That curiosity is a spark worth nurturing, Louis. You are capable of so much more than you realize. Embrace the possibility of discovering new passions, of forging your own path while still supporting your brothers. Your growth and happiness matter just as much.”

Louis contemplates deeply before answering,“I... suppose there's no harm in exploring those possibilities. But where would I find the chance to? This life is all I've had.”

You rock back and forth in your chair, pondering over the possibilities yourself.

You freeze momentarily before returning to the writing desk. Using the ink pen, you write:

“Hypothetically, Louis, do you think that .. there is a possibility where you can travel to over my world?”

As Louis steps through the time slip gateway and enters the reader's world, he finds himself in the chosen location, surrounded by the frozen temporal landscape. Initially disoriented, he takes in the unfamiliar sights and the stillness that envelops him.

Your jaw drops. The plan that you had thought of was entirely, utterly theoretical. Therefore, to see the result be completely satisfactory—

“You.. actually made it?” You say, mouth gaping and stuttering. “You're-”

“Here.” He reassures. “I couldn't stay away.”

“I..” You pause. “Hello?”

“Hello, (Name).” He smiles, looking at you. “I thought you believed this would work?”

You blink. “Truthfully, this- this was completely theoretical. I didn't even..”

He looks around - nodding his head in understanding, bewildered. “How did you manage to..” He exhales softly. “..do this?”

“Oh!” Your eyes light up, completely forgetting you were just in a daze. “I merely identified the precise coordinates that resonate with your existential waveform and employed a multifaceted approach to synchronously stabilize an array of temporal anomalies. I then, managed to manifest a singularity where the boundaries between our realities blur into a transient interdimensional nexus. Isn't that cool? Isn't it, Louis? Isn't it?”

Louis raises an eyebrow, unsure of how to react momentarily before he begins to laugh warmly — looking at you with amused eyes.

“Yes,” He grins. “It absolutely is.”

REQUEST:

[intrstellarhearts]

things in the common room at welton that just make sense. (dead poets society)

fandom: dead poets society

type of writing: headcanons / scenario

word count: 698

request: yes / no  

characters: todd anderson, neil perry, charlie dalton, richard cameron, stephen meeks, gerard pitts, knox overstreet

a/n: requests are open!! :)

dps taglist: @hotshot624

(message me or send an ask if you'd like to be included in the dps taglist!)

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an open window. nolan has instructed the boys time and time again to close it when they leave, and yet it always ends up open. it lets a cool breeze in during the first few weeks of the school year, when the heat is insufferable. one year, charlie opened it during a snowstorm. his face was immediately frozen, and he turned around slowly to the laughter of his friends, face covered in powdery flakes that melted just as quickly as they landed on him.

several mugs full of pencils. though they always start the year full with sharp utensils, it’s nearly guaranteed that two weeks in nearly every single one is broken, dull, or just gone. the boys have no idea that keating often re-sharpens the pencils for them after they’ve gone to bed.

a communal calendar. it’s small, and often tucked in a bookshelf so it won’t get into the wrong hands. there are pictures of the city on every page. todd’s brother gave it to him. every person on their floor wrote down their birthday, and it’s checked nearly every day. the days when spring, winter, and summer break begin are marked with bold, red letters that read “FREEDOM”.

a wall of pictures, in the nook by the window. they’ve been putting them up for so long that many of the faces are unrecognizable. the poets like to play a game where they try to figure out who the person is, where they’re from, who they are now. they’re usually wrong, but once, they were right.

a toolbox. this is mostly for meeks & pitts & their lovely little inventions. i like to think one of pitts’ brothers or something told him to bring a toolbox “just in case”, and though he thought it was stupid at the time, the wrenches and screwdrivers and things that are in there allow him to make things that he never thought were possible.

a globe, the really nice kind that’s almost as tall as your waist and spins every which way. they’re meant to use it for geography assignments. sometimes todd and neil play a game where they’ll spin it as fast as they can, close their eyes, and stop it. they have to explain everything they know (or make up) about the place where their finger lands, and why the other simply HAS to go there.

one single strand of black hair. i know this sounds dumb. BUT if dps takes place in 1959 then i can make this work. charlie came in after a break with something in his hands. and cameron was DYING to know what is was because he wouldn’t tell him. turns out it was this one piece of hair. and so he was like “dalton what the hell is that i don’t even know what to say”. charlie insists it’s a piece of elvis’ hair. but he won’t say how he got it, where he got it, or give any proof whatsoever. despite that, it lives in infamy right next to the window. (until a strong breeze causes it to be lost, in which case charlie dalton will need a brief grieving period and the creation of a memorial.)

ok back to more normal stuff. pressed flowers and leaves. i’d like to think that this is something that todd just does, like he’ll just pick up flowers he likes and put them in heavy books like it’s nothing. and so when the other poets saw him do it for the first time, they were intrigued. he taught them all how to do it, and now there’s a shoebox nearly overflowing with the prettiest flowers and leaves you’ll ever see.

a lamp that’s most definitely a fire hazard. every time it turns on it fizzles and pops… it’s hum is nearly deafening. it’s always entertaining to see someone’s reaction to it the first time they see it. but the sound of the lamp seemingly self-destructing is strangely soothing -- to those who have been at welton for a long time, they see themselves in it. for though you’d think it would have exploded by now, it’s still standing, flickering and providing light despite all it’s been through.

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