Thursday - Seasons

[lovesrogue36.livejournal.com]

Hi everybody! I'm lovesrogue36 and today is my last day as your host! It's been fun. :)

Your prompt for this misty, November day is Seasons. Seasons of life, seasons of weather, season of thanks, season for giving...

No more than 5 prompts in a row and no more than 3 prompts per fandom. (Of course, if one of your prompts is answered, you can prompt again.)
No spoiler prompts for a week after it has aired - and, if your ficlet contains spoilers, put a warning in bold and leave three spaces. This is especially important since we've hit premiere season with tv shows.

Please remember our code monkeys and use the correct formatting of prompts, i.e.

Eastwick, Darryl/Kat, she changes the colors of the leaves
Leverage, Nate/Sophie, they are in the autumn seasons of their lives

If nothing catches your eye today, don't forget to check out the Lonely Prompts.

tag=seasons

Comments

[amathela.livejournal.com]

Wizards Of Waverly Place, Justin & Alex (or Justin/Alex), Justin messing with the weather has drastic (possibly apocalyptic) consequences

[beth-soprano.livejournal.com]

Star Trek TNG, Jean-Luc Picard, harvest season

[amathela.livejournal.com]

Greek, author's choice, a winter-themed event

[lovesrogue36.livejournal.com]

Eastwick, Darryl/Kat, she changes the colors of the leaves

[lovesrogue36.livejournal.com]

Leverage, Nate/Sophie, they are in the autumn seasons of their lives

[amathela.livejournal.com]

Disney RPF, author's choice, ritual sacrifice with pie

[beth-soprano.livejournal.com]

Sanctuary, Helen Magnus, winter

Nostalgia

[perverseparagon.livejournal.com]

Winter always made Helen feel restless. Wrapped up deep in her overcoat she walked aimlessly around Old City and took in the sights. Over the last couple of weeks the temperature had dropped drastically, until the ground was frosty and people's breath misted in the air. It was early evening but there were only a handful of people along the usually crowded thoroughfares. It seemed not everyone had elected to brave the cold.

She walked down quiet streets on restless feet and thought of home. Oh, in the light of day she considered the North American Sanctuary her home these days and had done for many years. But in the winter, when the nights began to draw in and the temperature dropped she found her heart returning to London. When she turned a corner in the fog she almost expected to hear the muffled fall of horse hooves over cobbles. The ever present sound of hawkers calling softened by the fog and distance. If she paused in the street and closed her eyes she could almost hear them.

In her mind's eye she could see the narrow streets, the air thick with the pall of fog off the Thames. She could walk from Clerkenwell to Aldgate and back along the river to Victoria. Tall white town houses and wooden fronted shops. There would be cabbies huddled together sharing smokes on the corners, their collars turned up against the damp air. Newspaper vendors calling out the headlines to bring in the sales. And amongst it all the pick pockets and bobbies in their constant games of cat and mouse down the alleys.

Instead there was the distant wail of sirens in Old City to break her reverie. Feeling more restless than ever Helen began walking once again. Chin tucked down in her scarf and hands buried deep in her pockets. She would never admit it, not while she had people she loved in the States, but the winter always seemed to make Helen homesick. Of course, she simply called it nostalgia.

[myfloralbonnet.livejournal.com]

Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, author's choice, always winter

[odette-river.livejournal.com]

What Aslan says is I forgive you. Not those words, but that’s what he means, and Edmund doesn’t know why he can’t accept that. He’s gone from pure evil to pure good, and something about the whole thing just doesn’t feel right. Maybe it’s that his hands still feel cold. Maybe it’s that that cold will never leave him.

When he hugs Lucy she’s warm and soft against him and he can tell that she’s crying, even if she turns her face away and swipes hurriedly at her eyes with her sleeve. And when he hugs Susan he knows that she shivers. He can feel it as his hand grazes her shoulder blades and he knows it’s because of him. He’s cold, and that cold will never leave him, no matter who forgives him or what he does. There’s a part of himself that he’s lost, and it’s not coming back.

[beth-soprano.livejournal.com]

Merlin, Arthur/Gwen, April showers bring May flowers

fic, rated g

[vega-ofthe-lyre.livejournal.com]

She isn't expecting him to show up at her door in the rain with an armful of purple-and-white flowers, bleeding from a cut on his cheek, but then Arthur Pendragon has never been precisely predictable.

"My lord," Gwen says, startled.

"So," he begins. "These are for you."

She blinks at him, propping her broom against the wall. "Oh," she says.

"See, it's like this," he says. "It's not like I was like, 'Oh, I'm going to go pick Gwen some flowers today, won't that be a lark,' not that you don't deserve it, that's not what I'm saying, it's just that I'm not the sort of person who goes mooning about picking flowers for people, that's Merlin's area and he's welcome to it. But we were scouting up in the mountains and we came across a little hollow in the woods with all these flowers and they reminded me of you in - you know - your dress, so I just thought I'd take some, I don't know why, stupid idea really, and just my luck, it turns out that hollow is guarded by a flock of - what are they called?"

"Stymphalian birds," Merlin calls from where he is lurking in a very obvious way behind a street stall.

"Oh," Gwen repeats.

He goes on in a rush. "So I took the flowers and the idiot things are apparently very protective of their flowers and they tried to kill me and then Merlin tried to help which I think we both know is just never a good idea and so I was fighting off the birds and Merlin and I'm bleeding and I'm fairly certain I've thrown my right knee but I got them for you anyway anyway and will you just take the stupid flowers?"

And he's still holding them all and he looks frankly completely ridiculous but earnest and his hair is wet and his eyes are extraordinarily blue and she told herself she wasn't going to hurt herself over him like this all over again but she cannot help it - something in her wrenches and gives way.

Gwen smiles. "Thank you, my lord," she says, reaching for the flowers. A blossom or two drifts to the ground as Arthur shifts the bundle into her arms, and he bends for one, twirling the little purple flower between his fingers.

"You like them?" he says.

"They're lovely," she says, and they are. But then she is seized by awkwardness, and she adds, "Would you like to--I don't know--come in?"

"No, no," he says instantly, "My father expects me for dinner. I have to get going, actually. I just, you know. Wanted you to have them."

"All right," she says, and smiles again.

But he doesn't go anywhere for a moment, and he is Arthur Pendragon standing before her with hope in his eyes and a flower in his hand, bleeding for her, and she wishes wretchedly that she'd never met him even while she wants to grab his hand and make sure he never walks away from her again.

[myfloralbonnet.livejournal.com]

Firefly, Kaylee, strawberry season

[orphan-project.livejournal.com]

There is nothing more Kaylee enjoys than going to a world that's in the middle of strawberry season. It's her favorite fruit and seriously, she's told Mal more than once that she'd work completely for the fruit.

So after completing the job and having Mal tell her that they have to leave world immediately, puts her in a sour mood. She says nothing on the way bad to Serenity, and stops up the ramp once they get there.

Shepperd is standing there waiting for them and he tilts his head.

"No strawberries." She hisses.

Shepperd smiles, motioning for her to come towards him. Kaylee walks over, still grumpy and crosses her arms.

"Go to the mess."

Her eyes narrow and she does as told as Mal walks on.

"You tell her?"

"You could be a little nicer." Shepperd scolds.

"She would have never come back from town." Mal says quickly.

[lady-sarai.livejournal.com]

DCU, Tim Drake/Cissie King-Jones/Kon-El, the first snow of the year

[myfloralbonnet.livejournal.com]

Stargate Atlantis, Teyla Emmagan, seasons as they pass on Earth

[myfloralbonnet.livejournal.com]

Sanctuary, Ashley Magnus/Henry Foss, summer clothes

[voksen.livejournal.com]

Weiss Kreuz, author's choice, cruel as winter

[measuringlife.livejournal.com]

What made Mamoru all the more fearsome was if anyone looked deep enough, they’d find a boy named Omi in his past. Said boy had been idealistic, and innocent – at least, as innocent as a group of killers got. Nagi himself had known Omi, or at least known him as best as an enemy could. He’d heard some of his nauseating speeches, seen his camaraderie. Nagi remembered seeing him smile and laugh while holding flowers in a stake out. Aya had enough brooding sorrow for ten men, but Omi had been mostly hopeful, and mostly spared.

Now to see him so coldly ordering Nagi to take care of someone, and to make it as discreet as possible, it was as if the boy had never existed. Takitori had swallowed him up until there was nothing but coldness in his eyes. Winter, that’s what Takitori was. A swallowing amorphous blob of winter that absorbed whoever came to it and spat out the empty remains.

This was the proof that there was no hope in the world, hadn’t Mamoru proved that? But as far as Nagi was concerned, it was an improvement. There was no room for hope or rosy idealistic notions in his their world.

[voksen.livejournal.com]

author's choice, author's choice, "Cause it's the first of May, first of May/Outdoor fucking starts today/So bring your favorite lady/Or at least your favorite lay"

[voksen.livejournal.com]

A Song of Ice and Fire, author's choice, no winter lasts forever

[voksen.livejournal.com]

Weiss Kreuz, author's choice, midsummer roses

[measuringlife.livejournal.com]

Mamoru had a fondness for roses. Maybe he liked their texture, the classy association, or the thorny and deadly aspects to them. Or maybe he just liked the smell. Nagi never asked. He had his suspicions, but he kept them to himself. It was however, only the deepest crimson ones he liked, the ones with a color so similar to blood. The macabre roses were his only delight.

Nagi often brought them back after missions, his gloves bloodstained and the scent of death mixing with the scent of roses. Mamoru would always take them from him, his expression suddenly nostalgic, and distant, as if centered to a far off time.

Nagi didn’t know why he did it. He didn’t feel the need to brown-nose like some of the other workers. He knew his place in Takitori was secure. Somewhere along the line, Mamoru had decided that to keep your friends close and your enemies closer though Nagi’s role seemed to have evolved to be a strange mix of both.

On second thought, he did. He liked that look, a expression like regret, loss and innocence. A look back to a boy Mamoru once was. But it always only lasted a moment, afterwards which Mamoru would tersely thank him and he’d give the report.

Sometimes they’d fuck afterwards, as Mamoru seemed to like the mixes of scents, the death, the roses, and even Negi himself. They never spoke of it before, after, or even during. Fucking was just a part of their not-friendship, not-enemyship whatever they had.

Nagi made it clear that Mamoru could have all the wives he needed, but if Mamoru started fucking his other contractors? They’d end up dead. No exceptions. Mamoru had laughed at that, something that didn’t happen too often.

They had something undefined, which neither sought to place and label and name. It was some sort of relationship that skirted a simple contractor, friendship or enemyship. They were tangled and swirling, and neither sought any sort of change from this chaos they had called their own.

[voksen.livejournal.com]

Disney's The Little Mermaid, Eric/Ariel, the changing of the seasons

The Span of a Year

[angel-gidget.livejournal.com]

When the leafs begin to change, Eric laughs as Ariel gazes in wonder at their altered color. She sticks a few into her hair, running inside to use their bedroom mirror. He agrees with her that they almost match.

As the leafs give way to bare branches and cold winds, he finds a different kind of chill running up his spine. Ariel has barely gotten used to really dressing up, much less bundling up for a cold weather she barely understands. But she merely shakes her head at his worried face, and throws on another shawl. It's more reassurance for him than warmth for her.

The reassurance seems for naught when he wakes up one morning to the sound of her coughing relentlessly. Grimsby sends for the doctor while Eric calls for tea to soothe her throat. It's the first day since their honeymoon that she has not risen from bed to greet the sun.

He finds his hands rubbing his face tiredly three days later. It's stress and exasperation and relief that she's getting better. Eric knows he isn't the sort of man prone to pessimism, but the back of his mind has been nagging him with warnings of influenza and pneumonia, all the things that he has no idea if a mermaid-turned-human can withstand.

A week later, Ariel tells him she wants to go outside. He helps her wrap herself up in four coats and they venture out together. Seeing her cooped up has been just as bad as seeing her ill. Ariel needs freedom more than she needs her health.

That tension that's been knotting his back since the first snowfall is released when she lobs her first snowball into his face. Eric lets go of his fear and retaliates.

When the first buds of Spring peak out form their white blankets, Ariel insists they throw a party. Eric is surprised at first, but delighted as she outlines her plans. It isn't a royal party, really. It's an almost childlike setup of plates and cups and musical instruments to which only those closest, be they servant or sea creature, are invited.

They sail constantly with the advent of Summer. He teaches her how to swim like a human and she instructs him in how to play the flute like a fish. It's revelry and music and warmth... so much warmth. From the sun, from the cook-fires, from the laughter, from her.

He treasures these things up in his memory as the leafs change color again. He uses them to keep his love and himself warm as the winds blow harder.

They add layers of blankets to their bed, learning from the past. They nestle together under piles of wool, whispering their anticipations of what each new season brings.

[gaffsie.livejournal.com]

SGA, John/Ronon, winter wonder land

[samueljames]

Numb3rs, Charlie/Ian, "our snowman will be way better than theirs."

[daria234.livejournal.com]

Don, Colby, and Liz put the finishing touches on their snowman and then proudly showed it to Larry and David, who had agreed to be objective judges.

"Nice," David said with a grin, examining the details, of their snowman - or, more accurately, their snowagent. The tower of white spheres was wearing a blue FBI jacket and hat, and its look was perfected by Don's sunglasses sitting atop its carrot nose.

"Very authentic," Larry said, taking his assessment duties quite seriously as he paced around, looking at the snowman from all angles, "This may be the most authoritative-looking snowman I've ever seen."

Just then they turned around and saw Charlie and Ian's snowman, its makers smiling proudly on either side.

"How'd you guys do that? That wasn't there a second ago - did you guys move your snowman?" Liz asked.

Ian just smirked mysteriously.

"Wow," David said, looking at their snowman.

"Wow indeed," Larry agreed.

The snowman was made not of bumpy rolls of snow but of 3 attached dodecahedra. The branchy arms had been shaped to hold an issue of Topology Quarterly in one 'hand,' and in the other an ice sculpture of some kind of long-barrelled weapon.

"You guys can't do anything normal, can you?" Colby said good-naturedly.

Charlie glanced at Ian with a smile and then looked back at the others. He said, "Where's your car Colby?"

"Last row of the lot, why?"

Ian smiled as he took out a small electronic device and pressed a couple of buttons. They all jumped at the loud sound of a snowball being air-rocketed out of the snowman's ice gun. The snowball flew a long arc in the sky and landed out of sight, just as a distant car alarm went off.

"That yours?" Don asked, already seeing the answer on Colby's grimace.

Larry just looked quickly at David, who gave a brief nod, before saying, "I think we have a winner."

[measuringlife.livejournal.com]

Castiel stared up at the greying sky. It’d been cold all day. Dean had lost all that childlike loving of snow with his childhood. The time they’d taken down a Yeti hadn’t helped, that was for sure. But Cas kept looking, as if he were seeing something coming down from the heavens.

“What?” Dean said.

“It’s going to snow,” Castiel said. “Can you hear it?”

Dean frowned. “No. I can’t hear a damn thing. I’m human, remember?”

“Close your eyes,” Castiel said.

Everything in Dean rebelled against that. Years of being a hunter made all of Castiel’s be still, for He is near shit seem like just offering yourself to become monster bait. Dean slept with guns under the pillow, right where he could reach them. Salt thrown at the doorway and crucifixes only did so much.

But he did. He let himself be blind, if only for a second. He felt Castiel – or at least Jimmy’s – hand on him. It was warm, and crackled with a sort of energy that always radiated from him. It was what heaven felt like, he guessed. That same pure, sublime feeling that Cas exuded.

And he heard it. As clear as a bell, the sound, and feeling of the snow falling down. In that pure energy, he recaptured that which he’d lost and missed without even knowing it. Innocence. Back to the days of throwing snowballs with Sammy when devils and monsters were things in stories and even if you believed they were under your bed they weren’t really.

“I can hear it, Cas,” Dean said.

“I know,” Castiel said.

And with Castiel’s hand on his, he almost felt like he could believe. In that churchy, Spirit In The Sky stuff. If heaven as a whole was half so pristine, and calming as Cas, then it almost made sense. Almost.

[smaragdbird.livejournal.com]

There were hot summer nights and there were hot summer nights.
The first kind were actually only warm summer nights. When it had been hot during the day and for the night the world cooled down enough to do something with the night. These were the kind of summer nights when you had sex on roofs and hang out with your friends at the beach.

Then there were real hot summer nights. The kind of nights were nothing cooled down, where the temperature didn't drop. Heat and humidity clung to your skin like the ever present film of sweat. The nights where your clothes were glued to your body and the touch of another skin to skin would make you burst into flames. When sex sent you right over the edge of insanity because there was only so much heat one could take.

Misha had pressed him against the wall and held him there with relentless, strong hands on his hip. The humidity made it hard to breath so Jensen gasped for every breath like a fish out of water and his fingers ran helplessly over the sun baked wall behind him but there was nothing to hold on to. Nothing to anchor him away from the all envellopping heat and the even greater hotness of Misha's mouth on him, around him.
Sweat ran in beads down his face and neck until they drenched his shirt.
He made no noises but that was only because he didn't have enough air to make any noises, only pants and soundless, breathless moans.
Misha pushed him over the edge and for a heartbeat his throat was so tight that he couldn't have breathed if he had wanted to, there was no air, no heat, just falling until Misha let go and Jensen fell down to his knees and greedily drew breath into his lungs with deep, uneven gasps.

It was that kind of a hot summer night.

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

Kane RPS, Chris/Steve, Seasons Of Love (Song from Rent. Video here (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8iTeDl_Wug).)

[honeyjojames.livejournal.com]

Kane RPS, Chris/Steve, cold winter nights

[maab-connor.livejournal.com]

such pretty pictures in my head, let me show you them.

~~~

The snow started during the gig. By the time they were at the stage door, signing autographs and posing in front of iPhones, there was already an inch on the ground. Chris was bundled up so that only his eyes were visible, his breath was puffing out through the wool scarf that was pulled up to the bottoms of his eyes and all he smelled was damp wool. He hated winter. They were set to fly out that night to Atlanta and he was thrilled. But by the time they arrived at O’Hare the runways were under ice and snow and all the flights had been grounded.

He was half frozen through when he finally got into the beat-down motel room – the only one left with any rooms. He jacked the heat to high and prayed for warmth.

There was a knock on the door. It was Steve’s knock. “Open up, Kane, we’re short on rooms!” was called through the door.

Chris bounded over, opened the door, pulled Steve in, slammed the door shut and started pulling at his jacket and layers.

Steve laughed. “Not even a hello kiss, it’s all work, work, work with you.”

“I’m cold,” Chris said, totally not whining. At all. No matter what Steve’s evil little chuckle said.

“C’mere,” Steve’s eyes were dancing as he opened his jacket and invited Chris to come over.

Chris’ arms threaded around Steve’s back, under the swishy down and he sighed in relief as Steve’s warmth seeped into him.

“You are cold,” Steve said when he felt icy fingers worming up under his sweater.

“S’what I told you,” was muffled against Steve’s chest as a frigid nose was pressed against him.

“There’s only one cure for it. Get naked, Kane.” He felt Chris smile against him.

“That’s your answer for everything.”

“I think it would fix a lot of the world’s problems if you just never wore clothes, yes. But,” he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Chris’ ear and let his hands wander down to Chris’ ass before whispering, “I think that you’ll be a lot better naked under those blankets, with me between your legs, holding you down with my skin and thrusting into you, pushing all that warmth into you over and over and over again. I’ll get you all sweaty and panting, get you so hot you have to open the window and let some cool air in.”

Christian turned his head and caught Steve’s mouth in a scorching kiss.

“See,” Steve said against Chris’ lips, “getting hotter already.”

[marius2045.livejournal.com]

Supernatural, John/Baby Dean, first touch of snow