#so even though it's autumn in the story they like to picnic in the garden

[fallstaticexit]

Eternal Spring ❀

[schleckermaul]

𝙗𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙨!

They sit beneath a canopied tree in the garden this late afternoon, the last vestiges of summer allowing them a pleasant picnic. Laid out over a patterned blanket against the grass sits an assortment of light on the stomach sandwiches, finger foods, and the as-promised desserts dressed in whipped cream and fresh fruits from the greenhouse. They spend the Saturday simplistically, outings such as these having been worked into their routine the past few months they've called the manor their shared home. The two talk as the sun continues to crawl towards the horizon, Xerxes helping himself to the sprawl of sweets there for his picking, and as the September chill sets in Zhilan pauses, smiling fondly at the subtle change of color in the branches above.

"This might be the last picnic we'll have before autumn sets in for good." He plucks a sandwich from the wicker basket at the center of their seating arrangement in remarking this, using the lull in conversation to briefly appease his appetite. "Soon the weather might be too cool to comfortably sit in the garden—not without more layers on, that is."

The breeze drifts a leaf into the likes of Emily's lap, then. Almost on cue, as though to drive home the passing of summer.

"I brought something for you," says Zhilan, quick to assure, "it's not a gift so much as it's… something I want you to hold onto."

He takes the book that's rested at his side all evening into his lap, tapping the hardcover of its face a bit sheepishly.

"I wanted to compile the stories I've told you and those you've told me—from my world and yours. For…"

Zhilan ponders, though only for a moment.

"Safekeeping. And easier retelling, I suppose."

He chuffs gently, holding the titleless book out for Xerxes to take should he choose.

"I wrote them down to the best of my ability. In ink, so you don't have to worry about smudging if you run your fingers over them."

As his smile broadens, the corners of his eyes crinkle in that familiarly Zhilan manner.

"I left blank pages, too. As we think of more stories to tell, we can add them—whenever you like, Xerxes."

— by @archaictold

the blanket feels soft underneath xerxes' fingers, and he's spent the entire afternoon with his palm against the fabric of it, tracing the pattern. it offers some amount of stability, when he's feeling almost as fragile as the leaves falling from one of the trees looming above. like it would be terribly easy to crush him beneath a boot. the air smells like the changing of the seasons, and in between chatting and eating, he can't help but dwell on it: that the seasons are changing once more, and xerxes break is alive to see it, still. to sit on a blanket with somebody who cherishes him, feel the blanket and eat the treats that were bought just for him. to breathe the air, and hear the rushing leaves. so easy, to break it, wouldn't it be?

   so easy, to ruin and be ruined in turn.

   he remembers the first time he celebrated his birthday as xerxes break. little lady sharon's hand, pulling him along and lady shelly's smile in response to his glare. always kind, in the face of his gloomy refusal. he'd wondered, then, the same thing he wonders now. how could you thank me, for being born? the thoughtful gifts and well wishes. the question faded into the background, with time. it was only when his body started failing him, when he couldn't see lady sharon's joy anymore upon receiving his presents, that he resented the idea of it. serving as a reminder, xerxes knew he wouldn't have much time left with any of them.

   growing bitter. growing distant.

   he's further from them than he ever was, and it ruins him, still.

   xerxes break is sitting on a blanket, and it is soft, even with the hard ground underneath, the green meadows of the rainsworth estate. he's home, and so far away from home at the same time. it's not the bricks of the mansion, nor the familiar scent of roses.

   zhilan hands him a book, and it's a heavy weight in his hands as he receives it, despite all of his protests, the woes about not wanting to be celebrated. he had heard the hardcover of it as zhilan tapped it. he feels the blank front of it as his fingers travel by instinct, so reminiscent of the way he did when he first met the scholar. it hits him all at once, then, the way he had not hesitated. neither to hold it, nor to see through touch. to listen to words that are not meant for his ears, and hear the smile in them, the soft upturning of a mouth he's kissed, remembering each and every time he'd allowed himself to.

   the stories i've told you and those you've told me.

   xerxes was in the courtroom, as glen confronted the one member of the jury he was familiar with. when they told him of their story needing an end, and finding it soon.

   how many times has he made his peace with ending?

   there are blank pages, for the stories to be told. whenever he'd like. whenever he has the time.

   he notices the tears rolling from his right eye as he has to reach for a breath, having held it too long. it stumbles out of him all at once, unprepared as he is, as he was even when facing his end. for arms, enveloping him. for dying, when there was too much love to bear it. he sobs, and it's half laugh, half guttural, and he reaches up a hand to cover his mouth with it. leaving the blanket, touching wet on his cheek. there's the sound of drops, hitting the cover. not having the mind to put the book aside, xerxes bends with the weight of it, folds forward as his chest aches.

   " oh, xerxes— " the smile has dropped, hands outreached yet scared to touch, as xerxes squeezes his eyes shut as if in pain. " i'm sorry, i hadn't meant— " he shakes his head, and as zhilan pulls his hands back, misinterpreting his meaning, he reaches out in turn with both of his own. it takes the last layer that had protected him, still, whisked away like a leaf by the wind, and he shakes his head again as he laughs and whimpers, sounds so utterly human he almost doesn't recognize them from himself. zhilan's hands in his own are so warm, despite the cold autumn air. despite the chill of an ending, there is the warmth of a beginning.

   and now that he's broken, the tears don't stop. he sits and cries, squeezing zhilan's fingers a bit too harshly. eventually, there comes an admission, small and quiet. barely a word at all.

   ' i'm sorry. '

   for too many things to count. he turns his head as if he could avert his gaze, wipes his right cheek on his coat. his nose is running. he sniffs. the strongest swordsman of pandora. when was the last time he bowed to anybody?

i need a reason. the reason for me to continue living ...

   will you forgive me, lady shelly?

   xerxes feels his eyelashes when he makes a small noise, pressed against his cheek with another tear following it. there is a book in his lap, a book for a man who has left a story because his own ended. and still, it's all he can think about, when he'd refused zhilan this day. him, undeserving. him, leaving. always leaving.

   and still, there is a book.

   it's clumsy when he reaches to put a hand on the back of zhilan's neck, pulling him closer. a bit too harsh, still, but their foreheads bump together the way he'd wanted them to, zhilan's hair falling into his eyes. he's smiling when the tears allow him to, when the rawness of his throat doesn't have him swallow and stutter.

   there are no words to truly say it.

   ' zhilan, ' xerxes says, disbelieving. ' i love you. ' and after a laugh, soft, another word, still. ' th— thank you. '

[ciar-galyna]

A Court of Shackles and Glass

Chapter Four

Word Count : 8.7k

Warning(s) : N/A

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (coming soon...)

Lyphon

I always preferred eating outside to eating inside. I want to eat where there is sun on my back and I’m surrounded by fresh air with a cool breeze that quietly passes by, ruffling my hair a little. Maybe surrounded by beautiful flowers or plants or trees. But in general, eating outside is better. I don’t care if it’s a feast or a small snack, it doesn’t really matter so long as I’m filling my stomach and I’m not stuck inside a dull castle.

And the Spring Court is the perfect place to have a picnic. It was Lucien’s idea originally, Tamlin was hesitant but complied, leading us to a field and setting everything up. Lucien explained that there several snacks, foods, and treats were set up with tea and some fruit juices. He had helped me avoid sitting on any snacks or creases that would cause a spill. Now we all just sit in silence, enjoying our lunches.

In the background I can hear birds singing as a gentle breeze dances with the vines of a nearby willow tree. A small creature is running through the grass, probably a bunny. I imagine it’s still quite beautiful here. My family had visited this Court a few times for official business. Each time I was enchanted and thought it was gorgeous here. Our plants never looked as lively, vibrant. Our gardens could never compare to the one’s of Theron’s for example. Even after he taught us how to garden better. Maybe it was the soil. Maybe our home could never host life properly, or at least normal life.

Of all the Courts I believe Spring was always my favourite. Winter was too cold, though Gyn always loved it’s frigid weather and her ties to it. Autumn was too cruel, or at least the Vanserra’s always had incredibly untrustworthy characteristics to them, except Lucien, who has proven he’s nothing like the Vanserra’s I’ve met. Summer was nice, but it usually had more tropical plants, less fields of flowers and more water. Dawn was always nice though, a comforting feeling place that always played neutral parts well. Day was…so lively. It was always bright and everyone had a never ending energy until the sun set. It was exhausting, but the libraries were always magical and incredible. We could get lost for years inside them and we’d be content with it. The Night Court was dreadful, misery everywhere and no light underground. Velaris was nicer, but I always felt a little cooped up there, I couldn’t explore a lot. At home Gyn would take me on walks, we’d explore for hours, she’d tell tales of things, I’d listen. We’d be home well past sundown. Despite how much older my brother and sister are, there were still some spots they’d never found before. Creatures they’d never met. Our home can be a living hell, but it never fails to offer endless adventure outside, endless fantastical elements with calm danger.

There were some nights where I was upset, and I’d thought I was quiet and sneaky, that I could get away with crying myself to sleep. Whether it was from stress or genuine hurt, it never mattered. Achlys and Gyn would scoop me up in my blankets and we’d leave with the moon being the only thing illuminating our path. To calm me down they would hum or sing lullabies, show me beautiful, gentle animals and flowers, and tell me stories of a brave Prince who greatest battle was against his heartless Father, the King. It worked everytime. I would fall asleep, comforted and happy. I always woke up in my bed, smelling flowers, a vase of them beside my bed, freshly cut and from one of their personal gardens. Gardens Theron helped plant, gardens that could rival those of the Spring Court’s. Which makes sense, Theron was a male my age who became the High Lord of Spring. He was smart like Boreas and Cosmas, befriending my siblings so he’d have their protection and support. Though their original intentions faded after time, we all did become and stay genuine friends. Long gone are those days though.

Sighing I take another bite of my sandwich. It’s funny, thinking of such old memories. And now that I think of it..this is where I met Reqius. He was a servant, one of the gardeners, he attended to several sections of roses, all of which he expertly kept alive and gleaming..yes I met Reqius in the Spring Court. And now all I have left of him is Ellian. That poor, sweet boy. By the Mother I hope he’s alright. He was always strong and brave, even after what happened to Rima and Terris. He had Reqius’s kindness and determination, so of course he was never easily shaken.

“Enjoying your sandwich, Lyphon?”

Lucien’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, returning me to the Spring Court and our lunch. I hum, nodding.

“Yes, it’s well made, thank you.”

“There’s nothing to thank us for. The chefs made everything, we merely brought everything here.” Tamlin speaks up, his voice rough enough that he clears his throat afterwards.

“Yes, well, you still allowed us to eat outside, which is a nice change. So thank you for that.”

The two are silent for another few minutes, everyone enjoying the snacks or sipping drinks. Tamlin speaks again though, that serious High Lord attitude appearing again.

“I have news.”

I imagine Lucien perking up at this, interested by the announcement and excited on my behalf.

“Did Lyphon’s family contact you?”

I chuckle a little before Tamlin can answer. While the notion is nice, the reality isn’t quite the same.

“I doubt they would. They know that we know better and that we’ll return on our own time, I doubt they’re worried about me or my siblings. I would be more surprised if they did.”

“His family did not contact us, no. I had asked Helion about any records regarding his family, and recently he has invited us to stay a week in the Day Court. Because of this invitation I believe he has found something. He never disclosed that however. So the beginning of next week is when we will visit.”

I hum quietly. Helion…High Lord of the Day Court. I’ve not even the slightest idea about who he is or what he’s like. I can remember one of his ancestors though, or who could be his ancestor. His name was Atalo. He was clever with a quick tongue and charming personality. I suspected that it was all a charade, a carefully made mask, but no one ever batted an eye at him because of it. He was also quite intelligent, and generous enough to allow some to visit the libraries. I wonder how alike the two are. Somehow I doubt Helion will be too serious, like Atalo.

Visiting for a whole week…that should be interesting. It would be nice to visit the libraries again, see any new editions to them. Plus, it would be interesting to see what records Prythian has on us. I’m sure there’s a few ugly patches, but as far as I’ve been aware we were never all that bad, we helped more than we challenged or caused trouble since we had several of our own issues to deal with.

Humming I switch trains of thought.

“Lucien, you previously mentioned you aren’t from Spring. Are you from Autumn?”

Lucien is quiet for a moment, softly humming as he thinks, likely deciding whether to answer me or change the subject. He sighs a little, taking a sip of whatever drink he chose before settling on his answer.

“I was..but I left and came here instead since Tamlin and I were old friends. He let me stay and made me his emissary.”

I hum a little, carefully searching for my glass and taking a sip of my juice. There’s clearly more to the story, but I won’t push, it’s likely a touchy subject anyways.

“I see..tell me. Are the others High Lords cruel?”

Tamlin grunts, almost scoffing.

“It’s a mix. Beron is notoriously cruel, along with Rhysand. Tarquin is more on the kind side. Kallias and Thesan tend to be more neutral. They’re not cruel, but they don’t jump to be kind either. Helion seems to be between neutral and kind, but I’m sure he has the capability to be cruel.”

I chuckle quietly.

“Anyone has the capability to be cruel, should they be pushed far enough. Even the kindest of people can crack and eventually shatter, usually leading to a terrible consequences for everyone surrounding them. Though some are just naturally cruel, whether they intend to be or not.” I say, my head falling back a little. If my eyes weren’t so bad I’d be staring at the sky, maybe watching clouds float by, observe their odd shapes.

That being said though, I’m hoping Gyn and Achlys aren’t stuck in Autumn or Night. Sure we had friends in both in the past, but that was a very long time ago and those ties have been cut. Briefly I wonder what it would take to rebuild those alliances. Probably a lot of bargaining, honestly.

“You sound like you speak from experience.” Tamlin says, sounding almost thoughtful.

“Yes, well, I’ve seen it many times before. The kindest souls being pushed to their very limits and yet still, being expected to act as sweet and unbothered. The cruel ones see them as nothing but stupid pawns to walk all over, and when the time comes when they snap..somehow everyone is surprised.” I hum, “there was one such case many years ago with a family, who had been causing us a lot of trouble, and we suspected it was entirely on purpose. We learned quickly they were abusive to their servants, one in particular.”

“I can still recall the marks on their body that couldn’t be as well hidden as the others. It was disgusting. And he was a sweetheart too. Achlys was concerned and warned the family that they’ll end up biting themselves in the ass. But Gyn and I saw it coming miles away. Gyn had a dagger made for them and offered them a job in our main palace. They said no, at first, deciding to stay loyal, hopeful…”

A silence follows, it feels somber and still. Even the breeze feels a little stiff and tense. We all know the ending.

“They endured half a year more..and then they snapped. It was at a banquet they were hosting. We were in attendance. Their eldest son threw a fit, the perfect image of a spoiled, narcissistic brat that thought he ruled the world. He took the brunt of it, and then…chaos erupted. He apparently carried the dagger with him everywhere, and he’d used it to slit the son’s throat.” I sigh, what a night that was. “In a matter of minutes he’d pulled us outside, given us a load of evidence proving their involvement with underground dealings that spelled out their plans of eliminating us and taking the title of ‘Ruling Family’. He’d also set fire to the manor. The family ended up demanding us for compensation, and we refused. Revealing the collected evidence and arresting them. Thankfully, he’s doing much better now.”

I smile a bit at the memory. Had it not been for that devilish family, he probably would’ve been much happier for longer. Not stuck in some hell with a loyalty for the demons surrounding them, hoping them to truly be secretly angels. The poor soul.

Tamlin hums at the story, Lucien stays quiet, mostly. I can hear his eye moving a bit from time to time. I wonder if his eye ever gets dry, probably not as it’s enchanted for one, and likely not made of flesh. I’m sure both my siblings would be fascinated.

“Where is he now?” Lucien asks after a moment, I’m guessing he’s checking that he’s not poor or homeless, something we’d never allow to happen. Homelessness is a death sentence in our Court, it’s basically a crime to allow anyone to sleep anywhere outside, not unless they were given strict permissions from us.

“He took up Gyn’s offer. Though he requested to work in her palace instead. She complied, so now he works and lives there. It’s a good ending to that story. I can’t imagine why anyone would abuse those who serve them, especially if you rely on them. They say there is strength in numbers and well…who will help you when they turn on you? Or when you fall? You’ve essentially made sure there’s no chance of anyone catching you. So what will you do when you need help?”

I hear nothing, so I imagine Lucien nodding at the information, satisfied with the outcome perhaps.

We return to the silence of before, continuing to snack on our food, drink our drinks. I listen for anything nearby. The wind stays gentle, there’s the odd bird singing a few notes, and sometimes a small critter running somewhere. If I’m not careful there is a good chance I’’ll relax too much and fall asleep.

“Well, it’s time I go back inside. I have a meeting in a half hour and plenty of paperwork to sort through.” Tamlin speaks up, standing up afterwards. He leaves, walking back towards the manor, Lucien sighing a little.

“I suppose lunch is over then..ugh back to dreadful work then. Do you want to come inside with me, Lyphon? I’ll have the servants gather everything.”

I shake my head.

“No, I’ll stay here a while longer. Thank you though.”

Lucien stays quiet for a moment before turning and heading back to the manor, leaving me to my lonesome.

Gyn

I’m relying heavily on muscle memory to get me through this. I haven’t had to fight or use a weapon against someone in a very long time, so actually training again is…interesting. At some points I briefly get excited when I recognize the preparation of a move from my opponent or when I guess their next move correctly. But those moments aren’t very common and honestly they feel more like deja vu than getting a question right on a quiz.

Across from me Tarquin is braced and ready for any possible oncoming attacks on my end, not that any are coming, I’ve sort of forced myself into defensive to the point I’m not sure I’d ever let myself try anything offensive for fear of making a fool of myself. Thank the cauldron Tarquin doesn’t seem to mind though.

We circle each other. While I eye him warily he simply looks at me with amusement. I suspect we both think a child could fight better than I am. Sighing I go back into a defensive stance, this is starting to tire me out more than yesterday.

“You’re not even going to try to attack me once?” Tarquin teases, making me scowl. By the gods this makes me think of Achlys again. We’d both mock and tease each other when training together, pissing each other off endlessly.

“Maybe some other time Tarquin, besides, didn’t you say you wanted to practice some offensive moves?”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“Yes, well, that was with the hope and assumption that you wouldn’t make me overuse every move I’ve learned. Not once have you attacked me. Since when have you ever been strictly on the defensive?”

“Today. I haven’t had a reason to fight recently, so this feels abnormal to me right now.”

He raises a brow, looking rather amused by something.

“And you think I’ll go easily on you because of that?”

I scowl, an expression that’s probably quite common for me.

“Not at all.”

Tarquin smirks, going in for another jump attack. One arm keeps his midsection protected, the other raised with a sword in hand. I’m already on the edge of the rink, so I angle my body more leftwards and back up, moving along the edge. If he jumps me or hits me hard enough I’ll definitely loose..though right now that isn’t sounding too bad. I’m getting pretty worn out, my breathing is already a little strained and my movements are slowing down, even if by a little, my reaction time is slower too, and I’m sure by now he’s picked up on that. Though he hasn’t bothered to capitalize on it..for some reason.

The attack is followed by a few more, smaller and more controlled ones, ones that require less energy but are still effective, especially when used correctly. His movements are swift, and I actively have to put more effort and energy into dodging than before, a few strikes nearly hit.

Tarquin makes one last move, light glinting off the steel as it narrowly misses the bridge of my nose, instead severing a stray hair halfway. The thin strand falls, but rather than landing on the sandy floor of our little sparring arena, Tarquin catches it, pinching it between two fingers. His smirk grows as he holds it up for us both to see.

“You’re getting slow.”

Sighing, I can only nod. The arm carrying my own sparring sword drops, the blade feels heavy in my hands and I’m all to aware of the sweat dripping down my neck, back, and sides.

“Yes, well, I’m getting tired.” Breathing and speaking are two things I cannot do simultaneously, right now at least. “Honestly, I’m not sure I can even continue after this..goodness, I yield. If you need me-”

“You do not yield.”

“Excuse you?”

He chuckles seeing my expression. But repeats what he said nonetheless.

“You. Do not. Yield.”

I raise a brow, though my annoyance still clear. Huffing I take a step back, or try to. It would be enough for me to technically lose. But Tarquin isn’t having any of it. He grabs my wrist, pulling me towards him and backing up into we’re both in the center of the ring, inches apart. I’m not enjoying the victorious look on his face.

“You are not allowed to yield or leave this ring until you’ve attacked me. And no ‘low effort’ attacks either, I want you to treat me like an actual opponent. Fight me like you would on the battlefield.”

Only then does he back up, going into a defensive stance. I narrow my eyes this time, more from concern and warning.

“I’d really rather not, Tarquin.’

“Just try.”

Exasperated and getting pretty foul mooded, I back up. He looks confused for a moment before I charge, running at full speed with my sword pointed right at his chest. He raises his arms higher, twisting his sword to use it as a sort of shield. He moves forward too, planning to take the sword head on, but I move left at the last second, raising the sword to strike him in the head, and then kick him in the knee instead.

He grunts as he almost kneels. Swiftly I kick at his nose, then at his chest, both attempted strikes are blocked by one arm, the other being used to raise his sword and aim a strike. He stabs at my chest, I barely raise my own sword fast enough to block that. I jump back, giving us both space as he stands to his full height and starts to approach, smiling.

It’s his usual smile, the one that’s soft and in any other context would make me think of calming waves and shining pearls. But right now it just puts me more on edge. I wonder if he smiles at his enemies like this before killing them.

Huffing slightly I run at him full speed, keeping my sword and body lowered. At the last second I dodge to the side, spinning just enough to get behind him and kick the back of one of his knees before pressing the sword against his throat, not enough to do any real damage, of course.

He grunts as he lands, using a hand to keep the sword’s edge away from his throat. He must not have been very affected by the attack however, since he’s quick to roll forward, taking me with him. I think I feel my spine crack a few times. I groan as we stop with him and planting of his body weight laying atop of me, specifically my chest. Now I’m taking in even less air. I’ll probably pass out in a minute.

Hissing I put more effort into moving the sword back towards his neck. My arm shakes as he pushes back. While he’s a bit more distracted I raise my legs, high enough to wrap them firmly around his diaphragm, before squeezing like a boa constrictor. This might not work out well for me though. I wouldn’t be surprised if he can hold his breath longer or be able to last longer without oxygen than the average fae.

He almost tenses up immediately. One hand works on keeping the sword away from his throat, the other works at untangling my legs or at least loosening them enough that he won’t have to fight for air every breath. He’s not giving up fast enough though, so I reach out with my free hand and place opposite his hand on the sword. Twisting the sword in my other hand, I make sure it’s flat against both our palms. Despite wheezing a little, Tarquin manages to chuckle slightly.

“How are you supposed to slit my throat with the sharp edge facing away from me?”

A strangled laugh escapes me, I sound a bit exasperated, desperate too.

“If I get it close enough, strangling you will all be too easy. All I need to do is angle it properly between your neck and jaw.”

He barks a laugh, the sound startling me and I’m temporarily unsure of how to react. Is he ok? Is he pushing himself too far? Do I need to do something? He stops before I can check for any health problems though.

“You nasty, nasty girl.”

“You’re the one who told me to fight like you were my enemy. I don’t necessarily need a quick victory, I just need to win..or lose. Whichever will make you let me leave faster.”

He grunts as I pull the sword closer to his throat, cursing the hand trying to remove my legs switches between hitting my side with the hilt of his sword and with as much force as he can use at the moment, and trying to push the sword away. Each strike to my side feels like fireworks of pain exploding and worsening with each strike. He doesn’t even need to hit me anymore for my whole side to ache and throb, but it’s worse at the main strike point, which would be my bottom rib.

With a rough gasp I tightening my legs around him as much as I can, both legs shaking as I struggle to keep squeezing his diaphragm. It’s paying off though. His breathing has become short, quick gasps that I know aren’t getting him much air. Close, so close to victory. Until I’m not.

His one arm raises again, poised and ready to strike.

“No-”

Pain explodes in my entire side as the hilt of his sword strikes the bottom bone again. I feel a crack, probably the rib fracturing. Lovely. Unfortunately I falter, one hand slipping briefly from the sword, giving him enough time and strength to rip the sword from my hands and toss to the other side of the arena. He hits my fracturing rib again, I hiss, agony and lack of energy causing my legs to loosen, practically flopping to the side as Tarquin quickly unwraps my legs.

I barely notice him turning until it’s too late. Instantly air is whisked from my lungs and I try to inhale, only to meet the resistance that is his weight pressed onto my diaphragm through his knee. The point of his sword presses against the middle of my throat.

Oh if Great Great Grandfather could see me now..I would surely never be able to return home until I floored him in the first 10 seconds. I would be quite the disappointment. I might’ve had an excuse as a child. But not now. I’m fully grown and I’ve already been trained. To think Ulysse was so successful I can barely fight now. Cauldron I might just cry myself to sleep tonight. Coming from a family who takes pride in their strength and ability to defeat others…of course I feel like a weakling now. A failure almost.

Anger boils up inside at the thought. After everything I’ve had to go through to prove myself, to get a peaceful, quiet living, this is what I’ve become? It was really this easy? To defeat me, weaken me, make me give up?

I basically snarl like an animal as a grab a fistful of sand and throw right as his eyes. I don’t give him time to process as he raises a hand to block the sand, possibly get some out of his eyes. I punch him in the throat, then raise a leg to kick him in the crotch before using that leg to shove him away. As he lands, wiping the sand from his eyes, I stand up, marching over to my sword and picking it up. When I turn he’s still keeled over, coughing though. I have to make this quick. It seems we both are going till the other taps out, so I’ll have to force him to. Pressing a blade to his head won’t do that, but almost slitting his throat probably will.

Before he can get up, I stand over him and put the blade in the curve between his jaw and his neck, before carefully pulling up. I don’t actually want to hurt him, but I need him to give up. He almost curses, scrambling to push the blade away, but I don’t let him move it. He’s trying hard not to cough, but it’s clear he’s about to and if he does blood will likely spill..well maybe, I’m not entirely sure how sharp these swords are. Huffing he hits my leg three times.

Sighing with a bit of relief I move the sword away, tossing it to the other side near the stands that hold other practice blades. Moving a few feet away I sit down on some of the steps, wincing as my side throbs again and the pain spasms when I cough a little. Tarquin practically has a coughing fit for a minute, but he’s okay otherwise, thankfully. When that’s done he stands up, takes a few deep breaths, and turns to me.

“Congrats.”

Quietly he walks over, offering a hand. I take it, almost distracted by the contrasting feel of soft yet calloused. He pulls me up into a standing position.

“Ah well, thank you. Though I’m certain you did more damage than me. Much more. So good job for that.”

He frowns at that, eyes instantly going to my side. One hand reaches, about to touch the growing red patch, but I grab his wrist before it can.

“Please don’t. My rib was fractured. I know you’re gentle, but that will still hurt.”

Concern colours his eyes as they flick back up to meet mine.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize- let me take you to the healers.”

He’s quick, I’ll give him that. I can’t form a response fast enough before he’s slipping the hand hovering above my side into my own hand, tugging me towards the exit.

“No- it’s fine, Tarquin. I’ll be fine. Just let me rest and I’ll look after it once I’m more energized.”

Stubbornly though, he shakes his head, pulling me along.

“No. We’re going to the healers. I won’t risk you accidentally harming yourself further by using this chance to practice your abilities more. I trust you know what you’re doing, but I’d rather have you healed immediately than wait for you to do it yourself.”

Sighing I increase my pace to match his, following him as he expertly moves from hallway to hallway in search of the healers wing. Or just healers. I’m assuming there’s a mini-hospital in the castle, but I could be mistaken.

We both fall into a comfortable silence. Him, determined to find a healer and searching. Me, lost in thought as I stare out any windows at the vast sea. The silence is softly broken though when Tarquin asks a question.

“What was that, back there? Do you hate losing?”

I’m quiet for a moment, thinking.

“No..not quite, at least. I- I think it was more just, in my family, strength is something that we were raised to put a lot of pride in. Me and my siblings, we were all raised with the ideal that we couldn’t afford to lose, not even once.”

“Couldn’t afford to lose..what do you mean by that?”

“I suppose a simple way of saying it is that by my family’s standards, loosing means you’re weak. And in a family that values strength highly..well my Great Great Grandfather has a set of standards that, if not met, mean he’ll make you an outcast or just straight up disown you.” I wince at a few memories that pop up. “The Mortis name carries a lot of protection at home..if you’re apart of the family or at least respected, you’re well protected and regular or weaker creatures won’t attack you, you won’t really be challenged. But otherwise..you’re open game.”

Tarquin hums, nodding slightly.

“I see, well. I think it’s a bit foolish to place all your seashells in one basket, if strength is the only thing your family values..then they’re blinding themselves to many other wonderful things, and building up themselves for failure. Or at the very least, a very miserable family. You didn’t need to beat me for me to know that you’re strong, Gyn.”

His words make me smile, the smile growing into a giggle as I grin at him.

“Thank you, for that. I’m sure it could take me a while to fully agree, but I’m at least aware that my Great Great Grandfather should try using more baskets.”

He chuckles, smiling back. We walk for a few more minutes before we arrive at a door labeled ‘Medical’. He knocks, the door swinging open immediately. A fae woman looks between the two of us, then at my side and motions for us to come inside.

Tarquin leads the way until the woman motions for me to sit on a bed. I seat myself on the edge, and she begins her examination.

“Is your side the only place of concern or are there any other injuries I should be made aware of?”

“Only my side, I’m fine otherwise. My rib is fractured, I don’t know how severely though.”

“I see, very well.”

The woman grabs a clipboard, scribbles a few things down before reaching and, quite gently, brushing her fingers across my side. I grit my teeth as fire follows the light touch, exhaling slowly to stop myself from screaming or cursing too much. Both Tarquin and the healer notice the reaction, of course. And the few tears that threaten to spill. Tarquin gives my hand a squeeze, muttering an apology. I just give him a light squeeze back.

“Well, I’m not sure what the cause of this injury was, but your rib is a hair away from being broken. It’s an easy fix, thankfully. Though I will need to touch you to heal you..”

Tarquin’s eyes widen at her statement. I almost chuckle, but instead respond before he can.

“That’s fine, just get it done with, please.”

The healer nods, nimbly she works at healing me. I hiss at the pain, but it lightens up fairly quickly. It only takes her a few moments to heal my side completely.

“There we are. Everything is fine now, you’re good to go.”

I nod, hopping off the bed.

“Thank you, do I need to pay you?-”

“No, I’m a healer that works under the palace, so I have no fees for anyone I heal. I simply heal anyone brought here and get paid at the end of the week.”

“I see. Well thank you.”

She nods, turning and taking her clipboard with her, heading into an office area. I’m about to say goodbye and head to my room, but the guilt ridden expression on Tarquin’s face stops me.

“Are you alright-”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that I had nearly broken your rib. Had I known that would happen I probably would’ve just let you go and rest. I probably should have in the first place. I’m-”

“It’s fine Tarquin. You did nothing wrong. You fought me fairly and I just happened to be injured. This isn’t the worst I’ve ever experienced either, so please don’t let this weigh heavily on you. I appreciate that you didn’t bother going easy on me..at least I don’t think you did. I would find it quite insulting if you decided to baby me after insisting I stay to fight.”

He seems slightly less upset, but still feeling guilty. He nods, acting a bit like that was all I needed to say to convince him. Sighing I shake my head. He almost turns to leave, but this time I stop him, wrapping my arms around him in a hug.

He tenses for a moment, but he returns the hug.

“I’m okay, Tarquin. It’s okay. I strangled you for cauldron’s sake. I should be apologizing to you instead. So please don’t be upset because I got hurt. So did you.”

He sighs, conceding.

“Alright. Fine. I’ll try to…forgive myself I suppose.”

“Thank you, are you busy today?”

“No..I only have one meeting today, thankfully. And that’s just before dinner.”

“Good. Let’s go on a walk. I know you’ll still feel bad or down for a little while, so let’s go on a walk. Clear some of the air. You usually feel better after walks or visits to the beach, right?”

He smiles a little, nodding, letting me push him out of the healers room.

Achlys

The High Lord’s office reminds me of what was my Father’s. A simple yet intricately carved door opening to a spacious area meant for greeting or waiting with two couches facing each other with comfortable and soft pillows placed in the corner between cushion and arm. Then a few small steps that lead into a sort of study area. Both walls lined with bookshelves, two long tables placed two feet away with several cushioned chairs placed around them. Papers, books, quills, and ink pots line the tables too. And then there a few more small steps, leading up to where the High Lord sits, waiting or writing and signing away behind a fancy or elaborate desk that likely has a few hidden compartments for secret or important documents.

I suspect that an important part of the design is intimidation and condescension. I can remember a few times where the long walk from the door to the desk was nerve wracking, all the while my Father wouldn’t even spare me a glance, and I hated how it felt like he was superior and above me, that I wasn’t worth his time, but those rotten documents always were. Just like how he tried to make my baby sister the same, making her sign dozens of practice sheets everyday since she turned 12, and scolding her when she tried to get her work done faster, claiming she wasn’t even reading the pages, that she was making herself to become a poor High Lady.

I work to quiet down the building anger. Snapping at a High Lord has never really done me any favours. And it’s not even like Eris is the one who’s made my sister slave away at a desk for hours on end.

Sighing, I step into the High Lord’s office. It’s warm, probably from the fireplace near his desk that burns away.

Eris looks up from the pages in front of him, placing his quill down. He beckons me forward, waiting patiently while I walk forward. It takes a moment for me to finally reach the desk and sit down in one of the seats placed in front of the desk.

His amber eyes track me the whole way, following me like a predator would when they’re not sure whether they’re stalking prey or another predator. He doesn’t appear tense, but he’s also not relaxed in any sort of way. I’m sure I am only another dangerous problem that has made itself known.

We both stay quiet for a moment, waiting to see if the other will speak first all while staring each other down in silent scrutiny. I decide I’ll be the first to speak.

“You called, High Lord?”

The barest hint of frown. The barest hint of amusement.

“You’ve made me curious. Your family has always brought me fascination, and it is easy to recognize that your siblings would be incredibly helpful to me, and you would be more comfortable if you were all here.”

I don’t bother hiding the disgusted frown that grows on my face. Sure, it would be nicer if we were all together again, but it would be even better if we were together away from this place, outside of the hellish Autumn Court.

“We won’t be your slaves, High Lord. Nor will we ever be. No Mortis ever bows before anyone else. While a reunion would be nice, don’t expect my siblings servitude as a returning favour.”

He chuckles quietly.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. But you’re smart, and something tells me that you already have a few guesses as to where your siblings have been placed.” He hums, “I’m going to assume you know you have nothing in Prythian. You can threaten me all you like, but we both know for the time being they are nothing but empty, dangerous words. So let me extend a hand. You tell me about your sister and brother, and in return I will send letters to the High Lords on your behalf. Does that seem fair.”

The disgust melts into a suspicion that does well to disguise itself. I can feel the muscles in my face relax away back into the neutral mask every High Sovereign’s child has become intimately familiar with. My gut tightens though, a sense of unease washing over me like a filthy water that makes you itch to bathe.

“That’s..quite generous of you. Why make such an offer? It seems like you have quite the disadvantage in this deal. Only receiving information and finding my siblings for me in return? I have no doubts you have something else planned. Something that requires that information.”

“Not at all.” He shrugs, “I’m merely curious about your family.”

He smirks, glad I haven’t seen the full picture yet.

“But I’m also playing the long game here. In the end that information can play key roles for me in getting what I want, and I’ll have the satisfaction of having more information as the middle man or messenger. You will never know if I have more information on your siblings, their conditions, and their whereabouts and you’ll have to trust that I’ll share that info with you when I receive it. But, if you decide that you won’t take the deal, you’ll need to collect the information yourself and I’ll willing to bet that you’d rather take the quicker route and find them faster.”

This is a familiar feeling to that of being locked in a chess match against my cousin, Melchor. He’s intelligent in a way that he can trick you into making moves that only benefit him all while making you think it was the better move. Subconscious trickery. But Eris has revealed some of his hand. Nothing too important of course, he’s only given me a slight hint at his intentions and personality in the wad of information I could’ve guessed on my own. It almost feels like a battle of wits.

“Let’s say I do take the deal. Realistically, there isn’t any guarantee that the High Lords will respond in the first place, nor is there any real guarantee that they will respond truthfully. If they’re smart, they, like you, will know or realize how much of an asset my siblings are. And if they’re as scheming and cunning as when we were younger, we’ll be nothing but bargaining pieces for them.”

“That is, assuming, that all our High Lords are in fact the cunning, cruel creatures that made the High Lords when you were younger. Like my Great Great Great Grandfather, Eldmar.”

I almost shudder at the name. I remember Eldmar, quite well actually. He left quite the impression. He had a regal and authoritative presence and he was quite a clever man. You never knew what he was thinking, and he was always able to control any conversation or negotiation he was a part of, always in his favour of course. He was scary in how strategic he was. It was always odd, being around him. I recognized that I was the more powerful one, and yet I genuinely felt like I was outclassed when I was near him, that I was the weaker one.

“And are they? Like their ancestors? Or are have things changed that much already?”

His eyes narrow slightly, an amused twinkle in his eyes. They haven’t changed that much at all then.

“Some..are different than what you might expect. But I suspect that is because of different circumstances. Most aren’t that much different though, so I can’t say your suspicion is miss placed. How about you just tell me where you suspect they are, and I’ll tell you what their chances are with that Court’s particular High Lord. And I’ll still send letters.”

“Or you could just tell me about the different High Lords that rule today.”

“No. Either you tell me your suspicions and about your siblings, or I let you go about your own research. And I won’t provide you any aid in that case.”

I roll my eyes, but consider the different pros and cons. He’s only asking for information, information he plans to use later on for his own goals. Though his terminology was vague enough where if I agree, I’ll be saying I’ll give any information on my siblings that he requests. But..he’ll also contact other Courts and try to find my siblings. If I went out on my own and went searching for my own answers, I would have a much harder time. I have nothing tying my to Prythian, so getting a job would be difficult or earning any money. I could be perceived as a threat and treated as such if I ever approached any High Lord. I have nothing. But he has something and is offering some of his resources. Groaning I make my choice.

“Fine. Our cousin hated us dearly and I’m going assume placed in locations that played on some of our biggest fears. I hate caves and my prison was placed inside one. My sister is terrified of deep waters, so he’s likely placed her prison somewhere with lots of deep water. Likely the Summer Court. Lyphon hates being buried alive, so somewhere where it wouldn’t be difficult to move a lot of dirt. My best guesses are Spring, Day, and Dawn.”

Eris considers the information, nodding slowly before moving his papers aside and grabbing blank pages and placing them in front of himself.

“I’ll send a letter to Summer. And one to Spring as a starter. We’ll wait for the replies and proceed from there.”

The sound of a quill writing away fills in the silence. I read each word and line as they’re written, following without problem. Reading upside down is something I learned when I was still young. It’s quite handy.

---

High Lord Tarquin,

There isn’t a chance that you have a female by the name of Gyn Mortis under your care at the moment, is there? Or a large, strange prison somewhere deep in the waters that surround your Court? Recently I’ve found one such prison in my Court, it’s prisoner making me quite curious. I wish to find his two other siblings that have also been imprisoned. He has informed me that he suspects his sister resides in your Court at the moment. Should she ask which brother is in my Court, simply answer her elder brother. Do lend a helping hand and bring this family back together?

—High Lord Eris

---

High Lord Tamlin,

How does Spring fare? Recently a strange prison was found in Autumn and the prison had made me quite curious. It is in my interests to help in finding his two other siblings. He has informed me that he suspects his younger brother, Lyphon, could be potentially be found in your Court. Should you find or have found him, please contact me.

—High Lord Eris

---

Once the letters are written and sealed, ready to be sent, he places aside for later, returning his attention to me.

“So then, tell me about your family. Your sister and brother, preferably.”

“What exactly do you want to know? Anything?”

He smiles softly, the smile disappearing quickly.

“Anything. Indulge my curiosity.”

“If you’re really so desperate. Tell me what you already know so I don’t waste either of our time.”

He rolls his eyes, sitting back in his chair while he toys with a quill, spinning it between his fingers as a drop of ink threatens to spill.

“My my, so spoiled and demanding. I don’t know intimate details, only history and impressions about someone based on the writings of the author. I’ve studied the various wars your family was apart of. I’ve gone through all the records my family has about anything that involved your family or Court.”

“And what have you learned about us? You’re smart, I’m sure you’ve already read between the lines.”

A small, prideful smirk grows on his face. He’s glad someone’s finally noticed, I’m sure. Eager to brag or maybe he’s just glad someone finally hasn’t underestimated him. If there is one thing I’ve learned about Autumn, never underestimate a Vanserra, especially ones that parade themselves as weaker or uninterested. Not that Eris checks those boxes, but still. New High Lords are always underestimated and yet to earn the respect of their fathers or forefathers. An unfortunate thing, but it comes with the presumed lack of experience. Observation and experience can be two very different things at times.

“Your family seems oddly peaceful for one that presents itself as violent and threatening. I’ll guess your patriarch is quite selective in what your family gets themselves involved in. All things considered he might even have some morals.”

I snort at the comment. Oh if only he knew or met our oh so wonderful Great Great Grandfather.

“He’s never had morals. He does things when he gets bored or because he gets irritated. He doesn’t do things for ‘good’. Gyn and Lyphon have morals, maybe not as many as some, but more than most in my family.” I don’t stop my snicker, “take a war over freeing slaves. The Knight would fight to stop the annoyance of begging for help and freedom. It could go either way, he would slaughter for either side. Gyn would fight for their freedom. I would simply offer to kill them all, free them that way. And well..Lyphon would probably use everyone’s bodies to help him fight.”

I laugh, quite loudly actually, but it’s true. Lyphon never spared a corpse, if it was available and not too badly damaged it could help him.

“Though, he would likely follow Gyn, he’s like a sheep or a puppy in that case. He looks to her for help and guidance at times. They always connected well, and Gyn was determined to be a good older sister, make life less miserable.”

Eris quirks a brow but hums, spinning the quill the opposite direction now.

“Interesting. I was under the impression that your family had a strict hierarchy, that you all looked to and obeyed your Great Great Grandfather.”

There’s a dark chuckle from me.

“Not necessarily. Pops rarely appears and even more rarely reclaims the control he’s generously given to some of his descendants. There is, I suppose, an hierarchy of sorts. It’s mostly based on power and the relations we have to The Knight. For a while now Gyn and I were considered 2nd in commands, we didn’t rule the Court, naturally. But we were given respect and power for being successful results of selective breeding and proving to be quite useful.

“I’m liked for my obedience because I’ve never had a problem with the orders given. Gyn, on the other hand, can be too timid to speak up against our Great Great Grandfather. So she’s subtle in the ways she defies him. Fighting in wars, but sparing those who wish for peace, and offering them a home, though in a different form. But Pops loves Gyn, so he never punished her. In fact he took interest and praised her for her knowledge in biology and her strength. That being said, we are family you know, not sheep. We only obey as often as we do because we trust Pops’ judgement. He’s never been wrong.”

Eris narrows his eyes slightly, a look of consideration and realization on his face.

“You sound like you trust each other a lot…not quite something I’ve heard of from a High Lord’s family. Usually, from my experience, most High Lord’s and their families aren’t usually on good terms with each other. But it sounds like you might just have..a decent family.”

I frown slightly at that. It’s true, most High Lord’s families I’ve met could be compared more to a den of wolves that have been starved a few days. Or snakes. Something nasty that’s thirsty for blood, rich with envy, and hungry for power that they may or may not use correctly. That being said, my family isn’t all that much better.

“I’m not sure I can agree with you, on that point. We may trust each other for certain things, but we’re as ugly as the rest. Look at me and my siblings. Ripped from our beds by a traitorous cousin and shoved into metal boxes that leeches power from you until you’ve been freed before being tossed into places where he hopes we won’t be found. There is no shortage of hatred, fear, and blood in our family.”

The confession shouldn’t give away too much information, and I don’t believe it can really be used against us. It might sound like it could be easy to sway someone in our family into betraying and killing off family members or imprisoning them. But Pops is quite..meticulous in his control of the family and its members.

An entire tradition has been made out of him rooting out anyone he finds don’t meet his standards. His word is law in the family and if he judges you to be worthless in the family, then you’ll be removed. Countless cousins, aunts, uncles all killed or banished because they’re too weak or useless. Our family is more comparable to a unit in the army than a proper family, I think. Some of us are close, but usually it’s a relationship and bond built up over the years, not something you feel or recognize naturally. Sometimes it just feels like we’re dolls in a doll house, and Pops is the master that controls us.

The door of the office opens and we both turn to see who’s entered. It’s a servant, carrying a silver tray with a tea pot, two tea cups, and some small dishes and utensils for anything we might want to add.

Eris gestures for the servant to approach. They’re quick and quiet as they approach and place the tray on the desk between us where no papers are. They’re just as quick to leave. Reaching forwards Eris takes one of the cups, pouring himself a drink.

“Feel free to refresh yourself with a drink. I don’t imagine this conversation will be over for a little while..”

I hum, reaching forwards to pour myself a drink.

“Maybe not.”

~~~

Thank you for reading and for your patience. Writer's block sucks. Enjoy your day/night.

~~~

Btw, this fanfic is available on Quotev and AO3.

[meatmechapilot]

AU August 2022 Day 3 - Countryside

We Can Steal Time Just for One Day

This fic is a prequel to A Ghost Story

The year is 1922, prohibition was the law of the land.  Organized crime gained control of the distribution of alcohol in many cities and raked in the big bucks.

A car was driving from one of those cities to the countryside.  The driver and passenger are part of the aforementioned organized crime ensuring the continued flow of alcohol.  They are armed, dangerous, and on a mission.

Once the car reached its destination, the two men in sharp suits climbed out of their car and looked at the country cottage.  One of the men look to be in his thirties while the other one look to be in his twenties.  "Levi, how did you manage to get this place?" The younger, but taller of the two asked.

"I inherited it from my uncle, but don't ask me how he got it.  Can't be anything legal." The shorter, older one, Levi answered.  They begin to unload the car and bring everything into the cottage.  Bedrolls, blankets, food, everything that's needed for a weekend excursion.

The cottage has a main room, a bedroom, and a rudimentary kitchen.  It is already sparsely furnished with a bed, table and chairs.  The most important feature is the fireplace in the main room.  After putting everything in the cottage, the men begin preparing for what they really came to the countryside for, a picnic.

"Eren, I have a surprise for you." The shorter of the two said, brandishing a bottle he pulled out from a basket.

"Wait, is that-" Eren's eyes lit up.

"Champagne"

"How?"

"I have my ways"

It's already past noon, so Levi and Eren started to spread out the food they brought, intending on having a good picnic in the nice, crisp Autumn air.  Sandwiches, breads, cheese and jams and the aforementioned champagne was consumed with relish.  

After lunch, Levi took Eren around the property to explore.  Levi noted that there are some nice plots of land near the cottage for a nice vegetable garden.  There are also some apple trees around the property that to their relief actually bears fruit fit for human consumption.

Dinner was more of the picnic food and afterwards, Levi and Eren watched the sunset right on the front porch of the cottage.  The night was clear, and they are able to gaze up at the stars, so bright without the city lights, it was easy to lose themselves in contentment.

The sun's long down and the Autumn chill began to bite, as much as they would like to cuddle under the stars some more, they packed up their blankets and leftover food and retired to the country cottage.

They came back to the cottage but not to sleep.  Levi lit up the fireplace while Eren put away the leftovers and spread the bedroll before the fireplace.

After the cottage became nice and toasty from the fireplace, the two men took off their clothes and got underneath the blankets.

"I've been waiting for this all day," Levi growled, capturing Eren's lips before he can talk.

After a searing kiss, Eren replied, "I know, which is why I've prepared myself beforehand."

"That's a good boy." Levi said, he took out the bottle of oil and coated his cock with it.

"Anything for you, Daddy." Eren said, spreading his legs as Levi got into position and pushed right in.

Both men groaned at the sensation.  Even though Eren stretched himself before hand, it still burned when he's being penetrated by his lover, struggling to accommodate his girth.  Levi marveled at how tight his boy is, how shy his expression still turns during sex, a play at virginity despite Levi taking it himself years ago.  Lust build inside the two men and soon, the cottage is filled with sounds of passion.

They made love all night, as if desperate to stretch this moment out as long as possible.

The next morning, they are reluctant to leave their countryside sanctuary.  Society would not accept their relationship.  There were way too many stories of men such as themselves being beaten or even killed just for being who they are.

They ate a breakfast of leftovers in silence, intend to enjoy the last of their solitude.

"Are you sure we can't just leave the gang and everything and move here?" Eren asked, sounding wistful.

"Why do you think I brought us here?" Levi said, indulgent.

"Really?"

"It's just in the planning stages, but what do you say, we fix this place up, bring more stuff, then just disappeared from society?"

"I consider this a marriage proposal"

"Cheeky brat" Levi said fondly, they shared one last kiss before climbing into the car to go back to their lives.

This is what Eren and Levi look like in this fic:

[sslow-dancer]

heyy may I request a family fluff modren au oneshots with jonathan joestar? ty!

A/N: Since you said family... I thought I’d add the rest of Jonathan’s (and Dio’s bleh) kids with George II AND Danny! :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank You For This.” (Jonathan Joestar x Reader)

Warnings: none!

Description: On the Saturday after the last day of school for your eldest boys, you invite the entire family to a picnic at the local park. Though you face some challenges before getting to that first…

NOTE: P/P/T stands for “preferred parent title.” This one-shot is gender-neutral, I want all to be comfortable! 💙

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Boyyys! Shoes. We’re leaving soon. We need to get a good spot to eat at the park so get ‘em on.” you call out from the kitchen.

It’s a Saturday afternoon, the sun is extra bright out in your beloved city of New York and summer is the season many students have waited for. Your sons just as excited.

George has just finished up his 8th year in middle school, Giorno’s 3rd in elementary and Donatello’s 2nd in elementary. Rikiel and Ungalo are yet to start. They’ll be going once the breezy fall/autumn season is back.

It takes a lot to take care of 5 boys in one household. Though luckily your job becomes a bit easier when your archaeologist husband, Jonathan Joestar, gets a few days off. And thus, you plan out family hang outs here and there. This time, spending a day at the park to celebrate your boys’ achievements.

You use a rolling pin to knead at the cookie dough on the counter. You had already baked up some double chocolate chip cookies but decided to make some sugar cookies as well as George, Girono and Donatello prefer them. The two youngest of the 5 having a sweeter tooth. And your husband of course not caring, the large man will eat everything his sons leave over.

You sigh as you don’t hear any noise from the top floor. You stop your kneading and go to wash your hands under the faucet. You dry them off on your apron and walk up the steps. Your ears are filled with loud noise and your eyes widen. You just walked into a chaotic scene.

There in the room in full view from the stairs lays a sleeping Donatello under a large pile of blankets. Giorno is in the bathroom brushing his teeth while Jonathan attempts to fix his messy hair. George’s door is closed and loud with the sound of video games inside. And the sight that has confused you the most- a naked Ungalo getting chased around by a Rikiel in pull ups with a towel. Danny barks behind the toddlers, Ungalo giggles as Danny reaches his side.

“Hey, what-“

You’re cut off when George exits his room and brushes past you with his face glued to his phone. You question your oldest as he approaches the stairs, texting god knows who.

“George, what the hell happened-“

“Don’t ask me. Dad only told me to get ready and I did that.” George replies in a blunt tone. He puts his phone in his pocket and pats the side of his leg, he mouthes a “come on” to Danny. The dog runs over and heaves happily as George pats his head. They both rush down to the first floor.

You place your hands on your hips and huff in disbelief. The youngest run past you, your face scrunching up as you grumble lowly. You manage to catch Ungalo by grabbing him by the shoulders and picking him up by the waist. You grab the towel from a dazed Rikiel and wrap it around your naked son. Ungalo wraps his little legs and arms around you as you direct Rikiel to go to his room and wait for you. The 3 year old pouts as he pads his way down. You sigh shaking your head as you approach Donatello’s room and knock on his opened door multiple times.

“Come on! Wake up, wake up. I told you to get enough sleep last night. And get those blankets off of you, you’ll overheat.” you exclaim aggressively. Your middle child groans, his arm reaches out as if there’s an alarm clock next to him. Ungalo giggles as he pulls at your apron and points over at a now ready Giorno walking down to join his older brother. ‘At least 2 of the 5 are ready’ you think ‘and the dog…” you add on humorously.

Half of your husband’s stature appears from outside the bathroom. He dries his hands with a small towel and walks out. He closes the door and looks at you. You lift an eyebrow.

“Jonathan…” you mutter frustratedly. A clueless Jonathan looks up.

“Yes, my love?”

You point at the naked boy in your arms, the boy sleeping under piles of blankets and the half-naked boy sitting on the bed carelessly swinging his feet. You place a hand on your hip.

“What is the meaning behind all this? Our youngest are practically naked-“ you lock eyes with Ungalo, you sigh “well…one is naked. And one is still asleep. Only 2 are ready! What’s going on? I thought you were good at controlling them while I’m busy…”

Jonathan laughs soundlessly, taking Ungalo from your arms and placing a kiss on your forehead. You groan.

“It’s no time to be lovey dovey here… I’m yet to prepare the sandwiches for everyone.”

“And I’m not trying to be, it’s just who I am. I want you to be calm. Let me explain.” he says with a sweet voice. You frown as you cross your arms and look down at your feet.

He walks over to Ungalo’s and Rikiel’s shared bedroom. He places Ungalo on the bed as he goes into their closet and picks out outfits for them. You stand at the doorway and watch him get your sons dressed.

“I was going to dress these boys first but Giorno told me he wanted to try a new hairstyle as he’s grown it out and plans to dye it blonde. So I helped him out with that. Donatello had already gotten up-“ he laughs a little, your mind wondering how he’s able to keep so positive as you’re worried that you won’t get the best spot at the park. “But he somehow fell asleep again after he played with Ungalo and Rikiel. He actually helped me shower them too so he must’ve fallen asleep before he dressed them fully.”

Ungalo happily runs out with his shoes in hand, telling his father that he can tie them himself. Jonathan nods in response and finishes tying Rikiel’s shoes. Rikiel giggles following after Ungalo. He smiles lovingly, you blink, a blank expression on your face. Your gaze going from Donatello finally standing up to get ready and back to him innocently smiling. You exhale through your nose.

“Okay, I believe you. Your story sounds- fine. But I’m still confused as to why you didn’t do anything about the boys and Danny chasing each other.” you ask with genuine uncertainty. Jonathan shakes his head.

“Well, that one’s on me. Which I apologize for. Even though I asked Donatello to dress them, I don’t blame him. All I did was tell them to go to their room while I helped Giorno. In truth, I feel Girono could’ve done everything himself but I wanted to bond with each of our sons before I go to work again. George and I even spoke before you were awake. I come home late often and don’t get to see all unless one or more of them are awake.” he places a hand over his heart “I swear an event like this will never happen again. Please do not stress, you know I don’t like seeing you that way.”

You hum, uncrossing your arms as you think. Well he only is one person, what do you expect? Your boys just got done with school too, they must be tired and desiring to sleep in most days.

Jonathan nears you and wraps his arms around your waist, he pecks the side of your mouth. You hum again, embarrassed at how angry you got. He knows you well, so he goes on to say,

“Don’t be embarrassed. You deal with them more than me. So it’s understandable that you got upset. Go downstairs and finish up. I’ll deal with Donatello, okay?” he caresses your cheek, his touch always soothes you. You hesitantly remove his hand and nod. You go down and become content when all your boys offer to help.

~Time Skip~

An hour later, you all arrive at the park. Lucky for you, a grassy area near a playground is open.

Jonathan lays out a large blanket for you all to sit on. You set down the two baskets of food and goodies and let your family get comfortable in their own seats.

“I call the PBJ!” Giorno calls out. Ungalo pouts and crosses his arm, he nudges at your sleeve.

“But I want that…” he says sadly. You laugh, searching through one of the baskets.

“Oh honey, don’t worry. I’m sure we have one more…”

You give him one and smile when he hugs your side. All the others ask of you and Jonathan for things and activities as the day goes on.

“Dad, can I go for a quick walk around the park?” George asks.

“P/P/T, may I have a cookie?” Rikiel asks shyly.

“Can I go play fetch with Danny? I’ll stay near, I promise.” Donatello asks.

“I want to look at the garden- can we go after they’re done playing?” Giorno asks as he points at Ungalo and Rikiel playing tag with the other kids at the playground.

You and Jonathan never said no to their questions. You love and trust them with all your being- them going against you is low in chances.

You collect your belongings and go to the garden Giorno asked to go to. You hold a basket in front of you as you watch Giorno educate his brothers about the different plants and insects. Your heart melts as George picks up Rikiel and Donatello pick ups Ungalo to help them inspect the taller plants.

Jonathan removes the basket from your hands and places them in front of you both. You look at him confused. He smiles as he takes your hand and kisses the back of it.

“Thank you for this.” he whispers. You rolls your eyes playfully as you mindlessly ask,

“For what?”

“For giving me a family… I wouldn’t ask for anything in this world aside from pure happiness for you and our boys. You all keep me going and I appreciate you the most for that.”

You’re a blushing mess as he leans in and kisses you. You kiss back, true love can be seen by outsiders. You locks arms with him and place your head on his shoulder.

You and your husband resume to watching your sons bond and blossom.

[jamaisjoons]

the summer bucketlist | m.list

When the weather sees the return of sunshine and warmth, the joy and exuberance of summer is revived, and everyone rushes to enjoy the season to the fullest. Bonfire nights with your friends, seeing brilliant firework displays or laying under the stars on a humid night and watching the world go by. Learning to surf, or dive or snorkel or simply collecting seashells along the shore. Late nights at the amusement parks, thrilling roller-coaster rides or spectacular views on the Ferris Wheel. Skinny dipping in a lake after dark, attending a film or music festival, or even just visiting the popup street market in your city. Everything you had been dreaming off since the start of autumn, you can do once again. And who better to do it with, than the boys who bring more joy and warmth to our lives than summer itself?

Welcome to ‘The Summer Bucketlist’ - a writing event/author collab hosted by @jamaisjoons​

The Summer Bucketlist: BTS Edition - is an event in which various different authors can sign up to write a story based on traditional Bucketlist Items. Find their stories below!

⟶ song of the sea; knj ⇥ @jamaisjoons​       ➳ fantasy au. little mermaid au.            ↳   ⎡Take a Trip to the Museum⎦

« Captivated by the sight of you, he can’t help but watch you swim around his home. And when you turn to leave, he doesn’t know what overcomes him - but as if spellbound - he finds himself following you back to land. »

⟶ molotov cocktail; jhs ⇥ @yeoldontknow​      ➳ bartender au. arranged marriage au.           ↳   ⎡Take a Cocktail Class⎦

«  You met him January, on a night when you were newly single and newly wanting to break free from your father’s unyielding control. You left him in January, full of regret but full of purpose. You meet him again in July, and now you want nothing more than to run to the ends of the earth with him, to burn down the shape your life has taken in the hope of making something new. »

⟶ luminous; pjm ⇥ @luffles424​     ➳ summer festival au. tentacle monster au.          ↳   ⎡Watch Fireworks⎦

« The Busan summer festival is your favorite event of the year. You like all the food and things to do, but your favorite part is watching the fireworks at the end of the night, gathered with friends and family. It’s fun and joyous. Except this year you’re spending it without them. So you find a secluded spot on the beach to watch alone. Except... you might not be as alone as you thought you were out here.  »

⟶ sticky situation; kth ⇥ @jiminsfault​     ➳ camping au. established relationship au.          ↳   ⎡Go Camping⎦

« You hate camping, but Taehyung is determined on changing your mind on that. »

⟶ pull me in; jhs ⇥ @guccybangtan​     ➳ established relationship au.          ↳   ⎡Go to a Water Park⎦

« In the heat of the summer, there's nothing more relaxing than relaxing than a nice trip to the water park.  »

⟶ a beautiful epiphany; jjk ⇥ @onherwings​     ➳ friends to lovers au.           ↳   ⎡Join an Art Contest⎦

« Who would have thought that falling in love with your muse could either lead to something beautiful or bring you to your own demise? »

⟶ love grows where you go; myg ⇥ @rookiegukie​    ➳ arranged marriage au. pining au.         ↳   ⎡Watch the Sunset on the Beach⎦

« Determined to make you and Yoongi grow closer for your upcoming wedding in two weeks, your parents plan a trip for the both of you that lasts five days long. You know you should be ecstatic about it, considering your longtime crush on your fiancé, but by how you're positive that he secretly despises your whole being, you don't find this mini vacation with him something to look forward to. That is until things take an unexpected turn and suddenly, he makes it apparent he doesn’t hate you at all as you reckoned.  »

⟶ petrichor; pjm ⇥ @taetaewonderland​    ➳ strangers to lovers au. domestic au.         ↳   ⎡Go on a Picnic⎦

« There are smells in the world that can trigger your brain to think of a memory almost in an instant. »

⟶ sun cockblock; myg ⇥ @cremeandsuga​    ➳ best friends to lovers au. summer au.         ↳   ⎡Join a Sandcastle Building Competition⎦

« Cancún was always a trip to remember - sun, beaches, hookups and day drinking, not to mention the annual sand castle competition you entered with your best friend every year. Yoongi smells like Copper Tone sunblock and heaven. Entering a sandcastle competition with one of the least competitive people in the world was pure agony — but it didn’t dawn to you that your best friend wasn’t competitive because he was confident he would win. Upon your loss, he sees you trying to soothe the burn of it (and the sun) with the beach bartender. He may smell like Copper Tone sunblock and heaven, but he’s sure you feel like heaven.  »

⟶ rejuvenation; myg & jhs ⇥ @caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma​    ➳ spa owners au.         ↳   ⎡Treat Yourself to a Spa Day⎦

« You finally get a break from work and you decide to indulge in a little pampering and self-care. During lunch, your friend slips a card into your hand for an exclusive spa with a special referral discount. How can you resist? Let’s hope the Bangtan Blossoms Spa provides the relaxation & rejuvenation experience you desperately seek. »

⟶ just a taste; kth ⇥ @xjoonchildx​   ➳ pwp au.        ↳   ⎡Go Wine Tasting⎦

« He’s hot. he’s considerate. He’s refusing to make a move. weeks of sexual frustration come to a head at a wine tasting and -- this is going to shock NO ONE -- smut ensues. »

⟶ lollipop; myg ⇥ @ironicarmy​   ➳ neighbours to lovers au.        ↳   ⎡Attempt to make Ice Cream⎦

« It’s a hot summer day, he’s desperate, and your ice lollies taste like heaven.  »

⟶ carnival lights; kth ⇥ @taephilia​   ➳ haunted carnival au. horror au.        ↳   ⎡Visit a Carnival⎦

« With half of your friend group graduated and leaving your hometown to move to the city for work, you and your friends decide to have one last adventure together (in the words of hobi even though it’s only may and you see each other like every day). But things are always different in the nighttime and you never know what’s lurking between the funnel cakes. »

⟶ midnight menagerie; knj ⇥ @jooneggs​  ➳ friends to lovers au.       ↳   ⎡Go to a Botanical Garden⎦

« Like water, cradling your fragile soul, Namjoon has held the lily of your heart all your life and you wish you could let him know just how much that means to you. Coincidentally, it just so happens you can: in a week's time when you're stuck in the holiday of your life at Namjoon's father's Botanical gardens. Will you finally get to repay him in a bed of roses or will he be the one to make the bouquet for you? »

⟶ ferris drink; jhs ⇥ @salvejoon​  ➳ pwp au. established relationship au.       ↳   ⎡Ride a Ferris Wheel⎦

« Your boyfriend has a bucket list of places he wants to do the nasty and next up is a Ferris Wheel. »

⟶ hose wars; ksj & myg ⇥ @babybinnyboy​  ➳ neighbour au.       ↳   ⎡Have a Water Fight⎦

« Spending a summer in a little coastal town was supposed to be relaxing. It wasn't supposed to include a broken AC unit, record break heatwave, a hose, 2 ridiculously confident, attractive neighbors with an annoyingly low fence. »

⟶ cut shot; myg ⇥ @kimtaehyunq​  ➳ vacation au. established relationship au.       ↳   ⎡Learn to Volleyball⎦

« He hates the water, he hates the heat, and he hates the Sun. Any form of physical activity is a big no-no, yet Min Yoongi will go out of his way to show that he loves you on your mini vacation. »

⟶ eternal summer; pjm ⇥ @aiimaginesbts​  ➳ childhood friends to lovers au. vacation au.       ↳   ⎡Go Sightseeing on Vacation⎦

« Breaking up with my boyfriend leaves an empty spot on the overseas vacation that I had been looking forward to for a long time. I’m torn between abandoning the trip or going it solo when someone offers to tag along. However, having Jimin, my best friend go with me may not be the best idea — since my crush on him has never gone away. »

⟶ sway with me; knj & jhs ⇥ @minjoonalist​ ➳ established relationship au.      ↳   ⎡Take a Boat Ride⎦

« You love celebrating your anniversary, it was the only special part about summer that you looked forward to every year- But when your husband Is unable to make the availability due to his job- You thought why not make the best of it? »

⟶ ecstatic shock; jhs ⇥ @iluvstrawberry​ ➳ strangers to lovers au. abo au.      ↳   ⎡Host a BBQ⎦

« The garden party your parents throw every year is coming up. Seeing your conservative parents, is something you definitely don’t want to face on your own. But with all your friends being busy, you’ve decided to accept your fate and drown your sorrows at your favourite bar. Enter: Jung Hoseok, bartender, lifesaver and the most gorgeous guy you’ve ever seen. »

⟶ kaleidoscopic; knj ⇥ @boywivlove​ ➳ established relationship au.     ↳   ⎡Go Paintballing⎦

« You and Namjoon decide to blow off some steam and go to a paint balling range, one multicoloured blitzkrieg later; bruised, sweaty and victorious you celebrate your win. »

⟶ undercurrent; jjk ⇥ @jjungkooksthighs ➳ best friends to lovers au. post college au.     ↳   ⎡Go Diving⎦

« After a year and six months of sea fare and many more nights of sunken eyes that had been dotted with the black shadings of sleeplessness that you’d helped to nurse him because of, the fruits of your best friend’s efforts had earned him the completion of his mission to map the entire eastern seaboard. In all his work, though, Jungkook has not gotten the chance to dive at many of the areas scattered around the ocean in the vastness of the seas. You decide to take him to a previously unmarked, unmapped sector of the sea after following his own nautical charts. The catch is this: you’re afraid of the water. What happens when you find yourself following after him and into the arms of the sea after years of pent up sexual frustration that you blame entirely on him? »

a/n: this is incredibly late but onefgeoingoeitng i hope you enjoy reading all of these works! If you participated in the collab but your fic isn’t on here, it’s because it hasn’t appeared in the tags! please feel free to DM with the link to the fic!!

[dietraumerei]

Whumptober 2021: Do  you trust me?

You can read this, and my other Whumptober stories, on AO3 here: Hurts So Good: A Whumptober 2021 Collection

Summary: Crowley isn't a very trusting demon; he's learned better in his life. Well, maybe he trusts one being.

They were pushed out of heaven. Most of them. Crowley just sort of sauntered out, not always sure where he was going but knowing it was better than staying.

Well.

Maybe he was pushed, too. In a way.

'Do you trust me?' Lucifer had said. He wasn't all big and with the horns and the so on and so forth back then. Looked less like a Balrog. Rather handsome, actually.

Angels were beautiful, after all. All of them. (That's what had attracted Crowley to Aziraphale at first. Obviously now he thought Aziraphale quite handsome, but at the time he was, well. Rumpled. The kind of angel where they didn't break the mould after he was done because there was no mould because he was so utterly unique and interesting and, well, not-beautiful, not in the way angels were.)

Do you trust me? And that was that. Angels pushed out of Heaven, a great War – Crowley avoided that too – and out, all of you cast out, and Crowley made it cool. He didn't actually trust Lucifer. Well, that wasn't true – at first, yes. Later, no, not at all. He didn't trust anyone for a long time, there didn't seem to be any point in it.

But he was pushed, and he made it look cool. Sauntered down to Hell, even though it was more like tumbling head over heels down a staircase, but he didn't let on that it hurt so much. That the sensation of falling down stairs, of ligaments torn and bones shattered, that was nothing to removal of God's grace, the removal of that love.

For a very long time, Crowley thought that, perhaps, he could no longer love.

“Do you trust me?”

No, Crowley did not. Not for a very long time; longer, even, than he thought he couldn't love anymore.

“My dearest! I've got the most wonderful idea!”

Crowley looked up from the Infernal Times – he liked to keep his finger on the pulse and all – and blinked, taking in Aziraphale in all his bustle. He'd just come in from a visit to the farmer's market, and practically exuded autumn.

Aziraphale made occasional attempts to move with the times, usually when fashion was happening to cycle back to some earlier era, the earlier the better of course. (Aziraphale and the New Romantics had been distressingly au couture, and Crowley always resented him slightly when he whipped out some original article of clothing and turned heads on the street.

Then again, a female-presenting Aziraphale in a genuine Greek chiton during the Regency had been really quite amazing, so there were some bonuses.)

Today his attempt was a shawl-collared cardigan, cream-coloured of course. Relatively a la mode, but ruined with his baggy 50's trousers. Then again, it made him look like what he was in his heart of hearts: an antiquated old scholar and absolute screaming queen.

“Oh?” he asked, craning his head to look in Aziraphale's twee wicker basket. Had he got apple-cider doughnuts? They were Crowley's favourite kind, after all, and he thought he spotted a box from that particular bakery's stand.

Aziraphale was in a Mood, though. Of course; he'd pretty much constantly been in a chipper mood since they'd taken this little cottage out here in the quiet countryside. Crowley had worried he'd grow bored – or, worse, that they'd grow sick of each other – but now that they were settled it seemed unlikely. He couldn't imagine being bored with a garden, and Aziraphale, and anyway London wasn't so far away if they needed good sushi, or a museum.

“It's ever so lovely – shall we go and have a picnic on the green? We can stop by that stall that sells those lovely empanadas, and of course we should get a bottle of perry. I'm so glad the Farmer's Market here is open so late, we can have the most scrumptious luncheon.”

Crowley smiled. “'course, angel. That sounds just the thing.”

Aziraphale grinned, his eyes literally twinkling, and he tapped the side of his nose, and Crowley seriously questioned his own taste. Aziraphale was ridiculous.

“Do you trust me?”

No.

Yes.

The last time this happened you had your soul ripped away.

He doesn't mean it, he's teasing.

He means it.

And you do.

“My dearest?”

Crowley shook himself and smiled. “Of course I trust you. Why d'you ask?”

Aziraphale gave a happy wiggle. “You'll see. It's a surprise.”

Crowley sighed. “Is it a book?”

“Not at all! Now, no twenty questions for you – let me put these things away and then I think we can take a lovely walk. It's so nice out, and you've hardly left the house today.”

“All right,” Crowley said nonchalantly. He loved a good ramble with Aziraphale, the angel complained endlessly and seemed to have infinite energy. (Well, technically they both did, but human bodies did get a bit tired.) But he wasn't going to let onto that. He'd been seen enough for one day.

(It was a lovely ramble, and a lovely lunch, and Crowley only regretted trusting Aziraphale because it ended in the botched performance of some new magic tricks, and that was never going to be a good time.

He trusted Aziraphale, though, and he reckoned, quietly and where no one could tell, deep in his heart – that was the important bit.)

[rosy-cheekx]

Make A Wish

Book passage:  Elfriede Jelinek, The Piano Teacher

Me? Posting an unprompted fic? 2021 is starting off wild!

AO3 Link here

Summary: Martin knows just how to celebrate Jon’s 35th birthday. It’s soft and beautiful and speaks of a bright future. 

Martin doesn’t know how to shop for Jon. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t really want trinkets or the little gifts Martin would think to buy for a significant other. (If he does want them, at least, he doesn’t say it.) Things he needs, like clothes, he buys himself, doesn’t wait for an occasion. Overall, Martin would not describe Jon as materialistic.

Books are the exception. Books are always the exception for Jon. While Jon is not materialistic, he is usually sentimental. He keeps things for as long as he can, letting them wear and wear til they’re no longer usable, like his shoes. Especially pictures. Jon never throws away pictures. (Martin knows why and snaps as many Polaroids as he can of his partner, himself, their friends, even their cat, hanging them around the house in tiny frames as reminders.) But his books are in and out of the shelves like they run a bookshop of their own. Martin has heard the stories of his partner’s reading habits as a youth, knows that Jon’s reading habits are challenging, to say the least. Before they’d moved in together, though, he hadn’t realized that every time he was at Jon’s the bookshelves were almost entirely unique to the last visit. New titles, rarely the same authors, with no seeming organization to the assemblance. Martin knows this now, knows that once a fortnight Jon packs up all the books he’s read and takes them to their local charity shop. It’s his little ritual, and the bug-eyed look of confusion Martin had received when he had asked him about it the first time was priceless.

“I just--don’t need them anymore?” He says, like it’s a question. “I’m not going to read them again.”

“Really?” Martin raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I took you to be a bit of a hoarder when it comes to books, if the statements in your office were any indication. And it’s our flat, so they’re our books. What if I want to read them?”

“Please.” Jon scoffs. “That’s entirely different. I don’t enjoy­- well. They’re work, these are not.”

Still, after this, Jon includes Martin in his ritual, giving him synopses from books he thinks Martin might enjoy and adding the Blackwood-Approved books to the other bookshelf. Martin is quite proud of his bookshelf, identical in structure to Jon’s but entirely more organized: books ordered by genre, then by author, with figurines, photos, and plants acting as weights and decor. Jon’s deviates between sparse and overflowing, books stacked however they will fit, with no rhyme or reason to their order.

Martin doesn’t know how to shop for Jon, but he’s learned quickly that Jon isn’t a Things person. Jon is an Experiences person. The moments he treasures are the ones where he and Martin are happy to be in each other’s presence and experiencing new things together. Ice skating, picnics, hiking, cinemas, all the quintessential cheesy dates, the ones he would’ve guessed, way back when, before he knew the real Jon, this Jon, he would have snubbed his nose at.

Jon’s birthday is coming up. He’s turning 35 and is all too self-conscious about the fact. Martin ribs him a little; he’s older by seven months, after all, “you’re making me feel old, Jon!” Their ritual has become to call off work and spend a day together on Jon’s birthday. No gifts, no fanfare, just a day doing an activity Martin has planned. It’s perfect usually, Jon’s delighted smile and bright eyes when he thanks Martin with a kiss is all the satisfaction he needs. But this is 35, it needs to be special. It needs to be perfect.

---

Martin blinks awake to the steady, calming drum of rain on their bedroom window. He pats out blindly for his glasses, haphazardly set on his bedside table, and pushes them on his face, before rolling back onto his side and tucking an arm around Jon’s waist and nuzzling into his neck. “Happy birthday, love,” he murmurs, carding his other hand through Jon’s tangled curls. He smiles softly as he watches his partner; Jon always grumbles that he looks so much older than he is, but when he’s sleeping, Martin swears he looks timeless, a specimen of perfect beauty against the crisp black sheets. Jon shifts in his arms, turning to face him, and squints blearily at Martin. Jon, for all his sleepless nights back at the archives, is not a morning person.

“Hm-mar’in?” he mumbles, irises stained forever green. He clears his throat and scrubs at his eyes. God, he looks just like a cat. “G’mornin’,” he says, a little more comprehensible, voice rough-hewn from sleep.

“Morning, love.” Martin kisses his forehead, between his eyebrows. “Happy birthday,” His nose, cold from a chilly autumn night. “Ready for a good day?” His lips now, soft and warm. Jon sighs underneath him, presses himself into the kiss, slots himself into the Jon-shaped space in Martin’s arms.

When Martin shifts away to sit up, Jon audibly whines, grabbing at Martin’s hand to pull him back. “You’re so warm, don’t go,” he pleads. Martin chuckles and squeezes his hand.

“It’s half nine. You want breakfast, don’t you? We have an agenda to follow, don’t forget.” But Jon shakes his head and tugs again.

“Birthday Ruling,” he cites solemnly, stretching as he says it. (Again, like a cat, the way he arches his back. Is that on purpose? Martin is pretty sure he’s seen Reggie—Her Regency—do the exact same thing.) “By royal decree, you have to stay here until I’m awake enough to help you with breakfast.”

“Well,” Martin chuckles, shaking his head to himself and tucking himself around Jon’s thin form. “I can’t refuse a royal decree, now, can I?”

Breakfast becomes brunch, and once the pair are awake tea, cut fruit, and omelets are prepared and eaten on the couch. Jon being left-handed and Martin right, they sit on their perspective sides so they can hold hands and not inhibit the other from eating.

“So,” Jon prompts, eyeing Martin from his peripheral as he watches him wash dishes. “What are your secret plans? Am I allowed to know yet?”

“Hmm.” Martin considers his question, running a plate through his hands as he dried it, solemn contemplation on his face. “No.”

“Mar-tiiin,” Martin is almost worn down by that plea, a sound he doesn’t think anyone else who has ever met Jonathan Sims could fathom coming from him. A bloom of warmth in his chest; a reminder he will never feel lonely again.

“But I think you’ll figure it out,” he compromises, grinning to himself. His plan had come to him in a sudden realization at work and Martin did think it was some of his best work yet. “Here’s your hint: you may want to bring a canvas.”

Jon’s face is a measured calm. “We’re going shopping?” Martin just shrugs, winking.

-

They take a cab and the rain pounds down on the roof, the repetitive noise a balm against the cold and wet.  Martin really got lucky today; the sound of rain is one of Jon’s favorites. He sighs inwardly as Jon rests his curls, slightly damp from their wait for the cab, on his shoulder and closes his eyes, basking in the warmth of his boyfriend and the pleasant drumming.

Jon’s eyes opened when he felt the cab pull to a stop, and he took their surroundings in with the quick analytical eye of an ex-Archivist. Martin felt his cheeks growing warm with excitement as they stepped out of the cab and paid. The building before them, like most Scottish buildings, was made of uneven stone. There was a little garden, mostly rocks with some shrubbery dotted between, and the pathway, also stone, though a flatter smoother variety, led to the door, which read The Watermill in blue and white lettering. “Martin?” Jon threaded his fingers through Martin’s, eyes wide.

“It’s a bookshop, Jon. It’s got reading nooks, and a café, and I swear I’ll buy you any books you want. We can stay as long as we like. We can read as much as we want.”

Three short squeezes to Martin’s hand. Oh. He was starting to ramble. He returns the answering four. “Martin, love, it sounds perfect. But it’s raining.” Right. A drop of rain rolls down Martin’s nose, and he shivers.  “Let’s get inside.”

Martin is glad he brought a tote, a canvas bag with the name of Jon’s university emblazoned on the sides. He follows Jon through every aisle as Jon analyzes every book like their dogs in show. He scans the titles, covers and authors with precision, sometimes returning them with delicate hands, sometimes reading descriptions or thumbing through the pages, before deciding their worth and either reshelving it or handing it to Martin. Martin is distinctly reminded of being an Archival Assistant, helping Jon prioritize case files, except the expression on Jon’s face isn’t furrowed and grim, it’s near-rapturous awe as he selects and examines the books. There is no evident consistency to the books Jon picks, ranging from YA fiction to historical documentation to travel books of places he knew they’d probably never visit, though he always takes Martin’s suggested reads, nodding dutifully and running his hand down the spine before placing it in the ever-weighing bag on Martin’s arm.

They spend nearly an hour and a half roaming shelves before Jon is satisfied with this first load. Martin is grateful. His shoulder is starting to hurt from the nearly full canvas he’s hoisted on his shoulder. Martin leads his partner to a small corner, something that can only be described as a nook. There’s a small, well-worn sofa, a table with coasters, and a coffee table in front of the sofa. The whole space is cast in warm orange-yellow light, courtesy of the standing lamps, and Martin can imagine this is a great place to curl up and fall asleep.

Curl up they do, Martin sitting with a few books of his own beside him and Jon leaning against Jon’s side, sprawling over the majority of the couch. Martin tucks an arm over Jon’s chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of the space where collarbone meets rib, and they read. They read in silence for most of the morning, Jon flipping through his books at a truly astounding pace (Jon thinks its left over from his Archival Spooky Powers, Martin thinks he’s just a nerd), pausing occasionally to read Martin a line he finds interesting. It’s a yellow paperback now, something about psychopathy, and he begins to read out an interview the author had with a man who claims he should not have been diagnosed as a psychopath.

“D’you think Jonah was a psychopath?” Jon asks, brow furrowed as he reads the qualifying characteristics. “He had the ‘grandiose sense of self-worth’ and ‘cunning/manipulation’ down pat.”

Martin hums, glancing over Jon’s shoulder to read the rest of the Psychopath Test. “Lack of remorse,” he points. “Lack of empathy for sure. Someone with empathy doesn’t implant visions of their dead father into the head of their employee. Speaking of, we should have Melanie and Georgie over soon.” Jon nods against his chest. “I’d call him charming, too, actually,” nudging Jon gently. “Especially with new employees. Remember how he—”

“Called me into his office nonstop and ‘checked in?’ Yeah, I remember.” Jon sighed and smoothed the page down. “Can you call it ‘a parasitic lifestyle’ when your employees are bound under your servitude for eternity or until they die?” Jon scoffs. “I don’t think the DSM is ready for Smirke’s Fourteen.”

“Maybe not. Maybe the sixth edition will be.” Martin presses a kiss to the top of Jon’s head and turns back to his own book.

-

“Hungry?” Martin asks, nudging Jon as his stomach gurgles for the third time in as many minutes. Jon jumps a little, likely having forgotten Martin was there.

“Erm-I mean, a little.” Even after being together for so long, Jon still hesitates to let Martin buy him food. (“Martin, I have money. You don’t- you don’t have to-” but whatever offending muffin or cone of chips would be pressed into his hand and he would thank Martin, sheepish, and take a bite.)

“Chai latte? Something sweet?” Martin asks, nudging Jon out of his side and feeling the cold spot left in his wake. “Its your birthday, come on.” Jon sighs and relents, and Martin swear he can hear him roll his eyes as he walks away.

Martin orders two chais and a few cupcakes (chocolate for Jon, carrot cake for him) from the café in the front of the bookshop and joins an ever-growing queue of patrons waiting to get their own warm treats. The rain must have driven people in in droves. Never mind it, though, their corner feels empty enough. He thinks he sees a spider on the back of a woman’s shirt in front of him, and flinches before realizing, oh, it’s just a bit of string. He takes a slight step back anyways. He didn’t used to do that.

“Order for Martin?” An American voice, uni student probably. He thanks her and makes a point to drop a few quid in the tip jar, seeing it frustratingly empty for such a busy café.  

Martin takes a small porcelain plate in each hand, a mug and pastry balanced on each, and makes his way carefully back to the sofa where he had left Jon. Only, he couldn’t see his curly hair, tied up in his half-bun, over the back of the sofa. Did he go to the loo?

It’s when Martin steps over to the side of the couch to set the plates down that he bursts into laughter. Jon is sprawled in a way that seems completely unconducive to reading: his knees are hooked over the sofa, so his socked feet (shoes neatly deposited next to his hips) are on the cushion itself. His torso is stretched on the warm, well-swept wood floor and his head (and his book) are tucked under the coffee table; arms locked over his head so he can read on his back. It looks ridiculous, he cannot fathom what possessed Jon to sit like this and not on his back on the couch.

Jon hears his laughter and arcs his neck, trying to see Martin’s face. “It was…comfortable?” he tries helplessly, giggling awkwardly. “Oh, piss off,” he sighed, inelegantly worming his way out from under the seat.

“Come on, old man.” Martin grins, handing him the cupcake he’d bought for him, with a single purple candle pressed into it. “Make a wish!”

“It’s not even lit,” Jon protested, cheeks flushing.

“Want me to sing instead? I can.” Martin took a deep breath. “Happy Bir-”

“N-no! Martin, no!” Jon pressed a hand over his mouth, though he was giggling madly at Martin’s wild expression. “I’ll blow it out. Just hush.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then let out a breath in a sigh. His eyes were soft, smile to match. “I…I don’t have anything to wish for.”

Martin’s turn to blush. “Just-just shut up and eat your cake,” he mumbled, hiding his smile in a sip of his tea.

-

Maybe its how at-peace he feels, maybe it’s his ADHD (its definitely the ADHD), but Martin has no idea how long he’s been reading. He’s brought out of his reverie, his copy of In Cold Blood almost finished (he’s read it before, but god he loves this book so much), by a low noise he can’t pick out at first. It’s quiet, soothing, its right next to him.

Oh. Oh. It’s Jon. This one, a real compulsion left over from his time as an Archivist, Jon is reading aloud to himself, his voice the sonorous, resonant tone of a man performing for himself. Martin puts his book down carefully, trying not to alert Jon to his awareness, and listens, letting the words wash over him. Jon’s voice has always been able to capture Martin’s attention, even before the Eldritch Spooky Magic that eventually attached itself to it.

“Klemmer stands there, gazing at her.   “Erika doesn’t want a silence to develop, so she utters a platitude. Art is platitudinous for Erika because she lives off art. How much easier it is for the artist, says the woman, to hurl feelings or passions out of himself. When an artist resorts to dramatic devices, which you so greatly esteem, Klemmer, he is simply utilizing bogus methods while neglecting authentic ones. She talks to prevent the eruption of silence. I, as a teacher, favor undramatic art – Schumann, for instance. Drama is always easier! Feelings and passions are always merely a substitute, a surrogate for spirituality. The teacher yearns for an earthquake, for a roaring, raging tempest to pounce upon her. That wild Klemmer is so angry that he almost drills his head into the wall. The clarinet class next door, which he, the owner of a second instrument, has been frequenting twice a week, would certainly be astonished if Klemmer’s angry head suddenly emerged from the wall, next to Beethoven’s death mask. Oh, that Erika, that Erika. She doesn’t sense that he is actually talking about her, and naturally about himself as well! He is connecting Erika and himself in a sensual context, ejecting the spirit, that enemy of the senses, that primal foe of the flesh. She thinks he is referring to Schubert, but he really means himself, just as he always means himself whenever he speaks.   “He suddenly ventures to adopt a familiar tone with Erika; using a formal tone, she advises him to remain objective! Her mouth puckers, willy-nilly, into a wrinkly rosette; she cannot control it. She controls what the mouth says, but she cannot control the way it presents itself to the outside world. She gets goosebumps all over.”

Martin closes his eyes against the words, a shiver running down his spine, starting at the top of his skull. It’s a feeling he gets so rarely now, the feeling of being so absolutely content in the presence of another person that any fog he may have is physically expunged from him. Not that there is any, but it’s a safeguard; a reminder to himself that he is not Lonely anymore and will never be lonely again. It can’t get him, not here, not with Jon sprawled, almost in his lap, reading and sipping tea and letting the only thing they worry about be whether they fed the cat this morning (Jon did, of course, Reggie is not one to let them forget her morning meal).

“Martin?” Jon’s voice cuts through his quiet contemplation. “You alright?” He’s tilting his head back, almost upside down to look at Martin’s face. “I felt you shudder.” Of course, even deep in his trance of this story he had felt Martin shift.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he smiles reassuringly, carding the hair off Jon’s forehead. “I’m not feeling lonely, not even a little bit.” He used to do it a lot in the safehouse, and fog would roll off him in droves. Jon would hold him through it all. “I think it just happens now like part of an immune system, just checking in when I’m feeling emotional.”

“Emotional?” Jon looks a little relieved, but not entirely. He sits up, glancing down at his page number (Martin could never figure out how Jon did that, remembered his page number instead of using a bookmark) and cups Martin’s face gently, searching it. “What’s wrong?”

“Absolutely nothing, Jon, I promise. That was why I was emotional,” he admits, feeling a little sheepish. “It’s just good to feel happy. It feels good to be with you, to be at peace, to not worry about what is going to happen tomorrow and whether we’re going to die.”

Martin blushes, feeling heat spread through his face. It feels good to say it out loud. “Happy birthday, Jon. I love you.”

-

They leave with bags full of books, smiles on their faces and the moon casting a faint light on their backs. Martin falls asleep in the cab on the way home, his head lilting onto Jon’s shoulder. When Jon wakes him up, leading his sleepy partner up the stairs, 

Jon thinks 35 maybe won’t be so bad, after all.

[ikeromantic]

Warm

Day 30 of Ikemektober! 

I chose Ray! Let me just say, this started out as a heartwarming story and then took a left turn into smut. Fair warning! Approx. 1500 words. Why is Ray so delectable??

Ray sat at his desk, staring out the window at the training grounds. The trees were red and gold in their autumn glory, and the dahlias were blooming in the flowerbeds. Despite a chill in the air, it was a beautiful day. 

He turned when he heard someone at the door. Alice stepped in, carrying a little basket. 

“I thought you might need a break.” She gave him a knowing little smile. 

Ray was busy these days with rebuilding efforts and peace negotiations. A never ending series of requests and planning arrangements had to be reviewed, signed on or rejected, and discussed. It was better than war, but still exhausting. These little visits from Alice were all that kept him going some days.

“I suppose I do. It’s been three hours since -” 

“Four hours, actually. That was when I brought you tea. You skipped lunch,” Alice chided.

Ray rubbed a hand across his head, feeling a bit like a kid caught breaking the rules. “Ha, was it four? I guess I was pretty focused.”

“You could say that. Sirius stopped in around lunch to see if you were hungry and you didn’t even say anything.”

He didn’t remember the Queen stopping in, but he had been pretty focused. “Alright - alright. I can tell you’ve got something in mind.”

“Mhmm. I thought we’d take a little picnic.” Alice put her hand on the basket. “I packed us some sandwiches.”

Ray grinned. “I’ve got just one condition.”

“What?” Alice looked startled.

The King closed the space between them, and pulled her against his chest for a kiss. She was soft and warm in his arms. Her gasp of surprise melted into a moan of pleasure as he tasted her lips and slipped his tongue between them. He couldn’t help the way his hands slid naturally down her back to cup her rear. Maybe they didn’t need to go for a picnic afterall. His room was just down the hall and . . .

She pulled back, breath unsteady. “I know what you’re thinking, Ray.” Her eyes were lit with desire. “We could -”

“Well, little lady, it looks like you talked the boss into taking a break.” Sirius called out from the hall, a knowing smirk on his full lips. 

Ray coughed and made some space between himself and Alice, though he kept his arm around her waist. “You have the worst timing, my friend,” he muttered. Then louder, “She did. We’re having a picnic.”

“I know. I helped pack the basket.” Sirius knew full well what he’d interrupted, but he didn’t so much as blush. “I can recommend the best spot too. Do you remember how to get there, little lady?” 

Alice nodded. “Yep!” She smiled up at Ray. “There are blooming willows and autumn crocus. It will be beautiful.”

“I can’t say no to that,” he replied. Though nothing would be as beautiful as seeing Alice’s face when they made love. Just thinking about it stirred him. He couldn’t look so desperate though, not in front of his friend or his lover. 

The two of them left with the basket, with Sirius promising to finish the building plan reviews Ray was working on. That way he could take the rest of the afternoon off to enjoy the day. It almost made up for his earlier interruption.

Outside, the sun was bright, and the breeze was crisp. It smelled of flowers in bloom and fallen leaves. Thick grass, still green, cushioned the lovers’ steps as they made their way from the more traveled parts of the Black Army headquarters to a forested part of the garden.

Under the trees, the light was golden and red, and the shadows were deep. Alice spread a blanket on the sunnier side of one of the trees, where they had a nice view of a river bank and the blossoming willow trees. Here and there, the subtle shine of magic crystals added an enchanted glow to the leaves.

“I am so glad I can live here in Cradle, with you. I can’t think of anywhere I would ever want to be.” Alice smiled and reached out to take Ray’s hand.

“I’m glad too.” Ray squeezed her fingers gently. 

After they ate, Ray leaned back against the tree and Alice sat between his legs on the blanket, resting on his chest. They were quiet, a comfortable silence. The birds sang and the leaves whispered against each other. This far out, they could only just hear the occasional shout from headquarters.

Ray couldn’t help but think about how close he’d come to losing Alice. To Amon. To her home. She might have died or left. It made him aware of the space she took in his heart now. He could not imagine the world with an Alice-sized hole in it. She was a part of him and a piece of his home. 

She must have been having similar thoughts, because she turned her head to look at him. “Isn’t it scary to think of all the ways this could have turned out?”

“Hm? Like what? You falling in love with a guy like Jonah Clemence? He did want to date you . . .” 

Alice elbowed him with a giggle. “He is pretty cute though.”

“Hey!” Ray sat up straight and caught her chin in his hand. “I thought you only had eyes for me? Are you tryin’ to make me jealous.”

“Maybe.” She grinned at him slyly. 

“I know how to fix that.” Slowly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. Nibbling gently at her lower lip, until her mouth opened to let out an excited breath. Then his tongue slipped between them to stroke her tongue. 

She wasn’t one to take this attack lying down. She wiggled her hips against him, teasing. He knew it teased her too though - he could tell by the little sound she made when he reacted. Alice turned her body to face him, sliding her hands under his shirt to scrape her nails against his skin.

“Naughty kitty,” Ray gasped. He loved and hated the way it felt. 

“Mmm, I can be even naughtier,” she murmured and bit his neck.

Ray nearly let out a very uncool moan. He was supposed to be the one teasing, not the other way around! His hands found their way under her skirt, stroking the skin of her thighs. She was so warm. Soft like silk. And . . . pantiless? He grinned at her, pleased.

Not to be outdone, Alice stroked a fingernail down his side, tickling him. Right to the waistband of his pants. Her other hand went to the buckle, quickly undoing his belt.

“A-alice,” he warned.

She just smiled and kissed him again. Her deft fingers had his buttons undone and his zipper down. Alice drew lazy circles on his pelvis above the rising shaft of his manhood. It was absolutely more than he could handle. 

“I don’t think I can control myself with you - if you - Alice, please -” Ray was almost pleading. It was his last line of defense as a fire built inside him. He tried to keep his emotions carefully balanced, but with a touch, she’d thrown all of that out the window and now he could only barely keep himself in check. 

“I want you to lose control,” she whispered. Her next kiss was so full of hungry passion that he couldn’t mistake her meaning. 

His hands slid further up, massaging her. Opening her. His fingers found her clit and he began to play. 

“Oh - my - n-now who’s naughty,” she gasped against his lips. 

Ray would have replied, but she chose that moment to free his length from his pants, and lift her hips. All his words disappeared as she sunk down onto him, impaling herself. All he could manage was a moan, one she silenced with her mouth. 

“Shhh,” she breathed, panting against his cheek. “D-don’t want to- to get caught.”

“Yes,” Ray breathed in reply, both an answer and a desperate gasp of pleasure. It took him a moment to catch up with his thoughts. Being inside her was heaven. She was beauty and love, divine. But he couldn’t let her win this little game.

With one hand, he found her clit again and began to rub it in rhythm with her pace. His other hand sought out her breast, pinching and teasing her nipples. 

Now it was Alice, biting his shoulder to keep herself quiet. She began to quiver, her breath growing more unsteady as she neared climax.

Ray could see nothing but her in these moments. Her eyes closed tight, her lips parted, cheeks pink. He was near to his peak too, unable to hold back anything as she rode him.

With a muffled cry, Alice shuddered, and Ray lost control as well, spending himself inside her. She laid her face against his chest, still breathing hard. 

“You’re amazing,” Ray sighed, stroking her hair. 

“Mhmm,” she grinned up at him. “You’re not bad either.”

He laughed and lay back against the tree. Together with her like this, the world was a warm place. Perfect. Beautiful.

[nauseateddrive]

4 POEMS by Jake Sheff

Elegy for Dog I: A Failed Acrostic

January was tired when it became king. Apples here love being red in the spring, Casting shadows against the stone architraves our Kapellmeister will never live down. You Stole Apollo’s cows, and let them graze to show me Heaven’s template. Where do failed heroes go? Eucalyptus cupolas and polar icecaps Frame the downtrodden gods. But you weren’t Freakishly wrong, as I so often am, on your

Joyride through nearly twice eight years, Á la someone far from beauty’s stepmom. Copper coin or grimacing sun? I’ve got 20,000 Kor of crushed grief on this threshing floor. Shark-sparks of sadness flood the impetiginous air… How, and why, do clouds cobblestone Entire days, and lakes, when you’re not here? Fixing every broken thing, poets go where Ferns and geraniums baptize the morning.

“Jur-any-oms,” is how you’d spell it; After all, a dog’s a dog, and wisdom knows futility. Cassations make a rusty brew, to drink the truth of truths, and Kill whatever ceases wanting to be new. Stewardship, the color of gravity’s silence, naturally Houses every “glur” (a glittery blur); go chase what plays Eternal games. I hear the swans by Rooster Rock. Your handsome Face, its happy handsomeness, in memory’s eye, goes in and out of Focus; in love’s better eye: your goodness neath its everblooming ficus.

Gravity and Grace on SW Murray Scholls Drive

“Impatience has ruined many excellent men who, rejecting the slow, sure way, court destruction by rising too quickly.” Tacitus, The Annals of Imperial Rome

The traffic lights control the people’s actions, but Not their feelings, as the limits of philosophy Collide head on with the nose of a Dalmatian.

I tell you, the day is stress-testing itself, and these Sidewalks wish that it’d just gone straight. Geese Take this sky-hairing wind for granted, as they

Land on the lake like memorable speech on The sensitive soul. Time is never sharp, but it’s Cutting something in the credit union. Maybe

It’s dancing a back Corte for the woman in line Thinking about the taste of limes from Temecula As she waits for the teller. Air Alaska and that

Haunted pie in the sky are not the only reasons For all the volatility in the air today. Rushing And perfectionism both produce a loss; behind

The Safeway Pharmacy, you’ll see the small Smells of both, sloshing around to the ticking- Sound of the ocean’s tides. I must admit, I am

Frozen in place by the sight of steam from Joe’s Burgers; it is poetry’s pale tongue, rising in And arousing the air. This neighborhood’s street-

Lights are more serious than kokeshi dolls. Lights From its windows outshine poison dart frogs. Maybe to forget about life for awhile, the lamps

Are focused on The Population Bomb? ‘Easy Tiger,’ all these incidents whisper. Each day’s A sign twirler’s dais; each corner a promise

Of something more in a different direction: it isn’t A marriageable daughter or impoverishment, But inguinal ingenuity plays a part, and that isn’t

Bad at all. What oaths and paths went here Before Walmart? What voices were voided by The liquor store? What are vague’s values

When the library shares a parking lot with a 24- Hour gym and a cargo cult? Gas stations satirize                                                                           The Queen of Hearts; I tell you, it makes every

Question seem incidental. Treaty-breakers in Pajamas swing on the swing sets. Was August That full of angst? It feels like autumn went too

Far on accident. Desertification, in a sugar tong Splint, takes a shot of ouzo and talks shit About the death of Brutus, but my Bible-thumping

Memory – on a ski hill in Duluth – is also too busy Watching some ducks on the lake to notice; and Desertification makes a face at me like a Swedish

Film. Poets make for poorly picked men to Familiarity’s paymaster-general. The Calvinistic Rain is an ill-starred attempt to make mayonnaise-

Fries just for me, but I must admit, it all seems – You know – cybernetic. And step-motherly as all Get out, if you ask the trees. They prefer “You

Can’t Hurry Love,” by The Supremes, to any Changes that take effect in one to two pay periods. Pretext ricochets; a perfect reverse promenade.

At Summer Lake, When the Vegetables are Sleeping

Cruelty drinks all the wine, and never gets drunk On these shores. When Summer Lake speaks, In every word, an introduction to the world. I am

Easily duped. The greatest duper duplicates my pride, Which always lingers, in the hallways of my heart And beneath the surface of Summer Lake. The sky is

Supplicating, it’s literally shaking. An hour passes Faster here, the hour always held too dearly dear In paranoid and ivied walls. The ducks can do

An unwise thing correctly, and it sounds more like Dusty than Buffalo Springfield to the enokitake Sold in Springfield, Illinois, which is the opposite

Effect it has on the wild mushrooms on these shores. On cables capable of love, the geese convince The weather to taste like kvass today. Basically,

Another Cuban Missile Crisis drowned itself just Now. The clouds might ask themselves, ‘Is lowliness Allowed here?’ To which the crows might ask,

‘Does omertà sound like lightning?’ The answer’s Oubliette is ten times worse than impotence. Summer Lake isn’t smart, but it stays quiet, like

Someone too smart to say all they know. ‘Whoa, Sweet potato,’ the capital gains tax mutters To itself, knowing that what matters doesn’t mean

A thing. Some say the lake bottom’s sands receive Commands from Hearst Castle, others say Its hands are King City’s hands, and still others

Maintain more sins have been than grains of sand Times secondary gains, and that explains The beauty and industry that none can see but

All can feel on these shores. (Some possibilities Play possum, or get opsonized by hate; this one snores Like Rip Van Winkle.) This orb-weaver spider is

The Milton Friedman of Summer Lake, the wind On her web is Grenache from The Rocks District Of Milton-Freewater AVA for the eyes. The day is

Stereotypical, although it feels like three days In one…But for the lake’s good counterfactual Questions, I would forget that some die young,

But most die wrong. I’ve tried to pick up Summer Lake’s reflections in three lines or less, but The hardest truth is your own impotence. Oh,

It’s hard to hand your power over to a thing No one can see. Hopped up on distinctions – not The obvious distinctions – Summer Lake is pretty;

Cold, but pretty! In the distance, with so many Intercessory prayers, hot air balloons are rising; Shaped like teardrops, upside down and rising.

This lake re-something-or-anothered me. Are first Impressions wrong sometimes? I am a season’s Golden calf, according to the sunlight, doing

A prospector’s jig on the surface of Summer Lake. If not for the Weimar Republic’s wooden- Headedness, I’d set down my heart-song and

Listen to reason on these shores. I never trust An activist guitar, if the weather is socially clumsy. The future is reflected on the lake: it always

Laughs at us – between its math and gratitude Lessons – and never thinks of (or gives thanks to) Us enough. The presence in the lake juniors

My ears. The day is not too baffling, nor is it Jane Eyre. Space-themed and spiritual, some autumn Leaves are swimming in the rain. The ducks arrest

My attention in the mardy weather, even though they Must know my attention is dying. The barbed wire Around my stated goal is an outcome out of

Their control. Picnickers picnic with acorns and apricots, On blankets covering Holy Schnikey’s death mask. My unsandaled thoughts thrive and increase on these,

And no other shores. They are pets for the days less Important than love, when Summer Lake says it’s Humble, because it knows the right thing to say.

Summer Lake gives the comfort of commonly held And seriously absurd beliefs to the blue heron. Nothing is wrong with this lake or anything in it,

Not even the ghost of Amerigo Vespucci. It’s all so Simple to the stiff-necked molecules of water, made out Of frogs and snails and puppy-dog’s tails. These thoughts

Are fine manna in a fine ditch. Post-structuralist squirrels Can tell my heart’s in Italy, and I’m in the intellectual Laity. Chivalry’s technician sees my shovel, and they say,

‘You’ve got to hand it to him.’ Neurocysticercosis Sets the bar high; it looks at this park, and thinks The smartest monkey drew the perfect landscape.

That’s this maple tree’s previous disease, its precious One. It unfurls the ferns of my firm and foremost Beliefs, I’m told, to partialize insufferable vastidity.

We Install a Sump Pump on (What Used To Be) a Holiday (Take 2)

The oppressive heat was born a fully grown Man. I admire the result of its effort, but Despise the means of achieving it. My wife Asserts her individuality in the gunk; her Body’s allegations aren’t too soft or hard today. Her self-interest seems to have drowned in the vortex.

Our little garden knows flippancy with regards To privacy is unwise. The stepping stones can Only blather, as slugs draw nomograms on Their faces. My wife’s body speaks Proto-Indo- European in the vortex and denim overalls. Marc Chagall’s The Poet studies her. He calls her

‘Innocence: The opposite of life! A criminal with A badge!’ I hand her the tools of a crude and Rudimentary faith, and she says, ‘Jill, great books Make fine shackles.’ Her arms only have An administrative objective in the vortex, but They are where good things come from.

Jake Sheff is a pediatrician in Oregon and veteran of the US Air Force. He's married with a daughter and whole lot of pets. Poems of Jake’s are in Radius, The Ekphrastic Review, Crab Orchard Review, The Cossack Review and elsewhere. He won 1st place in the 2017 SFPA speculative poetry contest and a Laureate's Choice prize in the 2019 Maria W. Faust Sonnet Contest. Past poems and short stories have been nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology and the Pushcart Prize. His chapbook is “Looting Versailles” (Alabaster Leaves Publishing).

[qaraxuanzenith]

Hello! I am her to solicite answers! :P

Could you give a brief (I know you, good luck lol) overview of the general themes/vibe of each month/whatever best division of time there is. Like how for me as a pagan its seasonal: fall is generally generous/grateful harvest vibes, winter is family/love/introspective holidays, spring is rejuvenating/cleaning, and summer is bbq's and gardening and relaxing. Are there major vibe markers on the Jewish calendar?

Thank you for the question, Raeven!

First, a big disclaimer: I am a super nonspiritual person, so I am not at all tapped into the actual zodiac of the Jewish calendar or other actual spiritual vibe things (open call to the more calendrically spiritual on #jumblr to chime in / correct me where I am wrong!); that said, I will never turn down the opportunity to answer a question so below is a mish-mash of my own associations with months and the vibes associated with their holidays and things:

Tishrei (an autumn month) - this is the Jewish HOLIDAY SEASON, beginning with and dominated by Rosh Hashanah. Big "sweet foods" vibes, also has Succot, the Jewish Thanksgiving holiday. New beginnings, crunching leaves underfoot, squash pies and apple cakes and honeycake. Reflecting on the year past and hopes for the year ahead.

Cheshvan (also autumn) - Cheshvan has a weird bad rap due to a folk etymology that has it sometimes (incorrectly) referred to as "Mar Cheshvan" ("Bitter Cheshvan"); it also is (arguably, the calendar is complicated) the one month with ZERO holidays / significant dates in it. This is also when we expect more rain, so........ rainy vibes?

Kislev (a winter month) - Kislev is when Chanukah begins! Light in the darkness, strength in the face of adversity, we are few but we are mighty. I have snow associations, along with OIL AND MAKING YOUR ENTIRE HOUSE SMELL LIKE POTATOES AND DOUGHNUTS. Latkas and more latkas. Fire and lots of it, flickering bravely in a window.

Tevet (also winter) - Chanukah continues in Tevet, but it's not the main association. Tevet is short, dark days, sombre memory and bright snow. There is a fast day in Tevet that is so short (as a daylight fast) that it's allowed to be on Friday, even though it cuts into Shabbat (normally can't fast on Shabbat!) because it's SO SHORT that it barely matters. I am always grumpy about it when this happens, such as this year.

Shvat (winter but it pretends to be spring, what even are seasons) - I know in my head that it is always snowy here in Shvat, but it doesn't FEEL like it, because it is dominated by Tu B'Shvat, or Judaism Fruit Day. Big fruit vibes!!! Fruity jewel tones and fruit leather and pictures of flowering trees even though we KNOW they are still snowy and bare, especially almond trees with their pink buds. (also my birthday is in Shvat but that is a Personal Association and not a Judaism Thing)

Adar (winterspring SEASONS AREN'T REAL AND THEY CAN'T HURT ME) - OKAY I KNOW THIS ONE Adar is the month that has Purim in it (a month celebrated with great levity) and the vibe of Adar is "April Fools Day, But Make It A Whole Month." Clowns (but the cheerful dancing kind, not the creepy kind); parties, singing, wine, pranks and jokes and silliness.

Nisan (spring FOR REAL THIS TIME) - this is the month that Pesach is in and it shows! Rebirth and new life and freedom and family, telling our story and reflecting, going from slavery to freedom and nationhood. Playing outside with waterguns and being up all night at the Seder and asking questions.

Iyar (also spring!) - Iyar is the month that has Yom HaAtzmaut AND Lag BaOmer, so think barbeques and dancing and outdoor celebrations! Also lots of blue and white and hard-won home, hard-won freedom. Flowers and friendly feelings!!

Sivan (early summer!) - Sivan is when we celebrate Shavuot; first fruits and babies and cheesecake! Excitement and learning and ALL NIGHT LEARNING and flowers everywhere. Ice cream party vibes and picnics in the park.

Tamuz (also summer) - It is getting HOT in Tamuz and it has the longest daylight fast, which at this point of year is LONG. Long, hot days, blazing sun, bright outside but dark inside. The second half of the month is part of the Three Weeks between the fast of Tamuz 17 and the fast of Av 9 so it's like waiting waiting waiting for the other shoe to drop with the bad news.

Av (stillllll summerrrrrrrrrr) - Av starts off sombre and sad, fire and ruin and destruction and exile, but then it gets to the 15th of the month and what do you know, it's Romance Time, dancing in the fields in white dresses as summer wanes, vibes of fireflies and lanterns and late summer nights (because the night only BEGINS when it's already so late).

Elul (end of summer) - it's the last month of the year but we're also like READY for the first month so it practically feels like it's beginning already. wake up calls and shofars and late night praying, apologies and making up and time to find some shreds of spirituality i guess. winding down and wrapping up the summer and the year.

[dreamdaddydutch]

Christmas/Yule with Javier

I said I was going to try to write a little bit for the fandom over the holidays, with my job how it is (or isn’t) I haven’t been overly inspired but today I had this little idea which I thought would be cute to write. I was wondering what it would be like to spend Christmas/Yuletide with Javier and pictured something like this. I was imagining it as modern times, but then I don’t mention anything that’s modern really so it could take place whenever :) Just somewhere where it snows over the holidays! This is short and sweet, very, very sweet like fluffy candy floss sweet. Anyway it put a smile on my face and I hope it does yours. Whether you celebrate Christmas/Yule or not, I hope this finds you well and Happy Holidays!

You stare out of the window at the snow that is gently falling. Your children play happily throwing snowballs at one another, your dog chases them joining in the fun. Their footsteps are silent like dead of night. Your cheeks feel warm, your own reflection in the glass is glowing from the fireplace and the small candles that decorate the pine tree that has pride of place in your living room.

The candles flicker from the slight breeze that is coming from under the front door. When the children are inside you’ll lay down the tartan draft-excluder your grandmother made you, it’s covered in pheasants. Well 4 to be precise, you and your family have named them. You named the first Penny, your children named the next two Bobby and Medusa (Greek Mythology had been introduced this year past) and your husband, Javier, he named the last - Boaz. 

You knew the name, Boaz had been his favourite horse and the way Javier spoke of him and how he believed Boaz had saved his life. Well, you had all the time in the world for him to talk like that.

You turned your head to the side to look at the fireplace, you’d decorated it as a family as you always did. There were two large stockings for the children and two small ones for you and ‘dad’. In the centre was a Poinsettia plant with various sized pine cones either side and a few candles and gold painted chestnuts. 

While the children were out playing with friends, you and Javier had been busy wrapping the presents so the illusion of Father Christmas would not be ruined. However, you had gotten distracted with one another before you were even halfway done. It started when Javier said he didn’t need any presents as he already had the best thing he could ever ask for - you. You then commented on how he’d look nice wrapped in a bow. And well, you ended up wrapping up more of one another and then ripping open the paper like kids at 6am on Christmas morning. You made love under the Christmas tree by candle light and curled up in the rug in front of the fireplace afterwards, him spooning you as you watched the wood crackle. 

Your home was small but it was yours. You’d built it together, built it on all your hopes, dreams and faith in one another and nothing could take that from you.

While you always had time for the birth of Spring, the glorious long days that Summer brought and with it all the picnics and swimming in the lakes, and the colour and change of Autumn. Winter was the time you enjoyed most as a family. Telling stories in front of the fire, singing songs by the piano, baking cookies, visiting friends, sledging and skating. 

Winter was an excuse to spend more time under the covers with Javier, to lay in bed longer together during the dark mornings. Cuddles were always in abundance with Javier, but in Winter it was more than that he was just like a personal blanket. 

As you reminisced about the year that had gone and thought on your hopes for the future you were sure you could sense Javier walking into the room. His footsteps were so light like a deer that sometimes you weren’t sure whether he was there or if it was just the creaking of the floorboards, but you liked the suspense and surprise.

You knew it was him when you smelt him, the warm scent of cinnamon and whiskey, of cigarettes and firewood. You inhale sharply and hold your breath just waiting for him to touch you and when he does your eyes flutter open and it’s like the first time he held you all over again. 

His hands lace round your middle and he pulls you back into him so he’s pressed up against you. He leans in to smell your hair and gives a contended sigh before whispering in your ear, “You know this is my favourite time of year mi amor.” He says his hot breath tickling your ear lobe and making you tremble with anticipation. 

You gulp and crane your neck so you’re looking up at him as his head rests on your shoulder, “Mine too,” you smile a smile that matches his own, warm, honest and full of love.

“How did I get so lucky?” He asks as he strokes your hair. 

“I ask myself the same thing every day,” you reply. 

He chuckles lowly and looks over out of the window, “Reckon we have enough time for a quick cuddle?” He wiggles his eyebrows as he says cuddle, it’s cute and you try not to laugh. You know he’s serious - trying to be sexy but he’s so adorable sometimes you can’t help but smile. 

You turn in his arms and place your hands on his warm cheeks, from the kitchen you can smell fresh bread baking and the cranberry cookies cooling. Your eyes close for a while though it isn’t dark for you, the orange glow still radiates behind your eyelids as he presses a soft kiss against your lips. 

You so want to go to bed with him now but know the children will be in soon for dinner and their father’s nightly Christmas story.

“I wish,” you say quietly as your lips part. You remain close to him though so that your lips brush against his as you speak. One of your hands snakes down to his behind and squeezes one of his cheeks.

“Oh but you do tease so,” he says as he steals another kiss and then pulling away from the kiss he pulls you into a tight hug. 

The two of you take a moment away from the noise of children and others to just enjoy being at one with one another. “Javier, remember tomorrow the kids are round John and Abigail’s all afternoon,” you begin, you can feel Javier shudder in your arms, a slight tremble full of need. “So you know we’ll have plenty of time for cuddles.” 

“Hmmm,” he hums into your hair, “I like the sound of that.”

The two of you turn in unison and look out of the window together, still holding onto one another you watch your children at play. Their laughter is infectious, the garden you both feel looks magical, ethereal even with snow falling from the heavens like glitter. A barn owl flies by, a rare site but one you occasionally are lucky enough to witness. In the distance there are horses in a paddock, there’s smoke rising from chimneys. All the world seems still and exactly as it’s supposed to be.

Javier leans in for another kiss but as you start to kiss him in return you both jump as something loud bangs near your heads. Opening your eyes you see snow on the window and your children are laughing, the eldest making faces, the youngest says, “ewwww!” and makes a face that can only be described as grotesque kissing. 

Javier and you laugh, you can’t be mad at them. You do however draw the curtains to a close, they may be indoors in a moment for dinner but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a few minutes alone to saviour the other’s sweet kisses. 

Bells ring out somewhere in the distance, from a church or perhaps a sleigh, neither of you can be certain. But what you both know is that the life you now have together has meant you both believe in magic. 

He kisses you deeply, lips tasting of cinnamon and cherries. Nothing in the world compares to it and as you pull away the glint in his dark brown eyes caused by the dying candlelight tell you everything you need to know. 

[soon-deh-ray]

short fic thing??

so you may or may not have noticed, but I decided to discontinue my fic since I just wasn’t feeling it anymore and wanted to move on to writing other stuff. however! back in june, I did write one chapter from later on that I never posted on ao3, and since it works as a standalone, I’m gonna put it here. it’s a little under 2k. hope you like!

(quick tw: this is a flashback to the prince and vanessa’s relationship, so there’s some abuse involved. just be aware!)

Once upon a time, there was a Prince, and where there was a prince, there was a Princess.

The two of them had known one another from near-birth, as their families were very close. By the ages of ten, they had spent countless nights staying up together, telling one another stories of knights that would carry pretty girls away from danger in their arms, and of dragons who guarded troves of gold and precious gemstones. There would be talk of playing pranks on kitchen servants and looking for hidden passageways behind bookshelves. They would swap dresses, tell secrets, chase one another in gardens full of fruits and flowers, taking in the sights and smells of childhood, unbothered by the idea of growing up. The possibilities of youth seemed to stretch on until the end of time.

The Prince had clung to the Princess as if she were his protector. People were so confusing to him; they said things that they didn’t mean, and meant things that they didn’t say. The Princess offered solace and straightforwardness. He could count on her. They were friends, and they loved one another, although the idea of romance escaped them until several years later.

The Princess was devoted, and would have defended the Prince with her life. She swore to take care of him through all things, and to stay by his side forever and ever. She promised to be his knight.

***

The Prince had been told from a young age that when he fell in love, it would be like nothing he had ever known. Warmth would blossom in his chest. Birds would sing. He was told that it was the most wonderful thing a person could ever hope to experience, and that, once he knew who he wanted to spend his life with, he must never let go.

The Princess was told the same.

***

Around the time that the two friends had turned fifteen years old, the Prince revealed to his mother that he was a boy.

Though he had feared rejection, his mother instead kissed him on the forehead and told him that she was proud of him. His father, while stoic, expressed a similar sentiment. They had new clothes tailored for him; suits, trousers, and all other manner of boyish outfits. He was allowed to have his hair cut. He was given new tutors for new subjects. He was encouraged to begin courting young women. He was startled by how quickly and how readily his life had changed to suit him, but for the most part, he didn’t mind. He particularly took an interest in his law course.

The Princess also began to change around him, and it wasn’t long before her touches began to linger more than they used to, her hugs growing a little tighter. When they were sixteen, she began to hold his hand, intertwining their fingers everywhere they went. When they were seventeen, they would sneak out to have picnics by the light of the moon. One night, she kissed him softly and told him that she loved him more than anyone else ever could.

When they were eighteen, she promised to be his bride.

***

Alright, so it wasn’t exactly as the adults in his life had told him, but as far as the Prince was concerned, being in love was rather nice. No sparks flew when they kissed, and his feet didn’t float off the ground when they held hands, but he loved his Princess, and was fairly sure that he always had. Being around her felt good, and as far as he told himself, that was all that he really needed.

The Princess would have disagreed. She knew that her Prince was the only one for her, and that she was the only one for him. When they kissed, she felt that sparks did indeed fly, and when they held hands, she felt as if she was above the clouds. She loved her Prince, always had, and always would. It was unconditional. It was timeless. It was the stuff of fairytales and of dreams. She knew for a fact that it was the kind of love that only came around once in a lifetime, and only to the very luckiest of people. Nobody would ever be able to tell her otherwise.

She tried to convince her Prince of this. Eventually, she began to succeed, though she frequently sighed and pouted and pulled her hair when she was concerned that he may not feel the same way. She would furrow her brow and fidget, allowing him to look upon her and see the unhappiness he was causing. He would stumble over his words, apologize, kiss her, tell her he loved her and that he always would.

She told him to swear on his life that he was telling the truth.

He swore.

***

Throughout their late teens and early twenties, many unfortunate things occurred, but through it all, they stuck together, as they had said they would. The Princess would go on to become the Queen, and while the Prince would attempt to assuage her grief with soft words of love, she only grew more upset. It would have seemed that she did not find “Queen” to be as endearing a title, though the Prince did not realize this, and she never did tell.

Once, the Queen sewed extensions into her Prince’s hair and bleached it, convinced that their matching styles would cement them as lovers with a defining trait. When he awoke, he was horrified. He immediately locked himself in the bathroom, cutting his hair far shorter than it had ever been, choppy and unrefined, desperation clear. He had remained in there for hours, feeling sick and reminded of the long hair he’d had as a child. The Queen waited outside the door the entire time, begging him to let her in, telling him that she was sorry, that she hadn’t meant to upset him. She insisted that she had only wished for them to look as close as they felt, that he was worrying her, that he needed to open this door now and let her know everything was alright, because otherwise she didn’t know what she would do. When the Prince did eventually emerge, she embraced him, crying into his shoulder, remorse consuming her. He hugged her back, weakly muttering his own apologies, sapped of strength.

It felt like his natural auburn took ages to return.

***

When he told the Queen that he was leaving to study abroad, she took her dinner plate, hurled it onto the floor, and stomped into the bedroom. The Prince sat there for several minutes, his meal still unfinished, as a servant swept up the shattered china. He excused himself to no one and went to sit on the front porch of the manor, where they had made their winter home.

It was freezing out. The Prince hadn’t taken a jacket. He sat for hours anyway, unable to cry.

It felt like it had been quite a long time since he had last cried.

He contracted a cold that night, which led to pneumonia, delaying his trip by about a month. The Queen had said, unconcerned with hiding her glee, that it was a sign. That he should stay, and that they should finally be wed. The Prince, who was feverish, said nothing. He only smiled faintly.

She was disappointed beyond words when he arranged to go on the trip anyways.

He was to further his study of law, and, hopefully, attain his license to practice within the next year. He promised to write.

She didn’t say a word to him the day that he left.

The next several months were spent in a country that the Prince found to be much warmer, though try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about the Queen’s sad face. He wondered what she was doing without him. If everything was running smoothly while he was gone. If she was happy, and healthy, and everything else that she deserved to be. Less than a week after he arrived, he wrote to her of what he had been doing at the Academy, and of his kind and patient tutor.

That was to say nothing of the street corners and plazas where produce he had never heard of, except in books, was sold, he wrote. The sun was hot, which took him some getting used to, seeing as the manor had been so cold, and people walked about with their arms and legs out in the open, which was hard to imagine during even the warmer months in Subcon. When it rained, it poured, and when the sun shone, it felt as if the ground itself were a stovetop.

The Queen hardly read any of it. She seethed, curled up against the bone-chilling walls of the manor, torn pages and spilled ink on the floor. When she responded, her letters were curt, and often spoke of their engagement. The Prince assured her that he loved her. The Queen did not acknowledge it.

The only books he spoke of were those that dealt with the law. She missed the days where he would join her in composing narratives far more fantastical.

Six months into his long excursion, the Prince finally wrote to her that he was planning to return. Summer was ending, and autumn was beginning. The Queen was elated. She wrote to him of how it had felt like decades since she had last looked upon his face, and how she would be waiting with bated breath for his return.

A week later, for the first time in a while, she left the manor to check up on the citizens of the village. They had been doing well for themselves, and were pleased to see her out and about. One child commented that she looked lovely. The Queen smiled and bit back the urge to respond that only her Prince could say such things, and that if he found out that the comment had been made, he would surely be furious at the child’s insolence.

She decided to stop by some of the shops and see if there was anything her Prince might like her to purchase for him as a “welcome home” gift of sorts. Perhaps she could have a portrait of herself framed for him to take back to the Academy, so that he could see her face whenever he was lonely. She decided to first scope out the flower shop, reasoning that he may appreciate a bouquet of their favorite flowers.

When she peeked through the entrance, she was not prepared for what she saw.

Her Prince was holding the hand of the florist. She swallowed dryly, staring at their smiling faces. Her Prince laughed.

He was holding the hand of a whore, and he was laughing, and the Queen witnessed every second of it.

She fled back to the manor, sobbing.

***

The Prince had not cried in such a long time. To do so now was the most liberating thing he had ever experienced.

His heart was broken, and his shoulders weren’t quite in the correct places, and his tears were frozen to his cheeks, but it did not matter.

He had sworn on his life that he would always love her, and now his life was being taken from him.

He was finally free.

***

Her Prince had gone.

Vanessa wept.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

EoA ships fluff headcanons part 5

Childhood activity they show the other?Eleteo: Elena introduces fencing to her man. All the fencing, she tried to train him through a less rigorous and much more flirty version of Gabe’s fencing training but Mateo fencing is like Mateo with the rope. All thumbs and falling. Not that either of them minds. Mateo tries to coach Elena through potion making. That’s right. Though Rafa did not overtly teach him, as he self studied he realized that the cooking information and herbal medicine recipes she taught him were just a precursor. What they didn’t expect that, surprisingly, similarly to Olivia, when Elena decided to get into her head to see what would happen if she combined the purple concoction with the fizzy olive one...well ba bam! Since then they stuck to magical battles. Gababel: As we know Gabe does NOT have any fond childhood memories whereas olaball was involved so that was out. On the other hand, Gabe does love baking, especially baking cookies. So that is the nice lazy weekend activity he and Isabel do together and although he does tease Isabel for her scientific calculations, there is always flying cookie dough and  giggles when they’re in the kitchen. Isabel knows Gabe doesn’t always follow her scientific treatises and conversations, so she showed him a more palatable one. Stargazing. She and King Raul used to do it all the time and it is one her favorite memories of her father. So on clear nights they spread a picnic blanket in the  royal garden and Isabel points out all the constellations and tells the old stories as her father did for her.

Estenaomi: This should be obvious from the get go. Sailing is Naomi’s thing and always will be. She has more sea legs than land legs when she was 4 years old and so she makes it her mission to teach Esteban everything she knows. Although at the beginning it was less fun and more like when this https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Aby_UgFLxfQ She lets up because she doesn’t want Esteban to hate it. Not that he does, he understands why she loves the thrill of the salt air on her face and is kinda a waveaholic, it’s like a rollarcoaster ride. Esteban’s favorite thing was dancing because it reminded him of when he used to see his parents date nights in their ballroom (yes exactly like this https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=lcmwgPw76Mc) And so Esteban teaches Naomi all the waltzes and ballroom dances he knows. She is pretty quick study and picks them up in a flash so they move on to salsa and merengue and soon they are hitting the clubs as the hottest couple on the dance floor, but they always return back to the ballroom for their own private dance too.  Estoma: Not only is dancing Esteban’s thing but olaball and goal! Esteban is such a bonafide fan of olaball, there is even a baby picture of him in a olaball Jersey and so of course, he takes Doña to one where it is Avalor vs Paraíso. Honestly, Doña didn’t really watch the game she was too busy watching the hilarity that was Esteban next to her yelling and fist pumping like a maniac.Doña didn’t do all those childhood things he did like going to the circus or making ice cream sundays (and did not appreciate Esteban looking at her as if her childhood was devoid of happiness) and didn’t really feel like taking the trip down memory lane but she eventually relented at the thought of horse riding again.  So they did just that and though Doña rode circles around him and laughed at Esteban’s saddle sore butt, he secretly thought it was worth it to see her looking so free and unguarded.

Birthdays?

Eleteo: (I agreed a lot with @pizza-n-sunshine’s zodiac post so some of these dates are based on astrology since the timeline isn’t really specified in EoA) Elena is totally a fiery Aries and I imagine her bday to be right in the beginning of Aries season, March 19. It’s perfect because it is also springtime which Elena loves because of the idea of new beginnings and fresh flowers and just being outside. Mateo usually treats Elena to a nice picnic for her birthday beside the Avaloran waterfalls where they can swim and frolic and have magical Scepter vs Tamborita contests. Mateo is a Virgo, his birthday being September 11, right in the middle symbolizing his moderate personality (that is when he is not in search for the Scepter of night). Mateo is such a modest guy that he doesn’t really want much for his birthday but Elena insists on giving him a sweet soirée anyway. Specifically bringing in all the citizens that Mateo has helped over the years, reminding him that his work is known and is appreciated and he is just a wonderful guy.😊 Gababel: While I see Isabel as being an Aquarius, I feel like she was born in autumn. Around Oct 5 right when the leaves turn crisp and school is getting into full swing. Sometimes, Isabel gets so into the latest project she is doing for school that she actually forgets her birthday is coming up so it’s always easy to have a surprise party for her. The party is a practical, but fun affair with lots of scientifically developed special effects with fireworks and illusions and all her close friends as they play party games. Gabe does seem to be a totally Capricorn and I see his birthday on January 5. Yes, same number day as Isabel, only 4 months later. He is similar to her that he is so dedicated to his work that he forgets it’s coming up. But more likely than not he remembers because he knows it will be a lovely day of celebration and a break from work which Isabel makes sure that it is. In the form of taking him to their favorite getaway. Opidian Island. Sometimes Gabe acts like a little kid, pretending to be a great adventurer like Agama and Isabel is all the happy to help him trying to figure out that temple maze again.

Estenaomi: This was easier since we sorta know when they’re birthdays are. Or at least the season. Esteban seems to have been born near the end of the summer so I say his birthday is August 6. Which is apparently a regal number indicated duke. Esteban’s birthday is all about seizing the moment in the summer and usually also at the waterfalls where he spends his time swinging on vines and jumping from the top of the cliffs like a maniac. Naomi also organizes a treasure hunt to further the fun. Naomi’s birthday seems to be in the spring, I say April 25 because April is the month of showers and showers are a great challenge for sailing which is exactly what she does for her birthday. It’s a party on the marinara where she and Esteban get into boat races, swimming and all sorts of adventures in the water and occasionally, meet up with Captain Chiloya again. And a lovely, romantic dance on the docks with the moon shining above them. Estoma: Esteban’s BDay is obviously still Aug 6 but it is more subdued since he has more refined taste. Admittedly he didn’t see much celebration in it for 41 years because of, as you guessed it, Shuriki. He almost didn’t celebrate any holiday or birthday because the guilt was too overpowering and again, Shuriki would have put a stop to it. Even so, Doña would sometimes leave him a small trinket on his desk. There was no words or acknowledgement about it but it was there. Nowadays, with his family around him, he gets a real party with his close family and friends catching up on those feelings he missed for so long. Doña’s birthday is the day after Navidad (I thought it would be a fun bit of irony😜) . That took almost forever for Esteban to find out since Doña doesn’t make much of a big deal of it as he thought she would. She just doesn’t want to do anything but relax after the mad rush that is Navidad selling season. Well, Esteban being someone who still takes great stock in celebrating birthdays actually surprises her by bringing breakfast in bed among other treats.

Meeting the parents? Eleteo: Mateo is a nervous wreck meeting Elena’s parents. I mean he is geeked out that he’ll be able to see ghosts (and the fact that his future wife sees ghosts because of her time in the amulet fascinated him to no end) but also it’s still meeting her parents and he hopes that they’ll accept him and be worthy enough for her. He needn’t to have worried so much though because since they have seen him with their daughter from the beginning they know that they would make a good couple and they admire that he loves and respects her so much. Rafa has no complaints against Elena at all. In fact she isn’t surprised the crowned princess is in love with her boy, who wouldn’t? But seriously, she treats Elena like the daughter she never had and tries not to go too overboard with giving advice and suggestions for dealing with Mateo. Gababel: As with Mateo, Gabe was super nervous meeting Isabel’s parents. Albeit he was very skeptical at first when Elena told him about her power but he had to accept it so when the time came to meet them, he was really unsure what to do. What exactly do you say to dead ghost parents? Does shaking their hands still apply? But like before, King Raul and Queen Lucia are very gracious to the boy who has made their youngest so happy and for all that he has done for the family and Avalor in general. Though Raul couldn’t resist doing the “If you hurt my girl...” talk (he did the same with Mateo and the poor kid was convinced for a full five minutes that Raul hated him). Blanca loves Isabel, she sees her as a calming grounded influence on Gabe and treats her like a daughter. At first Roberto couldn’t even believe that Gabe managed to snag the princess and scientist of Avalor but when it comes down to it, he’s glad that his son is happy. Estenaomi: Naomi can’t technically meet Esteban’s parents but she gets the closest by being “interrogated” by Luisa and praised by Francisco. They’re glad that Naomi can banter with Esteban and is able to handle his adventurous spirit with love and sass. It kinda reminded Luisa of herself and Francisco. The Turners were initially cool to Esteban which was simply part of their plan to make sure he had a proper amount of respect for Naomi and for them and completely surprise him later with hugs and congratulations when they announce their official together.   Estoma: Well they can’t meet the parents. It’s more like a bittersweet game where they talk about “If my parents had met you..” It’s sweet that it segueways into compliments like “they would love you for how happy you make me feel” and “They would think you have great taste in men and fashion” etc.

Taking care of the other when sick?

Eleteo: Mateo has his hands full when Elena is sick because she refuses to admit it and wants to continue work or doing whatever she usually does. But Rafa taught him a perfect sleepytime soup recipe that usually gets Elena asleep and relaxed. Then when she sorta kinda admits defeat she lets him sing to her. Mateo is also a handful in that he doesn’t think he needs anyone to take care of him and that he doesn’t want to get sick but Elena isn’t having any of that. They are a couple, she is taking care of him, she doesn’t care about the germs. And Mateo would be lying that he doesn’t enjoy the extra attention Elena feasts upon him. Gababel: Gabe is an absolute sweetheart when Isabel is sick with making specially prepared soups, dropping by from work every time he has a free and even writing down some of the scientific treatise that Isabel attempts to dictate through a stuffy nose.  Isabel is similar to Mateo that she has to hold Gabe down from insisting that he is fine and that he can work. Usually her puppy dog eyes work the charm and Gabe stays in bed so he can be sung to and read stories. Estenaomi: Esteban is such whiny child when he is sick. And cranky too about taking the medicine, and though Naomi rolls her eyes, she kinda indulges his antics because she finds them funny and though he doesn’t admit it, he appreciates how patient she is. As for Naomi, Esteban treats her like a fragile flower near death more than a common cold which annoys her to no end. But she does get massages and being fed grapes out of it which she admits it’s very fun too. Estoma: They generally avoid each other when they’re sick. Doña doesn’t have much patience for his complaining about sick and bored he is and Esteban doesn’t have much patience when she tells him that he is nursing her all wrong. The only time they can stand each other is when they’re peacefully asleep which is promptly ruined when they wake up with “Whad are you looking ad?”

Who wakes the other up?

Eleteo: Mateo obviously since Elena is so not a morning person. If anything she wishes she could sleep all day sometimes. Luckily, Mateo knows the perfect way to wake her up with lots of kisses. Gababel: Gabe is the early riser thanks to guard duty, and because of that he usually isn’t there when Isabel wakes up during weekdays but he does leave coffee and sometimes a note. During the weekends, it’s the opposite. Neither of them want to wake up so they laze around, nuzzling up against each other. Estenaomi: Naomi wakes up first, and let’s face it all the Flores family are so not morning people. Her way of waking Esteban is a good old fashion pillow fight. Well it’s a more one sided pillow fight since Esteban is trying to stubbornly stay in bed but she gets him out eventually. Estoma: Once again, Esteban is not a morning person. Doña usually wakes him up by blowing coffee steam in his face or just clap loudly, yelling that it is time to rise.

Who curses when they argue?

Eleteo: Neither. They very much prefer actually talking out their problems than yelling and screaming in anger at each other sinc that is counterproductive. Also I can't see Mateo having a cursing bone in his body and Elena wouldn't use that kind of harsh language to someone she loves. Estenaomi: Naomi. Blame the sailor's tongue but she can start cursing up a storm. And though Esteban tries not to do it in a girl's presence (yes, Luisa drilled it in) he would start too. Gababel: Again neither. For the same reasons as Eleteo. Estoma: Again like Estenaomi, Doña is more likely to curse before Esteban but he would snap back too. Who wears the other clothes sometimes? Eleteo: Elena sometimes wears Mateo's oversized shirts on a lazy Sunday morning without shame and sometime teasing that she should just wear it to her meetings. She also puts on wizards robes. It's just so comfy and warm and smells just like him. Gababel: They don't really do that since the size difference makes it ridiculous. Although Isabel has nabbed Gabe's guard jacket once or twice on a cold winter night. As well as shirt:) She says he has to practice his ability to withstand cold temperatures but Gabe thinks it more has to do with his gazing at his pecs. Estenaomi: A few times, Esteban has tried Naomi's clothes on account of her dares much to Naomi's personal amusement. Naomi does the same and dresses in Esteban’s fancy suits and shirts. Usually for fun. Estoma: Very rarely, though once Esteban went out in Doña's robe which he staunchly insists was a traditional Satu kimono. AU stories  Gababel: Isabel works in a science lab for the boss from hell aka Shuriki and her smarmy second in command/her personal advisor, Javier. What’s a single graduate girl in the city to do but keep on trying day after day while working on her thesis. Luckily, she has her roomie, Tomiko to lean on. And unexpectedly, the cute security guard at her lab, Gabe Nuñez. Soon, life gets a whole lot more complicated when love hits this young scientist over the head, a fun complicated. But will this burgenoning relationship be able to last once she starts her real job after grad school? And more distressingly, Javier’s attempts at sabotage and plagiarism. Estoma: Working in the same publishing house, Esteban is a publisher for the nonfiction imprint, while Doña is an editor for the romance novel section. They rarely associate except at one work dinner where they are forced to seat next to each other and learn of their disdainful views of the others genre. He thinks her clients write superficial, copy-and-paste  trash and she thinks his are pretentious, Pulitzer-wannabe rejects. They strike a challenge to read a list of the “best” of the other’s genres. Soon their meetings change from literary criticism to what outsiders call as dates, but that’s impossible. No way life is like a book. But soon the lines between fact and fiction begin to blur with meddling relatives, a murder mystery dinner, a regency style ball and way too many fairytale moments, leave them with one question, what exact genre are they in? And whether their story has a happy ending? Estenaomi: It’s a boringly ordinary day at Naomi’s part time job at her father’s antique nautical shop when her friend’s cousin, Esteban comes in, searching for a map. A map that leads to a Flores family mystery and chance for adventure that Naomi cannot resist following. Especially since that adventure is on the tail of the arrogant college boy with searing brown eyes and no impulse control. Of course, when that mystery leads them directly to the hideout of the notorious yet secretive mob family, The Delgados down in Cuba, it’s clear they’re in over the heads. And more dangerous still, their hearts are on the line as their feelings begin to grow with each adrenaline racing escape. Eleteo: Street performer and illusionist, Mateo comes under the wing of Elena Flores’ bohemian musical troupe when he moves to Avalor City. Soon the two form a special connection, marred by Elena’s family who is desperately searching for the eldest child to take over Raul’s company which Elena had forsaken in the midst of the traumatic death. Mateo is tempted between helping Elena gain her rightful place at head of the company with the possibility of never seeing her again or running away to Paris as she suggests.

Sweetest gift they got from each other? Eleteo: I feel like Mateo would give her the gift of a day without work or worry about the kingdom. One day out of the blue, Elena wakes up to find most of her appointments cancelled or being taken care of by the Grand Council for the day. Mateo first comes in with a bowl of cherries, and a kiss. Then they go out for a nice leisurely Jaquin ride. Then they just hang out with their friends at the beach or something. For the afternoon, they go dancing and for dinner that he had planned down in his workshop with lights and everything. So there it is. A nice day where she could spend time with her friends, family and her favorite wizard king. For Mateo: So Mateo is pretty good being by himself and just enjoy reading and practicing his magic. So Elena's gift to him would be a bit similar. A day free of appointments just so he could concentrate how to improve his mastery. But the plus would be she would be him the whole day. Helping, asking questions and being able to spend time and see do what he loves so much. Estenaomi: This was easier at least. For Naomi, I think the favorite gift Esteban gave her wasa ship. It wasn't big because they all knew she was going to inherit the Wayfarer but a houseboat. She was very surprised to see that he got her a full captain outfit with a hat and everything waiting for her in the closet. Esteban, she got him a brand new compass with an ancient map she got from some sale.  So they could go on a whole new adventure together. Estoma: For Esteban: A enchanted music box from Satu. It was a combo of two things. His admiration and memories of staying in Satu, and enchanted so only the one holding the music box could hear the music. So he could safely listen to it even close to Shuriki’s quarters.

Gababel: Isabel gave him a brand new saddle for Fuego and a sword that even though he learned his lesson from El Guapo, he still couldn’t help but stand up straighter and prouder with his new golden engraved sword. And Isabel, even though she is slightly embarrassed by such a nerdy gift but melted because Gabe knew her so well to buy her a stack of new edition science encyclopedias.  

Jealous? Eleteo: Elena won’t admit she’s jealous. She thinks she incapable of it which is so not true. So whenever some girl seems to be sniffing out Mateo, she rationalizes that she is just being protective making sure it’s not another Rita. See here https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=uYka1DZNjU0 Mateo on the other hand isn’t proactive. He is still an insecure wizard king and would believe that as long as Elena likes the guy he won’t bother, I mean why would she ever go for him? So he becomes a little more distant, trying to pull himself together and not let his jealousy show. Gababel: Isabel would be like Mateo, drawing herself in and becoming more distant, a bit more sullen. Usually her jealousy would come out in muttered asides under her breath and sometimes even pointing out the others mistakes in grammar or whatnot. Gabe is more obvious, pointing out his own attributes and visibly rolling his eyes whenever he thinks what the other man is saying to be stupid. Estenaomi: Naomi is sorta a combo between Elena above and how she reacted in Spy in the Palace. Sure that every dig is against her, irrational as it seems. Also just general annoyance with the other girl and how she can be the exact same thing. Esteban gets all pouty too and goes into overtime doing ridiculous “impressive” stunts to show off his manliness and hotness and greater skills etc etc. Estoma: Neither would admit they like one another much less jealous. So it’s just more insults as usual. But these insults target the SO and them like “You’re dating her/him? I guess there’s no accounting for taste.“ “I just can’t believe you’re dating an idiot. But then again you do get uncomfortable with people who are intellectually superior than you so I suppose it makes sense.” “I thought you had high standards? Or did those high standards not like you?”

Who takes the covers?

Eleteo: Covers? What covers? They go on body warmth alone. Lol. I don't think either would since it's more of a cocoon they wrapped themselves in but I'm going to go with Mateo. I feel like Elenais just more of a body person while Mateo can sleep with tons and tons of soft blankets and it reminds him of his wizard robes so it is extra comfy. Estoma: Doña, she gets easily cold at night and likes to bundle herself up with all the covers. Esteban tries to shrug off, that he is too macho to get cold but sometimes he tries to tearing them away from her iron grip when she's sleeping and that almost made her fall off. Estenaomi: Esteban!! The guy is a duke, he is used to being a hundred percent comfortable. Forbid that he gets cold at night, it is the one thing he won't relent. He takes the covers he wants. Naomi usually wrangles it away but then she has to endure his complaints of how cold he is and equals it by lots of kisses. Gababel: Isabel take the covers. Moreover Gabe would gladly give it to her she use gets grabby when she's asleep so it doesn't matter if he gives it beforehand, she gets more and they end up hugging a lot.

Sexy outfit? Eleteo: Any outfit of Elena’s looks sexy to Mateo but if he had to choose, it might be the mermaid look for her. Her hair flowing around her like a halo, the seashell bra, standing under a waterfall, just wow. Elena surprised to find herself very into when Mateo wears his royal consort outfit with the empuletts. He really rocks the empulets. He looks just so noble and kingly. Gababel: Gabe likes it when Isabel wears reading glasses. A bit of the sexy nerd trope though when Isabel first put them on she had been nervous he wouldn’t like it but she really had nothing to fear. Isabel likes Gabe in his guard uniform so it is a good thing he wears it everyday but she also likes it when he’s in an apron. It reminds her of all the possibilities of baking and food and heating up the kitchen 😉 Estenaomi: Esteban has a preference for corsets though he would never admit it. But is always a slight thrill when she indulges him because usually she wears such comfortable, loose clothing and the corset is a different thing entirely. Naomi enjoys it when Esteban wears leather pants. It leaves nothing to the imagination and shows off all his leg muscles and importantly his butt. Estoma: Hmm I think Esteban would still enjoy corsets. Nothing is more tantalizing than the glimpse of it underneath a low cut gown. Doña likes Esteban in a hot cowboy outfit. You know, jeans and cowhide vest and nothing else. Esteban liked to tease her a lot about her lower class standards until she showed up with her female version.

Who sings in the shower?

Eleteo: Elena undoubtedly, but Mateo does also. Usually humming because singing was banned during Shuriki but Elena has been encouraging to sing out and to sing proud. Gababel: Gabe does surprisingly. Not often though but when he does he really belts it out. Isabel thinks it’s adorable. Estenaomi: Both But Esteban does more often. Though Naomi usually sings sea shanties to get in the mood and those get stuck in Esteban’s head the whole day. Estoma: Esteban, especially to the shower head. He might have practiced that booby trap dance once or twice. Who plays with the other's hair/toes in the morning? Eleteo: Both do. Mateo likes to stroke Elena's long, soft hair and smell the scent of it like flowers and sunshine. And Elena enjoys playing with his cute curls. When they wake up in the morning, if either of them curls up close enough, the other will play with their toes. I was thinking of your story, that they would want to wake up to smiles and laughter. Plus it's special for Elena since she hadn't had that kind of morning since Shuriki as you put in your fic. Estebaomi: Naomi plays with Esteban’s floppy Bieber hair. Since he takes so long to wake up, Naomi does small braids in his hair in the meanwhile. I imagine Esteban to be a very touchy feely bf and would play with Naomi's toes, scraping any polish and peppering her with kisses. Naomi kinda eats it up. Gababel: Gabe does. He likes feeling her wavy curls and spooning her. He plays with her toes on a lazy morning, when they don't feel like getting out of bed. It's almost like he's examining how they small they are in his large hands. And if they don't have to go to work, follow it up with a nice foot massage. Estoma: Esteban does. He likes to bury his nose in it and play with it before she puts it up in her usual bun. If he is feeling bored, he'll play with her toes.

[plumedesimili]

Seasons

Challenge : #TerraquaWeek Day 3 Word count : 750 Read on FFNet - AO3

***

Even though he knew Aqua hated it, Terra loved Winter. He loved the crispiness of the cold wind when he went out for a jog, he loved the desolated look of the naked trees, he loved the muffled sound of his footsteps on the snow. But more importantly, he loved spending time in the reading room, Aqua reading next to him, the two of them cuddled up under a blanket. He loved the hot cocoa she'd make, with a hint of vanilla and tons of whipped cream. He loved she made his not too sweet, he loved she made hers overly sweet. He loved these times she'd read out loud and he loved being transported to lands filled of Dragons and Knights and Mermaids, he loved falling asleep to her soft voice, and he loved waking up to her gentle snores on his shoulder. He loved that when night was the darkest, she'd knock at his door and not say a word. He loved that she would run into his arms and let him tell silly stories until she'd fall asleep, all lights on, under the safety of his blanket.

Even though she knew Terra had little interest for it, Aqua loved Spring. First of all, it marked the end of that dreaded winter. She loved seeing the trees getting covered in their brand new green mantle, seeing flowers bloom everywhere, making bouquets to decorate the castle. But what she loved more were the picnics in the garden, Terra secretly setting everything up to surprise her, the taste of juice, the flavours of sandwiches. She loved he'd always bring a blanket for when the nights got chilly, she loved he'd stay with her and look at the stars all night long. She loved listening to him telling story of his youth, and she loved seeing him trying hard to learn to make flower crowns with her. She loved when he'd put his hands on her eyes and take her to some beautiful places that he had just discovered. She loved when he picked a flower he thought was pretty and placed it onto her hair before nodding, satisfied by his choice.

Even though he knew Aqua missed the gentle breeze of Spring, Terra loved Summer. He loved of vibrant and bright everything looked, how cheerful the chirping birds sounded like. He loved that the afternoons were sometimes too hot to practise and they'd instead go swimming. Saying he didn't love how Aqua looked in a swimsuit would be a lie, too. He loved how she's splash water at him when he wasn't looking and then look completely innocent when he would look at her. He loved how that would often end up in water fights with magic involved, how they would only stop when the Master would start yelling at them or when night started to fall. He loved these even hotter days when they would stay in a completely dark room, trying to keep the heat out, cutting out shapes into fabric and then wrapping it around the light of a candle, letting flowers and stars dance on the walls. He loved the strawberry tarts she'd make and then sneak up in the kitchen at night to eat some more, waking up with her lips tainted red.

Even though she knew Terra would catch a cold every time, Aqua loved Autumn. The colours of the falling leaves, and their smell, offered a wonderful show for all of her senses. She also loved spending whole afternoons collecting hazelnuts, mushrooms and chestnuts with Terra, throwing burrs at each other and getting one point for every burr staying firmly gripped to their coats. She loved when she forgot to bring a scarf and then Terra would let her borrow his, or take her hands in his when she was getting cold. She loved the smell of butternut soup, and she loved seeing Terra forcing himself to eat the broth she made when he was sick even though he wasn't hungry. She loved how he'd let her sit on his shoulders so that she could grab that box of winter clothes she kept high up in the dresser, she loved he never suggested she'd used a chair or a ladder instead.

Seasons came and left, one after another. Some they liked, some not so much. But it didn't really matter to them. As long as they had each other, any season was a good season.

[beyondthetemples]

This or That?

{{ I wanted to do this for Dove, too! Full list taken from this post: https://beyondthetemples-ooc.tumblr.com/post/188181238187/50-cute-this-or-that-questions

cacti or succulents Succulents, though she'd much prefer keeping an herb garden (in memory of her mother’s garden), even if it's just on the kitchen counter.

butterflies or honeybees Butterflies. (Especially in RP!continuity, since she now has a very important moment to associate them with a friend.)

typewritten or handwritten letters Handwritten, especially if she'd be the one who has to type otherwise. (She is very much a hunt-and-peck typist.)

polaroids or film Polaroids, unless she met A Certain Distant-"Family" Teammate who, in Certain Continuities, was involved in photography, and she could learn about the process. It would fascinate her.

road tripping in a VW bus down the coast or camping in the woods on summer nights Camping for sure, she doesn't do great in vehicles.

cozy beanbags or breezy hammocks Ooh, probably cozy beanbags? She'd take awhile to perfect the art of hammock balance, and then probably be too nervous about potentially falling out again (and embarrassed by how many times she already did) to Truly Relax.

oversized jumpers or fluffy bathrobes Fluffy bathrobes for sure, she's always a sucker for soft cozy things.

banana bread or pumpkin spiced loaf Banana bread, though she'd like pumpkin spiced too.

the smell of old books or the smell of petrichor Old books. She likes the rain, but old books just smell like home.

chapstick or matte lipstick Neither, she's not big on makeup and very much Not Used to wearing either. (Though she's more likely to need chapstick if she went somewhere with an actual winter; since she doesn't do very well in the cold, her lips probably would get a little bit chapped.)

macarons or eclairs Ooh, she'd really enjoy them both. If the macaroons are plain, she'd prefer the éclair. But if the macaroons are lighter flavors, like vanilla or fruity flavors especially? Definitely the macaroons.

a candlelit bath or a naturally lit reading room Naturally lit reading room.

a matinee at a musical or a evening at the art gallery Evening at the art gallery, less people and a quieter atmosphere.

creamy hot cocoa with marshmallows or dippable hot chocolate with churros Probably hot cocoa? She'd prefer the pseudo-savory to a Sweet Thing Dipped In More Sweetness.

poetry or prose She reads more prose, though she enjoys poetry too, and does dabble in it a bit herself...

(Like here [x], for instance.)

vinyl or cassettes I actually don't think she's been exposed to either. But she'd probably prefer cassettes, because you have more control over how loud it is on a radio than on a gramophone.

antique shops or second hand stores Antique shops, there are a lot more things to pique her curiosity!

a heavy, rich chocolate cake with ganache and caramel or a light, summer sponge cake with cream and fruit Definitely the summer cake-- with her favorite. You know: Fruit! (And a super-sweet heavy cake wouldn't go over very well.)

purikuras or photo booths Neither, really, unless she's with a friend. Then they'd probably have more fun at the purikura?

cozy scarfs or warm beanies Cozy scarfs! She prefers neck warmth to head warmth. (Not that, as far as I'm aware, she has ever had to try either one...)

rose gold or copper Rose gold, though copper is a comfortingly familiar color to her.

watching the sky at sunset from the beach or watching the city below from an airplane at night Watching the sky at sunset from the beach, for sure! (Feels like home, and hope, and lots of other good things.) But she does not enjoy being on an airplane at all. Rough first experience (in an as-of-yet unpublished and only barely-outlined story, but let's just say it gets "bad" in three ways, and she'd rather never travel by one again).

mason jars or coffee mugs Coffee mugs, though she doesn't like coffee at all.

puffy clouds and blue skies or thunder and lighting on rainy days Blue skies, Definitely blue skies. (She'd prefer a light rain, but thunder? Gods NO.)

a cup of hot tea or a bowl of warm soup Hot tea, though both are nice~

picnic on a grassy hill or tea in a flower garden Tea in a flower garden, it would remind her of her mother, her childhood, her home...

silk or lace Silk, probably? (She's most comfortable in silk because her cloak is made out of a kind of "silk", and thus it's more familiar and comfortable.)

sketching in a museum or journaling in a café She'd probably be journaling in a museum. It's hard, very hard to find Dove in any public place long enough to write a journal entry. She'd linger a bit longer in a museum with a friend, but she's not much of an artist unless something really inspires her.

converse high tops or beaded summer sandals I don't think she'd invest in either, since they're usually more of the higher-priced Fashion Clothes, which she's really not that into? But she's more likely to wear the beaded sandals.

sweet crêpes or fluffy pancakes Either one, really! Unless they're fruit-filled crepes, then definitely the crepes.

galaxies or nebulae Galaxies, probably? Seeing all the stars would remind her of Azarath's skies.

cuff-chain earrings or full finger rings (I don't see her wearing either, actually? But for a costume or something, I can see her wearing the finger cuffs over the ear cuffs. Since, you know, her ears aren't pierced...)

knee socks or leggings Probably knee socks, if she's ever cold enough to wear socks??

in bed or out in the rain In bed listening to the rain, ideally.

the muted colors of winter or the vibrant colors of summer Vibrant colors of summer! (As long as it's not hot enough for her to get heat stroke again.)

autumn leaves or spring flowers Spring flowers. (She prefers the delicate brightness to swaths of red/orange/fiery colors. Though, I don't think she has ever seen Real Autumn Leaves...)

summer fruits: peaches, berries, cherries, and apricots or tropical fruits: pineapples, mangos, papaya, and grapefruit. Honestly? All fruit, all the time, she really just loves it all!

malt shakes or ice cream floats Probably the ice cream float, because that's only One Scoop, but she couldn't even drink half a malt without her intense lactose intolerance acting up.

smooth jazz or lo-fi Probably lo-fi?

waves lapping at the shore or wind rolling over wheat fields Waves lapping at the shore. It's a sound of Home to her now.

sunflowers or lavender She's deathly allergic to lavender (we're talking, one whiff and she can go into anaphylactic shock), so: Sunflowers! Definitely!

enamel pins or embroidered patches She doesn't wear either, but she'd probably like embroidered patches better? Especially if she learned to sew them herself.

fresh cheeses and cured meats or fresh bread and homemade jams Bread and jam, for dietary and preference reasons alike!

fireworks or sparklers Sparklers, definitely sparklers. (Fireworks are so loud, they terrified her the first time. And she has trouble "steeling herself" for them, because you can hardly prepare when the sound comes so much later than the sight...)

bath bombs or scented candles Probably scented candles? I don't think she ever gets into the bath bomb "fandom".

library borrower cards or vintage postcards Library card, for sure.

singing and playing the ukulele while walking or singing in the car with the windows down She doesn't enjoy car rides very much at all, so while the only instrument she knows how to play is something kinda lyre-like, she'd prefer singing and playing while walking.

filling your passport with stamps from each place you travel to or collecting souvenirs from every place you’ve traveled to Souvenirs, I don't even know that Dove has a proper passport? (No social security number, and all that.)