#or write a particular prompt?

[hwang-inhos-fish]

Readers have no idea the POWER they have when they leave long comments, like - leave me a long rambly excited comment on my fic and I'd basically write whatever you want and also kill for you

[stealingyourbones]

When Danny sees his family die in TUE what if he finds out then that he’s related to a DC hero then? After the timeline is fixed he goes to his cousin who just so happens to be Raven of the Teen Titans and explains that bc of time shenanigans, he found out he’s related by blood.

How does the Teen Titans react? They’ve dealt with time travelers so many times this sorta stuff is just their average Tuesday level of shenanigans. A kid with powers that fit perfectly on par with other Teen Titan members. Main issue: his blood and DNA are so scrambled that their computers can’t confirm with a definitive proof that he’s Raven’s cousin.

[whump-in-the-closet]

no no its crucial i put the guy through horrors. see? he's redefined himself around his struggles and now he doesn't know who he is without them. having nightmares? completely alone? yeah his trauma is now inseparable from his identity, sorry

[musette22]

Orpheus & Eurydice || Steve & Bucky

Moodboard for the @wintershieldbingo

Square: Mythology AU ✔️

I've always felt that the story of Steve and Bucky, particularly as told in Captain America: The First Avenger, had a lot in common with the Ancient Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. For that reason, I have chosen to fill the Mythology AU square on my Wintershield Bingo card by creating a moodboard to draw narrative and visuals parallels between these two tragic love stories.

Orpheus & Eurydice

Orpheus was an artist, the greatest lyre player in the world, who was happily married to the love of his life, the beautiful Eurydice. Their happy life together gets cut short, however, when Eurydice is bitten by a viper and dies, leaving a heartbroken Orpheus behind. Orpheus cannot accept his true love’s death, and so he travels to the Underworld on a quest to get Eurydice back.

Orpheus manages to overcome various hurdles, such as getting past Cerberus, the three-headed hound who guards the gates to the Underworld, and finally pleads with Hades, the king of the Underworld to let Eurydice live again. Hades allows this on one condition: Eurydice is to follow behind Orpheus while walking out of the darkness of the Underworld towards the light of the land of the living, but Orpheus should not turn to look at her before she is fully out in the light again. However, as they begin to ascend towards the land of the living, Orpheus, afraid that his lover is no longer behind him, looks back to make sure she is following, causing Eurydice to tragically fall back into the shadows and be trapped in the Underworld once more. 

Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes

Steve and Bucky are very close friends and most likely even lovers, who live a mostly happy life together in Brooklyn. When World War II breaks out, Bucky is drafted and joins the army, while Steve stays behind in New York. In Italy, Bucky's squad is taken by the enemy, and he is kept prisoner in a dark, abandoned factory housing the lab of Hydra (incidentally also a multi-headed beast from Greek mythology).

When Steve, who received a superserum which turned him into the world's greatest soldier (as well as an artist), eventually also joins the army and gets to Italy, he is told Bucky is most likely dead. Steve point blank refuses to accept that, and embarks on a one man rescue mission - a quest, if you will - to get Bucky back. Armed with a wooden shield, the shape of which bears a similarity to a lyre, overcomes numerous obstacles, fighting Hydra goons and even Red Skull, who looks like the devil incarnate. Steve manages to free Bucky and even jumps over what strongly resembles the fiery pits of hell to get to freedom, only to lose Bucky again a short while later, when Bucky tragically falls from a train and is subsumed once more into the Underworld, i.e. Hydra’s claws.

Aside from the many narrative parallels, many visual parallels also exist between depictions of Orpheus and Eurydice in classical art and various scenes and images in CA:TFA. The moodboard above attempts to illustrate these parallels and similarities.

[gtbutterfly]

I've been reading this old GT book from like 1947, and I've developed severe "borrowers are the descendents of kidnapped lilliputians from Gullivers travels" brain rot

[ladycrimsonandblack]

(sorry if I have sent this to you earlier, I didn't know if it went through cuz my laptop bugged out haha. Feel free to ignore this if so-)

Idk if your still open for TCF prompts, but if soooo: Everyone in the group knows that Cale is aromantic, or at least knows he doesn't want a romantic partner. However the public doesn't know this, and assumptions and rumors begins to fly as they see Young Master Cale interact with some members of his group. (Basically Cale is in a QPR, or has something similar to that, with those of your choosing! People makes assumptions but it's eventually revealed what is really going on)

AO3

There are a lot of rumors about Commander Cale Henituse, the esteemed hero Silver Shield and the savior of both continents. Ranging from ridiculous (saying that Cale Henituse is related to the White Star and that’s why he was able to defeat him will get you laughed out of a tavern, with a few good kicks added for emphasis), to actually plausible (the current raging theory that the Commander is on his path to godhood is usually met with agreeing nods), the rumors fly from kingdom to kingdom and from continent to continent at unprecedented speed. Thanks to his many great and varied public deeds, Cale Henituse’s life is an excellent fodder for imaginations of nobles and commoners alike. 

However, the current rumor is a bit different. 

It seems that Commander Cale Henituse actually has a harem. 

It started innocuously, in a small tavern in Rain City, the patrons imbibing large quantities of alcohol and listening to even larger quantities of gossip.

“I heard he attended a ball with Princess Rosalyn, from the Breck Kingdom! Did you know that she’s building a new Magic Tower? Only someone as capable as that is worthy of the Commander!” 

“Didn’t he attend a ball with Knight Choi Han a few weeks back?” A couple of nods and a rumble of murmurs answer the question. “Did they break up?”

“No, they weren’t even together. Going to the ball at the same time doesn’t mean they’re dating.”

“You’re the one that said that the Commander is dating Princess Rosalyn!”

“They just fit! I saw them once on the street in the shopping district and they were very close! And the picture they make— ah, they look so beautiful together!”

“Well, Knight Choi Han always follows the Commander, so I guess they might be dating too!”

“Uhhh, guys,” a timid voice interrupts them as one of the gate guards raises his hand like he’s in a classroom. “Doesn’t Knight Choi Han live together with the Commander? I heard they have a villa near Harris Village.”

A thoughtful silence follows this sentence. Then a series of considering nods and whispers, as the patrons catch each other’s eyes. 

“It’s not so strange? A knight should live with his lord, right?” 

“But, uh, isn’t Choi Han from Harris Village? Did the Commander build a villa there just to have Choi Han live closer to home?”

“That seems like something the Commander would do. He’s so kind!” 

Everyone drinks to that, and then there’s shouting for a new round. 

“But doesn’t that mean that Choi Han is more than just a knight?” 

“He’s a hero too, he deserves that much,” someone refutes. 

“A whole villa where they live together? I think that’s a bit too much for any hero. The Commander didn’t need to move into Choi Han’s villa.”

This time, the murmurs lean more toward Choi Han. 

The man who first talked about Princess Rosalyn and the Commander frowns. “But Princess Rosalyn is also living together with them. Didn’t she move in during the war?”

The following moment of silence is full of consideration. 

“Does that mean he’s dating both of them?”

The room explodes. The evening ends with a bar fight so nasty that two people end up in the hospital and the rumors about what started it only grow with retelling. As does Commander Cale’s harem. 

Eventually, the rumors reach Huiss City and the ears of royal spies therein. When Tasha hears them, she bursts out laughing, doesn’t stop for good ten minutes, and then immediately goes to inform her nephew. 

“So there are rumors that my dongsaeng is dating Choi Han.” At Tasha’s nod, Alberu frowns in confusion. “There have always been rumors like that. Why is this important?”

“There are also rumors saying Young Master Cale is dating Princess Rosalyn...”

Alberu sighs. “Well, those will have more immediate political consequences, but it’s nothing we haven’t heard before.”

“... At the same time as he’s dating Choi Han,” Tasha finishes, her pearly white teeth stark against her face as she grins. 

“...What?” Alberu chokes out. 

The thought of Cale dating two people at once is so strange that Alberu needs to take a moment to recover. As if Cale would want to be in a romantic relationship with even one person!

Tasha’s grin becomes outright mean. “There are even some rumors that the two of you are having an affair.”

“He’s my younger brother!” Alberu bursts out, more indignant than he remembers himself ever being in his life. 

“And then there is Mary.”

“Surely people don’t think there is something going on between Cale and Mary?”

“Oh, they do, and there’s a lot of them.”

Alberu feels a headache oncoming. He rubs his temples and reaches into a tin can on his desk for some cookies to comfort him. “He treats her like she’s his kid.” Never mind that Mary is physically older than Cale. Cale has mentally slotted her into the same category as Raon, On, and Hong very early on, and now Mary gets an extravagant monthly allowance on Cale’s dime. 

It’s telling that nobody has actually commented on this, or thought it strange. Their whole family accepted it as just another one of Cale’s eccentricities.  

“And of course,” Tasha says, apparently not finished. “There is also Eruhaben.”

“He treats Cale as his kid!” 

“Well, it’s not like people on the street know that,” Tasha points out, very reasonably. “But they do think that Young Master Cale is dating all of you. At the same time.”

“So they think that Cale… has a harem?” Alberu tries to wrap his head around this. There is not a person less likely to have a harem than Cale Henituse. 

“Yes,” Tasha says, and smiles like this is the funniest thing she’s heard the whole year. 

“Why?” Alberu wonders, for once not being able to guess what people are thinking. Cale is just so… Cale. Alberu can’t even imagine him wanting to date someone. 

“Nephew,” Tasha gives him an arch look, and Alberu feels like he’s thirteen again, and is caught sneaking out for more practice with his sword. “You forget that not many people know Young Master Cale as well as you do. And when looking from outside, our family’s situation is a little strange.” 

Alberu tries to think about this objectively. 

“Our whole family lives together, even though most others have their own homes.”

“That is one part of it,” Tasha agrees. “It is especially strange for Princess Rosalyn, who is a royal from another kingdom, and Eruhaben-nim, who is known to be a Dragon.”

Alberu nods. “And whenever Cale goes somewhere, at least one member of our family accompanies him.”

“And the Young Master always buys everyone extravagant gifts.”

With each sentence, Alberu frowns even more. 

“This is nuts,” he says. 

Because, looking from outside perspective, it does seem like Cale has a harem. 

…

He decides not to talk to Cale. Instead, he gathers Choi Han, Rosalyn, Eruhaben and Mary for a private talk, with the children averaging nine years old dragging Cale off to shop in the city (On takes one look at Alberu’s face before suggesting the trip; she is growing up to be terrifyingly perceptive). 

When Alberu tells them the latest rumor, Eruhaben is the first to react. He sighs. “Unlucky bastard. And now he’s dragging me down with him.”

Choi Han is so red that his ears appear to be steaming. “How can they— why would anyone even think that?!”

“Because Cale provides for all of us,” Rosalyn says, laughing in delight. “And most people can’t imagine us being family. Not like this.” 

“But this is so strange! Cale’s not… he is not—”

Interested. Cale is simply not interested. 

It hadn’t taken them long to figure it out. Cale’s lack of interest in anything approaching romance or romantic relationships is so obvious to those close to him, that even the few of them that might have quietly considered it as an option chose to discard it immediately. Cale loves them, but it will never be romantic, and doesn’t have to be. They’re a family. That’s all there is to it, in the end.

Alberu smiles pleasantly, none of his previous confusion visible. “Of course, not many people know my dongsaeng well, so they would come to their own conclusions. However, I called you here today to discuss what to do next.”

“We have to stop them from saying it!” Choi Han burst out. “Cale-nim would be upset.”

“We don’t need to let Cale know,” Eruhaben points out reasonably. “He doesn’t need to worry about this too, and it’s not really a big problem.”

Alberu nods. “Eruhaben-nim is right. There is really no way to stop the rumors, but they’re not doing any real harm.”

“Why can’t we just say that none of us are involved with Young Master?” Mary asks. “Won’t people stop talking after that?”

“That won’t work,” Rosalyn shakes her head. “Denying something like this never works. It just makes it look like you have something to hide.”

“Exactly, Princess-nim is right,” Alberu agrees. “Our best official course of action would be to ignore the rumors completely. I wanted you to know about them so that you wouldn’t be surprised if you heard someone talk about it in a public setting.” Choi Han frowns at that answer, but Alberu only aims a bright smile in his direction. “Of course, if anyone approaches you privately to ask about any kind of rumors about my precious dongsaeng, feel free to respond as you wish.”

Choi Han’s answering smile appears innocent. Everyone in the room knows better than to trust it.

…

In the end, the gossip is stopped by the most unlikely person of them all. 

During the couple of weeks the rumors have been rampaging around without any checks, no one has actually been brave enough to ask for clarification from any of the people involved. Alberu, Cale and Rosalyn’s high positions stop everyone from commenting on it in their hearing, even obliquely, and Eruhaben… Well. Eruhaben is a Dragon. No one dares. 

There are a couple of people who try to broach the subject with Choi Han, thinking that the famously noble knight would not take offense. Those people end up in infirmary after Choi Han, somehow, convinces them to spar against him. 

That leaves only Mary. 

The thing about Mary is that she has a very clear, very even voice. So when she says, “I am not dating Young Master Cale-nim,” in a very crowded ballroom filled with Roan nobility, her voice carries despite the fact that she is not any louder than usual.

The nearby conversations immediately taper off as everyone strains their ears to listen. 

“Oh?” asks the madam that had had enough courage to approach Mary in her little corner. “Does someone else have the luck to be the recipient the Commander’s affection?”

“Of course not,” Mary answers, apparently not noticing that she has the attention of half the crowd. “Young Master-nim is very busy. He does not have any time nor inclination for romantic attachments.”

The crowd murmurs in agreement. The madam lifts a hand to her mouth, looking stricken. “Of course, I completely forgot.” Eyes misting over, she says, “It’s admirable that the Commander is willing to deny himself so much just to keep our kingdom safe.”

Mary nods. “Cale-nim is very dedicated to his goal.”

Everyone feels very moved, but also very curious about the Commander’s goal. They haven’t heard anything about that, beyond Cale Henituse’s well-known wish to keep everyone in the kingdom safe and happy. 

“His goal?” the madam asks, curiosity rising. 

“Yes,” Mary confirms. “It will be very difficult and very hard to accomplish, but Cale-nim will surely succeed.”

“Of course he will!” the madam exclaims. “Who would ever doubt the Commander?”

Nevertheless, people are very eager to talk about his goal. 

Very difficult and hard to accomplish? Perhaps it has something to do with his latest battles? The Commander had informed the public that he has been battling the organization behind the White Star’s power in other worlds. That is surely a feat that would bring him divine attention, and he has been seen visiting the Temple of the God of Death. 

Perhaps… perhaps those rumors about Cale Henituse ascending to the path of legend and godhood are not so far off. Everyone has heard about them, and some even believed them, but this is the first time someone from the Commander’s inner circle confirmed that there is a bigger personal goal for him in all this. 

The next day, there is some new gossip going around the taverns of Huiss City. This time, there are no bar fights, or even small brawls. 

Everyone agrees that Cale Henituse is deserving of godhood anyway. Why would they fight about it?

[inhurtandincomfort]

When character A, who doesn't know affection, has a teammate or frien, B fling their arms around xem - maybe after a traumatic experience, or A said something xe didn't realise was sad, or maybe B was just really happy and wanted to share that joy.

and A just. freezes. Xyr mind flatlines, drawing a blank as xe tries to process what's happening. Then, slowly, xe returns the embrace and god, xe didn't know what xe was missing out on. When B goes to pull away, it's A who clings close, murmuring, "Just a little longer. Please."

Maybe the whole group make sure A get's plenty of hugs after that.

...Or maybe A goes missing, or A betrays the group soon after. Xe savoured that embrace not only because xe'd never had one, but because xe knew xe would never get it again.

[cityandking]

shouting down those better angels

“I swore an oath,” Daichi says. “Despite what you may think of me, I intend to keep it.” ozy/dai; background ozy/kallux and dai/zaref. arranged marriage au. 2.6k ozy belongs to @snapdragonling. for the prompt "cagamosis - an unhappy marriage" from @in-maidjan // prompts

Save for the confusing, overwhelming exception of their wedding night, they’ve kept separate wings of the house. This has been a perfectly satisfactory arrangement, as far as Daichi is concerned. He is not, nor has he ever been, under the pretense that there is any more to this union than the careful political pairing of Helaine’s cousin with the Asdoran king’s… whatever Ozymandias is. General, his title and estate indicate. Hunter, the people whisper when his back is turned. Hound, Helaine had called him with no small measure of disdain when the offer had been extended—but Daichi has met the man and seen him with His Majesty and does not think it is Rivenlus holding his leash.

In any case, theirs is a marriage of nations and armies more than men or hearts, and Daichi contents himself with that. He has his run of the grounds and his own wing, and he attends to the house and his own king and the looming threat of war with Kar’eh. He does not often see his husband outside of their duties as lords of their separate nations and political allies. Their marital business is restricted to dinners, mostly. Galas. Speeches and parades and public events. All the things Daichi hates most and Ozymandias navigates expertly.

It is something of a surprise, then, when he shows up for breakfast.

The girl laying out the plates startles at the knock on the door, but she ducks her head swiftly and goes back to her work before he can assure her that everything is fine. Daichi swallows a sigh. He has given up on this particular fight, despite the discomfort of being waited on. He is a soldier and a medic; he does not need tending.

“Come,” he calls, folding Zaref’s latest letter—the front remains quiet, tensions remain high, he remains missed; nothing, then, has changed—and slipping it under the lip of his plate as the door slides soundlessly open and lets a man in.

“Pardon the early intrusion, Master Eliades.” Ozymandias’ body man sketches a shallow bow as the door clicks shut behind him. At the table, the girl begins setting a second place, so Daichi know what is coming when Kallux says, “Might you be willing to receive a guest?”

“Daichi is fine, Kallux,” Daichi says. It is another fight he is losing, but one he is less willing to give up on. If he is to live here for the rest of his life—or at least til the war begins, and subsequently ends, which may be equally as long—he would like at least one friend on the staff. And if not a friend, at least someone to talk to who will not flinch and demure in his presence. He had never thought he would miss Izzy’s impropriety quite so badly. “Whom do I have the pleasure of entertaining?”

He knows, of course. There’s only one person that Kallux announces.

“The lord of the house desires your company.”

Daichi has never had a face for politics—nor the desire for them, for all that Helaine insists he could do well in the service so long as he keeps to letters and listening and lets someone else do his talking—so he’s sure his displeasure is obvious.

“So early?” He may not see his husband often, but he sees his husband’s staff and visitors and the entourage he takes when he leaves the estate. Ozymandias, unlike Daichi, is not one for early mornings. To catch Daichi at breakfast suggests a late night, or that he has planned for this. Given that he arrived back in town only a day ago, he’s not sure which is most likely. Either option leaves him wary.

“He has a busy day.”

This is the other reason Daichi hopes to eventually do away with the layers of formality and station between them—Kallux has a quiet, drawling humor that Daichi does enjoy. He’d like to see more of it.

For a moment, Daichi dearly wants to point out that this is Ozymandias’ home as well, and he must surely be welcome anywhere—but it would do no good to give up the vague illusion of privacy they have conjured up with their separate wings. And he has no doubt Ozymandias does not want him snooping around the east rooms any more than Daichi wants him snooping around his own.

“I would be glad to receive him,” he says. Kallux’s eyebrow twitches at that. Well, Daichi has never had a knack for lying. Another reason he will never escape the military.

“I’ll let him know,” says Kallux. Clearly, though, Ozymandias has been listening—no sooner does Kallux open the door than he steps inside, already tucked into his uniform, brass polished and hair neatly pushed back. His mismatched eyes glance around the room, and the girl setting out breakfast bows deep and disappears out some secret side door, leaving the breakfast cart empty and two places set. It’s a light fare, as it always is—fruit and coffee and a few slices of still-warm bread. A pot of tea has been added to his usual spread, alongside the second place setting. Clearly, this has been expected by everyone save Daichi.

“My lords,” says Kallux, bowing again—a far fuller courtesy than he had given Daichi, which Daichi thinks may be more symbol than slight; perhaps he’s getting through to the man after all—and then the door shuts behind him, leaving Daichi entirely alone with his husband for perhaps the first time since their wedding night.

“Please,” says Daichi, gesturing to the second place setting. Ozymandias’ mouth quirks as he takes his seat. The mockery of propriety is nearly laughable.

“Apologies for the early call.”

“I was awake.” He is always awake at sunrise. Ozymandias, he assumes, knows this. “I apologize that I wasn’t here yesterday to welcome you back. I was not aware you would be returning so soon.”

Not that he has ever gone out of his way to welcome Ozymandias home from his trip for the king, save for when propriety requires it. But given the circumstances, it seems prudent to point out the distance they both keep, as well as the upset of their planned itineraries. The unspoken question of why he is here ahead of schedule crowds the table alongside the breakfast service.

“No apology necessary.”

He doesn’t make mention that he had been scheduled to return tomorrow. A trip out to the countryside to see the king in his summer palace, he’d told the staff. If anything, he looks more pale than he had when he’d left. Daichi watches him as he reaches for the fruit plate, selecting a cluster of grapes, and pours himself a cup of coffee from the carafe. He does not offer Ozymandias tea.

“I trust you had a productive trip?” Not that he expects to hear much about it—Ozymandias is close-lipped about his dealings with his king.

Ozymandias’ fingers make careful work of plucking his grapes from their stems. “His Majesty sends his warmest regards.”

“How kind of His Majesty to think of me.”

Ozymandias smiles, though it doesn’t reach his mismatched eyes. His Majesty, they both know, is not kind. This union is proof of that—a binding meant to keep the king contented enough to turn his attention to the threat at their shared borders. Daichi’s role is as much hostage as it is bargaining chip and spy. Both of them know this.

“He hopes you’ll come along next time.”

Daichi can’t imagine anything he would enjoy less than a summer trip to Asdor’s court. The endless flat nothing of the southlands leave him homesick for the mountains. “It would be my pleasure.”

Ozymandias pops a grape in his mouth. “I hope you’ll lie to lie to him a little better than that.”

Daichi feels his lips thin. “I’ll practice.”

“If you require assistance—“

There is something about his husband, Daichi has learned in six months of marriage, that tries even his considerable patience. “Why are you here, Ozymandias?”

Ozymandias, damn him, doesn’t so much as blink at the outburst. “Can a man not breakfast with his husband?”

“A man usually doesn’t.” Particularly a man who is home two days early from seeing his king with war looming on the horizon. “You’ll forgive me if I’m surprised by the change.”

Ozymandias smiles again, bland, and turns to pluck another grape from his plate. But he doesn’t move fast enough to hide his flicker of displeasure. Daichi raises his cup to his lips, observing. It’s obvious, of course, that this is more than a mere social call. But perhaps he is not the only one on the back foot here. He certainly wouldn’t put it past Ozymandias to offset his own disadvantage by infringing upon Daichi’s well-tended privacy. Daichi hides the curl of his lip behind his coffee cup.

“I had hoped we might catch up. What news from the front?” Ozymandias' gaze dips down to the paper tucked beneath Daichi’s plate, unsubtle, and his mouth quirks. “Has your… friend sent an update?”

Damn him. Zaref is a low blow, even by his standards. Daichi sets his cup down, jaw tight.

“Only that there is no update.” He doesn’t slide the letter out of Ozymandias’ view, but it’s a near thing. Daichi is protective of plenty, but Zaref is— “Does the king feel otherwise?”

“No,” says Ozymandias, but there’s that flicker again. Not the king, then. But someone else. Someone whose opinion Ozymandias trusts. Trusts more than the king? It wouldn’t surprise him. From what he has seen, there is little lost love between Rivenlus and his top general. It is notable, he thinks—and Helaine and Scratch have both agreed—that for all his power, Ozymandias does not lead the Kingsguard.

But if not the king, then who? Daichi reaches for the fruit platter, running through anyone he or Airedon's intelligence apparatus has suggested might be supplying the south with information. He cannot think of anyone who would have better news of the front than Zaref himself. Or Scratch, he supposes, though he hears she advises Helaine exclusively these days. The way Izzy says it— exclusively— Well, Daichi has elected not to think too hard of it.

“Then we are fortunate,” said Daichi blandly. Ozymandias gives him a look, inscrutable, eyes gleaming, and Daichi thinks— the other one. Whoever truly holds his leash. It is more than mere loyalty. The thought sends a shiver down his spine that he covers with a cough. “May we see many years of peace.”

“And prosperity,” Ozymandias toasts, though neither of them have flutes to raise. Daichi watches him, waiting, and is watched in turn. There’s something going on, he knows, behind those eyes. Some calculation, some consideration. Daichi is plenty familiar with his own propensity for overthinking, but it doesn’t hold a candle to whatever vast system of measures and countermeasures Ozymandias considers behind his own placid mask.

This might have been different, he thinks. In another world, in another time. He is not so stone that he does not understand the beauty of the man before him. Daichi can admire the clear, bright line of his belief and action, if nothing else.

But he wields it like a cudgel, unthinking and blunt. It brings to mind a turn of phrase his father use to use, back during the war of independence, when fools were a dine a dozen and cowards more plentiful. His demons, whatever they may be, shout down his better angels, and Daichi wants no part in it. But here they are, both of them trapped in the web of their own making.

He thinks, maybe—despite Helaine, despite Zaref, despite the war—he could have found a happy partner in a version of Ozymandias that is not this one. But this one is all he has.

“Well,” says Ozymandias, clearly coming to a decision. “It is good to see you, dear. I hope we might dine together again.”

“You know where to find me,” Daichi says, disappointment leaden in his gut. He doesn't know what he expected, but he knows it wasn't this. “Perhaps some forewarning, next time.”

“Am I such a surprise?”

“I’d have dressed.”

Ozymandias gives him a look, taking in the brocade of his dressing gown and the unkempt ends of his braids, lacking their usual adornment. Daichi is only grateful his slippers are hidden beneath the table.

“I don’t mind,” Ozymandias says. Bastard.

“Nevertheless,” Daichi says, if only to say something. “Kallux can let me know.”

“If you wish,” says Ozymandias, and there is a flicker again—but one of a different sort. Interesting. He’ll have to keep a closer eye. Or maybe a less close eye. Though if his husband is sullying their marriage bed…

And he dares to judge Daichi for letters. Daichi swallows back something like a scoff, or perhaps fury. It is something to deal with later. Not now. Now, the question is of the war, and whose confidence his husband keeps, and why he has come to Daichi in the morning after what has clearly been some kind of failure that Daichi only understands the edges of.

Ozymandias is halfway to the door when Daichi turns to him over the back of his chair. He moves with a purpose—fleeing, Daichi would say, if he didn’t know better. He narrows his eyes.

“Ozy.”

His husband stops in his tracks. Daichi cannot see his face, but the line of his shoulders is tight. Afraid, he realizes. Something has scared him, enough to come to Daichi. To come to Daichi and decide to keep his secrets to himself, and Daichi cannot let that stand. Not only for their nations and this war, but also because he must share a house and a name and a life with this man, and he is tired of secrets. He will not live like this. He refuses.

“Daichi?” says Ozy, still not looking at him. His name is an odd thing in his husband’s mouth. Daichi takes a breath.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard,” he says, wishing desperately for Scratch, or Helaine, or anyone better suited for speech. This, he is certain deep in his bones, is important. It is more important than the discomfort of marriage to a man he does not love and more important than his disgust with his husband’s work and more important, possibly, than the politics of their nations’ truce. “But if it as serious as it appears, you have my ear and my counsel.”

“And if I said I did not need it?”

“I would say I don’t think you’re stupid enough to turn down help when offered.”

That catches him enough to turn him around, and for a moment his face is like the southern storms—dark, clouded, impassible. Uncontrolled. Daichi reads fear, and fury, and a deeper uncertainty than he could ever have imagined his husband possessed. It's a relief, he supposes, to know the man is human after all.

“You think so highly of me?”

Hardly highly, but Daichi will not say so. Not now, in any case, when he finally, for the first time in all their months of marriage and courtship, feels as though he finally has Ozy's full attention. “I think you are not your king's favored general for no reason.” He reaches across the table and pours a cup of tea, steam wisping from the surface. “And I think you did not come here on a whim.”

“No,” Ozy allows. “I did not.”

“Then give me the chance to provide what you came here seeking.”

“You ask for a great deal of trust.”

“I swore an oath,” Daichi says. It is an oath he did not wish to swear—not here, now now, not to him—but it is an oath nevertheless. “Despite what you may think of me, I intend to keep it.”

“I don’t doubt you,” Ozy says. It sounds almost—Daichi does not believe himself—like an apology.

“Then sit,” says Daichi, with every ounce of his considerable patience. “Come eat with me, and tell me what you have heard.”

And Ozy, miraculously, does.

[giggly-squiggily]

Hey hey just a friendly PSA that you CAN and are ENCOURAGED to use up all five of your candy heart prompts if desired! I love all the various pairings and scenarios y'all send in, so when I see someone start off their prompt with "Is it okay if I send in another?" or "Can I be greedy?" I wanna grab you by the shoulders, lean in reeeealll close and go:

So yeah! :D In the words of our Lord and savior Gojo Satoru- "Be greedy." <3

That is all- Happy Tuesday everyone!

[blu3haw4]

Here's for you guys, a wrap of all the little stories I shared this year

Day 1: Home for the Holidays. The Red Bow

Day 2: Naughty or Nice List. Coal Stockings

Day 3: Under the Mistletoe. Okay kissy-kissy now!

Day 4: Snowed In. What Happened to Your Nose?!

Day 5 (X2): Holidays Traditions.  Sunny and Warm & The LAST Gift

Day 6: Secret Santa. Great! C 38

Huge thank you to all you guys who sent in these prompts and those I didn't end up writing. Thank you for all your reblogs and comments. Thank you @clexmas24 for organizing and sharing all of our stuffs and thank you to everyone who participated in any shape or form.

Love you Kru 💖

[shadowy-suitcase-herring-neck]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Legend & Wind (Linked Universe), Four & Hyrule & Legend & Sky & Time & Twilight & Warriors & Wild & Wind (Linked Universe), Malon (Legend of Zelda)/Time (Linked Universe), Malon (Legend of Zelda) & Everyone Characters: Wind (Linked Universe), Legend (Linked Universe), Malon (Legend of Zelda), Time (Linked Universe), Wild (Linked Universe), Hyrule (Linked Universe), Twilight (Linked Universe), Warriors (Linked Universe), Four (Linked Universe), Sky (Linked Universe) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Fishifying the Chain fr, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Whump, probably, Wind (Linked Universe)-centric, Legend (Linked Universe)-centric, Wind (Linked Universe) Has a Bad Time, Wind (Linked Universe) is a Little Shit, Wind (Linked Universe) Needs a Hug, Legend (Linked Universe) Needs a Hug, Legend (Linked Universe) Has a Bad Time, BAMF Malon (Legend of Zelda), because she deserves it, And she's the BEST, Minor Malon (Legend of Zelda)/Time (Linked Universe), It's not really the focus of the fic but it kind of just exists in the background of other stuff happening, Despite this being a Mermay fic it Seems to start in the Desert, Because of Reasons, (reasons being Wind), everyone is a Mer but There is STILL time travel shenanigans. Summary:

Link likes to think he knows things. Not everything mind you, that would be both incorrect and stupid to assume, But a bit at least. Though sometimes he questioned certain things. Like if anything was ever actually real and not an elaborate dream. Or if he had somehow actually managed to die at some point and his frankly absurd life is just a weird sort of purgatory.

Why else would he wind up in the middle of the desert seemingly so far from the ocean it might as well be a different world. And also He might just die here. Great.

That is Until he meets the Weirdest Guppy he'd ever seen in his life.

[meisaer]

found family except Character A is an immortal being who's been wandering the earth for centuries, losing their loved ones over and over and over again until they snap and tell themselves they'll never befriend a mortal ever again, and more centuries go by with them just refusing any social contact with anyone until Character B, another immortal, finds them and slowly, very slowly, drags them out of their cage and introduces them to a mortal group whom Character A is terrified by at first because, well, they're going to die one day too. but team slowly worms their way into Character A's heart and A lets them in and lets themself have this one more time, and soon the fear turns into resignation because they live in the moment instead of ahead of it. and when team does slowly die off and it's just Character A and B, at least A has B now. And a bunch of memories to go with it.

And centuries go by, and one day, Character A meets Character C, who looks and acts exactly like someone from the family A formed centuries ago. And C, with no recognition in their eyes, brings A, who is usually reluctant to socialise but agreed just because it was C, to meet people who are just like A's past family. And C and the rest of the reincarnated team, have absolutely no idea.

[foreststarflaime]

Let Angeal and Sephiroth enjoy Loveless too!!! That is their fandom-in-law! Sure fine they can joke about it and roll their eyes to tease Genesis. But I cannot believe that they actually hate it. You do not hear some constantly talking about something they love with such passion for that long and not become at least a bit invested in it

(And I do think they would actually like it)

[eloquent-edits]

🗡️ For the Wicked and Weird (Part 3)

prompts based on quotes that never fail to make me laugh from my D&D sessions

“You can speak to plants?” “Yeah!” “Plants can’t talk.” “Fuck you, yeah they can!”

“God looked at me, thus I have to pay.”

“Character B, what did you just steal?” “A velociraptor!”

“Do I get a third dad now?”

“About what percentage of the population is puntable?”

“I don’t make the plans. I just steal stuff.”

“You’ve got a bright future.” “I’ve got a bright present.”

“So how do you two know each other? Are you two f u c k i n g?”

“It’s like PEMDAS.” “I think I had a friend who prayed to them once.”

“Alright, bone ape tit. Let’s go.”

[il3x]

ah, yeah, this quote will do numbers on the tumblr

[mappingthesky]

planymphia wives honeymoon cutesy fluffy and overwhelmingly emotional drabble pleaseee

take my hand (take my whole life, too)

or: it’s their first week of being married - jane can’t stop referring to nymphia as ‘my wife’, nymphia can’t stop crying, and no one has ever been more in love in all of time.

Jane wakes up when Nymphia rolls over and flings a heavy arm across her torso in sleep.

Jane’s eyes flutter. Sunlight threatens to spill in from the other side of the heavy hotel room curtains all too soon. She’s only half conscious, and her eyes are still a little blurry with last night’s wine, and she’s content to drift back off to sleep, lulled by the gentle brush of Nymphia’s fingertips down her sternum, but then-

A little gasp, a sharp intake of breath. “Oh my god.”

“Mmwhat?” Nymphia mumbles, her eyes still closed as Jane grabs for her hand. Again, when her wrist is nearly pulled from the rest of her arm. “What?”

“Nymphia,” Jane whispers, but it’s thin, because she’s smiling. Nymphia can barely make it out through the dim light of the room and the sleep that clouds her vision, but she knows it just the same. She would recognize that smile by the sound of Jane’s words spoken through it, by the feeling of her soft gaze upon her. She would know it anywhere - even in the dark.

“We got married.”

Nymphia’s eyes blink open and look over at Jane. She’s on her back, holding Nymphia’s hand up to the light. She turns it over carefully, fingertips against her open palm, thumb tracing over the silver band on Nymphia’s ring finger. A diamond glitters in the dark.

“I know,” Nymphia grumbles, still half-asleep, still unwilling to be awoken for anything at all. “Spent eight months planning it, ’member?”

It was longer than that. It was the culmination of years of dreaming and months of planning, of Nymphia ironing out every last detail, Jane somehow even more stressed than she was, because she’d wanted it all to be perfect. For her.

(“You have a say, too,” Nymphia had reminded her on more than one occasion. “This day is about the both of us.”

“I know, baby,” Jane said, that spot between her brows that creases when she thinks too hard momentarily relaxing as she kisses Nymphia’s cheek. “But it’s really about you. Everything is about you.”)

Jane pulls Nymphia’s hand closer, studies it for a long while. Nymphia’s eyes are just closing again when Jane presses a kiss to her ring finger, then to her palm, more kisses up the inside of her wrist, the length of her arm, up her shoulder. Nymphia whines.

It comes back to her slowly as Jane coaxes her from her sleep, the only one she’d ever allow. Their night. It was everything they ever could have asked for, more than that. Their friends lining the aisle, swearing that they knew this day would come, arguing over who had really called it first. Jane, who had sworn she wouldn’t cry, who had warned Nymphia not to be worried if she didn’t, dissolving into tears the moment Nymphia emerged in all white. Nymphia, unsurprisingly to everyone, openly sobbing for half of the night, dabbing a tissue underneath her damp eyes at the dinner table. They’d had two glasses of champagne each, and nothing else.  They’d promised, because they wanted to remember this: the toasts, the dancing, each other, every moment.

Nymphia is beaming by the time Jane kisses her shoulder blade, eliciting a hum.

“Was it everything you wanted?” Jane murmurs, brushing a dark strand of hair back to kiss Nymphia’s ear.

A smile splits through Nymphia’s sleep, eyes still closed as she nuzzles deeper into the pillow, deeper into Jane. “It was perfect.”

Jane kisses Nymphia’s cheek. “What was your favorite part?”

“Mmm,” Nymphia hums, because how could she ever pick just one shining moment to stand out among the rest? How could she even begin to split the single most incandescent day of her life into segments? 

“The part where we went home,” Nymphia says, and Jane is pulling her closer. “The part where we went to bed and you let me sleep in.”

“Can’t let you sleep in,” Jane says, chin coming to rest on the crown of Nymphia’s head where it comes to press against her chest. “Too in love with you.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, basking in the warmth of last night as it rolls over to this morning.

“Wanna know my favorite part?” Jane asks, and Nymphia can feel the soft reverberation of her voice through her skin. “The part where we wake up and I get to say that you’re my wife.”

Nymphia can’t help but laugh at the sentiment. “This part?” she says, finally tilting her head up to look at Jane. She’s never gotten used to this - Jane looking at her every day like she’s still shiny and new. She doesn’t think she ever will. 

“Yeah. This part,” Jane beams, one hand coming to cradle Nymphia’s cheek as she smiles. “You’re my wife.”

“This part’s pretty good,” Nymphia stares into Jane, belly burning with butterflies, a love bigger and brighter than she ever thought was possible. “Say it again.”

Jane grins and brings her lips to Nymphia’s, kisses her with a lifetime of devotion. She pulls away, and there’s forever in her eyes. 

“You’re my wife,” Jane smiles. “And I’m yours.”

-

Jane doesn’t travel well.

She puts her packing off until the last possible minute and grumbles all the way to the airport. Nymphia can’t be upset though, because Jane ‘my wife’s’ Nymphia at every possible opportunity - she does it to the disgruntled employee who checks their bags, and the TSA agent who checks their passports, and the barista who makes their coffees while they’re killing time at their terminal. Nymphia rolls her eyes every time, but she’s smiling too, and can’t stop examining the sparkle on her left hand ring finger. 

Jane goes so anxious on the plane that Nymphia has to hold her hand through the takeoff. She doesn’t let go until thirty minutes into the flight, when Jane is finally distracted enough to drop her shoulders and stop thinking about the miniscule possibility that they go plummeting to the ground.

Eventually, they settle in. It’s a long flight, nearly twenty hours, and they shelled out on first class for the occasion. Nymphia’s got the window seat (partly because Jane knows she likes to look out the window, and partly because she can’t stomach seeing the ocean several thousand feet beneath them), and Jane wastes no time getting comfortable. 

(“It’s for my wife,” Jane tells the stewardess when she requests an extra blanket. “She runs cold.” 

Nymphia stares up from her book just long enough to swat Jane’s arm, muttering “that’s not even true.”

“I know,” Jane shrugs. “Just wanted to see what playing the wife card could get me.”

“Careful,” Nymphia warns. “You’re gonna wear it out.”

“What, calling you my wife?” Jane grins. “Baby, that’s never gonna get old.”)

They’re curled up together, alternating between books and movies and laughing at odd little happenings around them. Jane scoffs at shitty jokes on the screen, and Nymphia leans over to read her passages from her book, and Jane hums like she’s listening, but really she’s just admiring Nymphia in her comfy clothes, dark hair pulled back, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. She likes her the best like this.

At the end of her movie, Jane glances over at Nymphia. “Are you excited?”

She thinks she knows what the answer will be, but she’s asking anyway, because she wants it to be perfect - their honeymoon, their first trip together as a married couple, their first foray into the rest of their lives together. They’d debated on a destination for weeks on end. They’d considered a roadtrip across America (too pedestrian - they’ll save that one for another summer), or a week in Vegas where they’d get married again in some cheap chapel (too cliche - they’ll save it for their vow renewals). They’d debated on whether or not to book a room in the most luxurious resort they could find in Thailand, but had settled on a cozy beachside bungalow instead. Jane thought Nymphia would like that the best, knew she would too, because she’d be happy if Nymphia was.

It’s funny how someone can change you so completely and entirely, how they can bring out the best part of you that was waiting to be discovered. Before Nymphia, Jane had always put herself first, even at the expense of others. She was content like that, and then she met Nymphia, and the center of her universe shifted outside of herself. For the first time it wasn’t a chore to care for someone else, and Jane was better because of it. 

“For the honeymoon?” Nymphia asks, folding her book in her lap. She looks down at Jane all nestled in her blankets, hoodie pulled over her blonde hair, and can’t help but smile. 

Nymphia had always been a hopeless romantic, all too eager to hand her heart over to the wrong person. She was a tender thing then, bruising easily in careless hands, burning through her own wells of hope faster than she could replenish them, and after the almost-great-loves of her young adulthood, she felt like she’d been cored. Having her heart handed back to her so unrequitedly time after time, she’d thought she’d been selfish to want a love as big as her own, to expect anyone to be able to return what she gave to them. She’d stopped dreaming of it altogether, and then she’d met Jane. Jane, who reveres her like the Earth reveres the Sun, who worships the ground that she walks on, who straightened out every desire Nymphia had crumpled up inside of herself and gave her more than she could ever dare ask for. 

Now, Nymphia knows she can be selfish. She looks over at Jane and thinks that she wants this for all time - all of Jane, all to herself. 

“Yeah, baby. I’m so excited.” Nymphia reaches over to take Jane’s hand. “Jus’ wanna spend time with you.”

“Good,” Jane smiles, “me too.” She tilts her head up, puckers her lips in a silent request for a kiss, and Nymphia obliges.

-

The plane starts its descent several long hours after they’ve woken up, and Nymphia is grabbing Jane’s hand before she even has to ask, because she knows she hates this part the most. Jane sucks air through her teeth as the last bit of turbulence rocks the plane, and Nymphia rubs her thumb in soothing circles over the back of her hand. As soon as they hit the tarmac, Jane snaps back into place, blocking the whole aisle just to get Nymphia’s carry-on out of the overhead compartment.

“Sorry,” Jane says over her shoulder to a disgruntled passenger. “My wife. She’s pregnant.”

“Jane,” Nymphia hisses through her teeth. “You of all people should know I’m not pregnant.”

“Not yet,” Jane kisses her shoulder before they maneuver down the aisle. “But when I’m through with you…”

Nymphia scoffs, smiling into the air, because she knows it’s impossible, but if anyone’s love could defy the laws of science, it would be theirs.

-

Despite their sleep on the plane, Jane and Nymphia are so impossibly jetlagged, and the car ride to the bungalow is a delirious haze. Determined to push through the rest of the day, they tumble out of their room and onto the tree-lined streets, perusing the local offerings and getting dinner while they speak to each other in exhausted, two-word sentences that wouldn’t make sense to anyone else. It’s all they need.

And then they’re out under the sky, wandering in this beautiful place with blue-green water that laps in whispering waves over the sandy beach, and Nymphia has never looked so beautiful to Jane as she does under the moonlight. 

She’s running up the beach, shrieking as the water splashes at her feet, or when Jane chases her up the shore and catches her, spinning her around and pressing crazed kisses against her hairline. Nymphia is laughing, and then her cheeks are wet with tears, and Jane is wiping underneath her eyes.

“Hey,” Jane says, pushing Nymphia’s hair behind her ears, a careful concern crossing her face. “Why tears?”

“I’m just so happy,” Nymphia blubbers, smiling through the silver-wet stars in her eyes, because it’s all been such a beautiful blur, and it hasn’t hit her until right now that this is the rest of her life. “I can’t believe we get to do this forever.”

“God, you’re unbelievable, you know that?” Jane smiles. “Here I was thinking you stepped on a sea urchin. Or you got stung by a jellyfish. And I’d have to pee on your leg or something. Wouldn’t that be a great start to our honeymoon?”

“Shut up,” Nymphia sobs. “You’re ruining the moment!”

“M’sorry, my love,” Jane coos, wiping another tear from Nymphia’s face. “You’re the most sentimental girl alive, you know I can’t keep up with that.”

Nymphia just laughs, because yes, she’s endlessly sentimental, but, secretly, so is Jane. She still remembers the first time she’d opened a card from Jane and was met with pages filled almost entirely with ink, letters squished together to make room for as many as possible, words winding around whatever tacky quote was stamped in the middle. Jane had a way with words, despite whatever she’d tell you otherwise, and never ceased to amaze Nymphia with the sincerity she seemed to save just for her. 

(It crosses Nymphia’s mind then what her favorite part of the wedding really was - when Jane had recited her vows from memory in front of all their family and friends, had taken those impossibly beautiful things that were usually relinquished to their most intimate moments and had loved Nymphia enough to profess it in front of everyone. Not that they didn’t know already. You can’t hide a love as enormous as this one.)

“You keep up just fine,” Nymphia says softly, resting her cheek against Jane’s hand. She swears Jane’s eyes go misty just before she kisses her right there on the sand, beneath the stars, beneath the universe that brought them together.

-

Nymphia smiles when Jane crawls into bed. She’s in a gray crewneck that’s cut across her shoulders, and she’s propped up against fluffy pillows, and Jane is pushing the book out of her hands.

“Dinner was perfect,” Jane kisses her cheek before slipping into bed beside Nymphia. “But is it bad that I just wanted to get back to the room?”

“It’s terrible,” Nymphia turns over, slotting her back against Jane’s chest. “Is this the part where we get old and boring?”

“Yes,” Jane envelops Nymphia in her hold, fits against her in the way they’re going to for the rest of their lives, slides a hand down the length of her torso and up the inside of her thigh. 

“Not even gonna call you a whore or anything,” Jane kisses her ear. One hand cups Nymphia’s breast, the other dips between her legs. “Just gonna fuck you good and tell you how much I love you.”

“So boring,” Nymphia sighs, already melting away.

“So boring.”

(It’s not boring at all.)

-

Now that it’s hit Nymphia, she can’t stop crying every time the sheer enormity of it washes over her.

She’s always been emotional, but sometimes there’s a delay. Her life moves so fast, always swept up in the current of whatever dream she’s chasing, and sometimes it isn’t until she has a second to slow down that she realizes just how special every fleeting moment has been.

It’s been a whole week of being married, of wandering through villages and long hikes up mountain sides and afternoons spent sunning on the shore, of dawns and dinners and keeping a distance from the rest of the world as they know it. Now, Nymphia is sitting in a hammock at the edge of the beach, and she’s looking out over the water, and she’s basking in the overwhelming perfection of this moment. It’s something out of a dream, the sort of thing she’d long thought would be impossible for her to experience, and she can’t help but want to slow it all down, to draw out every precious moment long enough to memorize them, to make them last forever.

She’s sniffling just a bit when Jane finally finds her. She slides into place beside her, knees tucked into her chest, and stares quietly at the last of the sun as it sets over the ocean.

“Beautiful,” Jane murmurs, and it’s about the sunset, but it’s about Nymphia too. She presses a soft kiss to Nymphia’s shoulder.

“I don’t want it to end,” Nymphia sighs, unwilling to look away from the heaven that’s in front of her. They still have another day of this, one more perfect day at the edge of reality, and then they’ll be packing their things, leaving the quiet paradise of their bungalow and flying home. Back to work, back to their crazy, stupid friends, back to the never-ending rush and whirr of the city.

It’s not just that Nymphia doesn’t want the honeymoon to end. She doesn’t want this to end: her and Jane, so head-spinningly in love that nothing else matters, so finely attuned to one another, so freshly devoted to making it last. Nymphia wants so desperately to do it right, for their love to outlive that of either of their parents, for them to see all of their promises through for years to come. The possibility that they can’t pull it off is mind-numbingly terrifying, but the possibility that they can…

It’s an impossible promise to make to one another, and yet they’ve already done it. 

Nymphia sighs, mind swirling, and Jane somehow knows exactly what she means when she says, “what do we do now?”

Jane goes quiet for a moment, staring out over everything she’s ever wanted, and does her best to be brave for Nymphia.

“We sit out here until we’re too tired to keep our eyes open, and then I’ll take you to bed,” Jane says softly. “And then we have one more beautiful day, okay?”

“Okay,” Nymphia says, chewing on her cheek, still unable to look away from the landscape should it all disappear on her. “And then what?”

“And then we go home,” Jane looks over at Nymphia. “We go back to our house. And I’ll take you to work every morning, and then I’ll come home and be pissed about something, probably, and you’ll roll your eyes and tell me to shut up and I will, because I love you and, y’know, I generally think you’re right about everything. And we’ll have our stupid friends over and show them a billion pictures from our trip and kick them out so we can watch Project Runway and fuck. How does that sound?”

Nymphia giggles, and when she finally tears her gaze away from the beach, she realizes there’s another heaven right beside her, one that she gets to take home. And home, their home, the one with the fat cat and the mismatched furniture and their pictures all over the wall, that's another heaven too. Suddenly, the trip being over doesn’t seem like such a bad thing. Nymphia is almost looking forward to it.

“Are you scared?” Jane ventures softly, searching Nymphia’s face carefully. “It’s okay if you are.”

“Only a little,” Nymphia mumbles, voice wavering, eyes watering. 

“I’m a little scared too. We’ll take it one day at a time, okay?” Jane continues, looking a little smaller all of a sudden, pushing through every worry that threatens to override her strong front. “I know we’ll have bad days too, Nymph. I know I’m gonna fuck up and not listen enough and piss you off sometimes, but I love you to fucking pieces. I’m gonna give you the best I’ve got, I promise you.”

Nymphia takes Jane’s hand, and there are silent tears streaming down her face, because it’s only been a week and she already loves Jane more than she did on the day that she married her. It’s enough love to override everything that threatens to pierce through their perfect bubble, enough to fuel the years to come, enough to roll over into the next life and the one after that.

“And if you get sick of me,” Jane teases, squeezing Nymphia’s hand. “Y’know. Just say the word.”

“Shut up. I’ll never get sick of you,” Nymphia cries, throwing her arms around Jane’s shoulders. Jane laughs into her neck, pulls her closer into a bone-crushing embrace. This is the best part - Nymphia married her best friend. It’s enough just to hold her, just to be beside her. All those other parts, the sex and the sweet nothings and the swearing each other to forever, they’re just the luxuries of being in love with her. 

“You promise?” Jane says into Nymphia’s hair. She knows what the answer will be. She just wants to hear it anyway.

“I promise,” Nymphia whispers. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Jane says. “With all my heart.”

(They go home two mornings later, back to the city and their couch and their cat, and they aren’t scared anymore, because the warm glow of one another lasts much longer than fleeting sunsets over foreign shores. They wake up together, kiss goodbye on the way to work, hang their wedding photos on the wall and muse over the best day of their lives for years to come. They have lots of good days, and a few bad ones, too. They fight, and then they talk, and they never go to bed angry, just put each other back together in the way that only they can. And then they wake up and love each other more in spite of it.

The honeymoon was great, but here’s the best part: they make it last.)