#painting a few landscapes with fences and flowers in them because I see these every day and they're absolutely beautiful | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

katsukikitten · 3 years

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In which Shoto is an asshole Oni and I am the author that wrote the majority of this fic tipsy, you’re welcome! Bnharemcollab masterlist found here

Warnings: Non con bruv. Claws horns? He's an oni bud

"And they say he's been stealing the hearts of beautiful women for centuries. So don't go talking to any ole handsome man that steps over a threshold." The tour guide adds to the end of her ridiculous story about some Demon King that drags women to hell before she leads the group onto the next painting.

Still there was something captivating about the art work, how the man has his back to the viewer and how women bow to him, foreheads pressed into the tatami mats with their own bleeding hearts held high over their heads. Blood drips from their hands, splattering on the mats like rain or tear drops. The man, who is assumed to be the Oni, is looking over his shoulder, hand reaching out for the nearest offering. Both figures are forever suspended in brush strokes and desire for more. The closer you inspect the other worldly looking figure the more your gut tightens. His elaborate kimono hangs loosely from his body but you can still see the broadness of his shoulders, the thick bands of muscle on his forearms, the apparition of elongated nails when you look closer and finally the faint strokes atop of his two toned hair that are in the shape of sharp horns.

A God among men or maybe you should say a Devil among friends. A sigh escapes you as you admire the work before the tour guide announces the title, artist and time period of the next piece. “Wrath of the Mountain God.” A large man, with long hair so deep in hue you first mistake it for black, stands in a Kimono. His chest on display as he stands giving the view his profile, his eyes glow red in the light of the full moon, in his arms seems to be a maiden, a flower crown falling from her hair. It looks as if his strong form had just taken a step, beneath his foot begins a nasty fissure that gapes the Earth for miles and miles. The painting feels charged and emotions practically drip from the ink painting and yet still your eyes flicker to the painting to it’s right. At this angle you can see a faint shimmer in his smoky quartz colored eye. It sends a shiver down your spine as you feel a faint breath on the nape of your neck. Quickly you turn your head, craning your neck to look over your shoulder but no one stands behind you. Just another painting, “Golden God of Destruction.” Red gaze glowering as his hair drips gold, while he walks over the hellish landscape of cooling and erupting lava. You swallow thickly before following the tour guide onto the next section.

The tour lasts another half an hour but your mind lingers on the shimmering eyes of the dangerous entity. The more you think of him the bigger the sinking feeling in your gut becomes, not to mention the more you feel as if something is stalking your every move. Another quick glance over your shoulder as you exit the museum while you ponder over why this particular Oni was handsome when all of the other artworks featuring a yokai or oni were depicted as ugly, grotesque even.

Maybe it was because he was the King? You couldn’t be sure, all you knew is that you could understand why the women would rip out their hearts and offer them up to him. He was hot as hell, no pun intended.

Suddenly the fall air smells of frost and the threat of snow, you wrinkle your nose before you jump out of your skin. .

"So you liked the "Oni King, stealer of heart’s'' piece best?" A smooth voice calls from behind you, you press your hand over your rapidly beating heart as you try to catch your breath. Startled, you turn around to see a handsome man opening the gate, stepping over the grass line onto the sidewalk. Instantly you feel heat rush you as a cool autumn breeze swirls around fallen leaves around your boots.

"How did you…"

"I come here often and no one has ever stopped and looked at that piece as long as you have." He seems stoic and you can just barely see the corner of his mouth lift up. You take a moment to really drink him in, his tall stature, his hair a shocking white with contrasting red and a scar that sits beautifully over one of his gem stone eyes. One a smoky quartz and the other a bright turquoise.

You swallow thickly as you stare at the other worldly man, finding little to no words as your heart beats into your ribcage. You grip at the fabric of your jacket over your heart, it pounds against your rib cage like a fluttering wild bird.

"Where are my manners? I am Todoroki Shoto. But you can call me Shoto." Again he offers his barely there smile, "And you are?"

It's laughable how you stumble over your own name, you have never had issues talking to attractive people before, what the hell was your problem now.

“It sounds lovely.” He says your name, it rolls off of his tongue like music makes you swallow thickly, your knees threatening to buckle and you can’t understand why you’re acting like a love struck teenager again. There is a contrasting air about him, just like his hair. Passion and reservation, raging power and quiet tranquility, and the feel of it is making you dizzy. Tipsy almost, drunk if you linger here too long. Just as you’re about to express how you’ll be late for dinner he smiles at you.

Fully this time.

And you think your heart was going to claw out of its calcium coffin but it stalls when you notice that it doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

“Well since you have a good appreciation of art, would you care to join me in the garden, the Chrysanthemum are in full bloom this time of year.” You swallow as you look at him, a twinge of fear lingering in your blood that is soon lost as he steps over the threshold of the garden, waiting patiently.

“Uh, yea I think I can spare some time.” You smile nervously, he offers out his hand.

“Be careful, the step down can be quite steep.” A genuine small form on your lips now as you remember the first time you set foot into this garden and almost twisted your ankle. You step over the threshold, blinking against the late afternoon sun as you do.

Except when you open your eyes once more, you are no longer in the garden. There are no shrubs and bushes, no cinderblock wall of the old museum, something more sinister stands in its place. The sky is an inky black, the full moon hangs overhead shining down onto a small village that thickens the closer it gets towards a large feudal era looking castle. Fading sunlight filter behind you as you whip your head behind you. A giant Torri stands where the aging fence and garden gate stood before, a hazy image of an autumn afternoon in the shape of the gate rapidly begins to shrink. Panicked you lunge arm outstretched as if catching a full elevator as you’re running behind for a very important meeting.

If only your paralyzing panic was over something so trivial.

A strong set of arms wrap around your waist, pulling you towards a chiseled chest as hot breath whispers cooly in your ear.

“I wouldn’t do that if you want to keep all of your limbs, love.”

Shaking you glance over your shoulder before you watch the portal to home close up.

Just like that the landscape that could be seen through the gate was endless night and rolling hills dotted with homes here and there. When you turn to face your captor his eyes narrow as he studies you. His gem stone eyes glittering in the rich moonlight, following your hands up to your chest. He stills as he listens and while he looks you notice the horns growing from his head. Thin and shaped into a deadly point. He tilts his head as if you are bewitching before he leans closer, capturing your hair between his fingers. Now that you were in the moonlight, in the realm he ruled, you looked...familiar and the feeling made his chest tighten.

“How does your heart feel?” He asks, eyes anywhere but yours. You try to jerk out of his touch but his warm hand wraps around your bicep keeping you well within arms reach.

“My heart?! What does that have to do with me standing in HELL!” You scream and it echoes across the chilled landscape. Some women in kimono pass by, keeping their eyes turned down as they pass but once they are a few steps behind this brute’s back, they send you withering glares.

Your attention comes fully back to the man in front of you, or maybe you should say demon. He presses his hand over your heart with a puzzling look. Your body heats from the contact and embarrassment, you were sure he could feel how hard your heart was pounding. All the while his brows knit upwards.

“Seems you aren’t affected…”He murmurs to himself, tonguing his cheek. Suddenly he tears your sweater, pressing his hand against your chest and part of your breast.

“Hey!” You protest until a burning sensation blooms on your skin, when he pulls away you see kanji puckering up, that reads “Shoto”

“That should keep the lower demons away...for now.” He grabs onto your wrist tightly, too tightly before your world bends and blurs. Folding in on itself as if Space and Time were suddenly a beautiful origami paper creased until the maker was satisfied.

The world is bright when you open your eyes next, cradled in an abundance of candle light as your stomach sours causing you to lurch.

“Ugh, not on the tatami!” A woman’s voice scolds, but her state doesn’t help the nausea that hits you in waves. She wears a beautiful kimono, embroidered with gold and silver thread on violet cloth, the chest stained a deep cherry and a hole is where her heart should be. Her hands stained blood red and you back up, panting as you try to keep a level head.

“Get her cleaned up.” Shoto snaps, “I will want her in my room promptly.”

The women in the room shake slightly, keeping their heads down, distantly you can hear the sound of a thousand thundering hearts, deafening in a sense. The stately woman gently guides you towards the bath in the large mansion, shock sets in as your gaze glazes over. Every hall has a woman, anywhere from the feudal era to today, all dressed in kimonos, most were dressed in the ones they obviously died in or dressed in old clothes with their tattoos and fresh wounds peeking out from beneath the fabric.

Every single person sends you a death glare.

You’re stripped of your clothes and dignity in the company of about twenty women, hands shove you into the steaming water, cupping the cloudy water to wash your skin.

No matter how often the woman dip their hands into the water, the blood never leaves their fingertips, forever stained in their sin.

“We gave them away, you know. Ripped them from our chests….” She looks up at you with a timid look.

“Kiyoko, hush.” An elder hisses as she straightens the thin piece of cloth you were going to wear once you were all pieced together.

“No, she deserves to know..” Kiyoko hisses back, “The story is similar for a lot of us, he appears in a doorway, he seems kind enough, and then we look into his eyes. Gazing too deeply before our hearts seize in our chests, flopping around as if behind your flesh was killing it and it should sit in the palm of his hand. The only logical thing was for us to reach deep inside of ourself and give him what he deserved.” A quite falls over the room before a heavy solem air settles on your shoulders.

“He stopped for a while….after he met you.” Your eyes flash to hers and the elder’s hand wraps into Kiyoko’s hair, pulling her away from you.

“Enough.” She snarls as tears run down her cheeks, down all the women’s cheeks and you swallow thickly.

After an hour of primping you find yourself in front of two sliding tatami doors that have Oni and other yokai decorating their sheets.

“Send her in.” A deep voice sounds from the other side.

“Yes master.” The women answer, opening the doors before one shoves you in.

Doors to the eqwaa are open as he lounges on the polished wood, staring at the moon. He turns his head to look over his shoulder and it eerily reminds you of the painting in the museum.

In an instant he is in front of you, backing you into the plush bed that sat in the middle of his room, you fall onto the raised futon looking up at him.

The lowlight plays tricks on your eyes, the square paper lantern and the moon painting him in strokes of kind, of hurt, not some beastly thing he obviously was. Even his horns seemed soft, but nothing was softer than his lips as he pressed them to yours. Embarrassingly ecstasy blossoms under your eyelids as liquid heat floods your core. His tongue probes yours as he leans over top of you, playing with you nipples through the thin cloth as you moan into his mouth. Your body arches into his his as your heart flutters, trying to pull you away from his addicting touch.

Maybe you could have gotten away, maybe….

If only his hand hadn’t slipped between your thighs where he teased your sex utnil you pruned his figners, singing like the song bird he knew you were. His hard cock presses against your thigh twitching with delight. He kisses down your throat before he shreds the thin white kimono away from your body. He groans audibly before he leans down, one finger pulling at your pebbled nipple while the other pulls it between his teeth.

“Shoto…”You cry and he moans into your supple skin. Taking off his own thin kimono to align himself up to your fluttering hole. Eyes glued to your heart, fingers tracing the kanji as he eases himself in inch by inch. Stretching you and filling you pleasantly. He sits for a moment, taking in your body and how you burn under his touch. Free hand roaming your body as the other prods your fresh burn. Tracing the strokes over and over as if he wrote it himself.

Well technically he did.

“Please.” Your mouth betrays, hips pressing up into his to get any sort of friction, his free hand comes down, slamming your hips into the bed.

“Say it again.” He huffs, “Say my name again.”

“Shoto.” It's a hushed, reluctant breath but your skin was icy hot, lifeforce feeling as if it were evaporating away from the heated tension that sat between you two. He watches your body wither, feels your cunt clamping down onto him desperately and it’s all he can do not to thrust into you widely.

“Again.” He barks, pulling at your nipple harshly.

“Shoto.” You moan, the sound is enough to make him start his harsh pace. Pelvis slamming into yours as his tuft of pubic hair glides across your clit. Your vision blurs with tears, it feels so good. Better than anything you’ve ever had or could ever remember as his claws ghost over your soft skin.

“You thought you could escape me.” He grunts, ramming himself into you harder, you moan in response, “I marked more than your flesh two hundred years ago, I marked your soul.”

“You couldn’t help yourself, coming back to the very piece of art you created.” He continues with a laugh, claws raking down your skin, slicing at your skin superficially. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and you cannot fathom what he’s said. All that there is the feel of his hands, the pleasure that threatens to snap in your stomach.

He watches the way your cunt coats his cock in a silvery sheen that has his lips parting. Taking wanton ruts, the motion of it rattling the art on the wall. Pieces fall around you and any of the scrolls that try to block his view of you get shredded mid air. His thrusts turn sloppy as he comes down to bite at your neck.

“Shoto!” You cry out, vision going black as your body convulses around him, eyes rolling in to the back of your head as you forget your name and only cry out his.

“That’s right, tell me who you belong to. Who owns you love.” He pants, holding his own release for a moment longer just to hear your sweet voice scream his name over and over. Finally your milking cunt sends him over the edge. He grunts, staring into your eyes as he paints your wall a creamy white.

“Mine.” He growls, biting at your breast, at the skin over your heart. You feel his spilling cock harden again as your body melts into the sheets.

Most of the night is spent in mind numbing ecstasy and in those few short hours you forget you were ever brought here unwillingly.

You sit on a throne, overlooking the vast landscape of Yomi, Oni running the underworld as heartless women wander the streets. Their mortal heartbeats keeping time as they ceaselessly beat just beneath your feet. Mind’s eye miles away as you see a ghost of a hand before you. Memory playing out as you take careful brush strokes against your canvas, hoping this would serve as a warning for other women as you dab the brush in the deep colored liquid that stains the tatami floor of your home.

Ever the artist you wanted to add final touches even as you drew your final breaths, having thought it better to take your own life than to sit at the right hand of a demon, your chest was already mutilated with his name.

Irony weighs heavy in your stomach as you realize how futile it was to even make that masterpiece. It did not serve as a warning.

No if anything, it served as a beacon, drawing you like a moth to flame until you circled to close.

Burning up in the flames of the very thing you admired.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #oni shoto x reader #tw: non con #twnoncon

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dansnaturepictures · 3 years

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Rutland Water blog 1: 20/08/2021-Lyndon Nature Reserve Part 1 of 2: Ospreys, dragonflies, Muntjac and more

As mentioned in my post about 19th August on 20th August we headed to Rutland Water, where we came every summer between 2008-2019 to visit the Bird Fair, rightly not going ahead this or last year due to the pandemic. But our wild year aligned for a trip to the nature reserves around this enormous reservoir to be very useful so me and my Mum came away staying Friday night and returning Saturday night to visit the Lyndon and Eglton Rutland Water nature reserves. I didn’t take my laptop on a one night stopover so the blogs about the time away are retrospectively posted so will read in the present tense of the date at the top. I have four blogs about the two days away, two each day and the part two of the days carry straight on from part one and its both part twos that have my Wildlife Sightings Summary for each day. Writing this bit at the time of posting: I shall aim to have part two up for each as soon as I can after.

So going back to Friday now; today on a pleasant journey from Hampshire to the East Midlands I knew we were approaching this area that means so much to us when I saw the picturesque agricultural landscape of Leicestershire which is the heart of England. The landscape was painted well with an interesting summery shade of brown as it was all journey and so often is at this time of year. There were nice well grown and vegetated road verges too. Today we started this trip as we do every one here by coming to Lyndon nature reserve at the south of Rutland Water. As we came down the steep winding road towards the visitor centre which was adorned by pink great willowherb, it was great to see the stunning scenery and get tremendous views down into Rutland Water. I took the first, third and fourth pictures in this photoset here today.

It was so brilliant to be back, and not much had really changed in the initial glances here. There were dragonflies, for me a key wild attraction of this reserve flying around from the off. I did wonder, with dragonflies being something I have focused on a lot more the past few years, whether me associating the Bird Fair with being a strong point in my year for dragonflies was because it stood out against the rest of the year where maybe I didn’t look for dragonflies a lot. But being so focused on them now particularly with the Lakeside walks working from home seeing some I can say once more as I address below this is an extraordinary and special site for dragonflies. And I was reminded how brilliant it was for them today.

Something that is new since I last came here as I said when I went to Blashford Lakes for the first time since early last year recently is the depth of my interest in and more knowledge of flowers. Today I saw so many lovely flowers, including the sweet great willowherb that was widespread today as well as purple loosestrife and water mint fitting for beside the water, with ragwort too, bee nettles, nice pink marsh woundwort in front of hide and some bright red fruited cuckoo pint looking stunning and red near the visitor centre both new for me, the similar to the woundwort hedge nettle, self-heal, Herb-Robert, red campion still going strong, rosebay willowherb, yarrow, cow parsnip, hemp acrimony, a tiny forget-me-not, scabious by the visitor centre and some nice yellow flowers by there too. It was also great to see some sloes whilst walking around a key image of this time of year.

Such a key part of our Lyndon and Bird Fair visits are going in the huge selection of varied bird hides with different habitats. In the first we went into, the first going west from the visitor centre it was great to notice a bright Great White Egret lurking at the end of the water. This has became a really key bird for Rutland Water but I believe this is the first we saw at Lyndon.

On the way to the next hide we got an early key moment of the trip when I was stunned to see a deer skulking out of vegetation, running across a field over the fence and back into the thick vegetation at the base of the water. I was amazed to get a clear view of it to be able to see it was a glorious Muntjac Deer. It was a stunning view of this sweet little mammal. I was so happy and thrilled to see this exceptional species. And there is a big history with this mammal and our Rutland trips as it’s my fourth ever sighting of one, and three of them were at Rutland Water. The first ever one we saw at our first ever Bird Fair at Egleton the part of the reserve the fair is held. And then we didn’t see one again until one at Lyndon in 2019 when we were last here. This is the third year running I have seen a Muntjac Deer now after seeing one at Blackwater in the New Forest in 2020 which is really smashing for a species I saw early on in my wildlife interest and then not again for a few years. This sighting made me feel very happy.

And then it turned into a brilliant few minutes as first of all typically for the species on the wood of a bench outside the second hide along was an excitingly red male darter dragonfly. And after photographing and examining it I was thrilled to see the jet black with no yellow on the side legs to show it was a Ruddy Darter and not Common Darter that I have enjoyed a lot this year. This was a very precious sighting for me as a year tick and I didn’t see one last year at all so this felt really good. I initially tried for photos with my normal lens which I had on at the time. I tend to use zoom lenses for dragonflies whilst my macro lens and all its closeup detail would maybe be the preferred option like all other insects. But the dragonflies land less frequently than butterflies say and after faster so I don’t normally have time to get my macro lens out or bend down to get the picture. Rare macro dragonfly pictures I’ve got in recent years have been down to luck at having my macro lens on my DSLR camera at the time. But this one was landed so frequently, always returning and settling again on the wood so I had time to get the macro lens out and take pictures possibly the extra bit of details I needed to get the ID over the line which I got the second picture in this photoset of. A brilliant view of a fine dragonfly and flipping back to the time of posting for a second I didn’t realise until I got home that Friday was ten years to the day that I saw my first ever Ruddy Darter dragonfly also at Rutland Water one I am fond of so this was special.

Then in the hide we spotted a blue beauty of a big dragonfly parading in front of the hide over vegetation, it was the smashing species a Migrant Hawker one I see as a very notable species. I have seen these three years running now too with sightings of one on different days at Lakeside last year sandwiched by today and last time here in 2019. It was fantastic to see a couple of these together. And with that the two dragonfly targets I had for this trip big parts of it for me had been seen which I was thrilled with almost straight away. It took my year list to sixteen making my year list my joint second highest ever levelling my 2018 total and behind only my 2019 total now, with my mammal year list on the same amount and riding high when comparing to past years too and I know today will be a big dragonfly focal point in another very successful dragonfly and damselfly year for me.

In the hide too I liked seeing a Little Grebe pair on a nest which was very interesting as I’d not seen them on a nest before unlike their cousins the Great Crested both grebe species on nests a very notable thing around the reserve lately it seems. There was a bare tree covered in Cormorants which was great to see with another one further up too as well and a Grey Heron flying over was nice.

A big event of the day occurred afterwards as we made it to the hide at the end, one of the two you can see the Ospreys within. It’s always a big moment whenever we come here and I was so thrilled today to see one as soon as we got into the hide a possible juvenile we think and it stayed sat on the Osprey pole for the whole time we were in this hide. And it was fascinating to see it had a fish in its talons. It was such a precious view of a bird that has been one of my very favourites for so long and such a key part of this usually annual trip for us. I was so delighted to see three more Ospreys join it as the time in this hide went on sitting on posts, the nest the one that has a webcam on it which I quite often watch and going through the big and prominent trees. It was wonderful to see and there was a very key moment of the whole trip when one Osprey flew out over the water in pursuit of a Grey Heron for a bit of heavy duty aerial tussle which put a lot of the ducks up unsurprisingly. This gave me some of best flying Osprey views for a few years it really was spectacular. I loved watching this and taking in the pure joy and pleasure of seeing it and taking photos as I did the whole time with the Ospreys. I took the fifth, sixth, seventh and ninth pictures in this photoset of the Ospreys still and flying today. After being so lucky to see the Rutland Water originated bird at a local reserve for us Fishlake Meadows to keep Ospreys in our lives this year and last I was so grateful to get to see these here today.

Also from this hide it was great to see the quirky scene of some cattle in the water which is a strong memory. A Pied Wagtail made a great sighting here too and it was delightful to see a charm of Goldfinches fly down onto the shore of the water with their splash of colour a few times. Lapwings were all over the place here which was brilliant too and it was entertaining to see them together. I reflected on how I’d probably not seen the two of them together before. Common Terns sat on posts and hovering made a great sight here too as it so often does and I liked seeing lots of Sand Martins with later on seeing them at the third hide along landed in vegetation which was very interesting to see. It was a splendid day of egrets and herons with Great White Egret, Little Egret and Grey Heron all present which was very interesting to see and is always brilliant to see. On a good run I am on for them and a great year I’ve had for them Stock Doves were a highlight this afternoon too with one flying over and one by a nest box type area. I took the eighth picture in this photoset of one of a few Greylag Geese about flying in to land on the water too.

I also had a great moment with my macro lens again when I saw two sweet orbweaver spiders very intimately on webs over the hide windows. It was interesting taking one spider picture and seeing the shadow of a prominent clump of trees which I always enjoy when coming to Lyndon across the lake behind it and this was the tenth and final picture in this photoset that I took today.

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feralrosie · 3 years

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Fairy Lights

Hewwo @damagecontroldumortain happy (late) valentine’s day! I’m sorry it took so long, but here’s your @loveinwayhaven gift ♥ hope you like it!

The Wayhaven Chronicles Adam/Janey (F!Detective) Words: 2600 Rating: G Tags: Fluff, lots of fluff; Valentine’s day Read on AO3

On second thought, maybe she was the one delivering spring to that place.

It took them a little over one hour to arrive at the botanical garden just outside Wayhaven, although Detective Kingston insisted that they could have done it in less time, if it was not for Adam’s careful driving. Of course, he was very confident in his own skills, but it was the reckless attitudes of humans on the road that could endanger this trip—mission. That could endanger this mission.

“You know that I’m going to drive on the way back, right?” Janey joked as soon as they parked by the gates of the garden, where vines intertwined along the fences, chipping the white paint to expose the coppery colour of the metal underneath.

“I am far more qualified to drive. I have better reflexes, sight and training.” His tone was as stiff as his muscles, button-down shirt marking every line of his chest as he turned off the Agency’s SUV. “And besides, a vehicle this size is too big for you. You wouldn’t reach the pedals.”

“How dare—”

“Let’s get going.” A hint of a smile formed on his lips as he pushed his aviators up the curve of his nose and got out of the car. Was fast enough to walk around it and open the door for the woman, offering a hand for support as she jumped out of it. “Mind your step,” he mumbled, but her attention was already focused on the garden ahead.

Despite the ancient appearance of its entrance, the place itself was impeccable. A path of cobblestone, with no signs of moss, guided the guests among thousands of trees, contouring an icy lake in the middle of the park. The woods, dark and imposing, also had trails of its own, winding through in irregular shapes. In a bright late afternoon such as this one, the scene was idyllic. The sun leaked through the canopies, trying to deliver life to the garden, but meeting the silent landscape of dormant bushes and leafless trunks covered in glittering snow instead. Only the pine trees tried their best to add some colour with strokes of dark green reaching the clear blue sky.

Must have been a gift for the garden to welcome the deep red of Janey’s hair among them. Adam noticed, as she led the way in front of him, how contrasting she was to the scenery, bursting with life and colour. Even the soft breeze that danced around them and waved her locks seemed to agree that whatever beauty nature had was no match for her.

“Alright,” Janey clapped her hands while turning on her heels to face the Agent, pulling him back from his thoughts in a startle. “What are we looking for, exactly? What do we need for this mission?”

Ah, yes, the mission. It was more like a simple task, really. Recently, a lesser kingdom of fairies took residence in Wayhaven, attracted by the Detective’s powerful presence, but even a small town like that could overwhelm such tiny creatures, and so the Agency needed to find another place for them.

“The Firefly Fairies will need a place safe from humans,” Adam stated, wrapping his coat around his torso and crossing his arms. “But it must also be a place safe from this weather. Perhaps somewhere distant from the pathway.”

She agreed with a simple nod, and in no time they were walking side by side into the woods. If it was just her body heat or something else, Adam could not tell, but the cold was not so harsh next to her. Maybe this was the reason for the fairy kingdom being drawn to her in the first place; she felt comfortable and welcoming to everyone with her charm and friendly personality. It was impossible to not let yourself be engulfed by someone like her, and Adam wasn’t the only one who felt like that… Right?

“I must apologise, Detective.” He broke the silence between them after a few minutes, not because it made him uneasy, but quite the opposite. Janey aimed a puzzled look at him, waiting for him to proceed. “Surely I impeded other plans you must have had for today.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is Valentine’s Day, is it not?” The words almost got stuck in the back of his throat, suddenly dry. “I believe many consider this to be a special date.”

“Oh.” The sound escaped from her lips, and Adam couldn’t help but to look at her for just a moment. Her heart was beating a little faster, which explained the rosy colour forming on her cheeks—delicate and unexpected, but not slightly fragile. “Don’t worry, I didn’t have any plans.”

“Hard to believe—”

“And even if I had,” she bursted, shoving her hands inside the pockets of her jacket. Their gaze met for such a brief moment that he thought he imagined it when those light brown eyes faced the path ahead once more. “I would rather spend the afternoon with you, anyway.”

He came to a halt, as if the words had taken him off balance. The idea of inviting her to spend a couple hours with him, not for a mission but for leisure, was not new, and crossed his mind multiple times (it was, what, the third time that week?), but the implications that Janey might actually have accepted if he asked sent a wave of electricity down this chest. Could it be that she also noticed the date on the calendar and agreed to come along in this foolish mission because of him?

True that her presence was everything Adam had in mind when preparing for it. He was hoping that she would accompany him to this botanical garden, under the excuse that she, as a Wayhaven citizen, had been there before and could guide them better. But he was an agent and had a job to do. No matter how much she instilled wonderful and alarming new sensations in him, he should focus on the task ahead.

“How about this place?” Janey was a few meters away, and Adam didn’t have to force his feet to reach her. She was pointing at a lonely oak tree, large enough to accommodate a house for humans. A kingdom of fairies would fit there just as well, except…

“This tree is in a clearing,” he said, resting his hands on his hips and taking a look around the place. “They would prefer a denser area, with more flowers.”

“What about that one?”

Adam’s gaze followed where she was pointing, taking its time to also notice that she was not wearing any gloves. Felt an urge to hold her hands, take them closer to his lips and blow gently a warm breath to provide her just a glimpse of the comfort she brought him.

“Adam?” He might have taken too long admiring her fingers, and when Janey called again, the icy green eyes finally landed on their next destination.

A greenhouse on the other side of the park.

“Worth assessing the place. Lead the way.”

Janey’s subtle frown, followed by an amused smile also did not pass unnoticed. Adam knew she was studying him, from the way he talked to how close he was to her—that’s how Janey was, always attentive to people, always curious—and should probably have figured out he was acting different. His mind was not where it should be, and it was showing.

So much so that Adam couldn’t even describe the landscape on their way to the greenhouse. As they crossed the garden, only the sound of Janey’s voice asking questions about the fairies would take shape in his memory. Her voice, and the feeling of their elbows touching here and there occasionally, fluttering the rhythm of their breaths.

The last rays of sunlight had sunken down behind the trees by the time they arrived at the greenhouse. The place was enormous, made entirely of glass and decorated with an iron structure painted in white in art nouveau style. The rounded edges and curvaceous geometry felt organic, as if the building was a living part of the garden, housing an astonishing amount of plants like a nursery. Adam had to take off his aviators to take a proper look at the explosion of colours and shapes of every single bloom, realising in a second that Janey didn’t have the same advantage.

“Well, it’s dark here.” She pointed out, pursing her lips while looking up as if to check for the lightbulbs. “Weird that there’s no one here. I was expecting some couples, or at least the scientists that work here.”

I’m glad there is no one else here, Adam wished to say, but instead he followed the obvious, most logical response, “It is already late to be so far away from the city. Everyone must have left a few hours ago.”

He searched for the switch, a small thing hidden behind a bush by the front doors, and turned the lights on. Expected to see the usual fluorescent white from the Facility, but watched as hundreds of tiny yellowish spots popped to life all around them, bathing the greenhouse in warmth. Strings of fairy lights followed a design like the canvas of a tent from the external walls to the central piece: a weeping willow tree, so tall that its canopy filled the space of one of the three glass domes on the roof.

Upon reaching the tree, the lights seemed to transform into vines, embracing the branches and falling along the dangling leaves like a waterfall. There was no magic in the entire botanical garden, but the look in Janey’s eyes as she admired the images around said otherwise, as if Adam had just brought her spring itself as a gift. He might just have, if such a thing was possible.

“Will this be enough for them?” Janey asked, voice low and smooth, lost in the glittering lights.

“For whom?” Adam returned, lost in the shine of her eyes.

“The fairies, of course.” And she giggled while approaching him, suddenly locking her gaze on his. “What else do they need?”

“Well, they have enough water and flowers here,” his feet moved by an unconscious desire, “There is shelter from the external weather and…” he swallowed hard, unsure if he should continue but, eventually, he did, "A lot of space for partying."

“Partying?”

“They are known for hosting week-long dances. Love to drink and to waltz.”

“I never really learned how to waltz.” Janey’s voice was only a whisper, eyes drifting away from Adam’s and reflecting the hundreds of lights around. He, however, was not paying attention to anything else but her and the way her lips curled up, almost in slow motion, overflowing with warmth. On second thought, maybe she was the one delivering spring to that place. “Must be wonderful to see.”

“Truly beautiful.” Not even Adam could conceal what he meant. He had no interest in the practices and lifestyle of fairies or of any other creature, and despite being an admirer of arts, it was clear that something else was marvelling him. Someone else. His breath of confession drew her back to him, and disarmed by hypnosis, he bursted, “Would you like to try?”

“What?” She took another step closer, graceful as a ballerina.

“Waltz.” Words seemed to tangle on each other before leaving his lips. “With me.”

From the moment he suggested going on that mission, Adam had done nothing but improvise. All the control he kept for over nine hundred years was slipping through his fingers, he could not think strategically anymore, and it was infuriating how he could not—simply could not—keep himself away from the detective. She was a fire burning inside of him and he should be turning to ashes by now. And yet there he was, surrounded by light and that warmth that was not coming just from her body heat.

He waited for an answer, pursing his lips in a thin line, questioning his careless attitudes, feeling like his chest was about to set alight, and—

“Yes. I would love to.”

A sigh of relief came from both parts, tension crumbling like a sand castle. If Adam was going to be that reckless, then so be it.

He ventured forth, right hand falling featherlight on Janey’s waist. She held his other hand, resting her palm on his and falling into his arms completely. Not once they took their gazes out of each other, eyes heavy-lidded when Adam began to lead them in circles carefully, slowly, like she was made of crystal. Terrified of breaking her.

It was nothing close to the waltz of the royal palaces of Vienna during the New Years, and much less to the Russian ballet, but still nothing felt wrong. Janey was tiny compared to him, his large hand spread almost entirely over her upper back, but it was her delicate fingers pressing into his shoulder that made him feel safe. The way she would not shy away from him, how she would spin on her axis every time he stretched out his arms just to pull her back closer and closer, was like magic of its own. Perhaps he was enchanted. She could have bewitched him. Or maybe, just maybe, it was something else. Something he was afraid of saying out loud, of letting it take form, but undeniably something he could not, would not, control.

Their feet moved together with remarkable precision, as if the spring of the greenhouse itself choreographed their movements, and even the floor felt softer. Janey slipped her fingers up to his neck, brushing his skin and leaving a tingling sensation before resting on his nape. A shiver ran up his spine, sharp enough for her to feel the dark blond hairs rising.

Their dance concluded slowly when Adam bowed down, holding her firmly in his arms as if laying her gently on a mattress of clouds. Janey held on to him, trusting him entirely, and didn’t let go afterwards. With no one to witness, their world felt silent, existing only in each other’s embrace. Adam saw when her lips parted just enough, hesitant, getting closer, increasing the thundering sound, trying to tear open her chest like a war drum so powerful that it could make him dizzy.

“Do you hear my heartbeat?” she whispered, eyes locked on his.

“Yes.”

“Can I listen to yours, too?”

“Yes...”

Janey wrapped both arms around his neck and rested her head on his chest, nose tip carefully fondling his sternum. Only then, with her cheek pressed against his white shirt, Adam realised that the drumming of hearts was a duet. His own perfectly synchronised to hers, still dancing, and he couldn’t help but to wrap his arms around her as well. In a garden of blooms, they formed a bud—secret, beautiful and new. He wished to stay in spring, with her, forever.

Alas, they were both ripped apart from dreaming when a too-loud bzzt bzzt emerged from the agent’s pocket. Distracted by each other, both rushed to untangle themselves quicker than their blood could colour their faces. Adam turned on his heels, reaching for the damn phone and answering the call.

“Commanding Agent du Mortain.”

“Adam, it's Nate. I’ve been trying to call for a while, is everything ok?”

A deep sigh left his lungs, “Yes, Nate. Everything is fine.”

“Are you still with Janey? Did you find a good place?”

He looked over his shoulder, gaze meeting Janey’s again. A shy grin on her rosy cheeks invited him to smile too, and so he did.

“Yes, Nate. I believe we found the perfect place.”

#the wayhaven chronicles #adam du mortain #janey kingston #love in wayhaven #my writing #valentine's day #gift exchange #i must say i love Janey #I hope she's not too ooc #had a lot of fun writing it #💖💖

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winonalakefossils · 3 years

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The Siege of Chattanooga

In 1903 the newly incorporated Ford Motor Company manufactured and sold its first Model A; The Great Train Robbery, a short silent film, became America's first blockbuster movie; and the Wright brothers flew for the first time in what turned out to be twelve seconds that changed the world! That same auspicious year, the Winona Assembly anticipated its ninth season by designing an ambitious Chautauqua program that advertised the most elaborate Fourth of July celebration in the park's history.

Spring ignited a frenetic effort that lasted through the summer. The park transformed into a veritable little Venice with its man-made lagoons and islands. Work commenced on one hundred new cottages, not to mention the erection of a power plant to provide electricity and heat for year-round habitation. The basement of the big hotel became the site of a new spa where guests could bathe in the waters of Winona's famous mineral springs. The auditorium underwent renovations to double the seating capacity to four thousand. Workers also broke ground for the Winona Agricultural and Technical School, a three-story memorial to the late Governor James Mount.

New buildings went up and old ones came down, among them the gymnasium—a massive, circular structure that had been remodeled, repurposed and repaired multiple times since the Winona Assembly purchased Spring Fountain Park in1895. Finally, the Assembly designated the eyesore for demolition. But in the hearts of some locals, the removal of what they knew as “the old cyclorama building” struck a melancholy note, for they recalled with tremendous pride the Fourth of July fifteen years before when they had waited in line to behold a great spectacle called The Siege of Chattanooga.

* * *

The year was 1888. A steady stream of humanity flowed from the main road to the entrance of Spring Fountain Park for an unprecedented celebration of Independence Day. Elegant carriages, modest buggies, and rickety wagons conveyed excited visitors. Those who arrived by train poured in from the depot. On horseback and on foot, the residents from the nearby city of Warsaw joined the surge that coursed onto the convivial grounds of Indiana’s most popular summer resort.

A few hundred yards from the lake’s shoreline stood the brand new three-story luxury hotel wrapped in a spacious veranda and crowned with an observation room that overlooked the park and the lake. Those who dined there that day proclaimed the menu to be the very best in all the state. Crystal clear ponds, breathtaking flower gardens, rustic bridges, and a spring-fed fountain elicited cries of astonishment. The perfectly manicured lawns were as smooth as a billiard table.

The popular miniature steam train belched thick smoke as it chugged along the narrow tracks to the delight of both cramped passengers and charmed onlookers. Exhilarated shrieks erupted from the switchback, a car with six riders that coasted on wooden waves carried along by the forces of gravity back and forth between two towers. Delighted crowds lingered at the deer park, cheered for contestants competing in the boat races, laughed at the greased pig contest and stopped to watch a baseball game.

The extraordinary experience at Spring Fountain Park led one newspaper reporter to consecrate it as the perfect combination of God-given beauty and human ingenuity. Without a doubt, the lavish surroundings and sundry diversions inspired awe, but the nearly five thousand visitors converging on the park that day had come for one event in particular—their turn to enter the great cyclorama!

Ever since the first boards had been hammered into place two years before in 1886, the locals chattered non-stop about the extravagant new attraction and debated among themselves how much the daring enterprise must have cost the Beyer brothers, the park’s proprietors. They traded stories about America’s first panorama artist, Civil War veteran Harry Kellogg, and speculated about the role of the respected and influential General Reub Williams in bringing a battle panorama to the shores of Eagle Lake.

* * *

All day long a line stretched from the entrance of the cyclorama. Women in tall bonnets opened their parasols or ducked under trees for shade. Children dodged in and out of line playing tag. The men took up conversation with veterans who had been inside and who praised the flawless representation of the legendary military engagements.

Every twenty minutes a man appeared at the cyclorama’s entrance. He gave a shout. On cue, seventy-five excited patrons surrendered their tickets and filed inside the imposing building. Everyone’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness before the group obediently followed its guide down a dimly-lit corridor to a winding staircase.

“Keep to the right!” The man called out repeatedly.

Seventy-five pairs of feet navigated a flight of steps in single file. Audible expressions of surprise reached the ears of those still climbing the stairs, causing hearts to race with anticipation. As the last spectators finally stepped onto the platform and beheld the breathtaking view, it was their turn to gasp and exclaim, for they found themselves standing on the slope of the legendary Missionary Ridge.

Amazed spectators crossed to the pine railing for a closer look. Below were shrubs, a fence, even a stream. They could not discern where the foreground ended and the painting began. They knew they had come to see a panorama painting, yet what met their eyes was so much more. They believed they were seeing soldiers, ammunition wagons, horses, guns and cannon. A host of optical illusions seduced their minds, and they could not un-believe the tricks employed by the clever artist. Three hundred feet of muslin reaching fifty feet high encircled them. A skylight funneled the sun’s rays onto the walls of the rotunda and illuminated the massive canvas.

Observers believed themselves to be in the midst of a Tennessee landscape that stretched for miles in every direction. Above them shone an azure sky strewn with thick, white cumulus clouds and feathery wisps of horsetails. Blazing yellow and red foliage sparkled against the lush greens in the valley where the winding Tennessee River shimmered and the Blue Ridge Mountains rose up in the distance.

This was the magic produced by three tons of paint on a two-ton muslin canvas, five hundred handcrafted papier maché figures and several tons of dirt that had been lugged in by wheelbarrows to form roads, creek banks and hills. The vegetation in the foreground was real, but the horses, wagons and men were not. In fact, none of the figures that beguiled spectators stood more than twelve inches tall.

* * *

“Welcome to Chattanooga, Tennessee!”

It was artist Harry Kellogg.

“The year is 1863 and the War of the Rebellion has reached a critical juncture. Which side will prevail? Relive with me a turning point of the war.”

All eyes were fixed upon the wiry, energetic host.

Kellogg took a step forward, opened his arms wide and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is for me a very emotional moment because the battles I’ve depicted here are those I witnessed as a commissioned Union officer in the Army of the Cumberland.”

He paused dramatically before proclaiming, “This is your chance to hear from one who was there how it really happened!”

Commencing his narrative, Kellogg explained, “Early on the morning of November twenty-fourth, Union troops stormed Lookout Mountain, clawing their way up the sheer cliff. Rock by rock and tree by tree, they made their way in the face of heavy fire. Indeed, the Confederate position was considered unassailable, so what occurred that day was a miracle.”

He paused a moment before calling out, “Look there! Sitting on his white horse is General ‘Fighting Joe’ Hooker shouting at his troops to secure the summit. As his men rushed up the mountain, they and the enemy were engulfed in a cloud of gun powder and thick morning fog.”

“My friends, can’t you hear the deafening explosions that shook the earth as the two armies struggled behind the blinding cloud?”

Kellogg glanced around at his audience.

“It was impossible for those of us watching below to know which side was prevailing. Suddenly, our warriors caught a glimpse through the haze of battle—a flag waved in the distance. But whose flag was it? A loud voice resounded, ‘It’s Old Glory! It’s Old Glory! We did it!’”

“Lookout Mountain had been conquered!” Kellogg announced triumphantly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, do you think the siege has now been broken?”

“No, no, no!” They cried anxiously, shaking their fists. They knew that General Bragg still controlled Missionary Ridge.

“Look here! It is our brave hero General Sherman leading the attack on the ridge where you are right now standing. Alas, General Bragg had reinforced his troops against his advancing fiery, red-haired archenemy. Like an invasion of locusts, Confederate reinforcements quickly swarmed the northern ridge area. After eight hours of vicious fighting, Sherman’s army was undeniably pinned down.”

The spectators, gripped by Sherman’s plight, stared in silent horror at a battlefield strewn with trampled corpses. They thought they heard the screams of the wounded left unattended. Their hearts cringed at the sight of frightened horses wandering about in the decimated forest. Sabers, bayonets, and canteens littered the battlefield. Severed limbs and burning wagons told the harrowing disaster that Sherman’s men had faced.

“Ladies and gentlemen, do you think we could hope that Sherman would finally drive the Rebels from Missionary Ridge?"

They shook their heads.

“Oh, Look!” said Kellogg. “Do you see General Grant on a hill with his binoculars and wearing a look of dismay? And the other man? Who could that be? Why, that’s General Thomas, the Rock of Chicamauga! He, too, looks utterly astonished. What could explain their bewilderment?”

Kellogg pointed to a scene with a ragtag army of ferocious-looking men.

“These men are wretched, aren’t they? The Confederates defeated them at Chicamauga, surrounded them at Chattanooga and waited for them to starve. But what General Sherman could not do, the Army of the Cumberland did! Without orders, and to the shock of Grant and Thomas, these once-humiliated soldiers valiantly charged Missionary Ridge screaming, ‘Remember Chicamauga!’”

The rapt audience smiled at the Rebels retreating in stunned, wild-eyed disbelief, dropping their rifles, and fleeing with their arms raised as General Thomas’ men surged upward fueled by revenge. The enemy was deserting its positions, and in the midst of the Confederate chaos was General Bragg, his face contorted with despair while screaming at his troops to hold the line.

Then Kellogg pronounced with great delight, “Thus did the Army of the Cumberland successfully lift the siege of Chattanooga!”

The crowd erupted in a spontaneous cheer.

As the spectators slowly filed off of the platform to descend the staircase, they did so solemnly, shuffling through the darkened passage to the exit. At the same time that they stepped into the bright July sunshine, they left the Civil War behind. Shielding their eyes, they blinked pensively until they could once again bear the bright light of day. Turning to one another, spirits soaring with pride and wonder, all exclaimed, “It seemed so real!”

* * *

The Siege of Chattanooga ran until 1892 when the Beyer brothers replaced it with a new panorama called The Life of Christ begun by artist E. J. Pine in the spring of 1891. The summer of that year, Spring Fountain Park featured two partial panoramas: the first half of Pine’s biblical epic and a few existing battle scenes from Kellogg’s masterpiece.

Replacing panoramas was common practice. Unsurprisingly, audiences grew weary of one story and longed for fresh entertainment. This expensive demand soon collided with the rapidly advancing technologies of the approaching twentieth century. And just like that, movie theaters, not cyclorama buildings, burgeoned with audiences. The silver screen, not a gigantic canvas, cast its spell.

The cyclorama at Spring Fountain Park featured an extravagant grand opening for the Fourth of July in 1888 and closed permanently six years later. According to J. E. Beyer, Kellogg’s historic tribute to the Civil War became the property of the Winona Assembly when it purchased the park. The fate of that panorama and Pine’s Life of Christ remains unknown. The cyclorama was torn down in 1903, and its usable lumber distributed among various building projects that summer. ::

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kariachi · 3 years

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Some more First Pass AU. Mari spelling out plain and simple why she and the others are going through all this trouble to build their own settlement on an entirely different continent.

“The dragons like you.”

How many of them had heard that already?

The day was beautiful, summer sun with Threadfall just passed and rainclouds on the horizon. Most of the landscape was scraggly and scarred as the native plants began their quick recovery, miles upon miles of jungle stretched to the horizon in splashes and squiggles of greens and reds against the brown, but there was one spot on the mountain where the caverns broke through into a cave and a ledge that gave what everyone agreed was the best view in the settlement. From up there, above the trees and below the clouds, you could see the entirety of it. The bright patch of greenery that seemed to expand every day as the grubs multiplied, all the brightly painted outbuildings and fences that secured the livestock, gardens of crops and orchards of mostly-local fruit, the river and the greenhouses that lined its shallows, against the backdrop of dull gray stormclouds and a sky that leaned closer to purple that those back on Earth.

There was talk of someday expanding the cave into a vast social space, turning the entrance into a grand window and the ledge a balcony, so nobody would ever have to miss that scene.

“Well, someday maybe there’ll be dragons here, and then they can have their fill of me.” Sean sighed, clutching his klah and leaning back in his whicker chair. Carenath was out hunting, a shiny bronze spot in the distant sky with Faranth gleaming gold beside him. All the ‘big names’ were out to see the settlement now that it was nearing completion, with only a few larger projects left to complete before everyone could be moved in. While Sorka and the others were getting the tour, Mari had invited Sean up to get the view and a nice mug of klah- he never had been good with crowds and even running on klah and willpower Monett had enough energy to be a crowd all by herself, nonetheless with all the other people milling about. It was quiet up here, a nice place for two associates to chat.

“We’re losing so many potential riders to this place,” he said, shaking his head. “You, Monett-”

“A dragon’d have to fight the pack to get her.”

“-Tamrat, Parsi...”

“The dragons sound lovely,” she replied, “and maybe in another life…” Because the first time she’d seen one of the dragons, a hatchling clambering around seeing flowers for first time, something in her heart had sung. It was a dream made real, right there in front of her, and had felt so right- “But this is what we need to do. We won’t be made to lessen ourselves.” He looked at her, lips twisting.

“Nobody is asking-”

“They want us to act as broodmares, Sean. To break ourselves if that’s what it takes to ‘serve the colony’.” He scowled, though it didn’t surprise her. Couples married before the journey to Pern had been allowed to continue their lives as they were, the dragonriders were given leeway, of course with his head so full of dragons he wouldn’t notice this. “I won’t breed with every man who isn’t my brother until my body gives out. I won’t sit and listen to people judge Parsi and Abdul for ‘not doing their duty’ because neither wants to put his cock in a vagina.”

“If you’d come to the Weyr,” Sean tried, only for Mari to shush him with a shake of her head and a firm look. She dropped a hand on his shoulder.

“Just because you don’t see it from way up there, doesn’t mean it’s not still happening,” she said. “We won’t stand for it, won’t live like that, and we won’t raise our children in that environment.” The two stared at each other for a long moment before Sean sighed and turned back to the view.

“This always was a pretty place.” With a slow nod Mari turned back as well, taking a sip of her klah.

“Yes, yes it is.”

#fanfic #first pass au #mari: i love dragons but also fuck this entire culture you're building

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deathbysatellite · 4 years

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Redecoration of an Old Build

Not an upload, just thought I’d share some before and after pics of a lot I built a few years back called “Sunset Valley Wedding Chapel”. Not as “literally what the hell was I thinking?” as some of the builds from my pre-teen/early teen years (which I might share pics of one of these days), but the interior design and overall decorating...left a lot to be desired. It’s pretty clear that I wanted to use as much from Island Paradise and Supernatural as I could lol. I’ve left the structure itself the same because I’m lazy. Don’t ask about the random police car in the street out front. It’s been stuck there for at least an entire generation.

Before

I was not very good at landscaping back then (I’m only a little bit better now unless I use a reference photo tbh). I thought using those awnings from Island Paradise would look nice, but looking back, it just looks kinda weird and cluttered, and it obstructs my view in game.

Turns out, Sims will only sit in chairs during a wedding. They can’t use benches or couches for whatever reason, and will stand around causing a traffic jam that prevents the couple from getting to the arch to get married. This room is the most “what the hell was I thinking” room on the lot, due to its color scheme and furniture choice.

This is a little dressing area for brides and grooms, and it just about the only thing about the interior other than the bathrooms that I’ve kept completely the same.

The most decent room in this entire build.

Almost everything is left at their preset colors, which means things don’t match, and rooms like the actual wedding room don’t look very wedding-like. The lack of decor, especially on the walls makes it feel very empty. And it apparently hadn’t occurred to me back then to use more than one light per room (or at all on the outside), which means every room is dim as fuck. Surprisingly not my cringiest build.

After

Only major differences out front so far are terrain paints to give it a more natural look, and the recolored windows and columns to add some cohesion. The heart may seem tacky to some, but dammit I like it, so I’m keeping it.

Slightly better landscaping makes the lot feel a little less empty and gives it a more natural look. Replaced the IP awnings with one of those “short fence with short flowers on top of columns” things that a lot of people tend to build. It both looks better suited to a wedding venue, and is a lot less visually obstructive during gameplay. I’ve added doors to the back leading to the patio so we can avoid the major traffic jams that would arise from the entire party trying to go through the archway, out the front door, around the entire building, and through the gate to get to the patio.

Lighter color scheme, better lighting, and added decor now gives the entry a much more inviting look.

The colors may be a bit cliche and cartoony for a wedding venue, but at least it’s a lot more cheerful and appropriate than what I had before. Replaced the benches with chairs and the windows with doors leading to the patio, hopefully preventing some headache-inducing traffic jams. Added some wall decor, and kept the corner plants and statues.

As with the entry, the lighter color scheme and better lighting make the room feel more cheerful. Swapped out the couch and lamp for something...less tacky (wish I had remembered to take a picture of them), and changed the clothing rack to some wedding themed CC items. Added a coffee table and some decor to make the room less empty.

Kept the wallpaper the same, but swapped the couch and chairs for ones to match the other room. Recolored the train set and moved it to the corner where the big plant was so the room would feel less cramped, and filled the empty floor space with a rug.

Swapped out all the patio furniture except for one of the buffet tables (which is slightly recolored). Like I said previously, the new awning is much less visually obstructive, and fits the aesthetic better. Added a lot of lighting, so I can actually see what’s going on at night.

Main lessons I’ve learned since the original was built:

Pick a fucking theme

Use CASt more often

Use more lights

Put some paintings on the walls

Add more landscaping (my main tricks are to spray paint dirt around buildings, and to fill empty spaces with trees, and put some dirt, plants, and rocks around those trees).

#sims 3 #ts3 #my builds

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dnodes18 · 5 years

Photo

DIY Projects That Can Transform Your Outdoor Space https://ift.tt/302A2Uj

Finishing up your backyard area goes beyond just getting furniture. Sarah Wagner of Dreaming of Homemaking shares how outdoor decor, a fresh coat of paint and a separation fence can create the perfect outdoor living area.

It is amazing how DIY projects can transform any space, and that is what we have done in every inch of our 1200 sq. ft. 1960’s home. This summer, we decided we were ready to complete our backyard space. It all started with redoing our fence. We are not experts, but we learned along the way and you can too! If you aren’t ready to start a big project, paint always makes a big statement. We started this summer leveling our backyard, planting grass and adding a pea gravel patio space. That was a big project.

Before

The Plan

We added a deck two years ago, and last year we put on a covered pergola . We never got around to finishing it so we added that to this project list. Now it’s time to transform this entire space. Let’s begin with a plan (below)!

Finish the pergola

Add a wrap around stair

Repaint the deck

Add landscaping around the deck and house

Make a box to cover the crawl space

Frame out windows and ad window boxes

Paint hot tub

Make a privacy screen for deck

Finish building a fence

Now it is time to get started, off to Home Depot we go!

Window Boxes

If you are looking for a simple project that makes a big statement add a window box, and fill with your favorite flowers or plants. I always like to add rosemary just because it smells so good!

Landscaping

If you still aren’t ready to tackle a bigger project, landscaping is always a favorite of mine. It really can transform a space. The Home Depot has such a great selection of plants. I found all mine there along with this rose bush. Make sure to use a good weed blocker when doing any landscaping it will save you a lot of hassle later on. I really loved this one from Vigoro. I wanted to use bricks, but it wasn’t working for my space. I found this landscape edging kit, and it did the trick. Add some black mulch, and you are set!

Crawl Space Cover

Ready for a DIY project? We have a crawl space hole that I hated seeing. We decided to build this box, and I am so happy with how it turned out! All you need is some 2 x 4s and 1 x 2s and you have yourself a cover! It’s always easier if you have a level space, but sometimes you aren’t as lucky and have to try to level it out. Isn’t it amazing how those few things transformed this space? Don’t forget the window trim too!

Deck Revamp

Ready for a bigger project, but budget-friendly? We added over 20 ft. of stairs to our deck for $200. It made such a huge impact, and I love how it just wraps around.

I told you earlier about the power of paint. I used BEHR slate gray porch and patio paint to transform our deck. I will be honest I painted it last year, and the paint we used did not compare. It was a light grey that constantly looked brown. It didn’t last and peeled and bubbled the moment we applied it. Fast forward to now, I used the BEHR slate gray porch and patio paint on my concrete porches and fell in love with it. So, naturally, it was perfect for our deck! I will say, when I put the primer on, I fell in LOVE with the white. However, I knew it wasn’t practical for our family with 4 small kids and 2 pups! Oddly enough, we have been using the deck nonstop. It has endured rain and mud, but it still looks amazing!

Privacy Fence

Do you see what I see? Well, not my neighbor’s house! Adding a privacy screen has become my favorite DIY project, and it’s so easy to do. This is the second one we added this summer. We completed this one a little differently, and I am so happy with how it turned out.

I went back and forth on painting this privacy screen to match my white one, but I loved the warmth of the natural tone.

I can now say I just love this entry! A few DIY projects went a long way. I also love these planters I found at Home Depot, they frame out the door just right! I have to work on getting the grass just right, but fall is coming along with the rain!

Last but not least, the project that started it all, our fence! We felt like pros building them. Everything was a breeze especially since The Home Depot delivers all the supplies straight to your door. I just can’t believe the transformation. All I can say is it’s amazing where we started and how far we have come. This backyard DIY project has not only transformed the space, but it has given our family an extension of our home.

Now you can see the flamingo is out, so it is time to enjoy! I hope you loved seeing how DIY projects can transform your space and a special thanks to The Home Depot for making it possible!

Find more patio ideas and inspiration on the The Home Depot blog.

The post DIY Projects That Can Transform Your Outdoor Space appeared first on The Home Depot Blog.

Sarah Wagner

#The Home Depot Blog

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hiraeth-doux · 7 years

Note

How would Owen surprise Claire for their wedding anniversary

Thank you for this ask! I had a few ideas, and I hope that the one I settled on works :)

Standing on a smallbalcony, barely a few feet wide and pressed close to the thick brick walls ofthe house, Claire allowed her eyes to drop shut and inhaled deeply, savouring the sharp smellof the sea mixed with the delicate citrus scent from the lemon trees, pepperingthe orchard and that odd combination of wax and plaster that she couldn’t quite puther finger on just yet, but that she grew to associate this place with almostimmediately.

Fresh and damp, the breeze tugged at her hair, ticking her cheeks,and she felt the corners of her mouth lift almost involuntarily. Earlier, shementioned to Owen that this whole country smelled like the inside of a church,and he laughed, saying that she probably wasn’t wrong.

The villa they werestaying at was nestled in a hill stark in the middle of an olive grove thatwas sloping gently toward the water where the yachts and boats were bobbinglazily, their lights making her think of a handful of diamonds, glinting on thedark surface of the sea in the dying light of the warm evening.

Her fingers flexed onthe balcony railing, eyes following the trail of streetlamps, leading towardthe small town, one of many they were visiting, and her heart swelled in herchest in such an aching contentment she wanted to bottle it up and remember itfor the rest of her life. Like a time capsule, something to hold on to when therest of her memories faded.

Owen walked up to herfrom behind – a movement that she felt rather than heard, the warmth of hisbody making her skin tingle long before he touched her. He wrapped his armaround her waist, his hand pushing her hair aside and his mouth dropping lightkisses along her shoulder and up her neck, making her shiver in her thin pale-blue lace slipeven though the night was warm, the air heavy and soft around them, almost palpable. She couldfeel him smile, his chest rising and falling against her back. He murmuredsomething into her ear, but the whisper of the trees outside tuned him out. Sheleaned back into him, breathing him in, his arms now locked firmly around her,his palms moving slowly over her belly in what felt like half-reassurance andhalf-invitation.

“You like it?” Heasked quietly and rested his chin on the top of her head.

Claire’s gaze skimmedover the landscape, stretching before them, sinking slowly into the shadows. She took in the town that looked likeit was painted rather than built, the old walls of the houses and the orangetrees, lining the yards and the alleys, wisteria racemes dripping from thefences. From their spot, she could hear the soft lapping of the waves against thesand and the faint cries of the birds, the soundsof music and occasional laughter.

She glanced up,brushed a kiss to his stubbled chin. “I love it,” she said. “You never cease toamaze me, Mr. Grady.”

Owen chuckled,tightening his grip on her. Dipped his head to nuzzle into her neck. “You soundsurprised.”

And she was, in away. The man was incapable of keeping secrets! He spilled the beans about hersurprised birthday party two days after he came up with the idea, he bought hera Christmas present a month before Christmas and made her open it right awaybecause he couldn’t wait to see her do it (and then bought another one a day beforeChristmas to actually make it work properly) – the list could go on and on. Butthis? This was something else. This was magic.

It was their firstanniversary, and Owen took her to Italy, and even though she knew that he was planningsomething, Claire’s best guess was a romantic dinner, not two weeks of purebliss in Tuscany in an old villa they rented from the owner whose great-great-grandfatherbuilt it over a hundred years ago. He arranged everything, too – from the listof the towns in the area they were going to see to the wine-tasting events toa music festival in one of the villages at the end of their trip. All under hernose and without her knowing.

After the incident,they unanimously decided that they were done with tropical islands, buteverything else was still on the table, and he couldn’t wait to show thewhole world to her.A while ago, she mentioned to him in passing that she’d always wanted to see Europe, go to Rome and Paris, walk the streets of Prague and Madrid, and maybe he couldn’t give it all to her at once, but at least he knew where to start.

In the very beginningof their relationship, it amused him how genuinely delighted she was with everysmall gesture of affection he showed her – she would take every bouquet of flowersor a table reservation for an impromptu date as the best thing that everhappened to her, and in certain ways, it was endearing. That side of her was sounexpected, he still couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

However, eventuallyhis amusement grew into an outright resentment toward everyone who ever madeher feel like she wasn’t good enough for their time and effort that gother to believe that she didn’t deserve it when, in truth, there was no one elsein the world more worthy of love and happiness than Claire. It still hurt himto think that she would ever believe that she was less when she was actually morethan everyone else he’d ever known.

His hands slid overher body, both of them drowsy from the trip and the intoxicating sweet air, thepromise of exquisite food and long walks and just being, and the last two hours they spent in bed, getting reacquainted again because the change of scenery called for it.There was a bottle of champagne, waiting for them, and the candle light that made their shadows dance around them in intricate patterns, and he had never loved her more than in that moment. Owen inhaled the scent of her skin, pulling her closer still,thinking of how he would gladly spend the rest of his life, proving to her thatshe was his entire world.

Claire turned in isarms and kissed him properly, her hands siding up his chest and around hisneck. They didn’t speak much for the rest of the night.

#clawen #clawen hc #claire x owen #jurassic world #claire dearing #owen grady #i'm not obsessed shhhhhhh

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hoc-loco · 7 years

Text

After several dark nights of being able to do little else than thrash around throughout the night, or wake up covered in sweat, Yao had developed a rather unexpected dependency on the pills. (ramble. I know I’ll never post the entire thing, which is like over 20 chapters long, so I just wanted to post some little segments. A fic in which China must choose between the past and the present).

He’s old, and with age comes wisdom, so Yao likes to think. With wisdom comes the ability to push through thick and thin without a second thought, but sometimes it’s just not enough to combat the tiredness that also comes with age. And with tiredness comes thoughts, and then with thoughts, comes sleepless nights.

So for months, he lies, staring through hard eyes at the ceiling, two pillows encapsulating his head. The plaster is an unblemished white, grey in the darkness; a blank canvas, splashed with memories that he can’t help but spill. He watches them flash by, like black and white images on a zoetrope.

One icy February night, he finally grows tired of lying, watching.

The memories are different this night; stiller, warmer, pleasantly rhythmic in their flow. He can feel the leaves of the Italian Cypress brushing against his cheek like it was yesterday, a gentle breeze lifting his hair and a soft voice. Deep, but somehow still light. An arm around his shoulder, pulling him close, and the vibrancy of a sunset, unmatched by any other sunset he has seen to date.

For the first time in a long time, he feels his eyes slipping shut, the view of the grey ceiling slowly dimming, and he welcomes it, relaxing as best he can. A familiar heavy feeling settles in his chest, probably from years of exhaustion, and he remembers for whatever reason, wanting to cry.

But like all good things that seem to befall Yao, the memories, the warmth begins to fade into bitter cold, and suddenly, he’s furious.

This time, in an undoubtedly better state of mind, he throws off the sheet and saunters to the bathroom and rummages around in the medicine cupboard. When he finds the correct container, he pulls the top off, a rush of unpleasant memories flashing through his mind. But memories are just memories, right? It’s not like you can… relive them, or anything.

With that, he throws a single pill into his mouth and swallows. The thing doesn’t taste of much; a little bitter, but he still finds himself wincing as it goes down. It doesn’t feel right.

But then again, never mind the tablet not feeling right, he hasn’t felt right for centuries now. One look in the mirror has him staring at the unfamiliar reflection. The skin is unhealthily pale, eyes dim and rimmed with circles just as black. If China were any more gullible, it wouldn’t have taken much to convince him that he was staring at his ghost.

After pulling disbelievingly at his inky hair, which he has unknowingly allowed to grow longer than he’d thought, and rubbing at his tired eyes, he realises with some surprise the efficiency of the human drug.

Already, within a few minutes, he can feel his eyelids begin to droop, and he forces his eyes away from the ghost in the mirror. After stuffing the bottle back into the cupboard, he begins the trudge back towards the bedroom, a heavy feeling settling over his head.

On his way through the dark hallways, he grabs a small, gold bracelet from a cupboard and clutches it close to his chest.

That night, he dreams. He finds that the memories he relives on the bedroom ceiling seem real, but nothing could ever feel as real as a dream.

Hardly is anyone able to tell if a dream is really a dream. Most of the time, you simply accept it as a more colourful version of reality, but reality all the same. Even if the water is pink and the clouds are paintings on walls, you might never be able to tell if anything was out of place. But the one Yao is experiencing is so gut-wrenchingly real, from the blue-orange of the sky to the sway of summer flowers. The feel of soft grass under his fingertips, the soft veil of light shrouding a glowing city, the distant rumble of chatter rising from the sandy-coloured buildings further down the hill.

Yao draws his legs in and allows himself to relax, feeling the warm air tickle his face, the buzz of crickets seemingly humming an old tune he remembers from some far-off, inaccessible memory. With a sigh, he rests his head on his knees, content. Everything is so still, so peaceful. He traces the line of Italian Cypress trees through old cobble buildings in the fields, all the way to the golden city and his eyes land upon the most beautiful sunset he has ever seen. Flames rise from the horizon, lighting up an ocean beyond, flickers of yellow and orange and pink.

As the landscape before him lights up with the suns last breath, behind him, the fields are falling into darkness.

A shadow from an overhead tree looks, at first, like a clawed hand scratching at the ground and Yao looks up, startled.

And when he looks up, he sees someone staring straight down at him.

For what seems like an eternity and in all honesty, probably was, he stares, frozen. Every gear in his body grinds to a halt and he is hardly aware that he’s stopped breathing altogether. Above the looming figure, the sky is still a vivid explosion of fiery hues, but he sees none of it. And though a dark shadow is cast over the figure’s face, each and every one of his features show more to Yao than the luminescent sky above.

They say that dreams are a by-product of all the wild adventures you conjure up throughout the day, a mesh of all the things you wish you could do, but cannot, because the concept of reality is always something that must be considered. Reality has too many limitations, Yao had thought, and that had been sometime during the very first century of his life; he had hardly been taller than his second sister’s waist and just learning how to hold a sword. He’d already given up dreaming about the distant lands the children of his country did, with all their peculiar spices and strange thatched huts in grassy highlands. Especially when he was younger, he would amuse himself with images of new, undiscovered lands, trekking through faraway villages with friends he had been foolish enough to make. Time took its toll, eventually, and soon the differences between him and the other children became far too great to ignore.

He was different. He couldn’t have the same aspirations as they did; no cloud-laced mountains, no fields of foreign flowers.

They were gone for good before he could reach the lowest platform in the prayer room, gone to a place they couldn’t come back from. He always wondered why his hair didn’t grey, or his eyes didn’t begin to sag, but he stopped wondering after a while.

After a witnessed bloodbath involving two of his sisters – three, a little later – Yao had begun dreaming about not what would, or could happen, but what had happened. Still under a thousand years old, hardly taller than his dead sister’s waist and just learning how to hold a sword, Yao fell asleep at night and dreamt about surprisingly pleasant things. He dreamt of snow in the palace courtyard, skidding over the frozen pond by the pagoda. He dreamt of the sound of swords slicing air and how much he enjoyed fencing sessions with his oldest sister, as well as the way the second oldest would twist peonies into his hair during the summer.

Memories started having much more of an impact than did any future prospects and it continued that way for millennia to come.

So, having not had a single dream about his sisters in centuries, of whom his memories of them are now quite blurred, this was the very last thing he had expected.

Yao can’t be sure how long he stares, but he knows that the longer he does, the more his eyes are beginning to water. A small sob threatens to escape his throat, but he swallows desperately. Instead, the face, and fiery sky behind it merges into a blurry mess.

Without so much as a warning, Yao leaps up from his spot, feet moving on autopilot. His arms tighten around the back of the figure and he presses his face into the chest, the striking familiarity of the smell causing the tears to spill. He holds the figure close, deathly still, and for a second, he tenses when he feels another pair of arms wind gently around his waist.

But this is everything he’s ever dreamed about; memories. Memories of this musky scent, memories of an embrace so similar to the one that he’s in, that he relaxes completely, melting into the warm arms.

“Good to see you again, Yao.”

He wakes up in suffocating darkness, his pillow soaked with tears.

#aph china #aph roman empire #aph ancient rome #aph grandpa rome #romechu #hetalia #fanfic

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ikonislife · 7 years

Text

My Star, My Man.

- Bobby x Reader

- Angst, Fluff

- In his quest to fix the biggest mistake of his life, Bobby discovers his true self. This new found understanding guide him to see life the way you do, leaving him falling in love with you more and more as he’s getting closer to reaching his end destination. You.

- Masterlist

- I Don’t Love You by Urban Zapaka

- Don’t be Happy by M.C the Max

- Galaxy by BolBBalgan4 (turn on cc for lyrics translation)

youtube

There was a point in time when Bobby finds the ear-piercing whistle of the trains blaring pass endearing…Endearing in a sense that it could still drowns out even the loudest, most excruciating of screams. That was of course when he was fresh on this journey and the pain of disappointment was something raw, something new. Not to say that the aching of his heart now was any less raw than it had been, callus wasn’t something heartbreak knew.

Nowadays, it seems as though his brain had finally committed the bellowing of the locomotive to memories as even that couldn’t drown out the frustrated howling of his weary mind. As he lets the weight of the long trip sunk onto the worn-out wooden bench by the now empty train track, desolation chipped away yet another corner of his jagged heart, leaving the fragment to wither away into ashes. Just a moments ago, all his hope and dream of a happy ending were shredded to bits by the wavering voices of the old couple whom were landlord to the humble home boding the address he had so excitedly scribbled on a torn piece of paper just a week ago.

“She hasn’t been back for days. I’m sorry, child. You’re too late.” The old woman had said as the old man shook his head in regret, they felt for him as they too went through many heartbreaks before finding solace and love one another.

That little piece of crumbled up paper that had held Bobby’s heart and soul, the one he had hung onto so desperately as if a lifeline guiding him back ashore was now falling out of his limp fingers as emptiness washed over everything… A feeling he, unfortunately, was all too familiar with at this point.

He had been searching for a glimpse of that smile, the familiar soft features in the passing crowds for so long he had lost counts of the weeks or was it months now. He wouldn’t want to turn into one of those insufferable parents that refer to their child in months even though it’s just as easy to say 2 years as it is 24 months.

Now typically, Bobby wouldn’t be so down on himself at every shake of the head and whisper of “No, i haven’t seen her”. Sure, he’d be weighed down with disappointment and a few sighs would accompany his heavy steps, but he’d just simply move onto the next lead. This time, it really struck quite close to his heart because he almost had you, so close he could almost pick out that delectable scent of freesia mingling with pear still lingering about the old room you had occupied. It was too much, the sadness was almost too much for his feeble heart to handle, as if a river after a long rainstorm, threatening to spill over the banks any second now, washing away everything precious along its destructive path.

He almost had you.

A sudden urge to punch himself risen within his soul the longer he remained in this old town. Had he not decided to squeeze in that last project, had he just left when his assistant bolted into his room with the most hopeful expression on his face. It was just one tiny contract, one last one before taking the much-needed time off to reunite with your lovely face. But none of that matter anymore, because here he sat all alone on this worn out wooden bench by the train track. Perhaps this very second you too were on some other worn out wooden bench at some other train track far away from here, completely unaware of the man chasing your shadow.

Despite the sorrow plaguing his heart, Bobby couldn’t help but let himself immersed in the place that had taken your breath away, at the very least, intrigued you enough to remained here for so long. As he took the long way back toward the train station, having bid adieu to the kind souls that had let him wallow in shame and in the weight of his failure on their front porch for as long as he needed, Bobby took in the gentle scenery of this old town. He thought of the wooden gate and how in the few minutes it had taken the old couple to answer his question, it had transformed significantly.

The very first moment he had laid his eyes on the home number proudly displayed right beside it, that wooden gate had held so much hope and happiness. One swing and he’d be reunited with you, just one swing and he could enter the home where his entire heart laid despite never before having been here… One swing too, was all it took for it to morph into a painful reminder of how late he was and how for so long, you had passed through it without fail, days in, days out. It was mere days, just days and you were once more out of his grasp, swallowed up by this big wide world without a trace, not even a hint for his poor broken heart to follow. That was the bitter reality, he was always far too late. There was a lesson to be learn and he had unfortunately, learned it the hardest way. Even now, even as the silent promises of finding you, of never again letting you go or letting anything get in the way of his heart chiming loud… he still did just that. He let the world and its need get in the way of reuniting and he paid dearly for it.

As his footsteps echoed into nothingness, the couple’s words replaying in his mind over and over again until the words themselves began to lose meaning. Halting just by the edge of the road with nothing to stop travelers from taking a plunge down a steep cliff but a series of wooden fencing precariously hanging on for dear life, Bobby gazed up at the calm blue sky above and took it all in. His hand traveled up to cover the crescents of his eyes shying away from the bright crisp sun, a small smile formed on his lips as he studied all the things wonderful about this place.

The image of you strolling along the coastline of this small fishing village on the way to the market projected right onto the landscape like some crazy hologram show, smile bright on your pink lips, almost as if challenging the harsh sea air bitter with salt that seems to wear everything down.

Not you.

Bobby truly believes there’s nothing in this world that could ever wear down that favorite smile of his. His steps continued, following your transparent figment of his imagination trekking right by his side, humming to that song you love so much. He had made the mistake of telling you all too bluntly exactly just how annoying it was, the incessant humming and how it had stuck in his head all those sleepless nights. All it took was one sentence, just once and from there on out, never again did he hear your soft voice dancing along with the tune. How he wished to have you sauntering right by his side humming it now, then maybe, maybe he can finally join in with the jolly tune even if the raspy of his voice would completely ruin the harmony.

Not too far down the road, a small flower field caught Bobby’s eyes and he thought of your fondness for the colorful dainty thing. His heart creaked under a heartfelt grin blooming on his lips recalling his inability to understand why you love flowers so much, as they seemed so fleeting. There was no denying its beauty yet in such short amount of time, that glamour just withered away into nothingness. He questioned so many times why you couldn’t be more like the typical girls he encountered, sharing a love for jewelry, diamonds, gems, clothes. Or for God’s sake even those stupid little stickers you seemed to put everywhere; Even once he found a dainty little orange paper bunny sticker, tucked away so far from the line of sight for anyone to see but perfectly in his view right on his work desk. His first reaction was of course anger… How could you be playing around in a place where solemnity was required of everyone, the place that had proven times and times again the pen is mightier than swords. Yet as he reached those svelte fingers to peel away at the fragile thing, suddenly his heart ached for you, for the moments of the past when money and power weren’t placed above everything else, when they weren’t the invisible wall separating you and him. So ,he left it there, a corner of the right ear missing but nevertheless still very much strongly adhere to the dark oak desk. These days, that little bunny served as a reminder of his end goal, of the smile that was still keeping his heart running. It reminded him that there was a light at the end of the tunnel and all this pain, all the sleepless aching nights were only temporary.

Any of the above would last so much longer, some even withstand the test of time but you love flowers best… You love it with all your heart and never once did he bother to give you, even just a single stem, he might never again have the chance to…

Watching the way they danced so softly with the wind against the silent only the countryside could offers, something sparked inside his heart. He was mesmerized by its fragility. Yet even as easily bruised as they were, the dainty little things stand proud against the wind, the sea, even strong enough to thrive through the cracks in the asphalt of the old road, painting the world with its vibrancy.

Flowers possessed the amazing ability to convey a feeling, to coax emotions out of the world that so cruelly cut them down for the sole purpose of pleasing itself aesthetically. They sacrificed so much to please the unpleasantness, to soothe away pain, and cheer along the happiness of the world… What do they get in return? Once those brilliant colors began to fade and no longer could they hold themselves tall, they’d get toss away without a second thought.

You’re a flower.

In many ways, you were the most dainty, fragile, and precious thing in his heart and he wanted nothing more than to protect you from the viciousness of the world. Yet your vivaciousness and fiery passion had always set his world ablaze, leaving him utterly breathless at points from how much such you could achieve.

You’re the best kind of flower…his flower.

You had been there for him since day one, since before the fancy job and the fancy title, before he could command the world to move with just words. You didn’t care that his bank account had but $11 in it or that the collar of his shirt had begun to discolor. You were there and you listened to his pain when no one else would. Even when success meant that he’d share laughter of joy with someone else, share the happiest moments of his life with people he knew for the entirety of a few weeks because his new life, his new world was one you didn’t belong to… At the end of the day, you were still there for his sorrow and not once did you ask for anything in return but to remain by his side. You were the best therapist that no money could get yet all he ever done was hurt you. He was the world that cut its own flower down, a flower that had done nothing wrong aside from being friend with a contemptible asshole.

As Bobby perused the endless swaying sea of colors, he spotted a small flower bent from the wind, barely hanging on and found a small smile bloomed on his lips. He whispered a small thank you to the dainty thing before gently ending its misery. A small leather-bound journal retrieved from his backpack, Bobby let his fingers ran through the pages filled with messy scribbles and all dated carefully. He gingerly placed the tiny flower onto the next blank page before taping it down, jotting a small “1/30, I finally understood flowers″ just beside the town name.

“My flower, when will you let me see your brilliant, exuberant self again? I miss you. I had thought I would be hugging you by the night end, but I guess I missed my chance again. What else is new right? Always ignorant of your pain and only pay attention when it’s too late. What can I do but push through and pray for a better day. I know I will have you back with me soon enough.” he jotted quickly before closing the journal to hasten toward the station as he felt the rising of emotions choking his breaths.

Loneliness was something he looked down upon, contemptuous, and misjudged of just how powerful it could be. A single tear slips down the skin of his cheek, pale from winter’s cruel breeze before the soft sweater paw wiped it away in a haste, not wanting to give into recent memories. If he succumbs to loneliness now, all he had done would be for naught. A forced smile lingers on his lips, a small attempt to scare away the sadness of his heart as the sleeve that had been shielding his hand away from the cold begins to peel backward. There sat on his boney wriest, a small silver bar so pretty in the embrace of a small chain, the sight of its engraving alone could lure out the most genuine grin, something he thought had lost the second you left. His soul slowly regained its liveliness as his thumb gently petting over the prettiest name in existent, hope painting color over the dejection in those sharp brown eyes. Once again Bobby settled back into the creaking bench as he awaited the arriving of his long ride home, recent conversation haunting his mind.

“You’re that boy…” The landlord’s voice albeit weak was slowly filling with joy as his memory permitted him to recall the familiar face. Although this face was much wearier than the one had been wearing the cheerful smile the old man had seen, he was certain Bobby was the one. The confusion played clearly on Bobby’s face as he quirked an eyebrow in surprise.

“How… You know me, sir?” He asked but was almost too scare of the answer, fearing bad reputation could lead them into lying to him.

“Yea. I’ve seen your picture in her room when we collected the rent. Honey, you remember?” He looked over to his wife, a flash of uncertainty dashed across the wrinkles around her kind eyes before they lit up so brightly it gave Bobby hope.

“Right. She had pictures of you in her room. If I remember correctly, one of it was you and her by the beach. The other one you were smiling but wasn’t looking at the camera. I asked her who you were and she said someone very important to her heart… What was that she called you?” She trained her gaze back to Bobby’s face once more, this time with the utmost carefulness in studying the handsome features and soft brown locks of hair. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s you, although you were a bit chubbier then.” A small chuckle left her lips as it did her husband’s, they both exchanged bits of concern of just how worn Bobby had looked, noting he must take care of himself if he hopes to ever make you happy again.

As the conversation grew long, more and more details about your short-lived adventure in this town painted a clear picture of everything in Bobby’s mind from when you had arrived till the day you left. They spoke fondly of your kind smile and sweet personality, even the sorrow lurking beneath the surface in the quiet moments of day. Then revealed too was your strange habit of gazing at the ocean even though times and times again the most painful sigh would leave your lips at the sight of young couples sauntering pass. They were curious, what sadness did you go through to bear such sorrow watching others’ happiness, yet you still insisted upon visiting the beach so often.

“It was once my favorite place, I go there often with my star… But my star no longer shines for me the way he used to do so I’m sad.”

It was like God given salvation for his dying heart. A smile he didn’t know he still had bloomed upon the dry lips - genuine and pure. You kept his pictures, he was still yours… he was still yours even if you had made the most devastating mistake of all - he still very much shined for you, wanting, needing to shine brighter than ever for his flower.

“My star.” He murmurs over and over. He was still in your heart.

… Yet just beneath it all, distress and the worst kind of sadness ran amok at the thought of you suffering, enduring the happiness of other just for a glimpse of what could’ve been your own.

As the sun sets over the small train station, Bobby felt the closing of yet another eventful chapter in this small saga of you and him, all his curiosity put to sleep, all aside one. You have always had a knack for photography, the countless amazing photos decking the living room of his home all by your talented eyes. These pictures the old couple had spoken off, the memories of the day they had been taken fresh in his mind as if it was just yesterday. Yet he wished with all his heart he had a chance to see them, all amazing no doubt about that.

The first had been from a happier time before money and power had changed Bobby into this person he despised. The constant pressure of being perfect, being someone that wasn’t entirely himself had always eaten away at his soul, chipping at his heart for far too long and you knew it. Just mere days before you left that Bobby had the last drop that spilled the cup, work abandoned and before he even knew what he had done, his car parked in front of your house and an invitation to the nearest beach had been sent to your phone.

He was still in his constricting suit, angry at lack of effort by his subordinate, stressed from the seemingly poisonous love life that brought him nothing but a cheating ex and a gold digger for a date. You had sat there with your toes in the sand, huddling close to his side under a big blanket hiding away from the frost of late winter, listening to him complain about anything and everything. You never said much, in fact you said nothing at all… just listen as him ranted, with that kind and understanding expression you always wore. You let him take all the frustration out on you despite deserving none of it, then offered wise words when he was ready.

His personal therapist, punching bag, and shoulder to cry on, you were everything and he took you as nothing. Oh, if you could see the guilt ravaging every fiber of his being now, would you laugh at him for finally realizing he had taken you for granted far too late? Would you laugh if you see just how pathetic he had become, all alone without a single soul to spill his heart to, not the way you did, not with his best interest in mind.

It took Bobby nearly too long to recall the memory attached to the second photograph before realizing he has absolutely no idea when you had taken it. Only then did he recalled your love of capturing candid moments of life. He never understood your fascination of capturing his unprepared moments until a few months after you left. He had found a polaroid, worn at the edge and a bit yellow from his carelessness. It was so long ago he couldn’t quite narrow down which birthday it had been. A mutual friend had slyly slipped the small thing into his pocket with a teasing wink, and the most curious whisper “you’re one lucky dude. Keep this close.” Now that he really thought about it, perhaps it had been “keep her close” but Bobby was too enthralled in another face he could no longer recalled to realized. He couldn’t remember anything except how absolutely stunning you had looked, way too beautiful for his dumb young self.

How could he had been so stupid that he couldn’t recognize what he had right by his side. You weren’t looking at the camera but rather lovingly at him. A smile delicate on your lips as you listened to him talk, probably complaining about something. Since then, candid had become his most favorite kind of photo of you. He’d spent hours searching through all the albums to pick out glimpses of you in the background. He smiled at the memories. The same smile he was now sporting letting his finger tracing out the small curves and bents of your name etched permanently onto the shiny band worn on his wrist.

“I’m coming for you, Y/n. Wait for me, okay?”

He whispered affectionately before pushing himself off the worn out wooden bench by the tracks with almost a spring to his steps as he walks off into the distant, one step closer to bringing you home. After spending all his time searching aimlessly, snatching up any clues he has about your whereabout no matter how insignificant, he was finally on the right track. You were here, and now so was he.

Another two weeks had past before a knock came upon the grand wooden doors of his office. Expecting another report or files, he spared no glance and simply raised his hand up expecting a folder to be place in his grasp. What slid between his fingers left his soul leaping from his chest. It was small, glossy on one side and much too thin to be a folder. He froze. Slowly lowering the object down onto the table, his breath hitched as if all the oxygen had just up and left the room leaving him suffocating. Another piece of paper with trails of ants liked typing neatly laid onto his desk. He whispered a small thank you to the man he now realized is the private investigator he had hired before dismissing him. This was a private moment he’d like to have on his own.

The small picture showed you basking in the bright sun of yet another small town. Your hair shorter than what he remembered but still just as shiny and amazing. Your smile although not as brilliant as he had last seen it by the beach, it was much happier than the one he had seen the last time before you disappeared.

“Y/n ah…”

He whispered desperately, hoping you’d somehow hear him through the portal of the small photograph. His attention turned back to the other piece of paper with the details of your possible whereabout. Clutching both tightly in his hands, he stormed off before his assistant could even fathom what kind of uproar was brewing in his boss’s mind currently.

There he goes, on another train but heart already there. This time heading toward a small farming town. He had heard you spoken about this town many times before but never once think twice about the significant of it. You had lamented over riding down the small river under the tunnel of cherry blossom trees before heading off to the strawberry farm for a snack or two. He had promised you he’d take you when he’s free but once again, he was always too forgetful, too busy to fulfill his side of the deal. He could see so clearly now the disappointment in your eyes you used to hide so well until times and times again the false promises continued to fall, until you could no longer hide the sadness of unfulfilled words. The disappointment that he should’ve fix instead of brushing it off as another one of your ridiculous antic. How he wishes now to hear your small little whines of disappointment when he says he’s too busy.

It’s only the 2nd week of February, off season for the small town that thrives upon the love of spring. The entire train cart empty, leaving Bobby alone with his thought. Back leaning against the wall and feet rest upon the long bench lacks of any other soul, Bobby smiles at the way your cheeks softly glow under the playful sun. You were still wearing that old yellow cardigan he bought you so long ago before he became too busy with work, before the extravagant social dinners took him away from your cheap take-out weekly nights in with Netflix. Although he had bought you better and nicer thing, you still prefer that old cheap yellow cardigan over things worth hundreds, maybe even thousands. His heart elates at the simplicity that is your present in his life. Staring out the window racing by hour after hour of greenery dormant in the cold winter, he lets dream soars free amongst the cloud as his eyes flutter shut for another nap.

“I don’t love you.”

Not really sure where to start or even how or what to say, Bobby had stood still after blurting out his reply. He let the awkward silent that used to be non-existent between the two of you sunk in for the very first time in all the years you’ve known each other. The utterance of those three simple yet powerful words from your mouth had knocked him off his game.

“I just don’t see you that way… but you probably knew that.”

He said once again, not really bothered much that tears were welling in those beautiful eyes. A small smile creeps onto those quivering dismal lips of yours as your head dropped low.

“I know.”

You breathed almost too painfully as you know none of this really hurt his heart, not in the way you wanted it to.

“I can’t give you a reason why. There’s no other reason why we can’t happen. I won’t say I’m sorry or ask you to forgive me because it is what it is. This is just what I feel… I don’t love you. I feel like if i say those things, it’d just be pitying you for falling in love with the wrong person. There’s nothing wrong with falling in love. It’s just… sometimes… falling in love is the most damaging thing you can do to yourself.”

He stood there, watched you cried but not once did his heart waver. He watched as the sleeves of your old worn out yellow cardigan got soaked in tear before you gave a weary smile, turning away. Little did he know then that this would be the last time he sees you because you knew you had to go away. You knew he didn’t love you. You knew you needed closure. You knew you needed to move on. Taking a few steps forward, you stopped then turn around to look at him one last time. He still stood there silently, so perfect in his suit and tie watching you walk away.

“Thank you.”

You mustered up your best smile before stepping off into nothingness once again. You were done. He let you go. You can move on. You hadn’t even wish for him to regret his words and run off after you. He doesn’t love you. You accepted that.

Awaken screaming your name, Bobby sits up in a haste staring around trying to decipher his surrounding. His bleeding heart calms down once the soft soothing clacking of the wheels against the track reminds him of his destination, of you. He had grew content with the sound of train in his quest to search for you. In his mind, it’s the sound of progress. Every time he hears the sound, body swaying with the cart, he knew he’s one step closer to you… Or at least eliminated one more place that doesn’t have you. Without even knowing, tears flood his eyes of the haunting memory. He didn’t love you. He really didn’t, so why did it hurt so much after the 3rd month without seeing your face. That slow burning turned intense by the end of the 4th month. When your birthday had come and gone in the most disturbing serene, peaceful way possible… The pain had swell like a volcano awaiting its eruption, unbearable. Sitting alone in his room, he sang happy birthday in tear before collapsing onto the ground over the realization of what he had done.

He loves you.

Letting his eyes close once more after checking to see there was another 45 minutes left to the journey. He knows he’d need all his strength once he gets to the station.

Breathing in the fresh air of the countryside, Bobby grins thinking of the way you fawned over this place. He can see why now. The air seems almost mellow as are the clouds sauntering above in the blue sky. Bowing to the station’s guard, he sets on his way toward the small convenient store visible in the corner of your photo. His note recounted the serendipitous meeting that had the investigator randomly stumbled upon your photo in a photo gallery of an up and coming photographer. She was known to take candid shots of people living their daily life, in their most natural unfiltered state. He pulled all the string he could to get the photographer to reveal your location but fearful of what kind of creep would stalk her subjects, the kind photographer keeps a tight lips.

It wasn’t until 2 nights later when the investigator showed up once again with Bobby in tow, hands clutching tightly onto an old album. She had gave him half an hour to convince her why she should reveal her secrets and in the private of the back room behind the main showroom, Bobby told her the cliff note version of the magnificent light you had brought into his life. Letting the photographer sifted through the old album, he hoped for the best and with a painful heart as he recalled the last time he saw you. Completely honest with the stranger about his stupidity, his pride, and his biggest mistake of letting you walk away. After the dust had settled, she stood up, thanked him for his honesty and simply said they’ll be in touch. It wasn’t even a day later when the investigator had showed up in his office with the picture personally printed by the photographer.

Standing in front of the old store now, Bobby holds up the picture to match the background perfectly. He flips the picture over to reveal a few sentences scribbled by the photographer telling him she thinks you’re no longer in this town. When she had met you, you told her you were passing by, a wanderer of some sort living out your dream of traveling. She had thought it was so odd for you to visit such a small town, albeit being popular in spring season, it wasn’t a town people would just know about without doing some research.

“She told me there’s something about these small quaint towns that’s so simple and satisfyingly perfect. People doesn’t have much but what they do, they worked hard for and appreciate it with all their heart and soul. That’s something big cities and tourist traps don’t have. Funny you had mentioned her love of taking photo when you’re not paying attention. She had only agreed on letting me take this picture if I can capture it without her knowing. To be frank, if you hadn’t mention that little bit, I would’ve never let you know where she is.”

Bobby reads the sentences out loud, he could almost hear the slight giggle in your voice when you get passionate about something. His heart smiles at how familiar you still feel even when the world had changed, he had changed. Although you were no longer here, he was told there’s someone that might know where you were heading to next. Pushing his way into the small store, he lets the small clear chime of the door bell rings out the hope he wears on his sleeves that someone here knows where the owner of his heart is.

Opening his journal one more time, he presses a small leaf into the page noting 2/12 next to it before putting it away with a soft sigh. Pulling your picture out of the overstuff backpack, he smooths out the wrinkled corners before tucking into the bottom of the cold window against the glass pane of yet another train leaving the creaky wooden bench by the tracks of the last station. He watches as the sunset on another day before whispering a goodnight to you, thumb tracing the line of your face letting the comfort of your smile lulls him to sleep.

It was 7AM when Bobby had arrived at the next station. Sitting on another wooden bench by the track, he watches the warming sun pushing its way through another morning just as he’s pushing through another day closer to you. It was much too early to be out searching for you. Perhaps closer to lunch, he’d have better luck with the hungry horde out searching for something to stuff themselves full. As the thought of lunch drifts by, his stomach growls in protest of skipping dinner last night to make the last train out.

Wandering into town, Bobby gotten himself a bag full of kimbab rolls to go as he meander to the far ends of the station. When the train had slowed down enough preparing to pull into the station, he had spotted a field full of plum blossom trees so pristine and white they put fresh snow of December to shame. Settles on a large stump underneath a dense patch of blossoms, he lets himself sink into the dreamy sight as he replenish himself with energy for another long day of searching. He wonders if you had sat here also, on this very stump and dazed off into your own world.

Often in the past he’d find you lazily gaze into the distant and he’d tease you for being so sleepy all the time. Then as the weight of the world grew, he grew frustrated at your indolent way, the lethargic expression you’d wear when you knew he was tearing his hair out from overworked, overstressed. He had taken it out on you like a fool. How he wishes now you’d be here lazily gaze into the distant with him while enjoying a snack.

He now knows, regrettably too late, you weren’t lazy nor sleepy. You were infatuated with the way nature threads itself into the busy life of people that neglects it. Forgotten that once these concrete jungles were filled with the wonders of plants and simpler things in life. You had always know how take time to appreciate the silent life in the background of your normal bustling one. If only he had learned your way sooner, then maybe he wouldn’t be so insufferable to everyone around him, maybe you’d still be here.

It’s astounding how you continue to change the way he views life even without being here. This crazy yet amazing journey you had sent him on guide him closer to the path of understanding himself. Being a young boss, he had lost that innocent of not worrying, of letting loose, of just taking a breather once in awhile. The various destinations you had set foot on, even the one you didn’t but he couldn’t leave any stone unturned, each and every one of them soothes his aching heart a bit more. They taught him to appreciate things as they come.

He had thought this quest of searching for you would be a long and treacherous one and it was. The first two town he visited, he took planes then cars, whizzing by the life that went on outside the windows, oblivious of the wonders these small towns hold. After the 2nd time met with shaking of heads and whisper of you were never there in the first place, he ran off in a fit of anger. He had ran so far he wasn’t sure if he was even still in the same town. Letting himself slumped over onto a big boulder, he had cried. Cried until he couldn’t cry anymore, and it hit him, the way the ripple of waves glisten under the sun, the way the tree line mirrored so perfectly atop the peaceful lake top. For the first time in months he felt at ease. That night he decided to take the train back to the city and the rest was history.

He had sat with the night guard laughing all nights about the craziest thing that happened at the 4th town you visited. He had comforted a kid that lost his mom while pushing through the busy aisle of an open air market of a false lead not too long after. He couldn’t believe the sights, the smells, the sounds as he held onto the kid dragging him around to find his mom. He had anonymously donated a large sum to an old couple he found crying after the bank tried to seize their house as collateral for their youngest son’s mistake. Their other kids were barely making enough to support themselves, unable to help out their parents. He watched the shame in the oldest son’s eyes as he knew he would never make enough to carry his young brother’s debt.

Bobby realized that there’s much worse pain, struggle so trying he couldn’t even fathom how people make it through another day. People suffers through much tougher situations than what he goes through in his lavish life. Yet, they’re so content, so generous with what little they got. He learned to see life through your eyes, to see the goods in people, to not always get stuck on the bad things in hindsight. He had wonder how you could always smile. Even when he yelled at you, disappointed you, took his anger out on you… You were still smiling just the same and readily forgave him for everything. He had learned your simple way of life had brought you happiness beyond anything Bobby could ever even began to think of.

He had learned that he’s falling in love with you more and more everyday as he sees life the same way you do. What will he do when he reaches the end of the road and everything falls apart, he doesn’t know. For now, the journey itself is gratifying enough to carry him another day. For now, he wishes for nothing but to see you again even if it’s just for a second.

As the last piece of food travels down to its resting place, Bobby stands up and heads out into town once more. Picture in hand, he had walked all afternoon and yet no one recognize you. Heaving a small laugh, he shakes a fist to encourage himself to go on. This was nothing new. He used to get sad, dispirited every time someone says no but now, he learned to persevere. Most importantly, he learned that the only way he’ll have a bad day would be if he lets it get that way.

He pushes on and before he realizes, it’s already time for another sunset. He’d have to find a place to hang his hat soon. Quickening his steps, he hopes to check a few more places before tucking out for the night when a sound barely in the range of his hearing stops him in his track. It’s a giggle. A sweet, sweet giggle that he had thought he’d never hear again. Too afraid to turn around fearing that if he looks, the owner of the giggle would somehow change into someone else, so he stands and listens for a bit longer. There it was again, this time accompany by the voice he grew to love. He’s sure this time.

“Goodnight, I’ll see you tomorrow.” The voice says.

Tears stream down his face on their own accord as he spins around to meet your smiling face, eyes twinkles under the reddening sky. You were speaking to an older gentleman holding a bag of things in your hand, shoulders cover by that old yellow cardigan.

He found you.

You hadn’t notice him at first, still too busy chatting away, smiling but then just as you step toward the 5 ways cross road, the biggest one of this town, he stands there crying. Your polite smile drops into something feeble, gentler. Bobby was still stuck in playing the whole scene out in slow motion when you step toward him, calling his name. He reaches up to poke your face with his index half expecting for you to just dissipates with the last rays of sunshine. His small action earned a smile and a scrunch of your nose. His hand clasp tight over his mouth still gapes open from shock as he cries.

He found you.

You both stand there, perfectly in the center of the biggest intersection of town staring at each other. It wasn’t until a small delivery scooter zooms past cussing at both of you for being stupid enough to stand in the middle of the intersection that he snaps out of his daydream with a chuckle. Pulling on his arm, you drag him to the safety of a sidewalk before he finally speaks.

“Y/n… I found you.”

Sitting down by the edge of an empty bridge that hovers over the river that runs through the far side of town now, you both share a content silent. It’s so different than the last time you had share with him a moment of quietness. You stare at the boy you had left behind, see the slight change in the way he smiles, the way his eyes gaze upon the small fish fighting the current. It’s almost as though he’s seeing what you’re seeing. Although unsure why, your heart is happy at the possibility.

“How are you?” You break the silent, fearing it’d turn sour if you let it goes any longer. Bobby was never one to find solace in the peaceful quiet nooks of life.

“Better.”

He answers almost too quick to which you answer with a small hum.

“I mean, I understand things about myself now that I’d never dream of a year ago.” He laughs nervously, debating whether it’s too much to tell you he’s a changed man. “I think I finally understand you better.”

“That’s good. I always thought I come off as a little kooky in your eyes.”

You smile and it does something to his heart. The same something that could be liken to quenching the thirst of a wilting plant. Your heart shaken, clearly registering how much your simple smile affects his heart. The same shaken that could be liken to a small tremble of the Earth.

“You came this far, I’m assuming you have things you want to say?”

“I honestly don’t know where to start.” He regrets not planning this out better. “I had set out with the simple goal of finding you. I didn’t know for what or if you really wanted me to or not but… I wanted it.”

You whisper a sadden “oh” in response. You’re happy to see him, that much you know. Yet there’s another part of your heart that screams the cold words he had said, the icy stares he gave… He broke your heart but you never really blamed him for it. It wasn’t his fault you fell for the impossible man. You had half hoped he’d find you but what’s the point to go back to the days of hiding your feelings. Even now, sitting here, he’s still impossible. Where’s the crisp suit and impeccably styled hair? Where’s the cold Bobby that only smile around you? This boy here, he’s not Bobby but he’s still is, very much so. It’s like the inner child you had longed for finally broke free. You hadn’t seen Bobby so relax since the first day he closed the doors of that enormously lonely office. Yet here he sits, not barking order, not fidgeting even a little bit over just sitting here doing nothing. He wears a pair of black ripped jeans, simple white t-shirt hiding under a thick grey hoodie, thumbs hanging precariously on the straps of his overstuffed backpack, legs dangling over the side of the bridge, swinging back and forth, pleased with the scenery.

“You know what’s surprising? Somehow in this whirlwind crazy road trip of mine, I found myself while searching for you.”

The most luminescent glint of happiness shines in his kind eyes as he recalls the people he met, the things he done, the places he visits. He talks about the feeling of facing the impossible of life and the joy of just helping someone out. Even though in the grand scale of life, his action probably didn’t matter much but to that person, he could feel the way his small gesture changed the way they see life. How eventually it became his mission to help the people he meets see joy in living another day. You had listened and he had talked all the way until the darkness washes over the town. Getting up now, he walks close by still fearing you’re just a ghost that would vanish if he breaches some set radius. There’s still so much he needs to say, so much more and he suspects you have a few things of your own. Panic stricken over the soft smile as he watched you walked off, unsure of what to do. Was he crossing the line speaking to you as if no time had passed, as if he hadn’t hurt you in the worst way possible? He could feel the tears pricking before you turned around humming the softest “you comin’?”, easing all the fear in his heart away like the many dawn he had watched breaking the cold of night away. Staring at your hair swaying gently with each step, he wishes he could reach out and laces his fingers through the strands just as he did so many times before.

“Sometimes I wonder why love is so hard. I see people break up over and over again and I thought, does this sadness ever end? How do I cope with these things?”

He speaks with an air of nonchalant, as if he knows the answer but needed for someone else to say it. Crickets had begun to sing in the field of corn lining the small road leading back to your temporary home. He soaks in the sweetness of the air and the crisp note of something that’s so unique to the countryside.

“It’ll go away after a while.” You sigh, almost letting your bleeding heart spills into the air. “the pain, the tears… It goes away, you know. People learn eventually that letting go because sometimes that’s love.” How stupid were you to think he wouldn’t bring this up as you fight the tear and the wounds he reopened just by facing you. Your slight sadness not miss by the attentive boy following your steps closely. He wishes he could just reach out and pull you into his arm and rubs your back gingerly until he dispels all your pain.

“I thought that it’ll be alright if I can just find you, that I’ll have time to tell you this but…” You peek over to see him smile at the sky above, eyes forlorn, longing to join the stars blinking above. “… I realize my time is running out soon so. Y/n?”

His handsome features face you with that unsettling calmness that you had the day you confessed to him. You were calm because you knew the answer you were expecting, is it the same for him? Once he was sure your attention completely his, he smiles but somehow it doesn’t ease your unnerving heart as it used to.

“I love you.”

Your feet stop themselves as your eyes widen at the utterance of those three simple yet powerful words. The rush of the crush that turned into first love blinded you in a flood of emotions. All the ones you hidden and all the ones that were rejected. Glimpses of happy time, glimpses of watching him with someone else, glimpses of his cold expression that day gush out like a broken dam drowning you. In the complete silent of the countryside night, Bobby told you he loves you.

“You can’t do that, Bobby. You can’t just show up one day and say you love me… No.”

Your stammer of confusion was shut down by another smile, this one perhaps a bit sadder than the last.

“Don’t say anything for now… It’s one last favor I want to ask of you, just listen like you used to.”

You nod slowly and he continues to walk prompting you to take the lead as he has no idea where his feet are carrying him to.

“Don’t be happy. It sounds stupid doesn’t it? How selfish of me.” He laughs, not because the words that was coming out of his lips were funny nor did you told a joke. He laughs, just to laugh away how much this hurt. “I don’t want you to be happy. The second you try to be happy again then I know you had forgotten about me. For a while now it hurt to just breathe knowing you were out there somewhere hurt over something I said stupidly and carelessly. It’s been hell living because I realized too late that I was too busy to know my own heart.”

He continues to walk, following your steps closely, eyes fixate on the old oversized yellow cardigan he bought you. You had already lost control of your tear by this point, but the sobs haven’t yet settled in. You let the tear flows freely as you can feel his gaze on you, watching your every move. If you wipe your eyes, he’d know.

“Don’t love, Y/n. If it’s not me who can be with you till the end of time, please… Don’t love. I know I sound so incredibly stupid, changing my mind like a fool. I turned you away then to only chase after you. Even now, I’m not even sure if I should be doing this… I told you to find someone better, someone good but now, my heart ache at my own words. I’m trying so hard to hold on. If I could,”

His words lost in his throat as the sobs he suppressed begins to sting its way out chasing your own to do the same.

“If I could somehow remember that place, that time I lost you… Maybe, do you…” He laughs again, dejection weaves itself into every breath he heaves heavily as if he already knows what you’d say, “Do you think I could find us again like I did this afternoon?”

As if the sky had answered your prayer, the softest touches of rain tickle your skin, hiding the pearls welling in your eyes so perfectly. You spin around to find Bobby had stopped, just a few feet away from where you stand. You let yourself sigh the last bit of your love away.

“We never were, Bobby. I don’t think you can find someone in a place that never existed.”

As if the cloud he loves had answered his prayer, the heavy downpour hides his gasp for air and the sobs so perfectly with its pitter patter. He had turned away with a sadden smile just as you did at the beginning of it all, whispering a small thank you before walking away. Your mind races thousands of miles, deciding if you should let him know it’s okay if he wants to continue searching for you but in the end, no voice came out, and your feet didn’t move. You stand there watching him disappearing into the night knowing this might be the very last time you’ll see him ever again.

It’s 3AM now and you’re no closer to dreamland than you were standing in the rain watching Bobby go. Tossing in your bed, you couldn’t get the smile and the way his breathless “I found you” rings out so endearingly against the loneliness of your own journey. His genuine happiness tugs hard at your heart. Pushing sleep off, you kick off the cover to your warm bed heading out to the front porch to watch the cleansing of another day. Tomorrow, the Earth will twinkle and shine in the light of the sun as if no pain had happened the day before. Everything will continue.

You creak the door open and take in a breath of the cold air wafting around the wide-open space. You stare at that road you know would lead to Bobby before letting your eyes falter to the wooden panes of the old porch debating the rise and fall of letting yourself succumb to the calling of his heart. Under the soft glow of the light shining through the doorway, you spot a small object neatly laid like a present. There it was. The leather-bound journal you had momentarily laid eyes upon earlier when Bobby dug through his backpack searching for his wallet. Faster than light, you pick up the damp book hoping the rain hadn’t damage it too much before retreating back to warmth of cracking fireplace in the living room.

The very first page is mostly blank, water had already permeated through the corner of the page leaving it wrinkles. You huff and puff, hoping to dry out the smearing inks. He had put too much work into this for you to let it rot and waste away in the carelessness of your heart. In the middle of the page however, that writing… You’d recognize that writing anywhere.

“To my beautiful Y/n” It says.

It’s only the first page and he already have you sinking in heartache. This was going to be a long read. To your surprise, there isn’t much writing as there is a mishmash of trinkets illustrating his long journey. The very first entry dated 3/19 with nothing else except for an old picture of you and him in high school. It was a polaroid taken just before his birthday dinner sophomore year. Your finger traces out the small line of that smile and those loving crescent eyes. Just like the first, entries after entries dated carefully and flourishes with details as he got comfortable with admitting his feelings down onto paper. Some have leaf taped on them, some dried up flowers, others a small doodle or a heartfelt line if he’s having a particularly bad day. Your aching soul smiles at the simple phrases, messages sent by his soul. “i miss you” and “I love you” litter the pages along with heartfelt sentiments that transcend any words or things of this realm. You could feel yourself melt under the intensity of his love. You let your heart soar along his at the small picture of the cloud floating by his train cart then cry at the details of his profound sadness over losing a few pages of the journal one careless drunken night. Soon an hour had past and you’re finally caught up with the last entry dating 2/13.

In the middle of the page, a fresh innocently white plum blossom he had picked up while having lunch by the station. A small doodle of what supposed to be a cat right next to the soft petals with the small caption “I saw a cute cat today. He lets me pet him after eating 3 of my kimbab pieces.” The first genuine laugh you have in over a year was over a stupid doodle of a cat that managed to con him for food by being cute.

This page, unlike many before it, is fill with lines upon lines of writing so much so that he almost ran out of space.

“I know it was stupid to ask you not to love. I just wanted to hear myself say it at least once before I could let you go. I thought if you struggled as much as I did, couldn’t we just reconnect? I know it’s selfish. I know it’s not healthy, wrong even to hold onto things that should be let go but I had to… I needed to see you one last time. I love you. I wish I have more time to say it properly but alas, I was already racing against the hands of the clock the second I set out on this journey. Someday, I know a very good person will come along and take you away. Honestly, as I’m writing this, I’m already envious of whoever that is. He’d get to see your amazing smile every day, hear your silly jokes, bask in your sunshine, sway along to the small songs you hum. Most of all, he gets to love you knowing you love him too. He gets to miss you, and have you miss him. I love you. I know no matter how much I say those three words now that it wouldn’t matter. Now that I can no longer hear your voice or have the privilege of knowing you love me … I’m lost.

Don’t be sad. It’s okay, I will be okay eventually. I just hope you’ll be able to say it again soon with the person that will make you happy. Laugh and be happy. I will look at our love as if it’s just put on hold… at least until I can make sense of everything. I hope you’re okay with that. I made the biggest mistake of my life and now I will live with the consequences of it. I want you to know that you had guide me through this insane journey of self-discovering and I want to thank you for that. I love you.”

Ink smears in places you know the rain hadn’t kiss. His heart poured out onto a few simple lines that you couldn’t help but unlock the cage of your heart, letting it free.

Once more Bobby makes acquaintance with another worn out wooden bench by the train tracks… The very last time he’ll rest his weary soul on one. Even though there was no stopping the tears silently rolling down his cheeks, the only thing offering him a bit of warmth on this cold lonely night, Bobby feels light. He found you, he really did and even if it was only for a few hours, the closure he had been chasing finally smiled down on him. He can finally rest, 11 months the journey had gone on for. The piercing cold of winter and the pouring rain sending yet another shiver down his spine for his damp jacket did naught to stop it.

Pulling his knees up to his chest, Bobby let himself shrinks in hope of warmth and in hope of relieving this feeling of being so small against this big, big world. As a billow of fog leaving his lips, before he could lose all hope of surviving the night, like dawn breaking, a flash of that old yellow cardigan wraps around his freezing body with the force of thousand suns. For a second he was hopeful, but before his heart could once more drag him down a path of self-destruction, Bobby laughs at his own delirium, reminding himself once more that he was truly alone. This warmth spreading through his body, the soft hand petting color gently back into his skin? They’re all fake, nothing but a last-ditch attempt to hold onto a happier time. Yet the weight of the old leather journal pressing into his chest, it feels so real… So, so real that he begins to accept the comforting scent of the old yellow cardigan.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” It was only now that he sees the pair of feet standing before him, feeling the gentle heat lingering from your body emanating through the woven threads of the old cardigan.

“Read.”

There you are, standing in front of him panting hard, hand pressing onto your chest as if soothing away the burns in your lungs. He watches as your chest rise and fall rapidly, no closer to calming down your ragged breath. He thought about jumping to you, to comfort you but you repeat yourself, insisting once more.

“Read”

“What?” He gasps, stuns by your strange action but nonetheless compliant as his fingers grip tightly the worn-out cover of the book.

“Just read.”

Finally comprehending your cracking sentence, his hands flip through the pages, soaking in the familiarity he thought he would never again have the chance to see. Flipping fast through the page, his eyes searches for any differences in the entries. Pages pass before he lands on the date 02/14 in pink ink, a small heart in place of a normal ending period mark. Immediately, he recognizes the small piece of memory you taped onto the page - an old yellow piece of yarn matching the old yellow cardigan draping over his cold shoulders. Staring back up at your still redden face, whipped till painful by the gushing wind and rain, he sees something he didn’t see earlier… A small glint of hope behind your fluttering lashes behind those beautiful eyes. Returning his attention to the page, he lets himself look at the small lines of writing just below the piece of yarn, the small lines that he was too afraid to look at before now.

“You found me.

I love you, Bobby.”

You speak the words of your heart out loud, just as his lips mumble softly the words written on the page. Almost immediately he throws the journal onto the bench rushing forward to pull your shivering body into a hug so tight, he could feel his broken pieces healing. You could hear the desperation in his voice, the joy in his tears as he tucks his face into the crook of your neck whispering “I love you” over and over until he chokes on his tears. Shushing his pain away, you rub softly on the broad shoulder and strong back you wouldn’t mind supporting just like this for the rest of your life.

Parting way, he gazes into your eyes deeply and swear he could see universe shining from them. One peck, then two. Came three before he presses a lingering kiss on those lips he had wanted to touch with his own covetous ones all day long. Holding on tighter, you let him works you into a stupor before feeling his tongue meeting yours, gingerly playing chase. You giggle at the strange feeling but let him deepen the kiss into something fervent. You push him away for air only to have him crashing back with stronger desire and passion than before. Letting his fever wears itself out, you comb your fingers gingerly through his dampen hair, earning a soft satisfying moan from Bobby.

“Stay with me tonight?” You murmur against his lips, not really wanting to part way with them as your arms tighten their hold on him. “I don’t want you out here in the cold all alone. Come back to my place.”

“Only if you come home with me tomorrow.” He entangles his svelte fingers of his right hand into your hair supporting your head as he pushes his lips forward while the left tracing the dip of your spine down to the small of your back, flushing you impossibly close against his firm chest.

“Only if you promise to continue filling out the journal for me.” You tiptoe to land another soft kiss to his lips, eliciting a sweet smile.

“Only if you promise to be there when I fill them out.” He pecks your cheeks then nose, chuckling brightly when you scrunch your face up in protest of the wet kisses. Fervidity of the sudden love only burn brighter the longer you remain in his arm as he pulls you in for another passionate kiss.

His lips frown at the loss of you when you slowly back away from his needy body, craving for your scent, wanting to share the heat of your love. He looks at you with confusion and pain before your smile soothes it all away. Now with curiosity filling up his heart, he stares, watching your movement closely as it’s seems you’re pulling the long sleeve of your sweater up to reveal your hand. The most amazing smile graces you with its present the moment he realizes what you were doing. Hanging daintily on your wrist a small chain bracelet with a shiny silver bar etched with his name.

“You still have it.” He exclaims, pulling the sleeve of his own jacket away to show the matching one on his wrist.

“I never took it off.” You reply with a playful grin on your lips.

His hands near teleport over to cup both your cheek, crashing his lips messily into yours nearing topple you over onto the bench. You laugh at his silliness, something you’ve never gotten used to but had always love. He returns a giggle, glad it was right once more for him to be happy standing next to you.

“I love you, Bobby. I miss you so much.” You whisper against his blushing cheek, pressing a big kiss onto the soft burning skin.

“I miss you too, baby. You don’t even know how much I love you.” he returns the sentiment, nearly crushing your bones with his hug.

It might’ve started out as a best friend bracelet, something of a false couple item to ward off unwanted attention from girls. Those tokens of platonic love were now blooming in full like the buds of flowers bursting through with life after a long dormant winter holding onto to the hope of spring. The small simple bracelets with each other names etched on them had held you both over the long lonely winter of your hearts. Now, like a beacon of hope, they guide your love back to each other.

“I was hoping to see some stars tonight… Looks like it’s not happening with all this rain.” Bobby whispers softly against your cheek, lips gently pull back from a soft peck. The slight frown of his mouth combines with the pouty plump lower lip send you into a drunken haze. How could this be the same man, haughty under the boss’s suit you knew just before you left.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I can see at least one.” You quip, returning his kiss as his eyebrows furrow incredulously, eyes staring up at the sky full of dark clouds. He cranes his neck to the best of his ability to figure out where on Earth are you looking to see this star, completely missing your focus stare in his handsome visage.

“The brightest one of them all is standing right here in front of me.” You smirk playfully before reaching out for his hand, pulling him along, his laugh soundly rings out pushing away any last cloud of lingering sadness of the past.

The star of your night is back in your arms illuminating your life with love while the watchful satellite of his life is back into orbit doting over his every move. If someone had told either of you to believe in the power of love just a year ago, you both would’ve laugh in their face but now embracing the dawn of February 14th together on the platform of the train station, maybe it’s not so crazy after all to believe in a little bit of Cupid’s magic. You can only hope this bit of magic will last till the end of time but somehow you know even without it, you’ll both be fine.

#ikon #ikon bobby #ikon scenarios #kim jiwon #jiwon scenarios #bobby scenarios

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hollywoodx4 · 7 years

Text

Sticking with the Schuylers (Interlude 2)

Hi everyone! Thank you for your patience in waiting for this part-it’s been a crazy week-working 3 jobs, taking my class,...I’m glad to be kind-of-sort-of back into the swing of things. We’ll continue on with present-day next chapter...first, we delve into the past.

In this part, we get to see a piece of early-day sister bonding.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 I 13 14 15 16 17 18A 18B 18C

The Schuyler mansion is tucked into a gated community with a grand entrance, set farthest back from the bustling streets of the city. Its houses are historic, all brick and slightly boxy in character. But it’s the additions that each family has made that turns the street into such an eye-catching place. Some have added farmer’s porches, others painted the bricks a blinding white or dazzling blue. The Schuyler’s have done it all. A wrap-around farmer’s porch was the first addition, when the girls weren’t yet born. Then came the fountain, the Roman columns, the statue…Phillip Schuyler had even added a fence to his yard. Catherine Schuyler thought the sight was ridiculous

“A gate in a gated community? What’s next, Phillip, an electric fence around the front door?”

The Schuyler sisters live a blissful existence in this house; neighbors walking by often stop to chat to the girls, who are more often than not found playing in the front yard. When they’re younger they toddle around, picking at the freshly mowed grass and hanging at Elena the gardener’s side as she tends to the landscaping. She always has a flower for each of the girls, who then tote them inside at the end of the day and gift them to their mother. Catherine Schuyler always makes a big production of the thing, examining each flower before putting them in an ornate blue crystal vase on the countertop. The very idea makes the little girls smile, wide and prideful.

As they get older their front yard adventures expand to the confines of their gated community; there are a few neighbors around their ages, and as they’re allowed the privilege of walking around the neighborhood instead of just the front yard, they welcome the new sign of maturity and responsibility.

As the oldest Angelica gains the new freedom first, but doesn’t use it too often. She walks occasionally to their neighbor’s house to play with their daughter-also named Elizabeth. But her little sisters stand watching her leave at the door, and it breaks Angelica’s heart to be given such a freedom without sharing it with her best friends. So more often than not, she stays in the front yard.

When Phillip starts letting Elizabeth go with Angelica, they go more frequently. Eliza is friends with everyone and decides that yes, 10 years old is the perfect time to start some sort of neighborhood club. And so she invites every kid in their neighborhood, and they all show up. Eliza is amazed; Angelica knew they would come. At first they don’t do much-they just meet in the middle of the neighborhood-the Washington Manor being the center of it all-and sit on the sidewalk, chatting. But then, Elizabeth wants to make sure everybody is happy, so she plans events. There’s a group of them that begin a small book club; a group she delegates to bring snacks. They’re happy to oblige. Soon enough, their neighborhood meetups turn into quite the show.

Peggy watches from the bay window in her room. That summer she’s seven-almost eight-and still too young to venture out past the yard. Even though her best friend Maria is. Even though she has two older sisters to watch her. It’s just not fair, she decides, and so she takes matters into her own hands.

“Let me come with you.” She begs one morning, when her sisters are in Angelica’s room getting ready to leave. Eliza feels an immediate pang of regret. Angelica rolls her eyes. She loves Peggy, with all of her heart. But at fourteen, hanging out with her seven year-old sister doesn’t seem like the best use of her summer. She feels awful, but there’s logic. There’s always logic.

“Both of us had to wait until we were ten to go by ourselves, Peggy. It’s not fair to try and bend the rules just because you’re hurt.”

“Angie!” Eliza flies to Peggy’s defense, moving to sit by her side and wrap an arm around their little sister. “We’ve had the entire summer to go out by ourselves and we’ve left poor Peggy here alone. We should let her come.”

Angelica sighs, considering the situation. Peggy and Eliza tare back at her with pleading eyes, waiting for her permission. She’s the end-all-be-all. She always has been. Finally, she grabs her bottle of water and sands by the door.

“Fine, let’s go talk to dad.”

Phillip Schuyler knows when his three daughters come traipsing down the stairs together, arm in arm, that he’d better brace himself. He hadn’t expected that three daughters could be such a…hurricane? A battle? But even at this young an age his daughters are a full on force to be reckoned with-and they work as a team.

Angelica starts by presenting their case-always logical, bringing forth the facts of the situation and using both sides of the argument to their defense. Then in swoops Eliza, in her gentle, warm demeanor, using the emotional side of the argument to swing him to their side. And then Peggy is the closer-always the closer-using her status as the baby of the family to seal their deal with pleading eyes and a cheeky little smile. And he’s often won over, nodding his head in defeat as the sisters keep their composure, beaming gratefully before taking off once more.

Phillip Schuyler, man of business and great social status, is only ever won over by three matching smiles and shining sets of eyes. He’s simultaneously grateful for it, and shaking his head in disbelief because of it.

…

Peggy joins in the neighborhood club very easily, finding her best friend and sticking with her while her sisters continue on in their normal ways. The only difference is found in Eliza, who has trouble splitting her time between the friends she’s made and making sure her sister is settling in alright. Peggy, however, becomes annoyed by Eliza’s constant checking-in.

“I can handle myself, you know.” She argues on the way home, crossing her arms and turning up her nose. Eliza takes no offense, simply patting her little sister on the back.

“I know that you can, Peg. We’re just looking out for you.”

It isn’t until one Thursday morning, in the middle of the summer, that Peggy is thankful for her doting sisters.

Eliza’s gone for the morning to her ballet class, leaving only Angelica and Peggy walking down the street to the sidewalk in front of the Washington’s house. Peggy chats aimlessly, rambling on about what they’ll get up to today while Angelica nods, pretending to listen while stuck in her own thoughts. When they finally make it to the meeting place, their usual friends aren’t there. Instead, there’s the McCagan twins, redheaded and shy, who’ve just moved in to the oldest house in the neighborhood. They’ve been invited multiple times to their group but haven’t responded. Now, they wave awkwardly as Peggy and Angelica approach.

“Hi, you’ve finally made it! I’m Angelica Schuyler, and this is my little sister Peggy. We live five down from here, the house with the statue in front.”

The girl McCagan looks to her brother, wrinkling her nose. Her brother responds with a matching expression. Neither of the two speak. Angelica lets the silence linger for a moment, playing with her hands and folding her lips. Then, she tries again.

“We were looking forward to meeting you-I’m glad someone finally bought that house, I feel like it’s been forever since the Seabury’s moved out. How are you liking the neighborhood?”

Still nothing. Angelica becomes increasingly irritated with each look between the twins, who are still nameless to their knowledge. Peggy idles by, unsure of what to say or do. The oldest Schuyler’s irritation and impatience grows with each passing moment. She folds her arms over her chest.

“Okay, what’s your deal? Are you usually this rude or are you just too shy to continue conversation?” The boy twin smirks then, shrugging his shoulders. The girl twin looks down to her lap.

“Sorry, we don’t associate with your kind.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said.” The boy twin grows terse then, standing from his spot on the sidewalk. Angelica squares up to him, three inches or so taller and with a menacing glare to match. She knows exactly what he means, although she knows Peggy remains clueless. She doesn’t want Peggy to remain clueless. So she repeats herself, stature tense and ready as she waits for the eleven year old boy to dare repeat his words. He smirks, gesturing for his sister as the retreat down the other side of the street.

Angelica is fuming.

She begins talking to the other neighborhood children, young and old, wondering just where the Macagans have come from (and how quickly she can send them back.) When Eliza returns from her lesson she assures Angelica that it must just be a misunderstanding. The oldest Schuyler isn’t convinced.

It isn’t until three days later, the Sunday, when Eliza is proved wrong. It’s just Eliza and Peggy today; Angelica has gone off to sleep at a friend’s house. They walk down the street to the Washington’s in a blissful Sunday afternoon freedom, after being cooped up at a particularly boring brunch for three hours. When they get to the meeting place there’s a gaggle of neighborhood kids. The Macagan girl is one of them. She immediately eyes the two youngest Schuylers, who say or do nothing in response. Eliza leads Peggy to their own group of friends before being pulled away by one of the Smith kids, leaving Peggy to her own devices.

She feels a tapping on her shoulder.

“Hi, I’m Maeve-we just moved in down the street.”

“I know who you are.”

“Of course, we’ve met before-I just wanted to say sorry for the things my brother said.” Seven year-old Peggy Schuyler is floored-first, by the fact that an eleven- year-old girl is talking to her. Then, by the fact that she’d heard what her brother said to Angelica not three days before. Sure, she’s not quite certain why it’d offended her so much, or what he’d even meant, but she knows well enough to stick by her sisters. Even when it is Conor McCagan. And he is pretty cute.

“Okay.”

“Just okay? Listen, Peggy,”

“-Margarita.”

“…Alright, Margarita. I just wanted to show Angelica something, that’s all. I got nervous. She’s just intimidating. Am I wrong?”

“No,” Peggy laughs then, agreeing. Maeve smiles. She’s floored. Looking around the group of kids she finds Eliza entangled in a conversation with a number of them, entertaining them. Shining. She always shines. And then, she’d been kind of left out of it all-she’d had to beg to even be here. No, now it was finally her time. She’d be more than just the baby.

“Angie is boring-don’t worry about it. What’d you have to show her?”

“I’ll show you, it’s at my house.” Peggy doesn’t even bother waving goodbye to Eliza-she simply follows the freckled, red-headed girl. She’s two houses down from the Washington’s, across the street. There’s a white picket fence separating their house from everybody else’s, newly installed, and a battalion of trucks line the street in front of it. There’s movers and landscapers, and a cable guy talking on his cellphone. Maeve ignores them all, practically racing past his parents to a room up the stairs.

It seems to be the only completed room in the house; there are still boxes on the floor but it’s mostly decorated. An Irish flag hangs above a computer desk, and hung on either side are a few framed certificates. Maeve looks back at Peggy before reaching into the desk, pulling out a pair of silver scissors. She looks back at the McCagan sister, immediately confused.

“My mom’s a hairdresser, she was looking for these. Wait-this is perfect. She just showed me the best new thing-everyone in Hollywood has this haircut…want to try it?”

Peggy stands stark still, unsure of what to say. But at seven years old, she’s impressionable. Eager to make friends. Tired of standing behind her sister’s spotlight. So she nods, letting Maeve lead her to the office hair.

Peggy returns home that day with a hat on her head, refusing to take it off-not even for Eliza. When Angelica arrives her middle sister corners her, pleading, thinking something must be wrong with Peggy. She hasn’t come out of her room-or let anyone in-all afternoon.

Angelica knows how to pick a lock.

When the two older Schuylers enter Peggy’s room Eliza gasps in audible shock.

Peggy sits by the bay window, her back turned to her sisters and her knees curled to her chest. Her body moves slightly, an indication of her upset mood. Her head, adorned with dark, cloud-like hair kept at bay with only a headband, was the draw of attention. There, on the right side in the back, is a glaringly obvious bald patch. The hair around it is choppy; longer in some places than others, but it is noticeably much shorter.

Angelica crosses the room in only a few sides, calling her sister’s name fervently.

“How did this happen, who did this to you?!”

Peggy turns her head, dark eyes glossy and brimming with unshed tears. She barely murmurs out the name before Angelica storms out the door, letting it slam behind her. Eliza gathers Peggy and they follow, slower, pedaling seven houses up the street on their bikes. Angelica tosses her bike on the lawn before knocking with hard fists on the door of the McCagan house. And when Conor the boy twin opens the door, she pushes past him with force. She’s not even sure where she’s going at this point, letting anger lead her quick feet up the stairs as her eyes search for the perpetrator.

And then she sees her. Maeve McCagan is laying on her stomach on her queen-sized bed, book in hand, when Angelica lands a firm, closed-fist punch right on her nose.

She’s not even sorry.

And the eleven year-old girl is so surprised, so genuinely shocked, that she throws up. It pours out of her, right there on the fluffy white carpet that’s tucked underneath her bed.

“Don’t you dare come near my sisters or I again,”

“-okay,”

“-I will socially end you, Maeve McCagan. You and your racist, bigoted family are done in this town, do you hear me?”

At this point both Conor McCagan and her sisters have made their way up the stairs. The boy immediately runs to his sister, who is now clutching her bleeding nose and trying not to cry as she looks up-terrified-at fourteen year-old Angelica Schuyler. Eliza and Peggy flank their sister, each grabbing an arm before dragging her out of the house.

“Did you really have to punch her?” Eliza frowns at her sister, shaking her head. But Peggy is grinning wildly, looking up at her oldest sister with a burst of pride. Angelica’s demeanor doesn’t change, despite her middle sister’s protests.

“This is something you both need to learn,” Angelica gestures to the sidewalk with a flourish, making her younger sisters sit while she stands in front of them, arms crossed over her chest with an air of victory. “Nobody messes with a Schuyler sister. Nobody.”

#mine: SWTS #hamliza #alexander x eliza #real talk this has happened to me #not the racism #but my neighbor did take me to his room and cut my hair #and then he stuffed it underneath his radiator #I had a lovely bald patch #he was NOT nice #my sisters were also pissed

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