#pixie boyfriend

Your rose chafer pixie boyfriend just isn't built for the cold.

Then again, neither are you.

So, when you slip your hand into the box of disposable handwarmers you keep by the front door and find it empty, you are greatly perplexed.

You can make an educated guess of who might know where they went, though. And you haven't seen them since breakfast.

After a bit of searching, you open the linen closet, and look up to see the pixie mid-nap on top of the spare duvets, nestled in a pile of a few of the missing handwarmers in question.

They sit up and yawn, still too sleepy to be shocked.

"So that's where they've all gone." You observe.

"Sorry..." They squeak, finally realizing that they've been caught red handed and wobbily getting to their feet.

"Are you cold?" You worry, knowing your metabolisms are much different. "I turned up the heat…"

"Mmm… It's easy to cuddle up when you're at the desk, but I don't want to make you carry me around outside, and it's so hard to fly when it's cold..."

"You can't use those." You say in as firm a voice as you can muster, when they look this cute and sleepy.

"Are you mad?" The pixie asks mournfully.

"Of course not."

You hold out your hand for them, and they gently grace your palm with their tiny footsteps, still clutching one of the handwarmers to their chest.

"They're just so nice. …But the enchantment on them must be pretty weak. They don't last very long."

"That's because they're not magic. It's just an exothermic reaction. Charcoal, salt and… iron powder."

"Blegh." They grimace in disgust and immediately drop the pack they're holding like a hot potato when the word 'iron' leaves your mouth.

"I don't want you to get hurt if one of the packs get damaged and leaks. That's why you can't use them- I wouldn't mind, otherwise."

"Okay…" They sigh.

"You've given me an excellent idea, though. Perhaps we can get you something that's actually enchanted?"

"Ooooh! Yes, please!!"

"Let's look into that, then." You laugh, another idea sparking in your mind. "But in the meantime- can I interest you in some tea?"

"Don't you have to go do work?"

"Yes, eventually. But this is more pressing."

You bring them over to the kitchen table- normally you take tea together outside in the garden, but not when it's this cold- and go through the motions of heating up the kettle.

Though, this time, you grab a second mug, placing it next to your mug and their thimble.

"Expecting someone?" The little fairy quips, tilting their head at the addition from their seat on the wooden tabletop.

"Nope."

When the kettle whistles, your pour the boiling water over your usual teabag.

You also pour some into the empty second mug, but leave some head space. You add a bit of lukewarm water from the tap back in, testing the temperature with your fingertip and finding it just below scalding.

"Your bath is ready."

The pixie gasps dramatically in excitement, starry-eyed- then unceremoniously starts shedding their clothing, unable to get into the hot water fast enough for their liking.

They hop into the vessel and sink down into the hot water, letting out the most drawn out of pleasant sighs.

You leisurely sip your tea and scroll through listings for doll clothes that you can have enchanted. Your pixie, flushed and leaning with arms folded over ceramic rim, gives you their input as they sip from their thimble.

"Oh! Oh!! That one!" They point so animatedly that some water sloshes over the edge.

"You like it?" You hum into your tea. You can't help but notice it looks similar to something you'd pick for yourself.

https://itstheendofthegoddamnworld.tumblr.com/post/663839364948918272/monstobermonster-sentence-starters-nsfwsfw - Monster sentence starters

25) Are you always trying to run into danger?

35) You’re blushing…

36) You’re so stubborn.

His lithe body was bruised and grazed, a large pout formed on his face, his large lilac eyes darting rapidly and looking anywhere but at you. You could tell he was hurt and distressed, how his eyes were averting your gaze and looking dejected, you knew he was ready for your worries, or maybe ‘lectures’.

“Are you always trying to run into danger?” You sighed, moving to press the small cotton pad against his cheek, feeling how his tiny body flinched in harsh reaction before he tried settling. “I know you can go where you want, but you need to remember that they’re things out there that will kill you—”

“I know!” He spat sourly, eyes darting to meet your dejected features, his tone lowering. “I know…”

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?”

Sorry this took so long, lovelies!! I really hope you cute little humans enjoy! Special thanks to the anon that requested this! 

Requests are always open for anyone! (But I often don’t have the time to write as much as I’d like to, so I just go through the requests in order, first come first serve :>)

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You had always lived in a quaint and kind home growing up. Your parents loved you more than you thought was physically possible and they had always supported whatever endeavor you chose to pursue. The home you grew up in held so many fond memories. Even so, your favorite memories were always at the house of your grandmother. You dearly missed her stories of magic and mystical lands as you curled into her side under a blanket. Memories flooded back as though a dam within your mind had broken when you stepped foot into the small cottage. The smell of a crackling fire still hung in the space, although you knew it had been months since the last log was burned. Your grandmother would have scoffed at the thin layer of dust covering everything; the couch, coffee table, mantle, lamps, and every single antique that hadn’t been left to someone else.

It took nearly a month for you to begin to even stomach the thought of returning here after her death. She had been sickly for a while, at least a year before she finally seemed to give in and make her peace with the world. You still weren’t over it yet, but you wanted to feel as though some aspect of her was with you. Your eyes glanced over the large wooden bookcase that found its home in the far corner of the living room, away from all the other pieces of furniture. With a renewed determination you made your way over to the bookcase you remembered so fondly. Grandmother used to read these story books to you, she always had, even after you grew old enough to read them yourself you still insisted she read them to you. 

A sleek black cover stood out dramatically against the rest of the worn leather books. Frowning, you took it from the shelf and walked over to the couch. To your surprise and delight, when you opened the book you noticed a familiar face staring back at you. It was a younger and stronger looking version of your grandmother, in her arms a giggling child you immediately recognized. It was you. In the picture you were probably five or six and were covered head to toe in mud. You chuckled a bit and turned the page. You stared at the page in slight confusion and astonishment. In the photo was you with a flower crown on your head, smiling from ear to ear. You didn’t even recognize the flowers, which was odd considering you had opened a botanist shop right after school. You didn’t even think you knew how to make a flower crown.

The picture next to the one of you wearing a flower crown was even stranger. You were holding what looked like a miniature satchel. Flipping through the scrapbook you found normal pictures, you and your grandmother baking cookies, tending to the garden, hiking, etc. As you flipped to the very last page of the book a piece of paper slipped out. It was a crudely drawn stick figure with brown hair and what looked to be blue wings. You smiled a bit at the drawing. Your grandmother always told you that you had a wild imagination as a child. Your smile fell a bit when you noticed the poorly written letters sprawled across the page, ‘S I O F A   R’ You could barely recognize it, but the name seemed strangely familiar.

Shaking off your confusion for the time being you set the book back on the old wooden shelf were you found it. You decided that it was far past time to clean up this house if you were to live in it. Plus, your grandmother would be appalled at the current state of it and you, although reluctantly, begun to dust, vacuum, mop, and scrub.

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It was a pleasant surprise that you were able to get the majority of the cleaning done inside within a couple of hours. Now your work was in the garden. You didn’t exactly want to, but after some self-encouragement you managed to convince yourself to at least start working with the mess that was your back garden. You paused, very confused at the sight of your back garden. The garden should have been an absolute disaster, but their didn’t even seem to be any dead leaves.  

The white rose bushes that lined your grandmother’s house were absolutely pristine. Hell, they looked better than they had when she was taking care of them. Looking at the ivory flowers that had begun to slowly crawl up the trellis, something your grandmother had always wanted but was never able to manage. You smiled, although wistfully, as you continued to walk through the garden. The oak you remembered laughing and playing under as a child still stood strong at the very center of the yard. The tree seemed to have grown along with you as you still couldn’t wrap your arms around it. The only way you managed to ever give the tree a true “hug” was when you locked arms with...

You paused briefly. Originally you had thought you used to play with your grandmother in the garden, but she had always watched you play through the kitchen window. The thought didn’t confuse as much as it unsettled you. Your grandmother practically didn’t have neighbors, the closest being a couple of miles north. You shook it off as having a friend over a couple times and retreated back inside as it seemed your work in the garden had already been done for you.

Walking into the house you helped yourself to a glass of lemonade from the fridge. You stopped mid sip and spit the lemonade back into the cup coughing. The lemonade was absolutely putrid. You poured the glass out of reflex and didn’t stop to think that the lemonade had been sitting in the fridge without power for nearly half a year. You gargled some water praying you wouldn’t suddenly become sick and die. When you looked up from the kitchen sink and out into the garden your blood ran cold.

There walking through the rows of roses stood a man who had to be at least seven feet tall, running his hands over the rose bushes. The scene was both mesmerizing and horrific. You expected there to be small cuts on his hands from the thorns but there didn’t seem to be any as he moved lackadaisically, seemingly lost in thought. He looked up and froze, seeing you watching from the window. Your eyes met and you became even more puzzled. You recognized their orange hue. Maybe he was a neighbors kid? Or the child of one of your grandmother’s friends?

You jumped as the familiar tone of your phone sounded throughout the silent house. You know you only glanced away for a second to look at your phone sitting on the kitchen table, but when you looked back the man had disappeared. Picking up your phone you looked the message that had interrupted your staring contest. It was your mother checking in on you. You sent a quick reply confirming that you were doing just fine and continued to stare out the window into the garden. Maybe you needed to start getting more sleep.

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Your rose chafer pixie boyfriend requires a lot of beauty sleep.

A pixie’s natural diet is almost completely composed of sugar. Because their metabolism is built on quick bursts of energy, pixies also need a lot of sleep to function.

Since you’ve been together, this takes the form of a long, leisurely midday nap on one of your shoulders while you work from home. (They seem to prefer your left.)

You don’t mind their presence during work. In fact, you’ve grown to enjoy it- the small patch of warmth and the vaguely candy, vaguely floral scent they emit. You don’t even mind the discarded scales of iridescent green and pink pixie dust now deeply and irrevocably embedded into the fibers of all your favorite sweaters. 

But occasionally, they do manage to distract you, either via stiff muscles from holding still for an extended time, or worse- by them threatening to slide off in their sleep.

It’s a grey, damp and chilly day today, because of the rain, but all of the sweaters you would normally grab are hung up from the laundry you did earlier. They’re unfortunately taking forever to dry inside of the cottage- also because of the rain.

So instead, you’ve grabbed the next best thing you have in your closet- a fluffy, oversized scarf to wrap around your shoulders.

Shortly after you sit down at your workspace and start typing, the sound of familiar, tiny wings meets your ears, followed by the soft thump of a landing, and then small boots pattering on the surface of your desk.

“Hmm…” They tilt their head as they look up at you, curious about the fabric swathed across their usual sleeping spot.

“Oh. Let me move this for you.” You say a bit absentmindedly, as you move the scarf to the side with one hand and continue tapping out a string of code with the other.

“No, wait…” They flit to the edge of their normal spot, then you feel the points of small palms and knees on you, then them rummaging about in the folds of the scarf.

“Hehe, this is perfect!” Their tiny voice gushes from within the cozy spot they’ve found. The vibrations of their voice and their small body moving tickles at your chest.

“Huh. You know, I suppose this is almost like a hammock for you, if you think about it.” You muse, gently patting the cloth-covered bundle at your sternum. “Why didn’t I think of that sooner?”

“Dunno. You think of everything.” They say, the drowsiness already setting into their voice.

You continue your work with a soft smile on your face, occasionally reaching up to gently give the sleeping pixie soft touches.

Your rose chafer pixie boyfriend may be smaller than the average cucurbit, but he certainly doesn't act like it.

Today, you're at the neighboring farm up the trail from your cottage. Spirit's Eve is coming up, so you've decided to find an appropriate pumpkin to carve into a jack-o'-lantern to ward the front of your cottage from mischief.

The pixie darts around in excitement from gourd to gourd, examining each for imperfections and quickly moving onto the next, while you trail behind, carefully stepping over vines and leaves and bumps in the dirt. Finally, they land next to the biggest pumpkin in sight.

"This one!" They knock on the fruit, their tiny knuckles barely making an audible tap on the thick rind of the fruit.

"That is a very robust specimen."

You begin to make the stooping movement to pick it up, but you're intercepted by the flash of color darting in front on you.

"No, wait!" They say, and then move out of sight behind it. "Allow me."

The pumpkin in question wobbles a bit, and then slowly appears to float into the air on it's own, right in front of your eyes. Fitting, given the time of year.

It's not being lifted by some spirit or spectre, of course.

Translucent beetle wings beat in a blur beneath it, almost sounding like the blades of a toy helicopter in their vigor. The pixie hovers aloft with the pumpkin up on their back, like atlas holding up the globe.

You smile in quiet admiration for a moment, then stick out your hands to take the weight off their back.

"You don't seem very impressed." They say,their tiny features a bit crestfallen.

"Oh, I'm quite impressed," The warmth bleeding into your cheeks is enough for you to know that to be true. "Just not surprised."

They gently lower the gourd between your outstretched hands.

"Ah, right." They snort and gracefully land on top the pumpkin to sit, hand holding onto the twisted stem for balance. "Bug scientist."

You hum a sheepish little affirmative laugh.

"Did you know that Onthophagus taurus can lift up to 1,141 times its own body weight?"

"Makes sense. Most of the beetles you keep are meatheads."

"I suppose you're an outlier then. Strong and clever."

You run your fingertip across their small cheek, making them squirm happily.

Soon, you're almost back to the booth at the entrance of the patch, where you can set the heavy pumpkin down on the counter, much to your relief.

How will you carry this for the entire trail home, when you already struggled with the behemoth on the short walk over?

"But we can't leave yet-" You feel a small tug on the sleeve of your sweater. "You haven't picked one!"

"I know, I'm just unsure…" You tap your bottom lip in thought. "Hmm…"

That's when you see a small, charmingly round pumpkin sitting alone in a slightly worn metal wagon, the last like it for sale.

"Oh, this is the perfect size for me!" You say, picking the petite specimen up, brain already working out how you'd intricately paint a scientific diagram of a beetle onto its surface.

…But which species? There certainly isn't a shortage of those…

You're pulled from your thoughts from the sound of the pixie's wings again, this time buzzing over to the wagon with their eyes lit up in glee.

"And this is the perfect size for me, hehe!" They grab the wagon's handle with both hands, and, to your actual surprise this time, pulls the whole thing over with gusto.

When the clerk finally comes back to the counter, you struggle to keep a straight face at their reaction.

Part 2

The strawberries this time of year were ripe and ready; your steady hands picking them out one by one with care and consideration, putting them into your basket to have ready for you to sell on or eat yourself; the heavy golden sun casting down the back of you whilst you worked all day long.

You were in the soil for a while, used to the feel of the dirt flattened up into your skin, used to how your knees had gotten sore but you knew it would all be done for a day of hard work. Wiping at your sweaty brow, you marvelled at your work. Almost most of your basket was taken up with the fruit; so large in fact that you knew for a fact that they were ready and sweet.

You had sat back in the earth, gazing at the rose bush that sat not too far from you whilst you worked, humming to yourself as you took in the sun rays on your skin; the hat on top of your head luckily bringing in some shade.