Fairy Boyfriend
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 :>)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
>>-------------> <-------------<<
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.
♦ ♢ ♦ ♢ ♦ ♢ ♦ ♢ ♦ ♢ ♦ ♢ ♦ ♢ ♦ ♢ ♦ ♢ ♦ ♢ ♦ ♢ ♦ ♢ ♦ ♢ ♦ ♢ ♦ ♢ ♦
Looking for more of my writing?
