I’m sorry to hear about the writers block X( Will pixie and “unexpected” help?
this is a few days old, and from a night where I was Struggling A Lot. I put up a post hoping that a prompt or two would spur me into writing, and Hammi was lovely enough to send something in 💖 obviously I didn’t end up writing at that moment - can 2020 calm down please??? - but I knew I would come back to as soon as I worked through things. So thanks very much for being so utterly sweet all the time, and for waiting so patiently for me to get myself together 💖
male pixie fae x witch!non-binary reader 475 words sfw | confessions!! anxious pixie!!
The branch vibrates, like a spider bouncing in the middle of its web. The leaves are loud in their rustling, currant berries scattering all over the ground like beads of blood. Taran has to grit his teeth to keep from biting his tongue, green arms wrapped tightly around the branch to stop himself from being thrown off, one leg hooked around the branch for good measure.
This is not how he wanted to meet his witch.
He knows they see him, or saw him. They must have, after he slammed so hard into the branch, shaking it about like a beast. He’d gone to such trouble, planning their next meeting, catching the tail end of them telling their neighbor that they’d be harvesting the currants for jam the day after next.
“Hello?” They ask, sweetly, kindly, kneeling quietly in the grass, careful not to burst the berries littering the ground.
He almost wants to cry. Taran had planned to arrive early, to seek out the very best, brightest berry and to present it like an item from a quest. That was a romantic notion, wasn’t it? He’d heard some of the other pixies waxing poetic about quests after Lyoren managed to impress that changeling fellow. He’d hunted down some kind of.. Leather bag? But that hadn’t been what had truly mattered. It had been that Lyoren had been paying attention. He’d shown how much he cared about the changeling!
“A pixie!” Taran’s witch murmurs, and he notices that the branch is still now, and sunshine is warming his face. He has to blink, to narrow his eyes to see their face with the sun ringing their head like a halo. “Oh, I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” They ask, brushing a stray bit of dirt off of their cheek. “Though I fear you’ve caught me by surprise today. I wasn’t expecting any guests.”
Taran’s cheeks and ears flush hot, wings buzzing as he attempts to right himself. Now he hasn’t just missed out on questing for his witch, he’s made an absolute fool of himself. Once his feet are steady, Taran sniffs, sketching out a textbook bow, wings spread to either side.
“I am Taran,” he declares, hoping he’s speaking loud enough for them to hear. “And I’ve come to-” A dragonfly zips by, upending him from the branch, and then everything is soft and warm and-
“Oh, Taran! Are you alright?”
He opens his eyes, glancing down at what he’s laying on, and his heart starts beating as fast as a hummingbirds. His witch is holding him. “V-very,” he chokes out, highly tempted to grab hold of their thumb and hug them, overwhelmed with joy as he is. “But now, I really, uh-” He swallows and stands tall, thankful for their steady hand. “My witch,” he announces, lifting his chin. “I’ve come to confess.”