#this looks like it tastes like dream cooler with a hint of strawberry

[theoreinflores]

People always have something poetic to say, but I just sit and dream instead.

[lydias--stiles]

♡ IT HAD TO BE YOU, WONDERFUL YOU ♡

canon compliant juke valentine’s day fic ♡ for all you sweethearts in the fandom

Before hopeless romantic Julie Molina fell in love with Luke Patterson, she always felt glum on Valentine’s Day. She tortured herself with romcoms leading up to the holiday, went into the “couples goals” tag on Pinterest, pouted when her crushes she never talked to dated other people (read: Nick) and felt all around envious of those having a lover to spend the day with. Her mother dying, she who held the biggest heart of all, also didn’t help her mood.   

But that was before Luke blasted himself into her life. Sure, their romance was a little unorthodox, but predictability was overrated anyway.

They got together last summer, when the band played an amazing gig at a tiki bar on the beach and they were drunk on the heat, pink lemonade and each other’s adoring gazes. Dancing on the beach with him and the boys, Luke had grabbed her in his embrace and whispered lyrics at her she’s never heard before. His fingers grazed her jaw when he said it was a love letter - “For you, Jules.” She didn’t have to go far to reach his lips, both eager and giddy to finally come home.

(Weeks later, the love letter was transposed to music and performed for an audience. It was full circle moment. He loved music and her and now it was all connected. Luke had been dazed, but Julie was quick to kiss the stupor away. They could do that now. It was insane.) 

All week, Julie had been working on a secret gift. She scoured her room was scraps and pictures and notes; reminders of Luke hidden in every corner without realising it. A purple pick was found under her bed, a song in her dream box they never got to finish, a seashell he plucked from the beach, a row of pictures from a photo booth, love notes. Julie would lie if she said she didn’t find it adorable how his only reference of romance were the 80s flicks, as it gave her a heartthrob of a boyfriend that didn’t back down from cute gestures like those notes. It left her heart racing and brought a blush on her cheekbones. the sun’s jealous of that smile jules

It was only natural she made him a collage. 

They had an unspoken agreement to never involve money. Though they were in a band together, all the money they made directly went to Julie. She invested it back in their life passion, obviously, but the fact remained that Luke couldn’t take her on typical dates or buy her the typical gifts. Until American Ghost Dollars got invented, they had to be creative. 

Going to the movies were movie nights in the studio with a projector and cookies they made together. A love song instead of dinner. Dancing in her bedroom with AirPods instead of partying.     

And it was enough. It was more than enough. She loved him so much that each second spend together was perfect as is. 

The collage was small enough that he could easily tuck it away. Pictures overlapped, a dozen Mini Luke’s and Mini Julie’s staring at the camera or each other, from before and after they started dating. 

A photo Flynn took of Luke peppering her temple with kisses backstage. A polaroid of when she snuck up on him and smacked a kiss on his cheek, his teeth flashing white from the beam on his face. A Snapchat of when she showed him the filters and he kissed her instead. Multiple pictures of them snuggling on the studio couch, supposed ‘blackmail’ for Alex, but Julie cherished them. If she closed her eyes, she could feel his arms wrap around her back as she’s sprawled on top of him.

The pretty shell didn’t fit on the collage, so she decided to make a bracelet as well. A thick band made from orange, red and yellow string, the shell as its penchant. 

That morning, she pulled on her most Valentine’s day inspired outfit and rushed to the studio. Her gifts were still in her room, out of sight and kept for later, now she just wanted to see her boyfriend. 

Her smile, painted in cherry lipgloss, stretched wider when she slid the doors open and saw that no one was inside. Just last night had he kissed her a little longer after rehearsal, wiggling his brows like he knew something she didn’t. Luke was terrible at keeping secrets. She wasn’t surprised to find it empty, unless…

Luke poofed in front of her with a warrior cry and hoisted her up in one fluid motion. Julie yelled in delight, gripping onto him as he spun them around. For the occasion, he swapped his regular orange beanie for a red one. (One day, her heart was going to explode from all the silly stuff he did.) Matching her expression, his hands steadied her as she wrapped her legs around his waist.    

An index finger flicked his chin playfully. “How long did it take you to plan this?”

He gasped, faux-offended. “Julie! I’m spontaneous as shit.”

“Mh-hm,” she hummed, leaning in to kiss his lips. His frown melted away, the languid kiss flickering with the hint of passion it usually held. Slowly, he set her down, her staying locked between his arms. When she pulled back, he chased after her and pecked the side of her mouth - once, twice.    

“I’m gonna smother you with so much kisses that you’re gonna get sick of me,” he declared, as if the threat of loving her was scary. 

She pressed her forehead against his with a grin. “I look forward to it.”

Instantly keeping up his promise, he nuzzled against her cheek. “What’d you wanna do?”

“Well, we’re ending the day in the hammock.”

“Duh.”

“And,” she sneakily added, “we can be really cheesy and watch ‘Valentine’s Day’.”

He made a face, both remembering their divided opinion on the movie. “If we’re seeing it again, then I’m choosing all the snacks.”

“Deal.”

“Nice,” he breathed, raising his fist between their torsos so she could bump it with her own. Her cheeks were already aching from smiling so much, giddy to spend the entire day with her boyfriend undisturbed by the boys or family or school. 

Her fingers scratched into his plaid jacket. “You know what I’m also looking forward to?” His eyes narrowed at her lilting voice. “Giving you your present.”

His jaw fell slack. “Jules, now I’m gonna be thinking about it all day.” But then she saw the devilish glint in the green of his irises as he uttered: “Guess you’ll have to wait on your present too.”

“You-” That was unexpected. “You have a present?”

Luke bit down on his lip, watching her surprise. “I was waiting for that reaction. Sweet. Okay, I’m saying we dip everything in chocolate. Fruit, popcorn-”

“I’m willing to try one of those crazy combinations you love so much,” she proposed. The excited smooch she got afterwards was worth it.

The couple claimed the kitchen for an hour as they made their snacks, most of which being the typical chocolate covered strawberries both liked a lot, and then nestled themselves in her room. Curled into his warm body, they shared earphones as they watched ‘Valentine’s Day’. Though she asked to watch it, all her attention went to his hands continuously caressing her waist and thigh. It lulled her into a blissful trance. Sometimes he would make a joke (“We’re way cooler than Taylor and Taylor!”) and she’d chuckle and hum and rub his chest. By the time Jessica Biel was smashing the piñata, she was placing soft kisses on his neck and he had to pause the movie. 

Hovering over her with a wolfish grin, he pecked her nose. “I thought you wanted to watch.”

“And I thought you were going to smother me with kisses,” she bounced back with a quirked brow. For a beat, they shared an amused look. 

Then Luke laughed, diving for her lips and doing just that. That rushing feeling coursed through her veins, a pure shot of adoration and attraction with each warm, open-mouthed kiss. He tasted like chocolate, skin sticky from fruit, and smelled in that perfectly boyish way. Julie sighed into the kiss. No cheesy movie or love song could compete with the sensation of slipping her fingers in his hair and having his arms tighten like he never wanted her to stop. Her bedroom was heaven on earth.   

(Perhaps that was silly. She was only seventeen after all. How much did she actually know about the world to accurately make that statement? But did it even matter if right now, right here, she felt like the luckiest girl in the universe? The cynics could bite her.) 

She didn’t know how long they let their lips and hands wander. It was hard to care about time when his mouth was on her ear and her nails drew shapes on his back. 

“I bet,” he whispered, “Taylor and Taylor never felt like this.”

She giggled. “You’re just jealous of the big teddy bear.”

His smile pressed on her cheek. “Maybe.”

When Luke and her first got together, they were scared to touch. Sure, they had their moment on the beach and previously, they found plenty of opportunities to be in contact. But after they made if official and there was nothing to hide behind anymore, it got scary. They yearned for affection, but what if Luke disappeared one day without meaning to and then they’d both ache for each other’s comfort? They got over it eventually and now it was only natural to feel his smile on her skin.

It was hard to imagine kissing anyone but Luke, unfathomable having a different boy hug her from behind at school and whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Only Luke could write her love notes. Only she was allowed to write him ones as well, or leave cute post-it’s on his guitar to cheer him up when he had a bad day. It was just them.

Her mind going haywire over such a simple touch jolted her memory, Julie abruptly sitting up and bringing Luke with her. His brows raised in surprise. She pecked the pout away, brushing her nose against his. 

“Can I give you your present?”

A breathy smile tugged on his cheeks. “Yeah, I’m curious.”

Julie untangled herself from their embrace and reached inside her wardrobe for the gift. Sitting cross-legged in front of him, she gave him his present with barely-concealed anticipation. Hopefully he loved it as much as she loved making it! 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she sang, watching him pull the tissue paper out the small bag and unearthing the collage and bracelet. 

Speechless, he gawked at the collection of pictures. Eyes flitted past each quickly, like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Crawling over to sit beside him, she placed her head on his shoulder. “You like it?”

He sniffled. Julie looked up and was shocked to note his eyes were shiny. “Aw, babe!”

His gaze caught hers, distraught. “You’re not supposed to make me horny and then emotional!”

She laughed and pressed a kiss on his cheek. His cute reaction made her heart lurch with fondness. “It wasn’t supposed to make you cry.”

Luke sighed, hand guiding her face to place a proper kiss on her lips. It was short, but just as electric as all the ones before. He kissed like he played guitar - always intentional and one hundred percent. 

“I love it,” he muttered. “Thank you. And I love the bracelet too.”

“I made sure it matches your others.”

He captured her lips again. “Yeah… Thanks, Jules.” His nose scrunched, arrogance dripping from his voice as he tucked a curl behind her ear. “My present is better though.”

Her arms crossed, challenged. “Oh really?”

“Hell yeah, it is. Gonna knock it out of the park.” With a snap of his finger, he conjured his songbook and stuck the collage between two fresh pages. He clicked his tongue with the typical bravado he exuded onstage. “Who knows, Jules, you might even get a crush on me.”

Just as she was about to retort with a tease of her own, her eyes caught a fluttering page with words she didn’t recognise. Pointing at it, she asked: “What’s that?”

Luke frowned, thumbing to the right side and rolling his eyes. “Some lyrics that got stuck in my head a few nights ago. It doesn’t work though.”

“Maybe not. I kind of like that part.” She tapped on the line ‘so deep, your DNA's being messed with my touch’ with a pensive wrinkle knitted in her forehead. Ideas began to brew, throwaway pieces from other discarded songs coming back to her and meshing well with what he’s already composed. “Yeah, this is good, Luke. Do you want to work on it?”

He hesitated for a beat, stare trailing from her to the half-eaten plate of snacks. “Do you want to?”

“Of course,” she smiled. They were Luke and Julie - did either of them really think they could go a day without music? Even if she hadn’t discovered this diamond in the rough, he’d inevitably spring upright to write down a riff or her fingers would tingle to try out a melody. Songwriting was perhaps the best date of all, showing that work and play could successfully be mixed together. 

He sighed in relief. “Good. Okay, so I was thinking…”

Hours went by tinkering on the song, the afternoon drifting by and them having moved to the hammock in the garden. It was a spot Luke rediscovered and she all too willingly found a place next to him. They cherished the quietude and warmth even before they were dating. The page was now littered with flowing, strung-together verses and a half-done chorus. Instrumentals were for tomorrow when they were all together. In the back of her head lingered the thought that he still hasn’t given his supposed homerun of a present, but Julie reminded herself then that it didn’t even matter. This was enough. He was enough. Who knew, maybe he was just talking smack! The doubts vanished as Luke drummed his fingers on her stomach, humming a beat.      

“And you thought it wouldn’t work!”, she teased. 

He puffed. “Cause it didn’t! It needed the Molina Touch!”

A brow quirked, amused. “The Molina Touch?”

“Yes,” he grinned and tapped her chest. “The Touch.”

“I don’t have the Force, Luke.” When his face fell flat, she decided to play along and mimicked his motion. Her fingers circled his sternum as she said: “Well, I look forward to the Patterson Energy bringing it alive onstage.”

The boy rolled on his side, she following suit. The hammock bended to the movement, pushing them closer together. The couple snickered, noses nudging and locked in the other’s arms. Above, the sky was coloured like Monet, purples and blues and pinks as the sun dropped below the trees. Julie stared at the way he craned his neck, green eyes blown wide while marvelling at the sweeping atmosphere. He was the most beautiful person she’s ever encountered. She was probably a little obsessed with him, never bored of looking at him, of finding new freckles, moles and spots. 

Her reverie snapped like a bubble as he said something. 

“What?”

He repeated himself. “Wanna get waffles?”

She blinked. “Waffles?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “V-Day waffles. I bet they have red velvet ones.” His face twisted, like he was in on an inside joke, and murmured against her lips: “Whipped cream, Jules. Can’t resist that.”

Damn. He knew her too well. “Reggie’s going to be mad we went without him.”

“Then he should get himself a ghost lover,” he joked. Slapping her hip, the exclaim was resolute. “Let’s go!”

The drive was short, an surprising amount of waffle places scattered around Los Feliz. The cityscape was painted red for the day. Heart-shaped wreaths adorned the doors of stores, bars promoted special cocktails with pink hues, boutiques displaying date night dresses on mannequins in the windows. At the end of a large strip of food joints, a waffle house joining in with a red banner hung across the frontage. RED VELVET WAFFLES! ONLY TODAY!

Julie shot him a suspicious look. “You knew?”

He shrugged, smirking. “A good guess.”

They were lucky. The parking lot was pretty much abandoned, no onlookers to see her joking around with air. He stayed in the car as she got the treats.

As she queued, her aimless thoughts found Luke as a focal point. It was hard not to. Maybe the best thing of all for a hopeless romantic like her, was that she found someone who was an even bigger dreamer than she was. If she jumped for the stars, he rocketed himself into space and hoped for the best. It made days like Valentine’s special, but it also felt like another regular Saturday. He didn’t kiss her differently, looked at her more intently - it was always like this. The red velvet waffles was just… extra. A cherry on an already perfect milkshake. Luke and Julie never needed fireworks to make the other feel remarkable. 

Dropping back in the driver’s seta with a sigh, she propped the waffles on the dashboard. “I’m not sure if it’s going to taste right, they look kind of mushy, but I’m sure the whipped cream-” The words died in her throat as she looked at Luke, a timid smile on his lips as his present laid flat in his hands. A mixtape. 

Her eyes tracked the CD for a beat (jules <3 written in sharpie with his infamous scrawl) and then flicked up to his face. That was most spectacular of all: the nervous twitch in his eye, the breathy smile. Luke was flustered.       

Gingerly, she took it from his grasp. “How did you make this?”, she whispered. 

The palpable energy didn’t waver. “Carlos. He lend me his computer and explained how to burn CD’s.” His chuckle was awkward. “Had to get you in the car somehow.”

A smile bloomed on her lips. Her heart was truly going to explode; the gesture so thoughtful and sweet. (Shit. He did knock it out of the park. How will his ego cope?!) Reaching over the middle console, she chastely kissed him. “I already love it.”

He shook his head with a grin, shoulders loosening a bit. “You haven’t listened to it yet. C’mon, play it.” He shot her a cocky nod. “You know how to use a CD-player?”

“Very funny,” she quipped. Cautiously, she took the CD out of its case and slipped it into the player. It whirred for a beat, her upping the volume, and just as she thought she’d hear some 90s rock band, something unexpected happened. 

hey jules

She froze, staring at Luke’s feverishly excited face, as his crackling voice came through the speakers.  

i finally learned about technology! you happy? anyway, you know i love you. i love everything about you, i think… i think that’s kinda why i’m here to begin with.

Tears lodged itself in her chest, ready to spill. Love was going to make her go mad one day. She loved this boy so much that it was insurmountable by anything else.

that’s not- it’s not what this cd is about. His tone brightened. what i love most about you, julie molina, is how fucking in love you are with music. so what better thing to give you, is more music? these are ten songs that remind me of you… happy valentine’s day, baby. 

It clicked off. Quietly, slowly, a melodious piano variation flowed in. Her breath hitched as she recognised it. Frank Sinatra’s ‘It Had To Be You’ reminded Luke of her? Her hands were shaking. His calloused ones grabbed them, pads of his fingers caressing the skin. A pout jutted from her lips, her eyes shimmering with emotion. It wasn’t fair. Boys weren’t supposed to be this romantic. 

His smile could light up the entire state, touch trailing across her arm up to her cheek, grazing the lone tear that she wasn’t even aware of. “Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “I can be the only sap.”

Shaking her head, she pushed herself over the console and placed herself on his lap. The divide of a stick shift was a plain crime. Circling her arms around his neck, Julie kissed him in the way she thought the song felt. Warm and languid and timeless and wholly, utterly loving. Depthless and infinite. The thrill of his bass voice melted them together, no space between them with his hands wrapped around her lower back. 

For nobody else gave me a thrill With all your faults, I love you still It had to be you, wonderful you It had to be you

“I love you,” she sighed into his mouth. “It’s not enough. It’s not…”

He kissed the lament away. “I know. That’s why music works.” Sinatra sang a line and then he grinned. “Gotta express ourselves somehow.”

Though that was true, though they had music to shape their thoughts into the most beautiful declarations of love, all she wished to have was a word. A simple word that perfectly encapsulated what she felt. Love felt too small. Too simple. But until she found it, she’d keep saying it.

And so she did. “I love you, Luke.” 

His eyes shut in delight. “I love you too, Julie.”

They wouldn’t leave for a long time. Locked in each other’s loving embrace, they listened to every song on the mixtape. And when it ended, they looped it.

Time and space wasn’t really important to them anyway.     

For nobody else gave me a thrill With all your faults, I love you still It had to be you, wonderful you It had to be you

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

@blush-and-books​ @bluefirewrites​ @ourstarscollided​​ @alexjulies​ @unsaid-emily​ @willexx​

[jflashandclash]

The Attrition of Peace

Forty-Three: The Pax Brothers

We Crash the Wrong Person’s Vacation

 Note: I do something a little different with the point of view in this chapter. I hope it isn’t too distracting! Let me know if it is!

             In the ensuing chaos—of Alabaster snarling a quick, “Dawn will make your ghosts worthless,”

           And the boar with a bowtie withdrawing a pocketwatch from a pocket that involved cartoon logic to say, “Oh, my good boy, we have plenty of time,”

           And Reyna’s and Melinoe’s troops engaging—Pax frantically searched for his friends who were less trained in the art of not dying during war.[1]

           He didn’t catch sight of Kally or the others as Reyna and Alabaster shoved him and Axel backwards across Camp Half-Blood’s boundary lines. But, he did see another figure.

           Off to the side of the Roman wedge formation and the line of ghosts, there was a girl with a leather jacket, multi-colored hair, and a crowbar and sledge hammer in either hand. Atë didn’t have her usual bounce to her, nor her serial-killer-doll stare. Her shoulders slumped. She looked sad while waving her crowbar at Pax in some form of parting. Either that or a threat. With his family, you could never be sure.

           Despite being out of breath, Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped them. He turned from Atë, the ghost army, and the Roman defenses and ran alongside Axel towards the creepy pit of nothingness and frowny faces that had destroyed half of Hera’s cabin.

           He and Axel donned their helms for ease while running, the Silver Tongued Snake’s head narrowing his peripheral with more darkness. He stayed close to Axel, knowing his brother had better spooky time vision.

           As they stumbled back through what was left of the strawberry fields, towards the central hearth of camp, Pax wondered if this was the best choice. He hadn’t thought the ultimatum would be—A: let Euna vacation in Tartarus or B: abandon his friends to a ghost army and the Roman army, both of which probably wanted to kill them.

           Pax snapped back to the present when Axel hissed, “You didn’t tell me campers were up.”

           Ahead of them, Pax could see one of the many lumps had risen from the ground, hopefully a camper.

           Without breaking stride, Axel sprang over the camper, using the camper’s shoulder for balance. Meanwhile, Pax skid between the campers legs and rolled back into a run. In their split second of passing the camper, Pax recognized the trembling child of Hermes as Chris Rodriguez. And he was pretty sure the Leonis Caput and Silver Tongued Snake had just made Chris pee his PJ pants. Memo to self: mock Chris forever.

           “In the words of Alabaster,” Pax responded as they saw the gaping hole in front of Cabin Two. Several sleepy campers gathered around it, gawking down and saying they needed to find Chiron. “’Jack’s voice wasn’t exactly soothing.’”

           In retrospect, Pax wished he’d have said something cooler when they bolted past the gawking teenagers. Like, “Zeus’s farts smell like Aphrodite’s perfume,” since neither god would know which one he’d insulted, or “Weasels forever!” to commemorate the Triple W team that he, Axel, and Alabaster had left in the Paxmobile.  

           He didn’t have time to add on before Axel stepped into the narrow corridor with Pax following after. With each step down, the walls narrowed. By the time Pax counted step fifteen, he could feel cool stone press against the arms of his weasel sweater. The light from the campfire above them had dwindled to a mocking hint of glow off Axel’s golden helm.

           With that and the dim light of Pax’s celestial bronze daggers, all he could see was the looming Nemean Lion pelt descending ahead and the red plumes of the helm undulating in the tunnel’s slight breeze. Pax remembered stories of the Leonis Caput “stalking the labyrinth,” as the monsters liked to call it—the monsters that placed bets on how Pax’s brother would kill Roman captives.

           After Pax saw Axel win his first coliseum fight to secure their entry into Camp Othrys, Axel forbid Pax from attending the whole “stalking the labyrinth” shindig. Something about how Pax wasn’t old enough to watch R rated films? Pax had never thought about it much, since it was prime prank time, but now, he wondered if this was how the Roman victims saw his brother.

           The updraft blasted Pax’s face with the smell of… seawater? Why seawater? It would be awesome if Euna took a detour to some beachfront real-estate, but that didn’t seem to fit the whole bent on godly destruction thing.

           Axel stopped moving.

           Pax could taste salt when he swallowed. He got the uncomfortable urge to scramble back up the stairs, until the plumes on the Leonis Caput helm faded into the darkness.

           “I can’t see where we’re going,” Axel said. Pax could hear his brother puff his cheeks.

           Pax swallowed again, trying to rid himself of the ocean taste. Something felt wrong about the smell of openness in this black confinement. “Aren’t you supposed to have like, bat sense or whatever?” he squeaked.

           “I’m not sure this is part of the labyrinth,” Axel said, “If it is, either something is blocking my view, or it hasn’t linked fully into the network yet. I’m not sure how this works if Jack bent the labyrinth to his will. The labyrinth is a living thing. It doesn’t like to be controlled.”

           Axel’s voice trembled and Pax slowly put the pieces together. Cages. Confinement. Control. Santiago.

           Pax wanted to tease Axel for getting claustrophobic, but that would be like punching a honey badger in the nose: both upsetting because honey badgers are cute and because they are incredibly dangerous.

           “There’s a door here,” Axel finally said, “Be on your guard.”

           “Oh, I wanted to relax with Reese’s Sticks and Kool-Aid the whole trip to Tartarus,” Pax whispered.

           The door didn’t open the way he was expecting. Instead of hearing the click of a knob or the ominous swing of a dungeon gate like Pax had heard in video games, the barrier gave way noiselessly.

           The brightness blinded the Pax brothers when they stepped out of the darkness. Instead of some dank cavern, they exited into overcast sunlight. The brothers paused to allow their eyes to adjust to the brilliance, their bodies to the warm breeze, and their noses to the intensity of salt and smoke.

           When they’d adjusted, neither moved. Both were too stunned.

           They were on a huge ship.

           A grey ocean bled into a colorless sky every direction they looked. Parts of the deck were smoldering, the smoke curling to disappear into the bleached landscape. Various charred boards looked like they were patched together with broken dreams and wishful thinking.  

           There was a hollow carnival atmosphere to the ship, like an abandoned theme park. A pool was in the center, filled with crystal clear water and formerly white patio chairs with blue towels scattered around. A bar extended from the deck into the pool for easy access.

           Before the Pax brothers recognized any of the people drearily shambling past the broken spots in the floor, they saw the posters on the bar shack’s outer wall: one was for an Orpheus Metal concert. The depiction of Jack’s maniac grin above his emaciated body felt uncomfortable. Axel and Pax looked so much younger with their drums and guitar. That was back when Axel had long hair in a ponytail and Pax had pink highlights.[2]

           A few feet away, another poster depicted Percy Jackson with a drawn on mustache. Several knives and tail spikes protruded the wall, illustrating someone’s target practice.

           Axel didn’t need to see the mast’s statue of a princess in chains to state, “This is the Princess Andromeda cruise ship.”

           They both puffed up their cheeks and popped them.

           Axel and Pax removed their helmets and attached them to their belts so it was easier to look around.

           Pax felt himself tremble. He glanced at the door they’d come through, only to find a Johnny Rocket’s entrance. The circular window in the center of the door showed the remains of a food fight in the restaurant. But there were no grinning Camp Othrys members. Just a few people scrubbing the floor with their heads down. Something about them looked familiar.

           “But… but why is it here? And… and how? Did the whole ship decide to take a joy ride out of Tartarus? Are we in Tartarus already?” Pax whispered.

           Axel shook his head. He clenched his jaw, trying to pretend the sight of their dilapidated ship didn’t bother him. “What did Jack say when he sang?”

           “What? The song about geography?”

           “No,” Axel shook his head, “It’s about being there for a lover and conquering geography to get to them, right?”

           “I don’t listen to old people music and I was a little preoccupied with the earth splitting to listen to lyrics. But, if it was something about that, then why are we on a ship looking for Jack’s lov—”

           Then Pax saw her.

           He felt like he’d eaten a full backpack’s supply of walnuts. The world tunneled until everything was fuzzy but her black, jagged hair and her mutilated, scarred face. Pax didn’t know he’d stopped breathing until he gasped out, “Flynn.”

           She was mopping the deck, staring at the boards with that icy, absent glare she often got when Jack wasn’t around. Like when he’d last seen her at the Massacre of Mount Othrys, her legs and lower waist looked crippled and crushed from where Jason Grace had blasted a pillar onto her and Krios, and from when Pax couldn’t protect her like he’d promised Jack he would.

           The random shades doing chores on the boat weren’t strangers. They were their friends that died during the war.

           Pax could feel his cold sweat when Flynn looked up at the sound of her name. Her eyes softened for an indiscernible moment, then they narrowed. Get the fuck out of here, she mouthed.

           Yep. That was Flynn.

           But Pax couldn’t move. He felt too nauseous. He wanted to curl up and sob on Axel’s arm, but he also wanted to never touch another human again.

           Axel would have normally noticed his brother’s increase into hyperventilation, but movement from one of the only non-ghosts aboard distracted him.

           A beautiful woman stretched out on one of the white beach chairs. There was another non-ghost beside her, lounging on a chair facing away from them. All Axel could see was the man’s muddy sandals.

           She folded up her tanning reflector, set it on the stool beside her, picked up a bottle of suntan lotion and a fruity drink, and stood.

           For an instant, Axel thought it was Reyna. The woman’s hair billowed in loose, black waves down her back. A complicated, revealing purple swimsuit clung tightly to her caramel skin, one with way too many unnecessary straps. Something Reyna would never wear.

           “Fei Lin, my wonderful daughter, you missed a few spots on the deck. And you forgot it’s rude not to properly welcome guests,” the woman said with a warmth of a pillow used to smoother puppies.

           She’d walked up to Axel before he smelled the aroma of roses intermixed with the smoke and seawater.

           Faster than he could block, Aphrodite slapped him across the face with the bottle of suntan lotion. “You,” she said with the same tight sweetness, “scorned me for a demigod. And not just any demigod, one that gets all sweaty and gross from fighting too much, and reads really boring books!”

           Axel thought about breaking Aphrodite’s neck. The more childish side of him wanted to uncork that suntan lotion bottle and pour it on her hair, since he knew it would make her squeal and amuse Pax.

           But Pax was trembling so violently, Axel feared the shakes might dislodge a floorboard and drop them into the mess hall. Pax probably wouldn’t notice Aphrodite’s cringe.

           They didn’t have time for the Goddess of Love. He hadn’t registered that she’d stopped her night visits when they got to New Rome. Too much had happened.

           And this wasn’t the place for a confrontation. He needed to get Pax away fast.

           Axel focused on Aphrodite’s ear, to prevent himself from identifying any of the ghosts around them, and to decrease the effectiveness of her love magic. Despite his attempts, he was furious to find himself thinking about nipping her lobe.

           “Why did you bring us here?” he demanded, trying to find something wrong on Aphrodite to ward off any attraction.

           “Eris brat, take this,” Aphrodite instructed, handing the bottle to his little brother.

           Pax squeaked as the charmspeak took over. He reflexively extended a trembling, sweaty hand. Tears streaked down his cheeks when he glanced from the goddess to Flynn, who had gone back to swabbing the deck.

           Aphrodite began to rub herself down with the lotion, moving her straps in a way that made Axel avert his gaze. Each motion was so deliberate and tender. He tried to picture Reyna’s face when they were cleaning up the war tent, the way her cloak had loosened on one side to look goofy and lopsided, the strands that had come out of her braid—

           “Stop that,” Aphrodite snarled, the sweetness temporarily dissipating. When Axel glanced back at her, she went back to smiling and applying lotion.

           “I didn’t bring you here. I was just having a pleasant, quiet vacation with one of my lovers and your friends interrupted it. The Plague Bringer and the clueless daughter of Demeter, right?” She sighed and went to flip her hair, though the locks had shortened to a dark, pixie cut and her eyes shifted from dark to brilliant blue. “It seems like Jack was looking for his love as a way to lead him and his friend to Tartarus. Oh, Jack and Flynn’s love story!” She grabbed the suntan lotion from a flinching Pax and hugged the bottle to her chest. “Such a delightfully tragic one. Just a pity the heroine forsook her beauty and cut up her face.”

           Flynn had stopped mopping. She glared at her mother in a way that told Axel—if Flynn’s charmspeak worked on Aphrodite, Flynn would force her mother do worse than cut up her face.

           “Flynn’s still beautiful,” Pax whispered.

           Aphrodite dabbed the lotion along the ridge of her brow and gave the bottle back to Pax. He jumped. “That’s cute and sweet of you to say that, Ajax. Peitho[3] and I were wondering if saying that makes you feel better about what happened.”

           “Which way did they go?” Axel interrupted. Out of all their fallen comrades, Pax had the hardest time with Flynn. Pax could make jokes about everyone else, and reminisce on stories, or cry about how much he missed Alabaster, but never anything about Flynn. Axel didn’t need Aphrodite teasing his little brother when the dead girl was in front of them.

           A glance down at Pax confirmed Axel’s suspicion. Pax was biting his lip to keep himself as together as the softhearted kid could.      

           “Hm?” Aphrodite asked, “Did you say you wanted my help?” In a gesture that looked absentminded, she took the suntan lotion from Pax and motioned it towards Axel. Meanwhile, she licked the rim of her fruity drink.

           Axel had nothing to bargain. He could try to kill her again, but that had left him on his knees, pining over her for weeks. He knew what she wanted, but he could never humiliate himself like that. As much as the smell of her perfume made him want to droop his eyes, they were surrounded by the destruction caused by negligent, vengeful, and sadistic parenting by her and gods like her.

           A thunk came from the chairs by the pool. Aphrodite’s boyfriend stood up, stretched, and slung an AK-47 across his back. He wasn’t wearing a shirt over his muscles, but did have a scarf tied around his head to hide his face, like a Somalian pirate. His sunglasses blazed with a backlit fire. Just the sight of him made Axel furious.

           Aphrodite sighed and tossed her suntan lotion onto the ground.

           “Oh, you’re not going to be able to follow your friends off this ship. If you want to tail them, you’ll have to go a different route, assuming I let you,” Ares said, smirking.

           Axel scowled. Any worry he had about Aphrodite’s wiles evaporated in the presence of the war god. He reflexively went to grab his sword hilt, only to remember that all his weapons other than his obsidian blades were in pieces in the Paxmobile. He didn’t even have his frying pan.

           “What in Xibalba are you doing in Tartarus?” Axel snarled.

           “What in Tartarus are you doing in Tartarus,” Pax corrected quietly.

           The war god gave a billowing laugh. “We’re not in Tartarus! What? Did you forget I control the souls and vessels of all the fallen losers in battle? Hades and I had a field day—”

           “—Fields of punishment day—” Pax said.

           “—drawing lots on who got your crew.” Ares reached over and ruffled Flynn’s hair. Axel could feel her hatred. He remembered how she’d publically humiliate people if they dared to initiate contact with her at Camp Othrys. Well, everyone other than Jack or Pax.

           Although Axel hadn’t always agreed with Flynn’s brutal methods, he found himself wondering how he could free her and the rest of his crew from servitude to this godly child. But where else would their souls go? Could they have a worse fate?

           Ares released Flynn. He cracked his neck. “I couldn’t justify getting Jack though. He had to get his own specialized eternal torment. Though, it looks like he’s got the Orpheus curse now.”    

           As much as Axel wanted to obliterate his least favorite couple off this ship, Euna and Jack were getting further away every second, and Pax looked closer and closer to a mental breakdown.

           Axel set a hand on his brother’s arm.

           Pax flinched.

           Axel withdrew and frowned. “Ajax, let’s get out of here. I’m sure we can find another labyrinth entrance somewhere on the ship. I think we had one in the boiler room.”

           If there was one thing Axel knew gods hated, it was being ignored. He went to gently corral Pax towards the Johnny Rocket’s entrance.

           “Oh, you think I’m going to let you go after you helped Hephaestus gather the parts for his giant rat trap?” Ares asked.

           Rat trap? Axel paused. He remembered Hephaestus hiring him for a retrieval quest in exchange for the location of Leo Valdez.

           “Ugh, Stygian ice is SO bad for your skin!” Aphrodite complained. When Axel glanced back, he could see both she and Ares rub their arms at the distasteful memory.

           Despite everything, Axel crackled a smile. He hoped Hephaestus enjoyed hatching whatever trap he’d concocted.

           Pax released a nervous laugh. Since Axel had directed him away from Flynn, color started to return to his face.

           Ares seemed too relaxed with their reactions. The war god lowered his hands, resting one on the pistol grip of his rifle. “I gotta hand it to you, kid. Normally, I like punks like you with all of your spirit and anger—”

           “—oh, it’s monologuing time—” Pax said.

           “—but, at least pricks like Percy are useful. You… I haven’t hated anyone as much as you since Ghandi.”

           “Give me a medal of honor,” Axel grunted.

           “After upsetting this fine lady—” Ares gestured beside him to where Aphrodite was examining her perfect nails like she wasn’t part of the conversation. “—I’ve been thinking a lot—”

           “That must have been very difficult for you,” Pax said sympathetically. Axel probably should have stopped Pax’s side commentary, but he was a bit too proud of his little brother to do so.

           The war god seemed unfazed as he finished, “—thinking about what to do with you.”

           “I’ve beaten you before, Ares,” Axel reminded him, struggling to ward off a smirk.

           Though… Axel wasn’t sure he could defeat Ares now. He had no weapons but his claws and teeth. He was exhausted from fighting Percy and Reyna. And he needed to keep Pax safe and hunt down Euna and Jack. Plus, there was the ghost army at Camp Half-Blood with Reyna…

           Axel thought about continuing to ignore Ares to find the closest labyrinth entrance. Then every ghost on this ship—all their dead friends—would be sent after him and Pax to drag them back to the deck.

           He was not in the strategic position to smirk. Axel sighed.

           “No… no…” Ares chuckled and unslung his rifle. As though to emphasis how unnecessary the weapon would be, he leaned it against the closest patio chair. “You’re not going to fight me. See, I’ve been Googling the best godly punishments. Normally, I just kill people.” Ares shrugged. “But I found out Hera had a way more brutal suggestion.”

           Axel wanted to make some snarky comment about a 4,000 year old man going to his mother for advice, but the words died on his lips.

           “Some little myth about a guy named Hercules? Something about his first family…?” Ares said.

           Aphrodite giggled.

           Axel couldn’t puff up his cheeks and pop them. His insides felt frozen.

           Ares couldn’t do that, could he? That wasn’t normally in Hera’s department of power either but, she was the queen of the gods—

           But Axel could already feel his claws lengthening without his consent.

           From the energized grin on Ares’ face, the god knew what Axel was thinking. He slung an arm over Aphrodite’s shoulder and pulled her close as they watched Axel struggle with himself. “I know you love to hunt and battle, kid. Now you’ll hunt and battle the things that you love. I think that’s well within Aphrodite’s and my domain.”

           Throughout their trip down Jack’s corridor and onto the ghost ship, and—really—throughout most of his interactions with the Greek gods, Axel hadn’t been scared. Annoyed and enraged? Definitely. Now, for what Axel thought was the first time ever, he found himself trembling in fear before a god.

           When Pax saw Axel’s shaking hands reach up and clutch his head, Pax asked, “Um, Lord of Primordial Awesome?”

           “Ajax…” Axel whispered, “Run.”

 We’re almost at the end! Only one chapter and an epilogue to go!!!! :D Thanks for reading! *ehem* please don’t kill the author.... >>’‘

Footnote:

[1] As Mel pointed out: books Pax should write.

[2] This is actually a continuity error from Ch 21, Blood of a Mayan. Making a note here for me to fix it (since I care deeply about my character’s hair… apparently?) XD

[3] Goddess/personified spirit of persuasion, seduction, and charming speech.

[wineanddinosaur]

Six Blue Cheeses That Will Even Convert the Haters

Ask a room full of people, “Who likes cheese?” and you’ll get a host of fervently affirmative responses. Strangers will gush about the burrata they had last weekend, or the brie-style cheese they tried at a friend’s house.

Ask the same group of people who likes blue cheese, and responses are suddenly polarized. Some will grimace. Some will light up. While there’s still enthusiasm, it’s more scattered. The same number of folks who love it just as enthusiastically hate it.

Much like trying beer, wine, and most other grownup experiences, the first time we try blue cheese, it’s not much fun. We expect it to be friendly like the mild cheddars we grow up with. Instead, it’s peppery and aggressive. It’s like expecting to hear Mozart and Iron Maiden starts blasting instead.

Unfortunately, unlike beer, wine, and other grownup experiences, there’s not an established blue cheese culture in the U.S., so many of us don’t go in for seconds. There are also some pretty unbalanced, metallic blues out there (hint: those are the ones you should throw into salad dressings and sauces for wings). If that was your first blue cheese experience, it’s no wonder you assume the whole category must be awful.

Good news, though! This sophisticated cheese category has some entry-level options that overdeliver on flavor with not even a hint of that lightning-struck penny flavor the bad stuff has. One taste and even the most ardent of haters will happily go back for more.

If you’re looking for an easygoing blue, Gorgonzola is a great option because the blue mold used to make it, penicillium glacum, is relatively approachable. It tastes a bit like mushrooms growing in a cave. Its cousin, penicillium roqueforti (yes, like Roquefort), is the spicier type mold in many other, bolder blues.

Remember too that, like all cheese, blue cheese is a living thing. Even the mildest blue cheese can stink up a room if it’s overripe.

When you’re shopping, make sure to go somewhere with a staffed cheese counter so you can taste the cheeses you’re interested in and make sure they’re at their peak. Trained cheesemongers can also guide you to pairings that might balance your blues’ intensity, such as honey, caramel, or other sweets.

Ready to try a friendlier blue? Behold, six blue cheeses that will convert the haters.

Chiriboga Blue

Chiriboga blue is the cultured butter of blue cheeses — smooth, grassy, creamy, and a crowd favorite. Made in Bavaria by Arturo Chiriboga, this beautiful option is a cheesemonger standby for blue cheese skeptics. Smear on whole wheat bread and top with raspberry jam.

Caveman Blue

Toasty, hazelnutty Caveman Blue is the dream blue for pairing with chocolate and fruit preserves. Rogue Creamery in Oregon makes this (and a few other stunners), and oh, boy do they knock it out of the park. Smear onto a gingersnap or candied bacon.

Bay Blue

While Point Reyes probably didn’t set out to make a blue cheese with notes of salted caramel and cookie dough, that’s exactly what it did. Although this cheese is savory, and delicious with non-sweet things such as mushrooms, it also pairs beautifully with caramel.

Cambozola Black

Do you like brie-style cheeses? Great! You’ll probably like Cambozola. Camembert + Gorgonzola = Cambozola, and it’s exactly what it sounds like. All Cambozolas are mild and mushroomy, but Cambozola Black Label is ripened for a longer time in cooler temperatures, bringing out depth and complexity. It’s lovely with honey.

Bla Kornblomst

A bite of this decadent Danish beauty, whose name means “blue cornflower,” conjures up memories of sweet summer corn slathered in butter, with a bit of a caramel finish. It’s rich and creamy, but somehow still mousse-y too. In other words, it’s just gorgeous. Pair it with strawberry jam.

Blu di Bufala

Any cheese made with water buffalo milk will be more voluptuous than average, but Blu di Bufala is really something special. Made by Bruno Gritti in Bergamo, Italy, this square-shaped beauty is creamy and fruity, with notes of white pepper. Drizzle with a bit of maple syrup before serving.

The article Six Blue Cheeses That Will Even Convert the Haters appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/six-best-blue-cheese/

[whichstiel]

Joy burning bright

Also on AO3

The sea plane is banana yellow, a colorful smudge against the horizon. Dean shades his eyes and squints at it, tracking its flight against the cerulean sky. His stomach does a complicated set of sympathetic loop-de-loops as he watches its progress. He presses the phone to his ear and takes a deep, calming breath. It'll be fine.

“So you told him there was a case?” Sam sounds amused and Dean imagines him leaning back in a library chair and grinning at the phone – which he's undoubtably holding a few inches from his chin. God forbid a phone should touch his ridiculously long hair.

“Yep.” The sand is hot so Dean burrows his toes under the surface to the cooler layer beneath. “Told him there was a ghost haunting that plane. And I can't check it out because...”

“Flying bad.” Sam chuckles. “Was he excited?”

“Trying not to show it.” Dean grins and wiggles his toes out of the sand, then tunnels them back in again. “Smiled like an idiot when he got on the stupid thing.”

“So what'll you tell him when he lands and there's no ghost?”

Dean shrugs. “Turns out it was just an urban legend. Worth checking out anyway. Blah blah blah. Gotta be thorough.”

Sam snorts. “Right. You really think he'll fall for that.”

“Please. I'm the best liar.”

“Uh huh.”

“My talent for lying is unparalleled.” Dean picks up the daiquiri he's nestled into the sand and takes a long, cool sip. The drink is fruity and overly sweet and freezes his throat when he swallows it down. It's fucking perfect. It took a whole hell of a lot of credit card fraud and a tiny bit of blackmail, but he's managed to put together a damn fine trip, if he does say so himself. He shades his eyes again. Does that speck of yellow look bigger? “Listen, Sam. Looks like they're heading back. I'm gonna go meet the plane.”

“Tell Cas I said 'hi'.”

“Will do. See ya next week, man.” Dean ends the call and drops his sunglasses back onto his nose before scooping up his drink and heading back towards the bay. After Cas lands maybe they'll do dinner. Or maybe they'll just go for a walk up to the sea cliff again. His feet slide and shift in the sand and a light breeze paints salty spray onto his legs. He finishes the drink as he nears the resort, drops it on one of the cabana stands, and picks up the pace. The plane flies lower as it approaches the bay, nose slightly up as it prepares to land. His gut doesn't settle until the pontoons land safely on the water and the plane trundles towards the shore.

When Cas jumps from the plane onto the dock Dean is there waiting. He rocks back on his heels, faux-casual with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his shorts. Cas looks like he's just been soaking in sunshine. There's so much joy rolling off of you, Dean thinks, I gotta wear shades. He smiles to himself and says instead, “So? Any luck?”

Cas scratches at his neck and crinkles his nose, turning to look back at the plane. “No, I detected no spirits.”

“Huh. Well, probably just a story the locals drummed up for business.” Dean shrugs. “Worth checking out just to be sure.”

Cas nods solemnly, though his eyes still crease at the corners. “Of course.”

“You have fun at least?”

“Oh yes.” Cas steps a little closer and tugs at Dean's elbow. Dean takes the hint and pulls his hand from his pocket, offering it up to Cas.

“Well. Shall we?”

Cas intertwines their fingers and together they walk off the dock, palms and shoulders warm where they touch. They stroll casually back towards the resort, back towards the beach. The island is gorgeous this time of day, the sun catching the trees and the distant mountain just right to bathe them in supersaturated emerald and teak. It's a last hurrah before the sun sets. Dean sighs and pulls away his hand so he can wind his arm around Cas's narrow waist instead. He twists his fingers in his old Metallica t-shirt (which looks fucking good on Cas) and asks, “What do you feel like doing now?”

“Hmm.” Cas snakes his arm around Dean and pulls him closer. “I think the word you're looking for is 'who'.”

Dean barks a laugh. “You cheesy fuck.” Their legs tangle and Dean swings them to a stop, leaning in to taste Cas's lips. Cas melts into the kiss, one warm hand spread wide between Dean's shoulders, his body pressing in.

When they pull away, Cas runs his tongue between his teeth. “You taste like strawberries. I like it.”

“Yeah, you do.” Dean nabs one more quick kiss before stepping back a little and drinking him in. Cas stands in front of him, lips parted, looking well fucked already from the plane ride messing up his hair. Okay. Room service, it is. He grins and takes Cas's hand again, tugging him towards the bungalows tucked behind the resort proper. Cas follows him.

When they get inside their room Dean heads straight for the bed but Cas pulls him back. “Wait.”

“I thought you said you wanted--” Dean takes a look at Cas and freezes at his suddenly serious face. “What's wrong?”

Cas lifts his fingers to gently trace along Dean's cheek, before brushing back again to slide into his hair. He holds him steady and stares until Dean begins to shift uncomfortably. Finally, he says in a low voice. “There was no ghost.”

“Yeah, I know, I--”

“The flight was wonderful. Fast and wild, the wind raking at my skin. My hair. Scouring tears from my eyes so it hurt to see sometimes.” He presses his forehead to Dean's. “Thank you for that. Thank you for...for everything.” Cas's breath ghosts along Dean's lips, feather light. “I know you don't like flying. But tonight I'm gonna make you feel what I feel when I fly.”

Dean tries to crack a joke. Old habits die hard, after all. But Cas overtakes him, a whirlwind tied into a fragile human shell. He surrounds and fills Dean, relentless and hard and gentle as the ocean.

The sun sets and the stars wheel over the bungalow on the windswept beach. Joy cracks Dean open until he feels as bright as angel light. The bungalow would be a tiny thing from the air but, with the two of them in it, Dean imagines it as a lighthouse beacon burning against the shadowed ground. He hums, exhausted and utterly sated, then picks up Castiel's hand with his own so their wedding rings roll together. “Love you.”

Cas tightens his grip. “And I you.”

The ocean's steady pulse lulls Dean to sleep and he dreams that night of flying. For once, he's not afraid.

Also on AO3

[classysassy9791]

Tagged by the wonderful, beautiful @iliveondaydreams. Thanks love!!

If I were a month: I’d have to go with my birthday month - September. The last inkling of summer still hangs in the air, but the leaves start changing near the end. The days become shorter, the nights become longer, and you begin to cherish the sunlight so much more. 

If I were a day: Sunday - lazy afternoons curled up with a book, or watching a football game with close friends, or sleeping in and having brunch with all your favorite fixings.

If I were a planet: Pluto - scientists eons away will debate me, even though they have no business to, discussing my qualities and attempting to push me into a label that they’ve created. But the truth is I have no label. I am diverse and tend to dip my toes into all creative aspects of life. I’m an ironic contrast.

If I were a god or goddess: Achelois - a minor moon goddess whose name means, “she who washes away pain.”I became a Registered Nurse because of my compassion for others, and to be there when needed most. I want to heal the sick, soothe the pained, and hold hands of the dying. If only to bring them one moment of relief. 

If I were a sea animal: A Sea Turtle. Their species is very old (older than the dinosaurs), which means they’ve seen all walks of life. They love to travel, as do I, but when it’s time to lay their eggs, they return to the same nesting grounds where they were born. After all, home is where the heart is. Also, a neat fact you may not know, is that their sex is determined by the temperature of the surrounding environment. Warm temps tend to produce more female hatch-lings, whereas cooler temps result in males. And I think that reflects our current society perfectly: who we are isn’t always determined by our genetics, but by the environment we live in.

If I were a piece of furniture: Probably a bed, because they’re used for so many reasons. To find comfort in sleep after a long day, to make love to the person of your dreams, to curl up and hug a pillow after your heart gets broken. I like to think beds are the soul of furniture. 

If I were a gemstone: Sapphire - my birthstone. Traditionally, it symbolizes nobility, truth, sincerity, and faithfulness. For centuries it has been associated with royalty and romance. In 1981, Prince Charles gave a blue sapphire engagement ring to Princess Diana. The history and lore on it just makes me swoon, and appreciate it so much more. 

If I were a flower: Carnations. My grandfather, may he rest in peace, always gifted my grandmother carnations for special occasions, including anniversaries, birthdays, etc. They were very special to them. In general, they express love, fascination and distinction, but their variety of colors expresses different things. White carnations suggest pure love and good luck, light red symbolizes admiration, while dark red represents deep love and affection. Purple implies capriciousness (unpredictable), and pink carnations carry the greatest significance, beginning with the belief that they first appeared on earth from the Virgin Mary’s tears - making them the symbol of a mother’s undying love. You can see why I love them so much :)

If I were a weather: 75 and sunny with a hint of a light breeze. You can sit out on the patio with a glass of wine and a good book, go hiking on some forest trails, and enjoy the beach with the hot sun reflecting off the sand. Perfect whether to enjoy every aspect of life. 

If I were a color: Purple! It combines the stability of blue and the energy of red. It symbolizes power, nobility, luxury, and ambition. It conveys wealth and extravagance. And it’s also associated with wisdom, dignity, independence, creativity, mystery, and magic, all of which I feel fit my life pretty well. And I’ve loved the color forever, so... there’s that. 

If I were an emotion: Anticipation - in the sense of looking forward positively to something which is going to happen. I always have the notion that the storms will past, followed by rainbows. I just have to push through until then, and the rainbows are usually the most beautiful rainbows of all. 

If I were a fruit: Strawberries. They’re attached to many positive things through symbolism and folklore. They represent righteousness and spiritual merit, but it also symbolizes perfection and “sweetness in the life and character”. It’s also presented in the Slovakian version of Cinderella, a story called “Strawberries in Winter.” Also, strawberries are just delicious, especially with a hint of sugar ^.^

If I were an element: Earth. When we think of Earth, we can meditate on its beautiful and healing crystals and stones, the soil in which we grow food, the plants and animals it sustains, and even visualize it from space as a gentle reminder of how small we as a species are. The energy of the Earth allows us to put down strong roots from which our dreams soar into reality. And yet, the Earth can be fierce, like a volcano erupting or the damage from an earthquake. 

If I were a place: The beach during summertime. A place where land meets water, where you can lay on the sand and stare up at the sky, listening to the waves lap at the shore. A place of vibrant blues and warm rays, a place that inspires happiness in all sense of the word. 

If I were a taste: Coffee with a hint of Vanilla. Coffee is all about get-up and go, designed to give you pep in your step. It’s something you can enjoy while immersing yourself in the company of friends. People talk over coffee - whether the topic is light or deeply intellectual. But you can also enjoy it on a summer evening as you read your favorite book, or enjoy the sunrise over the lake as you breathe in the day. 

If I were a scent: Vanilla - can you tell I love the stuff? It vitalizes energy, brings happy occasions to the premises, and draws good fortune. It’s also used in aromatherapy to deal with stress, nervous tension, and insomnia, all of which I battled during nursing school. It’s just an overall warm, good-feeling kind of scent. 

If I were a song: Oh, gosh, there are so many! Hm... Probably Stand by Rascal Flatts. This song helped me get through some tough times back in high school. “Cause when push comes to shove, you taste what you’re made of. You might bend till you break, cause it’s all you can take. On your knees you look up, decide you’ve had enough. You get mad, you get strong, wipe your hands, shake it off. Then you stand.”

If I were a body part: The eyes. They’re the “gateway to the soul”, but they’re also associated with intelligence, light, vigilance, moral conscience, and truth. Keeping eye contact reflects honesty. Also, their colors mean something different, too. Like mine are hazel - meaning spontaneous and will rarely back down from a challenge. If there is more green mixed in, it means mischievous. If more brown is mixed in, I’m more approachable to other people. They’re special because they seem to change color depending on my mood.

If I were a pair of shoes: Black heeled boots (which I actually just recently bought). They’re nice enough to wear to interviews, but classy enough to wear out on the town. They make me feel confident, invigorated, like I can take on the world. My favorite pair of shoes, ever.

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I know I probably went a little deeper into these answers than most, but whatever. I had fun, and loved looking up some of the symbolism to what I feel I am and the meaning behind my choices. ^.^

I shall tag: @jeanbeannie @grapefruitwannabe @hireikotsu @lockandk3yfiction @wenchster @darlingdontletmego @supertimetravelmiko @stoatsandweasels @lilwaterlilies and anyone else who wants to do this. Feel free to say I tagged you! :)