#so much eros

[bookshelf-in-progress]

A Wise Pair of Fools: A Retelling of “The Farmer’s Clever Daughter”

For the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge at @inklings-challenge.

Faith

I wish you could have known my husband when he was a young man. How you would have laughed at him! He was so wonderfully pompous—oh, you’d have no idea unless you’d seen him then. He’s weathered beautifully, but back then, his beauty was bright and new, all bronze and ebony. He tried to pretend he didn’t care for personal appearances, but you could tell he felt his beauty. How could a man not be proud when he looked like one of creation’s freshly polished masterpieces every time he stepped out among his dirty, sweaty peasantry?

But his pride in his face was nothing compared to the pride he felt over his mind. He was clever, even then, and he knew it. He’d grown up with an army of nursemaids to exclaim, “What a clever boy!” over every mildly witty observation he made. He’d been tutored by some of the greatest scholars on the continent, attended the great universities, traveled further than most people think the world extends. He could converse like a native in fifteen living languages and at least three dead ones.

And books! Never a man like him for reading! His library was nothing to what it is now, of course, but he was making a heroic start. Always a book in his hand, written by some dusty old man who never said in plain language what he could dress up in words that brought four times the work to some lucky printer. Every second breath he took came out as a quotation. It fairly baffled his poor servants—I’m certain to this day some of them assume Plato and Socrates were college friends of his.

Well, at any rate, take a man like that—beautiful and over-educated—and make him king over an entire nation—however small—before he turns twenty-five, and you’ve united all earthly blessings into one impossibly arrogant being.

Unfortunately, Alistair’s pomposity didn’t keep him properly aloof in his palace. He’d picked up an idea from one of his old books that he should be like one of the judge-kings of old, walking out among his people to pass judgment on their problems, giving the inferior masses the benefit of all his twenty-four years of wisdom. It’s all right to have a royal patron, but he was so patronizing. Just as if we were all children and he was our benevolent father. It wasn’t strange to see him walking through the markets or looking over the fields—he always managed to look like he floated a step or two above the common ground the rest of us walked on—and we heard stories upon stories of his judgments. He was decisive, opinionated. Always thought he had a better way of doing things. Was always thinking two and ten and twelve steps ahead until a poor man’s head would be spinning from all the ways the king found to see through him. Half the time, I wasn’t sure whether to fear the man or laugh at him. I usually laughed.

So then you can see how the story of the mortar—what do you mean you’ve never heard it? You could hear it ten times a night in any tavern in the country. I tell it myself at least once a week! Everyone in the palace is sick to death of it!

Oh, this is going to be a treat! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a fresh audience?

It happened like this. It was spring of the year I turned twenty-one. Father plowed up a field that had lain fallow for some years, with some new-fangled deep-cutting plow that our book-learned king had inflicted upon a peasantry that was baffled by his scientific talk. Father was plowing near a river when he uncovered a mortar made of solid gold. You know, a mortar—the thing with the pestle, for grinding things up. Don’t ask me why on earth a goldsmith would make such a thing—the world’s full of men with too much money and not enough sense, and housefuls of servants willing to take too-valuable trinkets off their hands. Someone decades ago had swiped this one and apparently found my father’s farm so good a hiding place that they forgot to come back for it.

Anyhow, my father, like the good tenant he was, understood that as he’d found a treasure on the king’s land, the right thing to do was to give it to the king. He was all aglow with his noble purpose, ready to rush to the palace at first light to do his duty by his liege lord.

I hope you can see the flaw in his plan. A man like Alistair, certain of his own cleverness, careful never to be outwitted by his peasantry? Come to a man like that with a solid gold mortar, and his first question’s going to be…?

That’s right. “Where’s the pestle?”

I tried to tell Father as much, but he—dear, sweet, innocent man—saw only his simple duty and went forth to fulfill it. He trotted into the king’s throne room—it was his public day—all smiles and eagerness.

Alistair took one look at him and saw a peasant tickled to death that he was pulling a fast one on the king—giving up half the king’s rightful treasure in the hopes of keeping the other half and getting a fat reward besides.

Alistair tore into my father—his tongue was much sharper then—taking his argument to pieces until Father half-believed he had hidden away the pestle somewhere, probably after stealing both pieces himself. In his confusion, Father looked even guiltier, and Alistair ordered his guard to drag Father off to the dungeons until they could arrange a proper hearing—and, inevitably, a hanging.

As they dragged him to his doom, my father had the good sense to say one coherent phrase, loud enough for the entire palace to hear. “If only I had listened to my daughter!”

Alistair, for all his brains, hadn’t expected him to say something like that. He had Father brought before him, and questioned him until he learned the whole story of how I’d urged Father to bury the mortar again and not say a word about it, so as to prevent this very scene from occurring.

About five minutes after that, I knocked over a butter churn when four soldiers burst into my father’s farmhouse and demanded I go with them to the castle. I made them clean up the mess, then put on my best dress and did up my hair—in those days, it was thick and golden, and fell to my ankles when unbound—and after traveling to the castle, I went, trembling, up the aisle of the throne room.

Alistair had made an effort that morning to look extra handsome and extra kingly. He still has robes like those, all purple and gold, but the way they set off his black hair and sharp cheekbones that day—I’ve never seen anything like it. He looked half-divine, the spirit of judgment in human form. At the moment, I didn’t feel like laughing at him.

Looming on his throne, he asked me, “Is it true that you advised this man to hide the king’s rightful property from him?” (Alistair hates it when I imitate his voice—but isn’t it a good impression?)

I said yes, it was true, and Alistair asked me why I’d done such a thing, and I said I had known this disaster would result, and he asked how I knew, and I said (and I think it’s quite good), that this is what happens when you have a king who’s too clever to be anything but stupid.

Naturally, Alistair didn’t like that answer a bit, but I’d gotten on a roll, and it was my turn to give him a good tongue-lashing. What kind of king did he think he was, who could look at a man as sweet and honest as my father and suspect him of a crime? Alistair was so busy trying to see hidden lies that he couldn’t see the truth in front of his face. So determined not to be made a fool of that he was making himself into one. If he persisted in suspecting everyone who tried to do him a good turn, no one would be willing to do much of anything for him. And so on and so forth.

You might be surprised at my boldness, but I had come into that room not expecting to leave it without a rope around my neck, so I intended to speak my mind while I had the chance. The strangest thing was that Alistair listened, and as he listened, he lost some of that righteous arrogance until he looked almost human. And the end of it all was that he apologized to me!

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather at that! I didn’t faint, but I came darn close. That arrogant, determined young king, admitting to a simple farmer’s daughter that he’d been wrong?

He did more than admit it—he made amends. He let Father keep the mortar, and then bought it from him at its full value. Then he gifted Father the farm where we lived, making us outright landowners. After the close of the day’s hearings, he even invited us to supper with him, and I found that King Alistair wasn’t a half-bad conversational partner. Some of those books he read sounded almost interesting.

For a year after that, Alistair kept finding excuses to come by the farm. He would check on Father’s progress and baffle him with advice. We ran into each other in the street so often that I began to expect it wasn’t mere chance. We’d talk books, and farming, and sharpen our wits on each other. We’d do wordplay, puzzles, tongue-twisters. A game, but somehow, I always thought, some strange sort of test.

Would you believe, even his proposal was a riddle? Yes, an actual riddle! One spring morning, I came across Alistair on a corner of my father's land, and he got down on one knee, confessed his love for me, and set me a riddle. He had the audacity to look into the face of the woman he loved—me!—and tell me that if I wanted to accept his proposal, I would come to him at his palace, not walking and not riding, not naked and not dressed, not on the road and not off it.

Do you know, I think he actually intended to stump me with it? For all his claim to love me, he looked forward to baffling me! He looked so sure of himself—as if all his book-learning couldn’t be beat by just a bit of common sense.

If I’d really been smart, I suppose I’d have run in the other direction, but, oh, I wanted to beat him so badly. I spent about half a minute solving the riddle and then went off to make my preparations.

The next morning, I came to the castle just like he asked. Neither walking nor riding—I tied myself to the old farm mule and let him half-drag me. Neither on the road nor off it—only one foot dragging in a wheel rut at the end. Neither naked nor dressed—merely wrapped in a fishing net. Oh, don’t look so shocked! There was so much rope around me that you could see less skin than I’m showing now.

If I’d hoped to disappoint Alistair, well, I was disappointed. He radiated joy. I’d never seen him truly smile before that moment—it was incandescent delight. He swept me in his arms, gave me a kiss without a hint of calculation in it, then had me taken off to be properly dressed, and we were married within a week.

It was a wonderful marriage. We got along beautifully—at least until the next time I outwitted him. But I won’t bore you with that story again—

You don’t know that one either? Where have you been hiding yourself?

Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell you that one. Not if it’s your first time. It’s much better the way Alistair tells it.

What time is it?

Perfect! He’s in his library just now. Go there and ask him to tell you the whole thing.

Yes, right now! What are you waiting for?

Alistair

Faith told you all that, did she? And sent you to me for the rest? That woman! It’s just like her! She thinks I have nothing better to do than sit around all day and gossip about our courtship!

Where are you going? I never said I wouldn’t tell the story! Honestly, does no one have brains these days? Sit down!

Yes, yes, anywhere you like. One chair’s as good as another—I built this room for comfort. Do you take tea? I can ring for a tray—the story tends to run long.

Well, I’ll ring for the usual, and you can help yourself to whatever you like.

I’m sure Faith has given you a colorful picture of what I was like as a young man, and she’s not totally inaccurate. I’d had wealth and power and too much education thrown on me far too young, and I thought my blessings made me better than other men. My own father had been the type of man who could be fooled by every silver-tongued charlatan in the land, so I was sensitive and suspicious, determined to never let another man outwit me.

When Faith came to her father’s defense, it was like my entire self came crumbling down. Suddenly, I wasn’t the wise king; I was a cruel and foolish boy—but Faith made me want to be better. That day was the start of my fascination with her, and my courtship started in earnest not long after.

The riddle? Yes, I can see how that would be confusing. Faith tends to skip over the explanations there. A riddle’s an odd proposal, but I thought it was brilliant at the time, and I still think it wasn’t totally wrong-headed. I wasn’t just finding a wife, you see, but a queen. Riddles have a long history in royal courtships. I spent weeks laboring over mine. I had some idea of a symbolic proposal—each element indicating how she’d straddle two worlds to be with me. But more than that, I wanted to see if Faith could move beyond binary thinking—look beyond two opposites to see the third option between. Kings and queens have to do that more often than you’d think…

No, I’m sorry, it is a bit dull, isn’t it? I guess there’s a reason Faith skips over the explanations.

So to return to the point: no matter what Faith tells you, I always intended for her to solve the riddle. I wouldn’t have married her if she hadn’t—but I wouldn’t have asked if I’d had the least doubt she’d succeed. The moment she came up that road was the most ridiculous spectacle you’d ever hope to see, but I had never known such ecstasy. She’d solved every piece of my riddle, in just the way I’d intended. She understood my mind and gained my heart. Oh, it was glorious.

Those first weeks of marriage were glorious, too. You’d think it’d be an adjustment, turning a farmer’s daughter into a queen, but it was like Faith had been born to the role. Manners are just a set of rules, and Faith has a sharp mind for memorization, and it’s not as though we’re a large kingdom or a very formal court. She had a good mind for politics, and was always willing to listen and learn. I was immensely proud of myself for finding and catching the perfect wife.

You’re smarter than I was—you can see where I was going wrong. But back then, I didn’t see a cloud in the sky of our perfect happiness until the storm struck.

It seemed like such a small thing at the time. I was looking over the fields of some nearby villages—farming innovations were my chief interest at the time. There were so many fascinating developments in those days. I’ve an entire shelf full of texts if you’re interested—

The story, yes. My apologies. The offer still stands.

Anyway, I was out in the fields, and it was well past the midday hour. I was starving, and more than a little overheated, so we were on our way to a local inn for a bit of food and rest. Just as I was at my most irritable, these farmers’ wives show up, shrilly demanding judgment in a case of theirs. I’d become known for making those on-the-spot decisions. I’d thought it was an efficient use of government resources—as long as I was out with the people, I could save them the trouble of complicated procedures with the courts—but I’d never regretted taking up the practice as heartily as I did in this moment.

The case was like this: one farmer’s horse had recently given birth, and the foal had wandered away from its mother and onto the neighbor’s property, where it laid down underneath an ox that was at pasture, and the second farmer thought this gave him a right to keep it. There were questions of fences and boundaries and who-owed-who for different trades going back at least a couple of decades—those women were determined to bring every past grievance to light in settling this case.

Well, it didn’t take long for me to lose what little patience I had. I snapped at both women and told them that my decision was that the foal could very well stay where it was.

Not my most reasoned decision, but it wasn’t totally baseless. I had common law going back centuries that supported such a ruling. Possession is nine-tenths of the law and all. It wasn't as though a single foal was worth so much fuss. I went off to my meal and thought that was the end of it.

I’d forgotten all about it by the time I returned to the same village the next week. My man and I were crossing the bridge leading into the town when we found the road covered by a fishing net. An old man sat by the side of the road, shaking and casting the net just as if he were laying it out for a catch.

“What do you think you’re doing, obstructing a public road like this?” I asked him.

The man smiled genially at me and replied, “Fishing, majesty.”

I thought perhaps the man had a touch of sunstroke, so I was really rather kind when I explained to him how impossible it was to catch fish in the roadway.

The man just replied, “It’s no more impossible than an ox giving birth to a foal, majesty.”

He said it like he’d been coached, and it didn’t take long for me to learn that my wife was behind it all. The farmer’s wife who’d lost the foal had come to Faith for help, and my wife had advised the farmer to make the scene I’d described.

Oh, was I livid! Instead of coming to me in private to discuss her concerns about the ruling, Faith had made a public spectacle of me. She encouraged my own subjects to mock me! This was what came of making a farm girl into a queen! She’d live in my house and wear my jewels, and all the time she was laughing up her sleeve at me while she incited my citizens to insurrection! Before long, none of my subjects would respect me. I’d lose my crown, and the kingdom would fall to pieces—

I worked myself into a fine frenzy, thinking such things. At the time, I thought myself perfectly reasonable. I had identified a threat to the kingdom’s stability, and I would deal with it. The moment I came home, I found Faith and declared that the marriage was dissolved. “If you prefer to side with the farmers against your own husband,” I told her, “you can go back to your father’s house and live with them!”

It was quite the tantrum. I’m proud to say I’ve never done anything so shameful since.

To my surprise, Faith took it all silently. None of the fire that she showed in defending her father against me. Faith had this way, back then, where she could look at a man and make him feel like an utter fool. At that moment, she made me feel like a monster. I was already beginning to regret what I was doing, but it was buried under so much anger that I barely realized it, and my pride wouldn’t allow me to back down so easily from another decision.

After I said my piece, Faith quietly asked if she was to leave the palace with nothing.

I couldn’t reverse what I’d decided, but I could soften it a bit.

“You may take one keepsake,” I told her. “Take the one thing you love best from our chambers.”

I thought I was clever to make the stipulation. Knowing Faith, she’d have found some way to move the entire palace and count it as a single item. I had no doubt she’d take the most expensive and inconvenient thing she could, but there was nothing in that set of rooms I couldn’t afford to lose.

Or so I thought. No doubt you’re beginning to see that Faith always gets the upper hand in a battle of wits.

I kept my distance that evening—let myself stew in resentment so I couldn’t regret what I’d done. I kept to my library—not this one, the little one upstairs in our suite—trying to distract myself with all manner of books, and getting frustrated when I found I wanted to share pieces of them with Faith. I was downright relieved when a maid came by with a tea tray. I drank my usual three cups so quickly I barely tasted them—and I passed out atop my desk five minutes later.

Yes, Faith had arranged for the tea—and she’d drugged me!

I came to in the pink light of early dawn, my head feeling like it had been run over by a military caravan. My wits were never as slow as they were that morning. I laid stupidly for what felt like hours, wondering why my bed was so narrow and lumpy, and why the walls of the room were so rough and bare, and why those infernal birds were screaming half an inch from my open window.

By the time I had enough strength to sit up, I could see that I was in the bedroom of a farmer’s cottage. Faith was standing by the window, looking out at the sunrise, wearing the dress she’d worn the first day I met her. Her hair was unbound, tumbling in golden waves all the way to her ankles. My heart leapt at the sight—her hair was one of the wonders of the world in those days, and I was so glad to see her when I felt so ill—until I remembered the events of the previous day, and was too confused and ashamed to have room for any other thoughts or feelings.

“Faith?” I asked. “Why are you here? Where am I?”

“My father’s home,” Faith replied, her eyes downcast—I think it’s the only time in her life she was ever bashful. “You told me I could take the one thing I loved best.”

Can I explain to you how my heart leapt at those words? There had never been a mind or a heart like my wife’s! It was like the moment she’d come to save her father—she made me feel a fool and feel glad for the reminder. I’d made the same mistake both times—let my head get in the way of my heart. She never made that mistake, thank heaven, and it saved us both.

Do you have something you want to add, Faith, darling? Don’t pretend I can’t see you lurking in the stacks and laughing at me! I’ll get as sappy as I like! If you think you can do it better, come out in the open and finish this story properly!

Faith

You tell it so beautifully, my darling fool boy, but if you insist—

I was forever grateful Dinah took that tea to Alistair. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the loophole in his words—I was so afraid he’d see my ploy coming and stop me. But his wits were so blessedly dull that day. It was like outwitting a child.

When at last he came to, I was terrified. He had cast me out because I’d outwitted him, and now here I was again, thinking another clever trick would make everything well.

Fortunately, Alistair was marvelous—saw my meaning in an instant. Sometimes he can be almost clever.

After that, what’s there to tell? We made up our quarrel, and then some. Alistair brought me back to the palace in high honors—it was wonderful, the way he praised me and took so much blame on himself.

(You were really rather too hard on yourself, darling—I’d done more than enough to make any man rightfully angry. Taking you to Father’s house was my chance to apologize.)

Alistair paid the farmer for the loss of his foal, paid for the mending of the fence that had led to the trouble in the first place, and straightened out the legal tangles that had the neighbors at each others’ throats.

After that, things returned much to the way they’d been before, except that Alistair was careful never to think himself into such troubles again. We’ve gotten older, and I hope wiser, and between our quarrels and our reconciliations, we’ve grown into quite the wise pair of lovestruck fools. Take heed from it, whenever you marry—it’s good to have a clever spouse, but make sure you have one who’s willing to be the fool every once in a while.

Trust me. It works out for the best.

[yonemurishiroku]

“So who falls first in your ship?” Me. I fall first and the hardest.

[allgirlsareprincesses]

[happyk44]

PJO: we need to recognize the value of the minor gods. The Olympians are important, sure, but the minor gods do a lot of work in maintaining and assisting the pantheon, have their own kids and deserve to be seen and valued just as much

HoO: Back at it again with Olympian-only nonsense!

[joelletwo]

[vd: takasugi The Final scenes edited down and put to spring recomposed by max richter]

the happiest moment in cowardly gay sisyphus' life

[edithdraws]

This is a Thanos Rising 2013 by Jason Aaron hate blog every day I'm fuming over the damage he did to Thanos' backstory but ESPECIALLY Sui-San. You don't understand her like I do... Anyway this is old art from 2021(?) that I never posted because uhhh idk why lol.

[lambcchop]

goretober day three - punching bag

[maelfe]

they grow up so fast when you age them up prematurely :,)

[gingermintpepper]

In your story does Apollo willingly leave or is there some other circumstance? In addition, does he know the consequences of his departure? Your story sounds very interesting !! Also, I got some new character designs that I’d be happy to hear your opinion on !!

YOUR DESIGNS HAND EM OVER AAAAA I will absolutely nyoom over to obsess over your babies after this - I still have those notes on Aphrodite, Ares and Hermes to give too!!

As for Apollo - he is extremely, intensely aware of his roles and responsibilities which is why anyone who knows him also knows that he'd never abandon his station. Even when he leaves for Hyperborea to rest, he is extremely punctual about returning. That said, the circumstances under which he disappeared... he was not himself after Hyacinth's death and he certainly wasn't in his right mind either. The jury is very split on whether something happened to him and now he's lost or needs a rescue (which would be difficult considering no one can find him anywhere) or if he's pulling a Demeter and decided to damn the world in his grief. Since no one's seen him in years and there's that whole 'end of the world' thing going on more people currently believe the latter than the former.

There are a few alternate theories as to what happened to him as well - that he went searching for - or even found - death like he had begged Zeus for, or that his grief metamorphised him into a tree or animal of some sort and that if they could find whatever he's turned into, they could use that to help restore the divine order. The point is, everyone is looking for him but not many people actually want to find him for fear of learning the truth behind his absence.

[hogoflight]

for cat au I literally cannot imagine a more in-character alternative than Commodus giving his whole angry-ex mildly-flirty speeches, completely unchanged, to Apollo who is a cat. He picks him up (receives a MROW) and starts yelling at him. when Commodus finishes Apollo replies with a brief pause Then MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Yeah everyone else is just awkwardly standing there in the background (but sometimes also fighting for Commodus to UNHAND THE KITTY!)

I think bc we see Apollo’s attraction to people change when he becomes Lester, when he’s a cat we unfortunately don’t get him simping over Commodus. BUT CONSIDER (cursed) (prepare yourself for this) he has a tension-loaded rivalry with Aristophanes which is ENTIRELY one-sided (“This cruel fool seeks to endear himself to me in order to gain my favour and, therefore, leniency for his planned offences! I shall plan ahead and ensure I can resist him and his adorable squished face… NO! you have already fallen for his trap! Remember! He is nothing to you! NOTHING!” “you’re in my seat can u leave. Please”) and he kicks up a HUGE fuss (yet another MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA) when he has to leave New Rome. He promises to never forget him (tries to give himself 50 concussions when he turns back into a God he is tormented and in horror).

[bifairywife]

guess who dipped back real quick in lore olympus:

[ironunderstands]

Hii! I was in the middle of drawing your OCs Psyche n Eros when I realized I wanted to know if you have a concrete design idea for her (also if you had a specific hairstyle in mind for her n psyche cause so far I’ve winged it), I’d love to know your design ideas for these two so I can bring them to life better!!

Omgogmgogmgmogmgm

first off thank you so much, second off I do actually have a specific hair style for Psyche: a high ponytail and for Eros.. well honestly I don’t know yet really but she is a beautiful enough woman to name an entire planet after so she’d probably look something like this

Also I have been cooking up their lore a bit more so ITS YAP TIME 😈

First off, Psyche was made by Yaoshi on a random barren, dead planet with the only thing going for it being some water and existing within the habitable zone for its star to basically attempt to populate the planet herself with all various forms of life (also the planet is huge) because Yaoshi can’t be everywhere at once so they decided to make a few beings to do their job for them, and Psyche so happens to be one of them.

Fortunately, seeing as she’s the first one Yaoshi made, she’s also an emanator, and is fluent in creating and controlling all aspects of life- including people’s emotions

However Yaoshi isn’t exactly an amazing parent so they kinda just left Psyche there to do whatever the hell she wants and so she does, making herself a friend- Eros

Now unlike Psyche, Eros isn’t an emanator but she is immortal (in the “if nothing kills me I’ll live forever” flavor of immortality) and is fairly durable, also possessing some innate healing abilities both for herself and others

Together they begin to fill the planet with life until it’s as biodiverse as ever, and by then several centuries have passed past. Psyche and Eros are living happily together on this world, when disaster strikes- a stellaron crisis.

Most of the life on the planet is destroyed- including Eros (psst: she’s not actually dead but Psyche doesn’t know that) and Psyche is DISTRAUGHT and entirely alone again.

Unwilling to just forget, Psyche names the planet after her fallen lover, and builds a magnificent statue in her honor after sealing the stellaron away for good.

She knows nobody could replace Eros in her life again but doesn’t want to be lonely, so she makes the first humans on her homeworld, and ritually comes in to aid them every now and again, which results in them viewing her as their creator/god.

Caring for them in the way a mother would, she sets up some temples for them to worship her in, as well as indulge in her selfish desire to fix her ever broken heart- by helping her dear humans find love instead.

However, over time as their population grows more zealous and their technology advances, her people’s requests grow more and more selfish until Psyche finally realizes she’s been fulfilling wishes that have been hurting people- her own children.

Heart completely shattered, she locked herself away in her biggest temple, forbidden anyone from entering, never to exist herself again.

Well… until a certain doctor and gambler come along.

If you’d like to read this Aventio fic go ahead, although Psyche herself only appears in the first and last chapter (she still carries regardless).

Although she succeeds in preventing the IPC (whose presence had been ever growing on her planet with her absence) from stealing her power and harming her people, Psyche’s little matchmaking session makes her realize she’s been missing the outside world quite a bit, so she attempts to try and learn what’s happened while she locked herself away, and guess who she sees hanging with the astral express in some one off news article..

Oh Psyche, good luck babe.

Because Eros thinks you abandoned her and left her to die, and now you gotta prove yourself (Greek myth style hehe) to get her back

[eros-ghoulette]

I got you something

Ifrit buys a gift for Zeph.

Characters: Zephyr, Ifrit Word count: 413

pic credits: LYNN on pinterest

Ifrit went out very early this morning, that’s what Zephyr knew. The fireghoul was gone before the sun had risen, leaving Zeph alone in bed. They had spent the night together, like so many before. But the bed was empty when the airghoul finally woke up, looking around with a confused gaze. Had they done something wrong? Why did the other just leave without saying anything? 

It took hours for their pack mate to return to the ministry. And as he finally got back, he directly went in his own room, locking the door. Zeph only heard the door closing, as they were lazing on the sofa in the common room, their back sore from walking this morning.

After another hour or so, they decided to get up, feeling how dry their throat was. A hiss escaped them as they sat up, feeling the pain in their back and legs more intensely than before. 

“Fuck…”, Zeph groaned and leaned back, deliberating if it would be worthy to get up just for something to drink. The answer was no, so they spread out on the sofa again, closing their eyes. 

They heard a door being unlocked then and smelled him immediately, the air brought over the typical smoke aroma, the fireghoul carried around. Zephyr heard Ifrits steps and cracked an eye open, to see the other towering in front of them, his hands kept behind his back; he was hiding something.

“Where were you?”

Ifrit had the decency to blush a bit.

“In the city, sorry for not telling you.” 

“Why?” They sat up again, moving stiffly.

“I uhm”, he shuffled his feet and looked down, unusual shy. “I got you something.” He then said, his cheeks flushing redder by the second. 

Zephyrs eyes lit up, and they raised a brow: “For me?”

Ifrit nodded and swallowed, suddenly no longer so sure, if the gift was the right idea. 

“I mean, I uhm… just-”, he began to stutter. “Here.” And with that he brought his hands to the front, handing his pack mate a can. Zeph was too stunned to speak for a moment. Ifrit took the silence wrong.

“You don’t have to use it. I shouldn’t have bought it. Dumb of me to assume-”, he started to ramble.

“Shut up”, Zephyr told him softly, their eyes fixed on their new cane. “I love it. Thank you so much.” They looked up with the most adorable smile Ifrit ever saw, and he smiled back.

_________________________

This is probably the worst ficlet i've ever made, but it`s them!!!! and it's late and i should probably go to sleep, but i needed to write this. I love the plot, just not the writing style here, maybe it's just my tired brain telling me it's bad 💀

[sleepgarden-archive]

Calling Spring

Ever since my childhood we've had morning glories in our gardens, I'm looking forward to seeing them again this year. Prints of this are available in my shop, both in lustre paper as well as pressed flower paper (which is SO cute in my opinion..)I've also added some older works as prints too! Just a few, for now. ♡ link below!

Shop

[vlovebug]

When Val goes to the cauldronello household just to drop something off that might take 5 minutes tops, they'll stare at him until he agrees to come in, if he says he's not hungry they will still give him something to eat/drink. Normally it's fruit or blood they keep for him, but sometimes they make him foods with his favorite blood type in it. This makes him cry every time because they're the first people to ever do that for him ( not counting other vampires)

When they go to stores they get something they like and things Val likes so he feels welcome, Circe goes to blood banks that give blood out for vampires and gets vals perfected type, casta makes him little trinkets he can wear and or have anywhere in his room, and spelldon makes his food because he knows his favorites by heart ( this includes both Irish and Greek dishes).

They all like hanging out with him to, in different ways ofc. Circes teaches him things he didn't know and gives him motherly affection and genuine love, casta brings him shopping and gives him gifts ( either homemade or store bought) from time to time. spelldon, being his boyfriend and all, gives him the most affection. He gives him homemade gifts and gives him foods he baked or cooked. He spends half of his time with him ( still gives him enough space for himself), and lets him wear his jewelry and gems that have spells on them ( protection spells, luck spells)

But don't think this is one-sided, no no no. He gives them home-cooked meals, gives them gifts, and gives them affection.

He would kill for the cauldrenollos. ( they would kill for him)

[bannedaid]

thinking about my gw2 fellas because i can’t play right now. thinking about all of them and shaking them around in my head and thinking about how i havent rped them in months and they’re starving and wasting away. sorry varus eros sobb agar keer plato and the sylvari i impulsively made one day. scratches head. kind of want to yap here but also in tags because i think tumblr works that way. people yap in the tags right