#I love shells I love sea glass I love the waves and the wind and the sun and the sand

[honeymaki]

What about fairies that live around rock pools and tide pools and dance in the moonlight and collect pearly shell fragments to use as dinner plates and have stained glass wings with sea weed for dresses and crabs as pets, and sing into their reflections and kiss their siren sisters on the cheeks for good luck and tickle the limpets and lead little girls to the best spots for seeing starfish and who leave hide in the sea foam and play in the early morning waves and sometimes visit their neighbours who live in the rivers and ponds that feed into the sea ☆*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ･*:..ﾞ

[t34-mt]

maanul colony, a rough idea of how the build against the cliff parts looks like, the rest of the village is on top of the cliff. These are flexible plant fiber that creates platforms/structures, and there are also tunnel systems. also, black sand! More text and information under ->

this is a western colony (maak'thao), other colonies have that same similar structure but have regional differences in architecture/ the way of making certain things. This is just one side, id imagines it expanding widely on the side cliffs. Maybe kilometers long for the largest colony of each wind? (west, north, south, and East all have a "main colony" which is just the biggest of the region. Cardinal directions are called "the 4 winds" for maanuls.)

while a portion is on the side of the cliff, build against roots or just on the top of the cliffs as regular houses, a part of the structures is hidden. And is directly carved into the rock, as tunnel systems to access some specific parts easier. Carved storage rooms, small gathering places, rooms for religious practices like wall painting, and so on. this is roughly how the tunnel stuff would look like ->

id also imagine some tunnels being decorated with shells, sadly the examples I found are not the exact color I imagined because i think they would pick stupidly colorful ones since they are very fond of shiny things with color(like a magpie!). And once they start losing their color for x reason they would repaint the shells. A main tunnel leading to an important place would be highly decorated, while smaller narrow tunnels would have just a little bit of shells on the sides if none.

now with specific details id like to point out from the bottom part!

First, the statues (in yellow). The statues are placed all around in front of the habitations, they are deeply set in-ground and are lightly carved in, enough to tell a specific shape but still retain a square figure. here's a closer look at them, with additional text!

Now onto the roots (red) and the bottom platforms (white), these root-like structures are actually a sort of tree that grows down to the cliffs, not every colony has that these are mostly found in west and south. Colonies that don't have these growing around will have bottom platforms made out of wood and will be raised up from the sand floor.

The bottom platforms here are also made out of somewhat flexible but strong plant fiber. These large platforms are not made to live but more for some community gatherings. like for example teaching young ones about sea navigation! Down there is used to store some fishing equipment and boats. And when I say boats you should think of canoe-like ones, used for fishing.

And last is that large fish-net decoration in blue, that thing is used to attach many things, like sand down glass pieces that with the light give a fun colorful reflection effect around. But that fishnet thing can also be used to mourn. By that, I mean in the West if they lost a loved one to the ocean they can take a personal shiny belonging and attach it there. So they will always be remembered by everyone even if they didn't have a body and couldn't do the usual way of mourning.

now for the middle section, starting with these "flags"

the enormous "flag", takes decades to make and are a thing you find in each "main colony" of the 4 winds, the immense rope will harbor at least 3 of those and the things represented in it can sometimes be related to a local folkloric tale, symbolic drawings that each bring a good thing to the colony. Like for example one drawing of fish and waves to bring good luck to fishermen! these are much more like tapestries than flags.

extra images about the nest-like structures, id think of them being made out of leather, various plant fiber, and a bit of wood for support.

and a bit about the top layer, which extends much more but on this drawing you only see the beginning of it.

now with the high tide, there it does not get high enough to swim but still enough to take off to the sea with a canoe, id say it arrives at waist level for an adult maanul. Not every village/large colony have the tide flooding around like this, sometimes it might stops where the statues are placed. since altuyur has 2 moons (maanuls and kyhuines say 3 moons but in really the third, or also called "the infant" is an asteroid caught in the first moon, also called "night mother") i was thinking it would affect the tide cycle tho im not sure yet how it does that since im not that good at astrology.

thank you for reading!

[justmemethings]

Disclaimer ! I'm not the original creator of these fill-up memes. I simply collected them from the search section / dash. The credit goes to the original source (which unfortunately I haven't been able to track down.

𝐎𝐋𝐘𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒

bold what applies. repost, don’t reblog!

APHRODITE. laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, wants to be adored, gets turned on by danger.

APOLLO. glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled with wrath, shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeps naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes, probably has a tinder account.

ARES. armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS. keen sense of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, dishevelled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting a target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA. discerning gaze, unreadable face, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes.

DEMETER. soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom-friend, can lift you and your friends, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants, leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

DIONYSUS. drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theatre masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause.

HEPHAESTUS. the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted in blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry, even their muscles have muscles.

HERA. resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, files that under fuck it, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold.

HERMES. devil-may-care smile, always up-to-date on the latest technology, will steal your french fries, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road space trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes redbull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers.

POSEIDON. storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, stroking the soft fur of a cat , their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS. thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, lenny face, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease, expensive watch.

tagged by: tagging:

[buttercup-art]

OLYMPIAN AESTHETICS

TAGGED BY: Kinda stole this from @hyperionhugo because I found this on their blog and wanted to do it for Noa!

TAGGING:  Anyone who wants to join in!

(adding a cut because it's a long post lol)

APHRODITE          laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, thrives on attention, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive, wants to be adored, gets turned on by danger.

APOLLO          glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile-mingled wrath, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeps naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes, probably has a Tinder account.

ARES         armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fists raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell will make you think, exhausted, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS          keen sense of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting a target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA          discerning gaze, unreadable face, the patience of a lifelong teacher, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, go-getter, balls of wool displayed on shelves, ancient buildings, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes.  

DEMETER          soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom-friend, can lift you and your friends, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants (elementals), leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

DIONYSUS         drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause.

HEPHAESTUS        sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted in blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry, even their muscles have muscles

HERA          resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, files that under fuck it, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold.

HERMES        devil-may-care smile, ink-stained hands, always up-to-date on the latest technology, will steal your french fries, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you journey to your destination, goes jogging in the morning, mixes redbull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers.

POSEIDON     storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, the sea casting its spell, stroking the soft fur of a cat, their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns for more, leather jackets, fondness for DIY projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS     thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, lenny face, pretends they don’t have feelings but they do, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy calendar with ease, most likely to be voted class president out of their peers, expensive watch.

[paleangels13]

Hey Fine,

I promised a review of my trip to Denmark 🥰🥳

The whole week it was good weather even though it was quite windy. We walked along the coast almost every day because there was nothing much to do. But it was still great and we did collect many sea shells and stones 👍🏻 The highlight for me was the lighthouse 💜

I would go again 💜

Here are some pics:

Hope you have a great rest of your week 🥰💞

Hey Lisa! Sorry for the late reply 🥺

Honestly, walking along the coast everyday sounds amazing to me! But then again I love the sea so much and the wind and the waves and the salty air are so nice!

Did you happen to find any sea glass as well? 👀 I only found out about that a few months ago and I think it looks SO pretty sometimes! Also always here for collecting sea shells and stones :D (if anyone wants to do that with me just saying...)

Ohh that's such an interesting looking lighthouse. Do you happen to know if it's still active?

All these pictures make me miss the sea so much *sigh* I'm glad to hear you had a nice week and a (hopefully) relaxing vacation! And that the weather was kind to you 😄

Thank you so much for the report and the pics! 🥰💞

[fandomdaydreamer]

The Lighthouse and The Ocean

Epilogue

Pairing: Pedro Pascal/OFC

Warnings: just fluff

Summary: Six years later

Notes: Also find this fic on Ao3 -here- or the series' Masterlist and Playlist -here-

Imagining 'In Dreams' by Sierra Ferrell for the "end credits" and their family pictures is a real treat.

Length: short and sweet 850 words

~

Six Years Later

It was like I could only really rest my eyes while looking at the sea. Scattered clouds, such heavenly bodies on a sunny day.

I relaxed my back against his torso and felt him radiate happiness. Comfort bloomed in my chest when Pedro softly planted a kiss on the back of my hand for no particular reason and held my gaze with a loving smile. Looking into these warm, coffee-brewed eyes, I realised nothing had changed. More greys in his hair and beard and lines upon his face perhaps, just like myself. He was still the man I fell in love with all these years ago and I loved him like it was the first day. I'd love him even more by tomorrow. What an uplifting and kind thought.

We didn't speak, for what could we say, my dearest one, other than let's do it all again by tomorrow?

Pedro's other hand, the one still adorning his bracelet, was currently resting on my heavy baby bump and I sighed, content with sinking back further into him as we sat among the sandy dunes of Montauk Beach. Bringing cheesecake and collecting sea glass had become a family tradition. I could almost picture us as phantoms of our past that skipped across the sand.

It had been six years since that summer day and so much had happened. Five since I started therapy and we moved in together, four since I released my second album and people began to film a documentary about me. Three since we had our shotgun wedding and our first child was born. Two since Pedro won an Oscar for his debut movie he wrote and directed. The world was proud of this angel.

Little Pedro from Santiago de Chile had dreamt of everything his hard work and kindness had brought him today. Little Nini from a small Dutch fisher town found more peace, love and freedom than she could have ever imagined. They had a family now and a home behind a gate with pink roses and friends visiting every day.

We'd been taking this last year off to focus on our family, healing from the losses and working through the changes life provided. Our second child was due in about three months. Oh, and how eager we were to meet them too. My hand joined his larger one, hoping our unborn baby felt our love.

We had everything we could have ever wished for. Children playing, parents waving.

Every time I watched our toddler play with my little sister, mops of blonde and dark hair whipping through the wind, I felt my heart warm at the thought of seeing our family grow. The children's far away cry of joy while running along the wet sand with the dog, the crashing of waves hitting the shore. The duo was picking up shells and stones off the sand, chasing one another with high laughter ringing through the wind.

On the far end of the beach stood a lighthouse in front of the ocean, I felt we were just as unlimited.

My husband pressed a kiss onto the top of my head and I felt a smile curling there when he felt the baby kicking beneath his broad palm. Pedro chuckled every time they did that, excited to meet the little miracle growing beneath my heart. He was a good father, to our babies as well as my little sister, whom he treated like his own ever since Fee came back into my life.

I simply knew I could bear anything with him in my heart. A smile played upon my lips and I closed my eyes into the ever-changing sunlight. Pedro softly breathed into the crook of my neck from behind, his chest rising as his lips rested there. It was okay to stop and breathe for a moment. I simply thought about all the people who loved Pedro into becoming the wonderful person he was today, knowing I owed them a world for it.

I wished nothing but light and love in his life, may everything good in this world come to Pedro. May he live happily ever after and continue helping so many people and improve so many lives just by being himself. I wished him sunny days and comfort when they'd grow cloudy. Sometimes and more than a thousand times I wished to be held by him forever.

I never grasped the feeling of a happy end until this very day, at a place right back where we started. At this moment, it made me feel like we had reached the final page of a book. Or the end credits of a movie, followed by the growing number of family pictures in our home. Our wedding, our family pictures next to a couple of trinkets. All of our beloved memories, from the decorated picture frame of our first date at Montauk Beach to our visit to Pedronie's communal gardens. These memories were captured in picture frames, one by one, a life lived.

The End

Thank you for reading.

~

Pedro and Nini will return for a second book, until then, loved having you here

- Lore

[kleinstar]

OLYMPIAN AESTHETICS

Bold all that apply to your muse~ Italicize the “conditional” ones.

APHRODITE     laughter-loving, sweet smiles,  dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair,  thrives on attention,  sees the world as a runway,  unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love,  stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips,  secret daggers,  doves,  revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves,  flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach,  staring wistfully from a balcony,  this is how to be a heartbreaker,  your girlfriend thinks they’re attractive,  wants to be adored,  gets turned on by danger.

APOLLO     glitz and glamour,  art galleries, turning the volume up,  being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets,  notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight,  the powerful urge to create,  collecting vinyl records,  beautiful cover of wonderwall,  playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine,  healing touch,  speaking in prophecies,  smile mingled wrath, sporting shades,  hanging out at music festivals with their friends,  sleeps naked, arrow to the heart,  paint brushes,  probably has a Tinder account.

ARES     armed for battle,  wants to raise a dog with their significant other,  soft spot for children,  gives piggyback rides,  scarred body,  blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love,  warm hugs, well-worn combat boots,  boxing gloves,  bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles,  fists raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison,  more sensitive than what their tough shell will make you think (i feel like tough shell is a bit strong word for eiden kfkgkg),  exhausted, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS     keen sense of a hunter,  freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes,  disheveled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows,  the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars,  mother doe and her fawn,  protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake,  quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree,  running with wolves,  bonding while circled around a campfire,  not being much of a people person, arrow hitting a target, popping egos,  patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA     discerning gaze,  unreadable face, the patience of a lifelong teacher, quiet museums,  owl perched on their finger,  armor that intimidates,  eye for architecture,  plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid,  big fan of logic,  loves brain teasers,  go-getter,  balls of wool displayed on shelves,  ancient buildings, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes.

DEMETER     soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun,  being the mom-friend,  can lift you and your friends,  flowers kept in the pockets of overalls,  takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants, leaves rustling in the wind,  stalks of wheat,  picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain,  values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone,  curls crowned with flowers,  folded pile of sweaters in warm hues,  pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

DIONYSUS     drunk shitposter,  on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second,  seductive smirks, untamed curls,  rich fabrics on dark skin,  sleek-furred panthers,  theater masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation,  rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch,  wild parties that last from sundown to sunup,  creeping vines, inspiring loyalty,  grand opera houses,  masquerade balls,  rolls of film,  shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause.

HEPHAESTUS     sweaty brow,  flame burning in their eyes,  inventive mind,  broad shoulders,  steampunk goggles,  nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes,  striking a match,  blueprints for future projects,  fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness,  work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts,  iron melted in blazing fire,  huge jackets, crafting masterpieces,  greased-stained overalls,  fascination with robotics,  pain is fuel,  stack of weaponry,  even their muscles have muscles.

HERA  resting bitch face, dressed to the nines,  cows grazing on a pasture,  cool rain, loving and hating fiercely,  hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals,  plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims,  romance to realism,  pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, files that under fuck it,  downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded,  knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul,  marble and gold.

HERMES     devil-may-care smile,  ink-stained hands,  always up-to-date on the latest technology,  will steal your french fries,  does it for the vine,  shitposter,  puts googly eyes on everything,  meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners,  spontaneous road trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop,  shooting hoops on the basketball court,  chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations,  goes jogging in the morning, mixes redbull with coffee, menace on april fool’s,  hoodies and sneakers.

POSEIDON  storm with skin,  colorful coral reefs,  waves crashing against the shore, the sea casting its spell,  stroking the soft fur of a cat,  their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks,  clothes smeared with paint,  owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns for more,  leather jackets,  fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page,  nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle,  compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS     thunder in their heart,  running on coffee and tea,  flash of lightning,  natural charisma,  eloquence, badass in a nice suit,  aficionado of history,  force of nature,  lenny face, pretends they don’t have feelings but they do,  nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings,  planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano,  maintains order,  strong handshake,  juggling multiple events on their busy calendar with ease,  most likely to be voted class president out of their peers,  expensive watch

[ladyseaforth]

Hogmanay II

This is part II to Hogmanay! It is a bit of a filler chapter to get from one side to the other but it includes a nice few bits of Scottish mythology and gets you connected with the mysterious woman xxxxxx more morpheus will be in the next chapter xxx big promises

Here is link to Part I

1.5k words or thereabouts

///

The only solution left was to get unfathomably drunk and stew in discontentment. 

She had been seen by two of the Endless. And partially blew up a pub, causing quite a rumour-fuelled mess amidst mortals. Very silly behaviour on her part. More self control required. 

Eimhir hunched further into herself as another gust of wind hit her body like a contraction, curling her heels into the sand, gritty and damp. Each tide rolled and crashed into the barriers of the land, tumbling and receding amidst the sound of seagull cries. To one side of her lay a stone, flat and palm-sized with a hollowed out middle large enough to see through, and to her other, a bottle of gin. Today she favoured the gin. 

She was on the beach because she wanted to be surrounded by beauty when she died. The landscape of the country which she so loved had been her eternal comfort: the brazen rush of sea air upon her raw cheeks, the blanketing of her auditory senses, the textures of sand and shell and sea glass and ceramic. The crowns of heather that adorned the rising cliffs rustled softly by the winds, nodding repeatedly to the small, bedraggled form huddled on the shore. 

Pitiful. So far from the creature of awe that swept through the pub that day. 

Eimhir’s chest was warm and coated in the spirit she consumed, and so she swayed gently to nature’s music. She sighed heavily with dramatic, drunken flair and drew herself clumsily to her feet, bottle in hand. Stumbling to the very edge of the shoreline, she stood, swaying, as the encroaching water kissed the tips of her boots. 

She mumbled to herself as her numbed fingers scrabbled uselessly at the cork, “silly mortals… developing too fast… corks are too tight now, no need for it,” before finally succeeding in releasing the stopper. Eimhir rose the bottle dramatically over the silky waters and drunkenly announced, “I would like to see my friend now!” she smiled to herself, pleased with her grandiose manner, “please!” With a graceless flick of the wrist, she sent an arc of gin flying into the waters, leaving a streak of sputtering, melting rings. The girl grinned, and stumbled a couple steps backwards and waited amidst the cacophony of nature. 

It did not take long for a black, sleek, bobbing head to break the surface of the waves in the distance. Easy to be mistaken as a rock, it rose and fell above the water, drawing closer with each reappearance. Eimhir’s chest reignited twice over with the warmth of not only the alcohol but the feeling of sweet recognition, of reunion, of the old nostalgia that friendship bore. The figure finally reached a level of water so shallow that the rest of its body began to break through the waves, revealing the silver sliding body of a seal, gentle and gliding. Eimhir, even in her drunken state remained still and at a respectful distance, allowing the seal to situate itself upon the sands comfortably. 

The seal then tucked its head to the side and started tugging savagely at its blubber, a macabre scene and all the more so as Eimhir’s grin widened blissfully. Blood dripped in dark spots upon the wet sand, blending and absorbing into every grain. The seal continued tearing at its skin as a hole began to grow within its side, dripping with gore as two human legs slid out. Eimhir lent forward, helping the seal’s skin to hold still so the legs could continue to erupt from its form, as they were followed by a lean white torso and chest before there finally came a head, resulting in the seal skin falling to the sand, hollow and floppy. 

“Hello, friend,” Eimhir murmured to the beautiful pearly face, flecked with blood and adorned with a wild head of green curls. The face softened and the creature tilted her head with a sly, derisive smirk as she drew out slow, considered words, “A mere splash of gin? I despair with you, Eimhir,” and the eyes of both figures crinkled with joy. Eimhir shrugged gently, “I just thought you would appear faster if you knew exactly who it was that was calling,” and her companion’s eyes lightened with mirth. “Could’ve easily had the opposite effect,” the creature retorted, running a shocking white hand through her seaweed coloured hair. “Though, why do you call for me, Eimhir? It has been a long time since you were with me last.”

Eimhir exhaled heavily through her nose as she clasped her icy hands within one another, looking down to the sand. She knew there was no stalling with her friend. Centuries had given her a wise mind. 

“Got seen by an Endless,” she mumbled to the ground, “two of them, actually,” before letting her head entirely fall forward with despair. Her senses were once again filled entirely with the sounds of her surrounding environment, bird calls, wind warping around the shells of her ears, plunging tides. This continued, with a questionable lack of response from her companion and so she raised her eyes to be met with those of her friend, who blinked slowly and derisively through a half-lidded gaze. 

“Which ones?” the selkie demanded, “the Dream one and the Death one,” Eimhir replied and with immediacy, her friend rolled her eyes and turned her head. “You’ve always had such a disposition for the dramatics, they’re fine,” she responded. 

“Mairead!” Eimhir slurred with indignation, “They’re Endless! They will tell their big brother that I am still about and what I did and I will then be tossed out of existence!” she gestured wildly and pathetically, “is that what you want!” She flopped backwards onto the sand, eyes staring starkly into the sky above, “To think I called upon you to bring me comfort in my final hours, you have a horrible bedside manner, Mairead.” The conversational silence became overridden by nature’s song once more, gulls gliding overhead within Eimhir’s vision. 

“Are you quite finished?” Mairead hummed as she deftly wiped at blood streaks upon her exposed body, not giving so much as a blink as her friend shot up to a sitting position with mouth agape and eyes wide. Eimhir drew in breath to continue her tirade but was cut off before she could give voice, “The Endless are not going to come and get you, you absolute reprobate. They’ve got bigger and more dangerous things to be dealing with than a skinny, little rogue seer,”- “But I exploded a pub in panic,”- “Yes, even then.” Eimhir huffed at the finality of Mairead’s words, dictating the conversation's end. 

She took a swig of gin, squinting and hissing at the taste before the warmth washed within her chest. Mairead gestured with her pearly hand, and Eimhir passed the bottle over, watching her selkie companion place the bottle to her lips and drink slowly. Her features stayed cool and serene as the alcohol slid down her throat and Eimhir sighed once more, one always envied the calm and collected.

Mairead glanced over to her friend, catching her eye and softening her features, “The things that the Endless see everyday does not compare to a little accident in a pub, remember when one of the Dream King’s nightmares escaped and started eating human eyeballs? You’re grand love, I promise.” Eimhir smiled gently and adoringly at Mairead’s soothing words, tilting her head to rest upon her friend’s bone-white shoulder and inhaling the salted smell of her hair. “The world can get so scary sometimes, Mai. It’s hard always being on the lookout for what I have seen through the stone,” Eimhir mumbled and both friends glanced down at the hollowed stone resting upon the sand. “And I’ve always seen problems concerning dreams and visions of darkness and everything being awful and I just-” she inhaled shakily, “I’m tired, I’m so tired.” 

Mairead clasped her silvery hand over Eimhir’s shoulder, rubbing gently and soothingly. “I know, Eimhir, I know. To be a seer is a difficult thing to be, prophesying things and not being able to do anything but restrain yourself and let them happen. I know, my friend.” Eimhir moaned drunkenly in response as she watched the sea sparkle, Mairead smiled gently and continued, “If anyone is to entirely understand your condition, it is Destiny.” 

“Plus,” the selkie added, “You speak of darkening dreams but you run from their creator. He could fix them, it is his function after all. I would encourage your meeting.” 

Eimhir gazed silently out to sea, relishing the warmth of her companion and the sweeping sound of the brushing heathers above. “I’ll think about it,” Eimhir whispered into Mairead’s shoulder, “but for now, I just want to be here.” 

Mairead’s lips curled into a smile, revealing exaggerated canines as she clasped her friend tighter and adjusted her seal skin over her exposed legs. “Of course, my friend.” The two sat in silent companionship, relishing one another’s presence as bird calls rang out above.

Swooping seagulls dipped in the wind, curlews and herons dancing, oyster-catchers and rockhoppers skipping over the bay. 

The singular caw of a watchful raven, sparkling eyes blinking in the encroaching moonlight.

[stardustsides]

What Living is For

Author’s Note: Surprise, it’s a Little Women au! I actually wrote and posted this years ago on my old blog, but I still love it a lot, so I decided to edit it and repost it here. Little Women is one of my favorite stories, and a lot of the dialogue in this fic has been taken directly from the book/movie/musical.

Summary: Patton’s health is failing, and he and Roman pass a quiet afternoon on the beach. (Little Women au, with Jo!Roman and Beth!Patton.)

Word Count: 2251

Content Warnings: Terminal illness, implied character death, discussions of death

~

There was a boy in a wheelchair by the sea.

His head was tilted back, eyes closed and a small smile playing across his face, the breeze gently rolling in off the water. His toes were curled in the sand, and he had a light blue shawl wrapped around his shoulders, one that his mother had knit for him when he was just a baby. A conch shell rested in his lap, his hands carefully placed on top of it.

Roman watched him, clutching a kite with a rainbow tail close to his chest and holding a picnic basket. Patton hadn’t needed a wheelchair before he had gone to New York; yes, he was still frail and ill, but he had recovered. He would again, now, Roman was sure of it. He would. He would.

He slowly approached his brother, feet making indentations in the sand as he went.

“I brought you a kite,” he said softly, when he was merely a few feet away; he didn’t want to startle him. Patton opened his eyes and looked up, and suddenly he was smiling with a radiance as though somebody had lit a candle in his chest. Warmth, as usual, seemed to pour out of him and into Roman, filling his senses like a warm glass of milk on a cold, rainy day.

For a moment, his illness seemed to melt away, and he looked more like himself, save for the gaunt face and bags under his eyes. He looked like the lovely young man he was, no older than twenty, instead of somebody whose light was already beginning to flicker out. His wide brown eyes, partially obscured by his wire-rimmed glasses, held their usual sparkle and kindness, despite the circumstances.

“Roman,” he said, his smile widening, and as soon as he spoke something tugged at Roman’s heart. His voice, steeped in kindness and love and affection, was the equivalent of receiving a warm hug upon coming home. His voice was coming home. Roman couldn’t believe he had ever left.

“I brought you a kite,” Roman repeated, grinning and brandishing it at him. “Look at the tail—it has all the colors of the rainbow! I told the man at the shop that it should have every color for my baby brother.”

“It’s the most beautiful kite I’ve ever seen!” Patton said, running his fingers over the multicolored ribbons, in vibrant shades reds and blues and greens.

“Let’s put it together,” Roman declared, and Patton reached up his arms for Roman to help him down. He felt shaky and weak in Roman’s arms, and slumped against him once they reached the ground, a blue gingham blanket laid over the sand. Patton rested his head on Roman’s shoulder and leaned against him, huddling closer, as the sea breeze was becoming more brisk.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Patton said quietly, his voice nearly drowned out by the sound of the waves and the wind. Roman smiled and wrapped his arm tighter around him.

“You’ve always wanted to come to Cape Cod,” Roman replied. “Is it everything you wanted?”

“And more,” Patton said earnestly. “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. I only wish you didn’t have to give up your first earnings from your writing to bring me here.”

“Oh, stop,” Roman replied, adjusting Patton’s shawl against the wind. “Anything for my baby brother.”

They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the seagulls and the waves, the salty breeze mussing their hair.

“Tell me about New York,” Patton eventually asked softly, drawing circles in the sand. Roman chuckled.

“It’s a circus,” he replied, smiling at the horizon. “It’s never dull like it is back home, and there’s always new people to meet. And,” he paused, “there’s a large foyer in my publisher’s building, with the grandest and most beautiful piano you can imagine in it.” Patton’s face lit up.

“A piano?”

“Yes, and it has flowers carved into the wood, and it’s inlaid with gold—and I told my publisher, I told him: one day, my brother is going to sit here and play this piano, and it’ll be the most beautiful music you’ve ever heard, and everyone in New York will want to come and hear it.”

“I’d love to,” Patton smiled, resting his cheek on Roman’s shoulder.

“I’m going to take you there, one day,” Roman informed him, and Patton’s breath seemed to hitch, just for a split second, before evening out once more.

“I have something for you,” Patton told him abruptly, changing the subject and reaching behind him for the conch shell that was still resting on his wheelchair. “Here,” he said, handing it to Roman. “If you hold it up to your ear, it speaks to you!”

Obligingly, Roman held it up to his ear gently, afraid he might break it. The sound of the sea whistled in his ear, trapped inside the shell. “What does it say?”

A pause. Then:

“We grow up so fast,” Patton whispered, almost inaudibly over the roar of the tide. Roman looked at him for a moment—it shattered his heart to see his brother so melancholic due to his condition. Patton would get better; Roman clung to the belief like a child would with bedtime stories and fairy tales. Still, something raw and sharp scraped within his chest.

A moment of silence passed over them, as fluffy clouds raced across the sky.

“When you were first born,” Roman began, smiling fondly at the memory, “not even an hour old, I told Mother—“

“Patton is mine!” Patton finished for him, giggling. Roman smiled at the vision of a headstrong, bossy young boy first holding his newborn brother. Patton’s big brown eyes had fluttered open for the first time, and he cooed and smiled up at Roman. It was that instant that Roman had declared that Patton was his, his person that he would choose over anyone else in the world.

“Everybody has someone special in the world,” Roman continued, tugging the knit shawl tighter around Patton. “And I have you. My sweet Patton. Give me a task to do.”

Patton thought for a moment, staring out at the ocean, the sea spray blowing in his rosy-cheeked face and tousling his hair.

“Can you read me a story?” he asked, looking up at Roman hopefully, with those earnest eyes of his. “Like you always did when we were little?”

“Of course, Patty,” Roman smiled, turning to dig around in the picnic basket he had brought. “Lucky for you, I brought a whole selection, as I thought you might ask—which one?” He spread out the books on the blanket, and Patton peered at them all, making a goofy show of examining each one and either wrinkling his nose or nodding to himself, weighing his options. At last, he smiled faintly and leaned his head on his shoulder, looking out at the setting sun over the glimmering ocean.

“They’re all good choices,” he said, thinking. “But I think I like it better when you write them yourself. You’re a regular Shakespeare!”

“Oh, Patty, you know that I’ve given up on that, now!” Roman said, his heart squeezing. Patton adamantly shook his head.

“No,” he shot back, a joking smile playing on his face. “I am very sick, and you must do what I say.” Roman barked a laugh, and Patton giggled.

“Please?”

“Alright, alright, anything for little Mr. March,” Roman teased lightly, and Patton playfully stuck his tongue out at him. “What would you like to hear?”

Patton pondered this for a moment, his gaze finally settling on the beautiful, multicolored kite that Roman had gotten him. “Tell me a story about us,” he began. “Flying through the air, as if we’re on a kite.”

Roman smiled warmly at his younger brother’s earnestness. “Very well.” He cleared his throat. “Once upon a time, there was a bold, brave, handsome, chivalrous—“ Patton poked him, smiling. “Almost done—and all around golden boy named Roman March. And by his side, his baby brother Patton March, who, although Roman was great in all aspects, was his better half: sweet, kind, gentle, loving, and talented.” Patton beamed, and his smile seemed to light up the gathering dusk.

“They did everything together—and, one day, when Patton’s brother brought him a kite, they went to go fly it, and they were swept up into the air along with it, floating like birds!”

And so, they embarked on a great adventure, Roman’s words bringing them up, high, high, high above the sand. His inflections swooped and dipped, as if his voice itself were a bird taking flight. He described their astounding journey, how they would be mad and explore high above the rest of the world. Away from everyone and everything, in the sky. Away from Patton’s illness, away from his weakened heart. No, in the heavens there are no illnesses, only the birds who dared to fly as high as the two of them.

“We will pass the days doing only as we please,” Roman said, bringing them back down to Earth by the end of the tale, back down to the blue gingham blanket and the glittering waves crashing against the sand and the seashells that Patton had taken a fancy to, all in a pile, and the reality of their situation. “For that,” he finished, “is what living is for.”

They were both silent for a long time, staring out at the darkened ocean and the sky full of stars above them. Roman could feel Patton shivering against him, and he adjusted his shawl again. At last, Patton spoke.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He said, so softly that he was almost drowned out by the crashing waves.

“Anything.”

“I never made plans,” he began, “about what I would do when I grew up. I never had to.”

“No,” Roman corrected him. “When we were children, I was to be a famous writer, and you a famous pianist, and we would travel together, remember?” Patton laughed lightly and shook his head.

“That was when we were children...and I think you know as well as I do that I am not meant for a life onstage, in front of thousands of people. I never made plans, because I always knew that when I grew up, I would still be with Mother and Father, and I wanted to take care of them.”

“Of course,” Roman smiled. “You’re practically an angel.” Patton smiled, but it faltered again.

“Roman?”

“Yes, Patty?”

“I’m not afraid to die.” Those five words caused Roman’s heart to squeeze, for all of the air to rush out of his lungs, for him to close his eyes tightly and banish all thoughts of the unspeakable happening away. Patton couldn’t die. His baby brother couldn’t die. It was unthinkable. A world without Patton would be a world without mornings, without springtime, just dark, cold, endlessly long nights.

“Don’t—please don’t say that, Patton,” Roman managed to get out.

“Roman,” he said, smoothing Roman’s hair back gently. “I know that it will happen. And I’m not. Really. The hardest part, Roman...it’s leaving you. For I will be homesick for you, even in death.” Roman barely choked back a sob. He grabbed Patton’s hand and held it tightly, like it was a lifeline. The ocean of Patton’s illness threatened to drown them both.

“I won’t let it happen. Do you hear me, Patton? I won’t.” Patton only smiled at him, softly, sadly.

“Some things are meant to be. And I know this is bound to happen, no matter what I do.” Roman choked on his tears. Patton shakily shifted and took Roman’s face in his hands. “But. Some things will never die, like the promise of who you are. Roman, you’re so talented! You can never stop writing, because I know that you’re going to be great. And I’m—I’m so proud of you! And—the memories will never die, either. Even when I’m far, far away from here, you’ll carry me in your heart, and you in mine.”

With his thumb, Patton brushed away the tears trailing down Roman’s cheek.

“All my life,” Patton said, looking at him earnestly with those big brown eyes that had been Roman’s constant companion for all these years, “I’ve lived for loving you. Let me go now.”

And Roman wrapped him up in a hug and cried into his shoulder, and Patton hugged him back, frail and shaky, but also warm and brave and remarkably resilient. And the wind swept up into the star-speckled sky, going high, high, high up, higher than them or the Earth.

~

Roman stood in a publishing company, looking through the window at his first novel being printed and bound and brought into the world. It was real life, and it was fiction. And it was his.

It is the story of him and his brothers.

Their entire lives, from when Roman was a wild boy of sixteen, to now, as he is standing here, in this old, creaky, wooden hallway, watching his future as an author come into the world.

At last, one of the workers handed him his finished novel, with a lovely red leather cover and the title embossed in big lettering on the front with gold leaf. And he hugged the book close to his chest. This was his story. This was his book. This was his dream, coming to realization before his very eyes.

He opened the book.

On the very first page was the dedication.

For Patton.

[sun-havenn]

prompt 195. “I read once that holding your breath can stop a panic attack so…when I kissed you…you held your breath.” for Liam maybe?

Gladly! Thank you for requesting!

It was an exceptional beautiful day, even for Sun Haven. It was warm, hot even. The morning had been slow, your animals were looking for shade and even your crops were looking like they were sweating by twenty past nine. A little before noon, you decided it was also too hot for you to do any work. Besides, everyone deserves a break, even on a random, hot, Thursday.

Luckily Liam didn’t live far, just over the little hill at the edge of your farm. You picked up a few cool blueberry salads, not his favorite, but refreshing and easy, and strolled over to his home, keeping close to the treeline and out of the sun.

By then, Emma and Elizabeth would be learning with Jun. You loved having dinner with them, but it had been awhile since you and Liam got to spend some time alone together. You were busy with your farms and traveling a lot. Liam had his hands full with the shop and his sisters.

It didn’t matter too much, You ate dinner together most nights and talked while doing the dishes and laughed softly after the girls went to bed. You loved those moments, but still, you missed him.

It was strange, the way you missed him. You’d been on a date a while ago, had the best time, but he hadn’t mentioned it again, and you had found it difficult to find a free moment long enough to ask him out again. Though that wasn’t the whole reason, you were kind of scared for a ‘no’. Would a rejection ruin your friendship? Perhaps not, but it would put an end to whatever flirty situation you had going on now.

You entered the shop, which was even hotter than it was in the sun. You walked straight to the ovens, looking for Liam. Sure enough, he was baking bread. “Hi,” you said with a smile, and Liam turned around. His cheeks were flushed, hair sticking to his forehead. He looked absent-minded, but a smile appeared when he saw you.

“Y/n,” he said, putting down the bag of flour he was holding. “What are you doing here?”

In response, you held up the food you’d brought. “I think it’s time for a break.” He glanced towards the batter he was making, and you knew what was coming next. “Come on, Liam! It’s too hot, you have enough bread. Just let it rest a little longer and finish it when it isn’t so hot. You’ll faint.”

Perhaps he noticed it, too, or, a silly part of you hoped, he wanted to spend time with you, too. “All right, let me just finish this dough.”

“Great,” you grinned, glad to be getting out of the heat. “I’ll get you a big glass of water for when you’re done.”

With his permission, you let yourself in his place, setting the table. It was hot inside, too, and you opened the windows to let wind through. After a few minutes, he joined you, drinking two glasses of water before he took a bite. “This is really good, thank you, y/n. I didn’t realize I needed a break this badly.”

He looked better already, his face back to his normal color. “If you still need some relaxing,” you began, not really knowing what you were going to say until you said it. “I though we could go for a swim at the beach. Just for a bit, we’ll be back before Emma and Elizabeth.”

He hesitated again, a strange look on his face. You mistook it for doubt, and tried to convince him: “It’ll be good! We can get them some clams, I can make them clam chowder for tonight, Elizabeth loves that dish. I know you’re hot, too.”

You blushed, realizing how the last sentence sounded, but you didn’t want to take it back. “Uhm, okay,” he said. “Just for a bit.”

--

Liam was quiet that day. It might be the heat, but even after playfully pushing him in the sea, his sullen mood stayed. You worried about him. You sat down on the beach, close enough to the water that the waves still washed over your legs. You patted the spot beside you, where he sat down.

“Here,” you handed him a light blue shell, different from the pink ones you’d gathered for the girls. He looked as if it was something strange. “For you.”

“Thank you,” he said, and you smiled at him before looking over the sea again. You’d come there a lot to fish, but the water was night, too. It was relaxing, and you weren’t as hot anymore.

“What’s bothering you?” You asked without looking at him. “Come on, I know you well enough to notice. You don’t have to talk about it, but you can.”

He sighed softly, and from the corner of your eye you saw him toying with the shell. “I know. It’s just... hard to talk about. I don’t even know if it makes sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” you let your legs fall, so they were touching his. despite the water occasionally crashing over you, his skin was warm. “I don’t have to understand, but maybe it will help you understand better.”

“Okay,” he said softly, fingers sinking in the wet sand. After a pause he began to ramble. You had trouble keeping up with what he was saying. He’d never talked as fast. It had something to do with Emma, who had more trouble than normal with reading, no matter how much he practiced with her. He felt like it was his fault, because he couldn’t make more time to practice.

You noticed he was getting out of breath, but he didn’t seem able to slow down. His fingers, still in the sand, were white from pressure. He was panicking. You frowned, placing a hand on his, trying to interrupt him and getting him to breathe. He didn’t seem to notice you, too wrapped up in trying to breathe and talk.

You didn’t know what to do, you were no Jun. Without thinking, you moved to your knees, pulling Liam’s face close to your own and interrupting him by placing your lips on his.

It was the first time you’d kissed him. Admittedly, you’d wanted to for awhile. It was a short kiss, one you broke off when his shoulders relaxed under your fingers.

He looked shocked, but he was breathing normally. You leaned back more. “Sorry,” you said, smiling at the sand. “I read once that holding your breath can stop a panic attack... so when I kissed you... you held your breath.”

“Yeah, I did,” he said. “Thank you, I think.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself in the shifting and and lapping water. “I didn’t want our first kiss to be like this, but... I didn’t know how else to help.”

For a moment he didn’t speak, relaxing a little more. “First kiss?” He asked.

He didn’t sound opposed to anything. It made you braver. “I’d like for there to be a second. A better one, if that’s okay with you.” 

“I’d like that,” he smiled more genuinely than he had since you startled him in the bakery. “I didn’t know if you would, after... well, our first date.” He didn’t need to say ‘and lack of a second one’.

“Actually, I’d like to take you on a second date, if you’d be okay with that.” Now that there was less chance of rejection, you realized how badly you wanted the certainty that he liked you, too. That he wanted more than what you were now. That he wanted what you did.

That seemed to surprise him. “Really?”

You felt guilty, because had he actually believed you wouldn’t want that? “Of course! I love spending time with you, you’re an amazing person.”

He looked shy in a way he hadn’t for awhile. Since the first time he’d rambled to you, before you got closer. “I think you’re really great, too.”

“So is that a yes?” You assumed so, and were correct to do so when he nodded with an almost tentative smile. “Great! How about we dry up for now and you can tell me again what’s been bothering you while we pick up your sisters?”

“I’m a lot less bothered now,” he admitted, standing up anyway. He extended his hand for you to take, helping you up. You were sticky with sea water and not yet dry enough to easily wipe the sand away. “But if you still want to hear about it...”

You were putting your shirt back on, but stopped to say: “Obviously! I want to hear everything you have to say, the good and the bad.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, a little nervous. “I didn’t realize so much flattery came with a second date.”

“Yeah,” you put your shoes back on, sure to find sand in them for the days to come. For once, it didn’t bother you. “There’s much more to come.”

You grinned at Liam, who smiled back as he tried to get most of the sand out of his hair. You made your way off the beach together, and once the sand transformed into grass, he started talking again, much calmer.

[countlessrealities]

𝐎𝐋𝐘𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒

bold what applies. repost, don’t reblog!

APHRODITE.     laughter-loving,   sweet smiles,    dressed in silk and satin,    flower in their hair,    sees the world as a runway,   unapologetically sexual,    the sea washing their ankles,    in love with love,    stirrer of passion,   cunning concealed by painted lips,    secret daggers,    doves,    revolution in their kiss,    delighting in the waves,  flirtatious winks,    strolling along the beach,    staring wistfully from a balcony,    this is how to be a heartbreaker,    wants to be adored,   gets turned on by danger.

APOLLO.     glitz and glamour,    art galleries,   turning the volume up,    being made of gold,    neatly-organized music sheets,    notebooks filled with poetry,   bathing in the sunlight,   the powerful urge to create,    collecting vinyl records,   beautiful cover of wonderwall,    playing multiple instruments,    tasting like sunshine,   healing touch,    speaking in prophecies,   smile mingled with wrath,   shunning lies,   sporting shades,    hanging out at music festivals with their friends,    sleeps naked,    arrow to the heart,    paint brushes,    probably has a tinder account.

ARES.      armed for battle,    wants to raise a dog with their significant other,   soft spot for children,    gives piggyback rides,  scarred body,   blood on their hands and face,    willing to fight the world for the ones they love,    fights against injustice,   warm hugs,   well-worn combat boots,    boxing gloves,    bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles,    fist raised in protest,    ignites revolutions,    fear is a prison,   more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think,    exhausted,    damaged goods,    force to be reckoned with,    red roses,   curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS.     keen sense of a hunter,    freckles like constellations on their skin,   piercing eyes,    dishevelled braid,    moonlight peeking through the shadows,    the calm of the forest at night,   lying on the grass and staring at the stars,    mother doe and her fawn,   protecting their kin,   the moon shimmering on a still lake,    quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree,    running with wolves,   bonding while circled around a campfire,   not being much of a people person,    arrow hitting a target,    popping egos,   patience on 3%,    touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA.     discerning gaze,   unreadable face,    quiet museums,    owl perched on their finger,    armor that intimidates,    eye for architecture,    plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses,    studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid,    big fan of logic,   loves brain teasers,    ancient buildings,    sweaters in neutrals and cool colors,    hair done up,    can kill you with their brain,    heads to the library often to research,    sharpened pencils,    abs that can cut steel,    stoic statues,    pottery classes.

DEMETER.    soil-covered hands,    smile that can bloom flowers,    skin loved by the sun,    being the mom-friend,   can lift you and your friends,    flowers kept in the pockets of overalls,    takes pride in their beautiful garden,    speaks to their plants,    leaves rustling in the wind,    stalks of wheat,    picking fruit,    greenhouses,    heart as strong as a mountain,    values simplicity,   daisies dotted across a collarbone,    curls crowned with flowers,    folded pile of sweaters in warm hues,   pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

DIONYSUS.     drunk shitposter,    on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second,    seductive smirks,  untamed curls,    rich fabrics on dark skin,    sleek-furred panthers,    theatre masks,    stage productions,   receiving a standing ovation,    rose caught between their teeth,    being the baby of the bunch,   wild parties that last from sundown to sunup,    creeping vines,   inspiring loyalty,    grand opera houses,    masquerade balls,    rolls of film,    shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor,   pouring champagne into flutes,   lives for the applause.

HEPHAESTUS.     the calloused hands of someone who knows labor,    sweaty brow,  flame burning in their eyes,   inventive mind,    broad shoulders,    steampunk goggles,    nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes,    ashes,    striking a match,   blueprints for future projects,    fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades,    wrestles with bitterness,    work boots have seen better years,    wrinkled plaid shirts,    iron melted in blazing fire,    huge jackets,    crafting masterpieces,    greased-stained overalls,    fascination with robotics,    pain is fuel,    stack of weaponry,    even their muscles have muscles.

HERA.       resting bitch face,    dressed to the nines,   cows grazing on a pasture,   cool rain,    loving and hating fiercely,   hand clutching a string of pearls,    large chandelier with glittering crystals,    plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims,    romance to realism,    pictures of the sky while flying on a plane,    files that under fuck it,    downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix,    like their selfie or you’re grounded,   knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man,   dark eyes that penetrate your soul,   marble and gold.

HERMES.       devil-may-care smile,    always up-to-date on the latest technology,   will steal your french fries,    does it for the vine,    shitposter,    puts googly eyes on everything,   meme hoarder,    long drives on the highway,    ma and pop diners,   spontaneous road space trips,    folded maps,   fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop,    shooting hoops on the basketball court,    chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations,    goes jogging in the morning,    mixes redbull with coffee,    menace on april fool’s,    hoodies and sneakers.

POSEIDON.    storm with skin,    colorful coral reefs,    waves crashing against the shore,    stroking the soft fur of a cat ,   their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop,    tousled locks,    clothes smeared with paint,    owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more,   leather jackets,    fondness for diy projects,   handwriting that flows across the page,    nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin,    velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams,   mood as ever-changing as the sea,  the roar of a motorcycle,    compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS.       thunder in their heart,   running on coffee,   flash of lightning,    natural charisma,    eloquence,    badass in a nice suit,    aficionado of history,   force of nature,   lenny face,  nightmare-filled nights,   proud arm around their lover’s waist,    high-rise buildings,    planes soaring through a cloudless sky,    technician on the piano,    maintains order,    strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease,    expensive watch.

tagged by @imprvdente tagging @omniishambles [Peter] @advnterccs @petalsxfallen @yournamedarling @dynamoprotocol @technodromes [Bishop!] @halfghcst & whoever wants to steal it !

[erosoftitan]

𝐎𝐋𝐘𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 :

𝑨𝑷𝑯𝑹𝑶𝑫𝑰𝑻𝑬. laughter-loving,   sweet smiles,    dressed in silk and satin,    flower in their hair,    sees the world as a runway,    unapologetically sexual,    the sea washing their ankles,    in love with love,    stirrer of passion,   cunning concealed by painted lips,    secret daggers,    doves,    revolution in their kiss,    delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks,   strolling along the beach,  staring wistfully from a balcony,  this is how to be a heartbreaker,   wants to be adored,    gets turned on by danger.

𝑨𝑷𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑶.      glitz and glamour,    art galleries, turning the volume up,    being made of gold,    neatly-organized music sheets,    notebooks filled with poetry,    bathing in the sunlight,    the powerful urge to create,    collecting vinyl records,   beautiful cover of wonderwall,    playing multiple instruments,    tasting like sunshine,   healing touch,   speaking in prophecies,    smile mingled with wrath,    shunning lies,    sporting shades,    hanging out at music festivals with their friends,    sleeps naked,    arrow to the heart,     paint brushes,     probably has a tinder account.

𝑨𝑹𝑬𝑺.      armed for battle,    wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body,    blood on their hands and face,     willing to fight the world for the ones they love,    fights against injustice,    warm hugs,    well-worn combat boots,    boxing gloves,    bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles,    fist raised in protest,    ignites revolutions,    fear is a prison,    more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think,    exhausted,   damaged goods,    force to be reckoned with,    red roses, curses under their breath.

𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑺.      keen sense of a hunter,     freckles like constellations on their skin,    piercing eyes,    disheveled braid,    moonlight peeking through the shadows,    the calm of the forest at night,    lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn,    protecting their kin,    the moon shimmering on a still lake,    quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree,    running with wolves,    bonding while circled around a campfire,     not being much of a people person,    arrow hitting a target,    popping egos,    patience on 3%,    touches heaven and returns howling.

𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑵𝑨. discerning gaze,     unreadable face,    quiet museums,    owl perched on their finger,    armor that intimidates,    eye for architecture,    plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses,     studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid,    big fan of logic,   loves brain teasers,    ancient buildings,    sweaters in neutrals and cool colors,    hair done up,    can kill you with their brain,    heads to the library often to research,    sharpened pencils,     abs that can cut steel,    stoic statues,    pottery classes.

𝑫𝑬𝑴𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹.      soil-covered hands,    smile that can bloom flowers,   skin loved by the sun,    being the mom-friend,    can lift you and your friends,    flowers kept in the pockets of overalls,    takes pride in their beautiful garden,    speaks to their plants,    leaves rustling in the wind,    stalks of wheat,    picking fruit,    greenhouses,    heart as strong as a mountain,    values simplicity,    daisies dotted across a collarbone,    curls crowned with flowers,    folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

𝑫𝑰𝑶𝑵𝒀𝑺𝑼𝑺.      drunk shitposter,    on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second,    seductive smirks, untamed curls,    rich fabrics on dark skin,   sleek-furred panthers,   theatre masks,   stage productions,    receiving a standing ovation,    rose caught between their teeth,    being the baby of the bunch,    wild parties that last from sundown to sunup,    creeping vines,    inspiring loyalty,    grand opera houses,    masquerade balls,    rolls of film,    shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor,    pouring champagne into flutes,    lives for the applause.

EXCUSE ME I THINK THERE’S A GOD MISSING HERE

𝑯𝑬𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑺.       the calloused hands of someone who knows labor,    sweaty brow,   flame burning in their eyes,   inventive mind,    broad shoulders,    steampunk goggles,    nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes,    ashes,    striking a match,    blueprints for future projects,    fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades,    wrestles with bitterness,    work boots have seen better years,    wrinkled plaid shirts,    iron melted in blazing fire,    huge jackets,    crafting masterpieces,    greased-stained overalls,    fascination with robotics,    pain is fuel,    stack of weaponry,     even their muscles have muscles.

𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑨.       resting bitch face,    dressed to the nines,    cows grazing on a pasture,     cool rain,    loving and hating fiercely,    hand clutching a string of pearls,    large chandelier with glittering crystals,    plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims,    romance to realism,     pictures of the sky while flying on a plane,    files that under fuck it,    downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix,    like their selfie or you’re grounded,    knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul,   marble and gold.

𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑴𝑬𝑺.      devil-may-care smile,    always up-to-date on the latest technology,    will steal your french fries,    does it for the vine,    shitposter,    puts googly eyes on everything,    meme hoarder,    long drives on the highway,    ma and pop diners,    spontaneous road trips,    folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop,    shooting hoops on the basketball court,    chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations,    goes jogging in the morning,    mixes redbull with coffee,     menace on april fool’s,    hoodies and sneakers.

𝑷𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑰𝑫𝑶𝑵.       storm with skin,    colorful coral reefs,     waves crashing against the shore,   stroking the soft fur of a cat,    their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop,    tousled locks,    clothes smeared with paint,    owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more,    leather jackets,    fondness for diy projects,    handwriting that flows across the page,    nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin,    velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams,   mood as ever-changing as the sea,    the roar of a motorcycle,    compass with a spinning arrow.

𝒁𝑬𝑼𝑺.       thunder in their heart,    running on coffee,    flash of lightning,    natural charisma,    eloquence,    badass in a nice suit,     aficionado of history,   force of nature,    lenny face,    nightmare-filled nights,   proud arm around their lover’s waist,  high-rise buildings,    planes soaring through a cloudless sky,    technician on the piano,    maintains order,    strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease,   expensive watch.

Tagged by: @hexsreality

Tagging: I would adore to see anybody’s answers. Let’s do @risingod @overclocks @atimebomb @withinycu @eternalzenith @tornsavior @torntruth @theoneandonlyhellboy @viopolis @themckaytriarchy @cosmicrayed don’t even know who’s active anymore and im trying to avoid who has been tagged before 

[kilannad]

Decay and Growth Chapter 4

Masterlist

This chapter:

Nesta struggles with mental illness.

Lucien visits Summer.

Tarquin makes some friends in Spring.

Nesta starts drowning.

TW: suicide.

In the beginning

and in the end;

there was Darkness

and nothing more.

o.0.o

Februarius 13th, Velaris.

She couldn't breathe. There was a weight on her chest, pushing down, down, down. She knew, distantly, she should move it. She should fight to get out, to let the scream cutting her throat raw calm or be heard or something. She did none of that. Couldn't bring herself to care enough.

Everyone deserves healing.

Absolutely wasted.

I've loved you since the first time I held you in my arms.

Around and around and around, words spun in her head, clamoring noise, echoing over the sounds of the upstairs apartment being cleared out in the wake of its occupant's death. She couldn't find the energy to shut it out. Couldn't find the energy to explain how wrong they all were.

She couldn't breathe. Worse; she dreamed.

Februarius 13th, Adriata.

Lucien appeared in Adriata just as a typhoon hit. He'd heard, of course, how Summer's storm season was unusually long this year, but his vague memories of Summer fall from his past visits couldn't even begin to compare to the massive cyclone off the Adriatan coast.

“Lord Lucien,” an attendant greeted as soon as he landed, clothing soaked immediately from the rain, hair pulled in every direction from the wind. He'd winnowed to a large balcony off the palace, the traditional greeting location for diplomats during this time of year. Water soaked the sandstone palace, making the tan bricks dark and foreboding in the swollen cloud cover. Despite being early evening, the whole sky was dark and heavy; Lucien's gold eye spun and clicked as it saw trails of turquoise and teal magic on the coastline, lighting up the otherwise invisible fae trying desperately to corral the storm away from flooding the streets. The rain was so thick that if it wasn't for his ability to see magic, Lucien would've been blind to anything beyond a foot away.

Shouting to be heard, the attendant said, “This way. The High Lord is indisposed but has ordered your comfort seen to.”

Lucien nodded in agreement rather than attempting to be understood in the howling wind. He was led inside the castle, through shell-encrusted archways and richly decorated halls to a seating room with tightly shut windows and plush seats decorated in blue and gold. The attendant bid him wait, drinks appearing from invisible servants. Through the windows, he could make out a flash of thick magic, his eye spinning in its socket at the sudden influx. Tarquin was busy trying to redirect water into the city drains and aqueducts no doubt. Lucien took the chance to use his magic to dry himself and retie his hair so he looked less of a mess.

Just in time, as the door opened and in strode a tall, willowy female with black skin, white hair in a long tangle of tiny braids, dripping in pearls and fine, imported silk. He did his best to hide his surprise.

“Triumvirate Lena,” Lucien greeted, bowing over an arm crossed against his stomach, her answering curtsy perfectly executed with smooth grace. “The seas bless me with your presence.” A small, pleased smile appeared on her lips at his perfect Summer greeting.

“The currents lead us where they will,” she responded simply. She waved her hand and on a table, a tray of bread and salt appeared. “On behalf of High Lord Tarquin, I welcome you to Summer, Lord Lucien of Night.”

He sprinkled salt on the bread and took a bite, the taste familiar after all the times he'd had guest right offered to him. He did not consider, as he had not considered for two-hundred-fifty-one years, how his title was that of a Lord Emissary and not a born Prince. After he swallowed, he said, “I thank the High Lord for his hospitality.”

Formalities observed, Lena handed him a glass of sparkling strawberry wine. “This is a poor time for a visit, I'm afraid. The High Lord extends his apologies for his absence, but I'm glad to speak with you in his place.”

Lucien had no doubt about Lena's willingness to take Tarquin's place. Summer, like Dawn and Day, allowed females to inherit equally to males. So long, of course, as they were purebred High Fae. The oldest of the Triumverate--the three families that ruled the three great cities of Summer besides Adriata and advisors of the High Lord--Lena had held her family's title since the Slave War. Rumor claimed she'd survived fourteen assassination attempts from various cousins that wanted her seat in the city Nario, the Southern Flower of Summer. Propaganda said she'd kept Nario protected and untouched through all forty-nine years of Amarantha's reign. The truth as Lucien knew it: she'd willingly handed over the lesser faerie citizens of Nario to Amarantha's underground prison camps in exchange for the right to remain out of the Mountain. She once hoped to marry Vivaldo, Nostus's Heir before the whole family had been killed. Lucien would bet she'd been trying to marry Tarquin since he got to power.

Since he couldn't say any of that, or tell one of the Triumverate to fuck off, Lucien offered a pleased smile and tipped his head towards the arrangement of plush couches and soft lounges. They both sat.

“I'm glad to know that High Lord Tarquin holds Night in high regard; it's a relief to speak with one as accomplished and acclaimed as yourself in these matters,” Lucien drawled, taking a long, slow sip of wine. Lena's eyes followed the bob of his throat, her eyes sharp and amused. No doubt she saw the praise for what it was--a pleasant opening to a long line of half-truths that would follow.

She smiled a little, tipping her head so the long column of her throat was exposed. Lucien doubted the position made her in any way vulnerable like it was no doubt intended to convey. “In the wake of the Hybern War, all Courts owe a debt to Night.” There was a lilt to how she said 'debt' that made him doubt it was a favorable position to be in. Summer, Lucien knew, had a reputation for paying back their debts. No one could forget their prized Blood Rubies.

“High Lord Rhysand calls for no debts,” Lucien smoothly replied. A technical truth, though it wouldn't hurt to remind everyone what Rhys and Feyre had sacrificed. “For the lives he and his mate gave, all they ask is that the Seven Courts come together in alliance and help them build a better world.”

“High Lord Tarquin has long held dreams of a better world,” Lena assured. Again though, Lucien caught an undercurrent of distaste. Lena was a High Fae supremacist, Lucien knew. She must absolutely hate Tarquin's equal faerie initiative.

“Don't we all?” Lucien smiled. “What is the purpose of these long lives of ours if we don't do something with them?” It was a pointed insult, considering Lena was over seven hundred and had done absolutely nothing worth mentioning besides swell her treasury and fail to marry a High Lord or his Heir. Her dark blue eyes swirled, shimmering in time with the pounding of the rain. Lucien, privately, admitted he could've been more subtle in his destain of her.

“I couldn't have said it better myself,” a new voice announced, and they both turned to find Tarquin himself standing at the door, wearing loose, flowing clothing of blue and gold cotton. Standing, Lucien bowed deeply over an arm crossed against his stomach.

“Swift tides and deep currents to High Lord Tarquin of Summer,” Lucien intoned. It was inappropriate for a High Lord to bow in any setting, even when normal court culture would call for it, so Tarquin settled on crossing an arm as Lucien had and tipping his head.

“Deepest dark and brightest stars to Lord Lucien of Night,” Tarquin responded. Lucien did his best to hide his wince.

It wasn't the first time a High Lord had greeted him traditionally since he'd started working for Rhys and Feyre, but it still startled him to hear Night's address applied to him. He'd gotten used to 'sharp thorns and colorful blossoms' when he'd been of Spring. And before that, long ago but never, ever forgotten, Lucien had been greeted with 'fierce inferno and crimson oaks to Prince Lucien of Autumn'.

Sometimes Lucien wondered if he'd live long enough to be called by each Court address. If any court would even take him after he'd sullied himself with Night. If, like Eris had promised months ago when they got drunk together, Lucien would return home and again be greeted as a son of fire and oaks.

“Thank you for keeping Lord Lucien company, Lady Lena,” Tarquin was saying. Lena smiled agreeably as she rose from her curtsey, dropping her crossed arm. The lines around her dark, swirling eyes had gone tight.

“An honor to be of service, High Lord. Lord Lucien is as fine company as I expected.” He smiled at the insult in her words, and she bared her teeth in response. Tarquin, young but by no means as idiotic as everyone assumed, raised a brow in poorly hidden amusement. With few words, Lena swept out of the room and Lucien was left alone with Tarquin.

“I hope no offense was taken at my delay,” Tarquin began once they were alone.

“None, High Lord. I hope the damages from the storm were few.”

“Nothing we aren't used to,” Tarquin assured. “Please, I've had dinner served in my private chambers if you'd care to join me.”

“I'd be glad to, High Lord.”

Lucien was led through the shell-encrusted palace halls; eventually, they arrived in a small sitting room, a table set for two near a wide wall of windows overlooking the bay. Rain and wind rattled the glass, and Lucien waited for Tarquin to indicate a seat for him. The room was lit by dim faelights, creating a soft, calming atmosphere. Lucien tried to figure out why Tarquin wanted their meeting in such an intimate setting--had this been Helion or even possibly Thesan, Lucien would've assumed seduction--but he couldn't even begin guessing at Tarquin's intent. His gold eye spun and spun, but Lucien could detect no traps, no magical poisons (which did not preclude herbal ones), not even the usual faerie servants that were enchanted to stay invisible at all times.

“Please,” Tarquin said with a smile, taking a seat. “Sit. I suppose Rhysand sent you to discuss the treaty?”

The fact that he used 'Rhysand' was not a good sign. Of course, perhaps it was simple formality.

“The treaty,” Lucien agreed smoothly, sitting and serving the wine since there were no servants. “As well as how Summer is faring in the wake of everything; we've heard about Winter's troubles and Rhys and Feyre hope that you'll ask for help if you need it.”

A muscle in Tarquin's face twitched, his smile becoming tight. Lucien had the feeling he'd said something rude, but wasn't sure what he'd mentioned that could give offense. “Help. Of course. That is what friends are for, after all.”

This, Lucien suspected, had something to do with whatever nonsense had led to the Blood Rubies being sent. Lucien had never heard the full story of what had happened, only that it had involved Feyre and Amren stealing Summer's half of the Book of Breathings and Tarquin sending them and Rhysand Blood Rubies for the offense.

Silently, he cursed Rhys's inability to share details. How was he meant to play courier and emissary if he didn't know what would give offense and what wouldn't?

“Summer is doing well, however,” Tarquin went on before Lucien could try to recover from his foe-pas. “And while I thank your High Lord and Lady, Summer's climate is not so extreme as that of Winter, and we are not in so much danger.” As if to counter his very statement, outside the storm gave an especially loud howl, rain slapping the side of the building. Lucien chose not to comment on the unseasonable weather.

“I'm glad to hear it,” he offered honestly. “There was growing concern among Night's Inner Circle for Winter and her people.”

“How surprising that the High Lord and Lady stayed out of it,” Tarquin noted and Lucien fought to keep his eye from clicking. Feyre had described Tarquin as a good male with a kind heart; she spoke of him fondly. Lucien would have to find a way to warn her that the fondness wasn't returned if Tarquin kept making snide comments like that.

Lucien had only the barest knowledge of Tarquin, but he didn't think snide was his normal tone of voice.

“It seems as if High Lord Kallias had it under control,” Lucien agreed blandly, biting into his fish. The spices burst across his tongue. “I admit some surprise about his announcement though.”

An honest smile pulled across Tarquin's face, his dark skin crinkling around his eyes. “Yes, but I am happy for him. Winter has long had some of the best freedoms for faeries and females alike; it deserves some recognition for it.”

“Agreed. Vivianne has always been a fierce female. I look forward to what she does with her title.” Lucien tried not to make the comparison to Feyre; she hadn't had enough time to figure out what it truly meant to rule and it wasn't fair to compare her to Vivianne when the latter had been alive for four hundred years.

“You know the new High Lady?” Tarquin asked.

“Yes; her and Kallias are only a few centuries older than I and we were often shoved together at parties. More so when I joined Spring and helped Tamlin renegotiate the trade deals.”

“I forget sometimes,” Tarquin said in a tone of voice that meant he had never forgotten at all, “That you served Spring. It was for, what? Two centuries?”

“Two and a half,” Lucien admitted, finishing his glass and pouring another. His jaw ached from the last time he'd seen Tamlin; the visit had ended with him getting a broken jaw. Considering Lucien had broken Tamlin's nose, he didn't hold a grudge. Much. “I joined him when I was fifty.”

“And what is your opinion on Spring's current state?”

Lucien buttered a warm roll, considering how to respond. This must have been why Cresseida finally agreed to Lucien visiting and yet hadn't made an appearance at all. Rhysand and Feyre, as far as Lucien knew, had no intentions of dealing with Spring any time soon. They were too worried about repairs to Velaris and the Illyrian discontent they didn't think Lucien knew about. Feyre was of the opinion that she could forget about Spring and move on from what had happened with Tamlin; Lucien knew nothing was ever that simple.

“It breaks my heart,” he said honestly. From what he could tell, Tarquin had little love left for Rhys and Feyre; Lucien didn't blame him. That didn't mean that he had any intentions of leaving. He'd make whatever excuses he had to for Rhys, but Lucien had come to reinforce his connections to Summer and he'd be damned if he failed at the one thing he was good at. If he could get someone to help Spring, then he'd consider it a bonus. “With General Madog and General Niclas dead, the south and west have turned into mad houses. They were hit hardest by Hybern's invasion after Feyre killed the Prince and Princess; barely anyone managed to evacuate and those that are still there are turning into a militia under one of the surviving lieutenants in the hopes of getting food.”

“Hybern raized the farmlands?” Tarquin asked, but by the darkening of his eyes, he knew the answer.

“Hybern raized everything,” Lucien said. “The north and east territories still have some good soil, but it's mostly hunting woods and fishing areas. What food they have is being dried and hoarded by General Giralt and General Gwent would rather burn himself alive than make a deal with Giralt--as the magic leaves the land more and famine becomes a bigger problem, north and east will have no choice but to fight over the remaining supplies to feed what settlements they've managed to protect.”

Tarquin pushed around the spiced fish on his plate, contemplating. “For someone who knows them all so well, you seem ill-inclined to step in.”

Lucien swallowed his initial response--which involved a few choice curse words--and offered more diplomatically, “I openly work for the female they all see as the center of the destruction of their homes; whatever friendships I once had are dead and gone.”

“I was under the impression they sided with Feyre,” Tarquin offered with some surprise. “Isn't that why they abandoned Tamlin?”

“Initially,” Lucien conceded. He had to be careful how he phrased things. He was meant to be here on behalf of Night, not Spring. “Feyre's attempts to cripple Hybern's movements in Spring did center around getting the people to trust her, and it worked. But then, after Tamlin saved her life--”

“Wait, what?” They blinked at each other, Tarquin surprised and abruptly focused, Lucien silently cursing himself. He had forgotten that Elain's capture and subsequent rescue weren't common knowledge. With no good way of avoiding the story--and figuring this might be a good way to earn some trust--Lucien explained;

“Lady Elain was captured by Hybern for a brief time; Azriel and Feyre went to rescue her from Hybern's war camp where Tamlin exposed himself as a traitor in order to get them time to escape. After that, Tamlin managed to unite most of his armies--Madog had been one of his best friends and had held faith; his word was enough for the other three generals to fall back in line. Somehow, word spread about Feyre's deceptions and it caused enough cracks that, when the war was over and two generals were dead, people started fighting over whether it was her fault or Tamlin's that Spring faced so much destruction.”

“And then Tamlin fell into his current depressive state and hasn't come out of it since, so the whole court is falling apart,” Tarquin summarized. Lucien couldn't deny that he had a point, though it hurt to hear it put like that. Tamlin, Lucien believed even now, was a good male. Maybe with his rough points and problems, but they all had those.

“Spring has always respected strong roots,” Lucien pointed out, staring into the rain-lashed windows. “They respected Tamlin because he loved them and worked hard for them--even changed the government to assure that general and lieutenant are titles given based on ability instead of noble bloodlines--but now...” Lucien trailed off, leaving the room quiet. So much had changed over the centuries but this year everything seemed especially unstable. Especially since so few people seemed to remember that Lucien was their friend.

Tarquin let the silence linger for a few minutes; then he ordered gently, “Tell me of Rhysand's plans for the treaty.”

And, as the emissary of Night, Lucien did.

Februarius 14th, Velaris.

The bottle clattered onto the ground, empty glass clinking against its brethren. She'd bought over a dozen before barricading herself inside her dismal, crumbling apartment. The only place she'd ever chosen for herself. The place she deserved to be.

Feyre, standing abruptly at fourteen and announcing she was going hunting. Nesta didn't stop her; had no idea how to stop her or how to hunt or how to fix this mess when she was only seventeen. She stared at her father but he did nothing.

She didn't deserve help.

Cassian, pulling away from her as Mor swept in.

Didn't deserve friendship.

“Stay away from Cassian. He deserves better than you.”

She felt nothing but a vast, swallowing emptiness.

Once, when she'd been human and poor and felt, a village girl had fallen through the ice of the lake and drowned. A sad accident, but a lucky way to go, the village women tittered. Drowning was peaceful, the elders said in comfort. Once you let go and stopped fighting, the water claimed you and you felt only peace.

She longed for that peace.

Februarius 15th, Spring and Summer Border.

Once again at the border of Spring and Summer, Tarquin looked out at the dying land before him. Calanmai was still two and a half months away, but it didn't seem nearly long enough. Even then, would the ritual renew anything more than the magic? Tarquin feared they were all expecting some magic fix that was never coming. Worse still, if Spring's High Lord didn't bother with the rituals at all-

Well. Tarquin didn't want to know what would become of the land. Not after all the consequences the rest of the courts were facing. Especially with the Spring Equinox only a month away.

Taking a final deep breath of Summer air, Tarquin stepped past the border and walked the short distance into Spring territory. Like last time, there was no snap of magic, no alarm raised, no winnowing guard force. Absolutely no indication that anyone was paying attention.

Despite the way it made his skin crawl, Tarquin forewent a glamor. He was, after all, trying to be found. The Oak Woods had once been a vivid maze of twisting deer paths and blossoming flora; now, all around Tarquin saw brittle branches and brown leaves. Flower petals lay dead and scattered beneath bent trees. Reaching out with his powers, Tarquin could detect no river or brook, despite recalling that the Wooddurn Tributary flowed through the area.

Cringing at each cracking branch underfoot, Tarquin wove his way through the trees, heading towards Rosedew Manor. He hoped Tamlin still had enough sense to keep a roof over his head, if nothing else.

With every minute that passed, Tarquin became more discomfited. No deers or elk crossed his path, no songbirds sang in the trees. The air hung stale and thick with decay. By the time half an hour had come and gone, he'd seen not a single sign of life. Worry beginning to grow, he twisted his way more westward, towards the Wooddurn. In time, the cursed silence broke with the quiet beat of gentle sobbing. Following the sound, he quieted his steps until he found the source.

On the banks of the Wooddurn--what had once been a massive, cutting river but was now no more than a trickling stream with a dry bed--Tarquin stumbled onto a funeral.

A naiad lay prone in the middle of the ditch, the barely remaining Wooddurn flowing around and under not even an inch of his flesh. Around him, several other forms, dryads of the surrounding trees he suspected, held each other and wept at the sight while one sobbed over the dying naiad.

Tarquin approached slowly, the dry dirt crumbling under his steps. The weeping female snapped her head up, revealing the dark bark skin of an Urisk. Her bark was peeling though, the long sweep of branchlet hair gone brown and gray. Deep whirls and lines cut across her round and sagging face. The Urisk faeries--the hearts of the Great Trees of Prythian--had some of the longest lives of any fae and were respected as wise elders, their lives tied directly to the tree whose heart they held. Unlike normal dryads, who were souls of trees and couldn't go far from their roots, Urisk were free to travel so long as the tree that gave them their heart stayed healthy.

In all his years, Tarquin had never heard of one that looked so sickly and ancient as this one.

“Why does the Summer Lord step on these lands?” the Urisk demanded, voice cracking and ancient. “By what right does the Son of Waters intrude on our grief?”

“I mean no harm,” Tarquin assured, unsurprised that he was identified. Even in Summer, where forests were few and the vast savannahs ruled, the trees talked. If this Urisk had lived even half the age she looked, she likely knew more of history than he did. “I came seeking High Lord Tamlin and heard your grief through the woods.”

“He is no High Lord,” one of the watching dryads hissed.

“Traitor,” another condemned. “He leaves the roots to wither, the rivers to dry, the people to starve.”

Tarquin didn't look away from the Urisk, surprised to see not anger and condemnation on her withered face, but grief.

“I hope to help him regain control of Spring's magic,” Tarquin offered. “To ally our courts and bring peace again.”

“What good is peace?” the Urisk asked. “There can be none while he is ruled by torment. What good is magic? The water ceases to flow, and the Great Wooddurn dries.” Her voice broke, all-encompassing grief consuming the dark depths of her eyes, her limbs creaking as she gestured around them. “Did I not sing to him as a youngling? Did I not give shade to his father, and father's father, going back millennia? Have Wooddurn and I not spoken to Wind and Sky and Earth and Flame and given and given and given, all for the High Lords that forget us when war comes? Am I to bend the knee to a male who wallows as my sisters and brothers die?” She got louder and louder, until she was roaring, the surrounding woods creaking and shaking alongside her fury. Tarquin stayed quiet, shaken by the green sap tears that fell in waves, cutting a twisting path down weathered cheeks. It was the first time in his life that he had been faced with unabashed, unhidden grief and rage. Even before he'd been High Lord, he'd enjoyed the privileges of princedom, and that included the constant political and social constraints when people spoke to him.

He wondered, in the wake of the rage when only sorrow bowed the shoulders of a fae older than his ancestors, if he had ever before known anyone's true emotions.

Around him, the other dryads wept in silent agreement. In each, he saw creaking limbs, dried leaves and dead bark. Most were too young for the number of wrinkles and lines on their faces. They were dying alongside the Oak Woods they called their home.

Slowly, keeping his hands visible and hiding nothing of the raging emotions on his face, he approached and knelt at the side of the Urisk.

“What are you called, Elder?”

The Urisk stared at him, dark orbs unending. “I am the heart of the Mother Willow, Son of Summer. I am First among the Hearts of Spring, a daughter of Magic and High Lord Oberon, First of Spring. And my tree weeps.”

Tarquin swallowed his surprise. He knew the legends of the Hearts; the fae creatures that were directly connected to the magic of the land that they lived in; the living, breathing conduits of magic. They hadn't been heard from for centuries, not since before the Slave War. And the Seven First Hearts, those born right after Prythian divided into courts, had gone into hibernation millennia ago. They were barely believed to have existed.

Yet here one sat before Tarquin, weeping over her dying brother.

Looking down, Tarquin saw that the naiad heart of Wooddurn was a too-thin male, blue skin pale and dried, face sharp in its starvation. His chest rose in shallow, delayed breaths and when Tarquin reached out a hand, he felt only a drop of magic and life; none of the raging intensity a great Tributary naiad should represent.

This wasn't Tarquin's court. These weren't his people or his responsibilities. By all rights, he should have given his condolences and moved on to hunting Tamlin, in the hopes that he, as Lord of Spring, could help. When he looked to Mother Willow and all the other dryads, seeing nothing but despair and resignation, he knew that they expected him to leave them to their grief. To abandon them to their dying land.

What a pity that Tarquin had never been able to turn away the needy.

“Where are his headwaters?”

Mother Willow stared, mouth opening in surprise.

Patient and coaxing, Tarquin asked again, “Where are his headwaters?”

Her tears renewed, and with palpable disbelief and doubt, she lifted her arm and pointed southwest.

As gently as he could, he scooped up Wooddurn, coaxing the little water in the air to expand into a small localized raincloud. Wooddurn stirred, but did not wake. A hand touched his arm, and he looked up to meet Willow's eyes. “What are you planning, Lord of Tides?”

“I plan to save him.” Without hesitation, Tarquin set out in the direction indicated.

Mother Willow followed, the dryads forming a procession until they could go no further. Others replaced them, again and again, going so far as their roots would allow before falling back and letting a new soul take their place.

And then Mother Willow began singing.

Tarquin did not know the words, nor did he recognize the language, but in the depths of his soul he could feel the song. A song of sweeping, withering decay and the heart-wrenching grief that followed. Of saying hello only to wave loved ones goodbye. Of fighting and fighting and never knowing if it would be enough. Mother Willow sang a dirge in the Old Tongue; for Wooddurn, for the magic of the land, for the fae of Spring who'd been abandoned.

The forest answered her call. Brownies and sprites and pixies; trolls and gnomes and leprechauns. All around them, the people of Spring came to bear witness, lining the path to guide Tarquin and then joining the growing train.

Finally, the trees opened up to a large spring. Like the banks of the tributary, it was dried to the point of cracking, the water little more than a puddle in the center. Around the embankment, the fae spread out, each looking more starved and weak than the last. Mother Willow's song rose into a crescendo as Tarquin carried Wooddurn into the center of the spring, the water barely coming to his knees. As the final, high note echoed in the air, he knelt down with a splash.

The long, algae hair of Wooddurn spread in the water and Tarquin dismissed the little raincloud he'd maintained. All around him, the forest and fae went dead silent, not even a breeze crumbling the leaves in the wake of Mother Willow's enchanting voice. With a low groan, the naiad blinked their stone gray eyes open and turned towards Tarquin.

“Thank you, Lord of Tides, for bringing me home one last time.”

“You're welcome, Great Wooddurn. But this will not be the last.”

He blinked slowly, movement clearly painful even in his own headwaters. “What can a Son of Summer do for a Heart of Spring?”

“Maybe nothing; maybe everything.” Tarquin smiled, grasping Wooddurn's webbed hand and placing it over his heart. “After all, are we not both children of the Mother?” Wooddurn's eyes widened, the tired glaze clearing for a brief moment. “Now tell me, brother; may I have your name?”

It was a dangerous, sacred thing, to ask to have a fae's name. Not to know it, not to speak it, but to have it, and all it meant.

For the longest heartbeat of Tarquin's life, Wooddurn only stared. He didn't know what he was looking for, what he could be thinking in possibly his last moments, but he only watched silently. Then, with a shaking smile and small sigh, he relaxed his body in Tarquin's arms. “It is yours, High Lord Tarquin of Summer.”

It was the first time Tarquin had claimed a name. The feeling was indescribable, and he suddenly understood why not even Amarantha had tried claiming the High Lords' names. It was like a hole in his own soul had opened up to make room for someone else. Like holding a child in his arms and knowing he could crush it with a single fist. Like having an ancient, unknowable thing crouching in his mind, there and not, one and separate. He hated it; he loved it.

He could destroy Wooddurn; he could save him.

All around him, Tarquin stretched his senses. The small rivulets that fed the spring from the underwater aquifer were dry and empty; he reached further down. The magic of the land, the connection between water and naiad was a distant, loose ribbon, frayed along the edges; he wrapped his magic around it. Deeper and deeper, until he could taste the earth and tang of the water deposit on the back of his tongue; out and out alongside the unspeakable thing that lived inside him now, until he could bolster the connection between Wooddurn and the dying magic of the land.

If Cresseida found out he was trying this, she'd kill him.

“Naiad of the Great Wooddurn Tributary, Heart of Spring, Son of Land and Sky, Brother of Mother Willow, Father of Rivers and Roots; you have given me your name, your soul, your life. And I order you to live.” And then he pulled. On his magic; on the water; on the name that was now by rights his.

The ground shook as every rivulet filled with water, cascading into the sky and flooding the basin; above, clouds swirled and burst with rainfall above the spring; in Tarquin's arms, Wooddurn's skin glowed with magic, body filling out as he took great heaving breaths. Tarquin couldn't stop a gasp as his own magic lurched at the sudden strain, but he kept pulling until he was sure the magic of the land, depleted and little as it was, had been bolstered enough to keep Wooddurn alive. It didn't like him, he could tell. He wasn't of Spring, and the land knew it. But in the end it obeyed him, and with a great roar and swell of magic, the naiad left Tarquin's grasp to go sweeping away, down the river, water rushing after him.

Tired and soaking and nearly all of his magic given to the land, Tarquin stumbled his way out of the spring and onto dry land.

He looked up at a touch to his face and into the smiling, cracked wood visage of Mother Willow. “Not since the First High Rulers of Prythian have I seen a High Fae give their magic for a Heart.”

“I didn't know if it would work,” he admitted, his voice rasping as if he'd been screaming.

“Yet it did.” She cupped his cheeks in her rough palms. “High Lady Titania would be proud to call you her descendent.”

“I--I don't know who that is.”

She reached one hand down over his heart, and from her palm a new, fresh branch grew and twisted, weeping willow blooms budding along it to form a hand-sized, circular token; the cresting wave of Summer. “She was First Lady of Summer, and a lover and dear friend to First Lord of Spring.”

Tarquin didn't know what to say. He had never heard of a High Lady before Feyre and Vivianne; he certainly hadn't known Summer's own founder was one. The names of the First Seven had been lost to even the most ancient scholars. But not here; not to the First Heart of Spring.

A loop of vine grew from the crest of Summer, and Tarquin silently bent his neck when Mother Willow offered it. “I, Mother Willow, First Heart of Spring, name you Torrent Bringer, as your ancestor once was.” Tarquin's heart skipped a beat, shocked at the kind gesture, at this piece of history he'd never known. The back of his throat burned, and he couldn't find the words. Gently, Mother Willow wiped his tears away. “Come what may, I will never forget this.”

“He didn't deserve to die,” he managed to croak out. He cleared his throat.

“No,” Mother Willow conceded. “He did not. But now that you have saved his life, and brought water and magic back to these woods, what will you do?”

“Go home and take a nap,” he offered with a laugh before sobering. “And then, I'd like to find Tamlin.”

She smiled, sad and a little hopeful. “When you come back to Spring, I will lead you to Tamlin. You have my word.”

“Thank you, First Heart. But--why now? I thought all the Hearts had gone to sleep.”

“We did. But magic is changing; I think it might be time to wake up.”

Februarius 16th, Velaris.

Molten ore poured into her veins, boiling her from the inside out and she screamed. A sea that had no bottom, no surface. There was no end or beginning merely dark and life and death and light. No shape or people or language. Moutains reached their clawed fingers into the sky and rivers' depths swept their currents into the echoing reaching black of eternity. All of it burned and burned, so hot it turned cold, so cold it knew no end, had no feeling in the blood and bones and flesh of the body that was hers no longer.

Something was holding her down, reaching inside of her and reshaping, claiming. As if she belonged to it.

She fought, as she'd fought when her mother had reached to hit a two year old Elain. As she'd fought when a simple village boy had not accepted her 'no'. As she had fought when they'd pulled her from her bed, leering and touching. She ripped and clawed and swallowed mountains and rivers and stars whole, drank eternity like a fine wine and pulled power into the cells of her Made blood; packed energy into the dust of her Made bones; crafted magic into the veins of her Made flesh.

She fought and screamed and drowned--

Nesta woke screaming.

It wasn't new. It'd been happening for days, weeks, months. Usually, the alcohol and sex dulled her mind enough to drag it straight into oblivion. Lately, it hadn't been enough. The bottles and bottles she'd kept in her apartment, hoarded like a squirrel in winter, had all been emptied. It hadn't stopped the dreams. The constant, horrible sense of drowning.

She wanted it to stop.

Lucien hadn't come in days. He'd said something, she knew, when he'd brought her home from the visit to the Library. She didn't remember what it was. She didn't know the date. Only that she was alone and deserved to be. Only that her body ached and her head spun and in her blood and bones and flesh something horrible lived. Something that had not meant to be.

She smelled of sweat and fear and misery. She felt none of it. Felt only empty and a vague desire for it all to stop. The creature of her flesh shifted, the magic in her blood howled, the bones in her body quaked. She wanted none of it.

She wanted peace.

She was so tired.

With startling, crystal-clear clarity, Nesta remembered what those old ladies had once said about drowning. How peaceful it was. If only you would let go.

She wondered if that was what the Cauldron had intended. For it to be peaceful if she'd only let go. If she hadn't fought and stolen from it.

The pipes creaked and rattled, the hot water coming in starts and stops. Her tub was yellow and stained, porcelain cracked, but it was deep since fae had larger base standards than humans. She counted the minutes it took to fill, trying, desperately, to feel something.

This wasn't an answer. It wasn't a solution. She'd probably take one step in and have a panic attack, just as she'd had the first time she tried to bathe after being Made. She would fail at this as she failed at everything.

Five minutes...

Who knew if drowning was actually peaceful? Nesta had been drowning all her life and never felt a moment's peace. She didn't even know the meaning of the word, not truly. Then again, she'd never stopped fighting, either.

Ten minutes...

Cassian would get over it, at least. He had Mor and Feyre and all the rest of his family to support him in the aftermath. He hadn't even come by to stalk her from afar in months; before that, he'd given up on her. Given up on them.

Fifteen minutes...

Feyre had already proven she cared more for her new family and her place as High Lady than whatever distant, loose connection their blood gave them. Nesta was only an embarrassment now. If anything, Feyre would be grateful in the long term, for Nesta making this all nice and easy. A belated mating gift. Rhysand certainly wouldn't shed any tears. Lucien (and Eris) would be sad for a little while, but they had more important people to grieve than her.

Twenty minutes...

Water lapped at her toes and she realized the tub was overflowing. She turned the water off, steam rising in a thick wave through the bathroom.

The front door was locked. No one was around. No one would miss her.

Her power grumbled in her veins and she shoved it down and down and down. She just wanted it all to stop. Wanted relief, and peace. Anything but this. Anything but the vast emptiness in her head and heart that echoed around her for eternity.

She stepped into the tub.

The water was blistering hot. She hadn't bothered to take off her thin cotton nightgown and it pooled in the water, her skin going red. Water spilled onto the floor, hands shoving her down she didn't fight the fear, welcomed a feeling. She fell in was swallowed whole by icy water, the water burning her skin, leaving her muscles tensed relaxed as she slid deeper and deeper. She fought and kicked and screamed She let herself go, reveled in the peace as her head was swallowed and sound became indistinct. She opened her mouth to scream and rend held her breath on instinct and then, with great will and an unfamiliar feeling of having a choice, released it. Bubbles floated out of her mouth; her chest burned.

Nesta Archeron closed her eyes.

o.0.o

In the beginning

and in the end;

there was Darkness

and nothing more.

[caffernnn]

hope it's not too late for the ask game! 3 and 9 for haru :)

It’s never too late!! 💙

3) My thoughts on their design/aesthetic alone

Haru is a classic (insert the blue-eyed black-haired moody but passionate protagonist multiverse here) and I eat it up every time. It’s hard to judge his look/aesthetic without the years of fixating on his personality starting to leak into the observations, but I adore how his type of blue is dark and deep, similar to a royal blue yet more like a deep denim: It’s rich and full still, but there’s a well-loved muted element to it. It’s the essence of water, (without getting too cheesy with the comparison) fluid and unobtrusive, reliable in its consistency, something you could consider akin to mundanity but still has moments that draw your eyes right in. It’s growing up next to a body of water and still stopping in awe at how afternoon light turns the surface glassy and glittering. There’s so much of him that’s considerably normal, not meant to stand out, and yet. AND YET. A special and very pretty little guy. Reminds me of some people I care about very much. Ten outta ten.

9) Headcanons about their past

We’re so lucky to have access to so many little tidbits about Haru’s life growing up, but it’s still great to think about some of the in-betweens we just haven’t had a chance to see! For instance, I love the idea of Haru being so intrinsically drawn to the water, but there were a few things he learned to appreciate right on-shore as well. I can imagine him combing the beach for little bits of sea glass or shells, noting the different textures of sand, appreciating how fluidly some of the finer drier areas flow out through his fingers. He dabbles in creating small sculptures and structures out of sand, making replicas of different houses and businesses nearby, finding something oddly enjoyable about making something creative out of the earth that’s not made to last (will be washed away by waves, swept away by wind, trampled and settled back down into a blank canvas within days). The water is his number one, we all know that, but time spent right alongside the water is something I like to think Haru would still have some mindless fun with 🥲

Send me a character + numbers, and I will tell you about…

[flosalatus]

Disclaimer ! I'm not the original creator of these fill-up memes. I simply collected them from the search section / dash. The credit goes to the original source (which unfortunately I haven't been able to track down.

𝐎𝐋𝐘𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒

bold what applies. repost, don’t reblog!

APHRODITE. laughter-loving, sweet smiles, dressed in silk and satin, flower in their hair, sees the world as a runway, unapologetically sexual, the sea washing their ankles, in love with love, stirrer of passion, cunning concealed by painted lips, secret daggers, doves, revolution in their kiss, delighting in the waves, flirtatious winks, strolling along the beach, staring wistfully from a balcony, this is how to be a heartbreaker, wants to be adored, gets turned on by danger.

APOLLO. glitz and glamour, art galleries, turning the volume up, being made of gold, neatly-organized music sheets, notebooks filled with poetry, bathing in the sunlight, the powerful urge to create, collecting vinyl records, beautiful cover of wonderwall, playing multiple instruments, tasting like sunshine, healing touch, speaking in prophecies, smile mingled with wrath, shunning lies, sporting shades, hanging out at music festivals with their friends, sleeps naked, arrow to the heart, paint brushes, probably has a tinder account.

ARES. armed for battle, wants to raise a dog with their significant other, soft spot for children, gives piggyback rides, scarred body, blood on their hands and face, willing to fight the world for the ones they love, fights against injustice, warm hugs, well-worn combat boots, boxing gloves, bandages wrapped around bruised knuckles, fist raised in protest, ignites revolutions, fear is a prison, more sensitive than what their tough shell would have you think, exhausted, damaged goods, force to be reckoned with, red roses, curses under their breath.

ARTEMIS. keen sense of a hunter, freckles like constellations on their skin, piercing eyes, dishevelled braid, moonlight peeking through the shadows, the calm of the forest at night, lying on the grass and staring at the stars, mother doe and her fawn, protecting their kin, the moon shimmering on a still lake, quiver full of arrows resting against the bark of a tree, running with wolves, bonding while circled around a campfire, not being much of a people person, arrow hitting a target, popping egos, patience on 3%, touches heaven and returns howling.

ATHENA. discerning gaze, unreadable face, quiet museums, owl perched on their finger, armor that intimidates, eye for architecture, plays the sims for the sole purpose of building houses, studied the blade while everyone else was busy getting laid, big fan of logic, loves brain teasers, ancient buildings, sweaters in neutrals and cool colors, hair done up, can kill you with their brain, heads to the library often to research, sharpened pencils, abs that can cut steel, stoic statues, pottery classes.

DEMETER. soil-covered hands, smile that can bloom flowers, skin loved by the sun, being the mom-friend, can lift you and your friends, flowers kept in the pockets of overalls, takes pride in their beautiful garden, speaks to their plants, leaves rustling in the wind, stalks of wheat, picking fruit, greenhouses, heart as strong as a mountain, values simplicity, daisies dotted across a collarbone, curls crowned with flowers, folded pile of sweaters in warm hues, pulling out fresh-baked bread out of the oven and the smell wafting through the air.

DIONYSUS. drunk shitposter, on their sixth glass of wine before you’ve even finished your second, seductive smirks, untamed curls, rich fabrics on dark skin, sleek-furred panthers, theatre masks, stage productions, receiving a standing ovation, rose caught between their teeth, being the baby of the bunch, wild parties that last from sundown to sunup, creeping vines, inspiring loyalty, grand opera houses, masquerade balls, rolls of film, shattered chandeliers with broken glass scattered across the wine-spilled floor, pouring champagne into flutes, lives for the applause.

HEPHAESTUS. the calloused hands of someone who knows labor, sweaty brow, flame burning in their eyes, inventive mind, broad shoulders, steampunk goggles, nuts and bolts stored away in little boxes, ashes, striking a match, blueprints for future projects, fixing up a busted up car and giving it cool upgrades, wrestles with bitterness, work boots have seen better years, wrinkled plaid shirts, iron melted in blazing fire, huge jackets, crafting masterpieces, greased-stained overalls, fascination with robotics, pain is fuel, stack of weaponry, even their muscles have muscles.

HERA. resting bitch face, dressed to the nines, cows grazing on a pasture, cool rain, loving and hating fiercely, hand clutching a string of pearls, large chandelier with glittering crystals, plays the sims for the sole purpose of killing off their sims, romance to realism, pictures of the sky while flying on a plane, files that under fuck it, downs glasses of wine as they relax with a scented bubble bath and netflix, like their selfie or you’re grounded, knows 57 convenient ways to murder a man, dark eyes that penetrate your soul, marble and gold.

HERMES. devil-may-care smile, always up-to-date on the latest technology, will steal your french fries, does it for the vine, shitposter, puts googly eyes on everything, meme hoarder, long drives on the highway, ma and pop diners, spontaneous road space trips, folded maps, fingers dancing across the keyboard of a laptop, shooting hoops on the basketball court, chatting up strangers as you all journey to your own destinations, goes jogging in the morning, mixes redbull with coffee, menace on april fool’s, hoodies and sneakers.

POSEIDON. storm with skin, colorful coral reefs, waves crashing against the shore, stroking the soft fur of a cat , their heart pounding as their horse’s gentle trot speeds into a gallop, tousled locks, clothes smeared with paint, owns several sketchbooks yet always yearns to own more, leather jackets, fondness for diy projects, handwriting that flows across the page, nimble fingers playing the strings of a violin, velvety singing voice that haunts your dreams, mood as ever-changing as the sea, the roar of a motorcycle, compass with a spinning arrow.

ZEUS. thunder in their heart, running on coffee, flash of lightning, natural charisma, eloquence, badass in a nice suit, aficionado of history, force of nature, lenny face, nightmare-filled nights, proud arm around their lover’s waist, high-rise buildings, planes soaring through a cloudless sky, technician on the piano, maintains order, strong handshake, juggling multiple events on their busy schedule with ease, expensive watch.

tagged by: Found tagging: @knaivcs @wolfcross

[junypr-camus]

Splash

Flash fiction - 401 words

Just a quick story. Not what I usually write, hope you like it!

We’re at the beach, and it’s sunny and pale and we’re picking our way down the sand, between the piles of seaweed and the driftwood, collecting the shells that catch our eye. A snail shell. A clamshell. A conch. 

Our fingers brush and I look up into his eyes, blue behind the aviators. Like the sea, or the sky just before a storm. Today, he’s smiling. It’s a rare sight. So often do I see a scowl across his face. But not today. Today is our day off. Today is our day to be ourselves, alone.

But there’s something I need to tell him.

Months of working together have made me see him as my friend, but I can’t deny the way my heart beats for his voice. The way I yearn to see his eyes.

I’ve been to this beach so many times before, but by his side, something’s different. The wind doesn’t bite. The gulls don’t scream. The sun smiles today.

There’s the thing I’ve been too scared to say. The thing between us that’s like glass, that I’m worried will shatter if I so much as try to put it into words.

We wander to the edge of the water and let the seafoam brush our feet. He stares at the horizon, watching the seagulls circle and the waves crash. I whisper his name and he turns, making me blush like I did when we first met.

I wish the words I want to say would leap like fish from the sea, but they hide beneath the waves.

“Are you ok?”

His eyes are locked on mine; we’re so close I can see the shine of my eyes reflected in his aviators. I pull them off, blushing.

“There’s something I should tell you.”

The world roars and a wall of cold smacks into me. I grasp the aviators in one hand and reach for his with the other, catching only sand and water. I squeeze my eyes shut as the world spins, stealing the air from my lungs. I call his name, but only bubbles come out. Then I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I take it.

When the wave recedes we’re shivering and sprawled on the sand, my hand in his. I blush and hand him the aviators. He brushes a strand of hair from my eyes.

“I know,” he says, “I love you too.”