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thesleepy1 · 3 years

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Spearmint Tea With A Teaspoon Of Milk And A Dash Of Honey

Tik Tok Writing Prompt

A/N: I saw this prompt on Tik Tok and have been thinking about it none stop for the past three days. I just had to write it. It may make no sense, but that's fine. I enjoyed the writing process for once. Completely unbeta'd because I'm lazy and this was written in a hurry before it left my mind. If you see any mistakes please let me know.

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMdVg7jBL/

Pairings: No pairings

Summary: “You have been an immortal for a couple of centuries now. Today, you’re enjoying a drink at a nearby cafe, when someone approaches you and says, “Hey, remember me? Peru, 1821?”

Word count: 2,578

Warnings: mature, suggestive themes, wump, angst, derealizion, mentions of depression, more warnings to be added,

You have been an immortal for a couple of centuries now; if not more. After a certain set of rotations around the sun, you hardly bothered to keep track of exactly how many times you’ve been around the block. You were something of a myth, a feared, terrified, creature of torn legend, a monster that stole little weaning babes from their mother’s arms and spun silver out of corn! A beast that ate beating livers from stray canines, ordered temples to be built out of bones, a ghastly creation by a bored god with too much time on his irreligious hands. Frightful!

All this hearsay and word of the street, were tall and monstrous tales that were overrated in your educated opinion, when simply you required very little to be content with the ways and whims of the vast, wanton world. No new born lamb’s blood or poor, ill timed virgins sacrifices were necessary in your, for lack of a better word, creation. You were merely one breathing thing and then the next; though you’ve fallen out of the habit of remembering to breathe after a while. There was no shedding of skin, sweat producing prayer, or historically inaccurate rain dance that resembled the pirouettes of toeless ballerinas involved. You just were, and quite frankly, isn’t that enough? Existence is never enough is it, though? You just had to think, and speak, and do much more than simply exist; because no one can be happy with the mere existence of another; there just had to be more to it, had to be.

You still vaguely recall the moment where you realized that you were no longer tied down to the laws of the cycle of the unnatural thing called life; a thing like a dream someone else had and merely inflicted you with the useless knowledge. Still having no need for surplus of red blood cells or hastily made offerings of sweets to the traumatized gods; you recalled the transition and the fact that it was a boring process, with no set of rules, or instructions, or any way for you to fully understand exactly what happened. From one form of existence to a new one, like a crawling larvae to a flying insect with big beady eyes and a habit of crashing into windows.

You were in a battle field one moment fighting tooth and nail with a long sword, or a bow and arrow, or a scythe from your own garden, or a hatchet from your home; and the next, you watched your substantially short life flash before your eyes; when ebbingly, you realized that your wounds had closed up and the battle had unbeknown to you, ended. Something over nineteen years after your self assumed death, that is. Your body; with its two legs, two arms, two ears, and two perfectly functioning eyes; as long as it wasn’t pollen season, were still by fair means or foul, in tack. Much to your dismay, for you still felt cursed plague such as irritation, displeasurement, the action of rolling your eyes as an emotion, annoyance, exasperation, and worst of all a hankering for spearmint tea with a teaspoon of milk and a dash of honey. Unfortunately, only one of which was curable.

And while you contained a great many vapid opinions of the flutterings of wingless avians; one of their creations you could never develop a disdain for, for they were simply far too grand, great, and good, were cafes. Magnificent things created by an italian man, a french man, a german man, an Englishman, or a combination of the four, you hardly cared; were the very reason you still wished to see the light of day. Candidly, the comfort that came with cafes; roasting coffee beans with such sharp and acidic aromas, the tinkering of ceramic mugs with adorable little glazes, scrumptious sweeties and colorful pasties that settled against your mind like ringing gunshots to war torn innocent unimpeachables. Cafes were just delightful, there were no two ways about it; an unassailable fact.

That was why, today; sunny, cloudless, and boundless today with skies as blue as incest mutated eyes, you were enjoying a nostalgic drink at a nearby cafe. The coffee house was a mix between modern and vintage, though for a creature such as yourself, you could hardly tell the difference. Their teas and coffees, and assortment of beverages were made in the classic fashion from even as far back as your day, and that was saying something. The walls were painted with a deep maroon, a shade of fine wine on a brick of vinegar; except one, which was left a bare, textured concrete with growing vines and dangling fairy lights the color of loose leaf chamomile offering a soothing dim lighting. The tables and chairs and any sort of decor hung up on the ways were mismatched, not one thing belonging to another; not one round mahogany table with spanish carved to the legs matched with any neon cushioned seats that looked like something from a feverish dream. Four paned windows were like eyes towards the street front, small enough to see outside but with an air of privacy from the delicate handmade lace curtains that were tied up with a sash of the same design. You could see the wayward world beyond the door from the faux safety of your table; couples biking with helmets strapped on too tightly, dog walkers with malnourished dogs, and a quartet of friends that were so obviously in love with one another.

Their love for each other was so clear, the baristas behind the repurposed bar counter were making bets on who would be the first to cave and spill out their love like guts from a deep heat, blistering sword wound. The barista with dyed gray cornrows and nose piercings betted ten pounds on the tallest of the quartet, who couldn’t stop playing with something in his pocket; a nervous reaction to being around the people of his affections if you had to guess. The barista with the rigid scars falling like uncrossed tallies down her arms betted twenty pounds on the shortest of the quartet who seemed to be the glue holding the quartet together in the first place. You personally betted on the fellow trailing the group from behind, a brother of one of the quartet members; from the shared features, and an ex lover of another if you had to predict from the way he walked and looked at them with an unhealthy yearning. He was going to pull them apart and in return be left with nothing as they rebuilt what he had destroyed. You had an intuition for these sorts of things, the passing lives of strangers and what they decided to do with themselves with their limited time. It was game to you, their lives seemed to end in days like a good book that you can’t set down; and like a book, you could flip it close at any given time with a flick of your wrist.

Your attention was drawn back to the present by the sound of the cafe bell that rang out through the small room with high ceilings, the simple pulley system alerting the baristas and yourself of a new occupant. Your hand instinctively wrapped around your cup of spearmint tea with a teaspoon of milk and a dash of honey protectively. The heated ceramic warmed your otherwise cold skin, your whole body was icy to the touch; you had no need for impractical things like a respiratory system or body heat; they were merely things you did when you remembered to, a delayed afterthought.

Like socialization for one, speaking to others was not your cup of tea; quick compliments and orders were one thing, however holding conversations were another. You sat alone at your seat, a red velvet cushioned sofa pulled up against a square oak table. Not once have you attempted to make conversation or even make eye contact with any of your fellow cafe goers; when you know for a fact that you would have gotten along swimmingly, only you’re too afraid of starting anything that’s doomed to end. The immortal existence was a long one and it tended to feel more drawn out when you had no one to spend it with.

Too deep in thoughts; the depressing thing the living chose to lose themselves in; a subject that you have yet to be rid of, you didn’t notice when someone approached your table. Whoever stood in front of you stared at you for a moment as if to make sure you were real, something you had to do for yourself every now and again, before saying in an astonished tone full of life, “Hey, you look familiar. I’ve seen you somewhere, haven’t I?” You looked up to meet their eyes; taking note of a face that could blend in during any time period, during any moment; a dime a dozen, a face that could be recognized for hundreds of others. “Remember me? Peru, 1821?”

You were hard of memory despite the centuries of existence in your pocket; unable to ever recall important dates and places, or those deemed important by those who still pondered what after truly meant. No wars that had cost thousands if not millions of lives lingered in your narrow mind, no treaties that had never been written in the blood of the man holding the pen; no discoveries stolen from their true inventors and instead repurposed and rebranded. Naught of which mattered; were paramount enough to be stored in the file cabinets so old, they perhaps predated the university of oxford. Those with an expiration date, nitpicked which dates and places were worth keeping record of; which war really mattered to one side, but not the other, and most definitely not the third party who lost the most in terms of wealth during the whole skirmish. Which treaties were worth putting up an act of righteousness and which were lit to ashes the moment the feather left the parchment. Which discoveries to credit the inventor, or the distributor, or the man with the large enough pockets with lots of loyal friends with not quite, but still ever so deep pockets. You cared little for the whims of those who philosophized and wrote the inaccurate, hyperbolized tales of the lawless, anarchic children with graying hair, wrinkled skin, and groaning bones.

Instead, your quite narrow, yet wrinkled mind remembered the seemingly dull things in life that only an immortal and tired soul would recall. You remembered the estonian woman with thick curly hair who flustered when you commented on how her fetching silk blouse brought out the brown in her eyes, as if you had just seen her on your way here. You remembered the blazing, aged guinean sailor with hair as red as sedimentary clay layered with crimson and bone marrow, who tricked you out of the very last shining coin in your pocket that you had saved to return to the mainland; as if you had just spoken to him the week before last. You remembered the french street performers who gave you the most complexing, suspicious looks when you loitered as they tuned their instruments, your hands clapping and tossing coins into their open cases before they had even the chance to play their trip the light fantastic ditty; as if you had spotted them as you left your home for the day; perhaps because you had just spotted the cellist, violinist, and fiddler some hours prior.

But you just can’t seem to recall ever seeing the face in front of you besides that of the paintings reusing the same model over and over again. This person was familiar, that you knew for sure, but you couldn’t recall exactly where. 1821? Peru? You had gone to Peru before, you thought, you must’ve been everyone on the pandering planet at least once by now; statistically speaking. You existed during 1821, though you don’t recall much from the time besides some man being crowned king of some small islands, some paintings being painted, some lives being born, and some lives taking their last breath. Things that could have happened anywhere else in the woebegone world, during any time that your breathing counterparts inhaled and exhaled; a simple date and simple country rang no bells.

This person that approached you, must have known you, having recognized you and walked up to you free of will. Yet, as you stared at them, pondering how they must’ve known you after all these years, decades, and centuries without a mere mention of another immortal roaming the weak world; here you were, with another person just like you. It was astonishing, made your non beating heart skip a beat and stop again; because you’ve been so out of practice. It was almost unbelievable; a person with a limited mind would have fallen heart first into the claims and thought of them as gospel. You were not as blessed with the same ignorance that came as second nature to the rest of the parasitic population, because you recalled your trips to Peru; suddenly remembering just what you got yourself into in the year of 1821; you would have memorized a face like dozens of others; the similarities causing the sameness to be abstract. You would not have forgotten a face like that, a voice of naïve wonderment like the one you just heard. Immortality was not just something that was thrown like a swear, caught like a flu; there was no rhyme or reason to it. You would know; in the almost eight billion people in the wide, withering world you have not met another like you, and for this day, today; radiated, and diaphanous day with skies as blue as hypothermia stricken bodies; you were alone and had yet, still yet, to be proven otherwise.

You solemnly shook your head, having gotten your hopes up so far beyond the atmosphere; falling back down was misery like the first moment immortality had dawned upon you. This person must’ve mistaken you for someone else; a picture book with pages too bright to warrant your attention, a history book that pictured a person that shared your features or that of your long gone siblings who must have children because they were the type to yearn, and hope, dream, and live their lives instead of solely subsist; anyone but you. For you were alone on this endless path, just like how your life was now boundless, and had been for a while longer than you can remember. You cleared your throat, your voice unfortunately grating from years of hardly any use; hoping to make the interaction quick and to the point; something that was truthful and that would cut this painful conversation short so you could return to your envy filled hobby of assuming other individual’s lives because they had indisputable ends while you repeated in this endless pastime.

The person who claimed to share a curse with you, had a voice that rang out like a fencing rapier, cutting through the air with such precision that it hurt without even slashing against you; could stab you with words instead of metal, “I’ve seen you somewhere, haven’t I? Remember me? Peru, 1821?” And like a fencer running on the necessity for revenge for someone that wasn’t himself, you answered,

“No, I do gay porn.”

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thetorturerwrites · 4 years

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Lamb

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Summary: In the beginning, there was only Vader, the Sky Walker. He wandered the heavens, filling the void with the cosmos.

To combat his loneliness, Grandfather Sky Walker created two brothers, twins: one drawn to light and one drawn to dark.

Their bond created all life as we know it.

C/N: 18+ only; mythology AU; implied genocide; physical violence; self harm; bloody bloody blood

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Well, here I am again, and here we go again. Please take the content warnings seriously because I am not a nice girl; and herein, may lie not-nice-girl things.

This is my first foray into world building, and I welcome all feedback, critiques, and comments. :)

Special thanks to @kylorengarbagedump and @bexterbex for helping me develop this idea and get it ready for sharing.

***

In the beginning, there was only Vader, the Sky Walker. He wandered the heavens, filling the void with the cosmos.

To combat his loneliness, Grandfather Sky Walker created two brothers, twins: one drawn to light and one drawn to dark.

Their bond created all life as we know it.

You ran your fingers over the intricate gold leaf pattern on the book’s cover, remembering your lessons as a child. This Scripture, your grandmother’s most treasured possession, was the only part of your life you’d brought on this crusade. It was the only thing you couldn’t bear to abandon, even in the face of certain death.

You exhausted every avenue before taking on this last of your options. You demanded justice from the law only to be told you should keep your mouth shut. You went straight to the throne, but it shut to your caste, your people too low to deserve even an audience.

Selling every item of value, you had barely scraped up enough for the one-person craft, but it served its purpose. You were here. You landed the shuttle on one of Chandrila's famed rolling hills, overlooking The Demarcation. You exhaled, shallow and nervous, and looked out over the horizon. The pilgrimage to this place, this day, was long and harrowing, but the sacrament itself would be quick.

Your fingers quaked as you shucked everything identifiable about yourself: blue pants your mother bought for your birthday; green shirt that belonged to your brother, found in the rubble of what was your family home; jade hair clip handed down from mother to daughter for generations. None of it would serve you now, and it would only be in the way. Trading the vestiges of civilization for religion, you donned your grandmother’s ample amethyst robe, lacing the silk ties that held it together, and grabbed up the athame she’d bequeathed to you at your initiation.

She enveloped you, your grandmother, and you buried your nose into her sacred garment to inhale the lingering scent. They were your world, lovely and loving, ground to dust beneath the machine of a war none of you pledged to fight. The Resistance descended upon your planet like a plague, and they left a great nothing, a slate wiped forcefully clean in their wake.

It was for them you made this trek, that you abandoned all logic and reason for faith. They raised you to share their doctrine, but it never served a single purpose for you in life. Your grandmother and mother believed everything they’d ever taught you about the Twin Fathers. They wove the fabric of their lives, and yours, around it; and now, you clung to their prayers, your last hope in the face of something horrible and wholly dismissed by the universe.

There was no one to remember them, their faithfulness and devotion, but you.

Fathers, we pray. Bless this our food to the nourishment of our bodies that we may be strong in your service. Bless these our hands that we may share your great instruction with those in need. Bless our hearts that we may find the balance you have so righteously set for us.

Their prayers spilled over your dry lips, the only eulogy they would ever receive, and every holy word strengthened your resolve.

Clutching book and blade in one hand, you punched a series of numbers into the keypad nearest the bay door, extending the ramp. When it finished descending, you issued another command, the tiny keys lighting up with each pressed digit.

“Self-destruct sequence initiated.” The robotic voice vibrated the tiny craft’s walls. “Confirm.”

“Confirmation,” you cast one last look around the shuttle that had been your home for a month, “Bravo Echo 2-4.”

“Countdown 2 minutes.”

Sunlight, warm and inviting, welcomed you as you stepped off the ramp. Squinting into its brilliance, you recalled the way your brother would read to you on lazy afternoons and how your family would picnic on similar grassy knolls. The beeping over your shoulder grew faster with each passing second, and you lifted the cumbersome dress around your knees, wasting no further time jogging down the hill.

You were out on the flat land for just a second before the shuttle exploded into a fiery ball. You watched the blast shoot debris and columns of soot into the perfect sky. In another life, it would have scared you, shying you away from the destruction. Silent, stoic, you tracked plumes of grey smoke and the fall of ashes, comparing it to the devastation you found after the Resistance found your planet.

Days after the attack, you roamed fallen buildings and picked through still warm rubble. You had been too late, too far away. Knowing you could have done nothing to stop the strike was empty consolation.

You could have died with them. You would rather have died with them. Now, all you could do was die for them.

On bare feet, you crossed the flowery field, taking in the array of purples and yellows. You lingered on the blue-green grass, feeling the soft stick of it underfoot, and you basked in the wispy clouds overhead. This was life, teeming with vibrant colors, but it all felt hollow, dampened. You wondered if everyone who came here felt this way, grateful that this beauty would be one of their last memories but unable to fully appreciate what they saw.

Pressing your lips into a determined line, you steeled your will and turned to The Demarcation, The Great Divide.

Grandfather Sky Walker tasked the twins with creating and maintaining The Balance. One would usher life; one would usher death; both harbingers of fate.

It was striking, a sudden upheaval of vitality in deference to darkness. Tendrils of fog mingled with melancholy dusk, and you spent a long moment admiring the space between one and the other. This spot, this one impossible convergence, was balance. It was what every man strived to achieve, and no man could boast.

On the other side of the billowing veil, where you were coaching yourself to go, was The Ren’s territory. People far and wide spun countless tales about the land and its Master. It was a bottomless hole, they said, that would swallow you up steps past the boundary. It was an unending bog, and all who journeyed there were lost. All of its structures were built from the bones of the dead, and The Ren was the vicious king of an unforgiving wasteland.

Your grandmother, however, believed The Ren to be a merciful father, wise and misunderstood. He was the bringer of ends who did not differentiate between rich and poor. No creature was safe from his touch, and that made every creature equal in his eyes.

Whatever that land may be, whatever The Ren may be, there was nothing on the other side of that shroud that could compare to what you’d already endured. It was the way forward, your only way, and you bid yourself to go forth on deliberate steps.

Mirroring the track of your life, a balmy day gave way to a wintry gloom as you moved through the gauzy curtain, passing from one kingdom to another. The living world fell away, replaced by slender black trees that shot up to winking stars and stood adorned with wide, scarlet leaves. A ghostly breeze blew, shaking the leaves to delicately fall and blanket the spongy ground. You trod upon them carefully, uncertain what might lurk beneath the crimson carpet.

You took your time on the winding path, drinking in every otherworldly detail. Light pooled from a clandestine moon, and the very air shimmered under its grace. Midnight-colored blossoms dotted the road, mingling with swaying ferns. The stars shone so bright you could almost hear the twinkle, a delicate song tapped out to echo against the trees. Every inhale was laced with morning mist and rich earth.

The stories were wrong. This was no forlorn place. It was luminous, hallowed. Absent the touch of civilization, this land had bloomed unharmed, untainted.

This world felt more real to you, more easily understood. Colored with variations of shadow, it was peaceful in its ashen palette.

Reaching the altar, you stared, both reverent and curious. How many had come before you to lay their lives down for The Ren? How many had died as a sacrifice? Surely, its ruddy color came from generations of blood spilled in offering.

It was a chalice to which you would soon be adding.

The stone was cold and damp, raising gooseflesh on your nearly naked form. It curved down in the very center, a macabre cradle for all those laid here. A blending of emotion and chill cast your skin in shades of flush and set every digit to trembling. It was as though the thing waited for you impatiently, its very existence demanding an offering.

Your skepticism at your grandmother’s faith dwindled when confronted with an exact duplicate of the altar upon which you’d taken your initiation rites. It was larger, but the ridges were the same. The slab of your childhood did not bear such a florid hue, but the sacrifices it received had been sugar, water, bread.

This shrine’s very construction felt haunted, a cauldron of souls made solid.

Hoisting yourself up onto the behemoth, you arranged your tools in the very center. You set the athame at your right and spread the weighty purple velvet over the shrine, laying the fabric and yourself out as you would for a lover.

Your lips trembled. Your knees knocked together. The cloak barely covered your body, and the little satin bows lent an air of innocence you could hardly claim as truth. You hoped, swallowed a handful of prayers, that The Ren accepted sacrifices as the stories told. Today, confronted with the reality of this place, you believed it more.

Tenderly, longingly, you ran your fingers over the tome once more. You lifted it and pressed a gentle kiss to its cover. It would lie beneath your head during this last of your chores and for however long your body would remain here.

Closing your eyes, you conjured memories of your grandmother bearing witness to so many dead over the years and how you, filled with doubt and agony and hate, had failed to do the same for your family, your friends, your people. It had been too great of a thing, too much sorrow to compact into a single prayer.

The words came easily now, having been swirling and growing in your chest for weeks.

Into thy hands, Great Fathers, do we commend this soul, departed from the body, in payment for the souls still yet to come. We pray that you welcome her, keep her, and enter her into the great Balance so we may again feel the light of her love.

Swallowing your grief, you gripped the wicked blade tight. You had no more tears to cry. You brimmed with an awful energy, this ceaseless anguish bubbling up from your very marrow.

“Dark Father,” you brushed fabric away from your right leg and sliced a deep gash into the supple thigh before you could change your mind. “Hear my prayer.”

You hissed at the burn but smoothed your features into a stolid mask. You would do this for your family and people, who received no warning, no choice to convert or flee. You would make your entreaty to The Ren; or, you would die here and reunite with them. Whatever the outcome, this was your end.

“I commit my body to your hands. As your brother has given it to me, I give it now to you to use as you will. Grant me the grace of your ear that I may plead my case.”

Your breath stuttered, and you fought back the roaring in your ears so you could concentrate and carry on. Fixing your eyes upon the trickle of blood, you watched it turn to a pool and hurried to match it with another slash at your left forearm. Benumbed, you tracked the redness as it crested and spilled in every direction.

The callous cold seeped into your very bones, and you fell back against the altar with a gasp, fingers grasping for the book’s corner. You blinked, heavy lidded, as your face fell to one side, staring into the great forest beyond.

In your delirium, you thought you could see them, smiling and holding each other. Tears you thought you no longer had rushed forth, and you shook. Weakness or acceptance broke open the gate on your heartbreak, releasing a torrent of sobs and screams. There was no one to hear, to care, to chastise you for its futility.

You heard her voice, your grandmother’s tone the same that had been soothing your fears since you could remember, rubbing over you like a comforting balm.

More than yesterday, beloved. Less than tomorrow. Find me in the Balance.

“Nona, I’m coming.”

Your fit rode your wounds and bled away to faint sniffles and glassy eyes. You stared up at what you felt had to be an eternally night sky and pushed your fingers through the growing sticky puddles.

This was death, and you welcomed it. You would slip away into a dreamless sleep here in such a place as you never knew existed. Fatigued, breathing slow, your face fell to one side, eyes unfocused but still dancing from beauteous flower to leaf to timber.

He was a charcoal smudge, nothing more. His movement was so subtle your addled brain took him for a tree, black clad and too tall to be a man. He stepped through the maze, and what little tenacity you had left drained away.

He came to sit upon the side of the altar where you lay dying, tilting his head to look at you. You stared, bewildered and confronted with the most beautiful man you’d ever seen when you had been expecting The Ren, the great storied monster. He passed his hand over your face, and the sting of your wounds abated. The heaviness of your limbs lessened, and the burden of your body eased.

Feeling and consciousness and awareness flooded back into your senses, and you bolted upright. Understanding dawned, and you gaped at him, struck dumb by every mesmerizing feature. Ebony tresses crowned him brilliantly, and he looked back at you with deep, glittering eyes. His fair skin was sprinkled with twilight constellations, and his lips were full, lush, slightly pink.

This was The Ren.

Troubled by the absence of death, you surveyed your situation, shaking both tense hands into fists. The ritual robe clung to the altar more than it did to you, swirling lurid with your blood. Blood that still flowed, you realized. Wide-eyed and amazed, you studied this unnatural phenomenon. The wounds at your thigh and wrist still wept; they should have killed you, but there was now a sanguine loop wrapping each injury around to feed into itself.

“Why have you called me here?” His voice was gravelly, as though he hadn’t used it in millennia.

“Am I dead?” It was a staggeringly stupid question, but it was the only clear thought in your head as you stared at the vermilion ouroboros around your wrist.

“If you intend to answer every question with a question,” his enormous hand shot out to capture the flesh just above your forearm laceration, “you will be soon.”

He squeezed the wounded limb until you shrieked and tried to tug away. Deciding that he would not let you go until you appeased him, you licked dry lips and worked your mouth into a measure of moisture.

“Why did you come?” Your query shocked even you, and you snapped your mouth shut hard enough to hear the clap of your jaws.

True to his word, The Ren’s hand connected with your throat so fast you couldn’t say for sure he’d moved. In one moment, idiotic inquiries filled your muddled mind; and in the next, you were choking at the end of his arm.

“Your howling,” his fingers tightened at your throat, thumb rubbing into the pulse almost delicately. “The next question will be your last. Why are you here?”

Licking your suddenly too-dry lips, you studied him, wrapping both of your small hands around his wrist. This man, this deity, was walking death, and that he sat here with his hands upon you changed the very foundation of everything you believed to be true.

“I-I came to ask your favor, Dark Father.”

He shoved you away and stood from his perch. Death’s gravity pulled you down again, and you whimpered, reaching for him as though it would prolong the inevitable. Your mouth worked on a plea, but none came.

“You’ve wasted your time. And mine.” He turned away and spat the rest over his shoulder. “Sparing virgins their lives or the lives of their lovers lost its allure long ago.”

Glancing back, he must have seen something, perhaps the abject apology in your face and on your outstretched fingers, because he snatched you from oblivion in a blink. You broke into wretched sobs, each lung-full of air quaking and painful.

“I came here so you’d come for me.” You dug bloodstained fingertips into your eyes to staunch the tears. “And to ask for your help.”

He was ethereal, his presence just a step out of sync with the rest of the universe, and it was difficult to look upon. You turned your face to one side and tried to compose yourself. You were battling the significance of your loss against the staggering truth that The Ren was real and here.

“You come to ask favors but cannot even look upon the beast?” He closed the gap in a blur, and you shrieked, leaning away. “How do you plan to beg if you will not even open your eyes?”

Crowding in aggressively, he leaned over and braced himself with both sturdy hands on either side of your head, an effective cage. His gaze traced over every curve of your face, and you couldn’t move under the oppression of his scrutiny.

“You think you will make demands of me?” His voice changed, dropping to a malicious whisper as he brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, tracing it to its origin in your hairline.

He would eat you; you were sure of it. Razor-sharp teeth hid just behind those beautiful lips, and he would tear you to pieces. Bolstering yourself, you drew in a shuddering breath and looked up into the galaxy-filled eyes. You had to say the words. You had to tell him what brought you here, but you weren’t sure you could do it.

“The dying lamb has no value to the shepherd.” His suddenly gentle tone belied his impatience and interminable power. “Tell me why you are here; or, I will leave you to die.”

You stared at him for what felt like an eternity, losing yourself in his resplendent gaze. It was like staring straight into the sun, and every part of you felt branded by him.

Your reasons for coming here meant little to him, you were certain. You pictured your family again and the horror inflicted on them.

The tension in your body loosened as purpose flowed through your veins once more. Your trembling lips blew out a steadying breath, which seemed to please him. He traced your lower lip with the very end of his thumb, waiting for you to speak.

“Retribution.”

#kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo x reader #lamb #here we go again

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mrsunderhill678 · 3 years

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The last one liners of 2020!! Let’s go!

“Discoveries of self are only grand so long as they give you a deeper meaning, but all mine have done is haunted me.” - Calliger Cougar

“Justice that harms the innocent is no justice after all.” - Calliger Cougar

“I fear I have yet to meet all of me, and if this sinful being is what I have met, I fear what I have not.” - Calliger Cougar

"I've spent life searching for a deeper purpose, only to realize, all I had to do, was be me.” - Espekarla Killovitch

“It took so long to accept myself, so long, that I believed no one would ever accept me.” - Espekarla Killovitch

“Life can beat you down and make you someone you don't like, but soar above that. See the stars, burn in the sun, become ash so long as it's you.” - Espekarla Killovitch

“I am such a crime against myself.” - Duke Marston

“Loving me, I imagine, is a death sentence. Hold my heart only if you wish to place yourself on death row or the electric chair.” - Duke Marston

“I am no brave little mouse, I am no Desperaux, it is as if I am Borticelli, a sewer rat, feasting on my grime, throwing the brave little mouse to the crowd, allowing them to cheer as the cat bats at him like yarn, watching him bleed, watching him fight, if only to keep my throne." - Duke Marston (If you get this reference I will fucking love you)

How I yearn to be something other than this twisted creature, sitting upon a throne of other's blood and bone. But I never leave this throne, I never knock this life studded crown from my head. I guess that makes me haunted queen of the hill, fearing the descent yet staring down at the bottom, wondering what it would be like... To fall. But I fear my sister would catch me, deny this death wish of mine. She'd snag a cigarette from my lip if she knew it burnt my lungs. I fear myself, but she loves me, I'll never know why, I'm just a beast, a wicked creature of broken tusks and teeth. And my brother, he would carry the crucifix on his back and nail his palms to it's oak if he knew it'd spare me the trouble.” - Carlota Calico

“I am a cruel woman, my eyes glazed over with glossy regret, and yet all I do is weep the blood that I've spilled. I am a haunting of every grave I've dug, every life I took, and try as I may, it is never my blood I'll weep, but the blood of another.” - Carlota Calico

“My regret is spoken so much louder than my rage, it leaves me to wonder how my rage leaves more glasses shattered than my regret, when it's my hauntings that raise the decibels? They say to roll with life's punches, but what can a man do when the fists are his own?” - Max Tripp

“It was I who took my life and set it on fire. And everyone watched from the pyre as my ship sunk, and you know what? When this ship sinks, and I with it, I'll cheer along with those on the fucking pyre.” - Max Tripp

“I won't make it to heaven. I'd never pass the first step to the pearly gates, let alone a mile from the stairwell.” - Max Tripp

“I'm a gambling man, and I gambled this life of mine for a rusted lie and a nickel. Worth bout as much as me, I suppose.” - Max Tripp

“Raise a glass to the loveless man, raise a glass, for this shot of my tears and regret never runs dry.” - Max Tripp

“I'm tangled between my little flaws and my love for my children, I imagine my love for them heals me, I just... Wish it would heal, them.” Violetta Flint

“Is the world, perhaps, just as self destructive as we are, causing pain to those who love it?” - Violetta Flint

“I wish I could've protected my boy, but life took him down the beaten path too soon. I was supposed to protect him from the thorns on the rose, but he gripped it before I could. He bled before I could bleed in his place.” - Violetta Flint

“Life can be so terribly cruel to the kindest of people, but don't let cruelty make you cruel. Remember that kindness is never forged from an easy life.” - Violetta Flint

“Revenge is a luxury I can't God damn afford, yet here I am, payin' the fuckin' price.” - Andraak Flint

“With a single snap 'a my fingers I killed the light that basked my soul, stepped on my own back ta reach heaven, just ta kill the man who claims himself a god above others. Oh he's above others alright, but when I meet him eye to fuckin' eye, sins on my wrist, with my rage and love he stole from my still tremblin' hands, he ain't gon' be nuthin' but below me.” - Andraak Flint

“You must inflict pain to know my wrath, and for a man that's inflicted more pain than the end 'a times, I reckon I ought to be more wrathful than the God that decided it fit for him ta live.” - Andraak Flint

“Revenge is a luxury I can't afford, because the price is this life I've lived and the corpse 'a the man I hunt. Ta pay the price, I got ta die, cause ain't no man damned as I am, seein' more sunrises than the devil he seeks. So be it, may the sun rise without me, so long as it rises without Quentin." - Andraak Flint

“Sometimes, crime is survival, and you can condemn me all you want, but all I'm tryin' to do is stay on the topside of the concrete. An old friend always said his corpse had already dropped, that he was already buried beneath the skyscrapers and subways, that he was just another corpse of New York. And I agree. We're all just corpses of New York city, because this place in of itself is a corpse of dead concrete goliaths and lost souls once filled with hope.” - Angeles Vance

“We are the revolution, built of scars and corpses of New York, and maybe one day, they'll hear our battle cry and call us heroes. But it's more often than most that heroes are labeled lawless and cruel, before ever, they put an end to the very tyranny that labeled them, enemy of the world." - Angeles Vance

“Evil is often a torch, passed down from one ruler to the next, but I've found, that we only take the torch, for we fear he who holds it, only to fear our own hand, in the end.” - Theodore Malrosa

“All you'll ever need in a kill or be killed world is a six shooter and your sins on your sleeve.” - Theodore Malrosa

“I'm a ragged bone man, with fur drenched over my shoulders like a tattered cape, but in the shade, all they ever see is the silhouette of a hero's torn cape. Shade hides all, my friend, even the most damnable of offenses.” - Theodore Malrosa

“He who mocks the peasant will find himself bowing to his feet miles down the road, just ask the brother's of Joseph. For they mocked his dreams only to realize always was he a prophet, in all his glory, and his coat of every color only aggrandized his robe of dreams and prophecies to be.” - Theodore Malrosa

“I could drown in holy water and still, I'd be damned, all the holy water would do is grant me a painful death of scalding flesh and boiled blood. I wear a cross round my neck if only to remind me, I was once holy. But he who is nailed to the crucifix is often bled dry before ever he is forgiven.” - Arrow Holloway

“I sling these bullet casin's like regrets and charms, never knowin' what it is I'll get from this chamber. There's a spark in my chest, and I's long since learned, the spark in me chest and revolver are one in the fucking same.” - Arrow Holloway

“I am a hail of bullets in the crossfire, hittin' every soldier, I am the blood spilled and the bodies that drop. I suppose I'm everything death every grew, if only to be reaped for my simple existence. But it ain't simple, is it? Never were I 'spose, always was this life complex and bloody.” - Arrow Holloway

“I could face myself in a draw fight and still I'd lose.” - Arrow Holloway

“Take this ride 'a mine as you will, one of a wicked outlaw or a deputy corrupted by crimson burnin' justice, either way you spin the tale, you get blood spilled and bullets flyin', so I spose it don't matter which path ya take. It all ends the same. No matter what road you go down, there's a cliffside, a steeple or a river, and ain't none of em leadin' you ta salvation. Cause the biggest lie the preacher ever told is, "You're forgiven." - Arrow Holloway

“What is hope, really, but a single shared delusion of the human race? We cling to it so desperately, but it was never there, we were always battling ourselves and callin' a damn peace treaty. Cause when we fire against our selves, what do we call it? Freedom or murder of the highest degree?” Elliot Terminus

“We're either lambs or wolves, and only those with stained teeth'll make it through. We're already in hell, my friend, the demons are huntin' the angels and the sheep are bein' led to the slaughter. Ain't no sheep makin' it out with a white coat.” - Elliot Terminus

“I'd gladly wash myself in the blood of the lamb if it meant soakin' the fields.” - Elliot Terminus

“You think the flock is safe just cuz there's a shepherd? He's as mortal as the sheep and he who protects the weak should be weary of the strong.” - Elliot Terminus

“This crucifix of secrets on my back weighs me down like the thought of my casket, I fear I shall carry this weight on my back for miles, only for none of it to ever matter in the end.” - Mason White

“It's often secrets lurk in those who have been silenced. These days, you can't cut off a man's tongue to prevent the truth from spilling out, but threatening all he loves does the same damn thing. When a man dares silence you, shout to the heavens, maybe God will listen and smite him down, render him speechless. No man can disarm you of your voice, it's the strongest weapon you've got.” - Mason White

“For all who come for my sorry hide, tomorrow's an empty promise at best, and a threat at it's worst, cuz steppin' up to me is a losin' fuckin' battle. You wanna step up ta this plate? Then prepare for them pearly gates, cause ya meet the lord today, and ya don't got time for a fuckin' confession.” - Rafe Linton

“Honor ain't nuthin but a lie soldiers use ta steal the advantage, I'd rather cheat than die, and I'd rather scarper on my mah knees than be the poor sod bein' shot at point blank range for sins deemed worthy 'a death.” - Rafe Linton

“A man offers ta count ta three, shoot him at two.” - Rafe Linton

“Steppin' up ta me is a losin' fuckin' battle because I cheat, I lie, friend, only truthful word that ever come from my mouth is, I'm alive. I'd light a match and tell ya it's cold, I'd shoot a man six times in the chest and say he's breathin' just fine. The pearly gates await ya because you choke on all your truths, when a lie's the only thing that'll save you, these days.” - Rafe Linton

“The act of raisin' the dead is a simple act 'a redeemin' a man who's coffin lid is nailed shut. Yet for a man like me, it's complex as can got damn be.” - Alaric Alistair

“There was a time I believed the good guy always caught the thief, and the sun always rose, but look at me now, sittin' in the dark.” - Alaric Alistair

“You could cut me down and I imagine I'd laugh, cause I can't imagine sumthin' darker than my life other than the end 'a it.” - Alaric Alistair

“I'm just roadkill on the highway that's risen, my antlers are broken, my fur matted and bloody, and I'm just fated ta pretend I'm still breathin'. But the breath from my lungs is stained from the blood on my teeth.” - Alaric Alistair

“In the end, it don't matter who ya were, what ya did, cause hell don't exist and devils were only myths of us.” - Alaric Alistair

“All I ever do is follow orders. I bark when told ta, I bite when aggravated or let off my leash, but the sad thing is, even the leash stabs inta me. The bruises and scars round my neck tell the sorrowed tale of a barkin' dog forced ta bite. This blood on my teeth tells the pain soaked tale of a dog, skinny and starvin', all because he bites, if only ta put another down." - Alaric Alistair

“For a man who's lost everything, I sure got a lot. My whole life I been swallowed by the fires yet remaining un-scorched, because all my life I've had love. For my wife, for my sons, for the lord, and even if many I knew are now nuthin' but a memory, I still find light in the intricacies of their smiles, cause I see em in my own.” - Balthazar Pennington

“We're beautiful creatures, really, holdin' one another ta show love, speakin' in languages so complex that not a word has ta be spoken to say, "I love you." - Balthazar Pennington

"Go on, kill us, kill us by the fucking dozens, Mr. De Niro. But you will find that the human resolve is a helluva lot stronger than your God damn conscious." - Cody Scarrow

"Oh I don't need savin' from me, brother. I may not be perfect, hell, I ain't even decent. But I can be damn proud of the fact, that I ain't you, and I never God damn will be." - Cody Scarrow

#Writing #dialouge #characters #author

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fashournalist · 3 years

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A coffee-buffet-stroll-grocery-coffee kind of day with bb (best eat-all-you-can experience so far!)

When all you think of are work and adulting, it’s great to have a break, escape from your routine, and spend the whole day with someone who genuinely cares and reminds you to enjoy life--explore the world one adventure at a time. It’s like going on a field trip, but instead of being surrounded by 100 kids (whom you may not know well), you’re with someone you can be 100% yourself with. And when all stresses pile up, sometimes you just have to be reminded that you have each other. : )

One of the earliest plot twists of this year is having this escapade with my close friend/sibling (and favorite buffet buddy!) Karl! It was truly something Niu. First we had Bonitos buffet in LB (2017), then Buffet 101 in Alabang (2018), then Sambokojin at Megamall with Hannah (2020), and now, Niu by Vikings! (View some of our past adventures here )

I decided to make this a text-form post because photo diaries are limited to 10 pictures at a time; but oh well, I’d love to share our January 30 in detail :)

Our first stop was Capitol Commons Starbucks (8AM-10AM)

Second stop: Niu by Vikings (11:00 onwards)

Third stop: SM Aura stroll

Fourth stop: S&R grocery

Fifth stop: Paseo de Magallanes

I had three first times in a single day!! Thank you so much bb for inviting me to hang out and making time for me despite your very, very busy schedule <3 I will never forget this day and I’m excited to create more beautiful memories with you--whether it’s a simple sound trip at a parking lot, a road trip, a coffee date, an acads session, or a “field trip” with five stops like today!

Read on if you want to view more photos from today’s escapade (mostly from Niu :) And thank you bb for taking my OOTDs too hehe)

Part I: Capitol Commons

We forgot to take a selfie at Starbucks and didn’t notice how fast the time was haha. Two hours just flew by and it was time to go to Niu. Actually, the whole day just flies by when I’m with you.

I missed our road-trips-slash-sound-trips!! It seems only yesterday when we headed to MainLib, or IRRI, or Calamba, or Southwoods so we can study (or just chill.) It’s because of a road trip with you that I loved Ben&Ben in 2017!

Part II. The Niu experience

It was our first time here, and whoa, see the difference from the usual Vikings!

Loved the interiors and the ambience!

Their selections offer more dishes as well, yayy!

Boy, look at all that cholesterol. Isn’t it splendid?

Happy they have lamb and lengua as The Alley by Vikings didn’t have them.

Of course, there is no forgetting that we are still in a pandemic.

Hello, addiction! Sushi, maki, and sashimi!!!

Love these refreshing drinks!!

Boy, they have free booze! I almost gave it a try but am scared I’d get drunk with a few sips since I never tried alcohol before haha xD

Their seafood thermidor was the bomb! It’s my first time ever to try this dish, as well as other dishes I only saw on Hayday before (shepherd’s pie, for example). Karl is an amazing chef and it’s great he knows how to cook some of these, too. Flex ko lang na sobrang galing nya rin magbake, guys, check out Packed Munchies Sent on Facebook to order his ube choco pandesal, cookies, and more sweets!

Couldn’t get enough of the salmon sashimi, pizza, dimsum, dark chocolate brittle, and French macarons! Also learned to be careful when eating food whose name can’t be pronounced HAHA.

Niu’s tempura was one of Karl’s faves, along with carrot cake and blueberry cheescake!! Hi bb :D

As a professional buffet queen, eating with five plates to taste a bit of everything is normal HAHA chour.

OOTD! I LOVE this pink jacket Karl gave!! It’s always been a dream to have a jacket in this specific shade waaa! And he didn’t know it was my dream so this was really a lovely surprise (i think it’s the platonic equivalent of maternal instinct hehe) thank you soooo much bb! :D

We really enjoyed our Niu experience, yay! But our date was far from over hehe.

Part III. SM Aura stroll

Our selfie with Momi at the Department Store.

Sigh, this is only my second time at Aura, and I remember the first time, I didn’t even have a 20 peso bill. All I had were coins. Long story short, I was invited to attend a networking event on May 13 2017 and they gave me a ride back and forth. But I didn’t have anything, couldn’t even buy a bottle of water because nothing is free at Aura. I said, someday, I’ll be back, and be able to eat here. I didn’t know that I wouldn’t just get to eat, I would eat in a buffet! And with someone very dear to me!

Sometimes Karl and I just look back at our college days and we’re amazed at how we’re adulting now. I remember him saying in 2018 that the things that used to be only dreams before are now becoming possible for us : )

Anyway, here is another OOTD at Aura’s Sky Garden! Thank youuuu bb for taking these photos yayyy (pandemic inspired haha porma porma pa rin kahit naka face mask and face shield)

I missed uploading outfit posts hueuhe should i revive the fashion part of this blog? Haha fashournalist started as a style diary in 2011 and it evolved into a memory box filled with throwbacks and so many things in between

I tried taking a stolen photo of Karl, too haha:

Part IV: S&R grocery

I’m ecstatic you guys, I’ve never been inside S&R before haha! I remember in June 18, 2016, after my lab test at Hi-Precision Santa Rosa, Dad and I tried to enter S&R in Nuvali. I thought they could welcome non-members if it’s just the pizza we’re after. But nope, no entry for us haha! Was able to try their pizza elsewhere like at Newport and other malls, but I still wanted to stroll inside their grocery someday. The day has arrived! (next goal: sneak into Landers even without membership haha)

Only bought four items (two of which i’ve never tried before) as I made sure I would not overspend haha and am scheduled to buy stuff at Puregold the following day--little did I know that products in S&R are actually cheaper! Their Corned Lechon, for example, is 9 pesos cheaper compared to that in Puregold!

Part V: Paseo de Magallanes

This is another first time for me as I could not reach this place without a car haha. It’s a very cozy place.

I love that we started and ended our day with coffee :)

Coffee, tons of food and tons of stories in between! Thank you sooo much bb for this memorable date! And super thank you for the jacket, as well as Dad’s black towel! I am touched by how you remembered Dad loves the color black so much (and how I love pink, too huhu). Every moment with you is memorable, no matter how simple, or grand. We used to study for exams, cram papers together, study in libraries or IRRI, eat in canteens like Kentz in Demarces--all the simple things. Now we get to experience more adventures in more places! : )

I am super glad and grateful we had this January 30 bonding, Karl :) Thank you for being so thoughtful, caring, and sweet <3 (I and everyone you love are so lucky to have someone like you in our lives) Looking forward to more milestones and memories with you bb, cheers to all the adventures ahead of us! Love youuuuuuu

Always,

Grace :)

#bonding #niu #vikings #buffet #explore #travel #adventure #date #friendship #friends #siblings #aura #coffee #moments #Memories #photos #diary #personal #ootd #food

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rayne-storm · 4 years

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50 Word Prompts - Malcolm Astr, Martin Esmer

Hands

"Surgeon's Hands" have never been so literal, or so beloved. At least, that's what the younger man thinks as he feels them caressing his body with expert care.

Sleeve

The first time Malcolm sees the fairie without his arms covered - since the Incident - he has to remind himself that maybe the man is sensitive. He stares, but in simple admiration.

"Do they hurt?" He asks, cautious as ever with his fragile lover.

"Not any more."

And like that he's touching and kissing, pressing adoration into the marked and starred limbs.

Rescue

"I'll get you out for good some day."

Well, it was some day. The sirens blaring and the riots diverting most of the attention, it's a simple thing, really, for the changeling boy to slip in, pick a few locks, and slip right back out with his beloved in tow.

Opera

Martin never heard his boy sing before, he realizes, as a lovely tune floats from down the stairs where Esmer is making breakfast. He doesn't recognize the words, but it's all in French anyways.

Mostly he's amazed at how well it carries. A miracle they haven't gotten noise complaints. He'll have to try harder, then. And maybe introduce his boy to Mozart.

Water

It very quickly becomes apparent to Malcolm that the childhood "game" Astr is describing is straight up torture.

"And your father told your 'friends' to play this with you…? Even after you asked them to stop?"

Shopping

Martin immediately notices the unconscious longing Esmer holds in his gaze as they pass the baby clothes. Suddenly envisioning his lover plump and round and full of his legacy, he can't help but long as well. Soon, he resolves, they'll be adding that aisle to their weekly outing.

Street

"Astr, I told you, it's a grid system."

"And I told you I don't know what a grid is."

Window

He found glass markers in a discount bin and has been painting the windows for an hour now. It's the only part of Notre Dame that he misses, and Martin has been such a help, printing photographs and using those surgical hands to do the intricate linework.

Cooking

"And you're sure this one won't poison me?"

"My love, I can't even tell with you any more. But no, I've let other human people try this and no one's died yet."

Quiz

"And this is..?"

"The… the hippo… hippocampus?"

"Very good, my boy! You're doing great."

He is so grateful he decided to try and understand Martin's passions. It's only fair.

Storm

Malcolm had thought the faerie would be afraid of thunder, but it's adorable to see him running and dancing in the rain. He hasn't really been… joyful, since Malcolm saved him that night. It's a sign of healing. And, he idly thinks, he has a part in it.

Time

"It doesn't really mean anything to me any more."

Go figure. Allegedly a thousand years of living will do that to you.

But he does see the need to spend as much of it with Malcolm as possible.

Picture

Martin sketches and paints the young man constantly. He cannot help but be offended when he learns Esmer has never seen himself in a photograph, and several tasteful shots (and a brief break with a decidedly un-tasteful couple of shots), and a small pack of photo paper later, Esmer really can appreciate how accurate the art is.

Blanket

When it starts to tatter, Astr gifts Malcolm with a new, larger weighted blanket for their cuddle sessions.

Light

Martin had never really appreciated the rainbow of colours different times of the day could have on skin until he had a darker lover. Blues and purples dance in the moonlight, followed by hours at an easel trying to mix the paints just right.

Shade

"I burn easy. Even easier now," the faerie mutters from beneath the parasol. He however will force Malcolm out to get some sun. It's good for him.

Pool

Large bodies of water frighten him, but if Martin gets in, he can too. He feels safe, knows he won't drown, knows Martin won't shove him down until he passes out. So he can get in, can also enjoy the sight of his lover's body, which seems like his reward.

Leaves

"No way. No. No. You're kidding."

Cronch cronch.

"Delicious."

He really just ate a leaf. Was he taking a joke too far? He won't tell.

Sweet

Strawberries taste much better stolen from his lover's lips.

Color

"So, are all faeries as colourful as you?"

"My brothers are, yes, but we come in all shades and palettes, really."

Malcolm finds he likes a little more blue in his life.

Phone

"Do I really need this?"

"Yes. I need to be able to reach you if I need to."

He didn't expect the addiction to bejeweled, and maybe he regrets getting his love a smartphone.

Race

"Okay so you're a faerie. But you have a brother who's an elf?"

"Half-elf. He has a tail and pointier ears and no wings, and he's a lot more muscled than me or our youngest brother, but he's also a lot more colourful than most elves and his skin takes tattoo ink very well."

"So is this a distinction in species or…?"

"No, it's more like how you humans are all different colours."

"But it's more dramatic than that?"

"A little. But thinking about it now I think it's a lot of political nonsense."

Stroll

Walking in the forest beneath a full moon, he can see the ethereal beauties of his lover.

Film

"Okay so you call picture-shows what now?"

"It depends on the length."

Human technology is so confusing sometimes, but definitely worth it to watch "Great British Bake-Off."

Bottle

"Is that the green fairy I spy? My dear boy I didn't know you had a thing for absinthe..."

"Not really. I just like the colour of the glass."

There are more valuable liquids to fill it with anyway.

Art

It unites them, in its way. Though they may not share a common medium, they're happy to create in a shared space.

Cork

"Much nicer than rocks," he murmurs offhandedly. Malcolm has no idea if he's serious. It's one of the things he loves the most.

Grasp

"I have you. I promise. I have you." He clings to his lover and bawls, finally safe enough to feel the anguish before he loses his mind.

Space

"Do you believe in aliens, or is that just a human thing?"

"It would be silly if anyone looked up there and didn't wonder if we're really all alone. Though interpretations differ."

"So just like humans yet again."

"You say that like it's surprising, my love."

My love.

To think the first time he said that would be looking up from the roof of the precinct during a five minute break.

Dream

His sleep looks more peaceful now. Good. Martin idly wonders if he comforts Esmer in there too.

Scare

When he sees him standing over… something, covered in blood, face snarling and… fangy, Malcolm can't help the adrenaline that shoots through his veins.

Mask

"I'm Fine."

Martin knows what it really means.

Thrice

Three is the number of times he makes Astr come, minimum, before he'll let himself.

Adventure

"Don't drink the wine, or you'll be stuck forever."

"Promise?"

Risk

He knows Martin is dangerous. An apex predator, and he might as well be a fluffy little lamb.

Security

Malcolm's arms are the safest place he's ever known. Strong enough to help him lift the world from his shoulders, but soft enough to absorb his tears.

Hold

With the gentlest touch, Martin realizes, he's more powerful than anyone in Esmer's life.

Lie

"I'm fine."

Malcolm doesn't let the hurt show. He knows he has to let him grieve. At least for a while.

Chill

"It's so cold…"

The Romani boy is burning up, and Martin knows that this isn't just a cold.

Plant

"I think it'll help. Give you something to love while you recover."

Astr's never loved a succulent so much.

Door

When Esmer brings home the sonogram, they don't even make it all the way into the bedroom. Martin's so much stronger than he looks, and a doorway is sturdy.

Boat

Esmer talks in his sleep. When it isn't about a red room, he whimpers about the rocking.

Pet

"Hello my love, how are we today?"

Malcolm never says "Disney Princess" out loud, but he always thinks it when he sees him interact with Sunshine.

Embrace

To look at Malcolm, you wouldn't think he would give such incredible hugs. It's Astr's best kept secret.

Run

It's thrilling to play predator and prey, to see how fast his lover can go, and the sweet sensation of catching him, making love on the ground, knowing how fully he possesses him.

Rest

"Sleep. I'm here. I'll stay here. You can't hurt me."

Malcolm eventually learns to trust that promise. Sometimes he gets 5 hours a night.

Break

It hurts it hurts it hurts!!

Nothing has ever hurt more than his heart at this moment. To see his lover, the man he trusted his whole self to, whispering sweet nothings into some woman's ear. Taking her back to their home.

He knew he would never be enough. But he didn't realize how painful that could be.

Check

They argue over who pays for dinner more than most couples. But when you're both that rich, and that dependent on being a caregiver, that's only natural.

Song

He may not understand the words, but Martin knows the grief. He wonders what died, and has no idea it's Esmer's heart.

Night

It takes all night, but he has his Esmer back. His beautiful boy won't ever have to feel insecure again.

#Mine #my work #fan work #original characters #esmer #astr #ficlet #drabble #mine #rayne writes

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missfeisty199 · 5 years

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“What About Our Tea?”

(Friendlypack Fic)

Summary: They were going to be enjoying a nice cup of hot tea to warm from the overbearing wintertime outside, but things get thrown in a whole other direction when Stan walks in on Jimmy changing.

Content warnings: major angst with a very happy ending, mention of prostitution/sex work, mention of abuse, mention of self-loathing, loss of one’s virginity, explicit sex between male and male (with consent of course).

Rating: Explicit/NSFW

Author’s Note: WOW, this was WAY longer than I had initially planned! This idea was only inspired by this scene from “Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World”, but the thought of what it would be like for Stan to (finally!) lose his virginity to Jimmy got a hold of me, so here we are. Hope you still love this fic!

It has been unusually frigid in the bustling city of Los Santos lately. Even in the wintertime on other occasions, the city still maintains a sort of warm climate with soft winds and clear skies. Fall, Winter, Spring, or even come Summer, the Los Santos sun still shines on as it stares down the city with raging heat.

This time, however, wintertime is actually what wintertime entails. Freezing winds, light fall of snowflakes, thick attire, snow as white as a pure lamb covering every inch of ground, and plenty of hot drinks to go around. It was currently this that Stan Wheeler and Jimmy Bending were discussing as they walked along an empty central park at night.

“Surely you wouldn’t just have straight hot water with nothing in it,” Jimmy muttered to Stan as he lit a cigarette to get some sort of warmth through him. “I’m not even sure that’s healthy.”

“Oh, but it sure is, Friendly J! The warmness kills off all the bad stuff inside and cleans the pores!” Stan replied with confidence.

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure it doesn’t work that way, but whatever.”

The pair had just recently finished off what was thought of to be a normal delivery in the Sandy Shores area until it turned out to be another accomplice bait thrown by Mr. Lang Buddha and his stooges. Memories of the Polito Bank robbery came flooding into both men’s conscience, sending panicked chills down their spines. Luckily the men played both their cards right exactly the same way they did in Polito, managing to get off safely just the same way.

Mr. Buddha did manage to take Jimmy’s car keys again, along with the actual vehicle itself instead of just abandoning it this time, and with Kiki being too busy with a film shoot to pick them up, the two were left no other option but to go on foot in the snow. They had been walking for what felt like hours until they finally made it back to Vinewood, catching sight of the park in which they presently found themselves strolling through.

Reflecting on all that has happened in the day, Jimmy let out a deep sigh as he exhaled the smoke from the cigarette, seeing his own breath in the chilled air. “Well, this has been a pretty lousy excuse of a date.” He did not intend for the wording to be taken so seriously, but it apparently caused Stan to stop walking and look at Jimmy perturbed.

“S-so t-this is a d-date, eh?” the older companion stuttered.

“Oh, did I say this was a date?” Jimmy sarcastically questioned.

Even with the freezing temperature, Stan felt his face heat up in a blush. “W-well uh...um...i-it sure sounded l-like you did.”

Seeing his friend fluster gave Jimmy the leverage to tease him. “Hmm, guess it was just a slip of the tongue, Staniel.”

He flashed Stan a mocking smirk, actually getting quite amused at the fact that he was so stunned about this that his frequent bold speech had melted into a sheer blubbering stutter. Jimmy even winked at Stan, even though his dark shades would thankfully prevent him from seeing so. Not only that, but it secretly made Jimmy feel honored that even he had that effect on Stan and not just beautiful women.

“O-oh…tongue, yeah...”

Remembering where they were and what weather they were standing in reminded Jimmy of where the two were heading to. “Anyways,” he began, “we gotta get out of here before a blizzard freezes us stiff.”

Clearing his throat, Stan agreed. “You’re right, Friendly J.”

“Besides, the night ain’t over just yet, Sunflower. I think there’s a thingy over here somewhere.”

The perplexed look returned in Stan’s expression. “A thingy?”

“Ya know, a shortcut to the apartments,” Jimmy corrected as he made his way across the road and in the direction of behind some buildings, Stan obviously tailing right behind him like a loyal puppy.

They may have spent God knows how long walking straight from Sandy Shores in the heavy snow, but for whatever reason, it was as though the way to the apartment complex had the duo fly by in a dazed void. Stan was about to head over to his apartment when he felt Jimmy hold on to his hand suddenly, the touch startling him.

“I ain’t gonna leave ya to sit with just a cup of hot steaming water,” Jimmy chuckled as he pulled Stan towards his own place. Stan had no other choice but to go along with it.

They entered Jimmy’s apartment, thankful for the little warmth it brought at the very least. Jimmy stubbed out the butt of his cigarette on a small ashtray buy the window and shrugged off his thick jacket, chucking it at the sofa that rested in the corner of the living room. He gave Stan the okay to do the same for his winter coat as they made their way to the small kitchenette.

“Ya ain’t tricking me into having that devil’s juice, are ya?” Stan asked Jimmy as he took a seat at the far-too-small table in Jimmy’s kitchen.

“I wish it was that easy, Wheeler,” the younger of the two replied. “I’m not. However, since you are so damn picky about what you put into your body, I’m gonna treat you to a nice hot cup of tea. ”

Stan was taken aback. “Tea? You mean the beverage that entitles dirty leaves contaminating the drinking water?”

As if Stan’s own lead-filled bottled water was any better, Jimmy thought to himself. “Look, it shouldn’t be all that bad since ya technically have to use pure clean water to make it.” Jimmy opened his fridge to take out a Brita-filter pitcher full of cold water. “Besides, ya have to boil said water as well.”

Stan was still reluctant given his own biased preferences, but he was grateful that Jimmy was being generous to help them warm up from the weather. “O-oh alrighty then,” he mumbled.

“So, what kind of tea do ya want?” Jimmy asked the blond man once he had poured water into the kettle pot and turned on the stove.

“There’s more than one kind?”

Jimmy had opened one of the cabinets and took out a box full of mixed tea bags. “Let’s see... we have Raspberry Zinger, Country Peach Passion, Wild Berry Zinger, True Blueberry, Black Cherry Berry, Peppermint, Sleepy Time...”

He continued on listing off what seemed like a tremendous assortment of tea flavors, so much so that Stan had begun to wonder if Jimmy was pulling his leg and just making up names to spite him. When he had not said anything after a while, Jimmy took advantage of picking out a flavor himself.

“I think I’ll go with a nice cup of Sleepy Time,” he said, enjoying the fact that Stan had no say in it otherwise.

Stan knew this as well, accepting his defeat. “That sure sounds good to me.”

Jimmy had set two separate tea bags on the kitchen table, taking a seat across from Stan.

Neither of them said anything for a while, the only sounds filling in the room coming from the soft bubbling of the boiling water in the kettle. Jimmy ran a hand through the tealed locks of his hair before going to rub his face, the other hand pulling off his shades, but not entirely so that Stan could see his eyes. Stan always wondered to himself why Jimmy would never let him see what his actual eyes look like. He has only caught very quick glimpses when his seizure spasms would cause him to accidentally knock off Jimmy’s sunglasses, but the younger man would turn away in pain and frantically search for his shades.

Stan could not remember if Jimmy’s eyes were a dark hue of hazel or brown or perhaps a unique color of green. The only thing he knew was that Jimmy suffered from migraines from time to time, so it was best that he always had his shades on to block out any bright lights and such.

Stan was about to bring it up with Jimmy at last but thought against it at the last minute. He decided to go with some other topic. “So, I never figured a cool guy like ya would be into some of the tea.” Then he felt bad for even saying anything at all.

“Oh, I have some once and a while,” Jimmy said, making Stan thankful that he had not offended him. “I drink tea when my migraines just really get to me, or to relieve some stress from a day or night’s work. Like tonight.”

Stan could only vouch for that as well. “Yup yup,” he sighed.

Jimmy had finished massaging his face from all the stresses, putting his sunglasses back on.

“You should really save the damn phone number for when they call again, that way you know to just fucking ignore it. Put the contact under something obvious, something like ‘Big Dick and His Henchmen, Don’t EVER Answer’.”

“B-but they said they know what we look like,” Stan nervously answered back. “Ignoring their call would just mean bullets planted into our skulls, Friendly J.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see them fucking try it,” Jimmy scoffed. He saw the scared look in Stan’s crystal blue eyes and sighed. “I’m kidding, Stan. Besides, if they hadn’t done so this second time around, they probably ain’t got the gonads to do it a third time...if there is a third time. I know I said to watch out for drug dealers like Buddha, but I’m sure they’re just putting up a front. All bark and no bite.”

“We should have seen it coming when they told us to meet them in Sandy Shores,” Stan uttered.

“The place where there ain’t hardly any service around, not even a bank to rob,” Jimmy finished off. “A big fucking waste of our time.” He glanced to the kettle pot on the stove, waiting to soothe his nerves of frustration as patiently as he could.

“I...I’m sorry about them taking your brand new vehicle, Jimmy.”

“Why’re you sorry, Stan? It wasn’t your fault.”

Stan shifted in his seat, a look of culpability in his eyes from what Jimmy could tell. “It...it kind of is. I was foolish to answer the call and agree to the deal.” His voice was quiet, so much so that Jimmy had to apply some extra hearing than normal, but he understood Stan clearly nonetheless.

“Aww, Stan. You didn’t know.” Jimmy reached across the table and placed a hand on Stan’s in a reassuring nature. “You were just looking to make some cash, doing your job as usual.”

“S-so you’re not u-upset with me?” Stan sounded like he was seconds away from shedding tears, and it hurt Jimmy to see him be so hard on himself. Yes, Jimmy had just bought the car today. Yes, they had to walk all the way back to the city because of it. Yes, Buddha threatened their lives if Jimmy were to call the cops or AAA.

However, he was not upset with Stan.

“It’s the whole circumstance I’m upset with, but not you, Stan. Never at you.”

This gave Stan a sense of relief. No, a lot of relief actually.

He still felt shivers from the outside run through his body, especially in his arms since he had on his regular baby blue polo shirt.

Jimmy took notice and got up from the table. “Let me go fetch you a blanket.” With that, he left Stan alone in the kitchen to head into his bedroom just down the hall. It gave Stan some time to be with his thoughts.

Gosh, darn it, Stan! You know you really fudged it up this time! Jimmy may not be fuming with you, but you know it really was all your fault he lost his brand new car! You know Mr. Buddha is a very dangerous man. You’ve seen and heard things about him. You know what he’s like! You know what he can do! When will you learn, Stan?! When will you learn that your actions have consequences?! Wait...where have I heard this before? Ah, darn it all, it doesn’t matter! What matters is that you could have gotten you and Friendly Jimmy killed! All because you wanted to make a quick buck, some quick dosh! I mean yes the people of Los Santos need water, and it is your dream to sell them the sweet glorious 10% lead-filled water, but you definitely should have known better! You gotta stop being so naive! Think about what you’d do if you lost Jimmy, all because of your actions! You would be nothing without Jimmy! No Jimmy means no point of living! You’ve lost Denisse, you may have lost the respect of your sweet baby boy Roy, but you certainly haven’t lost Jimmy just yet! Wait...speaking of Jimmy, how long does it take to grab a gosh darn blanket?

Stan quieted the voices in his head to look out for any clear sign that Jimmy was still around. The only thing he heard was the shrilling whistle of the kettle pot, signifying that their tea was ready. He got up from the kitchen table and turned off the stove, easing the cry of the appliance.

He figured since he was already up he might as well check up on his dear friend. The apartments are only so small enough for what they are worth, every room only being a few steps away, so it wasn’t like Jimmy could have gone too far. He made his way through the short hallway where he saw an open door to a room that Stan could only assume was Jimmy’s bedroom.

What he saw when he entered said room stunned him into a frozen shock. Stan saw Jimmy standing half-naked in front of his closet, his boots were scattered across the floor along with his velvet-hued T-shirt. His exposed back was towards Stan, and he was about to work on pulling down his black jeans when a gasp Stan had not noticed he was holding escaped him. Jimmy had turned his body around in a haste, his face immediately blushing crimson red against his light skin once seeing Stan in the doorway. It was then that Stan took note of Jimmy’s sunglasses off, at last, seeing that his eyes were indeed a dark brown color from where he was standing.

“STAN, WHAT THE FUCK? I’M CHANGING!”, Jimmy screeched.

“I...duh...I...o-oh...uh I...eh um...I...I...S-SORRY!” The only thing Stan knew of to do in such a flustered state was to cover his face with his hands and turn his body a full 180 degrees. His feet did prevent him from walking out though as if they had been nailed down to the floor.

Gah Stan look what you’ve gone and done now! You gosh darn idiot! How could you walk in on your best friend in the whole world being almost completely naked?! How dare you?! You gosh darn frickity pervert! How could you go and do such a thing?! You could have waited! You could have waited for Jimmy in the kitchen! How could you go and invade Jimmy’s privacy - WAIT someone’s touching me!

Even with his hands still enclosing his eyes in the darkness, Stan felt his body being turned back around in such a fragile manner. Then came when another set of hands uncovered his face, and a familiar and near voice instructed him to open his eyes. When he did, there was Jimmy only an inch away from him this time, and there was a smile on his face.

“J-Jimmy…,” Stan began softly. “Your eyes…” He now had the chance to examine the other’s facial features. With Jimmy’s shades off, Stan was able to see that there were very obvious bags under Jimmy’s eyes, along with bloodshot redness in his scleras.

“Yeah, cocaine does that,” Jimmy chuckled. “In all seriousness, though, I have trouble sleeping at night. That’s why they’re so bloodshot and exhausted, and any brightness that comes in just hurts them. ”

“Oh...w-well how come?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why can’t you sleep at night?”

Jimmy nonchalantly shrugged. “Um, I suppose from the line of fucked up work I do. Work involving strangers...paying strangers... naked paying strangers. Does that ring any bells, Stan?”

“Oh! Right, right!”

Stan really did tend to forget that one of Jimmy’s so-called occupations under his belt was prostitution. Maybe because the thought of Jimmy having to forcefully sell his own body to people and let them do whatever they want with it made Stan’s stomach turn. He did not like the image of Jimmy having to do such a thing in his head, so that was probably why Stan would block it out from his memory.

“So, did you come in here just to watch me strip tease or what?” Jimmy said. Kind of half-jokingly, yet also half serious.

“Wh-n-no! I-I didn’t mean to...I...uh…”

“It’s alright, Stan,” Jimmy said, his face slowly inching closer to Stan’s. “You don’t have to answer that.”

It was then that Jimmy softly pressed his lips to Stan’s, leaving the older man speechless. He did not know what else to do, or better yet his body did not know. He just...stood there with his lips sealed shut, and Stan wasn’t sure why though. He wasn’t sure why his body had just shut down.

Yeah, it was a surprise to see Jimmy kiss him...but it wasn’t like Stan hadn’t thought about doing the same thing before…

“J-Jimmy…,” he murmured. Stan had wished he had not said anything if it meant for Jimmy to stop.

Blushing, Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I...I’m sorry, Stan. I guess my job as a sex worker has got me - ”

“No, it’s not that at all,” Stan had cut off.

Jimmy blinked. “Then what’s wrong?”

“I...well...I...I want to kiss you back...but…you recall the story of my ex-wife and I, right?”

It took Jimmy a while to figure out what Stan meant, then he remembered that his ex-wife Denisse would never allow Stan to touch her at all. Puzzle pieces came together and created the full picture.

“You’ve never even kissed anyone before,” Jimmy said.

“Exactly.”

Jimmy was a bit relieved to know he hadn’t done anything to make Stan uncomfortable, but it also made his heart ache for him.

“Besides,” Stan added, “I-I don’t know if I’d do a good job...with you...with everything that goes along with it.”

“Everything that goes along?”

Stan shifted his weight, having become so restless. He felt like a loser. He felt so small. It irritated him that he knew what he wanted, but his low-self esteem and inexperience got the better of him. If his own wife at the time never wanted him to lay a single finger on her, then who the hell would? With Jimmy, on the other hand, and the line of unfortunate work he has been dealt...well...

“Damn it,” Stan sighed.

He was tired of beating around the bush. He didn’t care one single bit if he just rambled on and on to Jimmy.

“I want to kiss you, Jimmy! I want to kiss you, and I want to touch you...but I don’t know how to do any of those things! My ex-wife wouldn’t let me do that, so why would someone like you?! I also don’t want to do anything that makes you think of me like all those other folks that take advantage of you and your body! I would never want to use you like they do! I wouldn’t want you to flinch if I were to lay even a fingertip on you!”

It was Jimmy’s turn to be surprised. He knew all about the whole ex-wife thing, but he hadn’t realized Stan was extremely bothered about Jimmy being used as a fuckboy since the middle-aged man always forgot or was insensitive about it. The occupation conditioned him to have the mindset that anyone he’d get intimate with would just end up using him like a cum dumpster and hand him some major hundreds of paper greens. It made him think that this was all his body, or even his own existence, was good for.

That’s exactly why he was never able to sleep well at night. Every chance he’d get at closing his eyes, he’d be transported back to clients that would intimidatingly tower over him, assault his asshole until it’d hurt too much to sit or lay on a bed, or even choke and beat him if he did something they did not like.

So the fact that Stan was worried about making him feel uncomfortable if he’d touch him...really just made Jimmy’s heart melt straight to his stomach. He thought it was the sweetest thing ever.

“S-Stan…” Jimmy cringed at his own voice shaking like he was about to cry. Fuck, maybe he actually was.

“It’s the truth,” the blond lamented. He set his eyes on anything other than Jimmy at the moment, but the younger man had suddenly cupped Stan’s cheek, causing him to look back at Jimmy. Back to those beautiful, yet tired, bloodshot eyes of his.

“Stan, you wouldn’t be like any of them. Not by a long shot.”

“Then I’d be lousy at pleasing you since I don’t know where to even begin.”

Jimmy placed his hand on the other side of Stan’s face. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll show you.”

“R-really?”

Jimmy nodded, even throwing in a genuine smile. It made him so happy to see Stan, his Stan, smile back at least. “Your pathetic excuse of an ex-wife may never have let you touch her, but I will gladly allow you to.”

Stan cleared his throat. “S-so, where should I s-start?”

Jimmy smirked, tilting his head to mimic the expression of deep thought. “You said you wanted to kiss me back, didn’t you? We can start with that.”

They brushed their noses against each other before Jimmy brought them back to a kiss, pressing his soft lips to Stan’s just as gently as before.

This time, Stan reciprocated it, finally taking control of his senses. He even let his eyes close as he tilted his head to really kiss Jimmy with meaning. Stan then picked up the distinct taste of the cigarette Jimmy had a while ago, along with the smell of cigarette ashes and sweat and bold cologne. All these overloads of tastes and scents should have disgusted Stan but he couldn’t have cared less. He didn’t mind it at all because he was kissing Jimmy at last. To say it felt like nothing Stan’s ever felt before was a stretch, but nevertheless, he knew for certain that he was loving it.

Because it was with Jimmy.

One of Jimmy’s hand let go of Stan’s face and trailed it down his neck and chest, not wanting to break their lips’ exchange for one second. He knew it was definitely safe to touch Stan this way because he heard a soft moan come from the older man. If anything else, the contact even urged Stan to open his mouth to get more of Jimmy’s lips, and he had to desperately restrain from pushing Stan up against the wall and take him then and there.

Instead, Jimmy took one of Stan’s hands and gently placed it on his own bared hip.

It was like a switch had turned ON in Stan’s brain, and he knew what he was asked to do without any words from Jimmy. He placed his other hand on Jimmy’s exposed chest, allowing him to gradually feel all of him at once.

They then separated for breath, much to Stan’s dismay. Jimmy moved down to kiss Stan’s neck, delicately at first and then sucking at the skin. He felt the goosebumps from Stan rise under his lips, signifying again that this was fine to do.

“You learn fast,” Jimmy chuckled. “It’s okay, you can continue doing what you’re doing.”

Seeing as Stan was given the green light to keep touching Jimmy, he smoothed the palm of his hands over every inch of his body. His hands admired the buff of Jimmy’s biceps, the light hair on his arms and chest, the broad of his shoulders, and even the slight flex of his abdomen when Stan’s fingernails brushed over it. One of Stan’s hands went as far as catching Jimmy’s nipple, causing the other to let out a low groan and dig his head into the crook of Stan’s shoulder, suddenly nipping his teeth on the sensitive skin.

Stan flinched a little, then giggled nervously once he realized why it had happened. “Did I do something right?” he sheepily asked.

“You did,” Jimmy reassured. “Could...could you maybe do it again?” Jimmy’s voice was shy when he said it, but it made Stan’s heart flutter knowing he was leisurely on the path to satisfying Jimmy.

His fingers graced against Jimmy’s nipples like before, even pressing down into the buds and feeling them get hardened. It reduced the younger of the two to become a purring mess. The sounds from Jimmy and the attack of his lips on Stan’s neck and shoulders urged the blond to explore all the ways to work his companion. It was as if endless treasures were unlocked for him to cherish from the very second he met Jimmy. It may have taken Stan long to get over Denisse, remembering all the days and nights he had cried about their divorce.

It made him feel foolish beyond belief to think he had wasted all this time chasing around beautiful women all over Los Santos, only to find that the key to all heaven was right next to him. That key just so happened to have a name; Jimmy Bending.

“J-Jimmy?”

“Yeah?” Jimmy answered when he separated from Stan, looking into his eyes.

“Were you just going to bring the blanket from your bed?”

Jimmy raised his eyebrows before remembering that they had tea awaiting them and Jimmy was supposed to bring him a blanket. “I...guess so. Do...you still want a blanket, Stan?”

Putting some thought into it, the blond shook his head, placing kisses on Jimmy’s face instead. “Later.”

“Oh? What about our tea?” Jimmy inquired playfully. He was actually astonished at Stan’s new-found confidence. He still hasn’t quite nailed the seductive part just yet due to his inexperience, but that doesn’t mean Jimmy didn’t also think of it to be adorable at the very least.

Stan ran his fingers through the tealed part of Jimmy’s hair before cupping the back of his head. “I can...not have tea.”

Before anything else was said, the two returned to kissing with so much vigor put into it. Jimmy gently led them over to his bed, turning them around so that it was Stan who would lay on the somewhat decent mattress and Jimmy towering over him. Although the way they were positioned easily reminded Jimmy of various “appointments” with clients, he knew for certain that this moment here with Stan was nothing at all like those. Just the way they took the time and care to discover what turned them on and turned them off said enough.

“Do you want to take anything off?”, Jimmy asked.

“I...I’m not sure. I’ve never been naked in front of someone before.”

Jimmy chuckled, mentally cursing Stan for always being so cute in everything he says and does. “You don’t have to be completely naked if you don’t want to, Stan. I’m not entirely naked myself, as you can see.”

“Well...you were about to b-before I walked in.” Stan blushed a beet red.

“True, but I originally wasn’t planning on being naked for long. Now, however, I don’t mind it at all.”

Neither did Stan apparently, considering that his eyes couldn’t keep from staring at the shirtless young man above him. “I do feel bad for being the only one in clothing out of the two of us,” he admitted. “I..I just don’t think I-I’m all that...you know...compared to you and all.”

“Oh nonsense, Staniel,” Jimmy comforted. He massaged the older man’s arms before trailing down to Stan’s waist to untuck his polo shirt just enough to slip his hand under. He felt his stomach, then up to his chest where there was evident curly, thick hair on pecs. Jimmy wrapped a finger around some of the tuffs, amused at seeing Stan sigh at the touch. The blond even pushed his body up against Jimmy’s hand to get more feeling. “Still not sure about getting undressed there?”

“U-um…”

“Would it make you feel better if I turned off the lights?” As much as Jimmy wanted to see all of Stan clearly, what he wanted more than that was for him to be safe in however way he wished. “It wouldn’t be all that dark,” he added. “There’s a faint glow from the city lights at this time, even with the curtains drawn.”

“O-okay then,” Stan said. “We can do that.”

With that being said, Jimmy got off of the bed to quickly turn the light switch to OFF. Just like he described, the entire room was pulled into slight darkness with the illumination of blue and pink from the lights outside the complex. Jimmy returned to his place above Stan. “So, you wanna start with the fanny pack?”

Stan nodded, and so Jimmy reached his hand down to his waist as the other lifted his body up to help. Jimmy unclipped the accessory and gently set it on the nightstand. “What’s next, Staniel?”

“You can do my shirt.”

Jimmy pulled Stan’s polo shirt up from the bottom as he lifted his arms up to assist. Stan may be a light-skinned fella as it already is, but his bared chest and stomach were even lighter now that Jimmy saw him shirtless finally. He leaned his face down to the exposed fleshy skin, making sure to worship every spot of Stan by planting attentive smooches. He also wanted to make sure Stan knew how beautiful he was to Jimmy.

“What were you so worried about, Staniel?” he said between kisses. “You already look gorgeous and strong as it is. I wouldn’t even dream of you looking any other way.”

Words could not describe how grateful Stan was for Jimmy to show his body some rightful appreciation. He decided not to even use words at all, and just let sounds do all the talking. He let out moans as his hands roamed their way over Jimmy’s hair and then down that smooth back of his. He gripped Jimmy’s hips to pull him down closer to him, pressing their torsos tight with so much need to feel skin to skin.

Jimmy made his way up to devour his lover’s lips as if his life depended on Stan’s kisses, never getting enough of them. It was already becoming his new favorite drug, and it delighted him to no end to hear the beautiful man beneath him moan and whine and sigh, all because of his doing. Even the strong grasp of Stan’s hands on his body excited Jimmy, and the feeling of one of them going as far as cupping one of his arse cheeks sent Jimothy spiraling into aroused bliss himself.

Without any warning whatsoever, he thrust his still-clothed groin against Stan’s, a deep moan emitting from both of their throats. When they broke apart to catch their breaths Jimmy starred into Stan’s bright eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Stan. What are you doing to me?” he gasped.

“Touching you? I thought that was obvious?”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know you’re touching me, Stan.”

“D-did y-you want me to stop?” Stan asked nervously.

“Are you kidding me? Of course not! The complete opposite actually.”

It overjoyed Stan so much to know that Jimmy was loving his touch, mentally shouting a sort of “take that!” at Denisse. He squeezed Jimmy’s buttocks again, getting the same reaction from him as he rubbed against Stan. The blond was surprised to feel a distinct hardness this time around from Jimmy, and his own khaki shorts felt tight around the edges, meaning only one thing.

“J-Jimmy…”

“Yes, Stan?”

“Can...can I take off your pants while you take off mine?”

Jimmy soon widened his eyes at how direct the request was. “Are you absolutely sure you’re ready for that?” he questioned.

“I mean…” Stan chewed his lip anxiously. “M-my undercarriage is losin’ some empty space here…”

“Stan.”

“Yes, Jimmy, I am absolutely sure. I’ve gone these long forty years of emotional twists and turns without losing my virgin-card even once. I thought it’d be over and done with when I married my ex-wife, but that certainly was with no prevail. I thought that the women I’ve desperately pursued after in this city would be the answer, but still nothing. Then, here you...here we are…”

Stan didn’t even have to finish his sentence. Jimmy’s eyes softened. He cupped Stan’s face in both hands and kissed him. “Stan, I am honored to relieve you of your position as a forty-year-old virgin,” he whispered.

“Jimmy?”

“Yes?”

“I...I love you.”

Hearing something like that would usually make Jimmy feel nauseous. Like Stan, he never thought he was someone worthy of being loved by another person. Love was something Jimmy didn’t believe in anymore, losing hope in it long ago. So long ago that he couldn’t even remember the exact date and time.

To Jimmy, love meant a lot of things:

punches from strangers, bruises, abuse, pain, being thrown around like a ragdoll, money, drugs, sex, forced sex, nightmares, not being able to look at yourself in the mirror, feeling disgusted with everything about yourself, and not being able to love yourself.

Love was something that Jimmy believed only to be in movies. Movies with happy endings, and it’s happy endings he thought he would never receive for as long as he lived.

Until now with Staniel Wheeler.

“I love you, too.”

With all that was said and done, both men got to work on unbuttoning one another's jeans and shorts. There was no need to be in any hurry, so they took all the time they wanted, admiring every curve of their hips, thighs, legs, and calves. The men kicked off their bottoms and tossed them aside, along with Stan’s boat shoes.

Jimmy palmed the self-evident bulge in Stan’s boxer briefs, causing him to whimper and shimmy his hips to maintain the contact with the other’s hand. It wasn’t even much that Jimmy was doing but it still sent rushes of arousal through Stan. Out of nowhere he grabbed Jimmy’s wrist and pressed his hand farther down on his crotch, letting out an elongated moan louder than what Jimmy’s heard from him yet.

It felt like Jimmy’s head was spinning just from watching Stan go crazy right now, and they were only still in their underwear. It caused his own member to twitch with lust. He had never thought that he’d ever find a man twice his own age to be so God damn attractive.

“What do you want right now, Sunflower?”, Jimmy inquired. “How can I take care of you?” Usually, when these kinds of questions were asked by Jimmy to people he’d be with, his tone would be that of forced passion with no other need than to only get his clients off. Now, his tone was affectionate and with meaning.

Stan looked up at the young and handsome man above him, not even being shy about what his body needed from him anymore. He was giving himself to Jimmy and he couldn’t have thought of anyone else in Los Santos or even the entire world to finally lose his virginity to. “I want you to jerk me off, Jimmy. I want your hand to wrap around me.”

In all truthfulness, Jimmy never thought that he’d hear such a request of him coming from Stan of all people, but it added more fuel to Jimmy’s fire in his stomach. “Of course,” he whispered. He pulled Stan’s boxer briefs down ever so carefully like he was unwrapping a fragile gift on Christmas morning, and he certainly was in a way. Just like that, Stan’s dick sprang out of the fabric. Jimmy looked him up and down, taking in the reality that Staniel Elizabeth Wheeler was fully naked in front of him. “Holy shit,” he muttered.

“W-what is it?” Stan began to worry that Jimmy was suddenly turned off by him, thinking that he was disgusted and had changed his mind.

That wasn’t the case, however, as Jimmy smiled at him. Even with very little light in the room, Stan could see the love in Jimmy’s eyes. “You are so beautiful, Stan.”

Relief washed over Stan. “Come here.”

He pulled Jimmy down and the two shared a quick chaste kiss before the other already sat back up again. Jimmy reached his arm towards his nightstand and opened a drawer. His hand fumbled in dimmed darkness for a bit before he had pulled out a small bottle full of clear liquid and a Trojan condom. He sensed hesitation in Stan’s eyes, and he was quick to calm his anxiousness.

“The bottle is lube. It’s going to make my hand slippery so that giving a handjob is easy. We won’t use the condom just yet until you’re ready.”

“Ah, alright.”

“And wouldn’t you know, the lube is actually water based!” Jimmy thought this would excite Stan at least.

Instead, it perplexed the older man. “Water-based lubricant? Why would that be a thing? Water is for drinking, and only for drinking! It’s for quenching the thirst of parched people - ”

“If you utter one more word, I will send you out into a snowstorm with your boner hanging out. I won’t even give you back your clothes, you’d just walk up the stairs to your apartment cupping your shivering balls.”

The interruption from Jimmy cut Stan off, and he giggled embarrassingly. “R-right, I’m sorry.”

Jimmy popped the cap of the bottle open and poured a very little amount on his palm. He then placed the lube gently on the nightstand and looked down at Stan. “My hand’s going to feel a little cold at first,” he warned. “You ready?”

Stan nodded. “Yes.”

Jimmy gently wrapped his hand around Stan’s erection with a firm grip. At hearing him groan at the touch he started a slow and steady rhythm, aiming for Stan to get used to the feeling of what a hand on his dick felt like. It was clear that Stan was enjoying it as he sucked in air and swirled his hips to get more friction. “Do you want me to go faster, Staniel?” Jimmy asked.

“Y-yes...please?” It came out more like a desperate beg than just a simple answer, and it sure got the message across to Jimmy.

He began to pump his fist at a quicker pace, and as expected Stan went crazy over the sensation. There came a heat in his pelvis and his hips would spring upwards here and there. Stan’s head rolled back into the pillow under him and he placed his own hand on his mouth to muffle his moans.

“Aww, you don’t have to be shy to moan in front of me, sweetie,” Jimmy reassured. “I wanna hear you.” With his free hand, he caringly moved Stan’s own hand away, giving a small peck to his soft lips, letting Stan’s blond mustache tickle him. Never did Jimmy pause his other hand that was occupied on the older man’s shaft, stroking it rapidly than before.

“Jim...Jimmy...mmm feels so nice…haaaaaah.”

Stan had thought that he was going to release himself onto Jimmy’s hand right then and there, but was proven wrong when nothing happened. Nevertheless, Stan was in heaven as Jimmy catered to his body and needs while continuing the work on his dick. Jimmy’s free hand caressed both of his nipples back and forth the same way Stan had done for him moments ago.

Not only that but then Jimmy soon replaced his fingers and leaned down to Stan’s chest. There then came the feel of something warm and wet and Stan looked down to see that Jimmy was running his tongue on his nipples, sending him into a frenzy.

Throughout this whole time, Jimmy had held off from giving any attention to his own hard-on, wishing to put more focus onto Stan. That is until one of Stan’s hands reached out and palmed Jimmy through his briefs, causing him to shot up and let out a yelp of both surprise and extreme lust. “S-Stan,” he gasped, “what’re you…”

“It ain’t fair that you’re taking care of me while nobody’s doing it for you.”

Jimmy’s heart jumped. “It’s not...about me, Stan. You’re the one priority here…”

Stan obviously ignored Jimmy and pulled his briefs down swiftly, his erection flying out in a single swoop. It was somewhat already wet with pre-cum so it was easy for Stan to mimic Jimmy’s hand on him, wrapping his fist and jerking the younger man. Unlike Stan, however, Jimmy let out a high pitched moan and immediately started thrusting himself into Stan’s hand.

“F-fuck Stan...I...I don’t...oh Jesus fucking Christ…” Jimmy’s mind raced as he tried his very best at fight off the imminent heat pooling in his stomach already. He was overwhelmed that someone wanted to take care of him for once instead of the other way around. “Stan...S-Stan please s-stop….STOP IT!”

The outburst made the older man pause what he was doing, and a look of horror was on his face. “I...I’m sorry, Jimmy...I just wanted to -”

“I know, Stan. You did nothing wrong, and I’m so flattered that you want to pleasure me at the same time. I love you for that.”

“Then why’d you tell me to stop?”

“Because...because I don’t want to finish just yet. Once I cum it would take a good while for me to fully take your virginity. I’d just be too exhausted to do it, Sunflower.”

Stan hadn’t thought of it that way, obviously for reasons they had already addressed. He recoiled his hand away from Jimmy’s member and interlaced his fingers with the others. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.”

Jimmy smiled and brought their intertwined hands to his lips, giving a sweet kiss to Stan’s fingers as a way of saying everything was fine.

“Um...Jimmy?” Stan uttered softly.

“Yes?”

Stan was quiet for a good while then. He even shifted his eyes away from Jimmy’s and he bit his lip. Jimmy began to think his outburst had scared Stan too much to request or do anything, and he mentally kicked himself in the ass for having him stop taking care of him. “Stan, I’m sorry for yelling at -”

“I’m ready,” Stan suddenly spoke up.

Jimmy blinked. “W-what?”

“I’m ready,” he repeated, even gesturing at the packed condom wrap on the nightstand.

A shiver ran down Jimmy’s back. So they were going to do this. They were really going to do this. He was really going to do this. It was then that he realized he was actually quite nervous about it, which was really ironic for many reasons. It wasn’t like he hadn’t taken other people’s virginity in his lifetime. Then again, those people were around Jimmy’s own age range. Stan was different, but not to say that it was a bad thing. Jimmy had to remember that while Stan is older than him, he had circumstances that led them to where they are now.

When Jimmy really thought about it, the fact that he was going to take the virginity of a way older gentleman excited him. Besides, there was another way this moment with Stan would be much different than the others.

Jimmy was not going to simply fuck Stan...he was going to make love to him...and that made everything so much better.

“I love you, Stan,” he said as he reached for the lube bottle again along with the condom.

“I love you too, Jimmy,” Stan had answered back.

Jimmy carefully opened the thick wrapper and pulled out the prophylactic, then rolled it ever so gradually onto his dick. Then was for him to prep Stan, who had been attentively watching Jimmy as he himself nervously anticipated what was to come. Even he knew that this was going to be it, a major moment in his life right now. Albeit it took Stan way longer for this to happen to him, he thought better late than never.

He watched as Jimmy popped the cap of the lubricant bottle open and poured the liquid onto his fingers again, only this time he separated Stan’s legs apart with just enough room to fit in between them. Stan flinched a bit when he felt the coldness of the liquid on Jimmy’s finger on his exposed hole. “Okay,” Jimmy began. “This is where things start to get heavy. What I’m gonna do is what’s called prepping, where I’m sticking in my fingers little by little until your body is used to having something foreign inside of you.”

“L-like a prostate exam?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy chuckled. “Just...yeah, just like that. So what I need you to do is relax, and breathe in and out. Can you do that for me, baby?”

The new nickname made Stan’s heart soar, and he smiled up at Jimmy. “I can do that.”

Jimmy lined up the tip of his index finger and instructed Stan to start the breathing process. When he heard him suck in a breath, Jimmy slowly inserted his finger inch by inch into Stan’s hole, whispering affirmations to ease Stan as he would groan and flinch again here and there. It went on for a bit until Stan gave him the alright to add in a second finger, and then the whole process repeated as Jimmy eventually added a third and final finger, then urged him to relax as he moved the digits in and out of Stan. After a good few minutes or so, Stan went from groaning because of the foreign feeling to then letting out faint moans.

“You okay to move forward?”, Jimmy asked.

Stan nodded.

With that, Jimmy took out his fingers and added a small addition of more lube to Stan before taking the tip of his protected member in his hand. He leaned forward to bring his body even closer to Stan while also maneuvering him to have his ass off the bed just a bit.

“I want you to breathe more, the same way you’ve been doing.” When Stan did what he was instructed to do, Jimmy pressed himself through the tight ring with care. He repeated lines of “you’re doing so good” and “keep going” throughout the process, even placing reassuring pecks on Stan’s nose and face. Again Stan would go from groaning to soon sighing and whimpering with pleasure the deeper Jimmy went in. It did hurt him, to say the least, but he knew it wouldn’t be that way for long, and the focus on Jimmy and how good it will feel helped ease himself.

At last, Jimmy was fully inside Stan. “How are you feeling?”

Stan exhaled the last breath he was holding and gazed into Jimmy’s doting brown eyes. “Ain’t gonna lie, it feels strange, but it’s a good strange.”

Upon getting his answer that Stan was alright, Jimmy smiled and kissed him. “I’m going to start thrusting now. Let me know if we need to stop at any time, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jimmy began a steady pace of shallow thrusts into Stan. The other smoothed his hands over on down to Jimmy’s back just to have something to hold on to. At a given point Jimmy’s steady rhythm increased and they both began to feel ultimate pleasure, with Stan being the first to moan lowly and the other followed. Jimmy’s weight shifted on top of Stan as he placed both of his hands in between Stan’s head and buried his face into the crook of the blond’s shoulder. He kept pushing in and out of Stan even faster and deeper until he felt him wrap his strong arms around him and let out an elongated gruffed whimper. He had already managed to find and hit his sweet spot. Jimmy lifted his head a bit to inspect Stan’s face for any warning and was met with such a breathtaking sight. Stan’s eyes were closed and his jaw was hung open. “You okay, there?” Jimmy made sure.

“O-oh Jimmy…”

Just the way he had moaned his name out like that was enough of an answer for Jimmy, and so he lost himself in his own aroused bliss. He locked his lips onto Stan’s in a passion-fueled kiss as he let his hips run on auto, even slipping in his tongue for a good measure, not even knowing if Stan would like it or not. Apparently, Stan did as his own tongue had run against Jimmy’s, and only then did things really get carnal.

Jimmy brushed against Stan’s prostate and the bottom man tightened his grip on Jimmy’s body, his fingernails digging into his back. The mattress below them soon squeaked the more Jimmy drove himself into Stan, making both grateful for the fact that he only lived on the ground floor. He took in everything about Stan in that moment, from how so unbelievably amazing it felt to be inside Stan, the way their heated skin slammed into one another, the moans that he was driving out from Stan, the mysterious yet sweet taste the inside of his mouth held, the way their lips devoured each other greedily, and then finally the reality that he was sharing this moment with him.

They soon parted for much-needed air, a given chance to hear their moans more clearly now. “S-Stan...Staniel…mmm my Staniel....fuck you feel so damn good, my precious Sunflower!”

“Jim...Jimmy...o-oh s-sweet Lord y-you fill me up so d-darn well!” There was an evident heat spreading all through the depths of Stan’s being, and it was something that he knew could not be contained for very long. He didn’t ever want to have this, all of this, to stop. He wanted nothing more than to stay this way with Jimmy forever, them being connected together and become one with their bodies. It was all just so addicting, not even his addiction to oxy could ever match what’s happening here.

The burning pool inside of Stan was approaching quicker than he could have held off and he clung onto his lover as if he’d fade away if he didn’t. “Jim...Jimmy I...I feel s-something…”

“Go ahead, Stan,” Jimmy finished him off, his own release catching up. He reached down to stroke Stan off to help him reach his climax, sending him over the edged.

“J-Jimmy...Jimmy...o-oh h-haaaah J-Jimothyyyyyyyyy!”

Everything had gone bright has Stan lost himself. His hips stilled and he came into Jimmy’s fist, his lover’s name on his lips as he rode off his orgasm.

It did not take very long for Jimmy to follow right behind Stan as he gave one last powerful thrust into him, letting out a hoarse groan while he spilled all of his hot load into the condom. He thought he saw stars even as he clenched his eyes shut and collapsed onto Stan’s sweating body.

The men had stayed that way while they waited for the high to wear off and regain their normal breathing. When they did Jimmy gently pulled himself out of Stan. He unrolled the soaking prophylactic on his spent member before tying a secured knot on it like it was a balloon and getting up from the bed. It was cute to hear Stan whine out of protest from the loss of Jimmy’s warmth on him. He went into the hallway to throw away the used condom in his bathroom waste bin and grabbed a hand towel from the shelf.

Jimmy returned to his room and his place on top of Stan, cleaning both of them up with the rag before setting it aside and laying his body back on top of him. He tiredly lifted his head to meet his eyes with the very man he loves, smiling weakly at him.

“How was that?”, he mumbled out, running his fingers through the curly and damp blond strands of hair on Stan’s head.

“Do I even have to answer that?”, Stan lightly laughed. Still holding onto Jimmy, he pulled him in for a chaste and fatigued kiss.

“I take it that I did pretty well then,” Jimmy chuckled.

“You betcha. Thank you.”

Jimmy grinned and kissed the tip of Stan’s nose before resting his head on his chest. “You’re welcome. I should also thank you as well.” The steady beating of his heart next to his ear easily lulled him to sleep. He knew from this very moment that he would never dare to try and fall asleep with someone he’d have intercourse with unless it was with Staniel Elizabeth Wheeler. There was possibly no escape from the life and job of a male prostitute, but at least Jimmy had someone at home to come back to every time.

The last thing Jimmy heard before falling asleep in the safety of his lover’s arms was Stan whispering, “You’re welcome as well”.

#friendlypack fic #friendlypack #stan the water man #stan wheeler #stan x jimmy #stimmy #friendly jimmy #jimmy friendly j bending #gtav #gta5 #fanfiction #my fic #explict #dont steal #lol now it is time for me to get some sleep

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carmenlire · 5 years

Text

Roses on the Floor

Happy Valentine’s Day! Warning for MCD

read on ao3

The sun streams through his sheer curtains, reflects off gold sheets that smell like sandalwood, even after all this time.

Magnus stretches a little in bed, waking up more than a little bit groggy. He’d had a warlock seminar of sorts in Athens yesterday and had stumbled into the loft just shy of midnight after dawdling in a little tavernas far longer than he should have. New York in the middle of February was bitterly cold, though, and Magnus can’t blame himself too much for wanting to soak up the Mediterranean warmth as long as he could.

Still, he has plans today and he’s hasn’t missed celebrating this particular holiday in almost a century.

Climbing out of bed, Magnus reaches for the red silk robe that had been a particularly successful gift to Alec within the first few years of the relationship. While Magnus owned dozen robes in jewelled tones, the bold red of this particular garment with the black lace trim had been an immediate and fervent hit with his boyfriend.

Tightening the belt around his waist, Magnus cracks his neck, sighing at the pop of pressure as he makes his way to the kitchen.

Brewing a cup of coffee strong enough to kill a man, Magnus thinks through his plans for the day. He needs to pick up some flowers from the corner florist and Raphael had insisted that the wards at the Dumort needed revamped-- refusing to take into consideration Magnus’s set-in-stone plans.

Thankfully, they didn’t really start until tonight. This evening, he’d make dinner-- one of Alec’s favorites-- and as always, end the day with a bottle of his favorite rosé.

He lingers over his coffee, inhaling deeply. Magnus can never quite drink coffee without thinking of his husband. Lattes, double shots, frappuccinos-- Alec would drink anything as long as it had enough caffeine to fell an elephant.

Watching the sun rise in the beautiful blue sky-- the perfect veneer to hide the single digit wind chill-- Magnus sighs a little as he finishes his mug.

The next hour is spent getting ready for the day, the most auspicious of occasions. Valentine’s Day was sacred to him and Alec, much to Magnus’s eternal bemusement.

Their very first Valentine’s Day, Magnus had portaled home from a particularly chatty client only to find his loft in shambles. Something was burning in the kitchen, the vase of two dozen roses was spilled across his coffee table-- water soaking through the rug underneath-- and Alec was a harried wreck of a man scowling down at a wad of wrapping paper that ostensibly held a gift.

Magnus had been prepared to pretend that the day was nothing out of the ordinary. He was old enough for the date not to be particularly important to him, especially since Alec regularly surprised him with romantic gestures befitting the holiday.

Alec had looked up as he’d stepped through the portal, those brown eyes widening before closing in defeat.

I tried, he said miserably and glared halfheartedly at his attempts to woo Magnus.

Charmed beyond belief, Magnus had stepped closer, smoothing away the wrinkle that rested between Alec’s brows. It was the work of a moment to clear the kitchen and set the flowers to rights. Framing Alec’s face, Magnus had swept his thumb’s across his boyfriend’s cheeks and murmured something about going out for dinner.

With a narrow-eyed glance like he was trying to peer into Magnus’s soul, Alec had acquiesced. Magnus had portaled them to the long anticipated Marrakech where they’d enjoyed a warm summer night and eaten the best lamb kabobs the world over. They hadn’t arrived back in New York until almost dawn, wherein Alec had hesitantly handed Magnus the ball of mangled wrapping paper in dazzling shades of pink and red.

Magnus had accepted the gift and vowed to knock Alec’s socks off next year, even if he had to spend the next twelve months planning something grand enough to give the shadowhunter in front of him even an inkling of just how much he meant to Magnus.

The gift had been something small-- as all of Alec’s gifts tended to be-- but packed enough of a punch that Magnus felt his chest shudder under the onslaught.

It was a small painting, no bigger than a standard piece of paper. It bloomed across the canvas in a riot of color and Magnus knew what it was the moment he’d uncovered the gift wrap.

Alec had been staring at him with an eagle gaze, furiously taking in his shifting expressions. He’d wetted his lips and cleared his throat before offering in a tentative voice, You told me that you always wished to return to Jakarta but you could never quite bring yourself to do it. I know it’s not much, but Catarina accompanied me to the city and there was a street vendor there selling paintings he did himself. This is a picture of--

Looking up, Magnus had cut Alec off. My darling, he’d whispered. This is the beach within walking distance of the house I was born in. How did you know?

Alec had clearly been startled before he’d shrugged helplessly. I just liked the way it looked. I guess I was drawn to it.

That painting still hung in Magnus’s private study. No one had ever been allowed in that room except for Ragnor once upon a time and Catarina and Raphael and, of course, Alec.

Thinking about that first Valentine’s Day still fills Magnus was so much love he thinks he’ll drown for it. It had been the start of a long tradition-- at this point, one of the longest Magnus has ever practiced.

He doesn’t have date plans until tonight, but Magnus dresses to impress on his errands. He takes special care with his makeup and chooses an outfit that Alec had literally drooled over, no matter how much he protested that fact.

The corner florist has been in business for over 150 years and thanks in large part to his loyal patronage, no one had ever questioned him too closely about his eternal youth.

He talks to the great grandson of the original owner for a few minutes and chooses two arrangements-- the standard two dozen red roses that have graced his living room every February for eighty years, and another arrangement of sunflowers, their faces open and cheerful.

Alec always picked sunflowers for himself.

By the time he’s checked out at La Belle Fleur, it’s early afternoon and Magnus heads toward the Dumort. He’s barely made it through the back door when Raphael steps through the open doorway. Magnus stares at him bemused.

“Trying to scare me? You should know by now that I’m immune to your vampiric silence.”

Raphael just looks at him for a long moment before turning on his heel and leading the way to his office. There’s no one else around-- most of the vampires either sleeping or staying somewhere else for a few days-- and Magnus has barely settled into the deep leather chair before the fire when he’s handed a glass of whiskey.

Accepting the proffered drink, he takes a sip while considering Raphael over the top of the glass. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Scowling, Raphael takes his own glass to the other chair and stares into the burnished flames of the fire. His smile is barely there but Magnus can see the faint way his mouth turns up in sentiment that one of his oldest friends would deny with all the breath he doesn’t have.

“Someone told me once that it was rude to ask someone to do a job without offering refreshments and pleasantries when they arrived.”

“Now, I wonder who could have drummed some manners into your infuriatingly thick skull?”

It’s quiet for awhile after that, both men content to enjoy each other’s company in silence. New York has burrowed its way into his heart just as sure as his husband had all those years ago and there’s just something about enjoying a glass of whiskey before a fire as the city drones on outside that makes his heart clench. He may travel more than ever now but this is what his home’s become, this is his safe haven in his tumultuous, never-ending life-- New York City with those he loves and those he knows best.

He’s just set to drain the last of his liquor and stand when Raphael’s voice breaks the spell that seems to have settled over them.

“How are you doing, Magnus?”

Throwing him a wry glance, Magnus replies, “I’m doing fine, Raphael. More than fine, really. I’ve got dinner plans-- as you know-- and a bottle of rosé calling my name. All around, it’s shaping up to be a Valentine’s Day like any other.”

Carefully, Raphael turns the glass in his hand and Magnus watches as light reflects through the cut crystal, turning the amber liquid molten.

“Why don’t you have dinner with me tonight? I’ll even let you pick.”

Sighing, Magnus sends Raphael a chastising look. “You know my plans are set in stone, mi pequeño vampiro. Nothing stands in the way of my Valentine’s Day plans.”

Magnus decidedly does not see that way Raphael grits his teeth gently. “How much longer are you going to do this, Magnus?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Raphael.”

“Your holiday plans. You romantic dinner. The whole downworld knows that you’re incommunicado today, that you have been since 2016 no matter that--”

“Don’t.”

Magnus’s voice cuts coldly through the room and not even Raphael is bold enough to contradict the order.

It’s tense for a minute before Magnus releases the tension in his shoulders in a slow wave. “I love my husband, Raph, and this has always been a day to celebrate that. That will never change.”

“I just worry about you,” Raphael admits lowly. He drains the rest of his glass in an efficient swallow that Magnus taught him ages and ages ago.

Magnus smiles but it’s a maelstrom display. He watches the fire with unseeing eyes. “I told Alec once, very early in our acquaintance, that he’d unlocked something in me. I thought for decades that Camille had ruined me, that she’d ground my heart to dust under the heel of her Louboutins. I was surprised to realize that she hadn’t, that I was still capable of love, after all.”

Looking up, Magnus meets Raphael’s pensive gaze. “I love Alec just as much now as I did then. More, I’d say. As long as that’s true, you have nothing to worry about, my dear.”

Standing, Magnus sets his glass down on the table with a dull thud. “Now,” he says briskly. “I believe I have wards to update?”

Magnus walks into his loft and releases a deep sigh. He’d only been at the Dumort for a couple of hours but he was anxious to return back to his apartment. It’s late afternoon, the sun just starting to set and Magnus decides to put off preparations for dinner for just a little while.

Heading over to his drink cart, Magnus opens the bottle of Rosé and lets it breathe for a few minutes as makes a detour, going to his study to grab a book from one of his shelves.

Returning to the living room, Magnus pours a glass of wine and settles into the corner of the couch. Crossing his legs, he sets the photo album on the seat next to him and flips through the pages slowly. He only gives himself the opportunity to be unforgivably nostalgic on a handful of days and Valentine’s Day is most certainly one of them. Alec had walked in on him more than once when he was enjoying a glass of whatever suited his mood while he took a trip down memory lane.

He trails a finger along his own laughing face when he gets to a picture a kind passerby had taken of him with Alec in Paris, laughs himself when he sees another photo where Alec had kissed him on the cheek, surprising him.

The wedding page-- just a page of duplicates while he has an album dedicated entirely to the grandest event in his very long life shelved in the study-- still makes his heart hurt in the best damned way when he turns to it, still makes the breath wrench in his chest.

With a sigh, he spends an hour on the photo album. Twilight gloom hangs heavy in the room when he flips the back cover over and takes a long, shuddering breath. His glass is long since empty and he smooths a hand over the photo album, a long leisurely sweep as he stands.

A few moments later, he’s flipping the kitchen lights on and as he takes a bracing sip of his second glass of wine, Magnus starts dinner.

Valentine’s Day planning alternated and while there had been plenty of dates in foreign locales, or even just out in the city, Magnus’s favorite dates were always those when it was just the two of them enjoying each other’s company in the warmth of the loft. All of the best things had happened here, after all, and Alec was never more romantic than when he didn’t have to worry about anyone but his husband witnessing his attempts.

He’d decided last week to make Alec’s favorite meal and as he takes the ground beef out, Magnus huffs out a laugh. His husband could certainly appreciate a culinary marvel of a meal but he always preferred his blasted bacon cheeseburgers with extra crispy fries.

Magnus makes two and plates them up. He spends the few minutes waiting for the food to cool by setting the table-- a deep red tablecloth and tall candles that don’t illuminate much but light on the gleam of his glass.

It gives everything a rosy glow that makes Magnus overwhelmingly fond.

He sets the arrangement of roses in the middle of the table, fussing for a quick second over the blooms.

Finally, it’s time to eat and Magnus grabs the plates and sets them down in their places. He stands over the table for a long moment and time seems to still. He half expects Alec to come crashing through the door, apologies spilling from his mouth as he rambles on about a demon infestation or how much of an idiotic inconvenience his parabatai is or whatever it was that had kept him from arriving to date night on time.

Magnus imagines walking over to Alec and grabbing his arms, pulling his husband down for a sound kiss. He’d forgive with a wave of his hand a smile that warmed his eyes. Alec would be especially effusive in his praise of dinner and Magnus’s outfit and Magnus would drolly wonder if he’d receive such compliments if he’d chosen a pack of milk duds and a burlap sack.

His throat closes and the breath stops in his chest and Magnus closes his eyes against the wave of grief that all but swallows him. He works on his breathing for longer than he’d ever admit and when he opens his eyes again, he smiles.

It’s bright and real and wondering.

Settling down in a chair, Magnus enjoys his dinner. He only permits himself to talk to Alec aloud a few times a year-- Valentine’s Day, their anniversary, Alec’s birthday.

So, he talks.

He tells Alec about his day and how the seminar was last night and what his travel plans are for the summer. He talks about the movie he just saw and how Madzie is coming into her own in the warlock community and about Raphael’s gentle but sincere concern.

He finishes his burger and pours a third and fourth and fifth glass of wine. He takes an interlude and stands from the table, plating the leftovers in Tupperware that had been a housewarming gift from Simon when Magnus had first invited Alec to move in.

Cleaning the kitchen with a wave of his hand, Magnus grabs his glass of wine from the table and the bottle as well and goes out to the balcony.

He magically regulates the temperature out here but it’s still a little chilly and the cold seeps into his bones.

He walks over to the edge of the balcony and stares out over New York. The city is as busy as ever and he takes a deep drink of wine before his gaze falls down to the hand that lays over the brick wall.

Twisting the wedding ring that’s adorned his finger for almost a century, Magnus thinks about the long road that’s led to this moment.

He’d still do it all again. He would still make that horrendous pun and he would still crash a wedding in a move that would have gotten him executed a century earlier and he still would have given his heart to his stupid, stubborn, amazing, perfect shadowhunter.

Really, he thinks he’d never had a choice and he wouldn’t want one, not when it got him a lifetime of love that still has the power to warm him on the coldest nights.

“I love you, my darling.”

Magnus voice is quiet, somber. He smiles and it’s sad but it also takes a weight off his shoulders that he carries every day.

It’s quiet on the patio. The sound of cars is distant, the noise of the city a lifetime away. Magnus thinks about the past ten years and how difficult that first year was, after Alec’s death. He thinks about the second and third and fourth year and how he'd woken up feeling like his chest was collapsing.

He thinks about this tenth year and bites his lip viciously to keep the tears at bay.

Alec would hate to know that he could make Magnus cry even after he’s been gone so long.

It feels like the blink of an eye to Magnus, though. It feels like just yesterday he was wrapping Alec in quilts and reading the menu to him.

It’s been a decade. Magnus knows that he will love Alec until the end of his life, whenever that day is destined to come. Alec unlocked something in him and Magnus never fears about turning cold, not when he has a million and one memories of Alexander to keep him from freezing.

Magnus stays out on the balcony until nearly midnight. He finishes the first bottle and then a second. He remembers Alec and the dozens of holidays they planned, each one special and everything that Magnus could have asked for because they spent the day together, celebrating their love.

The clock is just about to strike midnight when Magnus closes his eyes. His voice is soft, barely above a whisper, as he says, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Alexander.”

It’s impossible and Magnus will never tell anyone but he knows that he feels a whisper of wind over his cheek at the words.

The patio is temperature controlled, after all, and the warm breeze can only have one source.

That’s what Magnus tells himself, anyway, and it makes the back of his throat ache even as it eases something in him.

Alec is always with him and Magnus wouldn’t have it any other way.

#roses on the floor #my writing

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wendynerdwrites · 7 years

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@jonxsansaremix

Jon x Sansa Remix - Day 4: Fairytale Couples: Allerleirauh/All Kinds of Fur - Allerleirauh x The Good King

Sansa:

“You’ll be queen,” he whispers, eyes glittering like a toad’s, as he leans over her chair at the dinner table, “There is no higher match in the kingdom.”

Gods, no. No. Sansa squirms in her seat, trying not to vomit up her lamb as his hands clasp about her shoulders. “It’s not right!”

“And what’s not right about it, sweet daughter?” He asks, “Your mother, with her last breath, made me swear to only ever marry a woman as beautiful as herself. You’re the only one, Sansa. I’ve searched every kingdom in Westeros and Braavos as well. None but you surpass your mother’s face. And little Robin needs a mother.”

Sansa glances at her sickly little brother. He grins at her and stares at her breasts, though not with the same intent with which her father currently peers down her bodice. Mother, overjoyed at having a son at long last, fed him at her breast until her final day a year ago. Robin is eight now. My whole family is mad, she thinks, all of them. Rumor was Queen Cersei has cursed every highborn maiden on the continent in some way or another. Sansa had been the woman’s ward, but had thought she’d escaped the black magic. Perhaps not. Will I lose my mind too?

But not even the king can force his daughter to marry him. Well, not technically. He cannot force me at swordpoint, but he can force me to agree. He can throw me into the dungeon for years. He can terrorize the villages until I relent. Sansa tries to think, and think hard.

“I… I have conditions,” she says.

Father strokes her neck and inhales sharply. “Of course, My Darling. Name them.”

“Three gowns, a cloak, and a pet.”

Father grins. “That’s it?”

“I’m not done,” Sansa says, leaning forward and taking a sip of red wine, “The first gown must be as golden and shining as the sun itself. The second must be as bright and mysterious and silver as the moon. The third must be a piece of the night’s sky and all the stars within it.”

Father’s grin wavers. “Is… Is that so?”

Sansa nods, beginning to feel more confident. “The fur must be made of every pelt of every bird and beast in the kingdom, save for one. I want a direwolf, Father. A direwolf of my very own to be my companion for all of my days. Bring me those things, and I shall be your bride.”

Once he’s stormed out of the hall, Sansa leans back in her seat in triumph. Even if he somehow did manage to deliver all she asked for, a direwolf--- a species that has not been seen in the kingdom for over a century--- will be her guard. He’ll never touch her.

Mad though he may be, her father is clever, and to Sansa’s horror, he begins to make progress. He summons the world’s finest dressmakers, furriers, hunters, goldsmiths, and jewelers to the kingdom. Before long, he presents her with the first gown.

It’s surprisingly simple, yet no less effective with its floating panels of yellow silk and gold brocade. The gold is of every shade --- white, yellow, rose. It catches every angle and flash of light and gleams to the point where it hurts the eyes if you stare too long --- sunlight to wear.

This should be impossible. Sansa swallows. “It’s lovely indeed, but there are two more gowns, a fur, and a friend you must bring me.”

King Petyr grins. “Just you wait, sweet girl.”

The evening he brings her a silvery-white masterpiece studded with diamonds, moonstones, and opals, she cries herself to sleep.

How? How? She wonders to herself when she sees the third one, a cascade of gemstones against the deepest midnight blue. How do they get the jewels to glow like that?

The king takes pleasure in having her personally inspect every inch of the fur he brings her, to check every path against records of the plumage and coats of every creature native to their country. The hood is a grey wolf’s head.

Sansa relents miserably. “And where is my Direwolf, Father?”

He whistles, and to Sansa’s horror, a beautiful, immense, yet leashed and muzzled creature is led in. The only eyes Sansa’s seen as sad as this beast’s are her own. Her heart breaks for the creature. She reaches out to stroke its head, but Father yanks her hand back.

“That’s a wild animal, My Dear. I couldn’t possibly let you touch it until it’s been tamed. And I’m afraid that won’t be until well after the wedding.” The look in his eyes tell her there is no room for argument.

She waits two nights before acting. Just long enough for Father to grow complacent. She plans carefully. Sansa knows she cannot bring much, but she will bring her greatest treasures.

One is the gold signet ring of her House.

The second is a tiny gold spindle her mother gifted her before she died.

The third… The third breaks her heart. A golden fishing reel, from the days before her father turned lecherous and foul, and led her down to the pond and taught her to fish.

In her bag, she also brings the gowns. Moonlight, sunlight, and starlight disappear into her pack, and she wraps herself in the great fur.

With a cry, she cuts open her palm, spilling blood upon her sheets. Let them think her dead. Better her father try to hunt a murderer than a daughter-bride.

There’s only one more thing to do. Sansa sneaks down to the kennels and finds the poor creature her father captured. Holding her breath, she frees the beast, half-expecting it to maul her. Still a better fate than the one my father plans for me.

To her surprise, though, the Furball gives her a long look and at once, Sansa feels something. It’s as if they’ve known one another their whole lives. The direwolf approaches Sansa and presses her muzzle into the princess’s neck.

“You should not be so kind to me,” the princess whispers, “It is my fault you were dragged away from your home.”

The animal responds by licking Sansa’s face before padding towards the kennel exit. And Sansa knows she’s to follow.

Before wading across Wintertown River, Sansa cuts off her braid, leaving her hair to her ears like a boy’s and flings it and her nightdress into the water.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Three years later:

Jon:

There are rare times that Jon wonders whether keeping Ghost is really worth the trouble.

He gasps for breath, cheeks scraped by icy air, as he and his mount finally come to a stop after chasing after his albino direwolf. It’s no easy thing to chase a direwolf, let alone one with a coat as white as the snow that surrounds them. If the hunting party is still trying to keep up, they won’t reach them for a while yet.

They come to leering, cliff-like rock formation in the middle of the woods, and it takes Jon a few minutes to figure out why Ghost appears to be digging and sniffing around the underside. His wolf knocks over some broken branches, and the next thing he knows, his friend is tackled backwards by a snarling grey she-wolf.

Not just any sort of she-wolf a Direwolf. With such a height, there’s no mistaking it. Jon looks on in awe. Ghost was the only direwolf anyone in the kingdom had seen in ages.

One would think that the animal would greet another of her species as a friend, but she fights as if….

Pups! Jon thinks hopefully. A litter of pups, surely. As the wolves fight, he dismounts, crouches down, and crawls towards the den.

He does not find a litter of pups huddled behind the branches. Indeed, he has no idea what he’s looking at. It looked like a wolf at first, until it raised its head and revealed what looked like the face of a woman sticking out from wide-open jaws. It's body was large and round, almost spherical, and coated with furs of every color and texture, along with…. Feathers?!

Jon scrambles back in terror. So does the creature. Its eyes are the deepest blue he’s ever seen, and he feels his heart soften. The prince crawls closer to it.

“It’s alright,” he says gently, extending his hand, “I shall not hurt you, I promise it. No harm shall come to you on my watch.”

The thing turns out to have hands, albeit filthy ones. It lets Jon help it out of the den, at which point the wolves stop brawling. The creature’s body, it turns out, is not quite spherical, but still multi-textured and lumpy. But it stands on two legs.

“Can you speak?” Jon asks it.

The creature coughs roughly. “Yes, though it’s been quite a while since I have.”

Certainly female, by the voice. The face looks feminine, but it is hard to be sure beneath the levels of grime.

To Jon’s astonishment, the thing dips into its own version of a curtsey with a certain, lumpy grace to it.

“What is your name?”

“I have no name anymore. I am a wolf.”

“That’s what you want to be called?” Jon replies, examining her coat, “There seems to be far more to you than just wolf.”

The being’s appearance is so unnatural. But both wolves, the bitch and Ghost, walk up to the creature and lick her hands. Ghost sniffs her and greets her with a wagging tail, like a packmate.

“You said you have no name anymore.”

“That is correct. But you still do, I expect,” Furball responds, “And poor, nameless creature that I am, it is proper etiquette for a lord to introduce himself.”

Jon’s eyes narrow. She is too well-spoken and too bold to be just some wild creature. He likes her boldness, though. He blushes and bows.

“I am Prince Jon of Valyria, Mistress.”

“Second son of King Rhaegar? Eldest of his children with Queen Lyanna?”

“Indeed!” This confirms it to him.

He’s heard of things like this many a time. Stories that he and his family used to dismiss as myths for children, but that was before his aunt hatched a new race of dragons and his younger siblings, Arya and Bran, began seeing through the eyes of animals.

She’s a lady of some sort, probably once very beautiful. She’s been cursed, though. She wouldn’t be the only one of this generation, either. Indeed, many princess of this generation have suffered nasty fates. Princess Shireen of the Stormlands was cursed so her half her body turned mottled and grey. Princess Arianne and her father, King Doran, were cursed so that they could not say anything of true importance to one another. Princess Asha of the Iron Islands was chased from her lands by an evil uncle. Princess Margaery of the Reach was transformed into a rose by the cruel and jealous Queen Cersei of Casterly Rock, and it’s said the witch-queen performed a blood sacrifice to do it, for her own daughter, Princess Myrcella, was disfigured shortly after. Lady Stokeworth’s daughter, Lollys, was gang-raped by a mob, and Lord Hewett’s daughters suffered a similar fate by invading pirates. Lady Mormont’s eldest was butchered at a wedding. Beautiful, young, highborn women all across the continent have died, been cursed, or gone missing that these days most families are unwilling to let their daughters out of the house.

Jon eyes the poor being. “Tell me, what was your name?”

She bites her lip and steps back. Jon thinks of Princess Arianne. She may be cursed not to say. “It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me. Can you tell me how to break the curse?”

The creature shakes her head.

Before he can ask anything else, they’re interrupted by the sound of trumpets and approaching hoofbeats.

“Jon!”

Aegon and the rest of the hunting party stop a little further back than they might normally upon spotting the wolves. His brother looks as if he’s about to inquire after Jon’s condition, but his eyes fall upon Furball and nearly burst out of his head.

“What in the Seven Hells is that thing?!”

Jon blushes at his brother’s rudeness. “It’s---She’s---” He glances at Furball uneasily. What is she supposed to be, really? What exactly has this curse turned her into? She might call herself a wolf, but there’s an actual one here for comparison. Wolves do not have feathers, let alone the feathers of bluejays, cardinals, orioles, canaries, doves, ravens, and peacocks. To Jon, his new friend looked more like whatever witch had cursed her couldn’t make up her mind about what to turn the poor girl into, and ultimately settled on everything.

“She calls herself a wolf.”

“Ha! Wolves don’t have mink and rabbit pelts. More like Furball,” remarks Aegon.

“Aegon---!”

“---Call me whatever you wish, Furball is fine,” Furball responds, with an odd primness, “You cannot make me feel low, Prince Aegon.”

“Well, I imagine I can’t make you feel any lower, than you already do, looking like that.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness, I meant what I said. I do not mind having an ugly appearance whatsoever. Physical beauty in my experience causes more trouble than it is worth, even before it flees, but the value and potential of a good soul is everlasting and incalculable.”

“Says the woman raised by wolves.”

“I would not be able to speak to you thus, if that were the case,” Furball answers, “Though I wish it were. Wolves have nobler souls than men.”

Jon clears his throat and walks over to Aegon’s mount, gesturing for his brother to lean over.

“I believe,” he murmurs, “That Furball may be another victim of a curse, like Princess Shireen, Arianne, or Margaery. She can’t seem to say it, but there are signs. She speaks as one who has received the finest education, she knows of our family, of courtly etiquette.”

Aegon’s indigo eyes flick upwards to give Furball another look. “An enchanted lady, you say?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” Aegon smirks and slips down from his saddle, approaching the creature.

“Forgive my rudeness, Madam,” he says graciously, “It was highly unbecoming. I swear to you on my honor as a Targaryen, that I shall do whatever I can to help you.”

“I---Mmmmph!”

Jon’s jaw drops as his brother sweeps the creature up into a firm, passionate kiss, eliciting a groan from the rest of the hunting party. Jon nearly tackles his brother when he remembers --- stories about cursed princesses end with them being saved by a prince’s kiss. Or, at least, most of them do.

So Jon watches carefully, waiting for a flash of golden light or a sparkling fog or the arrival of a fairy with a magic wand to change this creature into a fair maiden.

But it doesn’t happen. Instead, the creature begins struggling, pushing Aegon away in horror. The She-wolf hurries forward, prompting Aegon to pull back, wiping his grime-smeared mouth in disgust.

“Foul!” He cries before spitting, “You’re no enchanted beauty! You’re just a freak!”

Tears are streaming down the creature’s face. “Don’t touch me! How dare you touch me?!”

Aegon, enraged and humiliated, looks to his guards. “Men! Cut this thing down! I want its pelt hanging from my wall by sundown!”

“NO!” Jon rushes between the creature and his brother. “Aegon, this creature is innocent! It has harmed no one! And you swore on your honor as a Targaryen to help it! Just because this being didn’t transform into a princess doesn’t render your oath meaningless!”

“You think I’m going to take this freak into my household?!”

“No,” Jon says firmly, “You don’t have to. I will.”

“Honestly, what is with you and strange pets?!” Aegon demands. “Well, we’ll see what Father says.”

Furball informs Jon that her wolf will not leave her side, and sure enough, the creature follows them back to the palace.

Father judges the creature from atop his throne, stern-eyed. “It seems tame, I’ll give you that, but I can’t have it frightening visitors. It would need to be kept out of sight. And it would need to perform some kind of service to us.”

“I can help in the kitchens,” Furball offers.

King Rhaegar wrinkles his nose. “You think I want you shedding in our food, Furball?”

“My coat does not shed, Your Majesty,” Furball responds adamantly, “I am not like other animals.”

“Fine, but if you’re to keep that wolf---”

“---There’s no alternative---”

“---You must sleep in the kennels with it.”

Furball gives that strange sort-of curtsy again.

“And if we find a single hair in our food---”

“---Cast me out, Your Majesty.”

“Good.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Furball:

The cook almost never lets her near the actual food, aside from the occasional tasks shelling peas or peeling potatoes. She mostly gives Furball cleaning work.

That is, until Furball brings fresh salmon far finer than any the fishmonger offers to the kitchens one day, and the cook puts her to that task.

Sleeping in the kennels isn’t bad, either. She’s not considered a dog, she’s seen as a wolf, and the dogs keep their distance from the wolves. Lady --- her wolf--- and Furball have carved out their own corner of the pen and sleep every night wrapped around one another. She has access to clean water and proper plumbing now, and she’s laden their corner heavy with fresh straw.

Every night and every early morning before dawn, Sansa combs out her coat to keep it free of fleas and any fur Lady may have shed. At one point, she acquires a discarded servant’s dress. It allows her to slip out of the fur, cover her hair, and move about the castle grounds unnoticed to bathe properly.

The opulence of the Valyrian Court reminds her of home, albeit the walls and livery are strewn with different colors. She’s yet to see the dragons up close, as Princess Daenerys keeps them in a nest atop the nearby mountain. The castle is of the blackest stone she’s ever seen and some halls have ceilings as high as the moon.

She’d been told growing up that she was lucky, as her family’s palace was one of the only ones with running water. But back home, the water ran through the walls to keep the rooms warm during the winter. Here, the water runs from spigots into basins. Grand rooms are lined with plush crimson carpet and the walls of the ballroom are gilded mirrors. Everywhere one looks there are depictions of dragons in sculpture, moldings, tapestry, and paintings. And that’s not counting the skulls --- some the size of a cottage, others as big as a woman’s fist --- that line the throne room.

Not that Furball spends much time in the grand chambers. Most of the royal family find her disturbing and repulsive, so she’s kept out of sight.

Furball is completely and utterly fine with that. It’s better that way. And even if she wasn’t afraid of being recognized by someone who knows King Petyr, the grandeur of the palace reminds her of home. She doesn’t want to be reminded of home. Indeed, when she does find herself in one of the public rooms or halls meant for highborn, her heart catches every time she turns a corner as she half-expects to run right into her father.

The kitchenworkers, on the other hand, seem to regard her as a sort of mascot or pet. They even reach out and pet her, and their children love trying to ride her. Furball draws the line at eating without utensils, receiving “treats”, or being treated like a dog and expected to do tricks. But she doesn’t mind entertaining the little ones or being petted. It makes her feel less alone.

Furball thinks she could make a life here. There’s only one problem.

The second prince, the dark one with the kind eyes who brought her here. Furball assumed he’d forget about her after a few weeks, but he doesn’t. He drops by the kennels and the kitchens a few times each week, usually to ask her questions. Does she have any parents? How’d she meet Lady? Can she read? Who taught her? He tries to place her accent and, to her dismay, gets as close to realizing she had to be from somewhere in the Riverlands, or the Vale or North. Impressive, as Sansa had spent a chunk of her childhood as a ward in the Crownlands, and had picked up some of their affectations.

She knows what he’s after. Despite that foul kiss from his brother proving fruitless, it seems he still thinks her a maiden beset by an evil spell. He doesn’t ask her to confirm or deny it directly, as he believes she’s prevented from telling him. But he tells her his theories and asks her for whatever details might help him figure it out.

“My brother thinks you’re just some strange beast because his kiss didn’t work, and in stories, princes break spells on princesses by kissing them. But I’ve checked, and it’s more complicated than that. Many times, even though it’s a prince kissing the maiden, the story says it’s actually ‘true love’s kiss’ that breaks the spell. The man being a prince is incidental,” he explains to her one morning as they lug pails of milk from the barns to the kitchen. She’d insisted to him that if he was going to pester her, he should at least help out. And to her shock, instead of having her whipped for her insolence, he readily agreed. It certainly made chores easier. “And not even true love’s kiss is the answer to every story. Sometimes, it’s reaching a certain age that breaks the spell. Or the collection of some magical artifact, solving a riddle, or enduring some sort of trial, like walking over hot coals or reclaiming a kingdom from a tyrannical usurper.”

Another time, while salting meats, he tells her, “I think whoever cursed you must be very, very powerful indeed. My little brother Bran has visions, you know, of the past and future. I asked him to look for the time you were cursed, and what magic is needed to cure you. He couldn’t find either. So the witch or sorcerer who did this to you must be able to repel visions.”

Furball knows she should put an end to this. That she should scream and shout for him to leave her be, refuse to answer one more question, or even leave. But she can’t.

For one thing, she knows he’ll never find her out. There’s no magical curse, no sorcerer, no witch. No one did this to her. Not if his psychic brother finds nothing. My family is just mad without magic.

For another, she’s lonely, and he makes her feel less so. She gets the distinct impression that the reason he takes such an interest isn’t because he wants to be a hero, or learn magic, or even that he wants to marry her if she turns out to be a princess after all. He actually wants to help her. It’s why he also helps her with the milk-gathering, potato-peeling, sweeping, dough-kneading, and dish-washing.

He never tries to pet her, or treat her like an animal. He treats her like a person. An interesting person, not simply someone he pities.

As a princess, Sansa grew up with people wantings things from her. Robin was born when she was eight, and for a long time, she was the heir to her father’s throne and many were sure it would stay that way, given her mother’s rate of miscarriages and stillbirths. People were eager and excited to be friends and mentors to the next queen.

Then, when Robin was born, all of a sudden, her “friends” seemed to lose interest in her. She was no longer heir to the throne, no longer the future monarch. Now her future was to be married off to some foreign prince. All attention shifted to the crown prince. Robin was sickly, too, so he garnered even more time and attention. Mother utterly doted on her son devoting every moment to him, seeming to forget about her daughter entirely. Sansa was sent away for three years to the Crownlands, with the expectation that she’d marry the Crown Prince Joffrey until a war broke out and his family decided the princess of the Reach secured a better alliance for them and Sansa was returned (not that she minded, given poor Margaery’s fate and the fact that both Joffrey and his mother were foul people).

It wasn’t until she reached a certain age that she began to get noticed again. By men.

Over the years Queen Lysa grew stout and wrinkled from her many pregnancies, though she’d been a renowned beauty in her youth. All that was left of that beauty by the time Sansa began to blossom was her thick, blood-colored hair. Sansa had inherited that hair, and her mother’s big, blue eyes (now squinted with age), and high cheekbones. As a child, Sansa would look at portraits of her young mother --- Father had commissioned dozens --- and prayed to be so lovely. But as she came into her maidenhood, people, including Father, had declared her to be even lovelier than Lysa at her prime. And before long, Sansa herself saw what they meant.

Queen Lysa didn’t like this. The passion between her and Father had long since fled, as did her popularity with the courtiers. The lords and ladies were uncomfortable with how their queen never hesitated to unlace her bodice regardless of time or place, and feed her well-past-infancy-aged son at her breast. Even when she wasn’t actively nursing him, the milk seeped into her clothes and clung to her, so everywhere she went she carried the scent of spoiled dairy.

She’d sustained her ego with the attention of singers and poets, but once her daughter started approaching womanhood, those attentions were diverted as well. Songs originally written for Queen Lysa were sung for Princess Sansa, and Lysa knew it. She began ordering the maids to bind back her daughter’s breasts every morning, made sure every gown had a high collar and lacked a proper silhouette. If her daughter responded to anyone’s attention, Lysa would pull her aside at the earliest opportunity and call her a hussy.

It was clear to the whole court that the Queen was poisonously jealous of her daughter. But that didn’t stop any of the men there from trying to flirt with her. Why should they care that they were provoking the queen into punishing the princess for being noticed? There are few prizes greater for a vassal than a bonny royal bride. They didn’t stop, even when she’d plead for them in whispers to step back, not upset the queen… They’d laugh at her, and tell her she was made to be loved, to savor this time and attention as it lasts...

“Please,” she remembers begging Harry Hardyng as he spun her around the dance floor, lowering his hand below her hips, “My mother is watching, and she’ll be furious with me!”

“Don’t worry, Sweetling, I’ll protect you from Mummy’s wrath.”

They never did. No one ever did, except...

“Lysa, Seven Hells, get your hands off of our daughter!”

Father was her savior, for he intervened on her behalf several times. Mother would threaten to whip or flog Sansa for her “wantonness”, but never did, because Father would not allow it. Father seemed proud of her daughter’s beauty, calling attention to it at every opportunity. He’d buy her beautiful things, and insist she wear them to banquets and balls. And if the boys got a bit too enthusiastic, he was quick to step onto the dancefloor, grab her by the waist, and pull her into a dance. He kept her close, kept his hands firmly upon her. The more Mother seemed to hate Sansa, the more Father seemed to love her.

And all he ever wanted from her were kisses, and for her to sit on his lap and…

Sometimes, in her darkest moments, she wonders how much Mother knew, if this was the intent of her dying wish. Promise that you’ll only ever marry a woman as beautiful as I was in my youth, Petyr… Did she realize what her husband might do?

No, Lysa was obsessively controlling of her husband. Anyone having him again, let alone her daughter was her worst nightmare. Something she would not accept even in death. And she thought too well of the king to think him capable of such perversions. She wanted to go down in history as Petyr’s only love, only queen, who mourned her for the rest of his life.

As Sansa, she was only ever desired, only the subject of lust and ambition.

Now, as Furball, well… Yes, most look at her as a freak, or a pet. But no one is ever kind to her with ulterior motives. She’s not beautiful anymore, either.

What she is, is useful and fascinating. Especially to Jon, whose opinion she’s come to value more than anyone’s. He tells her things. How he also feels ill-favored and often unnoticed. How his brother is resentful and jealous towards Jon, his mother, and his younger siblings because their father married Queen Lyanna so soon after his first wife’s death. How he’s not sure what his place is. How he finds nearly everyone at court duplicitous and vapid. Gods, how she can relate.

He’s thoughtful, patient, and kind, not to mention brave. Lady likes him, so he’s trustworthy.

As Sansa, she’d be a princess to him. But as the ugly, freakish Furball, she’s a friend.

Despite herself, though, she finds that she wants to be more. He may not be as gloriously platinum-haired and purple-eyed as his preening brother, but he’s handsome in a dark, dreamy way. Gods, when he smiles…

When he smiles, she must literally bite her own tongue to keep from telling him everything.

But she can’t. Never.

It’s not Jon’s fault. It’s not about him. It’s about his father, and his brother. If Jon knew the truth, he’d want to restore her to the comfortable life a princess is due, he’d want to help her. But he’s the second son of an imperious and powerful king. Rhaegar and Aegon would learn the truth and then…?

The Targaryens had a history of what they called “Divine Blood Matches”. Incest. Rhaegar’s parents and grandparents were siblings. The founder of their kingdom took both his sisters as wives, as did many Targaryen kings since. Some married their nieces. Rhaegar might decide that he wants the support and friendship of the King of the North and Vale, and see no issue with him marrying his daughter. He might deliver her back to Father in exchange for an alliance.

Even if he didn’t, even if he was kind and gallant… Father wouldn’t accept it. One thing both of Sansa’s parents had in common was how extreme they were over people they wished to possess. Father had crafted gowns of the sun, moon, and stars, a coat of every fur and feather, and muzzled a direwolf to marry his own daughter. Not only was Sansa supposed to be his, but if he learned the truth, he’d be humiliated. That was one thing he would not stomach.

He was power-hungry, too. The North wasn’t originally his domain, but that of Mother’s family, and was to be inherited by mother’s brother, Edmure. Father had originally tried to marry Mother’s older sister, Catelyn. However, Catelyn was promised to another and married another lord. There were rumors soon after about Mother and Father. And, in truth, Sansa was born very, very soon after her parents married. Even she’d heard the whispers. Uncle Edmure, her grandfather, and Aunt Catelyn and her family died when Sansa was very, very small, leaving Mother to inherit. And Mother immediately ceded the North to her husband, making him king of two realms.

Sansa was in denial about all this until the day Father said he’d marry her.

If--- no, when--- he learned that his daughter wasn’t dead, but was living in the Valyrian court? He’d accuse them of kidnapping and harboring her all these years and declare war. He’d try to invade and steal their throne.

He’d hurt Jon.

No. Furball cannot tell Jon. As long as Father lives, she remains a freak.

A year and a half passes. It takes half that time for Furball to admit that she’s in love with the prince. For nine moons, she cries herself to sleep nightly.

Ten months in, the Crownlands and Westerlands conquer the Stormlands and officially ally themselves with the Iron Islands. Queen Cersei and King Euron, both powerful sorcerers, seal their alliance with a marriage. Valyria is forced to formally enter the war on the side of the Reach. Dorne does as well.

King Rhaegar and the two princes fly into battle. For three months, the Furball prays to any god that will listen to bring Jon back to her.

The gods do listen, but while Jon returns, arm fractured in three places, his father and brother do not. Jon is crowned King of Valyria. King of Valyria and nothing else. He can no longer be a friend to his Furball.

She wasn’t supposed to be in the council chamber that morning. That was Tessa’s job, but she fell ill and the Festival of the Three Dragons was coming up, so Furball was made to wash the windows as the Small Council met. Aside from a couple of curious glances as she ran a wet rag along the glass, the great lords paid her no notice as they filed in and took their seats. For a moment, she does catch the new king��s eye. He’s never looked so sad.

Furball is no spy, but she was trained in statecraft, and she can’t help taking an interest in their discussions. It’s not as if she’s going to tell anyone. She goes about her task, trying to draw as little attention as possible.

“...The spice trade has become flooded…”

Good, we’ll get some seasonings cheap, at least.

“...Cersei made a mistake. She launched an offensive into Dorne…”

Yes! Wonderful news. Dorne is a death trap to anyone who isn’t native to it. The Dornish were famous for their defensive warfare. All they had to do was barricade themselves in the Sand Hills, and Cersei’s army would die of thirst.

“...King Petyr of the North and the Vale, died last night of pneumonia at age seven-and-forty, leaving his only son, Robin, age twelve, to succeed him, with Lord Nestor Royce as Lord Protector. His Grace Robin of House Baelish and House Stark, Second of His Name, King in the North, King of the Mountain and the Vale, Lord of the Eyrie and Winterfell, Lord of Winterfell, Defender of the Vale of Arryn and Protector of the Realm, Long May He Reign.”

The rag lands right into the pail of water from the top pane of glass, causing half of the bucket’s contents to splash out. The ladder sways, and Furball barely manages to grip the dragon’s head molding at the top in time to save herself from falling.

She clutches herself still, gasping. Every head in the room turns toward her.

“F-forgive me, My Lords!” She cries, “A… A bird seemed to be flying right towards the window. I thought it would collide and I lost my balance!”

“You’re not usually so clumsy, Furball,” the king remarks.

“It was a very large bird, Your Majesty! I’m so sorry!” She begins easing herself down the ladder. “I’ll clean this up at once!”

“See that you do.”

As she scrubs the floor and heads back to the kitchens, Furball processes this news. Father is dead. Robin is king. Father is dead.

I’m free, she thinks, I can tell Jon and…

...No. Now that the king is dead and a sickly boy is in his place, there will likely be scores of imposters expected to appear and lay claim to her title. She’s Heir Presumptive to both kingdoms until Robin marries and produces a child, and that won’t be any time soon, especially if he’s still sickly.

She has the treasures, of course. She’s kept them in a sack tied to her belly for nearly five years now. But people think Princess Sansa is dead, and they know that her “murderer” stole her treasures that night. There’s no reason she wouldn’t be suspected of being a thief.

Robin will need you… He’s king now, surrounded by the same grasping court that once turned deaf ear to Sansa’s troubles. She can’t leave him alone anymore. She’s been selfish long enough.

But to prove herself, she’ll need more than the treasures. She’ll need to prove herself a princess and attain an advocate at court.

...And supposing you manage that. What then? You return home and… what? What’s to stop any of those same lords from taking you as their wife and killing your brother? Your father nearly married you. What’s to stop Royce or Corbray or Hunter or Hardyng from taking you as a bride? Even if Rhaegar believed you, why should he risk anything to protect you? Especially when war is looming?

She can think of one way to prevent that. As long as she plays this right.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Jon:

The daytime events of the Festival of the Three Dragons have always been his favorite. The games, the hunts, the competitions… The evening ones… Less so. He’s never been particularly keen on dancing or mingling. Aegon shined during events like these, which only made Jon shrink back more. Even if he tried, he’d be compared to his charismatic god of a father and be found wanting.

Aegon and Father are gone, and everyone can clearly feel their absence. Rhaenys, bless her, tries to entertain. Mother discreetly covers his hand with hers beneath the table.

When he closes his eyes, he sees them fall from the sky. He sees Aegon sink into the Trident River. Jon had tried so hard, ripping off his armor as fast as he could and diving in after him. Every inch of him burned in the effort to bring his brother back to the surface. He did everything --- pumped at his heart, tried to breathe air into his lungs, called the maester. But he wouldn’t wake up.

Those indigo eyes, those eyes that left every lady at court short of breath, just stared up at him blankly. Lifeless.

Father’s eyes were a brighter purple, but just as lifeless.

Now Jon is king. So he doesn’t have time to talk to anyone about this. He doesn’t have the freedom. He has to keep the kingdom afloat. Daenerys and Arya are finer commanders than Father and Aegon were, and the war is going well under their watch. Jon is wracked with guilt that he’s here, at a party while they’re in the fields. The maesters insist he’s not nearly healed enough to return to battle, but he suspects that his mother’s gold might be contributing to that opinion a bit.

“The best thing you can do to keep us safe now,” his mother tells him, “Is use this time out of commission, find yourself a bride, and get to work at providing an heir.”

She’s not wrong. Bran has been crippled for years, he’ll never have children. After him, it’s Uncle Viserys, that mad, grasping toad, on the throne. Jon intends to amend the law to fix that and place Rhaenys and Arya ahead of his uncle, but to do that he has to assemble and persuade a great council, and that’s impossible with the current war. If Viserys inherits, Valyria is doomed. Hell, he’d probably join Cersei and Euron on the promise that they’d share their empire. Viserys would certainly be stupid enough to fall for it.

Damn Petyr, he thinks, not for the first time. If that power-hungry snake had joined the war before he died, they’d have had the North and Vale and the war might already be over. Wars are like fires. Immediate, decisive, intense efforts to put it out work best. Slow, weak response allows it to spread to the point where it consumes everything.

Granted, Father had dragged his feet in response, too, Jon thinks uncomfortably. Rhaegar Targaryen always had a bad habit of sticking his head in the sand until a situation became a crisis.

Lord Royce, King Robin’s Lord Protector, had formally pledged its support and sent men, and it’s certainly made a difference. But so many more lives could have been spared if they’d taken action earlier.

Father had been waiting on the North and Vale to pledge themselves. He insisted that King Petyr was a clever man, that his kingdom(s) had flourished under his rule, and that Valyria should follow that example. If Cersei was truly a threat, then King Petyr would join.

Petyr Baelish was as much a coward and a snake as Viserys. Good with coin, but he’d gained his second kingdom under very questionable circumstances, and he did nothing unless it directly benefitted him. And if even a tenth of Jon has heard about the man are true...

The men from the kingdoms are useful, but their new king is weak and sickly and without close relations. His aunt and uncle died without living issue. And his sister, Princess Sansa, was murdered by the same curse Queen Cersei cast on all the highborn beauties in the continent. His current heir presumptive is a second cousin.

Things are delicate, very delicate. Things will be less delicate if he finds a wife. Problem is, he has no idea how to talk to women.

Truly talk to them, not flatter and flirt with them like Aegon did. Speak to them in a way that allows him to see them, them to see him, and move past all the barriers of politics and rank. Jon has always been solitary, and has issues connecting with both sexes.

Now every woman in this room either wants to be his bride, or has daughter/sister/niece/cousin they want him to wed. He has no idea how to handle such a thing.

Mother, Arya, Ghost, and Furball are the only ones he’s ever felt understood him. His mother, sister, his wolf, and a strange, unidentifiable humanoid creature that calls herself a wolf. What does that even say about him?

Nothing good, certainly.

Gods, when was the last time he even spoke with She- Wolf? Aside from the accident in the council chamber a few days ago.

He misses her terribly.

But he can’t think about that now. He has to get up and dance. It’s the Feast of Vhagar.

He’s not a good dancer, but he doubts the debutantes will care.

As he gets to his feet, the music stills. He thinks it’s for him until he looks up and his stops.

Standing atop the entrance steps is a what is a real-life fairy, goddess, or, at the very least, the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

She could be mistaken for the moon itself if not for the waves of blood-colored hair that tumbles about her shoulders. The gown she wears is as rich as any he’s ever seen, a silvery-white brocade studded with gleaming gems.

I know her, Jon thinks, trying to place her face. But how can I? If I’d seen her before, I would remember everything about it. Maybe I’ve met a relative? Or perhaps we were children when we last saw each other?

“Mother,” he murmurs, “Who is that?”

“I… I don’t know. I could swear I’ve seen her face before, but…”

Breathless, Jon hurries over to his elder sister. “Rhaenys, who is that?”

“I can’t remember. I know I’ve seen her face somewhere, but…”

Rhaenys never forgets a face or a name. The footmen don’t announce this woman. Everyone gapes. The silence slowly descends into whispers. Jon finds himself climbing the steps. What else can he do? The closer he gets to her, the more he feels like he’s flying straight towards the moon.

He approaches her and bows, and she sweeps into a curtsey so graceful it looks like a dance.

“Greetings, My Lady,” he says, “I--I am King Jon.”

“Yes, I know,” she replies, lip curling, “An honor, Your Majesty.”

“What?”

“I said, I know who you are. What would I be doing here if I didn’t?”

That’s a good question. He laughs nervously. Her eyes are so blue, and her smile is so sweet. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage then. What is your name?”

“Call me Alayne.”

“Alayne of House---?”

“Arryn.”

Jon is certain he’s heard the name before, but he was never good with heraldry. “I’m enchanted,” he confesses, “Truly. M-may I have this dance? That is, if you can tolerate me as a partner. Honor dictates that I warn you of my incompetence.”

“Might it help if I lead, then?” She asks.

“You can lead me wherever you wish, Madam.”

A good answer, as it turns out. Whatever skills he lacks, Alayne more than makes up for, and they seem to sail around the floor. The song ends, but Jon doesn’t let go. He’s always hated dancing, thinking it frivolous. Now he loves it, and thinks it the most important activity a man can engage in.

After three sets, she leans in, “Don’t you think it would be good manners to ask a couple other fine ladies to dance?”

“It would, but I can’t,” he answers.

“Why?”

“Because I’m afraid the moment I let you out of my sight, someone else will sweep you up and you’ll disappear from my life forever.”

Jon isn’t sure where his sense have gone, but he doesn’t miss them. He doesn’t care that he sounds like a perfect love-struck dolt.

She raises a hand to her mouth and laughs. “You’re quite silly, for a king.”

“I wish that were true. I could probably use a bit more silliness.”

Her face falls slightly. “I’m sure. You wear the weight on your shoulders upon your face as well, Your Majesty. I can see it in your eyes. I can see it as surely as I can see your kindness. I hope that kindness is never crushed under that weight.”

He stares at her, dumbfounded. “Lady Alayne, forgive me, but--”

“---Oh, gods, I’m utterly parched!” She exclaims, “Shall we have a cup of wine?”

“Of course!” He fetches two cups from a nearby table and they move to a more quiet corner. “I was going to ask you if we’d met before.”

The lady takes a long sip, then nods.

“We have! Where? When? I can’t believe I forgot!”

She pouts. “Neither can I, Your Majesty. I’m offended. I don’t think I should tell you.”

“Please,” he pleads, wracking his mind, “Give me a hint, at least.”

“I’d rather give you a night to sober up and remember yourself. Maybe you’ll recall once your head has stopped spinning,” she replies, setting her cup aside. “Now, I must go.”

“No, not yet---”

She grins, “Don’t worry, you’ll see me again before you know it.”

She dashes away in a silvery flash. Jon hesitates to chase her, and he hesitates for too long, it seems, as she vanishes into thin air.

The king spends the whole night distracted and retires early. He dreams of Lady Alayne all night.

His only distraction from thoughts of her come from his breakfast. He’s always taken simple porridge in the mornings, but when he dips his spoon into the bowl, he hits something.

Stunned, Jon quickly fishes whatever it is out. At first, he’s not sure what he’s looking at. It’s only when he’s wiped the off-white slime from it that he realizes he’s holding a tiny gold miniature of a spinning wheel.

He demands the cook be brought to him, but the woman is as confused as he is. “Furball is the one to ask, Sire. She prepared your breakfast this morning.”

Surprised, Jon has his friend brought before him. She looks at him imploringly.

“Forgive me, My King,” she begs, kneeling, “The spindle is indeed mine. I dropped it in your bowl, and by the time I realized it was gone---”

“---Where did you get something like this?” It’s not a cheap ornament.

“It’s a keepsake from home.”

“And where is ‘home’, again?” He demands, then remembers. “Right, I see. Well, Furball, accidents happen. Just be a bit more careful next time.” He hands it back to her, and she waddles off.

For the rest of the day, he can’t shake the feeling that there’s something he knows, floating just below the surface of his consciousness, that he can’t quite get at. It bothers him for hours, until the Banquet of Meraxes begins. He’s going to see Alayne.

She makes another stunning arrival. Her gown is not so sumptuous as the one from the previous night, but it’s deceptive in its simplicity. If her prior dress had been the moon, this one is the sun, flashing every shade of gold imaginable. Jon feels like he’s basking in her light.

Something else flashes in his mind, from the back. What was it she’d said last night? About his head spinning?

“Tell me where we’ve met,” he begs her. She frowns.

“You still haven’t caught on?” She sighs. “Excuse me, Sire. I promise I’ll be back before you realize.”

“No, wait---!”

Gone. Seven Hells.

It comes to him at breakfast. Once again, he finds a golden object in his porridge. A fishing reel.

Not possible, he thinks, but he calls Furball before him.

Looking at her, though, he starts to doubt himself. No. This… This can’t be right. He’s imagining things. There’s no way this strange, fat, round, fuzzy creature is connected to the ethereal Alayne. And yet…

“Furball,” he asks, “Is there something I’m not… catching onto?”

Her mouth twitches, but her eyes remain innocent. “I’m not sure, Your Majesty. But if there is, I have full confidence that you should catch on quick.”

“You know Lady Alayne, don’t you?”

Her face falls slightly. “Yes. But I dare not betray her secrets.”

“Can you give her a message for me, at least?”

“I suppose.”

“Tell her… Tell her that I’m hers: mind, body, and soul.”

“Are you sure, Your Majesty? You’ve only known her for two nights.”

“No, I’m certain it’s been longer, even if I can’t remember how long.”

“Very well, Sire.” Furball rises. “I must get back to the kitchens.”

At the Feast of Balerion, Alayne arrives as a starlit sky. Jon wastes no time in sweeping her into his arms. “Who would have guessed you were hiding such richness beneath those furs all this time?”

Her faces lights up, brighter than any star. “You’ve caught on, Your Majesty.”

“To a couple of things, yes,” he says, marveling at her, “But there’s still so much I don’t understand. Who are you, really? Where did you come from? Why reveal yourself now, like this?”

“It’s complicated,” she murmurs.

“The curse.”

“No--- yes! It’s… It’s not as simple as that. And I can’t tell you everything here, now, surrounded by everyone. But… You will have answers, I swear. In the morning.”

This time, he doesn’t protest when she flees. In the morning, he looks through his porridge and finds a gold ring. Engraved upon it is a bird and a wolf.

Jon knows the sigil, because he’s been reading reports sealed with it for months. It all starts coming together. Frantically, he calls for someone. This time, though, it isn’t Furball. It’s his Master of Whispers.

“Yes, Sire?”

“Varys, do we still have intelligence reports from around five years ago?”

“I archive everything, Your Majesty. Is there a particular place you want to research?”

“The court of King Petyr. Specifically, anything and everything pertaining to the murder of Princess Sansa.”

“Of course, My King, but I should warn you… There are many, many conflicting reports on the matter, as with most intelligence from the Vale. The King was excellent at counter-espionage and obfuscation. Is there anything in particular you want to know?”

“It’s about the circumstances leading up to the princess’s death and things reported missing. She was to be married, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember who she was to marry?”

Varys sighs. “Like I said, Majesty, there are conflicting reports. Some say to her cousin Harrold Hardyng. Others claim it was to Tommen Baratheon. Yet more say it was to Tyrion Lannister, brother to Queen Cersei. Willas Tyrell, Crown Prince of the Reach. A more distasteful rumor says it was her own father who was the bridegroom.”

Jon’s stomach lurches. He remembers that morning in the Small Council chamber. “Varys, aside from speculation that she was cursed by Cersei, was there any motive proposed to the murder?”

“Some say it was theft, Sire. That many treasures were missing from the princess’s chambers, including her wedding gown.”

“What about… say… ornaments?”

~_~_~_~_~_~

Sansa:

She dons her gown of stars and her fur coat open, and lets her hair hang loose when she’s summoned to the throne room. She carries the rest of her things over her shoulder. She’s a bit disheveled, but that hardly matters. If she knows Jon (and she does), he’s worked it all out by now.

There are whispers and murmurs as she makes her way down the aisle. Much of the court was aware of her before: the king’s furry little curiosity that he took in as a young prince. The one with the heads of both a wolf and a woman, the pelts of rabbits and bears, the feathers of kingfishers and cardinals.

Sansa sweeps into a deep curtsey before the throne. She looks at the floor, waiting.

Jon’s voice, that familiar, deep, rasp, thunders out from his high seat. “You have come into our home under false pretenses, Madam.”

“I was brought into your home, Sire,” she says, meeting his gaze, “You took me here, I never asked to come. You and your wolf invaded my den as part of a hunt, your brother forced a kiss on me, and you brought me here.”

There are murmurs. Jon goes red. “But you offered your services to my father when we arrived.”

“I did. And I provided every service promised. I was a loyal and hard-working servant.”

“Indeed. But you were never a servant, truly. You are a princess. You are sister to our ally King Robin of the North and the Vale, Princess Sansa of House Stark and House Baelish, long thought dead.”

“Yes. I was a fugitive, you see.”

“From who?”

“From my Father.”

“And why did you run away from your father?”

“Because he intended to marry me.”

There’s complete outcry throughout the hall. Jon has to shout and stamp his feet for silence. “Your Highness, if you would recount the rest of your experiences since then?”

Sansa does, calmly. She pauses patiently for whenever more murmurs and exclamations break out. This is often, but when she finally finishes, the hall is silent.

Jon stares at her for several seconds. “Tell me, Your Royal Highness, why is it that you chose to trust me with your secrets, of all people?”

“Because I’m in love with you, Sire.”

His face breaks into a smile. Then, as if he’s not speaking atop an immense throne before a crowd of aristocrats, he says, “Oh, good. I did hope the feeling was mutual. Well, then, it seems I’ve found my perfect bride.”

#jon x sansa #jonsa #actuallyjonsa #jonxsansaremix2017 #Allerleirauh au

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hannigram-a-b-o-library · 7 years

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Hey! I was hoping you could help, i'm currently looking at about a bazzillion open ao3 tabs of ABO Hannigram fics and I just don't know where to start. I'd love something long that i can sink my teeth into. can you help???

Hi there @whataboutthefish!

I picked the brains of the wonderful fannibals in the knitting circle and here’s a list we came up with of some of our favourites, hope they are of some help to you. Behind the cut, in no particular order 💖

As always - heed the tags, but also do check out the writer’s notes as sometimes they explain that tags further and may help you decide if it’s for you if there is anything you squick. There are also some non-canon and AU fics in here, but if you would like some wildly AU fics or rarepairs then drop another line and we will see what we can do!

A Fine Piece of Real Estate by Della19Explicit // M/M, F/M, F/F, Multi // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // Series in Progress // selected tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Cannibalism, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mpreg, Will the Morally Grey, Hannibal is Hannibal, Will Graham doesn’t need anyone’s help, Happy ending (with cannibalism), Alternate Universe - Canon DivergenceSummary: And I’m gonna get me some land.Words: 70,638 Works: 4

Been A Son by pinkbagels Not Rated // F/F, M/M, Other // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // selected tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Weirdness, Hannibal is a Cannibal, weird alien booty stuff, I love writing creepy gory things, Original Murders, feminist leanings, wierd sex, implied non con, Hannibal is happily evil, Alternate UniverseSummary: Dr. Hannibal Lecter, world renowned psychiatrist, has been hiding a secret. He’s also the Chesapeake Ripper. Will Graham, Alpha, FBI criminal profiler and all around repressed aggressive mess is brought in to take down the Ripper. In hopes of helping him manage his empathy disorder while working the case, Dr. Lecter is brought in as a consultant to help harness Mr. Graham’s more unstable tendencies. While Dr. Lecter doesn’t mind Will Graham finding out about his murderous hobbies, there are *some* things he’d much rather keep to himself. Will Graham, however, is one persistent Alpha mongoose.Words: 126,185 Chapters: 18/18

Blood Bond by HotMolasses @hotmolassesExplicit // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // selected tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon-Typical Violence, Murder SexSummary: In a modern, civilized society, most people take suppressants to keep their Alpha or omegan attribute from ever developing. Hannibal of course does no such thing, and is an omega desperate to awaken the Alpha in Will. He finally succeeds when they kill the Dragon together, causing Will to go into rut immediately.Words: 71,562 Chapters: 14/14

I could just eat you up (but not literally) by Orphan AccountExplicit // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // Selected tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Dom/sub, Impregnation Kink, Possessive Behavior, oh and cannibalism but I think that’s a given by nowSummary: Hannibal breeds Will. A love story in bodily fluids.Words: 42864 Chapters:5/5

Truths we are dealt by Nalyra @nalyrasExplicit // M/M // Series in Progress // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // selected tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Compliant, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Possessive Behavior, Mating Bond, Serial Killers, Light Dom/sub, Bonding, Cannibalism, Rough Sex, Voyeurism, Hurt/ComfortSummary: Borne out of one of Bryan’s tweets, this follows current canon, Will Graham embracing his Omegan nature, Hannibal his, with Silence of the lambs compliance and lots of smut thrown in.Words: 54,355 Works: 6

Better Living Through Pheromones by canis_m @unicornmagicExplicit // M/M // Series in Progress // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // selected tags: Alternate Universe - Season/Series 01, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Caretaking, Discussion of mpreg, Daddy Kink, Spanking, Domesticity, Watersports, Come Marking, Praise Kink, D/s undertones, mentions of mpregSummary: On the hunt for the Minnesota Shrike, Will goes into heat early. Good thing there’s a doctor on call.Words: 24,853 Works: 3

Peachfire Whiskey by KareliaSweet @lovecrimevariationsExplicit // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // Selected tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Teacher-Student Relationship, Sexual Coercion, Knotting, No mpreg, young!Hannibal, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Teasing, Scent Kink, Knotting Dildos, Bonding, Happy EndingSummary: Will knows he’ll remember this scent until the day he dies. Hannibal smells like firewood, and malt whiskey, and roasted peaches drizzled in honey. He smells like nothing Will has ever scented before, and it is so divine it dizzies him. - The Adventures of Professor Will Graham and His Terribly Naughty Omega Student, Hannibal Fucking Lecter.Words: 22,076 Chapters: 5/5

Who, O Lord, Shall Stand? by AGlassRoseNeverFades @aglassroseneverfadesExplicit // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // Selected tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, Cannibalism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Possessive Hannibal, Angst, Sleepwalking, Nightmares, Someone Help Will Graham, No Encephalitis At Least, Mpreg, Autistic Will Graham - Headcanoned Though Not Explicitly Stated In the Fic, Murder Family, Fluff, WeddingSummary: He was in love from the moment he stepped foot into Hobbs’ kitchen and saw the Omega standing there, chest heaving, pulse racing, spattered in the blood of an inferior Alpha. He had vowed to himself then and there that he would have Will, whatever the cost to the profiler’s sanity and to the lives of others. An Omegaverse story in which male Omegas are considered rare and precious according to society’s standards. Hannibal decides he wants Will and is ready to start a family with him, regardless of whatever Will wants. Starts in Oeuf but doesn’t diverge too drastically from canon until Savoureux.Words: 105,959 Works: 2

A Knack for Monsters by Sugarmouse @sugarmausExplicit // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // selected tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Slow Burn, Knotting, Biting, D/s, Cannibalism, Murder, Mating Cycles/In HeatSummary: Will has enough problems dealing with his bad dreams and the fallout of old cases. He does not need new nightmares, he does not need yet another alpha thinking they can run his life. This new alpha though, he’s different. Perhaps they could become friendly, maybe one day even become friends. This is canon divergence from the pilot, how things might have gone differently if Will was an angry omega and Hannibal an intrigued alpha.Words: 66,651 Chapters: 44/44

Sonata Op 57 “Appassionata” Mov3 by DarkmoonSigel @darkmoonsigelMature // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // Selected tags: No mpreg, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, AU, Injured Will, Hurt/Comfort, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Possessive Hannibal, Master/Slave kinda…., Slow Build, Collars, Soul Bond, Psychic Bond, Knotting, Ravenstag, no encephalitisSummary: Will is on the auction block after being outed as an omega. Hannibal buys him for reasons. Hilarity, feels, cannibalism, and the monkey shit show that is Hannigram ensues.Words: 114,367 Chapters: 19/19

The Pleasure of Giving In by DrJLecter @drjlecterExplicit // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // Selected tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Canon-Typical Violence, Cannibalism, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Knotting, Mildly Dubious Consent, Fluff, murder!husbands, Manipulative Hannibal, a darker shade of Will, Possessive Will, No mpreg, Kidnapping, Murder, Manipulative WillSummary: Circumstance exposes Hannibal’s status as unbonded Omega. Chance lets him bond to Will before being claimed by another Alpha. What will opportunity bring? (With a side of cannibalism). There’s porn, there’s plot, there are feelings. And knots.Words: 40,133 Chapters: 10/10

Some that are currently WIPs that are being regularly updated and come recommended!

The Fairy’s Bride by AGlassRoseNeverFades @aglassroseneverfadesExplicit // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // Selected tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage, Francis Dolarhyde/Will Graham (briefly), Spoiler Alert: The Major Character Death is Francis Dolarhyde, dub-con, Kidnapping, Captivity, Captor Bonding, Stockholm Syndrome, Manipulation, Abuse, references to necrophilia, About as Much as in Red Dragon, Cannibalism, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dark Will Graham, No mpreg, Forced Bonding, Age Difference, Murder Family but in a Slightly Different Way, Some Implied and/or Imagined Animal Abuse, Autistic Will Graham, some Fluff in Here Too, All the Bad Boys Want WillSummary: “I imagine no matter the circumstances, the loss of one’s mate must be a rather traumatizing experience, particularly after so many years bonded.”Will laughs, just once, a quick, dark, rich sound that causes the hairs at the back of Hannibal’s neck to stand pleasantly on end. He does not shy away from eye contact with Hannibal the way he does with so many others, rubbing his thumb along his lower lip, enough to tug it gently out of place as he considers his response.He curls his lip back into his mouth to wet it before asking, “Tell me, Doctor Lecter, have you ever been mated? Willingly or…otherwise.” But for the barest tightening of his smile and a flash of something once brittle, now hardened, behind storm-colored eyes, one would never suspect the sort of madness and past traumas that lurk behind the omega’s guarded cerulean gaze.Not unless one knows exactly what to look for.Words: 39,717 Chapters: 11/?

Remember (that you are) to die by 13empress Explicit // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // Selected tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Amnesia, Established Relationship, Implied Mpreg, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Betas rule the world, Dark Will, Gaslighting, Murder Husbands, Attempted Murder, Grey Will, Serial Killer Will, Post Mpreg, Slow Build, Vulnerable Will, Manipulative Will, Hannibal is Hannibal, Secret Identity, False Identity, Fluff, Sassy Will Graham, Happy Ending, Mystery, Murder MysterySummary: “How long have I been here?” Will asked, but immediately waved off her answer, realizing it didn’t matter either way. “Look, my name is Will Graham – I don’t know what happened but you have to give my partner a call.”“I’ll get the doctor,” she told him, her voice trained to the mellow murmur just about all medical professionals used on omegas.Will opened his mouth to tell her that there was no need, that he felt fine, and if she would just listen, he could discharge himself and be out of her hair in thirty minutes flat. He grabbed the safety rails and forced himself to stand, though the motion made him a little dizzy. Something on his peripheral vision grabbed at him. The whiteboard strip above the hospital bed – W GRAHAM-LECTER, omega, male, B positive – struck him like a physical blow.Words: 200,744 Chapters: 24/?

The Baby by SpklvrMature // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // Selected tags: Discussion of Abortion, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Knotting, Fluff and Crack, MpregSummary: Will is a very special omega. Special in that he really doesn’t like those smelly, noisy, disgusting, little humans that sometimes grow inside of bigger humans, before tearing apart their birth canal in their grandiose exit into the world. Being in his mid thirties, he thinks he has escaped this nightmare, but mother nature happens to be a bitch…Words: 54,495 Chapters: 15/?

Resurrection Fern by strangestorys @strangestorysExplicit // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // Selected tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Mpreg, Pregnancy Kink, Belly Kink, Fluff, A little angst, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Knotting, Unplanned Pregnancy, Discussion of AbortionSummary: After the fall, Will and Hannibal are living a quiet, still celibate life together when Hannibal goes into an unexpected heat. Gratuitous first-time heat sex occurs, and a few weeks later, they’re surprised to discover Hannibal is pregnant. They find themselves building a new relationship and facing the skeletons in their mutual closet as they prepare for fatherhood.Words: 15,055 Chapters: 5/9

Overcoming by purefoysgirl @jadegreenworksMature // M/M // Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter // selected tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Empath Will Graham, Sassy Will, Past Infidelity, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Child AbuseSummary: A Victorian A/B/O romance in which Hannibal Lecter is the future Duke of Westvale who has been away at war for the past ten years. His Grandfather has made good on a contract made shortly after Hannibal’s birth to procure him a wife. It was supposed to be easy. Naturally, with the Omega, Will, given in the place of his twin sister, it is anything but, because if there is one thing Hannibal Lecter despises, it’s Omegas.Words: 67,214 Chapters: 10/55

#asks #replies

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6four1-blog · 7 years

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June 29th, 2017 (Kavousi, Crete, Greece)

When I resurfaced, my hands were treading through the turquoise waters of Agriomantra. I felt like a video game character whose eyelids were just opened, with only his hands and beach ahead of him. I saw five boats parked on the shore and nearly thirty people under the large olive tree. Even from out here, I could smell the scent of the aromatic oregano and the mouthwatering lamb that seemed to ebb and flow out towards the sea like the very waves themselves. In the periphery of my vision, I caught a glance of the young children attempting to climb the sheer, orange cliffs. They were climbing up the rock precipice that I had been on just a few moments ago, nearly twenty-five feet above sea level. The stones were jagged and sharp, unbothered by human use and wear. As I scanned the small bay, I realized it was encircled by a large rock protrusion that protected the little beach from the rough waves of the Aegean. The tiny rock peninsula reached out towards the west in the direction of Pachia Ammos and Agios Nikolaos, almost like the welcoming arms of St. Peter’s. This arm calmed the furious waves so that we could swim in the exotic waters and explore the dreamy cliffs. I could hear David yelling at James to stop being a μαλακα and to jump the cliff. I could hear Britney and Marissa giggling about some joke that seemed to fade into the gale, as every sound naturally did in Agriomantra. My vision paused as I found a narrow gap in the rocky extension. There was a cold gust that flowed through that crevice, inviting me as if Boreas, the Anemoi of the north wind, was whispering “ελα, Paul, ελα.” I subconsciously began swimming towards it, as Odysseus’ men must have when they heard the beautiful songs of Aglaope. Starting with David, my friends started following me as if we all found the same allure in the same chilly wind.

We approached the tunnel slowly like ships in the Bermuda triangle, incessantly afraid of the unseen projections below that could end our dig season in an instant. We climbed into the cave-like passage on all fours like Golum in Lord of the Rings, careful to watch for not only rocks but also sea urchins. The ledges were unembellished and sharp, utterly merciless towards mere mortals like us. Climbing through that cave either made you appreciate your life or ended it. Despite knowing that the rocks were slippery and each step may have been my last, something told me to continue, to see just a little more, and to dare to be more adventurous that I have ever been before. We were now facing north in this narrow strip of water. The landscape that surrounded us was like that of a miniature Argolid, as if we were perfectly nestled on the tapered cavity of a snake’s tongue. Out in the distance, we could see the island of Pseira and a few boats wayfaring the waters like lost nomads. But beyond the island and the vessels, there was nothing but vast ocean as far as the horizon could extend. Unlike Agriomantra, the waters here were a dark navy, glimmering with a depth and ferocity that pervaded your heart and stopped it for a second, making you question whether you could ever leave if you plunged into its abyss.

I jumped. Of course I did. I took a large gulp of the sea water on my way up, which was repulsively saline but enchantingly feral. Even after more than ten years of competitive swimming in my childhood and adolescence, I was not ready to conquer these waves without modern machinery. The cliffs towered over me and the waves thrashed me around like a rag doll. Bobbing up and down in this open cavern, surrounded by baleful scarps, reminded me how small I was in this big, magnificent world. The inaccessibility of this location is what kept it beautiful, looking the same as it would have been if Theseus took a detour to Eastern Crete thousands of years ago. It is inherently tragic that the beauty of a place, like Agriomantra, is its own curse. These Mediterranean gems invite us, human beings hopelessly obsessed with their grace, to explore them, to trample them, and to ruin them. Luckily, the village of Kavousi seems to have kept Agriomantra on the down-low, passing it on generation after generation like a village heirloom. I have never been to the fabled Santorini, but I think I can confidently say that I had a breathtaking and authentic experience that would have put the touristy island to shame.

I found my way back through the cave into the calm company of Agriomantra and started swimming back towards the beach. I watched each stroke as my arm slid into the crystal-clear water, again and again. The gentle waves were like Poseidon’s nudges of encouragement and the alternating warm and frosty currents were like physical manifestations of his wisdom, advising me that, no matter the hot or cold times, I should never take this beach, these friends, or this experience for granted.

As I approached the shoreline, I could see Katis in the distance feasting from a large glass bowl. Through the translucent stained-glass, one could easily see the red and green hazes and tell that it was a ginormous Greek salad. After I got out and dried myself, I scrambled away from the beach into the gorge looking for some relief. I found a small rock protrusion that offered me privacy from the beach party, but the goats swarmed the sides of the cliffs like archers around a battlefield. That day, I proceeded to #1 in front of nearly 20 goats on both sides watching me unwavering interest. It was a first, and I hope it is also the last. Shortly afterwards, I observed that the welcoming arms of Agriomantra could easily be climbed by scaling some rocks further inland. The cliffs were steep but I felt like I could finesse my way around some sharp corners, especially since I was now wearing my Adidas Ultraboosts. Here in Greece where most activities take place outdoors, I have felt a strong disposition for climbing natural scenery. By climbing these rocks, I was able to take a picture of Agriomantra from a bird’s eye point of view, the stereotypical beach picture which I am sure my friends and family would enjoy. As I turned around to face north, I faced the vast, deep navy, and windy Aegean. I sat on a rock and got completely lost in my thoughts as the wind inundated my face, wondering if Aegeus ever shared the same dumbfounded wonderment thousands of years ago when he waited for Theseus to return home from Crete.

In the middle of this week after a hot work day, I was hanging out with David in his room since Weston and I don’t have functional air conditioning. Just from my experiences and observations, the winds in North Eastern Crete seem to come from the north during the day and from the south at night. It’s an interesting phenomenon that I probably would never have noticed if not for our shitty air conditioner. So, before we sleep, we have to step outside to survey the wind and temperature, then specifically select certain windows to open for the night.

David proceeded to ask whether I would be down to sleep on Azoria for the night. With my current air conditioning crisis, I approved without hesitation. Not surprisingly, when we went to ask Weston ten minutes later, he jumped on the bandwagon. We went to the local supermarket to buy water and supplies. Keep in mind we had to buy enough water for three people, accounting for the night and the following seven-hour workday. We proceeded to buy two bottles of wine and 18 liters of water - that’s 20 liters of fluid that we had to take up to the mountain. It was about to be a dreadful hike until Jerry, a local Scottish man, offered us a ride up in his Jeep.

In hindsight, we picked a terrible location to pitch camp. Irini had started a new trench and the soil on the side seemed fresh and soft. We judged the book by its cover and did not realize that the soft silt layer was only about two centimeters thick. The rock hard cobble fill below was not an easy terrain to sleep on and I would find that out later on in the night. We took a few trash bags and ripped them open, creating tarps for each of us to sleep on. I even used a trash bag as a sleeping bag, which was warm but the terrible breathability made me reminisce my bed back at Tholos. Indeed, our setup was quite trashy (haha).

However, before we slept, we did two more things. First, we went to Haggis’ tree and gazed down at Mirabello Bay. Professor Haggis hangs his orange Arcteryx backpack under the same olive tree every day. It oversees the D trenches and is one of the only locations on site that has shade during lunch. The leaves’ green pigments were slowly darkening as the domesticated olive tree continued to turn feral over the centuries, a lengthy metamorphosis that I will never be able to fully witness in my lifetime. Sitting from that tree, I could see all of Kavousi, Pachia Ammos, and Agios Nikolaos. The lights of Kavousi and Agios Nikolaos glowed brightly like stars in the Sahara Desert on a clear night. The lights never stopped twinkling in red, blue, yellow, green, and all the colors you could imagine on a Byzantine mosaic. The night lights of Kavousi showed the outline of the tiny village and it stuck out in a sea of darkness like a complex constellation. The voices and music from Maria’s tavern drifted into the mountains and hazed into a comforting muffle, which I think is best described as the hum of civilization. Some freighters on the waters in the distance had flashing green lights as dim as a dying cigar. With my arms over the railings, I felt like Gatsby standing on West Egg, ogling at the lights from Daisy’s house. Apart from the outline of mid-Northern Lasithi, the waters seemed completely empty like an endless Tartarus. I could now see what frightened sailors for generations and gained a newfound appreciation for the ancients who had the courage to venture into the unknown. One can be lonely anywhere, whether that be a big city like New York or an ice field like Antarctica. If I go out to sea in the future, I have always pondered if the solitude and emptiness could possibly ever conceive a sense of peace and tranquility for me.

Second, we took some time to lie down on our tarps and stargaze. David often sleeps in the olive grove when he’s drunk, and he tells me: “Paul, you can see the Milky Way at night, so you should come sleep with me in the olive grove.” I didn’t believe him until I slept up on Azoria that night. As my pupils dilated and grew accustomed to the boundless darkness, more stars began to appear randomly on the black canvas. The Milky Way formed before my eyes. Constellations by Jack Johnson got stuck in my head. David was right, you could see it all. As an excavator helping Professor Haggis collect data and build a narrative for Azoria, I realized that, apart from pragmatic reasons why the Minoans might have settled on this hilltop, this was simply a really nice place to be both day and night; the view of the Bay of Mirabello during the day and the stars at night were hard to beat. I also saw my first shooting star that night.

Then, the next thing I knew, I woke up and the stars were gone. The deep black was replaced with a soothing light amaranth. I could hear the bees buzzing and, somewhere in the distance, a goat let out a loud bleat followed by the gentle chimes of its bells. I got up and sat next to David and Weston in silence, appreciating the morning view of Kavousi. On the slopes, the trench masters’ 6:30 a.m. truck swerved up the hill. Minutes later, when the engine stopped in the parking lot, I got up from my schist stone seat and trotted down the slope - back to the B trenches, back to reality.

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shannonswizzies · 7 years

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Lyric Prompts

1. Father tell me, we get what we deserve. Oh we get what we deserve. // Way Down We Go, Kaleo

2. How can I be lost if I’ve got nowhere to go? // The Unforgiven III, Metallica

3. There's that light in your eye filling up the dark. Though, I lost myself, I know it's not the end. // Levitate, Imagine Dragons

4. I guess it's good to get it off my chest. I guess I can't believe I haven't yet. // Tell Me How, Paramore

5. I think we were cursed from the start; you took my heaven away // Heaven, PVRIS

6. This world's an ugly place, but you're so beautiful to me. // Going Away to College, Blink-182

7. Keep screaming into the pillow, cause your touch still gets me stupid high; And I swear I'm not a pretender. Sometimes it's love who's the biggest liar // Wild Horses, Bishop Briggs

8. Painted with passion, my favorite color. Hope I'm alive when the story gets old. // Kings, Tribe Society

9. Running through veins a lustful, tempting melody so sweet turned into songs of sirens singing, senses screaming. // Lykos, Shatterproof

10. We're dancing through the smoke, and we don't mind the flames. Now we become the ghost that you know by name. // We Are The Hearts, EXGF

11. So just miss your plane, stay at my place cause I miss your kiss, already // Miss Yer Kiss, SWMRS

12. You got one little string around your little finger in case you forget, it's the way to remember. // One Little String, Jule Vera

13. Nowhere to go, I'm not leaving, not going, I'm not kissing you goodbye // Kissing You Goodbye, The Used

14. I'm a cliché in a song and everybody's singing along. // Something’s Gotta Give, All Time Low

15. I left you, I meant to, couldn't let you in. Never mind a single word I said // Homecoming, Hey Monday

16. And your eyes will clash with your skin and your gaze will hold me in and I know your mind is set, so I'll take what I can get // Godzilla, With Confidence

17. So you denied the reasons we all live and die, said that the river runs straight into ocean // Sweet Jane, Garrett Kato

18. I swear I'll never be happy again, and don't you dare say we can just be friends. // If It Means a Lot to You, A Day To Remember

19. Holding hands when she's mad at me 'cause she don't wanna go, don't wanna go // Hey Mama, Mat Kearney

20. I hate the taste on my tongue too damn sweet // American Candy, The Maine

21. Sweet dreams that won't come true, I'd leave it all for you. // Skyway Avenue, We The Kings

22. I'm not in love, this is not my heart. I'm not gonna waste these words about a girl. // About A Girl, The Academy Is...

23. You loved me and I froze in time, hungry for that flesh of mine. But I can't compete with a she-wolf, who has brought me to my knees. // She Wolf, Sia

24. But I can tell you, it's a guarantee that I'll always run away from every problem or severed relationship, cause that's who I am. // The Life of a Pirate, Cady Groves

25. Lose those make believe smiles and those lead me on looks, boy you swear you're so clever // Scarlet Letter, Jule Vera

26. 'Cause when it feels like I'm lost at sea, you're the song I sing again and again // The Anchor, Bastille

27. I start again and whatever pain may come, today this ends, I’m forgiving what I’ve done. // What I’ve Done, Linkin Park

28. And in the middle of the flood I felt my worth, when you held onto me like I was your little life raft, please know that you were mine as well. // The Lightning Strike, Snow Patrol

29. I think I better go before I try something I might regret // Honey Whiskey, Nothing But Thieves

30. Sick and tired of the typical, I wanna know your shade of grey. // Pretty Little Gangster, Ryder

31. Oh, baby girl, don't get cut on my edges, I'm the king of everything and oh, my tongue is a weapon // Young God, Halsey

32. Holy hands, oh, they make me a sinner // River, Bishop Briggs

33. I tried to sell my soul last night. Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite // Come With Me Now, Kongos

34. I've grown familiar with villains that live in my head, they beg me to write them so I'll never die when I'm dead // Control, Halsey

35. Scream with if you're lost, at least you that you're not lost alone. // Cookie Cutter Life, Shatterproof

36. My foundation rumbles and all my morals crumble, my father's warnings run through my head // The Good in Me, Jon Bellion

37. Tell me you love me, come back and haunt me; Oh let's go back to the start // The Scientist, Coldplay

38. This isn't pretty but it's what I am tonight // Make A Move, Icon For Hire

39. No time can take away these memories. Remember when you said to me, that we'd be alright // 1979, Good Charlotte

40. And show me where you run to when no one's left to take your side // Angels on the Moon, Thriving Ivory

41. The nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day // Do I Wanna Know?, Arctic Monkeys

42. But I'm weak, and what's wrong with that? // Weak, AJR

43. Same lips red, same eyes blue. Same white shirt, couple more tattoos, but it's not you and it's not me // Two Ghosts, Harry Styles

44. And you're wrong, you're wrong, I'm not overreacting. Something is off, why don't we ever believe ourselves // Worn Me Down, Rachel Yamagata

45. Truth or dare - are you on fire? And if so, how do you know? And if not, do you burn to be? // Lost, Owen

46. The tears they soaked your fur, the blood dripped from your fangs. You said, "What have I done?" You loved that lamb with every sinful bone and there you wept alone // Deathbed, Relient K

47. Let me go, I don't wanna be your hero, I don't wanna be a big man. Just wanna fight like everyone else // Hero, Family of the Year

48. It says: “home is where your heart is,” but what a shame, 'cause everyone's heart doesn't beat the same // Jesus of Suburbia, Green Day

49. You got a look in your eyes I knew you in a past life; I don't wanna wait 'til the next life // Avalanche, Walk the Moon

50. Well I love you so much, but do me a favor baby, don't reply. // Limousine, Brand New

#lyric prompt #writing prompt #prompts #writing prompts #lyric prompts #yaaay #music prompts

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mrsunderhill678 · 3 years

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Me? Writin? Pff- never

"For men like us, that justice failed, that's where family starts. In graves. We just sit there, lookin' at a name, plantin' the ghost of a rose in hopes we can become friends with the ones like us. We revive each other, man. That's what death and life is all about." - Napoleon Whitley

"When justice lies in the hands'a the wicked, it wilts away like a rose on a cold Sundeh mornin'. Loved, for the beauty it once held." - Napoleon Whitley

"My father used to tell me the truth lived inside us all. But as I stared that woman eye to eye and she said, "Napoleon Whitley killed that girl," I had some strange feelin' that there was nuthin' but lies rotting in her blackened chest." - Ivella Paidel

"If that's what you think of yourself you're doomed to become the wolf's cape draped over the shoulders of the mourning, vengeful lamb." - Michael Tabrowski

"I've never believed man was meant to spill blood. It leaves such a sinister, deadly scar on one's heart. But so many choose to believe that scar is their howl." - Michael Tabrowski

"I've found you've no care for this death you call your life." - Michael Tabrowski

"Truthfully, it feels as if I've died. Lost in one way or another to the way man spills blood." - Amorian Slathervark

"I was always so terrified, of being human. My father always taught me that emotions are liars, and we must run off of our beastly instinct. But when she pressed her lips against mine, I learned she loved me in all the emotions I shoved like daggers down my throat." - Pratten Whiskeyfoul

"Love is like blood for the mind. You'll never forget it, but some days, you'll wish you could." - Pratten Whiskeyfoul

"That's just what happens when you love the broken. Pieces of them they never wanted to share cut the tips of your fingers as you dance them against their skin." - Pratten Whiskeyfoul

"I think the saddest word in the human language is almost. It's that sliver of possibility that kills you, and she was an almost dream, huh?" - Pratten Whiskeyfoul

"Love isn't something you ask for. It never was. It crawls into your heart like a hungry beast, sinking it's teeth into your soft flesh and dragging little pieces of your heart into someone you never knew. And as you see little pieces of you in another, you come to realize love was never a choice. Other wise, we wouldn't fall in love with the wrong people." - Melai Diamonskull

"They called him real. And that was the cruelest thing you could call a man like him." - Mydria Sirencuff

"Because the boy who falls into darkness isn't you, Jarrod. He never will be. You have to die just as I did. Feel every knife in your heart, ever bullet on the tip of your tongue, like gunpowder sin and spark sizzling power. In the grand scheme of things, all roads lead to death. It's better, wise, even, to realize that early on. To lick death off the edges of silver knives just to know what it tastes like on a bleeding tongue. That's the taste that dances on your lip whenever you whisper my name." - Florian Heartpierce

"I've found beauty in the darker things. Like shadows dancing between the trees and blood spilling under the shadow of another man's grace." - Florian Heartpierce

"Death spews from out my tongue as if it were a snake hiding behind my red teeth." - Absinthe Hollercrow

"I always wonder why God's always hiding his answers to all my questions in parts of myself I dare not reach into." - Graham Davidson

"My father always called her heaven's ghost, for he could not control her. As if she was dead far before he ever threatened to lay her in a grave." - Melias Skinwalker

"We are sisters, you and I. We are bound by shield and by blade, and so long as I can still swing this ax and heave this shield like a merciful burden, I shall protect you with all I may give." - Dezstarla Vaganbrok

"I will come for the monsters and the beasts who ripped the roses from his decadent garden. And they will wither in the bones they plucked." - Lucius Caulfell

"To love at all is to live." - Imaldene Emorvow

"He used to shout his freedom in blooms of color, but now he declares his decadent imprisonment in blooms of red and grey." - Imaldene Emorvow

"He bleeds not unlike a man, yet still, I cannot wrap my head around the idea that something human can be so dastardly and deadly to his own kind." - Quenzin Pivato

"My heart wades strange and unfamiliar in the cage of my chest, and I begin to feel that whosoever holds it will know more grief than love." - Armond Zonestrame

"She was like a face in the sand, calm and beautiful, but once grasped in the hands of the mortal man, she flitted between his fingers like blood from his throat." - Raymund Alkarson

"In the wisps of shadow I found things that weren't me. And as I stepped forth into the night, following rose petals on the ground, I learned the dark doth not call with good intentions in his voice." - Raymund Alkarson

"My heart yearns for the things that make it go still." - Ben Stilts

"Past all this darkness in my heart, I can hardly tell what love is. All that I know is somewhere, nestled in the cracks of my heart, you reside, chiseling away at the shadows with hammer and nail." - Cyprian Orgazi

"You and I's fate is a flat circle and we're just dancing our way around the edge." - Carvaso Nightfall

"When ya... When ya get blood on your hands, it uh, it changes you. It starts with the regret, you know? And then you start justifying it, saying things like, "He deserved it, I had to." That's when ya start to die. And then you realize, you deserve it, the man lying in your memory didn't." - Lucas Camillo

"He used to be something more than an absolution starved beast, but now as I look into my eyes and see flickers of his damnation in my reflection, I realize he is nothing but it." - Melias Skinwalker

"He'd always been Alice, following the rabbit in hopes to find salvation at the bottom of the Mad Hatter's tea cup, but alas, Wonderland withered and died before his tear glossed eyes." - Melias Skinwalker

"She was brave and determined, and as she took the cross from off her back, a burn on her skin in the shape of dead and wicked faith, she broke free of the Skinwalker shadow, and became more than we'd ever been." - Melias Skinwalker

"The world fell through the lenses of violence, and there I stood in wonder, gazing at the world through a painter's eyes, wondering why the pale white of bloodless skin and electric blue of tazers firing off looked like something I would've brought to life with the edge of my brush, and called so gracefully, "The end." - Nester Harvlock

"In the shape of a birthmark, she slathered her face in paint. Whether it was a cry of revolution or an act of hiding from oneself, I could never tell." - Reggie Savinwit

“My rage is quiet until faced with me.” - Bellatrix Hungarson

“I found myself in the tangles of her red hair as she kissed me deeply in the witching hours of the night.” - Bellatrix Hungarson

“My life was lost in the empty eyes of cruelty, but every now and again, as Amaryliss' fingers trace against every scar and dance gently against every curve and bruise, I feel like, for once, I'm alive again. She loves me in colors I've never seen, and as her lips press against every inch of me, I bloom with shades of love and peace. I'm a crooked, hell bent monster, but when she holds me in her arms, I feel a little less monstrous and a little more human.” - Bellatrix Hungarson

“I got old weathered boots and a cigarette on the edge'a my lip, knowin' trouble comes for the peaceful souls 'for it ever pounces on the cruel and sickly.” - Bellamy Houston

“I met 'er as I rode my horse inta the night, just at the edge's death's door with blood on my sleeve and some gentle ache ta my smile. And as I woke ta her gentle and soothin' words, I wondered if I'd been found by a siren. But alas, she was the guardian angel that brought this ol' cowboy back ta life. Carly's a bit of a wild soul, and I love that 'bout 'er. She's got this smile that flickers with little bits'a wild beauty. Her hair's tangled and curled, her eyes alight with starlight and a slight tinge'a madness. But the best people are a lil' mad, after all.” - Bellamy Houston

“I've seen trouble on the edge of a Sundeh mornin', revolver steady in 'is hand, his rage sittin' on the brim'a his hat like a matchstick 'gainst a fuse. He told me that if I so much as whisper 'bout 'is sin, he'd lay me in the dirt under a shallow grave where all souls would forget my name. But I wonder what he'd do if he knew that his anger's fire is flickerin' while my justice's flame begins ta rise.” - Bellamy Houston

“I walked a thousand miles'a my life on my own, but I've walked many more with life and Carly by my side, and loneliness don't seem like much a friend, now.” - Bellamy Houston

“I wear a broken crown'a lies atop me 'ead, paradin' my own decapitated sense'a self down the hallways'a me 'eart, my demons chantin' and cheerin', "Da bastards dead! Lay ruin ta 'is poor sinner's 'eart!" - Daisy Fields

“When ya watch dat first bullet fly, ya watch a little piece'a ya go with it. It's nuffin' but a small sliver, but then ya fire another round and eventually, as the war finally ends, ya've fired your whole heart from out your chamber, gunpowder smoke driftin' after the remnants'a your identity.” - Daisy Fields

“They say scars make a man, but as I look at my reflection, rippled and distorted by the water's edge, I come ta realize these scars didn't make me. They killed me.” - Daisy Fields

“I ain't really been Daisy Fields for a long time, now. My name flew from out me chamber as I pulled me first trigger and landed in a poor bloke's chest, cursin' their grave with a name that ain't theirs', but a name that ain't quite mine, either.” - Daisy Fields

“I hide all these things inside my head. These feelings, these emotions, these little blooms of color and love. I've lived my whole life in black and white, the color of everything I touched fading like a puddle when faced with the harsh morning sun.” - Norma Locke

“I'm a ghost of memories and little pieces of a heart that forgot to feel, repeating the same mistakes again and again as she's lost to time. But as that woman, that beautiful, strange, odd, amazing woman places her hands on my cheeks, I feel less transparent. Less ghostly. Less fractured, broken and beaten down. All my life I've been a disease slowly rotting who I am away. But I feel like in some way, Illene's the cure I've always craved.” - Norma Locke

“I've been a wandering, homeless soul for years. And at the end of trouble's road I met a woman, beautiful and strange who scooped me up gently in her arms as I clung to the folds of her shirt with feeble and decaying fingers. And as I closed my eyes, and swore I was about to breathe my last, she carried me home. How beautiful and strange it is that a life can change with a single name etched into it's future.” - Norma Locke

“There's some odd serenity about the way the waves whisper in secrets and old, forgotten treasure.” - Marianna Bones

“On the distant and rocking waves I met a monster with cruelty in his eyes and flickers of flame in his smile. And as he clenched a fist and told his men to open fire, I knew what rage felt like in a good woman's heart.” - Marianna Bones

“Here on this ship we follow a code. Help those that need helping, feed those that need feeding, and kill those that need killing. There's honor in our war torn, ocean misted hearts, and black blood on the tips of our honor coated blades.” - Marianna Bones

“I fight so that one day, my daughter can see a future ripe and full with peace. She's a warrior, fighting day by day, but I crave for the day when she can lay down her blade for good. She's my daughter born and raised, and in many ways, she's the reason I'm still alive. I was burdened and blind until she came into the world and gave me a reason to fight.” - Marianna Bones

“My heart lies with the sea, loving gently like the waves on a sunny morning, but beating with rage like a thrashing storm when faced with the cruelty creeping up the edges of this world's soul.” - Autumn Bones

“I'm not going to die peaceful, that much I know. No warrior goes out without blood on her blade and scars on her skin. She stands tall and sturdy in the face of death and refuses to back down until she can no longer stand. And even then, she bares her teeth.” - Autumn Bones

“On the distant, stormy horizon sits a ship, ripe and full with sinners, cheats and bastards, clambering over the holy to grasp at something dark. And on the mast, like a looming crow sits their leader, shouting in ancient tongues as he demands the light withers and dies as he rolls on by with the violent waves. I'll stare him eye to eye and watch him fall. Cause I ain't the kinda girl who dies so easy. He's been asleep in his cruelty for years, and my knuckles against his violence is his damn wake up call.” - Autumn Bones

“This kingdom of me came crumbling down the moment the red heart faded to black. I'm soil hiding ashen bones and ribcages overgrown by weeds and mercy, and in the distant call of my mind, I find something that was never home, but slowly, it's starting to be.” - Rin Otishiro

“My heart beat's sick with gambling lights and the edges of cards, and as I look back into the recesses of my mind I see a man, standing tall and empty, like a hollow husk of humanity. His eyes are alight with delusion and the spark of inhumanity. And wherever he goes, fantasy and death are sure to follow. I'd never known mankind could be so dark until he placed a thumb under my chin and told me I was a pawn in his game, and he'd always meant for me to lose.” - Rin Otishiro

“I sit here, counting scars like stars on my wrists.” - Rin Otishiro

“My name's still the same, but I change like the weather, going from rain to a hurricane in the span of a blink or two.” - Rin Otishiro

“My heart's rotten and black, crumbling into my stomach as I swallow my fucking words.” - Rin Otishiro

“Silent and sorrowful, I stood under a shadow. Rocking myself back and forth as I ripped pieces from out my mind and dipped my pen in their ink. If only to run my fingers across the pieces of me I hated, disguised as poetry and prose so one day, I could fall in love with all the pieces of me I'd grown to despise.” - Ashivana Cuttle

“She dances her fingers against my bare bones and all of a sudden, the aching begins to leave, replaced by this buzzing warmth that tastes of her love. Her lips on mine taste like freedom, like cool midnight air or the sun dancing gentle and warm on my cheek. I could drown in her love, as she could drown in mine. She's my end, she's my beginning, and as she makes love to the worst parts of me I come to realize she loves me for the good parts in me and the bad. As she pressed her lips against my neck and dug her fingers into my hair she whispered, "I will dance with your demons and taste the death on your lips, if only to learn to love every piece of you and all of you all at once." She cured me in ways I never thought possible, and I have this odd feeling that I cured her, too.” - Ashivana Cuttle

“Memory slips through my fingers like sand, and I can only watch them twist and turn with the wind until inevitably, I forget they were ever there.” - Angelo Lariplank

“I fear I've been dead ever since I woke in a forest ripe and full with memories I couldn't taste on my tongue, clothes covered in mud and blood, the knife that ruined me held feebly in my hand.” - Angelo Lariplank

“Do I trust this lie I tell myself? It's easy to swallow and sits gently in my stomach, building a garden of roses and little reasons to hold on. But the truth forces itself down my throat like greedy human fingers, ripping pieces from my heart and stripping the petals from my roses, leaving me no more than a scrambled mess of thorn and bramble. The truth rips me from myself and I drown in it.” - Angelo Lariplank

“The woman I loved always used to tell me I was her wolf. Not in the sense that I hunted for prey. But I was loyal like the moon at my back. But ever since she's been gone the moon's light's felt so lonely on the scars etching up my back. Her name's a tattoo seared into my tongue. I can never rid myself of the taste of her love, of her pleasure, of her lust. She tasted like my own tears on my lips and the gentle healing of my sorrow. As if she was the answer to the question I'd been for too long. But now that she's gone I sit as a gentle crow upon a grave that reads my own name. I'm a threadbare, starving question, and my insanity holds me up only to wait for an answer I'll never receive. In the words of Allan Poe, my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, shalt be lifted- Nevermore." - Angelo Lariplank

“I'm an animal built off the desire to feel, and here I am, seeking emotion in the life that flashes behind a dead man's eyes.” - Andromeda Lockmowe

“This person I am is so ugly and twisted. Don't forget that the devil used to be God's favorite, but as she fell from heaven, pieces of her wings burning on her back, do you think she felt loved? Do you think she felt wanted? Or did her eyes flash with the anger of her father as he gripped her in his rough hands and cast her from the edge of his malice? I fell from heaven on bloodied wings, coughing up rose petals and thorns, wondering why the world never loved a lost girl like me. I fell through the air, grasping at pieces of me with tears in my eyes, only to land on the edge of my own knife, sputtering up all of me as who I am bled out from the corners of my eyes. Like red tears of emotion.” - Andromeda Lockmowe

“I look into my love's eyes and see something filled with pain and broken pieces of who she is, but as I place my hands gentle on her cheeks, and tell her my arms are the home she seeks, I can tell she begins to feel a little more like her and a little less like her scars.” - Jemini Paskel

“When she first laid her head on my shoulder, it was as if I'd swayed my brush against a blank canvas and watched colors bloom from grey to rose red. As if in that very moment, a future had begun to spill on the tapestry of us in colors that didn't exist, but would come to be as I tasted her lips and brokenness on mine.” - Jemini Paskel

“We're all stories waiting to be told by somebody who listened, somebody who not just read our story, but danced their fingers against every page and gently kissed every word. As if they wanted more than our beauty, than our love. As if they wanted to hold the ugly pieces of us in their hands and whisper, "How beautiful you must be, to hold all this pain inside of you and remain upright and tall in the face of such ugliness in your soul." But these pieces of us were never ugly, just things we didn't want to love.” - Jemini Paskel

“Magic was never little flickers of fire dancing on the tips of your fingers, or pulling a card from somebody's jacket. It was always love, and it always will be.” - Vishal La’Voila

“My mother was one of the most important people in my life. She saw the thoughts I hide in my eyes, and whenever she pulled me close, I felt a little less transparent. As if I was living rather than breathing.” - Vishal La’Voila

“She once told me that there was no greater magic than the love you feel when somebody tells you, as you're falling apart, "You're not okay, and that's okay. Let your emotions flow through you, feel them as deeply as you can, as if they were your roots digging into the Earth. Because it is that pain that will allow you to later stand tall and sturdy." In life, we all have the choice to write our own stories, to write our own identities. We don't choose who we are, but we choose what we show other people of ourselves. And that's the choice we have to make. To be ourselves and not care what others think, or to shrivel and hide away in fear of the sticks and stones people cast against the broken and different. You're strong either way.” - Vishal La’Voila

“I'll die a hero before I ever live as a villain.” - Lilluth Sillia

“I woke from a dream of smoke and fire, wondering why I could still smell war on the horizon as I rose from my bed. And it was with sorrow I learned that war sat on the edge of peace like a hungry beast, waiting to shove the merciful into it's merciless jaw.” - Lilluth Sillia

“On the edge of another day I sit, butterfly dancing on the tip of my blade and bringing a small moment of magic to my tired and weathered eyes. The life of a warrior is rarely an easy one, nor is it an un-burdened one. But it's a weight I'm willing to bare. My eyes are tired and heavy, but I find it so hard to sleep. Be it the humming trouble in the cool night air or the blood that sits heavy in my memory, sleep is such a tragic thing for a hero. But as the stars begin to shine, and the moon casts a pale and gentle glow, I must remember the hero is not cruel in her justice.” - Lilluth Sillia

“The peace in me is gone, but it is not, forgotten.” - Haize Dents

“I dare not say their names, lest their ghosts crawl from out my throat and I lose all the things that make me me.” - Haize Dents

“There's a fire in me I cannot tame. It burns hot and blue in my chest, the words I swallow sitting like pale glowing kindling at the bottom of my stomach as my ashes rise from out my rage. I am smoke, and I am fire, anything I ever could've been flickering away as I stare into the dark. But when my eyes catch Stephanie's, this fire in me dwindles down and meets my heart, burning from anger to passion in the span of a single heartbeat.” - Haize Dents

“My heart is a desperate, broken thing, craving for warmth yet flinching as a finger slides across it's cheek. I wish to taste her love on my lips and her rage on my tongue, but I'm scared of the way my heart beats in my sleep like a murder soon to be.” - Haize Dents

“I used to sit on the edge of my bed, who I'm not creeping up the corners of my chest like greedy and rough hands clawing pieces off of me until I could hardly take another step without remembering the boy in the mirror. But I'm me, I'm me, and isn't that such a beautiful thing to be?” - Alexandra Harkol

“My father used to tell me that when pain comes a knocking, you grow with it, you let it walk beside you until the path diverges. And when it goes, you let it go with the shake of a hand and a thank you, for not swallowing me whole. And as my pain becomes just another speck in the sunset, I bid it farewell and thank it for allowing me to grow.” - Alexandra Harkol

“We were all searching for our Neverland on wings that didn't fly, so with our hands and human fingers we hoisted each other to the sky so maybe, just maybe, we could taste the warmth of the sun on the tips of our tongues.” - Alexandra Harkol

“We're not happily ever afters, in truth, there isn't one. But life without death isn't much more than jumping memory to memory, trying to make new ones in pursuit of what the old days felt like.” - Alexandra Harkol

“I used to be so lost in all the sorrow, the pain, the doubt. As if I was a book that got left as an abandoned manuscript, longing for the rest of my words to be read, the rest of my story to be tasted by the tips of fingers young and old as they flipped through the wondrous pages of me. But as I met Bardzimi, and his eyes flickered with some happy ending I'd always wanted to have, I found love where it was never supposed to be. And it was right in front of me all along.” - Ismerelda Sage

“I've learned that as we weep, our emotions drip from the tears and down our cheeks, falling against the soil and planting little seeds of who we were in that moment. And the Earth remembers the taste of our tears against her rough skin. She does.” - Ismerelda Sage

“He cured my scars with words, in places fingers couldn't go. He wanted to know every little secret and every little flaw so he could hold the dark pieces of me in his hands just to claim them beautiful. And what an awfully beautiful thing it must be, to be loved for both your light and your darkness.” - Ismerelda Sage

“The world's become a lost soul, clinging to the memory of what it was. And here we stand like ghosts, loving and living despite the constant remembrance of death.” - Ismerelda Sage

“On the edge of a dead man's blade I met a pale and dark angel, the shadow of her wings looming high and mighty over me. And as I knelt on broken knee, and she placed a clawed hand on my shoulder she whispered that all of me would die.” - Levi Lambright

“My heart opened up like a dying flower.” - Levi Lambright

“Oh I was just a boy of a doomed family, watching my brethren fall like rain from the sky. They shined with a pale and orange light, but just as the sun, they were bound to plummet back into the dark.” - Levi Lambright

“Darkness made a nest in my chest and dared ask, "Whatever happened to the light?” - Levi Lambright

“I have become such a stranger to myself, but I like the way this name tastes on my tongue. It is as if with the first man I killed, part of me fell with his corpse, and another part of me rose as I ripped my blade from out his chest.” - Levi Lambright

“I have replaced my heart with a cage, and that is where I reside.” - Levi Lambright

“I look at myself through transparent, nicotine hazed memories, wondering who I am past the pain of yesterday and tomorrow.” - Eithel

“I try to purge myself of everything I knew about my sister, but as I close my eyes and smoke another breath, I can see her. Like a midnight fire flicker in my mind. It would be cruel, to let her leave my mind, because it's the only place she's allowed to live.” - Eithel

“I try to pour who I am from a bottle of red wine, watching the crimson pour as it splashes against another empty tomb, knowing that no matter what I do, the bottle's gonna refill and I'll get drunk off this ghost I've become.” - Eithel

“She's an uninvited guest in my heart, looking from out my ribs with sorrowful eyes as she tells me she can never leave. And everywhere I look, I see her. She's in the pale and gentle glow of the moon, the flicker of the stars and the falling of light into shadow. She creeps up on every thought and every memory, the cold case she's become haunting my heart as she whispers she's long gone, and I'll never feel her in my arms again. I couldn't protect her, and as I broke my promise, the world must've vowed to kill me as I walk and breathe.” - Eithel

“My mind splits open to reveal all the memories I try to hide, pieces of my skull peeling back as all of me bleeds out into the open.” - Ontari Boneson

“I stare back into the past, looking deep into the empty eyes of a hollow man. He stands and looms over me, whispering that he'll be back, he'll always come back. His knife drips with shattered pieces of me, and here I stand, a person I no longer am.” - Ontari Boneson

“I've got scars etched up my back and spine, bruises growing in my mind as I try to figure out who the hell I am. But as soon as I walk through the door, my scars and memories whisper, "Welcome home." - Ontari Boneson

“My anger lives between the shattered pieces of my mind, chiseling away at my thoughts and memories with hammer and nail.” - Ontari Boneson

“Sometimes we just gotta fight for the light so she knows it's okay to come around.” - Aldia McVale

“I've met cruelty in the eyes of an angel I watched fall. Her smile slowly faded into cruelty, her curiosity turned to death, her fighting spirit to murder. It's perhaps the greatest tragedy of all, to watch good become evil. To watch a girl lose herself to the shadows of those who laid her down in the dirt.” - Aldia McVale

“I've never believed in kill or be killed, I've never believed revenge was the righteous option. And so with my blade in stone, I'll choose words over violence and an open heart over a fighting one. People like us, warriors of words and love can't lose ourselves to the idea that killing can be justified. In truth, it never can be. If I were to kill Olivia and watch her fall in a red pool of her sins and redemption, I'd be no better than those who twisted her starlight into shadows.” - Aldia McVale

“Cruelty lies to us, whispering that redemption can't be found. But if we push cruelty to the side and reach our hand out to love, to hope, to redemption, we'll find the light was always there, waiting to pull us into her motherly embrace and welcome us back into her arms like an old friend. She who walks back into the light after years of darkness is just as worthy as she who's always known the light.” - Aldia McVale

“Being different doesn't mean being bad. In truth, we're all different. No soul is the same. Normal is an illusion built off the idea that we hold all that we are on the outside. But on the inside, there's things that make us special, different, and we never show it. Because we fear taking off our masks as everyone else tells us who we are with plastic smiles and masked faces. I took off that mask a long time ago. My smile's real, my soul is real, and isn't it beautiful? To be real when so many choose to dance with an illusion?” - Akayla Vrizin

“It was as the rain fell, suit and tie clinging to me like skin soaked with sin, I found who I am, the pale light of the moon steadily trickling down the cracks in my heart until all that pumps through my veins was dark.” - Agusto Perwitz

“The love in me lies dead and forgotten somewhere in this crooked tapestry I've become. It slowly decays as weeds and thorns grow from out it's throat, greed and envy choking the good out of me as I take another merry step into the dark.” - Agusto Perwitz

“I've mastered the art of pulling the trigger in silence.” - Agusto Perwitz

“I've got a monster in me. She claws at the edges of my ribs and takes little pieces of my heart to stick between her teeth. And as the memories of the wicked wolves pass through my mind, she claws from out my throat and makes life hell for the cruel.” - Adsila Bloodvallo

“My heart beats slower and slower as I rot away in my cage. But as Tiana takes her hand in mine and tells me I'm no monster, just a fighter, I feel my heart go faster and the monster in me shrivel away for a moment or two.” - Adsila Bloodvallo

“I love Tiana, as if I was fire ever dancing in the midnight sky and she was the stars I try so desperately to reach with my flickers and sparks.” - Adsila Bloodvallo

“I've spent too long fightin' myself with bare knuckles, breakin' myself down piece by piece just ta build me together again like a rickety and rusted tower, knowin' if I dare remove one shard'a me, this person I am'll come crumblin' down.” - Mavallo Clavelli

“Sometimes, people'll hate you for things ya can't control. And I've learned that's their choice and their misery ta live with. I won't carry the burden of a hateful man on my shoulders, it's a weight he's gotta carry on his own.” - Mavallo Clavelli

“It's been rainin' in this heart of mine for a long time now, but that's the only way the garden's gonna bloom in my chest. Under the clouds of sorrow and the skies of joy, I'll find who I am.” - Mavallo Clavelli

“There ain't no mercy in the war against oneself, cause you gotta walk out the other side yourself, or you're gonna come out the other side'a the war nobody at all.” - Mavallo Clavelli

“He's a victim of cruelty, not cruelty in of itself.” - Eliza McGriffin

“It's not such a cruel thing, to show a monster they were human all along.” - Eliza McGriffin

“I'm in control of the way this heart beats and the ways these emotions echo.” - Eliza McGriffin

“The Earth's letting out her final gasp, and here I am, holding my breath so she can have just a moment of my air.” - Eliza McGriffin

“We're hearts that love and feel with souls that hurt and bleed.” - Eliza McGriffin

“Cruelty takes little pieces of us day by day. Not enough to notice, but as days turn to years they've consumed who we are and there's nothing left of us past the full stomach of cruelty.” - Eliza McGriffin

“I'm my own worst enemy, but perhaps, when I'm not myself... That's a good thing.” - Pamela Vekeltin

“I'll whisper my secrets and sins to the wind in hopes they find a forgiving angel. And as Gabriel holds me in his arms and reminds me I'm more than this blood spilled, I swear the wind found his name.” - Pamela Vekeltin

“I've stood under my own shadow for so long that I hardly remember what light tastes like on my tongue. But as I breathe in the fresh air, the taste of love, hope and a slight tinge of freedom dance on the edge of my tongue, gripping at the edges of my lips with beauty coated fingers and love brushed smiles.” - Pamela Vekeltin

“I just look at my life, I see how much I've changed, how much I've grown, and I realize that who we are doesn't stick around. It wisps away as who we're meant to be comes on by.” - Olivia Wiltfang

“Some people just don't understand life. They take the pain and they turn it into a weapon, claiming strength is found in the swinging of a fist and the shattered edge of who we are. But true strength was always gonna be found in the beautiful vulnerability of love.” - Olivia Wiltfang

“I've got chips off my paint, faded stickers of who I am etching my surface, water stains and scars bared with pride on my hide. But at the end of the day, I'm the same person, hidden behind things that fade with time.” - Olivia Wiltfang

“This person I've become is like cigarette smoke. It brings me some since of peace, for a time, then I cough, I sputter, and this person I am fucking kills me.” - Walter Killgrine

“I hardly make a sound as I begin to fade away, because all my pain goes by unspoken, my sorrow quiet and my rage too loud to fucking bare.” - Walter Killgrine

“I used to have a heart in my chest, but as a dead memory of my past whispered from the shadows, "There's wolves in the dark," my heart jumped from out my chest, running as far as it could from that shadow of a man until it burrowed itself deep into the future of my grave.” - Walter Killgrine

“I'm no kind man. I've pulled triggers without a second thought, killed men for causes I don't believe in, stained my lips with loveless blood and watched good men die. I'm a secret to myself, always discovering new and twisted pieces of me.” - Walter Killgrine

“I've always stood under one shadow or another, be it the darkened sky of my family, the shadow between colored circus lights or the constant remembrance of a man I thought I knew. I've never seen the light, and now more than ever I fear, it would blind me.” - Walter Killgrine

“I cover my traces with pieces of barbed wire insanity, hoping who I used to be doesn't follow me.” - Draco Scoviney

“There are pieces of me that still lust for salvation, but the dark pieces of me drown them out and I lose myself to this woeful shout of insanity.” - Draco Scoviney

“My madness is calm, patient and silent, standing in the edges of my mind and bursting from out my skull like the mad woman's hands, drenched in black and red blood alike.” - Draco Scoviney

“In the castle of unwell minds and broken people, we've found who we truly are. This place stands like a revolver's shadow over peace and sanity, and my friend, we are the bullets piercing the skull of the well as the queen of damnation and madness pulls the hammer back, nails painted in the blood of the holy.” - Draco Scoviney

“I've not been me ever since I tasted my father's blood on my teeth. As he fell, grasping at a ruined throat, I found I liked the way murder tasted on the edge of my tongue.” - Draco Scoviney

“Some men grieve the loss of who they were, but God damn, I rejoice.” - Shakilo Vankelo

“I played a game of chance with my demons, and as I stand here, straightening my blood stained tie, a smile on the edge of my lip, who do ya think won?” - Shakilo Vankelo

“Before I go howlin' into the night, I'll raise a little hell and watch little pieces of heaven fall like fucked up masterpieces from the sky.” - Shakilo Vankelo

“I am the coinsurer of my own destruction.” - Shakilo Vankelo

“They never used ta speak my name, but now they howl it like a scar on the tip'a their damn tongue.” - Shakilo Vankelo

“I ripped myself apart piece by shattered piece until nothing but my heart remained. And as it looked for somewhere to run, I squashed it under my heel.” - Shakilo Vankelo

“The poor man dies under the rich man's boot, the rich man strives in the poor man's sorrow.” - Barsbley Martman

“Where all the cobwebs used to be, she's built a tapestry of her love, building reasons for me to live with flowers and daffodils in my chest.” - Barsbley Martman

“I've stood under the shadow of cruel men's riches for too long, always yearning for the heat of Summer as I stood cold in the winter. But as Lucienne brushes her lips against mine, I feel a sudden Spring in my chest, followed quickly by a calm and quiet Summer, lived under the light and shadow of sunflowers and rain dripping gardens.” - Barsbley Martman

“There is no greater trouble then the kind that lives in man.” - Barsbley Martman

“The most dangerous thing about the cruel man, is that he looks just like the good man. He's stitched kindness into his smile and learned how to pretend to be human. But at the end of the day, he was never human, just evil hiding in the vessel of a man.” - Barsbley Martman

“At the end of the day, I must wonder who I'll be. Because I spend my days in constant change, different people flowing through me as I grasp at the illusion of my identity.” - Barsbley Martman

“My whole life it seems I've been grasping at something that was never there, some cure to life that'd leave me content and full with imaginings and beauties. But I'm lost in a dream I had when I was young, and ever since, I haven't opened my eyes.” - Sasha Sunblume

“She's broken pieces in my memory, and as I whisper her name to an empty and colorful sky, I swear it's her tears I see in the rain.” - Sasha Sunblume

“I've been kicked out of my own heart and mind, clawing at things that aren't me and shoving them down my throat in order to be somebody else. But these pieces of other people grow like black rot and weeds in my stomach, breaking me down into a beautiful garden of black petal memories and decaying thoughts of yesterday.” - Sasha Sunblume

“With all the miles I've walked, I haven't gone anywhere at all.” - Sasha Sunblume

“I used to dance on a tightrope, wondering when my sorrow would send me plummeting toward my concrete doubts, clawing at air with tears and misery in my eyes. But now here I stand, having fallen and survived, knowing sometimes, that the fall's just your rebirth in disguise. How beautiful it is, to fall, breaking apart into somebody new as you hit the edge of your doubts and come out the other side of your misery the person you were always meant to be.” - Chala Flitfair

“I've got blood on the edge'a my snarl and darkness brewing in the edges of my eyes, but despite that, I gotta fight who I am and become somebody better.” - Sherwood Stinson

“I never had the chance ta live. I was born a boy'a the streets, hidin' under the shadow'a chance and misery. And as my brother and I fell from our own grace with the swingin' of a single crowbar, we lost who we were. As if we played a game of Russian Roulette with our demons, only for them ta laugh as we pulled the trigger 'gainst our skulls with a fully loaded chamber.” - Sherwood Stinson

“I look ta the sky, wonderin' as it rains, if it's my father's tears splashin' 'gainst my cheeks. I never had a chance to meet the man with a smile that could light up the corners of the world and a trench coat worn in the memory of my brother. But I can't help but imagine, when I bring this hammer down, he wouldn't be proud of this man I am.” - Sherwood Stinson

“Love and life are lived in the blink of an eye, so don't dare go blind to yourself, cause all the beautiful things in life'll pass you by.” - Elwood Sparrvitz

“My life was fraught with trouble and misery until I stumbled into the bar, smoke on my breath, the scent of trouble rising up from the bar's wooden floorboard. It was there, in a place of misery and part time sorrows I met the love'a my life, and God damn, life ain't never been so beautiful. I look inta Sandie's eyes and I see a life worth livin', a love worth fightin' for. And when I hear the laughter'a my children, I know I've found home in the hearts'a love an' family.” - Elwood Sparrvitz

“I was livin' five miles from myself, stumblin' and hitchhikin' on a road that weren't mine. And as I threw my thumb up, pointed at the stormy sky, a woman stopped by my side and asked if I needed a ride. And as we drove off inta the distant horizon, I met myself once more.” - Elwood Sparrvitz

“My home reeked of death painted on old scarred wallpaper, and under the silver shadow of my father, I learned what it is, to die. Death comes in many forms, and it isn't always a scythe she uses to reap. With human fingers and beastly eyes she comes for us in the form of those we know, greeting us with a smile so wicked and a song so gentle, lulling the lost ones to their eternal sleep in the emptiness of their lives.” - Calzell Flickerfeid

“I can hardly escape my mind, but I can say with certainty that I've escaped who I am.” - Calzell Flickerfeid

“It was in the white walls of an old mental ward I met who I'd become, sipping on the darkness I knew too well. And with a blank and hazed stare I can say, my mind never left that mental ward.” - Calzell Flickerfeid

“Away from myself I fell, drifting through emptiness and fate, death reaping little pieces of me as they broke from off my figure. And as I closed my eyes and accepted this new, violent identity of me, I awoke in a field of hay and wheat, night sky hungry, a blood washed knife held gentle in my hand. And by my side, covered in crimson smiles and wounds, I found me, staring blankly and hazed into the abyss of night and madness.” - Calzell Flickerfeid

#writing #Author #Characters #Dialouge

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13flowersandfoxes · 7 years

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all the backyard flower garden AND sweet n soft questions

sweet- what’s your favorite type of candyGhirardellis dark chocolate and sea salt and caramel

 smooth- do you like classical musicSometimes. I especially like film scores for my fave movies.

 baby- do you want to be a parent Maybe

 courage- are you a strong athlete Used to be. Not really now.

 lovely- what’s the adjective you use when people ask “how are you”Good cutie- what’s your favorite orange thing? I don’t love orange. Maybe some flowers.

 skin- do you want any tattoosI’ve considered getting a Jasmine flower as a memoriam for my old dog Jasmine.

 pictures- is art important to you in any wayI love the history and looking at it wanted it around me but I’m no good at it or anything.

 stars- use one word to describe space Big

 religion- do you practice religion - what religion if soMormon

 one- are you a competitive personVery makeup- what is your most heavily used makeup product Lipstick or eyeliner

 sheets- how many blankets do you sleep with 1 big one

 chalk- what subject are you best at in schoolHistory

 blush- are you easily embarrassed Typically

 water- when was the last time you cried Not sure

 karma- do you believe in luckNot particularly?

 lips- what is your favorite thing to taste I dunno. Spicy or chocolate generally.

 cupcake- cookies, pie, ice cream or cakeBrownies. Or brownies in ice cream.

 music- list your 3 favorite bands or artists ParamoreKate NashFall out boy

 night- how many hours of sleep do you get10-12. I need lots to function.

 smile- how was your day todayDull but okay.

Ageratum: Are you friendly or wary of strangers?Friendly but I’m careful.

American Marigold: Is there anything you will not/cannot eat?Cucumbers and bacon.

Black-Eyed Susan: Have you ever given/received a black eye? Why?Nope.

Bleeding-heart: Do you open up freely with their emotions, or do you bottle it up until you burst? If you do hold it in, what is usually your breaking point?It depends. But most people I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve at least lately.

Butterfly-Weed: What is one thing that always makes you stop and admire, no matter what you were doing prior?Animals, certain flowers. But always animals.

Common Yarrow: Do you easily blend in with the crowd, or do you wear/act so that you are noticeable and stand out?Lol I tend to stand out with my clothes and make up.

Cornflower: Is there a color you don’t particularly care to wear? Is it because it clashes with your style, appearance, or any other reason outside of simple dislike for said color?I don’t love wearing red most of the time just cause it doesn’t look good on me. I generally don’t wear yellow or orange cause I don’t like them. I don’t like pink much either but it tends to be on purple stuff so I go with it.

Creeping Zinnia: Do you listen into other people’s conversations, either idly or purposely? Has there been anything you learned from it? Have you gotten into trouble?Sometimes my parents. But I’m a bit of a people watcher in public. Not to be a snoop, just to observe. I love seeing what a variety of people there are in the world yet how we experience similar things.

Daylily: Do you have any daily routines/habits? Are they ingrained into you as a child or have they been recent additions?I have more recent ones like soaking my ears daily for my piercings. I try to be regular with makeup and things and I’ve been starting a new journal idea I thought of.

Field Pansy: Have you ever gone and flown a kite before? Do you wish to do so if you haven’t?Yeah

Flowering Cabbage: Name one thing you keep, despite it being pointless or purposeless other than sentimental value or you simply cannot throw it away, and state the reason why you hang onto it.I probably have a few but I’m not at my parents house yet so I can’t think of anything off hand.

Garden Impatiens: What causes you to lose patience? How do you react when you lose it? People who just wanna complain all the time, I tend to try to get them to see why they shouldn’t but they normally just argue with me so I end up more frustrated idk

Gooseneck Loosestrife: Is there anything strange or unusual you can do, or have noticed happening around you without an identifiable cause?I’m double jointed that’s like one of the only weird things I can do.

Hosta: Do you enjoy the time out in the sun, or do you relax in the shade whenever you get the chance to do so?Depends. I prefer if it’s windy and cooler aired when it’s sunny. Otherwise I’ll be in the shade. (Not to mention my light sensitivity.)

Ivy Geranium: Do you have any pets? If so, how are they doing?I have a cat and a dog. My dog is fine as far as I know. My cat is a little upset cause he misses me but I’m gonna be home hopefully before noon on Tuesday

Japanese Bloodgrass: When was the last time you drew blood, either from yourself or from another? What was the reason?They did general blood tests on me in the hospital in January

Lady’s Mantle: What is one outfit you remember your mother/guardian wearing when you were a child?Mom jeans and high school marching band t shirts

Lambs Ears: Do you remember how old you were when the last time someone tried to sensor their speech around you?When I first got here to my aunts she kept apologizing to me every time she said fuck and i don’t think she has for a while now

Lavender: Is there a particular scent you are fond of? Do you smell this scent often or rarely? Books, not as often as I should. Also my cats fur.

Million Gold: How much money do you make, if any? How much money do you have currently? None right now cause I’ve been unemployed by choice. Hoping I can get a job soon. And I have less money than I’d prefer lol.

Moss Phlox: Have there been any new friends you have made? What do you want to know about them the most?I’ve made a couple. And no not really?

Nasturium: Have you ever been the one to be told a secret? Did you keep it or did you share it with someone else? Was the secret worth being kept?Yes I’ve been told lots. Some I’ve kept and some I haven’t TBH. It’s life, sue me.

Ornamental Purslane: Do you wear any jewelry? Which ones are your favorites? Do you favor certain metals/gems/styles?I always wear a yin yang ring (I accidentally left it at my parents house though :( ) and then there’s my daith rings. I love purple and amethyst jewelry. I like bracelets and necklaces but I don’t have any I wear all the time. There have been a few I wanted though. Like bpd awareness necklaces or something idk.

Rose Campion: If you had to fight, which one person would you chose to fight at your side? Would you pick them based on skill, on trust, or both?I’m struggling to think of any martial artists i know lol

Salvia-May-Night: What your habits/rituals you do when preparing for bed? How long do you usually sleep for?General bathroom stuff, meds, journal, bible and prayer if I remember.

Snapdragon: What sort of things would you hoard, if given the chance? Would you? Makeup and clothes. And probably cats and shoes. This is me dude 😂

Snow-In-Summer: Would you rather have winter or summer? What are the benefits or reason to your preferred season over the other?Winter. I just really REALLY hate being hot.

Sunflower: Name one thing that will always make you smile.My cat

Thread-leaf Tickseed: Are you an insect-magnet when you go outside, or do you insects generally leave you alone? Insects have never really bothered me. It actually shocked me the first time a mosquito ever bit me while I was awake.

Variegated Solomon’s Seal: What is one thing you wished you could seal away and never see/feel/use/etc again? Why?Being sexually assaulted. It was relatively minor, like when I told my friends about it it was like yeah there’s literally no police case. But it was someone I considered a friend and it was just.. shitty.

Wheat Cockscomb: Name one thing you could do that you wished you could do, but cant?Instantaneously have a healthy functioning body without the excess weight

Yellow Cosmos: What is your favorite constellation? Why?Orion. Just cause it reminds me of when I would stargaze with my dad on our front lawn every night and our house faced east so we had a perfect view of Orion. (I actually struggle more with finding the dippers cause the trees in our neighborhood blocked those haha)

#asks #hana answers

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networkingdefinition · 4 years

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Garden Quotes

Official Website: Garden Quotes

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• A black cat among roses, phlox, lilac-misted under a quarter moon, the sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock. The garden is very still. It is dazed with moonlight, contented with perfume. – Amy Lowell • A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors. – Charles Baudelaire • A garden is a complex of aesthetic and plastic intentions; and the plant is, to a landscape artist, not only a plant – rare, unusual, ordinary or doomed to disappearance – but it is also a color, a shape, a volume or an arabesque in itself. – Roberto Burle Marx • A garden is a grand teacher. It teaches patience and careful watchfulness; it teaches industry and thrift; above all it teaches entire trust. – Gertrude Jekyll • A garden is a grand teacher… above all it teaches entire trust. – Gertrude Jekyll • A garden is a symbol of man’s arrogance, perverting nature to human ends. – Tim Smit • A garden is a thing of beauty and a job forever. – Richard Briers • A garden is always a series of losses set against a few triumphs, like life itself. – May Sarton • A garden is an awful responsibility. You never know what you may be aiding to grow in it. – Charles Dudley Warner • A garden is the best alternative therapy. – Germaine Greer • A garden is to be a world unto itself, it had better make room for the darker shades of feeling as well as the sunny ones. – William Kent • A garden really lives only insofar as it is an expression of faith, the embodiment of a hope and a song of praise. – Russell Page • A garden requires patient labor and attention. Plants do not grow merely to satisfy ambitions or to fulfill good intentions. They thrive because someone expended effort on them. – Liberty Hyde Bailey • A garden was the primitive prison, till man with Promethean felicity and boldness, luckily sinned himself out of it. – Charles Lamb • A good garden may have some weeds. – Thomas Fuller • A house though otherwise beautiful, yet if it hath no garden belonging to it, is more like a prison than a house. – William H. Coles • A modest garden contains, for those who know how to look and to wait, more instruction than a library. – Henri Frederic Amiel • A person who undertakes to grow a garden at home, by practices that will preserve rather than exploit the economy of the soil, has his mind precisely against what is wrong with us. – Wendell Berry • Alfred Austin said, “Show me your garden and I shall tell you what you are.” – Alfred Austin • All gardeners live in beautiful places because they make them so. – Joseph Joubert • All gardening is landscape painting. – William Kent • All my hurts my garden spade can heal. – Ralph Waldo Emerson • An optimistic gardener is one who believes that whatever goes down must come up. – Leslie Hall • As a gardener, I’m among those who believe that much of the evidence of God’s existence has been planted. – Robert Breault • As long as you have a garden you have a future and as long as you have a future you are alive. – Frances Hodgson Burnett

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Garden', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_garden').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_garden img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Be your own politics, grow your own garden, and maybe you can help out more. – Rip Torn • But though an old man, I am but a young gardener. – Thomas Jefferson • By the time one is eighty, it is said, there is no longer a tug of war in the garden with the May flowers hauling like mad against the claims of the other months. All is at last in balance and all is serene. The gardener is usually dead, of course. – Henry Mitchell

[clickbank-storefront-bestselling] • Christians are like the several flowers in a garden that have each of them the dew of heaven, which, being shaken with the wind, they let fall at each other’s roots, whereby they are jointly nourished, and become nourishers of each other. – John Bunyan • Cultivate your own garden and let go of your tendency to examine and judge how others cultivate theirs. Catch yourself in moments of gossip about how others ought to be living and rid yourself of thoughts about how they should be doing it this way, or how they have no right to live and think as they do. Stay busy and involved in your own projects and pursuits. – Wayne Dyer • Did perpetual happiness in the Garden of Eden maybe get so boring that eating the apple was justified? – Chuck Palahniuk • Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you’re there. – Ray Bradbury • Everything that slows us down and forces patience, everything that sets us back into the slow circles of nature, is a help. Gardening is an instrument of grace. – May Sarton • Friends are “annuals” that need seasonal nurturing to bear blossoms. Family is a “perennial” that comes up year after year, enduring the droughts of absence and neglect. There’s a place in the garden for both of them. – Erma Bombeck • Gardeners instinctively know that flowers and plants are a continuum and that the wheel of garden history will always be coming full circle. – Francis Cabot Lowell • Gardeners instinctively know that flowers and plants are a continuum and that the wheel of garden history will always be coming full circle. One lifetime is never enough to accomplish one’s horticultural goals. If a garden is a site for the imagination, how can we be very far from the beginning? – Francis Cabot • Gardeners, I think, dream bigger dreams than Emperor’s. – Mary Cantwell • Gardening gives one back a sense of proportion about everything – except itself. – May Sarton • Gardening has compensations out of all proportion to its goals. It is creation in the pure sense. – Phyllis McGinley • Gardening is a kind of disease. It infects you, you cannot escape it. When you go visiting, your eyes rove about the garden; you interrupt the serious cocktail drinking because of an irresistible impulse to get up and pull a weed. – Lewis Gannett • Gardening is a labour full of tranquility and satisfaction; natural and instructive, and as such contributes to the most serious contemplation, experience, health and longevity. – John Evelyn • Gardening is civil and social, but it wants the vigor and freedom of the forest and the outlaw. – Henry David Thoreau • Gardening is how I relax. It’s another form of creating and playing with colors. – Oscar de la Renta • Gardening is not a rational act. – Margaret Atwood • Gardening is the best therapy in the world. – C. Z. Guest • Gardening is the only unquestionably useful job. – George Bernard Shaw • Gardening requires lots of water… most of it in the form of perspiration. – Louise Erickson • Gardening simply does not allow one to be mentally old, because too many hopes and dreams are yet to be realized. – Allan Armitage • Gardens are not made by singing ‘Oh, how beautiful,’ and sitting in the shade. – Rudyard Kipling • Gardens… should be like lovely, well-shaped girls: all curves, secret corners, unexpected deviations, seductive surprises and then still more curves. – H. E. Bates • Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can walk undisturbed. – Walt Whitman • God Almighty first planted a Garden. And indeed it is the purest of human pleasures. It is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man, without which buildings and palaces are but gross handiworks. And a man shall ever see, that when ages grow to civility and elegancy, men come to build stately sooner than to garden finely, as if gardening were the greater perfection. – Francis Bacon • God Almighty first planted a garden. And indeed, it is the purest of human pleasures. – Francis Bacon • God the first garden made, and the first city Cain. – Abraham Cowley • How can you be content to be in the world like tulips in a garden, to make a fine show, and be good for nothing. – Mary Astell • I also know that we must cultivate our garden. For when man was put in the Garden of Eden, he was put there ut operaretur eum, to work; which proves that man was not born for rest. – Voltaire • I also like to garden. I grow things, vegetables, flowers… I particularly like orchids. I raise orchids. – Beau Bridges • I am the fonder of my garden for all the trouble it gives me, and the grudging reward that my unending labours exact. – Reginald Farrer • I am writing in the garden. To write as one should of a garden one must write not outside it or merely somewhere near it, but in the garden. – Frances Hodgson Burnett • I appreciate the misunderstanding I have had with Nature over my perennial border. I think it is a flower garden; she thinks it is a meadow lacking grass, and tries to correct the error. – Sara Bonnett Stein • I came to these mediums through having the garden, and of course, people who have designed gardens have always worked in collaboration, and never made their own inscriptions. – Ian Hamilton Finlay • I cultivate my garden, and my garden cultivates me. – Robert Breault • I do not know the names of all the weeds and plants, I have to do as Adam did in his garden… name things as I find them. – Charles Dudley Warner • I don’t like formal gardens. I like wild nature. It’s just the wilderness instinct in me, I guess. – Walt Disney • I don’t take myself seriously any more. Sometimes I just garden in my knickers and platform shoes. – Kim Wilde • I don’t think we’ll ever know all there is to know about gardening, and I’m just as glad there will always be some magic about it! – Barbara Damrosch • I enjoy the cleaning up – something about the getting of things in order for winter – making the garden secure – a battening down of hatches perhaps… It just feels right. – David Hobson • I have a garden, and I’m passionately interested in young people. – Mary Wesley • I have a rock garden. Last week three of them died. – Richard K. Diran • I have always wanted to be a gardener, and I love the time I spend in my garden. – Pawan Kalyan • I just go in my back garden. It’s the only place where people don’t come and bother you. – Boy George • I like to go for a walk or swimming or in the garden when I can. It’s a busy kind of life, but I guess I’m lucky. – Brian May • I live alone, with cats, books, pictures, fresh vegetables to cook, the garden, the hens to feed. – Jeanette Winterson • I look upon the pleasure we take in a garden as one of the most innocent delights in human life. – Marcus Tullius Cicero • I love being in my garden. I don’t plant a lot of exotic flora, but I do spend a lot of time outside doing manual labour. – Jacqueline Bisset • I love decorating my home. I’m a gardener too, so that’s usually something I have to play catch up with – Suzy Bogguss • I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet in a garden. – Ruth Stout • I sit in my garden, gazing upon a beauty that cannot gaze upon itself. And I find sufficient purpose for my day. – Robert Breault • I suppose that for most people one of the darker joys of gardening is that once you’ve got started it’s not at all hard to find someone who knows a little bit less than you. – Allen Lacy • I think of marriage as a garden. You have to tend to it. Respect it, take care of it, feed it. Make sure everyone is getting the right amount of, um, sunlight. – Mark Ruffalo • I think this is what hooks one to gardening: it is the closest one can come to being present at creation. – Phyllis Grissim-Theroux • I travel the garden of music, thru inspiration. It’s a large, very large garden, seen? – Peter Tosh • I value my garden more for being full of blackbirds than of cherries, and very frankly give them fruit for their songs. – Joseph Addison • I wake up some mornings and sit and have my coffee and look out at my beautiful garden, and I go, ‘Remember how good this is. Because you can lose it.’ – Jim Carrey • If Everton were playing down the bottom of my garden, I’d draw the curtains. – Bill Shankly • If we don’t empower ourselves with knowledge, then we’re gonna be led down a garden path. – Fran Drescher • If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need. – Marcus Tullius Cicero • If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden. – Frances Hodgson Burnett • If you would be happy all your life, plant a garden. – Nan Fairbrother • If you’ve never experienced the joy of accomplishing more than you can imagine, plant a garden. – Robert Brault • In almost every garden, the land is made better and so is the gardener. – Robert Rodale • In fine weather the old gentelman is almost constantly in the garden; and when it is too wet to go into it, he will look out the window at it, by the hour together. He has always something to do there, and you will see him digging, and sweeping, and cutting, and planting, with manifest delight. – Charles Dickens • In his garden every man may be his own artist without apology or explanation. Each within his green enclosure is a creator, and no two shall reach the same conclusion; nor shall we, any more than other creative workers, be ever wholly satisfied with our accomplishment. Ever a season ahead of us floats the vision of perfection and herein lies its perennial charm. – Louise Wilder • In order to live off a garden, you practically have to live in it. – Kin Hubbard • In search of my mother’s garden, I found my own. – Alice Walker • In the creation of a garden, the architect invites the partnership of the Kingdom of Nature. In a beautiful garden the majesty of nature is ever present, but it is nature reduced to human proportions and thus transformed into the most efficient haven against the aggressiveness of contemporary life. – Luis Barragan • It is a golden maxim to cultivate the garden for the nose, and the eyes will take care of themselves. – Robert Louis Stevenson • It is utterly forbidden to be half-hearted about gardening. You have got to love your garden whether you like it or not. – W. C. Sellar • It pleases me to take amateur photographs of my garden, and it pleases my garden to make my photographs look professional. – Robert Breault • It’s amazing to see places like Madison Square Garden on the schedule again. – Roger Taylor • I’ve always felt that you can’t do much wrong in a garden providing you enjoy it. – David Hobson • Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead. – Oscar Wilde • Kind hearts are the gardens, Kind thoughts are the roots, Kind words are the flowers, Kind deeds are the fruits, Take care of your garden And keep out the weeds, Fill it with sunshine, Kind words, and Kind deeds. – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow • Last night, there came a frost, which has done great damage to my garden…. It is sad that Nature will play such tricks on us poor mortals, inviting us with sunny smiles to confide in her, and then, when we are entirely within her power, striking us to the heart. – Nathaniel Hawthorne • Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom. – Marcel Proust • May our heart’s garden of awakening bloom with hundreds of flowers. – Nhat Hanh • My garden does not whet the appetite; it satisfies it. It does not provoke thirst through heedless indulgence, but slakes it by proffering its natural remedy. Amid such pleasures as these have I grown old. – Epicurus • Nature abhors a garden. – Michael Pollan • Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees That half a proper gardener’s work is done upon his knees, So when your work is finished, you can wash your hands and pray For the Glory of the Garden, that it may not pass away! – Rudyard Kipling • Old gardeners never die. They just spade away and then throw in the trowel. – Herbert V. Prochnow • One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon instead of enjoying the roses that are blooming outside our windows today. – Dale Carnegie • Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made By singing ‘Oh how wonderful’ and sitting in the shade, While better men than we go out, and start their working lives By grubbing weeds from garden paths with broken dinner knives. • People are always asking, “What’s the purpose of life?” That’s easy. Relieve suffering. Create beauty. Make gardens. – Dan Barker • Poetry is the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads. – Marianne Moore • Remember that children, marriages, and flower gardens reflect the kind of care they get. – H. Jackson Brown, Jr. • Sadness is but a wall between two gardens. – Khalil Gibran • So plant your own gardens and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers. – Jorge Luis Borges • Some men like to make a little garden out of life and walk down a path – Jean Anouilh • Some people might think our lives dull and uneventful, but it does not seem so to us. …it is not travel and adventure that make a full life. There are adventures of the spirit and one can travel in books and interest oneself in people and affairs. One need ever be dull as long as one has friends to help, gardens to enjoy and books in the long winter evenings. – D.E. Stevenson • Someone had told me about a house in Wandsworth, southwest London – 21 Blenkarne Road – with an incredible garden, so I went and had a look. I walked in and just said, ‘I want it.’ – Susannah York • St. Francis of Assisi was hoeing his garden when someone asked what he would do if he were suddenly to learn that he would die before sunset that very day. “I would finish hoeing my garden,” he replied. – Francis of Assisi • Successful gardening is doing what has to be done when it has to be done the way it ought to be done whether you want to do it or not. – Jerry Baker • Taste every fruit of every tree in the garden at least once. It is an insult to creation not to experience it fully. Temperance is wickedness. – Stephen Fry • Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you who you are. – Jean Anthelme Brillat-Savarin • The best way to garden is to put on a wide-brimmed straw hat and some old clothes. And with a hoe in one hand and a cold drink in the other, tell somebody else where to dig. – Texas Bix Bender • The country is making a big mistake not teaching kids to cook and raise a garden and build fires. – Loretta Lynn • The earth is my altar, the sky is my dome, mind is my garden, the heart is my home and I’m always at home – yea, I’m always at Om. – Eden Ahbez • The garden is a metaphor for life, and gardening is a symbol of the spiritual path. – Larry Dossey • The garden suggests there might be a place where we can meet nature halfway. – Michael Pollan • The great challenge for the garden designer is not to make the garden look natural, but to make the garden so that the people in it will feel natural. – Lawrence Halprin • The lesson I have thoroughly learnt, and wish to pass on to others, is to know the enduring happiness that the love of a garden gives. – Gertrude Jekyll • The love of gardening is a seed once sown that never dies. – Gertrude Jekyll • The more one gardens, the more one learns; And the more one learns, the more one realizes how little one knows. – Vita Sackville-West • The most noteworthy thing about gardeners is that they are always optimistic, always enterprising, and never satisfied. They always look forward to doing something better than they have ever done before. – Vita Sackville-West • The single greatest lesson the garden teaches is that our relationship to the planet need not be zero-sum, and that as long as the sun still shines and people still can plan and plant, think and do, we can, if we bother to try, find ways to provide for ourselves without diminishing the world. – Michael Pollan • The true object of all human life is play. Earth is a task garden; heaven is a playground. – Gilbert K. Chesterton • The weeds keep multiplying in our garden, which is our mind ruled by fear. Rip them out and call them by name. – Sylvia Browne • The wilderness is near as well as dear to every man. Even the oldest villages are indebted to the border of wild wood which surrounds them, more than to the gardens of men. There is something indescribably inspiriting and beautiful in the aspect of the forest skirting and occasionally jutting into the midst of new towns, which, like the sand-heaps of fresh fox-burrows, have sprung up in their midst. The very uprightness of the pines and maples asserts the ancient rectitude and vigor of nature. Our lives need the relief of such a background, where the pine flourishes and the jay still screams. – Henry David Thoreau • There are no green thumbs or black thumbs. There are only gardeners and non-gardeners. Gardeners are the ones who ruin after ruin get on with the high defiance of nature herself, creating, in the very face of her chaos and tornado, the bower of roses and the pride of irises. It sounds very well to garden a ‘natural way’. You may see the natural way in any desert, any swamp, any leech-filled laurel hell. Defiance, on the other hand, is what makes gardeners. – Henry Mitchell • There is no gardening without humility. Nature is constantly sending even its oldest scholars to the bottom of the class for some egregious blunder. – Alfred Austin • There is no need to go to India or anywhere else to find peace. You will find that deep place of silence right in your room, your garden or even your bathtub. – Elisabeth Kubler-Ross • There is peace in the garden. Peace and results. – Ruth Stout • They can certainly expect to be very impressed with the technical aspects of the show, fooled and led up the garden path by the story and ultimately have a jolly good laugh! – Louise Jameson • To garden is to let optimism get the better of judgment. – Eleanor Perenyi • To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow. – Audrey Hepburn • Unemployment is capitalism’s way of getting you to plant a garden. – Orson Scott Card • We have descended into the garden and caught three hundred slugs. How I love the mixture of the beautiful and the squalid in gardening. It makes it so lifelike. – Evelyn Underhill • We were enclosed, O eternal Father, within the garden of your breast. You drew us out of your holy mind like a flower petaled with our soul’s three powers and into each power you put the whole plant, so that they might bear fruit in your garden, might come back to you with the fruit you gave them. And you would come back to the soul, to fill her with your blessedness. There the soul dwells like the fish in the sea and the sea in the fish. – St. Catherine of Siena • Well, being a jazz musician is not a rose garden! – Toots Thielemans • What a man needs in gardening is a cast-iron back, with a hinge in it. – Charles Dudley Warner • What is paradise, but, a garden, an orchard of trees and herbs, full of pleasure and nothing there but delights. – William Lawson • When your garden is finished I hope it will be more beautiful that you anticipated, require less care than you expected, and have cost only a little more than you had planned. – Thomas Church • Where would the gardener be if there were no more weeds? – Bill Vaughan • Wherever you have a plot of land, however small, plant a garden. Staying close to the soil is good for the soul. – Spencer W. Kimball • Who loves a garden still his Eden keeps. – Amos Bronson Alcott • Who loves a garden, still his Eden keeps, Perennial pleasures plants, and wholesome harvests reaps. – Amos Bronson Alcott • Why try to explain miracles to your kids when you can just have them plant a garden. – Robert Breault • Won’t you come into the garden? I would like my roses to see you. – Richard Brinsley Sheridan • Your family and your love must be cultivated like a garden. Time, effort, and imagination must be summoned constantly to keep any relationship flourishing and growing. – Jim Rohn • Your garden will reveal yourself. – Henry Mitchell

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