Thank you so much! Would it be okay to request a story of a female reader who plays ocarina meeting fairies? Reader is happy to play her instrument, but she feels discouraged as her playing has gotten negative reaction from those close to her. I'm not sure how many would be possible, but I'd love it if Tinkerbell, Silvermist, and Fawn could be possible. I'm also not sure if my prompt is enough to work with. If you nee anymore details or help defining the prompt, please let me know. I hope thi is alright, and I hope you're well! ❤️
The ocarina felt cool and smooth against your fingertips, a perfect, ergonomic curve of baked earth. You held it often, even when you weren't playing, finding comfort in its weight.
It was late afternoon, and the light filtering through the ancient willow tree in the secluded meadow was soft and golden. You sat beneath its canopy, your usual sanctuary. You lifted the instrument to your lips, but paused.
The memory was immediate and sharp: your cousin, snorting a laugh and saying, “Sounds like a dying bird, (Y/N). Maybe stick to humming?” Or your friend, gently suggesting, “It’s very… unique. Are you sure you shouldn’t try something quieter?”
Their words had chipped away at the pure joy you found in the music. You loved the deep, resonant notes the ocarina could produce, the way the air shaped into song, but lately, all you heard was discord.
With a heavy sigh, you lowered the ocarina. No one wants to hear it, you thought, feeling a familiar ache of disappointment.
“Oh, that’s a shame,” a voice, bright and metallic like tiny bells, zipped right past your ear.
You shot upright, your heart thumping. You looked around the empty meadow, seeing nothing but grass and flowers.
“Don’t stop now! You were about to do the best part!” another voice, sweet and flowing like water, chimed in.
Then, you saw them. Hovering near a cluster of bluebells, shimmering in the golden light, were three tiny creatures, no bigger than your thumb, with wings like stained glass. Three fairies.
One, with fiery, intense light around her, zipped forward, her movements sharp and decisive. This had to be Tinkerbell.
“Honestly, don’t listen to those big people!” Tink zipped around your head, hands on her hips. “They have boring ears! They only like sounds that are loud and ugly like their big metal things. Your pipe is brilliant! It’s got proper character!”
“Tink, be nice,” a calmer voice whispered. Silvermist, with hair like dark silk and wings that seemed to ripple with water, drifted closer, her presence as soothing as rain.
“She’s right, though,” Silvermist said gently, her expression serene. “Your heart was happy when you reached for that. Why let the harshness of others drown out your own beautiful sound?”
The third fairy, with hair like autumn leaves and wings that fluttered with earthy energy, landed lightly on your knee. This was Fawn. She looked at you with warm, knowing eyes.
“It’s not just about the notes you play, (Y/N). It’s about the spirit you put into the air,” Fawn explained, her voice grounded and kind. “Every animal, every leaf, every tiny ripple of water needs to hear that honest joy. If your music makes you feel good, then it’s good music. Simple as that.”
You stared at the three tiny creatures, your earlier discouragement melting away in the face of their sudden, total belief.
“But… I’m just not very good,” you confessed, your voice barely a whisper. “It always sounds uneven. The air goes wrong.”
Tink, clearly exasperated by your self-doubt, hovered right in front of the ocarina’s mouthpiece. “Stop thinking about good! Think about real! That instrument is made of the earth! It has to breathe! You’re putting too much pressure on it!”
Silvermist nodded. “When you force the air, the water in the air resists. Let the air flow through it like a stream. Effortlessly.”
Fawn gently pointed to the holes on the ocarina. “And those fingers! Don’t press down like you’re crushing a beetle. Be light! Let your fingers dance, like they’re touching tiny, delicate flowers.”
You took a deep, steadying breath. With the three fairies watching you, Tinkerbell hovering with expectant impatience, Silvermist floating like a serene cloud, and Fawn perched on your knee with a smile, you decided to try again.
You brought the mouthpiece to your lips. Instead of thinking about perfection, you thought about the feeling of the warm sun on your skin, the cool shade of the willow, and the gentle breeze. You tried to let the air flow out of you rather than push it through the clay.
You closed your eyes and started to play. The first few notes were hesitant, but then, they found their footing. The sound was richer, less labored. It was a simple, rambling tune, a spontaneous melody that spoke of relief and quiet happiness.
As the music filled the meadow, magic happened around you.
Silvermist spun a slow, mesmerizing circle, her wings catching the sound and translating it into shimmering, pearl-like droplets that briefly misted the air, making the light hazy and beautiful.
Fawn landed on the ground and began to dance lightly with a pair of tiny field mice, their movements timed perfectly to the rise and fall of the melody.
Tinkerbell zoomed up into the highest branches of the willow, her pixie dust trailing, and in the next instant, a dozen tiny, perfectly formed, crystalline bells appeared, catching the wind and ringing in harmony with your deeper notes.
When the song finally finished, you lowered the ocarina, your heart racing. The meadow was slightly brighter, the air smelled cleaner, and your fingers felt light.
“See?” Tink chirped triumphantly, zipping back down to your eye level. “That was absolutely real! Not a dying bird! That was excellent!”
“It was effortless,” Silvermist praised, drifting closer. “You didn’t play the notes; you let the air sing through you.”
Fawn patted your leg with her tiny hand. “And those fingers! They didn’t crush anything. They were dancing. Never stop playing that, (Y/N). We need to hear it.”
You looked at the fairies, then down at the ocarina, which no longer felt like a source of anxiety, but a promise of joy. The negative voices of the past were completely silent, drowned out by the magic and the genuine, heartfelt encouragement of your new, tiny friends.
You smiled, the relief washing over you completely. “I won’t,” you promised. “I’ll play again tomorrow.”
