#summer melds into autumn

[tinyshe]

Garden Report & Frugal Living 23.07.28

I didn’t have to did around for the peas. I one patch I could clearly see where the rat/skunk dug them up. In a pot, I could see where a few were attempting to make an appearance ... perhaps they stay hidden, trembling below the soil in mortal dread of slugs, bugs & co.

I hope (and pray!) that we can get the grow box maintenance done, up and planted!! I’m struggling in the mental and physical realm surrounding this project. The weather is changing rapidly. There is no doubt that Autumn is getting ready to make an entrance as the maples are now starting to blush up colour in quick anticipation. I need to get that veg garden in and growing before the temps drop too low. If necessary, I will kick the cat off her seeding mat and get some going that way!

We give the hens crumbled oyster shell at will. They have a little tin wired to the side of the aviary and I keep that filled. Last week Rossetti left an egg on the ground and then again just at the coop entrance. Yesterday Alcott had an accident that left a paper egg just inside the coop door. She has been laying five, more often six days so I suspect that they are getting stressed out by the neighbors’ screaming ... the kids start just after their breakfast hour (8-ish) and then continue for twelve hours. Unfortunately, if they don’t stop, I am going to have to talk with their landlord as this has been going on for over three weeks, every, single, day. Its stressing my hens. Its stressing me. Its just not healthy. Not even for the screamers!

The harvest has been scant and not just in my garden. Most of veg is outsourced and that is hard as most looks Bad and very expensive. That leaves a lot to be desired and a lot of time looking at prices. I did purchase four very large viking potatoes (red&purple mottled skin that will cook up to a brown&grey, dense white flesh, not an heirloom but a specialty potato). My plan is to peel thickly as to plant the eyes while still enjoying the potato ... I know! I got them for the nutritional value of the skin but if I can grow them ... I can have many more for next to nothing in cost.

In the warmer months we eat more salades. I got a real good buy on a mondo sized bulk bag of elbow macaroni. Pair that with slim pickings in the garden and ditto in the fridge and we have an opportunity for “loaded” macaroni salade. Very adaptable to what is available/ taste preference! I boiled up a big pot of the macaroni al dente. Threw in colander strainer and rinse in cold water until cooled. I decide to leave the potted meat in the pantry so that left the chicken shreds or some turkey pressed meat/’bacon’ in the refrigerator; I chose the later and cooked in the oven. I snip (with meat shears) as I cook so by the end of the process its like diced meats. I guess you could dice before -- I just prefer this method as it leaves my hands cleaner while I do more prep work and makes me pay attention to the meat so I don’t burn it up in the oven. I was able to find some parsley, salad burnette and few dino kale leaves in the garden and chopped those finely. A few slices of red onion left over from taco night were diced. A lonely carrot in the bottom of the veg drawer also chop-chop-chop. Add threeeeee hard boiled eggs... *chop*! O! then there was some pickled cauliflower that I canned last year *squeeze**chop* and some olives sliced. Mayonnaise! Garlic power! Powdered mustard! Salt! Then massage it all together gently. Its rather chilly in the kitchen so I let it sit on the counter for a little bit to “rest” so the flavours can co-mingle. Now there is enough for all of us for a couple of meals either ‘main’ or ‘side’ or even a snack. It is adaptable: pasta is your base then just tossing things in! If you don’t like mayonnaise then use another salade dressing or something like an oil and vinegar ... very easy, very simple, very tasty, very pocket book friendly!

Hope this finds you enjoying the lingering days of Summer perhaps gardening, and enjoying life!

[theostrophywife]

As far as fluffy Eris thoughts go… I really would give anything to lay back against his broad chest while he reads a book aloud, big arms bracketing around your shoulders to hold the book out in front of you both. His chin would be resting over your shoulder, his breath fanning over your ear… I bet you could feel his chest rumbling against your back as he speaks in that soft low voice… hips resting between his thighs, leaning back to rest your head against his shoulder, rubbing gentle circles on his knees where they’re propped up around you… I need it 😭

willow.

the more that you say, the less i know; wherever you stray, i follow i'm begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans, yeah that's my man

author's note: willow was written for eris vanserra and eris vanserra only.

autumn leaves rained down from above you, littering the forest floor with red, orange, and gold. the seasons were changing and the last of the summer heat was ushered out with a soft breeze that held the promise of fall.

eris pulled you in closer, his strong arms wrapped around you like the roots of the weeping willow you were currently sitting under. buttery sunlight peeked through the tree's branches, its warmth kissing your mate's fiery hair and freckled skin. you breathed in the fresh air mixed with amber and blood oranges—the unmistakable scent of your lover.

when you woke up this morning, you hadn't expected to be able to spend the day like this. usually, you and eris were busy with overseeing the affairs of your court, but today your high lord insisted on taking a much needed break. so here you were, perched in his lap, enjoying the first day of fall while eris read you poetry under your favorite tree.

"l'amour est le miel," you said. eris nuzzled his nose against your neck, making you giggle. "pretty please, mon amour."

"anything for you, ma chérie."

you settled against his chest as eris turned the page, easily finding the poem by its folded edge. your mate rested his chin on your shoulder, his solid chest a comfortable resting place as you leaned back to listen to him read.

la vie est une fleur, l’amour en est le miel. c’est la colombe unie à l’aigle dans le ciel,

you closed your eyes, feeling the gentle rumbling of your mate's chest against your back as he spoke in that sweet and soft low voice that he only ever used with you.

life is a flower, love is its honey. it is the dove united with the eagle in the sky,

there was something so soothing about eris reciting poetry. he had a voice like honey, warm and golden, spreading through your entire being like nectar. eris snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you taut against him, his fingers tracing soothing patterns upon your skin as he placed you between his thighs.

c’est la grâce tremblante à la force appuyée, c’est ta main dans ma main doucement oubliée

eris cradled you between his long legs, smiling as you leaned in to place a kiss on his knee.

it is trembling grace with sustained force, it's your hand in mine gently forgotten.

with his breath fanning over your cheek, you sighed in content as his hand crept up the bodice of your dress. his kisses were warm and wet against your neck as deft fingers unlaced the front of your corset. eris pulled down your blouse underneath, placing an openmouthed kiss on your shoulder. when your gazes met, his eyes were full of fire.

"sweetheart," eris said gruffly, his teeth grazing your earlobe. he wrapped his fingers around the hollow of you throat and whispered the three words that would be your undoing. "i need you."

you straddled his lap and pulled him in for a kiss, your lips melding together while you rolled your hips against his. you could feel his desire, both physically and emotionally, and you wanted nothing more than to fulfill his every fantasy. eris slid his tongue against yours, devouring you with a ferocity that reminded you of the initial years when the mating bond first snapped. decades had passed since then, but your hunger for one another only seemed to grow with time.

"i want you," you whimpered against him. "i want all of you, eris."

he growled and nearly ripped your dress to pieces, along with his restraint. eris hiked up your skirt as you unbuckled his trousers impatiently. the ache within you was excruciating, every fiber of your being screamed for eris.

"i know, my love." finally, you freed his cock from his trousers and he groaned as you rubbed the tip against your slick. "fuck, have all of me. everything that i am is yours."

your lover groaned as you eased onto his length, taking inch after inch like a woman starved. when he was fully sheathed inside you, eris rested his head on your shoulder, his moans buried deep within your skin. large hands gripped your hips as you rolled against him. the pace you set was indulgent, making your legs shake each time his cock thrust further into you. it was a clash of teeth and lips and tongues as you put your bodies to the test.

the pleasure was indescribable as the two of you made love underneath the willow tree. it was a meeting of souls, an exchange of who you were, who you are, and who you would be. you couldn't tell where eris began and you ended. you were one and the same, fusing together like some brilliant merging of worlds. the comedown was euphoric. there was nothing quite as blissful as sharing that intimate moment of vulnerability with your lover.

afterwards, eris cradled you in his arms and smoothed your hair back before leaning in to press a kiss on your temple.

"je t’aime chaque jour davantage," he whispered. i love you more each day.

you smiled and gave him that same unwavering answer that you first declared to each other underneath this willow tree.

"je t’aime pour toujours."

i love you forever.

[noteriii]

Hewoo~! ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ I would like to request a touch starved gn!reader x Shxtou~ 🌸

The lack of Shxtou x reader is a crime! (ง'̀-'́)ง

I'm really touch starved, like... All the time!! (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞ So i would love some kisses and hugs from my beloved dog boy~ ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

🍓🌸

as summer began to die down, a cool autumn breeze wafted through your open apartment window. you were restless these days, working hours upon hours by taking extra unwanted summer shifts that teenagers started to drop the closer it came to the school year. you worked at a small cafe in the city and, though you loved your job, there was nothing you craved more than to spend time with your boyfriend. unfortunately, as all odds seemed to be against you currently, your work shifts had overlapped and you had felt as if you never saw him anymore despite living under the same roof and sharing a bed at night. the lack of his presence left you feeling drained and lonely even if he was just in the other room.

today was a strange day, as you were not needed at work. this meant you could do nothing but stay home and be with your lover all day, right? wrong. your beloved purple haired partner had unintentionally scheduled a gaming marathon stream for the whole day you were free. it was no one’s fault, really, for the overlapped schedules and you were both adults who could figure things out along the way.

thats what led you to this situation. on a small, yet very comfy snorlax shaped bean bag chair with a thin blanket draped over your figure as your boyfriend continues his stream right in front of you. you were still in the same room, yes. occasionally the two of you would converse or the chat would ask about you as well, but you didn’t mind too much. you just wanted to spend time with your boyfriend by your side. as he gamed, you idly scroll through your phone, sending a few videos to his phone for him to watch later. this was enough, you thought. you were content with simply being at his side, warm and cozy doing your own thing.. yet your body craved his. not in a sexual way, not then at least. you craved his touch and the way his warm skin felt against yours. you missed the cuddles and the ghost kisses that would be littered all over your face. you missed your lover, who was mere inches away from you.

as shouto took a break from the stream, he glances down to you curled up in the bean bag chair. a small smile crawls onto his features as he sees you had fallen asleep while on your phone which was still displaying whatever you had last seen. excusing himself from the stream for a moment, he takes off his headset and approaches you, gently taking your phone to turn it off. before he could do so, he notices what you had been looking at last. it was the photo album you had been keeping of you two since you had started dating all those years ago. it warmed his heart, seeing how cute you looked asleep in the chair. although you looked comfy now, he knew how you’d be complaining about the back pain of the uncomfortable position you were in hours after your nap. so, shouto gently picks you up and carries you to bed. once in his arms, your sleeping figure practically melts into him, melding together like two marshmallows in a pit. he sets you down in bed, carefully tucking you in before making his way back to his gaming room until you stop him. “wait..” you say in a half asleep daze “come cuddle me..” you call out to your boyfriend who looks at you tenderly. “i’ve got a stream going on, baby.. you know this” he replies, his heart fighting between crawling into bed with you or going back to work.

in the end, he lost the battle of logic and ended up telling his audience that something had come up. you, however, had won your boyfriend’s attention for the rest of the day successfully.

—

super short, slightly sweet.

[sakkiichi]

FROM ME TO YOU.

Because good things take time and it’s not too late for happy birthdays.

ft. Albedo x gn! reader.

cw/genre: fluff, birthday special, reader is an amateur painter.

this is just something spontaneous that I came up with… I just… kinda gave free reign to whatever flashed through my mind once I was before the blank document, parting from a very vague idea I had haha.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

Autumn’s cold always arrived early in Dragonspine.

The faraway rays of a molten copper halo fuse with the peaks outlined on the horizon.

Magic is the word you’d use to describe such scenery; seconds that seemed to both be suspended in the helpless passage of time, and slip between your fingers; like golden sand inside an hourglass too small to savor every snapshot brought by the incandescence of crepuscular skies.

On instances like this, you wished your painting skills were better; if only to capture the glow of early dreams threaded through the asters of twilight.

For now, however, this will have to do.

Why did you wait until so late for this, you are unsure.

True, wishing a happy birthday to someone as the clock strikes twelve is not an uncommon occurrence.

And you’re kind of doing just that, more or less.

Except…

Well, it’s usually when the special day starts that calls are made, starlit whispers are uttered between lovers, and secret kisses are exchanged.

So you can’t help but wonder… is it too late?

For this? Or to back out now?

A sigh escapes your chapped lips, into the dimness of dusk, the stillness of frozen peaks, the stars.

Stars.

Your gaze is drawn to the easel you’ve set before you, fingertips delicately trailing over the four-point asteroids decorating a heaven made of brushstrokes.

Gold pinpricks, almost aglow beneath the darkening penombre of sundown, over a backdrop of ultramarines and indigoes, akin to sunlight over the depth of a frozen sea; a mirror image of the sky now hovering over snowy plains.

Looking up, you find a firmament of constellations. Stories, sketched in the silver flames of light years away suns, above an infinity of obscurity.

Those tales, however, had a tendency for lighting up paths that fell victim to the constant fluttering snowflakes.

“Hello, dearest.” A voice, smooth, liquid dawnlight over dewed cecilia petals, greets. “Am I late?”

The sound of crunching snow fills the fire-lit silence, the torches from his camp casting him in tepid hues.

“Albedo!” You call him, turning around.

And when you do, you swear he alone outshines every galaxy you could ever dream of rendering on canvas.

Tendrils of midnight sun and honeycomb seem to meld together in the blonde locks framing the alchemist’s porcelain-like face. Spotless, argent light from distant stars kisses his skin, fading into flecks of sparkling acacia blossoms to halo his gaze.

Summer skies.

That’s the image his eyes always evoked: clear skies, endlessly blue, over meadows to lie on, the low grass soft beneath your forms, as hands entwined and fingers pointed above, determining the shapes of the occasional cottony clouds.

What a paradox, how someone who spent his days surrounded by ice could make sparks ignite in your heart, cheeks heating up like the embers that remained after the coziness of a homey hearth.

“Is there anything you needed my help with, love?” He asks, gloved hand running its thumb over the back of yours.

Your gaze flits from your intertwined hands to his smiling lips, taking in his features in full.

“Not exactly your help.” You offer, your own lips a moon shaped brushstroke of vermillion. “I just… would like you to see something.” Your hand squeezes his, as you swing your linked hands between the both of you. “It’s your special day today, after all, isn’t it?”

Your rhetoric is met by the alchemist’s windened gaze, followed by one of his subtle smiles.

Tugging him along, you guide him to the candle lit spot where your easel is propped up.

Why are you feeling nervous all of a sudden? You internally chide yourself, biting the inside of your cheek.

Relaxing your shoulders, you turn to face your lover, gaze averted when you mumble:

“It’s not much but…” You scuff one of your boots on the dirtied snow. “I just… I remembered your painting, ‘You and I’ and… well… you know… I…” Your lids close, your nose scrunched up in that way he always found utterly endearing. “I wanted to make a painting for you too!” You finally sputter, stepping aside so he can see your masterpiece.

From that moment on, Albedo would forever believe no starry night could ever come close to capture the sheer magic of your art.

Gilded speckles abound in your make-believe heavens, each of them a shade slightly different than the previous one. They rest against a backdrop of cyans, accentuated in baby blue around your handmade constellations, the piece’s finale, a violet horizon. Outlined against it, two figures seem to dance, their happy ending created by them, rather than foretold by the celestial bodies staring in envy at a proximity that doesn’t burn, but warms and completes.

“I know it’s not the best but-“

“It’s perfect.” Is the kreideprinz’s awestruck answer, as his svelte hands hover over the frame. “You’re perfect, [Y/n].” He blurts, still staring at your work.

Then, he meets your eyes again. Your face is in his tender hold, a fleeting frosted kiss landing on your lips.

“I love it.” He assures. ‘I love you.’ His dilated pupils confess.

“‘From me to you’. Its title.” Your hand reaches up, resting on top of his. “You know… I hope you didn’t think I had forgotten about today… I just… kinda wanted this to be your last memory of your day.”

With that, both your gazes fuse in a watercolor of each other’s lips, of the anticipation of feeling them against your own.

“Happy birthday, Bedo.” You utter, before leaning in.

And then, the night, the snow, the starshine, all fade away, in a myriad of rose colored frenzied blazes. Your hands lost in the ash blonde strands at his nape; his, pulling you closer by the waist. Your kiss is a nebula of pulsating light, undimmed by even the most ruthless blizzards, lighting up the ebony of the pines obscuring the moonlight. Frozen air is exhausted in your lungs, but you don’t care right now, not when you’re kissing your prince charming under the lights of an aurora that’s still hours away.

A few moments pass, with the stars orbiting marking the approach of midnight.

A snow-kissed breeze caresses both your faces when you part, causing a shiver to rake through your body.

Your prince’s arms wrap around you.

When you look at him, matching chuckles fill the night air.

Moments like this were worth waiting all day for.

[fairyhaos]

with my synaesthesia, the colour of joshua is something very tangible, which is incredibly rare.

joshua is a warm, rosy pink colour. the colour of blushes, of shy compliments, of sweet cheek kisses and falling in love. he's warm like the feeling of summer fraying into autumn, where the intensity of heat has begun to die down and the world has become more mellowed, more gentle.

he's the colour of tinted heart sunglasses, of satin soft tulips and handwritten confessions, of pinkened filters in rom-com scenes. he's pink like pastel, strawberry cotton candy at fairgrounds, and sugar-sticky kisses at the top of ferris wheels.

joshua is the rosy pink of gentle adoration, like cherub's lips and cupid's heart-tipped arrows. he's like youthful love, skipping down streets with hands interlaced, spending all of eternity in one another's arms. the pink of joy.

like love-worn silk, joshua is soft, softened and smoothed in the places where someone has caressed the fabric until it melded into the shape of their hands. he's soft like the skin of peaches, like whispered love under blankets, like marshmallows being fed from the hand of someone you adore.

he's rosy pink, like new love, like young love, like precious love. joshua is a rosy pink you can touch, can feel the smoothness and the gentleness under your fingertips.

joshua's colour is the colour of warmth.

synaesthesia tags: @jeonginssa ,, @jeonwonwoo ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @summery-bat ,, @jiji-verse ,, @moonlitskiiies ,, @butiluvu ,, @loversepiphany ,, @a-wandering-stay ,, @valenhui ,, @yonabutnotyuna ,, @sweet-like-caramel ,, @evasaysstuff ,, @odxrilove ,, @kyeomyun ,, @slytherinshua

[emilybeemartin]

Inktober Days 28-31

Day 28: Sparkle

When people ask me which national park I've worked in is my favorite, I have a diplomatic answer. They're all different! Yellowstone is never boring, Glacier is visually stunning. But Great Smoky Mountains? Great Smokies is home. It was my first park, even before Yellowstone--I was brought on as a summer intern in 2010, and it set the course for my whole career onward.

Where other national parks trade in dramatic grandeur, Great Smokies offers a more intimate beauty. The pale pops of Catawba rhododendron blossoms in the dark forest. The squiggle of a spotted salamander in dewy moss. The first flush of red on the autumn slopes. The Christmas-tree perfume of the balsam firs at high elevation. 

But some of the most special things to me are the fireflies. The secret of the synchronous fireflies has trickled out, and now people flock to see them in late spring, flashing in coordinated laser light shows. My absolute favorites are the blue ghost fireflies, which glow a moonlight-blue, without blinking, and drift a few feet above the ground. On a dark, quiet evening, it's the single most magical sight I've ever seen. So magical I built a whole fantasy system around them in my first novel, Woodwalker.

Day 29: Massive

There are so many parks whose scale simply can't be appreciated in photos. The yawning chasm of the Grand Canyon. The looming summits of Grand Teton. The plunging valleys of Glacier. And the massive span and height of sequoia trees.

Though this is a purely American tree, I've only experienced them abroad, when I lived in New Zealand. A short walk away from my student flat was a beautiful botanical garden, and I was amazed to find a grove of sequoias growing there. I greeted them like compatriots, foreigners in a faraway land. I visited them often and knew someday I needed to visit their cousins on their home turf. Like my fixation on Olympic National Park, I've frequently found myself plotting the drive from my Rocky Mountain jobs to the closest parks of sequoias and redwoods. I'll get there, one day.

Day 30: Rush

Yosemite—the rush of history toward the riches of the west, the rush of visitors in the valley, the rush of air through climbers’ ropes, the rush to protect endangered natural spaces. But to me, no homage to Yosemite is complete without rushing water. Plunging waterfalls, rivers foaming with spring melt, frigid banks piled with frazil ice--- this park sings with the power of water.

Day 31: Fire

We end Inktober 2023 in Hawai‛i Volcanoes National Park, a place where fire, earth, and water all meld together. At first I picked this park simply because it fit the prompt, but as I did some research, I realized how fitting it is to end this month-long celebration of national parks here. Built into the management policies for Hawai‛i Volcanoes is the practice of ho‛okupu, the action of creating growth through chanting or offerings. As Huihui Kanehele-Mossman, Kumu Hula and Executive Director at Edith Kanaka‛ole Foundation, puts it:

“[Ho‛okupu] is not showing gratitude… it’s a recognition between you and the place… that you are present there in order to have an exchange—an equal exchange between you and the place.”

As park rangers, we’re faced with tangible reminders of degradation every day—past, present, and future—in things like the violent history of land theft, the tenacious grip of invasive species, and the looming consequences of climate change. It’s easy for rangers to view both ourselves and the visiting public as interlopers and invaders, capable of only destruction, a force to be managed and mitigated.

But we’re not. That same force that enables us to destroy also enables us to restore, grow, and create. And as Robin Wall Kimmerer discusses in Braiding Sweetgrass, humans shouldn’t consider ourselves mere intruders in natural spaces. We evolved alongside nature. We do belong in it, and it relies on our power and gentleness as much as we rely on it.

Even beyond that, national parks are human-created spaces, with human boundaries, roads, infrastructure, and patterns. We have to be involved with them. We have to view ourselves as an integral part of their wellbeing, an equal partner, and a force for good, or we risk losing them to sheer indifference.

“If you don’t have anything else to give to a place, give your voice.”

-Huihui Kanehele-Mossman

Thanks for traveling along with me on this journey through our national parks! I hope you have an autumn full of peace and purpose!

[dearbraus]

— Ripe for the Taking

Starring; Diluc Ragnvindr

Details; 18+ minors dni + gn!reader + undressing + licking.

Word count; 0.5k

Note; For a lil event I did, please enjoy <3

❝ Diluc thinks you look good enough to eat. ❞

The dwindling summer days always left a heavy feeling amongst the once breezy evening air. Mornings grew crisp with dew dotted along the evergreen blades of grass, the afternoons not quite as sweltering as most mid-July days. The promise of crisp autumn leaves and warm spiced drinks is tantalizing but not enough to quell the sense of longing that settled deep within as the sun sets just a little bit earlier in the day. 

But, of all the wonderful things the next season offers— gourdes, crisp apples, a myriad of oranges and browns— none of it was enough to live up to peach season.

As spring melded into summer, the trees blossomed and left the air fragrant, a teaser for how the summer was to end. As autumn loomed on the horizon, the peach season came in full swing, the air somehow sweeter than May and June, and the few trees surrounding the outskirts coated the air like candy. Diluc has always had a sweet tooth, but there was nothing he looked forward to more than the humble days of mid-August. Though his heart ached at the thought of losing the warm sun on his skin, he was more than happy to indulge himself.

Now though, he was beginning to loathe the very fact that the fruit even existed.

As juice dribbled down your chin to your throat as you bit into a perfectly ripe peach, Diluc felt envious of the fruit clasped between your fingers, almost as much as he abhorred its very existence. As much as the thought embarrassed him, Diluc wished that it was him who had you humming in satisfaction, eyes starry and bright as you relished saccharine flavour dabbling across your tongue.

His mind wanders into shamefully lewd places before he can stop himself.

“Diluc do you want a bite?”

The moment you’ve extended your hand towards him, Diluc’s thick, calloused fingers are wrapped around your wrist. It drops to the floor with a wet squelch, pitifully rolling past your feet. The gasp you let out makes his heart race far faster than it should and his body continues to move before his brain can catch up.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he’s careening forward, lapping up the sticky fruit juice that’s grown tacky on your skin. Diluc groans sinfully, trembling when the small noises of surprise you let out have melded into something closer to a moan. Your fingernails press into his shoulder blades, hastily drawing him in closer without a second thought.

Sighing out his name, you let out a giggle, “I didn’t realize you liked peaches this much,” you say, tilting your head back to give him ample access to your neck, “Mm, I did offer a bite you know but I think is so much better!”

Diluc grazes his teeth against your pulse point, the buttons of your shirt popping as he hastily strips you of it.

“It’s you I like,” he murmurs, drawing back just enough to expose his garishly flushed cheeks, “You’re what I want.”

“Yeah? You want me?”

The coy lilt in your voice makes him roll his eyes, he’d grumble if it hadn’t been for a set of nimble fingers skimming across his belt.

“Pretty as a peach … I can’t wait to eat you up.”

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.  

[swirlpops]

jjba & you: fall dates edition.

Another season, another round of D A T E S with some of our faves. HAPPY FALL AND SHIT, Y’ALL. 

> all characters 21+.

> characters: bruno, abbacchio, gyro, jotaro, josuke, doppio/diavolo, diego, giorno, kakyoin, poly caesar & joseph.

> gender-neutral reader.

> sfw fluff, tender and warming for the soul.

(> if you're interested, a summer dates edition with our darling bruno, is here!)

bruno bucciarati ; farmer’s market

Bruno had always loved the hustle and bustle of the farmer's market. Amidst a cacophony of hellos, he would blaze a trail of taste testing and sightseeing, taking in all the market had to offer. Today, you were by his side as he showed you his favorite stalls. "That one over there," he says, pointing one hand and gently resting the other on your shoulder, "has divine maple butter pastries. The farmer makes them fresh every morning." He ushers you to another stall, dotted with bouquets and fairy lights even in the gentle light of morning. "And this one has flowers that are homegrown here in Napoli, picked at the break of dawn." 

The sight of such a diverse array of flowers catches you off guard – mums painted with deep burgundy, sunflowers soaked in the last vestiges of early autumn sun. Bruno hums over the selection and plucks a violet dahlia; its center is smattered with brilliant gold. He tucks it behind your ear and smiles warmth down at you – undoubtedly, the most beautiful flower of them all. 

++ 

leone abbacchio ; fall shopping

At the craft fair, the fragrance of candles poured with apples, leaves, and candy corn float through endless rows of fall decor. Leone wrinkles his nose as you enter a particularly robust row, and casually takes your hand in his. It’s calloused and rough; the arbiter of a small token of affection doled out in carefully placed intervals. It’s ok – you don’t mind. “Why do people make these damn candles so strong?” he grumbles to himself. However, a small, white pumpkin tufted from scratchy felt steals his attention. He picks it up with his other hand, inspecting it as he holds it up to the crisp light of the low autumn sun. “This is cute,” he says under his breath, almost loathe in his admittance. “Let’s put it on our mantle. It'll look nice above the fire.”

++

gyro zeppeli ; bonfires & s’mores

"No no no," Gyro titters at you. "You have to smush it like this." He presses his palms together, melding gooey layers of graham cracker, scorched marshmallow, and rich milk chocolate. "The flavors have to bloom!" he continues, stressing each word as he gesticulates. "They have to bloom and grow, so you can stick it in your mouth for it explode with a big boom from the taste of it and–"

You stare at Gyro, mouth agape, as he waxes poetic about the wonders of s'mores technique. The bonfire he so skillfully built was licking its flames to the night sky, acting like it was protesting his lecture. Shadows play across his face, but you notice something amidst the embers' glow. 

"Gyro," you interrupt.

"What?"

"You have chocolate on your nose."

"I do?" He swoops in to bring his face close to yours, and playfully rubs the tip of his nose against your own. "Well, so do you." 

++

jotaro kujo ; apple cider

Quiet mornings are always spent together, perusing the daily newspaper on the porch. Morning fog sets the scene, rolling over fireburnt foliage and quaint cottages to douse the horizon with a cozy, picturesque atmosphere. Jotaro looks across at you, deep in the headlines of today's paper. He takes note of your concentration – brows furrowed, eyes scanning, and lips parted and soft from the touch of apple cider kissed along them. His own mug is warm and steaming, with tendrils of heat unfurling to befriend the rolling fog. Eyes still on you, he lifts his mug to his mouth. He takes a moment to relish the taste – but its sweetness holds no candle to the sacred ritual of sharing his mornings with you. 

++

josuke higashikata ; pumpkin patch

With all the countenance of an overexcited puppy, Josuke tugs on the hem of your marigold sweater to pull you in the direction of the hayrides. He drags you over rows of pumpkins dusted with nighttime dew; vines snag your ankles as the crunch of leaves lead you to a farmtruck stuffed with bales of hay. Easy as could be, he grabs your waist and lifts you clean off your feet, settling you onto the back of the truck. The low full moon shines its favor on the both of you when you share a tender gaze. 

“Are you ready?” he asks, gently resting his hands on your knees while his cheeks bloom with blush. “As I’ll ever be,” you respond with a smile, reaching your hand out to him. He smiles back, wide and beautiful, as he takes your hand to climb aboard and join you. 

++

vinegar doppio/diavolo ; haunted house

Trembling like a fieldmouse at harvest, Doppio latches onto your arm. "I bet another monster is going to hop out any minute," he laments. "I can't take this!" He buries his face into your shoulder and rubs it, wiping away the tears threatening to spill. "We shouldn't have came…"

You reach up to stroke the wild pink fluorescence of Doppio’s hair while you both round a corner into a small and empty room. "They're just actors!" you say, laughing in jest. "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

All Doppio could do was quiver in the dim light of the haunted house; he whimpers and grips you tighter. "I mean… I could protect you too, you know."

"Is that so?"

You swore you could see a familiar glint in his eye. Doppio nods, and his body starts to grow larger as he does so. You lean back when you feel a heavy presence – though at this point, you supposed you were used to it. 

A muscular arm pushes you against the wall to trap you between a rock and a hard place. Who you knew as Diavolo was now pressed against you, with his arm bracing the wall to cage you in. "Oh?" says a deep voice. "What’s this?” His tone is smooth and dangerous, and the touch of his trailing hand evaporates down your cheek. "Lost in a sea of wolves, little lamb?"

++

diego brando ; trick or treat

“This is stupid.”

Diego huffs as he enters the room, clad in a comically oversized dinosaur suit from head to toe. "Remind me again, why am I doing this?"

In your Jurassic Park ranger costume, you giggle at the sight of Diego, who so courteously succumbed to your request. "Look at you, oh my god!" you say excitedly. "You'll be a hit at all the houses! We're gonna get so much candy, just you watch."

Diego waddles over to you, and you can practically see the scowl on his face through his getup. "I can barely breathe," he complains. "What a stupid tradition."

"It'll be fun, I promise. And you can always take off your little dino head, you know.”

No more permission is needed – he pulls it off with zero hesitation. “Done,” he says, making his way to the overflowing candy bowl in your foyer. "An hour is my absolute limit, mind you."

You follow alongside him, pouting and affectionately pinching his cheek. "Aw, Diego – a little bit longer? Please? For me?"

He picks up a miniature candy bar and tosses it in the air. With a deft hand he grabs it, then squeezes it out its wrapper, sending it flying to catch in his mouth. “Well, if it's for you I suppose I could," he says through a mouthful of sickly sweet chocolate. "Right. Let’s get on with it, then.”

++ 

giorno giovanna ; carving pumpkins

Tongue peeking out in concentration, Giorno carves into the delicate stencil pasted on his pumpkin. Ambitious as always, the pattern is intricate – inlaid with roses aplenty and labor intensive vines. The only sounds in the room are hushed breaths and the drag of carving knives ripping into the pumpkins' soft flesh. 

"How's it coming?" you ask, peering over your own pumpkin. 

"Almost there," Giorno replies, with his eyes trained on his handiwork. "How about you?

“Uh…” You take a moment to tilt your head and appraise your progress. It’s a bit jagged and roughshod, but it still retains the likeness of a classic jack o'lantern. 

Giorno scoots over in his chair and leans into your shoulder to take a peek for himself. “Looking spooky,” he says with a half grin. “I love it.”

“Thanks!” you say, as you go back to hacking into its eye. “But honestly, this part is a little tough to cut through. Do you mind giving me a hand?”

He places his hand on top of yours, grasping your keyhole saw alongside you, and presses a gentle kiss into your temple. “Allow me,” he says, melting all of your woes in one fell swoop. 

++

noriaki kakyoin ; apple picking

A dappling of light scatters through a grove of apple trees. The air is fresh and crisp; your baskets overflow with apples speckled in sap. The best part of it all, is getting a lift on Noriaki’s shoulders – a far better option than scrambling up wooden ladders laden with splints. 

From your perch, he runs his hands down your calves, looking up in adoration to observe as you pluck a particularly juicy looking apple. After a small wiggle to position yourself, you tug the fruit from its spot on the branch. It falls into your hand with a satisfying plop. 

“That one’s pretty big,” he notes. “Maybe we should eat that one first.” 

“A good plan, I think,” you say. You give it a quick wipe on your sleeve, then bend over so you can present it in front of his mouth. He smiles with serenity, appreciative of your offer. His eyes lock on yours as he tilts his head forward, sinking his teeth into the ripe flesh. A trickle of juice runs down the side of his mouth, and he can’t help but laugh through the burst of apple. Everything always tastes better when it's with you.

++

caesar zeppeli & joseph joestar ; soapmaking

The hustle and bustle of people milling around your soapmaking class was the perfect diversion for Joseph’s latest caper – which was to annoy you and Caesar. Simply put, it was business as usual.

Caesar slipped on a pair of gloves, but the looming figure behind him snatched his attention from pouring his lye. “I can see you, Jojo,” he said, looking over his shoulder in annoyance. “We can both see you.”

Your head was also turned – you were well versed enough to recognize Joseph’s ways. His face stretched in a wide, suspicious smile, and his hands remained hidden behind his back. "No need to get your eyes checked, then!” he exclaimed in a singsong voice, cheesy as ever. “Look at my two favorite lovely people, being so cute, making the best soap–” 

Caesar rolled his eyes and turned back to his work. Leaning over to you, he spoke, “If we ignore him, he just might go away.” 

“Caesar,” Joseph whined, “I’m right here! I can hear you!”

“Good,” said Caesar. 

Joseph whipped his arms from behind his back, brandishing a heart-shaped bar of soap in each hand. "Fine," he pouted. "I was going to give you two these, but since you're being so mean…" 

Your heart melted on sight. Though they looked… suspicious, to say the least, they were still a token of Joseph's affection. "That's so cute, Jojo!" you exclaimed happily. 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," grumbled Caesar – but he couldn't even begin to hide the blush spreading across his cheeks.

[apocryphalvoid]

To whom it may concern,

As spring melds away into summer, and when hues of autumn give way to the empty white winter, I find myself thinking on matters of the inevitable passage of time and all who are trapped within its clutches; it brings to mind the work of the man William Morris. While he remains most famous to the living for his design work, I find myself more fond of his words — particularly, those of ‘’Summer Dawn’’:

Pray but one prayer for me ‘twixt thy closed lips,

Think but one thought of me up in the stars.

The summer night waneth, the morning light slips

Faint and gray ‘twixt the leaves of the aspen, betwixt the cloud-bars,

That are patiently waiting there for the dawn:

Patient and colourless, though Heaven’s gold

Waits to float through them along with the sun.

Far out in the meadows, above the young corn,

The heavy elms wait, and restless and cold

The uneasy wind rises; the roses are dun;

Through the long twilight they pray for the dawn

Round the lone house in the midst of the corn.

Speak but one word to me over the corn,

Over the tender, bow’d locks of the corn.

The irony of my kind being so fond of an aubade is not lost upon me. But with every dawn, comes a dusk in which I can contemplate the warm relief that comes after a long and cold time.

A fair night to you all,

Bernard.

[krushkreates]

soldier, poet, king

chapter i: soldier, poet, king

—

In the small town of Dahlia under the rule of the Shaw King, lives a small tavern. It’s occupants are queer, to say the least, but the mead is good, the bard that sings there is wonderful and the owner is a retired bard themselves.

Under the watchful eye of the mercenary for hire, the tavern brings the most peculiar pairs. It’s even said to be a matchmaking spot. Is it the drinks? Is it the atmosphere? Or is it the charm of the town that draws in the most unusual travelers?

Whose to say.

—

i’ve been very m.i.a. the past two-ish months, but i come bearing an offering of the first of a feel good, fluffy, romantic fantasy au

you can find this on ao3

cw/tw: mentions of blood and alcohol (mead is alcohol)

The usual buzz in the atmosphere held true, even as the late summer heat hung over the patrons of the small tavern. The merriment had crescendoed as more and more people found makeshift seats on the floor. The chattering and murmuring hummed pleasantly in the patrons’ ears. Light acoustics strung from the lyre of a bard mingled, floating through the conversations, while soft drumming added to the impending excitement.

The drinks flowed freely, the autumn’s first harvest melding with the taste of honey on the tongue. The pumpkin and nutmeg fell over one’s tastebuds, igniting images of crisp leaves, the cobblestone getting colder in the morning, and the apple trees swelling; ready to be harvested again. This was the harvest celebration, and the Crooked Canon was home to the best mead in the Shaw kingdom, according to the locals. Ran by a retired bard with some help of their surly vampiric friend, the tavern proved to be booming with business all year long, and tonight was no exception.

Mabon was the celebration those in the tiny town outside the palace looked forward to the most. Celebrating abundance, the town of Dahlia always lived up to the word. The prosperity reflected on the Crooked Canon, with its owner never having enough time or storage for the harvest.

“Babe, you’ll be fine. you always have enough for these bad boys” Angel said, giving the barrel behind them a slight tap. “Besides, you know the customers aren’t gonna bitch about an extra one or two,” they paused, eyes catching a row of unnumbered barrels, “five or six barrels. If anything, it might bring in some of the people from Ferris. You know they travel for the Yule festival and rave about the apple cider from Mabon. Whose to say they won’t come down this year? Last year King Keaton himself wanted a taste.”

The owner scoffed, wiping a glass dry, filling it and sliding it down the bar to Sam. “And just what do you suppose I do if the they do come? We barley have enough room for Mabon, let alone enough for Yule. I’ve been trying to get my plans for some expansions approved, but it feels like it just sits on the King’s desk until it collects dust!” They paused, sighing. “That was unfair to him. I know he’s trying his best. I just-“

Sam’s rich voice interjected. “You just need to relax. Ya know the patrons don’t care if they sit on the stools or a strip of fabric on the floor. Hell, they don’t even care if they’re sittin’ bare ass completely on that ground. They like comin’ here for you and the whole place. Besides, I reckon we’ll be sellin’ out faster than we can replace. The orchard’s puttin’ out double and last year’s batch was triple. Now go wash these dishes and take a breath.” He all but dumped a box of dusty glasses into their arms.

Sensing they wouldn’t win, Angel gently pushed Babe towards the back kitchen, the clattering of cups being the only sound between the two of them.

As Babe filled the sink, they stopped for a moment before laughing. The snickering became a full laugh, shoulders shaking and all, with Angel standing with a hand on the well pump, completely bewildered.

“Did you hit your head or something?” They asked.

As Babe wiped a tear from their eyes, they stood up. “Sorry. I just thought about how absolutely ridiculous I’ve been. I shouldn’t worry about space, or barrels, or any dumb shit like that. I miss them, ya know? It’s not the same, and with my father’s birthday being next month and the harvest proving more than usual, and Keaton supposedly coming to visit-“

“It’s okay.” Angel cut off, handing Babe a glass to rinse. “This year’s been really hard. You don’t have to keep pretending you’re fine. You know you can’t keep secrets from me.” They wiggled their brows, earning them another giggle from their friend.

Babe sighed amusedly. “No, I really can’t, can I? Nothing escapes that insightful knowledge you have about me.”

A knock on the doorframe took their attention away from the dishes.

“Sorry to interrupt your gossiping therapy session, but do either of you have some spare trousers? Mine got completely ripped during my last assignment.” The mercenary’s voice elicited excited noises from the two as they bound their way over to their friend.

“WHEN DID YOU GET BACK?” Angel exclaimed, taking the bag from their shoulder. “God DAMN this thing is heavy. How much did you get paid?”

The other two laughed as Babe took their sword.

“Just now you hooligan. Though I’m not sure if it was worth all the trouble.” Sweetheart sighed, watching Angel heave the bag onto the counter like it weighed nothing.

Babe wet a rag and absentmindedly cleaned the blood spots from the blade first. “I thought you said it was going to be an easy assignment? Was the Shade truly that tricky?”

Sweetheart pulled an extra stool and winced as they sat down. “It wasn’t bad before, but it got me pretty good. I stopped by Marie and got nothing but an earful while she healed me. The Shade wasn’t anything I haven’t dealt with before, but it had some kind of creature with it. And before you ask, no I don’t know what kind of creature it was.”

Sam suddenly appeared in the doorway, eyes scanning the rogue’s appearance. “Ya look like hell, and smell worse than it. Stop moving, let me get a good look at you.” He wiped his hands, taking in the cuts and bruises on them. He smelled fresh blood, and saw a small trickle of said thing from their leg. “Jesus Christ Merc. What kinda assignment did you get?”

The mercenary looked up with their eyes closed. “If you’re gonna lecture me, save it. Marie gave me enough as it is.”

He rolled his eyes. “Just give me your damn leg. I’m not having you bleedin’ and drippin’ blood everywhere and I’m sure as hell not havin’ ya be in pain.”

They stuck their leg out to him, muttering under their breath.

“I can hear you smartass.”

“That was the point.”

Babe snorted, setting the freshly-cleaned blade down and rummaging through the cabinet for leather polish.

Angel laughed, offering a (clean) rag for their sweat. “I have to agree with Sam. You do smell like hell.”

They grimaced, feeling his healing magic snap at their skin. “You did that on purpose.”

“You’re bleedin’ onto the floor.”

“Is’not like I’m trying to.”

“Not like you’re not trying to.”

“You know what-“

“Settle down children. Sweetheart, clean the blood when you’re all healed and go take a bath upstairs. There’s plenty of hot water, and Sam, go and tend the bar. I’ll be out in a moment.” Babe interrupted, stifling a laugh.

“Yes Babe.”

“Okay Babe.”

They both muttered, admitting silent defeat.

“Hey Angel, aren’t you performing tonight?” Sweetheart asked, looking at the pan pipe on the counter.

“Yeah. It’s been a while and rent’s due soon.”

“What do you mean ‘rent’? You live here!”Babe exclaimed as the bard laughed.

“I’m only saying! Lodging outside of this place ain’t cheap ya know!” They fished two gold pieces out of their apron pocket. “For the year’s rent and food.”

With a sharp toss, they flicked the two coins up, landing right into Babe’s open rag with leather polish. They stared at the two pieces in disbelief.

“Angel, this is too much.” They struggled to form the words. “The Canon is fine and you pull your weight around just fine. You don’t need to pay me, you’re my best friend- sorry.” A sharp look from Sweetheart caused them to stumble over their words. “One of my best friends and if my parents had a problem with you staying here since we were kids, they would’ve said so. I’m not making you pay rent when you have lodging to think about and traveling.” Babe took a breath, taking a clean part of the bloodied rag and wiping the polish off them. “I’m not accepting these. You need them far more than me. Plus, this is from when you went to that weird cult meeting right? Or was it some school with that weird headmaster?”

“Hey Canon, get your bard out here. We’ve got the extra mead set up.” Vincent poked his head through the door, ruby reds looking in amusement between the four of them. “It’s a packed house and I’ve got some patrolling to get done.”

Before any of them could reply, a short yelp came from the mercenary’s mouth.

“Watch the leg! I’ve got a bar stool to sit on tonight.” They playfully hissed at Sam, who rolled his eyes in response.

“Uh-huh. You’re all healed up anyways. You should really stop getting so injured on these assignments. Marie ain’t gonna like to keep seeing you like this. I sure as hell don’t.” He got up from his squat and took a fresh rag before hurrying out.

“I hate it when he calls me Canon.” Babe muttered, their grip on the sheath tightening slightly and their fingers polishing harder.

Angel took the lyre from the counter before sympathetically patting their friend’s shoulder. “I’m just surprised he even showed up tonight. He’s been awfully conspicuous about something. Not sure what though.”

“I’ll bet it’s a woman. Or money. Actually, it’s probably a horse. You know how William spoils him with them.” Sweetheart said from the wash basin.

“I mean, he showed up tonight. I can’t be mad at the other times because of that incident out in the wonderwoods.” Babe shrugged, sheathing the sword and shoving back into Sweetheart’s belt. “There’s a basin upstairs in my bathroom that’s made for washing your hair. And your body.” They quipped before standing in the doorway.

The tavern owner took a deep breath and stepped into the main room.

[novelconcepts]

I keep thinking about how a three-season arc is the ideal path for Paper Girls as a coming of age story. Not just in terms of three seasons of television—but three actual weather-pattern seasons.

Season One: begins in the fall, just after Halloween, but primarily takes place in the summer. In terms of a coming of age story, starting in the summer makes the most sense; summer is the season of innocence, of freedom from school and restrictions, of getting to spread your wings and learn on your own terms. The kids are buffeted out of their natural time and into the terror of the time war, but they’re also still very much Kids in this season. The authenticity of their bickering, giggling, conversations about first periods (arguably one of the first tangible shoves out of the Childhood nest into Adulthood for young girls) all feel entirely at home in a summer-themed season.

Season Two: primarily taking place in the winter feels at home for a second-season arc. In a three-act structure, the second season is going to be a period of conflict and stress, the sort of Empire Strikes Back energy of fighting--but often coming up short. Winter is a season of death, cold, darkness. The girls would ostensibly be Going Through It in season two, not quite capable of dealing with the issues handed to them (Mac and KJ trapped in the prehistoric past with feelings they haven’t learned to cope with/identities they haven’t processed; Erin and Tiff trapped in the 70s, likely tracking down their parents and learning to see them as people instead of just Mom-and-Dad [with bonus feature of Tiff coping with the news of her adoption via possibly finding her birth parents]). There’s a distinct loss of innocence to winter, learning to stand on your own ground in the first breath of adulthood, which would feel at home in a second season.

Season Three: swinging back around to the fall feels right for a third and final season, particularly given the time-loop nature of Paper Girls overall. The show begins on Hell Day. It ends on Hell Day. The in-between period of this final season would be about emerging, not as full adults--they’re still (theoretically) going to be twelve in actual age here--but as something a little further away from childhood. Autumn is a season of change, of that bittersweet shift away from sunshine, but not quite yet plunged into the dark of winter. It’s a season of loss, but also of a sorrowful hope: colors shift, the air tastes a little cooler, a little cleaner, and you’re still hanging on to what’s left of summer while you can. This would be the season in which the girls’ bond really powers the whole narrative. They’ve learned to care for each other in S1, learned to be apart in S2, and now their status as Four becomes the fuel to get them back to ‘88. They won’t be the same, by any stretch, as those girls who left in the first place...but they’ll have learned how to better meld the kids from Hell Day into the kids who return at the end of the loop. Older. A little more worn around the edges. But with that bittersweet readiness to plunge into adulthood.

Bonus epilogue: a finale--even just a montage to close out the party--representing spring. The season of renewal, rebirth, starting fresh. Here is where we’d see their families starting to see the kids as beginning to grow up. Where we’d get KJ’s bat mitzvah (a very literal interpretation of this coming of age). Where we’d see Mac and KJ remembering or embracing their love for each other, Tiff prioritizing friendship over fixating on problem solving/school, Erin standing with the pride of knowing her own strength. The official intro into a new age of growing up, all of them a little more battle-worn, but better for it. Out of the loop, and into the breach.

[antiquatedsimmer]

The sprawling countryside of Chestnut Ridge lay under the unforgiving grip of the summer sun, casting a relentless heat upon the Harrington household. A week had passed since their departure, and the family was finding their rhythm in the embrace of nature, each member engrossed in their own pursuits.

Helena, ever the devoted matron, maintained her domestic duties with poise. Guiding Lucile through the intricate dance of culinary arts, she imparted the knowledge and skills necessary for her daughter's future role as a proficient home keeper.

While Lucile's initial attempts in the kitchen were met with uneven outcomes, she persevered, determined to master this essential art.

In the realm of outdoorsmanship, Eddy found camaraderie with his son, Silas. Together, they embarked on hunting escapades, though their efforts yielded modest gains—a rabbit here, a fish there. As evenings bathed the camp in an amber glow, Eddy's calloused fingers plucked at the strings of a banjo.

Lucile's heart was captured by the pristine beauty of Chestnut Ridge, and her artistic spirit flourished.

She hopes to finish a painting in time before the trip back home so she may remember this scene forever.

Yet, the sweltering heat proved an unwelcome companion, dampening her enthusiasm. Why couldn't they have taken this trip in autumn?

In the quest to escape the oppressive temperatures, Lucile and her horse Lady often took fast rides so the wind in her face could keep her cool.

The choices were that, or go for a swim in the creek or rest under a shaded tree.

Silas and Lucile's dynamic was akin to attempting to meld fire and ice into a single entity—an endeavor destined for continuous conflict.

The echoes of their raised voices reverberated through the tranquil embrace of the ridge.

Eddy and Helena, wearied by the ceaseless task of quelling the clashes, found their patience waning.

Even the simple act of sharing a meal became a challenge fraught with animosity.

The journey had been embarked upon with the noble intent of forging stronger family ties, Eddy had harbored hopes that the rugged beauty of the wilderness would kindle in Silas a deeper commitment to the farm's future.

But alas, Silas seemed content to remain ensconced beneath the shade of a tree, engrossed in his tomes.

[dantedemorium]

god of war mpreg Rp

looking for a 1x1 god of war 2028/Ragnarok roleplay. I'm 21+ and my partner must be 18+. I reply daily and am exceptionally literate. My partner's do not need to perform to my standard. The rp will be plot driven with liberal use of smut. My primary kink is mpreg with preference for a consistent casual experience not entirely sexual.

Main pairing I'm searching for is Kratos/Atreus. There will be angst about the taboo of their relationship but I prefer things work towards a supportive dynamic where they find the relationship is good for them.

Two possible plots below with samples under the keep reading.

A cannon divergent god of war 2018. Looking fore someone to play kratos. Upset by grief of faye's passing Atreus crawls into his father's bed for comfort and fucks his dad in a desperate bid for love and touch. The next morning they find Atreus's belly has swollen with child magical matured to eight months. Kratos must avoid the truth of their godly blood while protecting his son in his who is now more encumbered that ever. Atreus is yearning for the love and touch his father won't show him. Desperate to prove his worth he is at odds with his swollen belly and it's wiggling cargo.

post Ragnarok Atreus doesn't leave and returns home to rebuild with his father. Looking for someone to play Atreus. Each night he wanders to his father's bed passed by the need to feel the drum of his heart and know he's alive. One such time struck by teen hormones Atreus fucks his father and loses his virginity unleashing a wave of magic. The next day they find the wolves and fenrir heavy with pups but are sure the consequences end there. Three moons later feeling unwell kratos finds he has become pregnant by his son. The old spartan has reservations about this. Conservative spartan teachings and his age haunt kratos. Atreus could not be more happy fawning over his father's growing belly and vibrating with excitement over being an older brother.

Like this post so I can contact you or DM me and we can discuss.

1) The cold is beginning to seep into the cabin as summer falls to autumn. The night is deep and dark with the fire in the Hearth nothing but dull embers. Despite the time Atreus lies awake looking up to the lofty darkness and counting each rumble of breath from his sleeping father a few feet away. The cabin feels large. Impossibly large in a way it never has before. Before when it was three. Mother lies delicately wrapped in the shroud she spent months crafting. She takes up their one table, but she's not really there. Her breath is absent, her warmth is gone pulling in a chill that sinks into his young bones. Atreus stand up from bed letting the furs that cover him slide off onto his mat. What little of Mani's light that can slip through the thatch renders him in a sickly tone. Skin too pale and freckles to stark as the spot his face. Limbs too thin with bony joints that stick out strongly.

Atreus creeps close to his father's cot over old boards dreading every groan of the wood. Under dark bear fur his father lays on his back unmoving. Only the subtle up and down of his breathing shows. No movement even as Atreus lifts the furs with small fingers sliding in as warm air rushes out. His father is solid not soft as he hoped. It doesn't matter. He curs into the heat melding into the curves of his father's side and placing his head under fur on the meat of his father's chest where he can hear the drum beat of his father's heart and let heat fill his hollow chest.

2) His son has been touchy lately. It had started when Kratos returned to the snow sodden shell of his home alone. To rebuild or collect the wolves and lay the poor hutch to it's final rest he did not know. In the wooden carcass he found his son perched solemn and silent upon his old cot dusted in snow that failed to mute the red rim of his eyes. Atreus had flung himself into his arms. A tight desperate hold while the boy babbles apologies. For leaving, for not leaving, for coming back, for not having the strength. Kratos holds him . Fits the boys head under his chin and holds him tight till the tear tracks are tacky. The first night they spend together huddled in the Valkyrie chamber over the cliff. It's the same. Sharing one bed room to ward of the snow which is melting fast but not fast enough. They clear the snow and down comes the broken walls. Atreus with a bright and clever fervor explains to him dwarven building techniques. They can build a bigger, better home.

It starts when Kratos begins to fell trees. Atreus's slim finger edges hand wrapped around his father's thick bicep guiding him though he doesn't need it. He indulges his son. In battle he's constantly using his father's shoulders as a spring board. Leaping and twirling in deadly dramatics like a fanciful bird performing a mating display. But it's only ever the two of them.

By the time the cellar is dug Atreus weasels his way into sole possession of his father's razor. With no mirror and Mimir absent grooming has been waylayed. No longer. Atreus takes his father's face in his nimble hands every new full moon and scraped the Ill gotten hair from Kratos's face with fine movements. Kratos does not take the razor back. Atreus delights in the practice and Kratos has always cared less for his grooming.

When the first floor is done, there will be a second. Because his son asked for it they start bathing together. Something Kratos hasn't done with his son since he was eight summers and the gulf between them reached it's widest. His boy is still pale like his mother, but new constellations of freckles cross his fallow belly. He does not shy from his father's gaze instead Atreus stretches cat-like and with a slowness when he finds his father looking. The boy latter's his father's beard and skin. Kratos works a whit froth in his son's hair. Something blooms between them but what?

On the last day of thatching his son brings him excitedly to the second floor. For the moment it's empty. Yet when he looks kratos finds a noble four post bed. On high feet to ward the rats and piled with furs. A gift from son to father. For what he does not know? That night they both crawl under the furs. It seems ignoble to leave Atreus to his old cot on the first floor. So they climb into the bed to big for one person. "It is nice. Well made" He says for what else can he say for this gift,for his son's hard work.

[trevlad-sounds]

The Meld Well 002 1 Kim's Spirit / DupSys Vow 00:00 Animism Muzan Editions 2 Beyond Our Galaxy Elegy 04:47 Surface Analysis Cyclical Dreams 3 Liwi Sprites 10:26 Compilation vol. 1 Ambient Curation 4 Mort Garson Cathedral of Pleasure 13:10 Music from Patch Cord Productions Sacred Bones Records 5 Warm Binary Solipsism 19:08 Decay Mystery Circles 6 Ogle Robotheme 19:53 Cascade Preston Capes, Woodford Halse 7 King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard Dreams - Yu Su Instrumental Mix 26:16 Butterfly 3001 King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard 8 Harald Grosskopf Emphasis 27:19 CV Vision: Bureau B Favorites Bureau B 9 Dohnavùr Cloudback 32:08 Pristine Environments Werra Foxma 10 Burt Orange Kiwi Coconut 37:06 Selections from the Produce Section Analog Junkie Studio 11 E Ruscha V Tree Ring Circus 40:13 And The Only Thingz, Too Secret Circuit 12 Future Children Unplug the Medicine 44:57 Twelve Summer Stories Future Children 13 Amorphous Androgynous Goodbye Sky - Reprise 48:55 The Isness The Amorphous Androgynous 14 Nico Georis Love 49:52 Nicasio Synth Tapes (2012) Milky Way Radio 15 Field Lines Cartographer Rain Clouds Descending 53:54 Moonbuilding Autumn Collection Moonbuilding, Castles In Space

[whumping-in-the-wings]

I can’t thank everyone enough for the wonderful welcome I’ve had! You’ve all made me so excited to join the world of whump, and, as promised, here’s my first contribution: the start of my series Traces. I’m still very new to all of this and this is actually my first time sharing my writing publicly, so if I did something wrong- it’s too long, too short, not tagged properly, whatever- please let me know so I can fix that right away! Also, whenever I’m writing medieval fantasy, which this is, my writing voice tends to get kind of old-fashioned, so do tell me if it’s a slog to read through and I’ll do my best to tone it down in future installments. But all that aside, I’m so glad to be here and so happy to be sharing this series with you all! Any and all feedback is very much appreciated!

CW: graphic descriptions of blood/injury (not terribly detailed or gory, but it’s there), dehumanization, restraints, whumper POV

Tagging @aseasonwithclara (thank you so much, I’m glad you’re intrigued! And of course if anyone else wants to be added to the tag list, just let me know!)

Traces: Part One

Masterlist | Next

It was always the traces, the smallest of small things, that told the story. A tuft of dry grass flattened against the ground. A trail of broken branches pressed into the underbrush. Splashes of red on the forest floor, too dark to belong to the autumn leaves.

Sir Aubrey Gravesend brushed his hand against one of the dark stains, his lips curving up in the shade of a smile when the redness came off thick and wet on his gloved fingers. He offered his hand to the hound that had come up at his side- a young one, all eagerness and energy, its every muscle trembling with the thrill of the chase- and let the creature lick the coppery substance clean. Then he took hold of his horse’s reins and swung himself, with an ease born of practice, back into the saddle.

“A clear trail,” he announced to the half dozen noblemen and women clustered on their mounts behind him. “He’s taken them to the west, deeper into the forest. It won’t be long now before we catch up. His strength is waning.” That, too, he could tell by the traces, the way some of the tracks were misshapen or deeper than they should have been, as though the one who had made them had stumbled, staggered, sometimes nearly fallen, but kept on.

The little knot of hunters kept on as well, with the cold wind of autumn whistling at their backs and the dogs weaving in and out between the horses’ hooves. Now and again one of the riders would crouch forward in the saddle to urge their mount over a fallen log or a tangle of brush; sometimes one of the younger dogs would be overcome by excitement, pull too far ahead of the pack and be ordered back sharply by the master of the hounds. But for the most part their progress was uninterrupted, their speed unchecked. If they had been riding through the green and gold vibrance of summer, they might have had more trouble, but fall had dried the forest to brittle brown kindling, and the hunters could force their way through it as easily as their quarry had done.

Before long, they were rewarded with a sight of that quarry. As the horses thundered into a small clearing, a small handful of shadowy shapes exploded out from the underbrush, too swift to give the hunters more than a glimpse of them before they melded back into the trees.

“They’ve split up, Sir Gravesend!” The master of the hounds was panting as much as his charges, straining to hold their leashes in the baying, barking frenzy the sight of the prey had stirred up. With both hands occupied, he indicated his meaning by a nod to the left of the clearing, where an obvious trail of broken branches and crushed leaves led, not towards the edge of the forest where the rest of the herd had gone, but deeper into the trees. “Their leader’s gone one way and they’ve gone another!”

“So they have,” Aubrey agreed. “We’ll do the same, then. Keep the dogs with you, I won’t need them.” And with that, he touched his spurs to his horse’s side and vanished into the forest.

The woods were thicker here, a gallop harder to maintain, and Aubrey only kept the pace up until the pounding hooves of the rest of the hunting band had faded into the distance, leaving behind the unnatural silence of nature intruded upon. Then he slowed, first to a canter and then to an easy lope, following not only the trail that had been torn through the trees, but the dark dapples of crimson staining the leaf-strewn ground. Finally, just outside a coppice of birches too thick to see through, he stopped the horse altogether, looped its reins over a jutting branch and left it to what grazing it could find among the withered, scarlet-stained grass, continuing into the thicket on foot.

It wasn’t a long journey. Only a few steps, and then the close-growing birches had encircled him. And there, pressed back against the trees at the other end of the grove, he found what he had come for.

As Aubrey approached, the centaur stallion made a valiant but futile effort to sort out the damaged tangle of his legs. He thrust the front ones out before him, scrabbling for purchase on the hard-packed earth, but it was the third limb that betrayed him, buckling under his weight and sending him crashing back down. And no wonder, with an arrow buried deep in the thickest part of his right hind leg.

Even from this distance, Aubrey could see the toll that arrow had taken. The black-brown fur of the centaur’s lower half was lathered blacker with sweat and blood, the hot iron smell of it thick on the air. His face, in contrast, was deathly pale, and though his dark, deep-set eyes stayed fixed on Aubrey, they were glassy and unfocused with pain.

But even so, no good judge of horseflesh would deny that this was a fine piece of it. The centaur shared the thickly feathered hooves of Aubrey’s destrier, back in the stables at the castle, and was nearly the same size, perhaps even a little bigger. Strong-built, too. Though, for obvious reasons, he seemed at the moment to have no strength left. As Aubrey stepped nearer, he tried again to stand, failed again, and finally gave up the doomed attempt and lay still, his sides heaving.

Only then did Aubrey break the silence. “I don’t have much to boast of, poor country knight that I am,” he said. “Not even a proper garrison, really. But I must say, I’ve always been proud of my archers. I told them to do something that would slow you down, drain your strength, without permanently damaging you. I’d say they gave me what I wanted. Of course, I might have told them to do just a bit more, if I’d known you’d manage to last three days with that sticking out of you-“ he gestured toward the blood-soaked arrow shaft- “but that’s neither here nor there.”

He said the words without expecting an answer, and it was hardly a shock when none came. It was common knowledge that centaurs didn’t have the wit to justify their human halves, that they might as well not have had a human half at all for all the difference it made. But the creature’s eyes still looked human, even if there was nothing behind them, and it would have felt strange not to say something even if it wouldn’t be understood.

“I watched your band for a while,” Aubrey continued conversationally, still moving slowly forward. “I wanted to make sure I chose my mark rightly. Almost a dozen, by my count. A centaur herd that size is a rare sight these days. You must lead them well. Or at least-“ he waved a hand towards the arrow again, his lips shaping themselves into the same slight smile as before- “you did. That little fawn-colored mare, the one who’s hardly left your side for a moment since I had you shot, is she yours?”

He was close enough to see how the stallion’s nostrils flared, one ear flicking forward. So, even if he couldn’t understand the words, he could recognize the threat they carried. That was promising. “I thought she might be,” he said. “Pretty little thing. It wouldn’t take much to make something out of her. Then again, she looked too delicate to be fit for much more than a lady’s mount. You’re not like that.”

He swept his gaze over the broad shoulders, the tensed muscles beneath the sweat-lathered coat. Poor country knight he might be, but he could still appreciate a valuable thing. “You,” he breathed, “will be a challenge.”

He took another deliberate step forward, and the toe of his boot must have crossed the invisible line that separated “close” from “too close,” because the stallion reacted, raising his human half up from the ground and lashing out, wildly, desperately, with his forelegs. The attempt was feeble, and Aubrey simply sidestepped out of the creature’s range, waiting until the fruitless attack exhausted the last dregs of his energy and he fell heavily back to the ground.

Then Aubrey moved forward, even closer, his steps no longer the slow, cautious ones of mere curiosity, but swift and sure and purposeful. He leaned down over the injured leg, closed his gloved fist around the arrow and, in one single, merciless movement, ripped it free.

The centaur screamed. A short, sharp sound, as though he’d tried and failed to swallow it down, but a scream nonetheless, and alongside it a spasm of pain that shook his entire body. With nothing to hold them back, the thin rivulets of blood that had been seeping out from around the arrow shaft swelled suddenly into a stream, and Aubrey paused for a moment to watch the dark stain slowly spreading over the ground. “It’s a good thing I didn’t bring the dogs,” he remarked, half to himself. “They’d be tearing you apart at the first scent of that.”

He certainly would have to thank his archers. He could hardly have asked for a more perfect injury. It wasn’t a life-threatening wound yet, but it made the task of handling the centaur much more simple and much less dangerous, and, as Aubrey had intended, it would quickly turn lethal if it was left to the mercy of nature.

Not as though Aubrey’s own mercies would be any more pleasant. But they, at least, would not be fatal.

He didn’t bother waiting for the tremors of pain to fade. In fact, they only served his purpose, made it harder for the creature to lash out as he went to work. From the pouch at his side he extracted a short coil of rope and sliced it into thirds with his hunting knife. He slipped the first length under the centaur’s back legs, knotting it around the ankles- the uninjured left leg first, and then the blood-wet right one, an action that sent another shudder through the tensed muscles under his hands. Above anything else, he savored those small movements, those subtle signs of pain. Such a story they told, the traces, if you knew how to read them.

He was a bit more careful repeating the process on the forelegs. The centaur, after all, was still in control of them, but his exhaustion was apparently total, because Aubrey managed without incident. The final length of rope was reserved for those all-too-human hands. On that the centaur did try to fight him, shying away at the first brush of Aubrey’s fingers against the human half of his skin, but it didn’t take much to put a stop to that. Aubrey simply seized his shoulder and shoved him back to the ground, pinning him down until the struggling stopped. It took quite a bit more manhandling to get his wrists behind his back and tie them there, but it could be done, and eventually it was, though they were both breathing hard by the end of it.

Job done at last, Aubrey sat back on his heels, brushing the dirt and crushed leaves from his tunic. He was even more grateful, now, that he’d sent the rest of the hunting party on ahead, and not just because of the dogs. He hadn’t expected to have such a difficult time subduing the stallion, and if the others had been there to see it, they would never have allowed him to live it down. It was a humiliation, one that stung his pride even if no one else had witnessed it.

But somehow, in spite of that, a smile, a true one, spread across his face, as slow and steady as the dark blood still trickling from the arrow wound. Finally he reached out and set a hand on the solid shoulder of his prize, relishing the tremor that met the touch, the tiny trace of fear.

“Well,” he whispered, “I did say you’d be a challenge, didn’t I?”

[keepers-of-lost-light]

Catching Shooting Stars

Standing at the center of an overgrown clearing Nix came to consciousness. The changeling child looked down at her hands, pale and unscarred in the moonlight. A sapphire butterfly made of frost landed on her finger. Crystalline, it glimmered as it took to the air.

The forest shook around her.

A winter wind whistled through swaying summer redwoods. Autumn leaves dappled the forest floor of springtime wildflowers. The seasons melded together around Nix as she spun in a slow circle taking in the wilds before her. 

A ginormous form shifted beyond the trees, and luminescent birds shot into the sky carving shadows in the sky. The underbrush rustled, and Nix whipped around. A set of catlike creatures with the faces of owls tumbled into the clearing. Springing to their feet, they chased circles around Nix. 

She turned with them, the mossy ground sinking under her bare feet. Her giggles cut off at the cracking of a branch. A larger owl-cat, white and black feathers sleek and shining, prowled out of the trees. Nix reached out to the creature, not an ounce of fear pumping through her veins.

The creature greeted her by bowing it’s head, and bumping their foreheads together. Nix trailed her hands through feathers and fur alike. 

The forest shook again, and the same ginormous form shifted in the distance. The owl-cat chirped at it’s kittens, and they darted away. Looking up to the shifting tree, Nix spotted the head of a serpentine megafauna with dark antlers breaking the canopy. Entirely made of vines and trees, the forest dragon exhaled  mist into the sky.

Nix marveled as stars began to blink into existence. Constellations danced in the sky. Coacervat. Vita. Misericordia. Vastador. Custos. Tempestas. Heredis. Cadere. 

One by one they began to waver, dropping from the sky like snow fallen to earth. Nix held her arms out, waiting. The stars glittered in her eyes, watching. They landed at her feet like meteors. A dark star shot towards her, the light almost too bright to register. 

Nix caught it in her arms, celestial energy given shape. She hugged it close, pressing it’s warmth to her chest. Nix closed her eyes, and like swallowing fire, exhaled.  (An excerpt from the novel, The Raven's Call, written circa. April 2021)