It's summer and what better way to celebrate that than with our favourite vampires and Wayhaven's other inhabitants?
Come and join us by sharing your own creations and reblogging what others have created! From moodboards to art, fanfic to summery Wayhaven headcanons – everything in between and beyond is welcome!
When: August 10th - 16th
How:
By creating fanworks (art, fic, moodboards, headcanons,...) inspired by the prompts for this event. Don't forget to tag this blog @/summerinwayhaven when you share a work and to use the tag #summer in wayhaven! If you are posting fanfic on Ao3, there’s also a collection for this event that you are very welcome to add your work to: Summer In Wayhaven
Reblog the content made by other creators ^^
Guidelines
Resources
FAQ
Prompt list
Day 1: Road Trip
Day 2: Ocean
Day 3: Poetry
Day 4: Heat Wave
Day 5: Passion
Day 6: Memory
Day 7: Sunset
for @summerinwayhaven, day six: memory
bobby marks/holland townsend | rated: t | wc: ~2.1k | read it on ao3
There is a version of this story where Holland says no. There is a version where the wings stay in her friend's roommate's closet, where she stays in her dorm room, where she maybe never learns that Bobby Marks even exists. But it is October of 2010, and Holland is eighteen in a new city, so when Miriam shows up at her door — dressed as a sexy zombie, of all things — an incongruous pair of already-molting white wings clutched in one hand, and says "you're coming, you'll have a great time, and you will love every minute of it," Holland puts on the only white dress she owns, laces up a decidedly off-theme pair of black boots out of pure contrariness, and goes.
Ordinarily, it took very little persuasion to get Holland into a Halloween costume. Halloween was one of the few holidays she considered worth celebrating: no family obligations, no mandatory sentiment, just sugar and theatricality and permission to be someone else for a night. But it was the fall of her freshman year and midterms had left her over-caffeinated, under-rested, and generally disinclined to be charming, so when Miriam showed up on Halloween night, Holland's initial response was to sink deeper into her nest of blankets and offer a flat "hell no."
Miriam had been undeterred, of course. She'd been undeterred by almost everything since they'd met at freshman orientation, which was probably the reason the two had become friends in the first place. It was definitely the reason Holland found herself tucked into the least-sticky corner of an Allston apartment an hour later, wearing Miriam’s roommate’s unwanted angel wings along with a white dress she’d found buried in the far back of her own closet.
Miriam had disappeared into the crush of the party ten minutes ago, promising to return with drinks, but Holland was willing to bet that there were at least a few people in this apartment that Miriam thought might be worth talking to instead. Holland didn't mind; she was mostly here to humor her anyway, and she was perfectly capable of entertaining herself.
She scanned the room, taking in the crowd. It was a mix of students and locals, a blend of familiar faces from campus and strangers she'd never seen before. There were a few people she recognized from her classes, but no one she knew well enough to approach. Not that she would have anyway; she'd been in Boston for a couple of months now, and the novelty of being surrounded by strangers hadn't worn off yet. It was still a relief to be somewhere where no one knew her.
Holland leaned against the wall, content to observe the party from the sidelines. The music was loud, some pop song she didn't recognize, the air thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat. She had just decided to go in search of Miriam when she noticed him: a boy in a sharp grey suit and skinny tie, drinking something amber out of a heavy crystal tumbler that had very obviously not come from this apartment.
The costume itself had been unremarkable —or, at least, unremarkable in the particular way that any Don Draper costume could be unremarkable in October 2010, when half the male population under thirty seemed to have discovered skinny ties and Brylcreem simultaneously. He had the suit, the shellacked hair, the whiskey. Fine. Competent. Obvious.
The glass was something else.
It was heavy-bottomed and squat, the kind of thing somebody’s father kept on a bar cart, and had most certainly not originated in this apartment, where Holland had not twenty minutes prior seen someone drinking Everclear out of a measuring cup. No, the glass in this guy’s hand was almost certainly something he’d brought with him.
Holland found this so spectacularly pretentious that she crossed half the kitchen specifically to tell him.
“So, do you usually bring your own glassware to parties, or…?”
Don Draper looked down at the glass, then back up at her. His eyebrows lifted. “This how you normally start a conversation?”
“No,” she replied, keeping her expression neutral despite the inexplicable urge to grin at him. “But you looked like an unusual kind of guy, so I thought I’d go with an unusual approach.”
That startled a laugh out of him, a bright, resonant sound that cut through the noise of the party. His gaze drifted over her face, assessing and curious, and Holland suddenly became very aware that the wings at her back were shedding feathers everywhere.
When he finally spoke, though, the only thing he said was: "I suppose that’s fair."
He tilted his head at her, and the corner of his mouth twitched in the preface of a smirk. "You know, for a girl dressed as an angel, you don’t seem very angelic."
Holland arched a brow. "For a guy dressed like Don Draper, you seem oddly concerned with my moral compass."
The quirk in his smile expanded to become a full, teeth-showing grin, and she felt an unexpected frisson of triumph somewhere beneath her ribs.
"Hey!" Across the kitchen, Miriam appeared from behind a pair of effusively inebriated pirates lingering in the doorway; she tipped her chin at the nearby patio doors, a red plastic cup in each hand. "C’mon outside, I found people," she called, a note of laughter in her voice that made it more invitation than demand.
And Holland did go, but she hesitated first, that strange sense of accomplishment at his smile still flickering in her chest. When she looked back at Don Draper, his expression was still curious, intrigued maybe, and with more obvious amusement now.
She tipped her head at his glass with a half-smile and an apologetic lift of one shoulder. "Have a good night."
"You, too, angel," he replied, tilting the heavy tumbler in a lazy salute, and she felt his eyes on her as she turned back toward where Miriam still waited, disappearing into the half-dark of the patio.
June, 2011
After two weeks back in Wayhaven, Holland was beginning to understand why people committed minor crimes for entertainment.
Not serious ones. She wasn’t that bored. But trespassing had begun to seem less like an offense and more like a hobby, and yesterday she’d driven forty minutes out of town for no reason except that the gas station there sold a kind of sour candy she liked.
Boston had spoiled her. There was always somewhere else to be, somebody awake, something happening just beyond the window. Wayhaven seemed to close for business at eight-thirty and spend the remaining hours congratulating itself on the peace and quiet.
Which was why, a few days later, Holland wondered if her boredom had finally progressed to hallucinations when saw Don Draper in the frozen-food aisle.
Or, more accurately, she saw the guy who had been Don Draper eight months ago standing beneath the fluorescent lights at Meijer’s with a basket hooked over one arm, wearing a faded T-shirt and staring at two boxes of frozen pizza as though the distinction between them required serious deliberation.
She stopped with one hand on the freezer door, her own perusal — two cartons of gelato she also wasn’t particularly invested in— forgotten.
He looked different without the suit. Younger, mostly. Less polished. His hair had grown out enough to curl slightly at the ends, and there was something deeply satisfying about catching a person who had once brought his own rocks glass to a shitty party buying frozen pizza on a Tuesday night.
Holland shut the freezer. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He looked over.
There was a pause.
Then recognition arrived all at once.
“Angel girl,” he said, with a slow, surprised smile. “Hi.”
“You remember me.”
“Of course I remember you.” He said it like he was surprised she would even suggest otherwise. “You’re the only person who’s ever insulted me at a party and then walked away.”
Holland lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t insult you. And, anyway, you’re the only person I’ve ever seen bring their own glassware to a party.”
He laughed. “You’re still stuck on that?”
She shrugged again. “It was very memorable. But you still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”
He looked around, as though noticing the grocery store for the first time. “I’m buying pizza.”
She rolled her eyes. “I mean what are you doing in Wayhaven.”
“Ah.” He tilted his head, and his mouth twisted into a smirk. “I live here.”
Holland stared at him. “You live here?”
He nodded. “Born and raised.”
“Huh.” She frowned. “How have I never seen you before?”
He shrugged. “Guess you just weren’t looking.”
Holland made a face. “You know, I don’t think I like that answer.”
He laughed. “Sorry. I’m not sure what to tell you. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’ve never seen you before, either.”
Holland looked at him for a moment. “You really grew up here?”
“Yeah. I really did.” He shifted the basket on his arm. “Do you have a name by the way, angel, or should I just keep calling you that?”
“Holland.” She watched him for a moment, considering. “And you are?”
“Bobby,” he said. “Bobby Marks.”
May, 2015
Holland had been back in Wayhaven for six days when she discovered that, apparently, there were still new ways for the town to ruin her life.
This one arrived folded in half beside her mother’s coffee.
She had only come into the kitchen because she’d smelled it from upstairs, strong enough to cut through the stale heat already gathering in the house despite the early hour. Rebecca stood by the counter, reading something on her phone, her expression as implacable as it ever was; Holland poured herself a cup, opened the refrigerator, found nothing she wanted, closed it again.
It was becoming a routine. Wake up in the bedroom she had spent five years insisting she no longer lived in. Go downstairs. Remember she did, in fact, live here now. Consider walking directly into Lake Michigan.
“We’re out of milk,” Rebecca said without looking up.
“Good morning to you, too.”
Holland leaned back against the counter. On the cool granite beside Rebecca’s abandoned mug sat the day’s newspaper, its front page half-obscured beneath the fold.
She hadn’t realized people still even got a physical paper.
She picked it up.
The first thing she noticed was the photograph: a ribbon-cutting outside some new storefront downtown, everyone squinting into the sun with the strained cheerfulness of people who had been told to look candid.
The second was the byline.
Holland stopped.
For several seconds she simply stared at it.
Then she said, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Rebecca looked up.
Holland turned the paper around.
By Robert Marks, Staff Reporter.
Her mother’s face changed.
Not much. Rebecca had always been irritatingly good at that — allowing only the smallest pause when something mattered.
“Oh,” she said.
“Oh?”
“I assumed you knew.”
Holland laughed once, humorless and sharp. “Why would I know?”
Rebecca returned her attention to her phone. “I thought someone might have mentioned it.”
“Who? All the friends I’ve been keeping in touch with here?”
There had been a time when his name would have produced something else first.
A grey suit. An old fashioned in a ridiculous glass. Summer nights spent driving nowhere because neither of them had wanted to go home yet. His hand finding hers between them on the center console. The particular pleasure of making him laugh when she knew he was trying not to.
Now all she could see was the records room.
The flash of his phone camera.
Files that had nothing to do with her father.
The slow, humiliating reconstruction afterward, when Holland had finally understood that Bobby had not wanted answers for her nearly as badly as he had wanted a story for himself.
She dropped the paper onto the table.
“How long?”
Rebecca was quiet for a moment.
“I believe he came back shortly after he graduated.”
Holland stared at her. “He’s been here for three years?”
“As far as I’m aware.”
Of course he had.
Of fucking course.
Holland had spent those three years finishing her degree in Boston under the terms everyone else had negotiated for her, watching the date of her return creep closer semester by semester. Bobby Marks had apparently spent them building a career in the town whose police records he had once tried to steal for precisely that purpose. The absurdity was almost impressive.
She picked up her coffee and took a too-large sip, the heat singeing her tongue, the bitter brew sliding hot and acid-violent down her throat.
“I’m moving,” she announced.
Rebecca didn’t even glance up. “No, you’re not.”
“I could flee the country.”
“That seems a bit melodramatic.”
“Canada’s close.”
“Holland.”
“I’m brainstorming.”
Rebecca sighed.
Holland took her coffee upstairs.
Three hours later, Bobby Marks walked into the police station.
Because apparently the universe had decided it really, really fucking hated her.
What a great exploration of the past between Holland and Bobby! To see that it was only this small decision to go to that party that ended up affecting Holland's life in such a huge way. And she can't escape him even now, it turns out! This was wonderful!
The past months with Lesedi have been great. Wonderful, even, but that doesn't mean Risa has forgotten that this was always meant to be temporary. Unfortunately, it seems Lesedi has.
Read on Ao3 or below
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Tingles erupts through her body at the light caresses down her forearm. Risa lets her eyelids fall closed as Lesedi’s fingertips glide along the lines tattooed on her skin. She could stay here forever. Their legs are tangled up in the sheets like they’d been tangled together earlier.
Her breath stutters when Lesedi moves to her wrist, a pleased hum building in her throat. It never makes it out.
The tip of Lesedi’s forefinger draws a small circle around slightly wonky lines. “And this one?”
Risa blinks her eyes open, rolling to her side to face Lesedi, capturing her hand as she does. “That one…”
Uncertain pinpricks on her sun-warmed skin, voices half-arguing, half-laughing about how to build a campfire, the rock beneath her wobbling even as she tried to sit still. And, above all: Sam’s hand in her own, her best friend stroking the back of Risa’s and chattering all about her plans for after the summer break. They would start uni, finally! All Risa could think about was how she’d be moving away, again.
“I went camping with some people and one of them knew how to tattoo. Or that’s what he said. He was really quite bad at it.” She chuckles at her teenage self thinking it was a good idea to get a stick and poke tattoo while out in the middle of nowhere from someone she barely knew. Not her wisest decision ever, but that’s what teenagers do: make stupid decisions and believe people. Like how she’d believe Sam when she’d promised—
She lets go of Lesedi’s hand, wrapping her fingers around her wrist instead. “The best part about that trip was how we went all the way into the desert. There were so many stars that night, you wouldn’t believe it.”
Lesedi doesn’t call her out on how she herself has lived through times when every night was like that. She might still think it, amusement shining through in her voice when she says, “You keep a lot of stories with you.”
“Makes for something to impress people with.”
Lesedi hums, sounding thoughtful in a way that Risa doesn’t like at all. (She will miss that hum, when Lesedi is gone.)
Before any further questions can follow, Risa says, “Did you hear about the bet Tamiko and Thane started? On when Khanyisa will realise Banyu cannot surf at all? Once she gets him on an actual surf board, it’s so over for him.”
Lesedi’s lips twitch and Risa wants to kiss them, again and again. She wants to take her time to explore every part of Lesedi, as if she hasn’t done just that these past few months. They’ve had plenty of time to get to know each other. She can even tell that the slow release of breath and the stern expression Lesedi is wearing are nothing more than a façade. She is amused.
“Don’t you dare pretend you’re upset.” Risa squeezes Lesedi’s hip. “I saw that smile.”
“They shouldn’t place such bets, it’ll only antagonise people.” There’s that twitch again, breaking through the seriousness.
“Noted, Commanding Agent Koela,” Risa teases. She traces patterns on Lesedi’s body, from the long line of her legs, to the slight curve of her hip, the dip of her waist. A shudder runs through Lesedi when she touches that ticklish spot on her side, so she trails over it again, trying to coax a stronger reaction. “Does it really matter? You’ll be leaving in a couple of days anyway.”
Muscles grow taut underneath her fingers and it’s not because of any ticklishness. No, it’s from the words that slipped her mouth.
In the silence that follows, Risa can feel those hazel eyes on her. Not wanting to meet them, she rolls to her back, watching the bland off-white of the ceiling meet undecorated walls of the same colour. Beyond that, outside of this building, there’s the wide blue sky, the endless stretch of the ocean, the constant rush of waves washing ashore.
The mattress dips deeper when Lesedi shifts her weight. “I would still prefer to leave on a positive note. We may have to work together again in the future.”
“Yes, yeah, I get that.”
“Do you?”
The question pierces through any imagined sunshine warming Risa’s skin.
Outside, there are the bushes and trees clinging to the cliffs, their roots wedged deep into the limestone, holding on tight. Until the rains come and the stone crumbles and the trees tumble down the steep slope to drop into the ocean. Pieces will wash ashore, sometimes hours, sometimes years later: branches stripped of their leaves and bark, wood scoured, bleached by salt and sun and sand to skeleton bits.
Risa swings her legs over the edge of the bed to sit up, pushing her hair back, out of her eyes. “Of course you want to leave a good impression, who doesn’t?”
“Risa.”
Over the past months, Lesedi has said her name often, but never like this. Risa presses the soles of her feet into the woven rug covering the floor. Bad, this is bad news.
“I don’t mean to…” Lesedi sighs, closes her eyes, but before Risa can think of getting up, they open again, fixing her in place. “It feels to me like this, us, is just another thing for you to walk away from. Something to leave in your past.”
“You knew you would only be here temporarily,” Risa flings back.
Hurt pinches Lesedi’s face. “That I did.” For a few endless seconds, she stays quiet. It makes Risa’s skin itch. When she continues, her voice is quiet, but determined, “I hoped this might have become something more. Or that it might grow into something more.”
Hope. Grow. The words are like tendrils taking root, only to entangle and suffocate. Lesedi has hinted at it before, how she enjoyed their time together, how she might visit, or maybe Risa could visit her. The kind of thing everyone says in the moment and that everyone will forget about a month or two later. How easy it had been to nod along to those empty promises, give a well-timed hum or a smile before redirecting the conversation elsewhere. Turns out she played along a little too well. That leaves her with no other option than the truth.
“How can it, when you’ll be gone by next week? And there’s no way I’m not gonna stay here forever, either. It’s not like either of us has a stable life. ‘Something more’ doesn’t work for us.” Really, if Risa figured this much out in her all-too-limited human lifespan, a centuries-old supernatural like Lesedi should have come to the same conclusion by now. Her nails dig into the palms of her hands as she refuses to look away from Lesedi, whose open expression has shifted into a scowl.
“Is that what you believe?” Dark eyelashes curl around eyes that always seem to see more than Risa lets on. How can Lesedi be so calm, when every neuron of Risa’s body is firing impulses, telling her to run?
“Yes.” She jumps off the bed and grabs the first shirt she sees to pull it over her head.
It’s Lesedi’s. Fuck. She throws it back towards the chair, but it’s grasped out of the air faster than humanly possible.
Tall and imposing, Lesedi seems to fill half the room, leaving no space for Risa to escape. Suddenly, she is more Commanding Agent than a woman Risa has been sleeping with these past few months. “Truly?”
“It’s what I told you, isn’t it?” Risa pulls her shoulders back, ready for a stare off, but a glimpse of blue on the couch catches her eye. Her shirt. Who would have thought she would detest Lesedi standing between her and getting dressed? She cuts her wry smile short as soon as soon as she feels it pulling at her lips. “Look, I never made you any promises, so you really have yourself to blame if you thought this was about anything more than just sex.”
Lesedi’s eyes narrow, her jaw working. Her voice comes out with a rumble that has the hairs on Risa’s arms stand on edge. “Understood.” Her lip pulls back to allow a look at canines that are too sharp for a human, but before Risa can catch more than a glimpse, she turns around, slipping her shirt over her head. Her trousers get picked up next, slipped on without saying a word.
Risa can’t help but watch as she gathers her bag, her shoes, the bracelets left on the table. The beads clack against each other angrily. Good, let her be angry. Angry is better than sad. Angry doesn’t leave room for longing or regret. It means shoving the past away to move forward. Soon enough, the time they’d spent together will feel like a distant memory.
(Or so Risa tells herself.)
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Notes: Things will work out for them eventually, I promise, but Risa decided she wasn't ready yet.
I hope Lesedi's reaction felt like it would be in-character for her. We have so little on her and the situations we have seen have been very different from this one, so I ended up improvising
the photos are going to be at the bottom because bugs
this is very specific to lark lmao and totally wasn't an excuse for me to yap about bugs
au where wayhaven is in the us. i always imagined it in europe somewhere but these cicadas are specific to the usa
***
I tug Ava over to the rock I definitely just saw something skitter across, crouching on my ankles to peer closely at the surface.
"What is it this time?" Despite her words, I don't think she's upset. She's never complained about the way I always drag us off course to look at one thing or another.
"Look at this guy." I let go of her hand to wave her down, carefully pointing at a settled Magicicada.
"These are the ones that are always making the loud buzzing, are they not?" She crouches next to me, and I have to fight the rush of blood to my face when her strong thigh lines up next to mine. I don't even think she did it intentionally, but sometimes it's like she forgets how heavy her presence is.
"They are," I clear my throat, "the usual ones we have are this greenish colour. Hold on." Ava waits for me while I fumble with my phone, trying to find a photo of a dog day cicada from last year. Her aviators don't hide the way her eyes flit back and forth between the picture and the real thing, as if trying to figure out how they could possibly be the same bug.
"This one has red eyes," her voice is carefully level, "why?"
A grin splits my face as I carefully reach out to pick up the insect. It wiggles its legs, unhappy with this change of position, but can't do much against my thumb and forefinger carefully positioned above its wings.
"Don't wiggle, I'm trying not to hurt your wings."
It doesn't listen, and keeps wiggling as I flip it upside-down to look at its belly.
"This is a completely different type than the green one. The green ones come out every year, and are part of a genus called Neotibicen, the annual cicada. The one I just showed you was Neotibicen canicularis, the dog-day cicada. This one is Magicicada, the genus that only come out every 13-17 years."
The bug keeps wiggling, so I try to operate my phone with one hand, intending to take a picture when it slips from my grasp.
Ever the gentleman, Ava picks it up from the ground, tipping her head in that thoughtful way she does instead of giving it back right away, "What are you trying to do?"
"Take a photo of this little guy. I don't wanna stress them out anymore than I already am."
She nods, cooperating with my directions to especially take a photo of this one's butt and belly. She even lowers the screen a little bit so I'm not craning my neck to see how she's framed them.
"Are these alright?"
"Yes! Okay, now let me put this little guy back…"
The bug eagerly returns to its place, taking a few quick steps before it falls still again like it's trying to blend into the rock.
"…Why isn't it running away?"
"Cicadas don't always. I think they get confused because they're back on something they can hold? Or maybe it's because of their camouflage."
"It is very poorly camouflaged."
Something about Ava's deadpan delivery has me laughing, leaning into her shoulder.
"I don't think they know that."
I receive my phone from her, cooing faintly at the pictures she took, one hand making grabby motions at the screen.
"Where was I…."
"This is a…Magicicada?"
"Oh! Yes, Magicada is a genus of periodical cicadas. They're really orange and have the big silly red eyes that one has. The big way to tell the difference between the species are the little stripes on their abdomens," I point with my finger, risking a look up at Ava to watch her study the picture. Her face is a carefully composed mask, cheeks rosy from the sunlight despite the fact I don't think she can get sunburnt.
"What do you mean their stripes? Are they different shades of orange?"
"Almost. The other common species have more black on their bodies. This is Magicicada tredecim, but septendecim and neotredecim have big orangish-brown stripes. The black bits look more like the bit at the bottom of your nail. The white bit," I take her hand, pointing out the half-moon shape at the base of her thumbnail.
"And septendecim are the ones that come out every 17 years?"
"Yes! How did you—I forgot you know Latin."
Ava's laughter is gentle, filled with the kind of relaxation I only get to see on her in private. I'm torn between wishing she could loosen up more and being glad I get to see her like this. It feels like a gift of sorts.
"And what about the other ones?"
"…Are you sure I'm not annoying you?"
"Would I be listening if you were?"
The statement catches me off-guard. A rare moment of playfulness I don't often get to experience with her, burrowing into my chest to feed on the warmth I find blooming through my body.
"In a good way."
She didn't have to clarify, but the fact she did leaves me breathless. I lean into her again, glad I don't have to worry about accidentally knocking her over.
"I know."
It takes me a moment to catch my breath before I continue.
"The other four species are more black than orange. Magicicada cassini and tredecassini are almost entirely black, where septendecula and tredecula are mostly black with these really narow orange stripes."
"And this one, tredecim, doesn't have a 17-year counterpart?"
"Not that I'm aware. I also don't know how to tell the difference between the 17 and 13 year ones, other than what year they hatch. Once in every…200 years or so, they both hatch at the same time, and when that happens, I don't know."
Something in Ava's jaw shifts at the statement, but before I can think too much about it, she's continuing with the questions, prompting me to talk more, "and do all of them sing?"
"No, just the males. This one was a female though, see?" I zoom in on the ovipositor. "The little tube-like thing is how she lays her eggs. That's why the plates on her abdomen are so squished too. The males don't have that, instead it's a smaller organ at the very end of their butt. They also have these little…kind of boob-shaped bits of material."
"Boob-shaped?"
"You can't tell me this doesn't look like a boob."
I look up a picture of a male cicada, pointing out their drummers. She laughs brightly, smiling with all her teeth.
"Okay, it does. What are they really called?"
"Drummers! Or tymbal covers. They cover the tymbals, which are the organs they use to make the annoying scream you guys hate."
"For what it's worth, I don't hate them."
"It's okay if you do." My eyes follow Ava as she stands, holding her palm out for me to take. I do, feeling almost weightless as she pulls me to my feet.
"I know. But I can't hate anything that makes you this happy."
first two photos are mine (edited together), but the third one is one i found a few years ago to help with identification
the photos below are dog-day cicadas. because it's freshly moulted it's that bright green colour, but they're usually darker. more brownish-green
First of all: those photos! They are beautiful! It was amazing to learn more about these cicadas. I was with Ava, looking at Lark with heart eyes haha. This was super interesting and such a fun interpretation of the prompt!
These are so Suri! I love the soft pinks and white and the flowers, it all feels so romantic. And of course the heels! I'm sure Nate couldn't keep his eyes off of her in all of these 😍
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 1474
Ship: F!Detective (Erin Winters) x Farah Hauville
Summary: Erin confesses a secret to Farah. Written for @summerinwayhaven's Day 2 Prompt: Ocean
read on ao3
"It's soooo hot."
Erin gave a small smile as Farah slumped against her, trying not to roll her eyes at her girlfriend's theatrics.
"Isn't that why we're here?"
They were both tucked under an umbrella at the beach. They had laid down one beach towel, the two of them sitting close together. It had taken some convincing for Erin to come here. First there was the travel to the ocean and then there was the task of getting Erin to the beach. It wasn't as if she was against such things, only it was just not an activity she really cared for. Some of the others teased her, though, seeing how fast she folded to Farah's desire to go to the beach together.
"Never thought I'd see the day the most stubborn person in Wayhaven give in so easily. I should have taken you out on dates if I knew you'd be like this," Tina had teased when Erin was figuring out how much work to ask off. Erin ignored any teasing or comments about it. It was probably for the best that she hadn't really dated. So what if she caved easily to Farah's requests? She just wanted her to be happy. Even some of the others in Unit Bravo poked a bit. They didn't have some other people's experiences with Erin's usual stubborn nature, but they had some. Morgan raised an eyebrow when it sounded like it had only taken a week of discussing to get Erin to give in and agree to go.
"Simp."
"Careful," Erin nearly growled back. She was nearly ready to start throwing hands. There really was no need for it.
The planning went by pretty fast and soon enough they were here. Erin had refused to buy new swimwear, although she had accompanied Farah to purchase some. It was nicer, watching her try out different styles and colors, showing off each look. Eventually they both agreed on a striped purple and black bikini. Nothing too showy, but it accented and fit her well. Very well. Erin did stare, getting Farah to grin brightly. Her girlfriend was hot, there was no reason to deny that or pretend like she didn't notice. Farah seemed to enjoy the attention too, posing and then later trying it on again to give Erin a much closer look at it. On her floor too.
There was some disappointment though, when they got dressed to go to the beach and Erin revealed her own swimsuit. She wore dark blue boardshorts and a black bikini top that looked closer to a sports bra than anything. A black summer-y button up over the top and a baseball cap were the final parts, excluding the plain brown sandals. Her bright green eyes and pink hair stood out in opposition to the dark and plain clothing.
"It's very you," Farah replied after a minute or so. Erin laughed.
"Sorry to disappoint. At least you're nicer about it. Last time I went out like this, Tina told me I looked like I could be going to the gym instead." Erin had replied back then, that she wished she was.
Once there, Erin had set up on the beach. While it was in the middle of the day, the sun beaming down uncomfortably until the umbrella went up, there weren't too many people around. They had chosen a time when they'd have the beach more to themselves, Erin not a fan of crowds. It was one of the few things she didn't compromise on. She didn't want to deal with a bunch of people running around and shouting and everything. It was meant to be relaxing and fun, not headache-inducing.
Erin leaned back against Farah, the two of their gazes on the ocean. It was mesmerizing. Erin didn't see it often, but she always found the sight to be relaxing. The movement of the waves, the color of the water. Like it could put her in a trance if she let it.
"You're not going to go in?"
"We should go together! Come on."
Farah stood, deciding that it was time for a swim. But Erin didn't move. She looked back at the water and then up to Farah. Farah had been smiling, excited to go play in the water, but her expression shifted. Confused and a little bit worried.
"Is something wrong?"
Erin sighed. This was it, wasn't it? She had avoided it in the past but she didn't want to lie to Farah. Didn't want to hide the truth any longer. Especially now that they were here.
"I can't swim."
"What?"
"I can't swim," Erin repeated, her voice the same usual flat tone, but there was a slight twinge of frustration.
"You can't swim? That doesn't make any sense."
Erin shrugged. She knew that it wouldn't. She was athletic; and someone who prided herself on being capable and prepared. The thought that in over twenty years of her life, she had never learned how to swim felt bizarre. Like it shouldn't be true. But it was the truth.
"I never learned."
"Your mother never taught you or signed you up for lessons? Parents do that right?"
Erin scoffed. A deeper wave of frustration starting to pull at her. She didn't want to get angry now. Not when this was supposed to be a fun date with Farah, but these days it felt like her mother always made her feel that way.
"Rebecca never had the time to teach me. I think she forgot about signing me up for lessons either. Too busy. She told me once, when I was an adult and she suggested we could go to the beach, that she had thought she made sure I knew how to swim." Erin shrugged. She was use to her mother's neglect. But it had stung at the time to think that Rebecca had assumed that it had happened at some point instead of remembering that it hadn't. "And I never brought it up as a kid. I didn't like the idea of swimming. I worked out in other ways. I didn't like going to the beach or pools with people. Too busy, too nosy. Didn't like feeling exposed in swimsuits. There was just no reason to learn except needing it just in case."
"And yet you didn't?"
"I don't know. I felt like learning as an adult..." Erin frowned. She was ruining this. But Farah was back down on the towel, hand on her knee. She didn't look upset, only confused. She was trying to understand. "I don't like feeling like I'm a child. I didn't want someone patronizing me. I did try to teach myself, but it didn't go well. I just decided that if it came to it, I'd figure it out." Erin placed a hand on Farah's. "I'm sorry. I can go in the water, but I can't go too far."
"Does anyone else know?" Farah asked this in a quiet voice.
"No. Only you. And Rebecca. The others don't know. I could never tell anyone."
"Your secret it safe with me." Farah took a moment, then nodded. Deciding something. She pulled Erin up, making sure they didn't both tumble over. It was Erin's turn to be confused. "In fact, I'll help! I can teach you how to swim. That way no one has to know and you'll be ready."
"You will?"
"Yeah! I promise I won't make you feel stupid or anything. I... Is that okay?"
Erin glanced around the beach. They weren't alone here. People would see. And yet, it was difficult to really feel bothered. Not when Farah looked at her like that, affectionate and determined both showing clearly on her face. Erin leaned in and kissed her. Maybe her friends weren't wrong, even if she hated all the teasing. Love was changing her. There was no one who could break through her walls like Farah did. No one else who made her stubbornness fade away so quickly.
"If you want to. I'm a great student."
"You seem like you were a very serious one."
"I'm sorry to ruin our date too. I can't imagine teaching me how to swim will be very romantic."
"You'll just have to make it up to me later. And with a second beach date."
"It's a promise."
They kissed again. Erin let Farah guide her towards the water as she started to ask questions about what Erin knew. At least she had the muscles and stamina right? But Erin wasn't paying too much attention. Her eyes went onto the ocean and then to Farah, even as the cold water tried to make her shiver.
She never liked the ocean. Liked the thought of swimming. Of being here at the beach.
But she was willing to learn to love it all. For the woman who she loved.
How lovely to see Erin be brave like this and open up to Farah about how she can't swim! Seeing usually stubborn characters open up and be soft is always so sweet. And I love how Farah doesn't judge, but does offer to help. I hope that in the end, they'll have a wonderful time together at the beach!
The moodboard looks so good! The ones with the kisses may be my faves, together with the shoes in the middle. Love how different they are, yet work together so well, letting Elliana finally experience that passion that she wanted 💕
Who: Adam, with a special appearance
When: I don't know. Probably before book 3?
Where: "Adam's" garage
What: Heat Waves by Glass Animal (also that's the @summerinwayhaven prompt)
His ears caught the slamming of a door. The painted black-and-white checkered wrench in his hand missed its destination, and his large frame tensed at the intruding sound. For a moment, the frown that had marred itself across his features for the better part of the evening pinched slightly at the corners. His thoughts jarred away from their strident descent into worry by the sound of the slow lope of boots crossing the foyer and traipsing upstairs. His frown flickered into something relieved.
Read the rest here:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
This was lovely! Adam pretending that the heat he feels isn't from the warm weather, but from pieces of themself Val left behind is peak yearning. I love how you write Adam here and most of all, I love how he says "yes" there at the end. He has hopelessly fallen for them 💖
Summary: Any effort to escape the heat is for naught when Cherise is trapped under the weight of Falk, he makes up for his misgivings with a solution
Prompt: Heat Wave Day 4 of @summerinwayhaven prompt list :)
Rating: General
Additional tags: fluff, banter, too much longing, non-sexual nudity (not heavily described)
WC: 2k
A/N: I have little to say besides I love how this turned out (also I'm late to posting but better late then never!)
Sweat trickles down her spine, down the arch of her throat and past the curve of her collarbones.
The heat is unforgiving, infiltrating every inch of air, coating Wayhaven in a haze.
It has no trouble seeping through her thin clothes, sinking into her skin and making itself at home.
Much like a certain someone that's perched himself atop her.
Falk certainly isn't helping.
He's chosen possibly the warmest day of summer to be overly affectionate.
It's about as excruciating as it is sweet.
They're splayed out on her couch, her head tilted back against the arm as his head rests on her stomach, her hands on his shoulders.
Cherise doesn't even want to contemplate the unruly state of her hair.
Falk doesn't seem to mind one bit, perfectly content to lay as a tangled mess in a heap.
All while she's practically dying from the intensity of the swelter.
Even through her pure torment, a part of her refuses to even entertain the idea of pushing him off.
He's like a cat that's found his favorite sunbeam, stretched out without a care in the world, letting his eyes fall shut as he hums.
It warms her already burning heart.
The sage green tank top she threw on earlier has pooled around her waist, skin to skin with him as his cheek presses against her.
It's a miracle how he isn't overheating with the proximity.
Her head feel heavy while she yawns, the weather doing nothing to help her stay awake. With every blink, they start to feel slower, it gets harder to keep her eyes open.
Of all the days for the building to have a power outage, it had to be this one.
In the middle of the blasted day, with the sun beaming down on the rooftops and no clouds in sight.
And of course, there's no estimated time that it's going to be back on.
The world is against her today, and it seems the only one that is on hers would rather be on top of her.
Her arms leave his vicinity as she stretches out, arms above her head as she extends.
A soft disgruntled sound escapes Falk as his arms loosen for her, leaning on his elbows instead of her.
"Am I that heavy?" The question is rhetorical, as he could never keep her down, quite the opposite, he uplifts her.
"No, but you are smothering me." She playfully accuses.
"Oh, is that all?" He asks with an arched brow.
"Not to mention holding me hostage-" Her tirade gets interrupted, promptly.
"I beg your pardon?" Mock indignation colors his voice, and he plays the part all too well.
"Well if you'd let me finish-" She flourished, making a gesture with her hand.
"I don't think I want to." He insisted, vehemently.
Brewing laughter makes her chest shake lightly, while his voice has pitched a little higher.
"Well if I'm not wanted-" His flair for dramatics never ceased to amuse her.
Falk moved to shift to his knees before she tugged him right back where he belonged.
"Get back here, you foolish man." She chided.
"First you insinuate I'm holding you against your will and now you insult me? You wound me." He muttered, all while his lips are against her skin, muffling the words.
"Somehow I think you'll live."
"Don't hold your breath, meor'dal." He countered.
"You don't get a choice in the matter!" She exclaimed, laughter clear in her shaky tone.
"Now who's being held captive?" He reminded, all too smug.
Her eyes roll as she entertains the ridiculous banter that ensues, smoothing down his wrinkled shirt and fixing his collar.
It seemed to be a little habit she developed.
A pleased rumble sounded from him, as he bent to her touch.
Her nails traced the curve of his ear, watching the way it made him shiver.
She knew all too well that it was a sensitive spot, one that she didn't waste a chance to tease.
It never once provoked one scowl or grumble, nor did he bat away her hands or demand her to stop.
Falk was wrapped around her finger. Unequivocally so.
Color had flooded her skin, the hue of her cheeks, the tips of her ears, the sweep of her chest.
It was safe to say she was fatigued with this weather, already wishing for nightfall.
Or for a source of electricity to feel cool and alive again.
Not this much to be left desired state.
"Am I such miserable company?" Falk provoked.
"More like my only saving grace." Cherise reassured.
"That's the closest anyone has ever compared me to the divine." He hums, like that alone makes up for any and all misfortunes.
"I better be the first and last." She declared, gently poking him.
"Rest assured, dearest, not a soul can outshine you." He promised, not at all lightly.
A pleased feeling flourished in her chest, as if a flare had been released in her chest, burning so bright and with such color until it disappeared before your eyes.
It seemed they had that affect on each other, except the flame remained timeless, enduring, undying.
The delicate flutter of his lashes brought her attention back to him, the slope of his nose, the purse of his lips.
He was too good to be true.
Perfectly, plainly and painfully beautiful.
Letting her fingertips graze his soft skin, she took her time memorizing features she already knew by heart.
The sharpness of his jaw, the dilation of his eyes, the shape of his lips.
Even during this time of year, he was unfairly put together. The perfect picture, like the prettiest dream.
One of his hand raises with the utmost care, swiping away a stray bead of sweat.
"I don't know how you can stand this." She bemoaned, letting one of her arms fall over her eyes.
"I've been in worse conditions." He shrugs, somehow gracefully instead of carelessly.
"That makes two of us." She agrees, having found herself in less then ideal situations. Even if this one is still torture, albeit his company.
"Even with the smothering-" He rubs in, not quite letting it go.
"Especially with it." She interrupts, stopping his complaining in it's tracks before it get out of hand.
She wouldn't let him think for one second that this isn't what her sappy little heart desired. Cherise is rather sure her heart would stop out of protest if he stopped.
Which is a breach of betrayal, but the part of her is his now
"A bath might help cool you down." He suggested, gently blowing a strand of hair aside before it pesters her.
"Will you join me?" She requests, looking at him through her lashes, laying it on thick even when well aware of his answer before he says it.
"If I ever say no to that question, assume the worst." He answers, gravely serious.
"As in it's not you?" She questions, unable to wipe the smile from her face. For a man of such rigid reputation, his humor never fails to amuse her.
"Are you sure you're not a mind reader?" He teases, which reminds her of the time he couldn't read her at all, leaving him puzzled.
The thought delights her to no end.
Laughter escaped her as she gently shoved him off in a show, before promptly dragging him behind her to the en suite.
"I'll keep that in mind for future reference." Skirting his question, knowing he knows the answer.
Halfway there, his hands encase her waist as he carries her the rest of the way. Prompting a squeal from her as he manhandles her in effortlessly.
Even when there's a heatwave, he still manages makes goosebumps rise on her skin.
Running water is the only sound that courses through her apartment, cascading through the spout and filling the tub.
It will probably feel freezing on her feverish skin.
Falk does the liberty of peeling off her matching set, setting it to the side with care. The pale green ensemble is cast aside, talons weaving through her hair as she unbuttons his shirt with admirable patience.
Soon any and all scraps of clothing meet the floor, before he guides her in the cool depths with him.
Over exaggerated gasps and exclamations flee from her before Falk pulls her down with him, before she can further protest.
Settling against the the broad planes of his chest, his arms loosely encircle her waist.
No longer wilting from the relentless stifling temperature, it bleeds away as she melts into him.
No longer weary, bright eyed and able to relax without feeling like the next time she blinks, she'll fall asleep.
Droplets cling to her skin, drip from the ends of her hair and cascade back into the body of water
Tipping her head back, the back of her head meets his shoulder, resting there.
It feels like waking up from a dream.
The haze has been lifted and life is unfazed.
A wistful sigh escapes the confines of her chest, tangling her fingers with his.
"Feeling better?" He queries, peering down at her.
"Worlds better." She nods, a barely there move of her head.
The bath is almost too small for the both of them but they make it work, seeing as personal space isn't an issue. If anything, they share that too.
The bathroom is cloaked with shadow, only slivers of sunlight shining through the drapes. The only thing that brights the room is the the natural light.
There's no hum of electricity, overhead lights or the sound of the air conditioner.
No next door music, running washer or dryer or the sound of a television.
Just swish of water and their combined breathing.
Cherise finds even with all the drawbacks, she could stay cramped here forever.
All because of him.
Who would have thought?
Her apartment was the place she rested her head, put her feet up and spent a fair share of her time.
It was nothing special, but it was hers.
A shell of a place filled with colors of her choosing and her belongings. What could be the makings of a home.
Then he came along, with his notions and his splendor of things, making it theirs in the blink of an eye.
A true home.
Something she'd had yet to have. Filled with love and no sense of distance.
Falk's chin came to rest on the crook of her shoulder, breaking her out of the reverie.
Turning her head, her nose gently bumped his.
Leaning into her, he nuzzled closer. Forehead resting with her, his nose brushing hers.
"I can't say I need anything but this." He sighed, blissfully.
"The feeling is mutual." She whispered, full of longing.
His lips met hers in soft desperation, hand coming to cradle her jaw as he kisses her.
She responds in kind, melting like a sweet against him.
There's nothing in the world that compares to the feeling of kissing Falk and what it ignites in her.
There's no longer molten heat in her veins but this desire is flaming even higher and the only one that can douse it out is coaxing them.
This need is writhing through her and extending to him.
He holds it together by holding her tighter.
Unraveling as one until they run out of breath, lips still touching as they share breathless smiles.
The lights suddenly flickering makes her jump and the sound of the air conditioning kicking back in made them laugh.
Just when they decided they didn't need something, it decided to make itself useful again.
Soon enough cool air would filter in and probably make them cold but they made no move to leave the comfort of the water or each other.
Even if this time of year was suffocating, breathing with him felt easier.
Like it was all worthwhile, year round.
She hoped to be this well-loved the rest of her life, for it to be him.
Little did she know, he had every intention of making this forever.
That last line 🥹 Of course Falk would chose this day to be even more affectionate than usual with Cherise, haha. Their banter is lovely, as always, and I'm glad they found a way to be affectionate without overheating!
the wayhaven chronicles, book 2 | mishka jenkins / sonnet 18 | william shakespeare
one hundred love sonnets: xvii | pablo neruda (translated by mark eisner)
the kiss | evard munch / morning xxvii | pablo neruda | five decades: poems 1925-1970 pablo neruda, ben belitt /starry night over the rhône | vincent van gogh
the wayhaven chronicles, book 2 | mishka jenkins / sonnets from the portuguese 38 | elizabeth barrett browning / sonnet 43 | elizabeth barrett browning
qais wa laila | mahmoud hammad /the wayhaven chronicles, book 3 | mishka jenkins
sonnet | alice moore dunbar-nelson / offering | sonnet l'abbé /umbrella, as a sonnet | rihanna (via lithub) /the wayhaven chronicles, book 4 | mishka jenkins
These are absolutely wonderful! What a beautiful collection of poetry and snippets from the books! And the paintings make it so atmospheric. It's making me feel all the love and all the romance 💕
did my best to find some summery photos in my gallery even if they weren't explicitly "heatwave" adjacent
***
I'm sprawled out across the floor, mostly naked and still sweating my ass off in front of the fan. My hair has been pulled into a ponytail to keep the heat off my neck, but all its done is make it cling uncomfortably to my skin.
"Why is it worse in here than outside?" Farah complains when she enters my flat, her usual sunny disposition seeming to melt from the constant heat.
"Building wasn't built with air conditioning," I groan, pathetically reaching up with grabby hands for her. My girlfriend lightly holds my fingers in hers, nose wrinkling faintly at the sweat before she kneels down to give me a kiss.
"Ohmygodthefan," she moans breathlessly, tipping her head back to bare her throat to the artificial breeze. It shocks a laugh from my lips, bright and refreshing.
"Did you come over here just to feel the fan?"
Farah doesn't respond at first, letting mischief twist her face into a smirk before she kisses me again, this time tugging me to my feet. Her body is warm, too warm against me, but the embrace is familiar, and I lean into it regardless.
"I need a cold shower after that patrol. Do you want to come with me?"
"Then coming back out is gonna suuuuuck." It's barely a protest; the idea of icy water over my shoulders seems divine in comparison to wallowing in the sticky feeling of sweat gathering beneath my breasts.
She leads me into the bathroom, and I help her out of her sundress, feeling her damp skin cling to the thin fabric in my hands. My girlfriend sighs in relief as the open air reaches her newly exposed flesh, tiny goosebumps raising across her arms as she glances back at me. I brush some of her baby hairs from her cheek, feeling the curve of her smile against my knuckles before I unclip her bra.
It almost feels like getting ready for any other shower, if it weren't for the heat that permeats even into the bathroom, with cool tiles beneath our feet and water rushing through the pipes.
"How do you do with cold water anyway?"
Farah tips her head in thought, golden eyes oddly dull as she watches me remove my boxers and step into the shower. My body flinches from the sudden cold, but the discomfort is quickly replaced by relief as frigid water kneads its fingers into my scalp.
"Not the worst of the unit," her voice breaks when she steps under the spray, "but if it weren't this hot out, I wouldn't be doing this."
I wind my arms around her waist, hoping to press some of my heat into her to guard against the chill. She leans into me, tension bleeding out of her frame, shoulders dropping.
"At least we can cuddle like this," I murmur, kissing water and salt from her jaw.
"I missed you. I love Nat, but I think being so tall just like…lets all of the heat leave her body and it's not fair."
"Have you asked Adam to put you on night patrols with Mason? He's not doing too great with the heat either."
The vampire glances at me, like the thought hadn't crossed her mind, before she moves to smother my face in kisses, pushing me gently against the wall.
"You're kind of genius, Birdie."
Blood rushes to my cheeks.
"I do my best."
Farah giggles, leaning back enough for me to see the spark in her eyes has returned. Good.
Poor Farah! The vampires must be struggling with the heat even more than humans. This captured that overheated, everything is sticky feeling so well. Hopefully the night patrols will make things more bearable for Farah!
Pairing: Falk x Fem!Detective, Rook x Rebecca (only mentioned)
Summary: Falk's left to his own devices at home and gets a little curious, as one does. Perusing Cherise's bookshelf tells a story long past and another blossoming in the present.
Prompt: Poetry! Day 3 of @summerinwayhaven prompt list :)
A/N: Honestly when I originally saw this one I thought of Falk and Cherise AND Rook and Rebecca and I had no idea which one I wanted to do, which direction to go in, etc. Somehow it became all of them, from Falk's pov
I tried copy pasting just to find out the colors didn't translate and I refuse to change anything so instead here's the link <3
I tried choosing the best background for the colors to translate so let's hope it's not an eyesore
Ellipsus makes it easy for anyone to write together.
It feels like this prompt was made for these two, tbh. The hearts that Falk drew on top of each other were so sweet! I love that the book belonged to Rebecca and Rook first, even if it's heartbreaking to see Rebecca's tears over the love she lost. That reminder of how love can also bring pain...
weaving: the currents will shift (glide me towards you)
summer in wayhaven | day two | prompt: ocean
nate sewell x f!mc (surina batra) | 1.1 k words
this is based on the idea of the weaver (a supernatural that can weave and manipulate time to their whim). it is the part of a series of alternative timelines where nate and surina meet each other for the first time, without the looming threat of murphy
She stands at the End [of the Hurricane]. He stands at the Sunlight [Through the Clouds]. For however long, neither of them knows; the passage of time is measured by the passage of others. People hurrying around them through the gallery, some pausing for a quick glance at the artworks and a quicker note of the artists, one or two excusing themselves to slot in between the pair of strangers to read the stories on the plaques beneath those names, most others taking a shortcut through the space to attend the month’s featured lecture.
From the museum’s atrium, piano notes fade and the speaker is introduced.
They stand alone now. He feels the slightest shift of air before she turns, breaking him out of his gaze, rupturing deep concentration and study of painted light bursting brightly through dimmer, parting clouds. Clicks of her heels echo in the small room (gentle steps sharp to his ears), and she is moving in his direction but towards the Sunlight. A polite prompt nudging him to move and he obliges, his footfall far quieter as he strides along the terrazzo floor. When they pass, he catches the scent of her perfume (quite keenly, individual notes of roses, jasmine, summer-ripe apricots and peaches), and their eyes meet in another fleeting moment.
In their exchanged places, she is startled by his abrupt, swift intake of breath.
[These paintings were not the reason for their visit to this museum. He had been anticipating the art education series, today’s discussion on the technique and application of honey-based watercolors by the locally-lauded artist, Beau Byron. She had planned for the the same, on personal invitation, and waited in this exhibit - the impermanent permanent collection - recently updated with this pair of paintings. Composed by different artists, in different decades, with different mediums, representing the before and after of a singular, similar event.
When she had looked out to check the arriving audience in the atrium, he happened to walk straight into her line of sight. Their eyes fixated on the other, his dark and brown, twinkling gold as though under their own spotlight; hers deep and green, shining like the gems and display in the adjacent room. Her smile drew him further into her orbit, a coy and enticing thing, and with the bite of her lip and tilt of her head, she’d returned her attention to what was in front of her. The End. He followed her invitation, finding himself in front of the Sunlight.]
Now that warmth about him, in his eyes especially, discerned by the continued stolen glances out of the corners of hers, has cooled. He appears more dulled, pallid. The End of the Hurricane is harsh, foamy and billowing waves crashing against crags and rocks, tossing errant and innocuous things onto the shore. Violence of nature through rough, sharp, inelegant brushstrokes under a placidly smooth blue sky. One more final thrust of the ocean before returning to calm. He is mostly still, mostly unmoving save for his hands, tense but his fingers fold in upon themselves and release, again and again. His lips are parted slightly, and he is entranced, frozen in horror.
Her body angles towards his, and she steps closer - they were only a foot apart.
A small sound, the beginning of some word or phrase, escapes from her mouth, and it is like a lifeline. A rope for him to take hold of, to bring him out of the trance of tragedy. Another part of him finally moves, the blinking of his eyes.
“Would it be alright,” the first time he speaks to her, his voice is hoarse, tight and rushing to catch up with himself. He cannot yet look away from the art, but he wills is hands to relax at his sides as he takes a long, healing breath. The next time he speaks, it is in a whisper, “If we were to switch places once more?”
She gestures to the expanding space between them.
“Why don’t you stand next to me, instead?” Her question matches the hush of his, a delicate coaxing towards her, bringing him to the surface he so desperately needs. “We can look at this one together.”
He joins her. Close enough to feel her warmth, feel the safety of this beautiful women whom he would like to know (that he may have known in another lifetime).
“Are you alright?”
The tensed muscles in his body loosen, and he attempts to set himself to rights, to appear as outwardly charming as he finds her entirely enchanting.
“Yes. Thank you. I will be.”
The thrill of this moment, near enough to him that the back of her hand or her fingers could brush against his - if so desired - begins to overwhelm her, has her pressing her palms to her chest. Luckily, the room doesn’t hear how hard her heart beats (he does, though, and its force and rapidity drown out the noise from the atrium).
A smile, pretty and unpracticed, widens on her face, and she ventures to look up towards him, this tall and handsome stranger. She takes a deep breath, and schools her focus back to the painting.
She tips her chin at the Sunlight Through the Clouds, at the rays from the sun bathing the land and water beneath in a early-morning light, it is a serene scene. “Each day is a luxury, one that gives us a chance to start over or just keep going and trying. It’s a privilege to see the sunlight again.”
A soft hum punctuates her analysis. He regards her words, the sincerity of them (and the irony), and his shoulders relax further. He resists the urge to hide his hands, instead running them through his hair, tussling what he’d spent no insignificant amount of time styling.
“Hi,” she turns to him now, taking time to fully notice that his glow has returned, illuminating his face, and he is returning to her a breathtakingly pretty smile of his own. “I’m Surina.”
“A pleasure to meet you. I’m Nathaniel. Nate,” he replies, his voice now syrupy-smooth and decadent. “I had originally planned to attend the lecture today but I do wonder if instead, I could treat you to a cup of tea or coffee?”
Oh, Nate is just as Surina hoped he would be, and hoped he would ask.
“Tea or coffee would be lovely. We can go to the cafe upstairs, and I'll catch you up on what we're missing."
End of the Hurricane, Marsden Hartley, 1938
Sunlight Through the Clouds, J. Carleton Wiggins, 1890s
Title lyrics from Ocean, Pearl Jam, 1992
@summerinwayhaven
What an enchanting first (in this life) meeting! This felt like poetry! Their awareness of each other had me holding my breath for the moment they would finally speak and Suri inviting him to watch the sunlight painting together was the perfect thing
A/N: I heavily associate bodies of water with Falk because of the reflections thing so I'm always thinking up scenarios with these two
The ocean waves crashed against the shore, lapping against the land, creeping up and soaking the sand, which was currently between her toes.
The sun was shining, sea salt was in the air, and the breeze wafted against her skin.
The parasol above her chair protected her from the heat, and sunglasses spared her from blinding light the sunshine provided.
Her book was astride on the the cooler, used as a make up tabletop.
The chair beside her own remained empty, a lone beach towel laid on it. Falk had taken up residence beneath her, as he'd decided the distance was too great.
Her legs were tangled with his own, his arms draped around her middle.
The urge to suntan had been tempting, if only at the risk of burning a little if she lost track of time, but that was before Falk had slyly made his way over, made himself at home and drawing little attention while he did so.
It wasn't out of the ordinary for them to be a little touch-starved, to close a mere distance even if it was only a foot. So, she thought nothing of it and took notice by the time it was too late.
Never having the heart to deny him a thing, she let him stay. Whether it was just as much for herself as him didn't matter.
They were reclined, her head tipped back against his shoulder as his talons teased the expanse of her stomach, on the verge of ticklish.
The flimsy cover up shirt he had worn was now hers, sheer fabric brushed off to her sides, as he had deemed it 'in his way'. It would have been better to shrug it off but she didn't have it in her to move.
All too comfortable, he toyed with the strings of her bikini, traced patterns on her skin, twirling the ends of her hair around his finger.
Entirely taken with her instead of the scene before them.
It should have been preposterous and yet it made her foolish heart flutter.
Craning her neck for a glimpse of him, his head lay back, not a lick of tension in his body.
Cherise had convinced Falk to wear sunglasses, if not for his sake, then for her. She felt awful when he could only squint.
Having refused any drab styles, he had chosen a solid color, oval frames. Matching with his swim attire, of course.
Mirth over the fiasco made her smile, unbidden and brighter then the sun.
"Stare any longer and I might be blinded." There was a lack of conviction behind those words, not a touch of heat to them.
"By my beauty?" She quipped.
"Among other things.." He muttered.
"You still wouldn't look away."
"Oh, how well you know me."
Tracing the underside of them, his nose gently twitched as she reached the other side.
Gently catching her wrist in his grasp, he brings it to his lips, placing an utmost careful kiss on the inside of it.
"You almost look human, y'know." She teased, knowing the reaction she would garner.
"I will take them off."
"Don't you dare."
Barely concealed laughter makes her chest shake, features lined with joy, unable to help herself.
Falk watches on with his lips tilted up slightly, to which he would never admit.
"Enjoying yourself?" He asks lowly.
"Immensely." Her shining eyes aglow with love.
"Aside from pestering me?" He queried, words filled with unshed laughter.
"Do you even need to ask?" Her head tilts a little to the side as if she was saying 'really?'
"Humor me anyway." He asks of her, like he needs to hear it.
"Always." Effortlessly falls from her lips, just for him.
They sit there for a moment, in perfectly crafted silence. Comfortable to just exist, in each other's presence.
Rolling on to her stomach, she comes chest to chest with him. Even shielded from the sun, his skin is still warm.
Cherise admires him wordlessly, as speechless as she might be if someone asked her to describe him. There weren't enough words in the world.
Peppering kisses on the plains of his chest, color marks blooming on his chest, the softest of pinks, that nobody is around to see.
Evidence of her love for him and her claim.
Her hair falls in her face in the process and he brushes it out of the way, holding it in place. Sweeping a taloned finger across her cheek bone, gentle as the wisp of the breeze.
She leans into it, isn't afraid to let him feel the weight of this.
There was no need to prove it was real and yet they did it nonetheless.
There's anticipation brewing in her veins, a lightness she doesn't think she's ever felt.
The urge to kiss him silly, kick her feet and give into these restless butterflies.
Maybe this is the closest thing she's had to normalcy. Scratch that- it certainly is. And the man who's gifted it to her is no human, no unachievable dream. Just that, a changed man.
There's no desire to wonder what her life would be like without him.
Before he can ponder on her thoughts or pry into them, she speaks first.
Clearing her throat, the words don't get caught. "Care for some more fun?"
"I could be convinced.." Falk trails off, all too happy to provoke her.
"Please?" She beseeches, in a sickly sweet tone.
"Must you weaponize my only weakness against me?"
Leaning in to bump her nose against his, she teases; "You loooove me."
An over exaggerated roll of his eyes is to be expected, however there is not even a hint of denial to be seen nor heard.
"Why I ever admitted to such a thing escapes me."
While the clear reason was plopped right in his lap, content in his grasp.
"But you did." She rubs in, in a singsong tone.
"That I did." He admits in defeat, all defenses dropped.
"So, come on!"
Cherise maneuvers herself up, gently tugging at his hand.
He goes willingly, ready to follow wherever she leads him- even if it's astray.
"This ought to be something." He muses, as they meander into blinding light.
Falk's sure sand has invaded many crevices, spread over his hands, between his toes, the expanse of his legs and some of his chest.
The latter is due to her hands, which he didn't dare shoo away.
Even with the dreadful grainy texture, he can't bring himself to care.
Cherise is across from him, molding wet sand into shapes while the shore laps nearby, just barely brushing her skin each time.
The sun makes her hair look as if it's flaming, highlights her freckles, dusts her in a glow. The soft breeze makes her hair billow in the wind and she makes futile attempts to fix it, successfully getting sand in her hair.
She looks unreal.
He believed humanity to be nothing more then ordinary and then Cherise Olsen came along and knocked him off kilter, shattered his once unwavering beliefs.
Made his be-still heart race once again.
No matter if he had been advancing or retreating, she didn't give up for a second, when his touch meant danger, her hand was still outstretched just daring him to take it.
And so he did.
Best decision of his life.
"Are you even hearing me right now?"
Cherry's voice trickles in, interrupting thoughts that already consisted of her, looking at him expectantly.
"Might you repeat yourself?"
"Will it be a waste of breath?" Sarcasm laced her otherwise angelic voice.
"I can think of another way to steal you of air."
A grin is plastered on her lips as she shakes her head, strands of her hair flowing with the motion.
"What had you so distracted?" She asked earnestly.
"You."
The color rising on her face could be blamed on the heat but he knows better.
"What about me?" She asks in a tentative voice.
"Everything about you." It's all too honest, a baring of his soul but she owns it anyhow.
Catching sight of sunscreen on her cheek, he reaches out and gently caresses her face, brushing over it with his thumb until it's no longer visible.
Knocking over the sandcastles they've spent so long on, he settles in front of her.
"Your hair," His talons run through the unruly curls, smoothing out any tangles. "Your freckles." Leaning in, for every dot, he places a kiss.
"Your existence."
"You make it so hard to be mad at you." She uttered.
A genuine smile crosses his face, which used to be rare and now it's reserved for her.
Before he knows it, her forehead rests against his, lips pressing to his in a kiss.
His hand curls around the side of her neck, settling at her nape, drawing her in further.
"You're a bad influence." The accusation is half-hearted, at best.
"And yet you still love me." He said without a drop of doubt.
"Indefinitely," she whispered, nuzzling against him. "You're stuck with me."
"What am I ever to do?"
"Love me back." She whispers against his lips.
Breathing in her words, his own come out with a soft exhale. "That goes without saying."
They're a mess of sand, banter and love.
"What if I want to hear you say it?" She inquired teasingly.
"You need only ask." He murmured, like it was that simple.
"How much do you love me?" Her head tilted with the question, as if the curiosity was swaying her.
"More then any string of words can convey." It was the anticlimactic truth, no poem, love letter or sonnet could do his feelings justice.
A soft and exaggerated sigh left her "Such a shame."
"Isn't it?" No matter, he would spend his life proving it to her, whether it be in actions or affirmations.
They've melted into each other so much so that if the water were to sweep in, it would wash them away.
The only sounds are the waves, seagulls in the distance and their shared breathing.
Sand sticks to their skin, with a sheen of mist and sunscreen.
At some point he tipped over, hiding her from the sun. He might as well be on top of her.
Her painted nails gleam in the light, glittering with a matching shade of her swimsuit.
Gently taking hold of her slender fingers, he traces each tip and with it his talon, before folding her palm and ending with a kiss.
Cherise watches him with rapt attention, a fond look in those grey eyes, brimming with affection.
Falk could stare at her forever and never grow tired, could sit there like one does as paint dries. What might be a deemed a waste of time never crossed his mind, as she was too valuable a sight to take for granted. Not beholding it would be the waste.
The rise and fall of her chest has slowed, in sync with his own.
It's lucky no other people had befallen them, the tangled heap they were in just might have been unseemly for the public.
Whatever it might lead to was a far more tempting thought.
No longer able to hold herself up, Cherise settles in the sand.
Without missing a beat, he follows.
A melodic hum resounds from her lips, arms coming to rest over his shoulders.
It was a wonder how they weren't overheating.
He should have been pulling her to her feet, holding her hand and offering to reapply her sunscreen. Neither of them made to move.
The need to climb in her skin hadn't quelled, it left to him to wonder if it would ever come to a cease.
He fervently hoped it would not.
"Could I convince you to go home early?" He asked offhandedly, as if it were an afterthought instead of on the forefront of his mind.
"It can't be called a day at the beach if we do."
"It can be whatever we want it to be."
It seemed she couldn't disagree with him, as she didn't object. Not even a roll of those grayscale eyes or the head tilt with an arched brow.
"And miss all this?"
"They're all things I've seen before."
"I'm one of those things." She retorted, dryly.
"Looking at you is like seeing you for the first time all over again."
The color on her cheeks had yet to subside just as the waves, washing in and flooding away before flowing back in.
"Do you ever tire of seeing me flustered?"
"That is a day that will never come."
"Well, if it's your favorite sight, no need to leave, right?"
Cheeky, as always.
"I know something to make you forget about home." She proclaimed, all too sure.
"That just makes me think about-"
"Shush!" Cherise reprimands him halfheartedly, an incredulous smile on her face.
Falk's dragged on his feet once more, at the mercy of her lead and wherever she decides to take him.
As far the eye can see, there's boundless depths of water, rippling and restless, filled with the wonders of life.
Yet all her focus hones in on is silver strands of hair, luminescent under sunlight. The droplets of salt clinging to his eyelashes, the glisten of his skin.
He's ridiculously beautiful and half the time he doesn't even know it.
They had waded past waist deep water, and her feet no longer knew the touch of land. Just aimlessly floating, right in Falk's orbit.
It's like the water even knew it's where she wanted to be- was meant to be.
These were no longer uncharted waters, no uncertainty or any trace of unfamiliarity.
Perfectly intimate. Habitual, if anything.
Finally tearing her gaze which had bore through him, she took in the feel of being submerged.
The weightless feel of her hair, water swishing through her fingers, the smoothness of her skin.
The sun was overhead and paid no mind, so long as it didn't burn her.
One moment contrast grey could be glimpsed in her peripheral vision and the next it was before her.
"Do you think we would last five seconds not being in each other's presence nowadays?"
"Not if I could help it."
The topic wasn't remotely serious and yet the way he said it made it sound like it was dire.
It was so absurd she couldn't help the grin that touched her lips, an amused huff escaping her aside a flutter in her chest.
"Are you laughing at me?"
"Oh, I would never."
There wasn't a serious bone in her body, not when it came to lightly mocking him. Cherise had a feeling he liked it more then he let on.
Dashing forward, he catches her in his arms as she squeals.
"Don't do that!"
"Don't make light of me and I'll stop."
"Liar."
"It's the sentiment that counts."
"Mhm, I'm sure."
Even when engulfed in cool body of water, something still simmers between them.
Together they float as one, letting the current coax them further from land. There should have been some effort against it, some measure to ensure they wouldn't go too far.
Instead they just drifted.
Legs brushing as they slowly but surely treaded, her chest meeting his with every inhale and exhale.
Lifting her arms from her sides, they slide across his shoulders and make themselves at home crossed at his back.
Falk draws her in, until her nose bumps against his.
Salt sits on their skin with no sting, as they breathe each other's mingled air, not so much robbing as sharing.
"Still thinking of home?" She hums in question.
"How could I dare dream of anything else when you're here?" He countered, far too casually.
Like anytime he said something so sweet the world wasn't pulled out from under her feet.
And people called her charming.
Unable to conjure words of the same reverence, she pulled him in for a kiss, a repeating compulsion it seemed.
Not that it appeared to deter him.
His hand gently curled around the expanse of her throat, the hum that curled from her likely a vibration against his skin that spilled from her lips to his.
He held her as if she were porcelain, someone to be cradled with care.
Not because she was someone liable to break or already broken, just because he could.
The very thought warmed her heart.
As if he were water, he filled her lungs and stole her will to breathe and yet she wasn't drowning.
There was no flailing or thrashing, just a surrender as a current dragged her under.
Her skin burned in the way no sun could cause, the only thing that affected her this way being Falk.
Finally releasing her in the name of air, he didn't stray far.
His hand still occupied her hip, the other resting on her throat.
Foreheads kissing when they no longer could.
"Are you trying to make me swoon?" Her voice was far too airy to make a point.
"For whatever purpose?" He pondered, sidestepping any blame.
"So I'd be perfectly pliant to carry home."
"Is it working?"
"No."
"Now who's lying?"
Unadulterated laughter escaped her as her head tiled back, a giddy feeling in her chest.
"Never change, beloved."
"So long as you stay the same, meor'dal."
The shore is still in sight as they slowly wade back in, still intermingled and inseparable.
When they reach solid ground, they don't immediately leave the comfort of the water, sitting there in bliss, letting the moment sink in.
One hand rests at her side, while her other is encased in Falk's.
It's a rare sight that some part of her isn't touching him.
"Want something sweet?" She wondered, catching his eye.
"If it's in the form of a kiss, it's a resounding yes."
These two! They are so sugary sweet together and it's wonderful to see. The way they can't stop touching, their flirty and teasing banter, how they cannot be without the other, awww. This sounds like such a romantic beach day
i just wanted to share photos of the ocean 💜 first two are from my secret spot, second two are from cuba a few years ago
***
"This is terrible," Morgan grumbles as she slinks further into the shade of the umbrella, grimacing at the feeling of sand between her toes. It's hot and far too grainy, sticking to her ankles even after she rests herself delicately on the beach chair.
Raven turns to her, the wooden beads in her hair clattering with a familiar sound, grinning that stupid adorable smile she always gets whenever she gets excited. What about this experience she could possibly be excited about, Morgan doesn't know.
"It's beautiful," her girlfriend says, stretching her hands up towards the sky, "everything is so warm."
"I feel like I'm in an oven."
Farah laughs quietly, and though she knows it's good-natured, it only sours Morgan's expression further. She fumbles for the pack of cigarettes Nat had weakly protested her bringing and quickly lights it up, desperate for some respite from…everything.
"I'll be right there," Raven shouts to Farah — who is running enthusiastically towards the water — before turning towards her, face etched with concern.
"If this is too much, you don't have to stay," she says gently, stepping into the shade. Morgan blows a plume of smoke in her face, smiling softly when she wrinkles her nose, snorting to clear the haze from between them. But her expression stays gentle, one hand reaching out to Morgan before hesitating. Did she think the touch would be unwelcome?
"No, I'll…" She sighs, leaning her cheek into the human's waiting palm, "I'll stay."
"Let me know if you need anything, alright?"
Just you. The thought comes unbidden. It's been popping up more frequently, something deep within her awakening at the prolonged presence of this cheerful woman.
Morgan doesn't voice that, though.
"Okay, sweetheart." She kisses Raven's palm, "now go have fun, or whatever it is. Don't make Farah come back and see me like this."
"Soft?"
"…Clingy."
Her answering giggle is crystal clear as the water lapping at the shore, sending the same shivers down her spine that she's become familiar with. Raven leans down to kiss the crown of her head before prancing off to join Farah in the water.
Morgan takes another drag of her cigarette, eyes locked on her girlfriend's retreating backside, swaying temptingly. She's wearing a red swimsuit that shows off her curves nicely, and she is very aware of the meaning behind that choice.
She doesn't look away until Raven is in the water, talking animatedly to Farah beside her. Glancing across the beach, she spots Ava and Nat walking side-by-side across the water's edge. And yet they say they haven't fucked in all the time they've known each other.
Another inhale of sharp chemicals to soften the smell of the ocean, another cloud of smoke to make the brightness of the sun more tolerable. It's still unpleasant, everything grating at her senses, but a tiny bit more bearable. She much would have rathered coming at night.
Raven's bright shriek of laughter draws her gaze back over to the pair, locked in some sort of splash battle. Even from this far, she could see the big, cheesy grin that split her face in two.
…Maybe this wouldn't be as terrible as she thought.
Such beautiful photos! And this snippet is peak summer. Morgan leaning into Raven's touch is the sweetest thing, it's good to see that Raven's presence makes the whole beach excursion more bearable for Morgan. And I, for one, love to see Morgan soft and clingy!
Terry's hat looks very cool, the perfect beach hat. And I'm sure Nate is more than happy she will be sitting with him. Love how the wave looks! It's so pleasing to see it rolling in again and again
