#[ your sun that banishes winter ]

[snowbellecity]

"Fang, good morning!"

"Hmm? Ah, good morning, Miss Mayor."

"I haven't been a mayor in ages! Just call me Augusta."

"Right, Miss Augusta (😏)."

Morning doodle, please enjoy them 🙏🏾

[greenducksforever]

Le Soleil O golden orb that lights the morning sky, With rays that kiss the earth in warm embrace, You chase away the shadows, dark and shy, And paint the world with beauty, light, and grace. In fields of green, your laughter brings to life The blooms that stretch to greet your radiant glow, You banish cold, dispelling winter's strife, And nurture seeds of hope in soil below. As day gives way to twilight's soft retreat, Your hues of orange, pink, and purple blend, A canvas rich, where sky and ocean meet, A fleeting moment, beauty without end. O mighty sun, your brilliance we revere, For in your light, we find our path made clear.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡What He Deserves｡⋆.

Alpha!Bucky Barnes x omega!plus size reader

The morning after Bucky claims you, he realises how much he truly loves you

Warnings: implied smut, nudity, mention of claiming, fluff, brief talks about Bucky’s past

WC: 478

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

4k Celebration

Dawn crept over the horizon slowly, the weak winter sun just barely breaking through the curtains on the far side of the bedroom, creating small beams of light that fell over the bed. There were pillows and sheets strewn everywhere, leaving the bed bare save for a singular blanket that covered the occupants.

Bucky had been awake for hours, in fact he hadn’t even fallen asleep. Too overwhelmed with new emotions to even think about shutting his eyes, he had just watched you. You were sprawled on top of him, your naked body fitting perfectly on his own, chest to chest, your legs intertwined with your nose firmly pressed against his collarbone.

The wound on your shoulder was already healing, it would leave a scar but that was the whole point wasn’t it. A perfect circle of small cuts that, if Bucky leaned down and put his mouth to it, would match the pattern of his teeth. Unable to stop himself, he rubbed his thumb against the broken skin and fresh wave of your scent washed over him.

Bucky groaned as he inhaled, the smell of you so raw and untainted it made his skin prickle with goosebumps.

“Alpha?” Your voice came out as more of a rasp, still thick with sleep.

He winced. “Sorry mega, didn’t mean to wake you.” You hummed and nuzzled further into his warm chest, your hand coming up to rest just over his heart. Bucky smiled and kissed the top of your head.

“’S okay.” You sighed, a happy calmness spreading through the fresh bond. It immediately settles in his stomach, a feeling of peace and home. His grip gets just a little tighter but you don’t fight it, instead your soft body goes completely limp in his arms as you let out a contented mewl.

Snores began to escape your lips once more and Bucky just watched you. This was all he had ever wanted but never thought he could have, or deserved. You were his everything and by the grace of whatever god was out there, you let him worship you and love you with his whole being.

And now you were mated, joined together for eternity.

You chased away his nightmares with a smile, banishing them to a place where they could never hurt him again. You guided him into the light with your laughter, you showed him that touch doesn’t always bring pain. You proved to him that he was more than his past, more than a puppet for someone else’s bidding. 

“I love you more than I ever thought possible.” He spoke quietly into the early morning light so as to not wake you once more. He let his eyes finally slip shut, content with you in his arms, your scent keeping him grounded.

He couldn’t wait to wake up and start the rest of your lives.

Request: Do you think I could get a a/b/o with either “I burn for you,” or “I love you more than I ever thought possible” with either Kylo Ren or Bucky Barnes?

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[not-neverland06]

One More Spring

One-shot

Tagging: @dumblittlebunbun bc you’d commented on a previous slasher post

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader A/N: This was a strange little Drabble I came up with when I was experimenting with a different writing style. Summary: You only have one wish, to make it to one more spring in Ambrose. You know that the women don’t last long, used and tossed aside, you don’t have big hopes. Just one last prayer.

You could always tell what kind of day it would be by how the door closed. Maybe it was because you’d grown up with strict parents, but you could read a mood based off their footsteps. 

For now, you felt comfortable and remained lounged on your crappy lawn chair, trying to get some sun back on your legs after winter. The screen door closed lightly behind Bo as his heavy boots made their way to you. 

You didn’t bother lifting your sunglasses as you felt him hovering over you. “What’re you doing?” His voice was gruff and he sounded like he was panting. 

“Trying to get some color back.”

You could hear him scoff and glanced to the side to see him stealing a swig from your beer. “Don’t have better things to be doing?”

“Like what?” You snarked, rolling over and huffing when his eyes immediately went to your ass. Probably a good thing you chose a skimpy pair of bottoms, he was always more agreeable when he was horny. “Playing housewife?”

He chuckled under his breath, kneeling down beside you and flicking your sunglasses up. “Yeah, maybe.”

You rolled your eyes and swatted his hands away. You propped your head up on your arms and glared at him. “I’ll put on an apron for you later, for now, buzz off.”

He shook his head and stood up. “Don’t know where all this attitude came from.” You yelped as his hand came down on your ass. He laughed loudly, walking away much too smug for your liking. “Better not be a damn thing under that apron later!” He shouted as he went back into the house. 

You looked up to tell him off and finally caught a glimpse of his coveralls. Blood coated the bottom of his pants and you shrank back into your chair. You put your head back down on your arms, closing your eyes and ignoring the way your stomach twinged in anxiety. 

As requested, you’d made dinner in an apron and nothing else. Bo had subsequently banished Vincent from the kitchen. You’d felt bad when you’d woken up in the morning, you hadn’t gotten a chance to slip him any food. You’d passed out pretty much the second Bo was done with you. 

Your eyes darted to the bloody coveralls on your bathroom floor. You sighed, legs aching as you got off the bed. You collected his dirtied uniform and the laundry basket and made your way downstairs. 

You got started on the laundry, kicking the old washing machine a few times to get it going. It had been on its last leg for a decade, it was a matter of months before it finally conked out. You threw the clothes in, fingers snagging on a lacy number at the bottom. 

You frowned, tugging it out and holding it up to the light. You’d never seen this before. It certainly hadn’t come from your bag. “You like it?”

You jumped, whirling around with the shirt clutched to your chest. “Jesus, Bo, you scared me.”

He chuckled, face still slightly mussed from sleep. He was only in a white t-shirt and pajama pants, rare to see him in anything other than working clothes. “Snagged that off a tourist yesterday, thought you’d look good in it.”

I thought you would like it. 

I know you’ve got a few shirts like that in your closet.

You always look pretty in this color, baby.

You’d heard it all a thousand different ways. The same sentence over and over and over again. You were haunted by the women of Ambrose. The ones who came before you, who’d tried and failed to play house with him. The ones who were yet to come. 

And the woman who would inevitably replace you when you messed up for the final time. 

Your nails dug into the lace, feeling it give beneath them as you smiled at Bo. “I love it, thank you.”

He hugged you, lips lingering against your forehead before he wandered off to start some coffee. You turned around, eyes going back to the shirt. You’d burn it if you could. Rip it apart and scream, instead you tossed it in the wash with the rest of your clothes. You let the lid slam shut, the noise jarring you out of your stupor. 

You forced on a happy face and walked into the kitchen. Vincent was lingering near the entrance and you offered him a gentle smile. “Sorry about dinner,” you whispered as you passed him. He shook his head and took a seat at the table. 

You grabbed the ingredients you needed, rustling through Bo’s ancient cookbook for the French toast recipe you’d found the other day. One day, you’d run out, you wouldn’t have any more delicacies to surprise them both with. 

Bo would tire of the same repetitive food. The same face every morning. The same sounds and movements in the bedroom. You’d become used up, lose the new shine everyone loved on their toys. 

You clenched the spatula in your hand, gritting your teeth as you cooked some eggs for the both of them. You brought it over to the table, scooping it onto their plates, Bo got the bigger serving. Bo always got what he wanted.

Your mind flashed to the garage, the straps there waiting for you. “Hey!”

You jumped, pan nearly dropping out of your hands as you stared at the dropped eggs on his lap. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” You rushed to the counter, grabbing a towel and kneeling down, frantically trying to get them off his pants. 

A calloused hand landed on your head, you jumped and looked up at Bo. Your heart raced, expecting malice or a sneer that meant the last nail had fallen and your time was up. Instead he was smiling gently down at you, hand smoothing the hair from your face. “Just a spill, darlin’, get the bacon ‘fore it burns.”

You backed away instantly, taking the egg filled rag with you as you went back to the stove. You flipped the bacon, turning off the burner and risking a glance over your shoulder at Bo. 

He was sipping his coffee peacefully, not a worry in the world. But you could see how tightly Vincent had his fork gripped, the way it shook slightly as he placed it back on his plate. Seems you weren’t the only one who’d thought your time was up. 

When would it happen?

When spring returned and the birds started chirping their early morning song again?

You wouldn’t mind if that was when it ended. If you got to make it to another birthday, that would be even better. You’d like to experience another holiday, or Halloween. Perhaps that was too much to ask for. 

You’d settle for just seeing the buds return to the trees in Ambrose once more. Pink blooming in the absence of death. That would be lovely. 

Alright, you’ll take that. 

Make it through one more spring and you can happily let go. 

You could hear the women screaming as you walked down the stairs of the house. See glimpses of who they used to be. Hair clips you knew weren’t yours, underwear buried in the back of drawers that you’d never touched. Necklaces and jewelry that didn’t match yours. 

You could hear their voices, disorienting and panicked as you hung the laundry on the line. Felt like the birds echoed their mourning cries in their melody. 

You saw the red lines around your wrist as you pulled off the dry sheets. You tried not to look at them too much. Bo liked to touch them, rub his fingers along your wrist and admire them. He thought it brought you closer, linked you together somehow. 

You hated looking at them. Hated the sight of the worn skin. All it reminded you of was the time below. Your pictures that were tacked above the others. 

You heard a scream further away from the house, bloodcurdling and echoing through the air of Ambrose. It would never make it out. Never travel past the forest bordering the ghost town. You wondered if it was a product of your own fractured psyche or another masterpiece in the works. 

Your question was answered when you sat on your knees in the bathroom that night, trying to scrub the crimson out of Bo’s coveralls. 

You liked your time with Vincent. You like the candles he kept scattered around his studio, nails dug into them to help him keep time. He’d sit you down on the couch and would position you like a doll. You’d let him, mind going numb as you lost time for as long as he wanted to draw you. 

You knew he liked you the most out of the other girls. You learned sign language for him, communicating with him when Bo got sick of both of you. He enjoyed your face the most. It wasn’t model perfect or the type of beauty people wrote songs about. 

He liked the normalcy of it, the slightly blandness. He’d told you once, on a nice night, that it was your eyes that gave you life. Not the color of them, but the light behind them. 

You wondered if he would draw you again when Bo snubbed them out. 

You folded Bo’s clothes, tucking them neatly into his drawers and tossing the basket back into the hall. You moved towards the bed, straightening the sheets and tucking them in tight. You liked it tight, he hated it. 

Your one act of rebellion. 

It honestly wasn’t hard to fall into this role with Bo. You’d known if you’d wanted to survive the only chance you had was to make him happy. In a way it was peaceful here. It was quiet and you never had to worry about anything.

You cleaned the house, cooked the food, were the perfect housewife and he’d be content and so would you. He let you have your own time, surprising you with journals to write in. Or he’d dig through tourists bags and bring you back books he’d thought you’d like. 

You didn’t get to go into the city with him, doubted you ever would, but you were okay with this. 

You picked up his watch, opening up his night table’s drawer to tuck it away. Your eyes landed on a bright splash of red and your fingers froze from where they hovered above the handle. You glanced over your shoulder, heart thrumming. 

You turned back towards the drawer and carefully slid the Polaroid out. 

A picture, a woman with gorgeous red hair splayed along her pillow. She looked beautiful. 

Or she would. 

If it wasn’t for the gash across the neck, so deep it showed you the inside of her throat. Crimson dripped from the wound, pooling around her and onto the bed below her. 

Your eyes darted to the bed to your left, hands wrinkling the pristinely kept picture. Without thinking your hand dove further into the drawer, probing, digging, searching for something. 

You didn’t know what until you hissed, hand jerking back as blood blistered out of the gash on your finger. You placed the picture back, popping your finger into your mouth and licking up the metallic taste of your blood. 

You used your other hand to wrap around the handle of the blade, tugging out the large kitchen knife and staring down at it blankly. 

One more spring.

You put the knife back, straightening out his drawer and leaving the haunted bedroom to clean your wound. 

You woke to the sound of birds chirping. To your left was the window, pink buds blooming across the branch of the tree across from the house. Above you was Bo, straddling your waist, a knife held tightly in his hand. 

“Well,” you wrapped a hand around his, calmly pulling the knife down to your throat. You’d thought you’d be more upset. Fight, beg, plead for one last winter, or just another day. One last good day. But you were tired, you’d been slipping since summer. Bits and pieces of yourself floating along the wind, joining the cacophony of lost women. “Aren’t you going to do it?”

Bo stared down at you, his brows furrowed. The whites of his eyes were red and you knew he’s been struggling with this for a while. You weren’t sure how long he’d been sitting above you, but you knew it had been before you’d woken. 

You were thankful, at least, that he had let you see the spring morning before he did this. 

He yanked his hand out of yours, “Crazy bitch,” he muttered. He scoffed and shook his head, jumping off of you. Your head lolled to the left, you opened up the window, inhaling the fresh smell of new life. 

You made it another winter and another spring. Your face was plastered along Vincent’s wall. Statues of you adorned Ambrose but you didn’t occupy a single one of them. 

On the outside MISSING flyers with your face faded and fell from lamp posts. Your name was forgotten from the minds of those who’d been alive to mourn you. You became another statistic, another lost soul. An old news story that would be used in classrooms. 

What happened to her?

Is she still alive?

Was she the first?

Will we ever know?

No. They wouldn’t. You were the girl on the paper trampled beneath frantic feet as they rushed to work. Tossed aside in the garbage when they were done with the morning paper. To the rest of them, you were forgotten. 

To Ambrose, you were their muse. Inspiration behind their every move. 

Every morning you’d wake up to a blade pressed against your throat. And every morning Bo would leap away from you and shake his head. He’d never do it, you knew that now, and it provided you with a careless freedom that freed you from the shackles you’d placed upon yourself. 

You didn’t spread your legs and let him take what he wanted anymore. You didn’t submit under his temper, you fought back, raised your voice and threw glass bottles right back at him. You didn’t let him bend Vincent under his thumb or scream at him just because he could. 

You pushed, every day, that invisible line that separated you from the other ghosts in town. Yet, somehow, you never breached it, only managed to extend it. 

“I want to go with you.”

Bo froze, after a moment he fixed his cap and grabbed his keys from the tray. He didn’t look at you as he spoke, “Well, come on then.”

You followed him through the front door, hopping in the truck when he opened it up to you. The engine rumbled, vibrating the seat below you and his hand slid from the keys to your thigh. He squeezed, as if reminding himself you were there, he was really doing this. 

You could hardly believe it yourself. 

Bo rounded the bend from the gas station and you felt your heart racing. A hummingbird flitting through your chest, frantically trying to break from the cage of your ribs. He pulled through the old campground, the one you’d been on before your car had mysteriously broken down. 

You couldn’t remember who it was you were with. What their names were.

You’re halfway certain one of them had been a lover. His name lost to the past. 

Bo pulls onto the highway and you brace yourself. You’re not sure for what. Perhaps for him to change his mind, a blade buried in your gut. To start pouring blood down the front of your shirt. Or maybe the car will wreck, divine intervention deciding that neither of you get another day. 

Nothing happens. Bo slams his hand against the truck’s stereo and rock crackles through the speakers. His hand returns to your thigh and he hums along to the music. After a moment you relax, rolling the window down and letting the breeze cool you down. 

He makes it to the city, smaller than where you used to live, but a mammoth compared to Ambrose. You buy groceries, marveling over products you’d forgotten even existed. You finally manage to buy the tampons you like instead of getting lucky that another woman has them in her bag. 

You harass him into letting you go to a secondhand store, buying a shirt for you. Yours and yours alone. It’s simple, long sleeved and white, nothing special, but it means everything to you. When you make it back to Ambrose, the familiar stifling air and aged walls, you bury the shirt in your dresser. 

You’ll never wear it and never part with it. This shirt will never be anyone else’s but yours. You’ll never allow another woman to get her hands on it. Even when you’re gone you’ll protect it. 

“What do you think?”

Bo shrugged, taking another swig of his beer as his eyes roved over the journal in his hand. You sat on the edge of your seat, eagerly watching him read. Perhaps a bit too eagerly, he sensed it, pouncing on the chance to make you vulnerable. 

“You know I don’t read much, baby.”

You rolled your eyes and moved to sit next to him. “I’m aware, it’s real sad, Bo. Now,” you nudged his shoulder with your own. “What do you think?”

He chuckled, marking the page and tossing it on the coffee table. His legs spread and you took the invitation, slotting yourself in his lap and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He grinned up at you, “It was good. Real fuckin’ good.”

You smiled, cheeks puffing out with the force of it. “Really?”

He nodded his head, “Mhm.” He leaned forward, taking you with him, and placed his beer on the table. You reached behind yourself, blindly readjusting it onto a coaster. He rolled his eyes, but you saw the fondness in them. 

His hands moved down your back, squeezing your ass before they landed on your thighs. Rough calluses spread along smooth skin and goosebumps prickled under his touch. You don’t know why you let him read the strange disjointed novel you’d been writing. 

Maybe because you knew no one would ever see it. Maybe you wanted some part of yourself permanently embedded into his brain. Either way, you enjoyed the way his face changed as he took it in. The expressions shifting with each new sentence. 

“You got a fucked up little mind, you know that?”

You hummed, nodding your head and leaning forward to slot your lips against his own. It was his own fault you were like this. He’d bent you, broke you down, used you until you were a shadow of the woman who used to exist within your body. 

Maybe he had won. 

There was a part of you, a spirit, floating somewhere beneath his garage, that had once belonged to you. 

You ground your hips down against his, biting down on his lip until copper flooded your mouth. He didn’t get angry, just gripped your hair and moved you both to the cushions. He groaned into your open mouth, pinning your body below his and manipulating you how he wanted. 

Then again, maybe you’d ruined him too. 

You shouldn’t be alive. You shouldn’t still have a throat to drag air down, but here you were. Shoving against him and forcing him to submit to your whims. You weren’t the only one who’d changed, and you both knew it. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie House of Wax (2005), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[pomegraphy]

Lady Selene,

Goddess of

The Lunar Month

The Greek months start with the new moon and were then divided into three ten day periods. The first ten days were presided over by the waxing moon, the next ten were the near full and full moon, and the last ten was the waning moon. Festivals including the lucky and unlucky days of the month were measured in the cycles of the moon.

Evelyn-White. "Long-winged Meme... at eventime in the mid-month: then her great orbit is full and then her beams shine brightest as she increases. So she is sure token and a sign to mortal men" (Homeric Hymn, 32 to Selene: C7th- 4th B.C.)

Childbirth

Pregnancies were commonly measured in lunar months, so Lady Selene had a natural association with childbirth.

Timotheus. "Through the blue-black vault of the starts and of Selana who gives swift childbirth." (Campbell Vol. Greek Lyric V, Frag 803: C5th B.C.)

Dew

The moon was believed to nourish plants and animals with her dew. Lady Selene was associated with Ariadne, wife of Dionysus as the goddess of nourishing.

Cicero. "Luna the Moon's course also has a sort of winter and summer solstice; and she emits many streams of influence, which supply animal creatures with nourishment and stimulate their growth and which cause plants to flourish and attain maturity." (De Natura Deorum, 2.14: 45 B.C.)

and the Moon

Tryphiodorus. "When Mene (the Moon) [Selene], full with grey fire, gilds with her face the gleaming heaven: not when, sharpening her pointed horns, she first shines, rising in the shadowless dusk of the month, but when, orbing the round radiance of her eye, she draws to herself the reflected rays of the sun." (The Taking of Ilias, 514:C6th A.D.)

Who is Selene?

The titan goddess of the moon. She was depicted as a woman riding a sidesaddle on a horse. Her lunar crescent was set upon her head as a crown. She was said to sometimes drive a team of oxen and her lunar crescent was likened to a pair of bull's horns.

Symbolisms of Selene

Crystal: Moonstone

Colors: Silver, Grey-white, and white

Day of the week: Monday

Scents/Flowers: Myrtle, willow, white poppy, white rose, and wall flower.

Animals: Bulls and horses

Offerings

Silver jewelry, curved crescent knives, silver/white coins, silver/white candles, cups of (salt) water, seed pods, mirrors, white flowers, any sea/tide related offerings, mooncakes, writing hymns.

Ways to worship

Wearing silver jewelry

Wearing moon colored clothing

New Moon: banishing and undoing things.

Waxing Moon: offerings that relate to things you want more of. Great time for offerings

Full Moon: Harvest what you've been working on

Waning Moon: leave offerings that you want less of.

Taking items from your altar outside or on a windowsill during a full moon.

Cleansing the altar and offering items with water charged with moonlight during a new moon.

Going for a walk under the moonlight(with safety precautions)

Talking to the moon

Learning astrology

Stargazing

Meditation at night.

[yawneon]

luke with dionysus!reader where he tries to convince them to join him but reader has a good relationship with their dad so they can’t understand? 👉👈

THE PLEADS OF A SNAKE

~

pairing : luke castellan x reader

summary : in which luke castellan tries to convince you the gods are evil, they are the sickly ones. right?

!!! : charlie luke not hot book buzzcut era coriolanus jason luke (but every version of luke is hot), unedited and unread (im so tired pls it’s 1 am), crazy luke, i love dadionysus

a/n : I FUCKING LOVE THIS PROMPT IM FROTHING AT THE MOUTH LET ME FUCKING COOOOOOOK 😈😈‼️‼️‼️‼️

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

it was cold at camp, usually the days were warm throughout, but today was off. everything seemed off. the trees swayed in the wrong ways and the campers were messing everything up when you were teaching archery basics. today was weird.

you walk to the big house from the lake in camp, your mind wandering places much further than the boundaries in camp half-blood. you watched as the wind hit the grass and the leaves but today just didn’t seem… right.

a group of campers all huddle around a table at the arts & crafts building they all seem, weird?

maybe it was you. maybe you were tired and your mind was playing tricks on you. today was the day percy came back to camp, maybe it was that.

you walk down past the volleyball courts, a group of losing and very angry ares kid’s were versing a group of extremely sly and giggly hermes kids obviously riling the opposing team up. you walk past knowing you would have to split that up later.

the walk to the big house seemed almost ritual at this point. your father was the MR D, the big dog of camp half blood. being one of dionysus’ only children at camp currently you have been appointed to ahem, cabin 12 counselor which mainly consisted of telling your 2 brothers to shut up.

many campers envied you and your tight knit family relationship. having mr d as your dad wouldn’t seem the most optimal parent by seeing his fiery temper sometimes and his lack of effort to remember names but in reality you had hit the godly parent lottery.

although at times you don’t know if you should call him dad or mr d, a life with dionysus was never a boring one i give you that. from the game nights at the big house to being an all year round camper, you were eternally grateful to have such a funny yet theatrical dad.

-

the sunlight pans down onto the path infront of you, the smell of summer still lingers in the air despite winters call. the green grass swishes in the wind and the trees follow. you took in a deep breath before your eyes land on the big, blue house infront of you again.

your steps to the big house became faster, the crave for some fatherly advice becoming stronger. you push open the door and you look for your dad. you see him sat at a round table next to chiron and they play a game of cards. you sit at an empty chair and you sigh down.

“whats wrong with you?” dionysus furrows his eyebrows, his worry hidden by his pursed lips.

“dunno. something about today just seems so…” you try to explain but the words can’t come out and your brain gets all fuzzy trying to describe it.

“yeah. right.” mr d furrows his eyebrows further as another tight-lipped expression is following on his lips. chiron gives him a hardened look. his eyes saying comfort your child silently.

your dad pushes out a slight sigh and he looks up at you, “you’re probably just in your head, kid. go swing your sword around and i’ll organise something with your brothers tonight.” his face softens. dionysus wasn’t the best at showing his love, especially when he was banished to live and direct this camp but despite all that he always showed up as a father so you listened to him.

you nod quietly standing from the chair you were sat in. you say your goodbyes to the two men and you walk to the armory, the hair on your arms standing up as you do.

-

the sun begins to lower in the sky, yellow and orange paint the horizon beautifully. the bright sun sinks slowly behind the trees into the west. your walk to the armory was dreadfully uneventful, the scattered campers staying to themselves as you walk by. you had bent the main sword you use so the armory was your first stop instead of the arena.

you push the door to the armory open slowly.

dust flies into the air and light pours into the dark room from the doorway. you walk into the armory, the smell of rusted metals and bronze hitting you in the face quickly. you scrunch your nose in defiance to the smell and continue to look around.

your eyes landing on a spare sword. you reach up for it and pull it down slowly, your eyes landing on the blade. you stare into the reflection of the blade turning it in different angles to distort the sun.

twisting it one way then another and when you turn it to the left, you realise that your reflection is not the only one.

“luke?” you turn quickly out of shock. your head whips around and you jolt forward slightly getting a small freight.

“hi.” he says deadpanningly, his eyes are wide yet something was behind them. luke’s eyes did not look like his own today.

he looks like he was longing for something, a small twinge of regret hidden beneath his brown irises. regret and anguish.

you face him, a hand wiping over your forehead. “when did you get there?”. your eyes trail back down to the blade in your hands and your fingers run along the edge collecting dust along the pads of your pointer and thumb.

you let out a comforting breath and walk towards him, “seriously you almost gave me a heart attack” wiping the dirt from the sword onto your orange shirt. clouds cover the sun in the sky for a moment and the sunlight in the room dims as you look up at him trying to piece together the puzzle of his expression.

“go on a walk with me? i need to tell you something” luke musters out quickly, his hand whipping out to grab onto your arm. the squeeze he gives your bicep is a begging one, a begging cry for you to please say yes.

it’d be a lie if i said you didn’t have butterflies in your stomach right now. luke has something to tell you, alone. the kaleidoscope of butterflies (yes thats what a group of butterflies is called i googled it) flutter around hopelessly in the pit of your stomach and a light blush appears on your cheeks.

you give him a soft nod and purse your lips together before verbally agreeing, “alright..”

you’re the one that leads luke into the forest, a small talk conversation happening between the two of you. usually he’d be talkative and engaged in the moment but the way his jaw clenches and his muscles tense you can tell something is not right.

you and luke walk silently next to eachother into the dense forested area of camp half blood. the sword in your hand swishing at bushes beside you. you spare him a few glances before turning away.

you like luke castellan, honestly it was hard not to. he was helpful, he was kind, he was thoughtful and oh gods was he a sight to see. your eyes trail from the ground infront of you to the blade in your hand and then to luke only to find he was already looking at you.

“why’re you looking at me like that castellan?” you laugh it off softly hiding your bashful expression from him as you look to your feet. luke stops walking, his hand wrapping around your arm as he stops you too. he tugs you back gently his eyes conflicted.

luke’s eyes bore into yours and his mouth opens to speak but he seems doubtful for a moment. he steps towards you, the proximity between you and him closing.

lukes hand raises to touch your cheek but he hesitates.

he had never hesitated to touch you, to embrace you, to laugh with you. why now was he?

you and luke had been tightly knit ever since he came to camp. you were young when you were brought into camp, 3 years old. your mother had not enough resources to bare a child and in a plead of desperation your father had appeared to take you to camp. luke and you were the same age when he came to camp and the two of you caught on quite quickly, all a bit too well.

luke and you had this sort of push and pull relationship, you liked eachother but you weren’t in the most ideal place to date.

yeah sure, maybe you two would sneak out far past curfew ans swim in the lake together and perchance you two shared a kiss under the warm moonlight, his hands wrapped tightly around you as your own reach to his cheeks but no you two weren’t offical.

you were friends, right?

-

“whats up?” you look up at luke puzzled at his uncertain movements and his darting eyes. you catch his hand in your own before it could drop to his side. luke gulps silently, and he speaks.

“join me, love.” he rasps, a pleading almost hungry eyes on you.

“what?”

“j-“ he stutters his eyes becoming more erratic like he was itching to tell you he needed you.

“join me, the gods have failed us my love, join me and kronos.” luke’s hands grab onto your arms clutching at them tightly.

your hands however harden around the hilt of your blade as your eyes search his. “luke what the fuck are you saying?” you laugh out, not because you find it funny.. more because you’re lost, what did he mean?

“the gods have failed us! they have failed their children! they don’t care for us, they just want us to fight their battles!” he exclaims and you thought he was joking at first. joining kronos? the titan lord that ate his kids and was banished to tartarus? THAT kronos?

the moon becomes higher in the sky and the light from the sun fades as he breathes out shakily.

“luke what do you mean failed us?” you shake your head, the expression on your face fading from confused smile to just pure confusion. “luke the god’s where the only people who came for me, who cared for me.” your eyes drift down towards your sword and luke’s eyes follow yours. he notices the way your smile drops and the way confusion laces your tone.

luke takes a step back, his stare stiffening. “no no no, i don’t think you’re understanding what im saying.” he shakes his head now, his eyes going from your eyes to the sword in your hand. “i’m telling you.”

“join me and kronos, i am telling you to.. not asking.”

you’re head tilts and some sort of ache appears inside of you. the boy that you liked, that you loved is joining the army of the most evil and twisted being in tartarus. the boy that you would willingly give your heart to is joining kronos’ army.

you couldn’t wrap your mind around his words. the gods have failed us.

the gods have failed, us. the word ‘us’ in that sentence felt empty. luke knew that his words were a lie. the god’s have never failed you, your dad never failed you. luke knew by the way your eyes looked at him, he knew you would never agree.

“listen to me, i need you.” luke whines and pouts, its like if a switch flicked on in his brain. you take your own step back, you look him up and down. you didn’t see his backbiter sleathed tightly on his hip before. you take a gulp of your own and your eyes focus on his.

luke’s eyes darkened and a smile curls onto his lips, “you know i love you!” he insisted. the way his expressions changed from almost fearful, to demanding, to hungry and then to downright shrewd sent a chill down your spine.

the moon raises higher and higher, you don’t remember how long ago you walked into these woods with luke and gods you didnt even know if you’d walk back out. the one thing you did know however was that whatever luke was suggesting now, you’d never give into it.

“is this a joke? it has to be.” you let out a puzzled breath that you didn’t even register you were holding. the trees rustle against a gust of warmer wind and you furrow your eyebrows at luke. “join kronos? luke are you serious?” your voice comes out sounding more sour than intended.

“what? are you saying that the gods didn’t fail me? that my father does care?” luke’s voice raises, “you- !” his voice stops abruptly with a scoff, he was trying to hit you hard with a line like your dad doesnt care either! but oh boy would he be wrong. the way his face contorts and his fists clench you can tell he’s thinking harshly about something.

he let’s out a sigh and his irises dart quickly as he tries to think up something.

“darling, please. i need you. we can run away together, we can rule! we don’t need to be confined by the gates and the prophecies here! we can make our own, we can rule olympus, join me. it’s the only way.”

“luke you know that isn’t true,” you try and reason with him and your voice softens. it didn’t have to be like this, he didn’t have to be like this. “luke c’mon. talk to me. you don’t have to do this.” you go to take a step forward to touch him but his eyes meet yours in a sickly bitter glare.

his hand bolts to his sword and he reaches out pushing you to the ground, the point of the backbiter flush against your neck. the blade gleams in the moonlight, his reflection shining in the bronze.

“luke what is this?!” you breathe out shakily, your own sword trapped between the dirt and your hand.

“i’m sorry-“ he grieved down at you. “you weren’t listening to me.” luke runs his free hand through his brown curls.

“you need to come with me.” he presses the sword closer to your asophagus, “you are coming with me.”

the stars shine quietly down at the both of you. his heart broke a little by the way you looked at him. no butterflies present in your stomach. the only thing left were hollow cocoons of the once fluttering fleet of love.

“what happened to you luke?” your eyes squint at him holding back the tears that were threatening to fall down your cheeks and you tremble softly trying to understand what the fuck is going on. “we were so good to you.” your head shakes in disbelief. “luke i love you.”

his lip trembles and his eyebrows quiver at your words, he didn’t want this. he didn’t want to hurt you, luke tried to stop. he tried to supress the voice in his dreams egging him on, telling him that the gods were the evil ones. but the promise of letting you and him live on a beach house just like you mentioned was too good to pass up.

the more he gave in and the more he listened, the promises and the wishes became faded, the need to destroy the gods and to get back at his dad became irresistable. he had forgotten the most important thing, you.

in this moment he tried to convince himself that this was what needed to happen, luke needed to protect you. he needed to bring you with him and he needed you to trust him but the way your eyes scrutinized him tore his flesh from his bones and his heart right out.

before he could withdrawl the blade from your neck group of voices barked out from within the trees.

i saw them go this way!

quick! find them!

“come with me please. we don’t need the gods, my love. we need eachother! dionysus doesn’t love you like i do, i’ll always love you but once you leave camp you’ll become like all the rest of his children; forgotten.” luke blurts out demandingly and worriedly.

“forgotten?” anger grows on your face and luke knows he fucked up. yeah you didn’t inherit your dad’s eyes but gods, did you inherit his temper.

“i love you.” luke chants over and over his voice becoming more pleading but the more he says it the less he looks like he means it.

“me or kronos luke?” you grit out angrily and you observe as his face drops. as his eyes widen and look around nervously. you repeat your question and you’re shoulders tense, anger building up quickly.

the footsteps of campers near the two of you and the lights from their torches grow bigger and the calls of your name become more clear as they near. the concerned voices of your brother’s increasing in volume as luke stares at you in silence.

he looks to the lights of campers and back to you. luke opens his mouth to say something, the grip on the hilt of his sword slipping but he is quick to tighten it again.

luke turns on his heel and pushes off it attempting his escape, your own eyelids widen now and your jaw clenches. you reach out trying to pull him back, stupidly you grab the blade of his sword causing you to cut yourself. you bite back a pained groan and you give him a filthy glare as you clutch back your hand.

“coward!” you yell out, “fucking come back here!” you pull yourself up. before you could chase after him a hand grabs your shoulder.

your father peers down at you worry prominent on his eyes and he pulls you in tightly. “you kids,” he sighs into your hair lovingly and he squeezes you close “what am i going to do.” he whispers anxiously.

-

you’re sat around the table at the big house, your palm was attended to by an apollo kid quickly and your uninjured hand is held tightly by your brother, castor.

“luke is the lightning thief.” chiron grits out, his hine leg stomping.

you’re mind wanders off as you lose your focus on the conversation.

lukes words ran around your mind, ‘join me’, ‘you will be forgotten’, ‘i love you.’

you didn’t believe a word he said.

your lip trembles and your eyes close tightly stopping the tears from cascading down your face.

luke was the boy that would lean down to kiss your hands, the boy to smile at you so sweetly, the boy that would follow you into the dark. the way he looked at you so sourly and the way he gritted out his words.

that wasnt the luke you fell inlove with, that luke is gone. that luke packed up his things and took your heart with him.

and you’d be dammed to let him keep it.

-

@yawneon

[berberriescorner]

Riding Home for Christmas🏍️🎄♥️

Character: Husband!Jax Teller x Black!Reader.

Word Count: 800+.

"A Season of Love Christmas Series 🎄♥️"

The crisp winter air nipped at your cheeks as you stepped out onto the porch, the faint sound of laughter and the warm glow of lights spilling from inside the house. Christmas had arrived in Charming, and you had insisted on a small gathering, hoping to bring a sense of joy and warmth to the club after a tumultuous year.

As you leaned against the railing, sipping a cup of hot cocoa, you thought about Jax. He had left early that morning for a ride with the guys, a tradition that had become a part of your lives. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him—his signature grin, the way he brushed his hair back with his hand, and the way he loved fiercely, even when the world around him was chaotic.

Just then, the rumble of motorcycle engines broke through your thoughts, and you felt your heart leap in anticipation. You turned to see Jax and the rest of the crew pulling up, their bikes roaring to a stop in the driveway. He was at the front, looking effortlessly handsome in his black leather jacket, a wool beanie pulled low over his blonde hair.

“Hey, darlin’!” he called out, a wide smile breaking across his face as he approached.

“Hey, you! Missed you!” you replied, setting your mug down and rushing to meet him.

He scooped you up in his arms, spinning you around in the chilly air. Your laughter filled the space between you, the warmth of his embrace banishing the cold. “Missed you too. You ready for a little Christmas cheer?”

“Absolutely!” you laughed, your heart racing from the excitement of seeing him and the sheer joy of the season.

As the group filed inside, you couldn’t help but notice the twinkle in Jax’s eyes. He pulled you close, whispering, “I’ve got a surprise for you later.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What is it?”

“Just wait and see,” he said, the playful smirk on his lips promising mischief.

The afternoon flew by, filled with laughter, good food, and the warmth of friendship. You reveled in the camaraderie of the club, the chaos of the holidays weaving a beautiful tapestry of love and connection. You wore your favorite red dress, the fabric hugging your curves in all the right places, and you could feel Jax’s appreciative gaze on you throughout the day, making you feel beautiful and desired.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow across the living room, Jax took your hand, leading you outside. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

You followed him, curiosity bubbling inside you. He led you to a small clearing behind the house, where a fire pit had been set up, the flames flickering against the twilight sky. Nearby, a beautifully decorated tree sparkled with lights, the smell of pine wafting through the air.

“Jax, this is amazing!” you exclaimed, taking in the scene.

He grinned, looking proud. “I thought we could have our own little celebration. Just you and me.”

“Looks like you thought of everything,” you said, glancing up at him with admiration.

He stepped closer, his gaze serious yet tender. “I wanted this year to be special for you. You’ve brought so much light into my life, and I wanted to give you a piece of that back.”

Your heart swelled, and you reached out to cup his cheek. “You don’t have to do anything grand to make me feel special, love. Just being here with you is enough.”

He smiled, a genuine warmth lighting up his blue eyes. “I know, but I wanted you to know how much you mean to me.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a passionate kiss that left you breathless. The world around you faded as he deepened the kiss, his hands sliding to your waist, pulling you close. You melted against him, feeling every inch of his body against yours, igniting a warmth that spread through you.

When he finally pulled back, you both were breathless. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered back, a smile spreading across your face.

He stepped back, retrieving a small gift from behind the tree. “Okay, now for the surprise.”

You took the small, wrapped box from his hands, your heart racing with excitement. You carefully peeled away the paper, revealing a delicate silver necklace adorned with a small charm shaped like a motorcycle.

“Jax… it’s beautiful!” you exclaimed, your eyes shining with tears of joy.

“Thought you might like something to remind you of us—our rides, our adventures,” he said, a soft smile playing on his lips.

You hugged him tightly, your heart full. “I love it. Thank you!”

As the fire crackled softly in the background, you and Jax stood together, wrapped in the magic of the moment—two souls intertwined, ready to ride into whatever the future held, hand in hand.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated, my babies! MERRY CHRISTMAS 🎄♥️!!

Tagging some lovelies:

@darqchilddaydreamz @astoldbychae @amorestevens

@sunshine-flower @starrynite7114 @ravennaortiz @1andonlytashae

@prettyyybrownroundd

[clangenrising]

Month 13 - Newleaf

Russetfrond scarfed down his morning meal and went over his responsibilities in his head. Sparrowpaw and the others were due for an assessment in their hunting and survival skills that he needed to design with Goldenstar and Yarrowshade. Patrols were mostly in order except for Mystique. He still didn’t like putting her into his schedule but Goldenstar had been clear that she needed daily exercise. At least she had agreed not to send the kittypet on any kind of Border Patrol, at his request.

It took him a while to balance out the patrols to accommodate her, shuffling duties around here and there, but eventually he had a solid plan. He stood, stretched, and sighed. Deciding to get the most unpleasant task out of the way first, he turned towards the elders’ den where a sleepy Ospreymask was sitting watch. If he hurried and took Mystique out now, they would hopefully get back before the dawn patrol returned. 

He stepped up to the den and flicked his ear in Ospreymask’s direction, saying, “I’ll take over.” 

“Thanks,” she yawned and slinked off towards the warriors’ den. 

Mystique stirred inside the den. Curled up in the back corner, she lifted her head and pursed her lips. She seemed to have been awake for some time although she still seemed tired and hollow eyed. Her thick fur was starting to tangle as her winter shed came out poorly. He wondered absently if she even knew how to properly groom herself or if she let her twolegs do everything for her. 

“Hey,” she said, “What’s up?” 

“We’re going out,” he said. “I want to get your exercise out of the way before it gets too late.”

“Oh, alright,” she stood, ears brushing the top of the den, and slipped up beside him with a soft jingle. He stepped out of the way and let her arch her back and stretch her legs.

“I figured we’d go to the river and you could swim for a bit or something.”

“Wait, really?” she brightened. 

“Yes,” he scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Just as long as you agree to come back when I say we’re done.”

“Yeah, of course,” she nodded. 

“Good.” He set off out of camp, confident that she would follow. The morning was still young. The sun had just started to banish the chill of night from the air and birds were singing to each other from the distant trees. He and Mystique walked in silence for a while, simply basking in the beauty of morning. 

Mystique eventually ruined it by speaking. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

“Oh?” He raised his brows skeptically. Hopefully it wasn’t another rendition of her ‘why does everyone hate me’ act. He’d heard from Branchbark all about her little incident during the Gathering and he wasn’t happy about it. 

“Yeah, um,” Mystique said, looking at the ground, “I’ve been thinking - About my brother and everything - and… I want to try and help you guys.”

“Pardon?” he nearly laughed. 

“I want to help,” she said, a little bolder. “Scorch is right, I’ve been way too passive. I may not fully understand what’s going on yet, but clearly you cats have a lot to lose and I want to help you. I was thinking maybe I could teach some combat drills or something? Y’know, help you hold your own.” 

This time Russetfrond really did laugh. “Yeah, right! We don’t need fighting tips from a kittypet.” The idea was completely absurd! Insulting, even!

Mystique frowned. “I’ll have you know, I’m better than most cats back in the city!”

“That’s not saying much,” he shook his head at the comedy of the situation. 

“I’m almost as good as Razor!” she insisted. “I bet I’m better than you! Hell, I know I am.” His shoulders tightened in offense. 

“Is that so?” he growled, puffing up his fur a bit. 

“Yeah,” she smirked and leaned down a bit to be more evenly on his level. “Try me and see.” 

“Fine,” he said, slowing to a stop. “Show me what you’ve got and I’ll see if your offer is worth anything.” They had stopped in the dip between two hills where pooling snowmelt had caused the grass to grow in thick and towering. It swayed above their heads gently, blocking out the rest of the world and nearly obscuring them from each other in its density. 

Russetfrond took a defensive stance. Mystique wiggled down into a crouch, tail tip twitching with eagerness. Russetfrond could already tell that she wasn’t taking this seriously - her smile was too bright, her gaze too scattered. This would be over quickly.

She moved in, tested his guard with a few swipes, and he danced easily to the side. He swiped at her ears with claws sheathed. Mystique ducked under the blow with surprising grace for her size and slipped into the opening he had given her. Her paws wrapped around his torso and her weight carried him off his feet and into the grass. 

They rolled for a beat, Russetfrond hissing and Mystique purring, and landed with him on his back looking up at her. He kicked out with his hind legs and she took the blow without a flinch, then whacked him sharply on the head causing his vision to swim. She snapped at one of his paws as he tried to swat her, twisted so the other swipe struck the back of her head, and rolled onto her side to avoid another strike of his hind paws. 

He rolled with her, onto his paws, and swatted her face twice, confident that, had this been a real fight, she would have been struggling to see through the blood. Mystiquer let out a mrrp of enjoyment and lunged. Her forepaws hooked around his neck and pulled his face into her chest before he knew what was happening. He struggled in the suffocating volume of her fur, unable to stop her as she rolled and flipped him over her body onto his side. Her hindpaws slammed into him, rabbit kicking over and over into his side. He hissed furiously and tucked his head to slam it up into her chin. She reeled, let him go, and he tumbled away. If this were real, he would be bleeding profusely from his flank, but for now he was simply panting heavily, struggling for breath. 

“That was-” he didn’t get to finish. Somehow she was on her paws again and barreling into him. His surprise let her take him to the ground again and she quickly pressed his face into the dirt with one paw. Tail bristling, he tried to rise but suddenly her teeth were in his scruff, causing his legs to seize instinctively. His cheeks flushed hotly at the predicament. 

“Alright!” he hissed quickly, “You win!” He needed her to let him go. 

“Told you I was better than you.” He could feel the shape of her grin against his fur. He forced his body to move and tried to wiggle out from under her but she shifted to put a hindpaw on his haunches, pressing him flat into the ground. His stomach fluttered, only serving to make him even more embarrassed. 

“You proved your point,” he growled, “let me up.” They were both breathing hard, her fur brushing his back every time she inhaled. 

“Say please,” she ordered smugly between breaths. 

“No,” he growled, his skin buzzing uncomfortably with some kind of energy. He felt dizzy. 

“Aww, come on,” she said, her teeth thankfully letting go of his scruff. He summoned his strength and rolled onto his back, paws ready to swipe at her if she tried anything else, but she just smiled at him and tilted her head, one paw raised as if they were playing a game. He found it hard to swallow. 

“You put up a pretty good fight,” she panted, flopping down next to him. 

“You too,” Russetfrond admitted begrudgingly, letting his arms go slack. The grass swayed above and around them, a world of lush green with a small glimpse of cloudless, blue sky. It muted the birdsong and the sound of the wind, leaving them alone with only their slowing breaths to listen to. 

“I won!” she purred, “I’d say I was more than pretty good.” He didn’t want to say it but he was inclined to agree. Neither of them spoke again until they had mostly regained control of their breathing. Russetfrond still felt dizzy though, dizzy and warm and hungry for something he couldn’t explain. 

“Wanna go again?” she whispered, like it was a secret. He knew he needed to say no. He knew that he was standing on the precipice of something very big and very exciting and very dangerous and that if he didn’t leave now he wouldn’t be able to fight the hold it had on him. 

“Alright,” he breathed, the edge of a smile daring to pull at his lips. He swallowed hard again. Mystique grinned wider than he’d ever seen, looking like she was hungry too. 

“Hell yeah,” she said. “Maybe you can try and pin me this time.” Russetfrond thought he would like that very much. 

“Don’t go easy on me,” he said, getting back to his paws. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she chuckled, swishing her silky tail around herself as she huddled into an eager crouch. 

“Good,” said Russetfrond. He jumped.

[now-and-4ever]

Tamarack observes her neighbors gardening. Set during Step 2.

Springtime had truly arrived in Golden Grove. The leaves of autumn had long since fallen, been buried by winter's snow, and now were working to give the trees the nutrients they needed to bloom and create new leaves. The air no longer bit your nose and jackets could be tied around your waist by the afternoon.

However, the shining sun and singing birds could not drag Tamarack Baumann out of her room that day. Her homework kept her chained to her desk. Maybe four years ago she would have ignored her assignments to play outside, but now she wanted to make sure to keep her grades up. It was important, at least it seemed important. Though all the focus in the world could not keep her from getting bored. She kept glancing out the open window instead of answering questions. Soon it became too much. Tamarack decided to get up and stretch her legs. She figured a brief break would clear out the distractions in her mind. She just finished a lap around her room when the sound of laughter from outside caught her attention.

Tamarack looked out her window and found the source of the noise. Her neighbors, Franky and Opal Second, were spending the afternoon in the garden. Ms. Second was fully equipped with overalls, gloves and a sunhat. Franky wore jeans and a shirt they didn't mind getting dirty. The two of them were kneeling over a patch of dirt on the side of their house. They were each holding trowels and carefully transferring flower starters from store-bought packaging to the natural earth. After planting one of the flowers Tamarack could see that Franky said something that got their mom chuckling again. Those two always proved to make an excellent team.

Tamarack backed off from the window and flopped onto her bed. She thought about how nice it would be to plant flowers with her own mom. Something that she knew wouldn't be happening. Sure she could join Omi in the garden, but it wouldn't be the same. Franky had only ever had their mom and she loved them so much. It didn't feel fair that Tamarack had two parents who made her wonder if they even loved her at all. She squeezed her eyes shut and let a nap banish her thoughts.

[pejite]

Autumn had arrived, bringing with it a softer touch than usual. The heavy rains had finally abated, replaced by the more typical, gentle drizzle that seemed to hover persistently in the air. Edwin and Wilhelmina were seated together in the dining room, bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun as it filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor.

Wilhelmina had slowly but steadily found her way back to the rhythm of daily life. Although the sadness remained, an unwelcome companion that lingered in the quiet moments, it no longer consumed her as it once had. She had taken small, cautious steps back into her routine, each day reclaiming a little more of the woman she had once been.

Edwin had watched her progress with a mixture of relief and lingering worry, aware that grief was not something that could simply be banished but had to be lived with, managed, day by day.

As for Edwin, his days were filled with the demands of the farm and the ever-present concern over their future. The loss of George weighed heavily on him, but the farm required his attention, and that need had allowed him to push the grief aside, at least during the daylight hours. The evenings, however, were harder. When the work was done, and the house quieted down, his thoughts inevitably returned to the son they had lost, and the ache in his heart would return.

This evening, their conversation turned, as it often did these days, to the state of the farm. Edwin’s brow was furrowed in concern as he spoke “The crops...they’re not going to recover, Wilhelmina. The rain was too much for them. We’re looking at a poor harvest, and that’s if we’re lucky. The newspaper said it’s not just here, there’s talk of pests spreading across the country, ruining what little the rain didn’t destroy.”

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I wish we had a greenhouse” he admitted, his voice carrying a note of wistful longing “It would give us a fighting chance, a way to protect the crops from the worst of the weather. But with how expensive it is to build one, it’s just a dream, really” He sighed again, the weight of their situation pressing down on him.

Wilhelmina watched him, a soft smile tugging at her lips, though it was tinged with sadness. She had grown used to the way his shoulders seemed to carry the burden of the world lately. “We’ve still got your wages from the Abernathys” she offered, trying to inject a note of hope into the conversation. It was a small thing, but it was something.

Edwin shook his head, his expression one of resignation. “Money’s no good if there’s no food to buy” he said, his voice laced with frustration. “We’ve been getting by with what we could salvage from the fields, but it’s not enough. And winter’s coming. What will we do then, Wilhelmina? If the other farms are struggling like we are, there’ll be shortages. Prices will go up, and even with the money, there might not be enough to go around.”

Wilhelmina rested her chin on her hand, her eyes distant as she considered his words. “We’ll do what we must, Edwin” she said quietly, trying to reassure him “If it comes to it, we’ll have to make sacrifices. Maybe we’ll need to let go of some of the livestock, or cut back even more on what we use. We’ve faced hard times before, and we got through them. We’ll find a way, somehow.”

Edwin looked at her, searching her face for the strength he knew was there, the strength he had relied on for so many years. “It’s just… I worry, Wilhelmina. About the children, about you. We’ve lost so much already. I don’t know if I can bear to lose anything more.”

For a while, they sat in silence, the weight of the coming winter hanging over them, but also the quiet resolve that they would face it together. The sunlight outside began to fade, giving way to the cool, dusky blue of early evening. Wilhelmina eventually rose to prepare supper, leaving Edwin alone with his thoughts. As he watched her move about the kitchen, the familiar sounds and smells of their home filling the space, he felt a small flicker of hope. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to hold onto, at least for now.

[senditcolton]

hiiiiiii my beautiful friend!!! I’m sure I speak for a lot of us when I say that I would love a check in on we’re a bad idea matty—whatever that means for you and where you vision they are now! (request 1 of ???)

- @comphy-and-cozy

Who Are We to Fight the Alchemy?

a/n: i will gladly write anything for this universe because i love it so much and i will happily write anything for you @comphy-and-cozy. if you couldn't tell from the title, a Taylor Swift mashup inspired the final part of this series so it's only fitting that a Taylor Swift mashup inspired this fic.

Word Count: 3.7k Warnings: brother's teammate, references to alcohol consumption, but mostly just pure romantic fluff!!!

Things change.

It was a statement that brought pain and heartache. But it was also a statement that sometimes brought about such joy and happiness. You were thankful to say that in the past year, the latter was more applicable to your life.

The amount of change that you had experienced felt astronomical whenever you sat down and tried to quantify it. In just a few short months, you went from being miserable in Los Angeles, trying to get over a man that broke your heart and left you reeling to being happy back in New York City and coupled with that same man. A man who had changed even more than you could’ve ever imagined.

Matt Martin used to be a bad idea. Last summer, when the two of you reconnected, he was a surprise. Now, you could safely say that he was one of the best things in your life.

It was jarring at first. There was a part of you that was still distrustful, remembering who he used to be: someone who wanted you to himself but never wanted to claim you. But that summer night, he proved how much he had changed and how much he wanted you. Completely. And he had continued to prove it every day afterwards.

That wasn’t to say the transition was easy. There was a lot of bridges to cross: emotionally, physically, metaphorically. It took a while for you to believe that Matt meant what he said and what he did; that it wasn’t all just an overcorrection brought on by guilt or that it wasn’t just another elaborate ploy to get his hooks back into you. But the one thing that convinced you was how patient Matt was. He understood your reservations, took responsibility for how he treated you, and gave you as much space as you needed to process – even if that space was thousands of miles.

You went back to Los Angeles. Mostly for realistic reasons, like your job and your lease. But you would be lying if you didn’t think of it as a test for Matt; to see if he would wait for you, to see if he still wanted you.

And he did, in every single way.

That was enough for you to take the final leap, move back to New York, and fully commit to being his, the way he was ready to commit to being yours.

That was six months ago. Now, you were Matt Martin’s girl.

It was a massive mind-blowing change, one that you never expected. You had wished for it when you were younger, the massive crush you had on your brother’s teammate making you a fool. You desired it that winter you went to a bar with your brother and ended up leaving with Matt. You craved it every moment, during the stretch of hookups and illicit meetings after charity galas and nights out and engagement parties. You resigned that fantasy when you left for Los Angeles. You tried to banish the dream from your mind while you were underneath California’s sun.

But when you saw him again at Scotty and Emily’s wedding, the fantasy of being his resurfaced. Only this time, it wasn’t just something that you wanted. Matt wanted it just as much, if not more. And now, it was no longer a dream. It was your reality.

You were his. He was yours. Something that everyone in your life knew.

You had told your brother Scotty and sister-in-law Emily shortly after the two of you became ‘official’ and were happily surprised when they seemed okay with it. You were sure that their reaction would’ve been much different if they knew the entire timeline of your relationship with Matt Martin (something you were unsure if you would ever tell them). Your friends from college knew, although they were more skeptical, having known part of the tryst you and Matt had shared. Eventually, the news spread to the whole of the New York Islanders, as well as their wives and girlfriends, who welcomed you into a whole new world, one that you never experienced when you were just Scotty’s sister.

But the person that knew before anyone else did was Mat Barzal; the person who knew the entire history of you and Matt Martin and the only person who had one foot in each of your worlds. He was the most supportive of the change, a fact that was slightly surprising but not at all that shocking when you thought about it. You even sometimes thanked him, for giving you both the necessary push that allowed you to reconnect.

While everyone in you and Matt’s personal circles knew, you hadn’t – quote unquote – gone public with your relationship. The gossip blogs had deduced that Matt Martin may have been taken off the market but there was nothing confirmed by you or Matt or anyone else. Whenever you went to Islanders games or appeared in pictures with the other WAGs, you were still known as Scotty’s sister. There was never an implication that you were something more.

And when the New York Islanders had clinched their spot in the playoffs and the discussion of the ever-important WAG jacket began, you told Matt and the girls that you weren’t going to wear his last name on your back; a boundary that Matt respected and the girls playfully ignored. Something that you realized when you were invited to the ‘jacket reveal’ party (out of principle, of course) and had a large package placed on your lap.

In the moment, you were a little annoyed at them for ignoring your wishes, even though you knew that they did it with the best intentions. But now, in the friends and family box at UBS Arena, the jacket wrapped around your frame and your hands clasped in Lyla and Emily’s, you were happy that they did.

It was game seven of the Stanley Cup Finals after all. And the New York Islanders were less than five minutes and one goal away from reaching the peak of the mountain.

Your gaze is glued to the ice, your knuckles turning almost as white as the surface that the Islanders and the Jets were zipping across. You felt as if your breathing stopped every time Winnipeg entered the zone, also vying for that single goal that would bring the Cup to Canada instead. You flinch as Mark Scheifele took a shot at the net, your muscles only slightly relaxing when Ilya made the save. The Jets manage to secure the puck and throw it to back to the point where Josh Morrisey waits. Morrisey attempts to pass to his teammate Vilardi, but a miscommunication causes the puck to bounce off his skate instead.

The black disc sits in the expanse ice until someone scoops it up. And you can’t stop the screams of his name that escape your mouth as Matt Martin skates down the ice, his focus on the net in front of him, a Vezina trophy winning goalie between him and the deciding goal.

The puck flies off his stick and you swear you can feel the entirety of UBS Arena holding its breath. Until the rising shot sails by Connor Hellebuyck’s blocker and hits the netting. Then the arena seems to explode.

The goal horn coupled with the cheers from seventeen thousand people is deafening. However, it all seems like background noise to the way you’re screaming, your pure excitement not even muffled by the pile of bodies that rush over to hug you. You swear you can feel tears in your eyes as the girls pull away, your gaze connecting with the giant screen hanging over the ice as you watch Matt skate by the benches, receiving aggressively excited fist bumps and helmet pats from his teammates.

The reality that there was still two minutes left in the game washes over everyone quickly, the seasoned fans realizing that while things change quickly in life, they can change even quicker in hockey. But as the clock counts down, the nervous energy slowly transforming into that of pure excitement, your eyes scan the arena to find the number 17.

You see him on the bench, his body almost draped over the side as the Islanders hold the puck against the boards, the seconds dwindling down.

Three. Two. One.

The sound of the final buzzer almost makes your knees drop out from under you, your body wanting to collapse in pure relief. You don’t have the opportunity to because before you can blink, Lyla is gripping your shoulders, shaking you with pure joy.

“They fucking did it!!!” she screams in your face and you can do nothing except pull her into a bear-hug as the excitement from the girls, the fans, the players, the coaches, everyone fills the arena. Your eyes flick up to the Jumbotron to see the mass of blue jerseys surrounding the net as the team embraces.

You watch content as the traditionally handshake line happens, your eyes forever glued to Matt as he skates around, occasionally being pummeled with hugs and cheers befitting the game-winning goal scorer. The Conn Smythe trophy is brought out and you hug Lyla tight, cheering almost as loudly as she did when Mathew is announced as the winner.

When the Stanley Cup is brought out, you think it’s a miracle that you can even hear the commissioner over the sound of cheering – a noise that only becomes louder when Anders lifts the trophy over his head.

The girls slowly start filtering out, bustling to get down to the ice but you wait until Matt gets the Cup handed off to him, not wanting to miss the moment he holds the greatest trophy in all of sports for the first time. If you thought there were tears in your eyes when he scored or when the final buzzer went off, there was no denying their presence now as you watch Matt skate around the ice with the silver chalice held proudly over his head.

You feel Emily gently tug at your hand, pulling your attention away from the celebration and pulling you into the hallway and down into the bowels of UBS Arena. The ice is almost blinding as you walk out onto it, your arm linked in Lyla’s. She quickly abandons you when she spies Barzy, running towards him and enveloping him in a massive loving embrace, leaving you to catch up.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Conn Smythe winner,” you tease as you walk up to him, his arm securely wrapped around Lyla’s waist. His grin is wide as he pulls you into a hug. “Congrats Barzy. You deserve it.”

“Thank you,” he mutters to you, letting you go as you step back. You watch his eyes glance over your frame, registering the material wrapped around your torso. “Nice jacket.”

You laugh, the joy in your eyes reflected in his – your insanely supportive best friend.

“Have you seen him yet?” Mat asks, his question causing your eyes to dart around the arena.

“Not yet, but I’m sure he’s getting interviewed or something. I’ll just congratulate Scotty while I wait.”

“Does he know? About this?” he says, gesturing to your body. You reply with a playful shake of your head and Barzy whistles. “This will surely be a night he’ll remember forever.”

You giggle, Mat’s statement not even close to an exaggeration, even without the innuendo that one could easily attach. You give him a quick wave as you wander away, taking a moment to spy Emily standing next to Scotty and your parents. You run up to him, head butting him in the chest in greeting – a ritual that started when you were younger that the two of you continued to this day. Scotty embraces you, smiling as he takes in the moment.

You are laughing with your family when you feel the weight of someone’s gaze attaching to your frame. It is a slow turn of your head until your eyes connect with the ocean blue irises of Matt. You can see his chest rising in heavy breaths, the adrenaline of the moment still buzzing through his body. But the thing that nearly stops your heart is his expression; a mixture of shock and wonder so clearly painted on his face.

You smile, your attention falling completely from your family as you drift away, walking slowly towards him. He coasts up to you and you’re still unsure if his disbelief is related to winning the Cup or to the sight of his last name on your back until he stops in front of you.

“What – ” he begins to say, his hands reaching out to trace down your arms, fingers gliding over the material. His almost hesitance makes you giggle, a smile pulling at his lips in response.

“Surprised?” you laugh, before twirling slowly, the weight of Matt’s gaze raking across your frame undeniable. “It looks good on me, don’t you think?”

The confirmation Matt gives isn’t verbal at first. Instead, he simply lifts you into his arms, your legs instinctively hook around his hips. One of his hands flies into your hair and tugs you forward until your lips press together. The energy and excitement that had been sparking around the arena seems to funnel directly into the kiss. The way your body was buzzing had nothing to do with the glasses of white wine that you had consumed in the past hour and everything to do with the feeling of Matt’s lips against yours.

He finally breaks the kiss and sets you down on the ice, keeping you wrapped in his arms as he stares at you with just as much reverence as he looked at the Stanley Cup.

“You look fucking fantastic,” he mutters and you can’t stop the laugh at the bluntness of his statement.

“I thought I should dress up for you,” you muse, your hand lifting to brush away a few of the sweat-soaked stands of hair from his forehead.

“Glad you did. I think you were my lucky charm.”

“If that’s so, then why didn’t you sweep every series?” you tease, the joke falling from your lips.

“Because the universe needed to know that you were mine.”

The seriousness of his words has you pausing, your eyes looking into his, seeing the sincerity and relief reflecting in his pupils. You realized the gravity of the situation. What you were wearing… it wasn’t just a jacket with his last name sewn between your shoulder blades. It was a confirmation to him, to the team, to the fans, to the world that you were his, even after everything that lead the two of you to this moment.

It was a symbol of your commitment, your trust, your love. It was a public declaration that you were his. Completely.

You could never resist the pull of him, even before this moment, and you certainly can’t stop it now as you lean in and press your lips against his again in a kiss that was just as – if not more – passionate as the last.

“I think I’ve been yours long before I put this jacket on,” you whisper to him, your quiet confession clearly heard as Matt pulls you impossibly tighter against his body.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he replies, a remark that he has made a dozen times before and one that you never tired of hearing. You step back, the playful smirk appearing on your lips.

“Even now? After you scored the goal that made you a Stanley Cup champion?”

“There’s absolutely no comparison,” he asserts, lifting your chin to kiss you again.

Things change, that much was true. They morph and transform, get created and destroyed. What you and Matt shared had shifted more than you could possibly imagine. But it had changed for the better. The connection you two shared was the purest form of alchemy; taking something sordid and turning it into pure gold.  

tagging the "we're a bad idea" babes: @texanstarslove @smileysvech @laurenairay @dissonannce @cowboybarzy @cellythefloshie @provokedgoalie @m00nlightdelights @tkachvkmatthew @cixrosie @alwaysclassyeagle @geospatialharmony

[snowbellecity]

Caught between a meow and a woof place 💔

(Augusta is okay she's just not used to this kind of attention 💔)

[the-hermit-at-midnight]

Embracing the Magick of Yule: A Guide to Winter Solstice Rituals

As the winter solstice approaches, practitioners of magick find themselves drawn to the mystical energies surrounding Yule. This sacred time, marking the longest night and the return of the sun, offers a powerful backdrop for connecting with the unseen forces that shape our existence. Here's a guide to practicing magick during Yule to enhance your spiritual journey.

Honoring the Winter Solstice:

Yule, occurring around December 21st, marks the winter solstice—a time of deep reflection and rebirth. Begin your magickal practice by acknowledging the significance of this celestial event. Consider creating an altar adorned with symbols of the season, such as evergreen branches, candles, and images of the sun.

Casting a Yule Circle:

Embrace the power of sacred space by casting a Yule circle. Use candles in colors associated with the season—deep green, red, and gold—to define your magickal area. As you cast your circle, visualize the energy of the winter solstice flowing through you, connecting you with the universe.

Rituals for Renewal:

Yule is a time for personal renewal and transformation. Craft rituals that align with the themes of rebirth and the returning light. Meditate on areas of your life where you seek growth and positive change, channeling the solstice energy to fuel your intentions.

Invocation of Deities:

Connect with deities associated with the winter solstice, such as the Sun God or the Winter Queen. Invoke their presence through prayer or meditation, seeking guidance and blessings for the coming year. Offerings of herbs, spices, or seasonal foods can enhance your connection.

Candle Magick for Light:

Light candles to symbolize the returning light of the sun. Focus on the flame's energy, using it to banish darkness from your life and bring clarity to your path. Perform candle magick spells aligned with your Yule intentions, infusing the wax with your desires.

Divination for Guidance:

Yule is an opportune time for divination to gain insights into the future. Use tarot cards, runes, or scrying methods to seek guidance from the spiritual realm. Pose questions about the coming year and trust the wisdom revealed through your chosen divination tool.

Feasting and Communion:

Celebrate Yule with a festive feast, honoring the Earth's abundance and the return of light. Incorporate seasonal foods and beverages, sharing the meal with loved ones or, if practicing solo, offering gratitude for the sustenance provided.

Closing the Circle

Conclude your Yule magick by thanking the energies and deities invoked. Close the circle with intention, expressing gratitude for the blessings received and carrying the solstice's transformative energy forward into the new year.

By embracing the magick of Yule, practitioners can deepen their spiritual connection, foster personal growth, and align themselves with the natural cycles of the universe. As the wheel of the year turns, let the energy of the winter solstice guide you on a journey of renewal and enlightenment.

[verysium]

would a beautiful young lady like you be so generous and besprinkle me with some sae itoshi thoughts

beautiful young lady? 🤭 anon you are so sweet. and for that, i present to you a writing idea that has lingered in the back of my mind for a while now. introducing......✨rōnin sae✨

he was originally the first-born son of a wealthy samurai clan but was ostracized due to his left-handed fighting style and refusal to conform to bushido. the night of his thirteenth birthday, he wrongfully murdered a man, and for that he was exiled by his family and later banished from the estate. forced to leave everything behind, he traveled on foot to kyoto to enter into the service of the daimyō at yodo domain, but no master or dojo would accept him.

after three years, he became a wanderer, a ghost identified by nothing except the incorporeal lingering of fear he left behind. no one has ever seen his face, nor do they know his name. a pair sharp teal eyes is the last thing the unfortunate souls see before they meet their end at the tip of his blade. he slices so clean it leaves no blood, only a soft body caught between the furrows of earth, lodged into eternal sleep beneath the snow.

working part-time as a serving girl between a soba shop and a brothel, you encounter him on one of the longest days of winter, the sole customer who dares to enter between the hours of midnight and dawn. as you set down his bowl, your eyes catch onto the silk tie fastened to the hilt of his katana, a rich hue of burgundy red. he must be a member of the upper nobility, you think. you've only ever seen the color on the obi of the wealthy patrons and the entrancing eyes of the madam's geisha. you politely ask him where he bought such beautifully dyed fabric, setting down his chopsticks with a sweet smile. he stares up at you from beneath his jingasa hat, so low on his face that you cannot see his eyes. a beat of silence passes, then two.

it is blood.

his tone is quiet, deep enough to send shivers down your spine. he waits to see the horrified look on your face, the crumpling of your delicate features so that he knows when to leave, where he is not welcome. but it never comes. instead you beam, blabbering on about how you figured he was a ronin with the number of bodies he left behind, and the number of days he says he's been here. he remains silent, though you see a flicker of something beneath the brim of his hat, the color so bright you do not know if it is blue or green.

you realize who he is. and you don't care.

that is enough to get sae interested in you, at least interested enough not to kill you. most people never hear the rumors let alone fathom his existence, yet you let him stay here with you, as if you expected his presence all along. at first, he coughs and refuses, standing up swiftly to find the exit. but when he lifts the noren and is hit with a face full of harsh snow, he begins to reconsider your offer, to wait until the storm passes.

you boil tea on the kettle as you lay out a spare futon on the tatami, lighting a candle in the darkness. in the corner, he sees a small misshapen bundle beneath the blankets, and he immediately pulls his hand back when two glossy eyes peer back up at him. the bundle he realizes is your mother, and the blankets he learns is a deathbed. you have no other kin left, no money to feed yourself, nowhere to hide the rotting body. only in time will he fully understand the ghosts of your past. you are the daughter of a prostitute; he is a son in exile. it shouldn't even be considered a match, but it strangely feels like one.

the storm passes, but sae doesn't leave. instead, you and he settle into the mundane expanse of cold routine, him searching for hire by day and you working by night. except one night, you do not return home by the tenth hour bell. it isn't until the sun carves a sliver into the morning sky that he sees your silhouette in the doorway, kimono slightly rumpled. you pull the ornaments out of your hair, makeup smeared as you run frantically into your room, slumping before your wash basin.

it doesn't take much from him to pry out an entire story from your lips. apparently your friend himeko has disappeared, the last you've seen of her was her entanglement with a young nobleman who promised to buy her out of the brothel. you sigh, lamenting that you are not attractive enough to be wed, much less make your way up the ranks of the maiko. sae wants to say you are foolish for believing a man's lies, but he holds his tongue when he sees your expression, the delicate features of your face crumbling, the same way he expected them to the night you met. it is the first time he sees you cry, and he cannot even hold you. he does not know why this hurts so much.

it's too late by the time he realizes.

you've buried yourself into him. stomped your muddy footprints all over his heart. left evidence in the snow. successfully haunted him in every single iteration. now he tells you that he would wed you in a single heartbeat. any sign of discomfort and he would not hesitate to kill. his only regret is that he wished he could give you more than this life of an untethered ghost, more substance than this lack of being. but your lips quell the storm that resides in his heart, his rotting fingers trembling as they find a home on the side of your cheeks. if he were to die, he would be content to be buried inside you, his stone cold body resting within the peace of your existence.

it is the hour between midnight and dawn when sae realizes the snow outside has stopped and that his life has only just begun.

[pagan-sloth-witch]

Saw you were struggling with winter solstice stuff. As someone who was in the broom closet for nearly a decade.

Winter Soltice/Yuletide Associations quick guide and tips.

Winter Soltice is at the lowest energy point of the seasonal cycle. It's a great time to plant intentions to watch the grow.Aka Focus on things you want to attract in the upcoming year not things you want to get rid of.

Just incase you want to do banishings and cleansing though two great things fo that are:

1. Snow water

2. Jingle Bells for sound cleansing

Gods you might want to give gifts to:

Odin (nordic, leads wild hunt during yule)

Holly King (celtic, reaches peek power during winter soltice, associated with darkness death and winter)

Quick Ideas:

Sigils

Candles (if you're allowed to use those)

Make a craft using tradtional yule colors. (Green and red)

Other General Assocations

Holly: Protection (can place around your space or create holly water by placing holly in water and letting sit in sun)

Pine: Perservance, Abundance, Good Heatlh

Mistletoe: Love (used traditionally for couples but can be uses in self love spells)

Cinnamon: Prosperity & Power (used as a spell booster. Has secondary associations with love)

Ginger Bread/Molasses: Love

Chocolate: Love, Joy, & Mirth

Oranges: Joy & Mirth (I personally use this alot in spells for seasonal depression)

Thank you so much for this

I know I’m late getting to it, irl stuff and adhd are a deadly combo sometimes

But thank you so much, I’ll be sure to try and incorporate at least a few of these into my celebrations, potentially masked as Christmas ideas

Thank you again. Hopefully this can help a few others this season

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Three - Red and Gold Throw Pillows

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist

Is this a prison sentence? No, if it was a prison sentence, you would be in a cell, bound and chained. 

If it was a prison sentence, you wouldn’t have had the ropes removed from your wrists to shake hands with Bang Chan, Jarl of Miroh. 

If it was a prison sentence, you wouldn’t be being led throughout the keep by the Jarl’s squire to your room. 

And if it was a prison sentence, you most certainly would not be thinking about if you were allowed access to the collection of books that decorate every shelf in the building.

“Miroh is pleasant this time of year,” Jeongin’s voice brings you out of your head. “The Harvest Festival is in a few weeks.”

Erbus had only two festivals: one for the Summer Solstice and one for the Winter Solstice. Even then, the celebrations were scarce. 

Based on what your mother used to tell you, the celebrations used to be poem worthy. People would dance in the streets, food covered every inch of the tables, songs would be sung for the entire night and into the next morning.

Not anymore. Now they were merely a formality. Some shopkeepers would set up their wares outside the store. A few taverns would serve a special dish, perhaps charge half price for ale. 

Once Elves were banished, everything took a turn for the worst in Erbus. 

“I have never heard of The Harvest Festival.” You answered Jeongin. You might as well attempt to be civil with him; you still feel bad for that nasty kick to the stomach. 

Also, if this is your new life, may as well make friends. 

Jeongin looked over at you surprised, “Really? I thought all kingdoms on the continent celebrated The Harvest Festival.”

“Nay, not in Erbus.”

Jeongin nodded, “Do you enjoy celebrations?”

You thought for a moment, keeping your eyes in front of you to watch where you were walking. “I do, I enjoy them very much.”

“Then you will love The Harvest Festival.”

A small smile creeps over your face. “I trust your word then.”

After climbing a set of steps, Jeongin takes you down a hallway with doors lining the walls.

“This is where higher level positions of the court sleep. Lord Minho, Felix, and Sir Changbin’s rooms are here as well.” 

Looking at each door, they all looked the same. Except for one door that had a floral wreath on the front of it. Orange and purple flowers blooming on the ring. 

“Is that Felix’s room?”

“Aye, perceptive, my Lady.”

“Oh,” you scoff, “I am no Lady. Please refer to me casually.”

Jeongin smiles and nods. When you look at him, you see the little dimples in his cheeks and it makes your heart melt. He looks so boyish when he smiles. 

“Here we are then.” He says, opening one of the doors. The door directly next to Felix’s. 

“I am to sleep up here?” You asked incredulously. 

Jeongin blinked at you, “You are the Jarl’s mercenary, of course.” 

He said it like it was the most obvious statement ever. 

Truly, you were expecting to be put into a shared room littered with cots and one chest to put your belongings. Maybe if you were lucky there would be a divider between beds for some privacy. 

“I…” your voice got caught in your throat, “I have my own room?”

Jeongin just stares at you as if you have three heads. His hand is still on the doorknob, keeping the door open. 

“Yes, Y/N.” He smiles, it reaches his eyes, “You have your own room.”

Finally, you look away from him and into the room. The sun is setting, bathing the space in a brilliant orange and pink light. From your position in the hallway, you’re only able to see the foot of the bed and straight to the grand window on the opposite wall from the door. 

It overlooked the heart of Miroh’s capital. In front of the window there was a cushioned bench tucked against it, creating a perfect nook to sit in. Various throw blankets draped over the red pillows. 

Jeongin watched your face with a hint of his own amusement before stepping into the room and motioning for you to follow him. 

Slowly, you let your feet bring you inside. It’s already warm, but not in an uncomfortable way. In a ‘blanket wrapped around your shoulders’ way. 

That warmth was coming from the small fireplace inside the wall opposite the bed. 

The large bed sat against the left wall, jutting out into the room. A large, fabric canopy covered the mattress. You had seen drawings of beds like this in books before. Usually princesses slept upon them.

The softest of linens covered the mattress with at least eight pillows on top of it. At the foot of the bed was a large wooden chest, a circular rug underneath it. 

On the other side of the bed, to the left of the window, was a vanity. A plush stool tucked underneath it. 

Reds and golds decorated every cloth in the room in a regal manor. 

Your feet carried you towards the bed, fingers reaching down and running over the blankets. It’s so soft you could cry. 

On either side of the fireplace were two large bookcases. The shelves were scarce, which, to you, meant endless possibilities. A wardrobe against the wall next to the door. 

The flames in the hearth lick up the walls and crackle in a comforting manor. 

Is this truly Miroh? This is the same Miroh that you were warned about? 

Back when you were a child, when you would play pretend with the other kids, the evil monsters were always from Miroh.

“I never had my own bedroom before.” You whisper quietly, keeping your hand on the blankets. “Even as a youngling, the house my family lived in had one room. There was one table, one cooking spit, and one bed.”

Jeongin stands by the door, his lips press together in a thin line as if he doesn’t know what to say. He only watches you move around with a sympathetic look to him. 

“Up until today, I slept on a bedroll every night, the night sky was my ceiling. Most summers I would save my coin so that I may pay for a room in the inn on those blustering winter nights where I just couldn’t take the cold.”

Sitting down on the side of the bed, you let yourself feel the softness underneath your body. 

Every night, you’ll get to sleep on this bed every single night. 

Your fingers glide over the fabric, it feels so luxurious and divine. The pillows look so soft. 

“Well,” Jeongin grabs your attention, “I will leave you to decompress. I believe you’ve had a long day.”

The joke pushes a laugh from your chest. 

“If you are looking to train at all, you could always join us on the training grounds tomorrow. The guards and soldiers all train together at first light.”

“You train with the guards?”

“Aye, even a Jarl’s squire needs to practice his sword arm.”

You smile at him, “I’ll consider it.” There’s a pause. “I apologize for the kick, Jeongin.” You apologize bashfully.

The squire simply laughs, it sounds so genuine. “No need, really. If anything, I should be appealing to you to teach me some of your abilities.”

“If I decide to show my face on the training grounds, I’ll practice with you as my apology.”

Jeongin smiles back at you and nods. “I’m holding you to that.” He laughs, “I will leave you to it then. If you ever need to find me, my quarters are down by the armory.”

You watch him turn to leave before a thought comes to your head. “Oh, Jeongin!” You catch his attention, he whips around to look at you. “Do– ah– are we able to get food somewhere?”

He chuckles, “The kitchens are always open. Help yourself.”

You nod a thank you and he leaves, the door clicking shut behind him. 

There’s a few moments where you sit there, listening to Jeongin’s footsteps fade away. 

Is this real? Are you going to wake up any second now and you’re going to be chained to a torture table to be drawn and quartered? 

Quickly, you reach over and pinch your arm. 

No, this is real. The small sting of pain fades almost immediately. 

Your room. This is your room. 

Your body falls backwards onto the bed and your hands cover your face. A bright smile stretching over your lips no matter how much you try to stop yourself. Bubbling laughter comes from your chest and you cover your mouth to stop it.

How is this even possible?

The plushness of the mattress keeps you there for an undetermined amount of time. It’s like the furniture came with invisible arms, keeping you wrapped up in its tight embrace. It’s the comfiest thing you’ve ever laid on.

The sunlight in your room begins to shift and darken as the day passes. You simply lay there with your eyes closed. Not quite sleeping, but also not quite awake. 

Three quick knocks at your door brings you out of your dream-like state.

Slowly, you stand up and make your way towards the door. Who could that be?

When you pull open the door, you peak outside warily and you’re met with with a ray of sunshine. 

Felix’s smile immediately brings the sun back into your room and you open the door a bit wider to greet him. 

“Y/N,” he smiles even brighter, “I believe I promised you the safe return of your belongings.”

When you look down, you notice a bundle of armor with a sword on top. A small sigh of relief comes out as you grab everything from him. 

“Thank you very much, Felix.”

“It is no trouble at all. I am relived to see you in front of me, I have to say.”

“Oh?” You ask, turning around. You walk back into your room, leaving the door open for Felix to come in. The cleric follows after you, but sticks close to the door. 

“Aye, some part of me worried that you would not take kindly to the Jarl’s offer.” He admits. 

“It is not like I had a choice,” you mumble, setting your armor down on top of the chest. “It was either take the deal or be tried and hung.”

Felix makes a noise that he agrees with you, a small laugh coming after it. 

A comfortable silence settles over the two of you as you take your sword in your hands, pulling it from its sheath slightly to inspect it. 

Sliding the sword back in, you lean it against your bed. 

“Y/N.” Felix’s voice catches your attention. 

Without turning to look at him, you answer, “Yes, Felix?”

“Are you certain you took a tonic?”

Your heart thuds against your chest, a chill ripping through your arms. But you don’t show any sort of reaction, you take it in stride. 

“Quite. I had picked it up from an alchemist a few weeks ago. It proved quite useful, no?”

“It is just…” When Felix trails off, that’s when you choose to look at him. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes watching the fire dance. “In my years of study, I have never seen a regenerative tonic have effects longer than an hour. If you were to have taken it before-“ he cuts himself off, sighing and finally looking back at you. 

Those blue eyes. It looks like they see right through you. It’s a miracle you don’t begin squirming. 

“Do you remember which alchemist you purchased it from? Perhaps I can study it?”

Quickly, you shook your head. “I’m afraid I do not. They were a traveling merchant I met on the roads of Erbus.”

The lies fell through your teeth too easily. This was more than lying, though, it was self preservation. 

Felix stares at you for a long moment, an emotion flickers behind his eyes briefly, his eyebrows twitched and his lip quivered. 

“I see. I fear it may be hard to obtain this tonic again, then. You see, I never travel to Erbus, I go out of my way not to.”

Your eyebrows pull together and your body turns towards his. “Felix?”

“Have a great night, Y/N.” 

Without another word, Felix turns on a heel and quickly walks out of your room, closing the door behind him. 

“That was… odd…” you whisper to yourself, staring at the door.  ----------------------------------------------

You waited until the moon was in the sky for at least 4 hours before venturing out of your room to find the kitchens. If you waited any longer, your stomach may have eaten itself. 

The only problem was that you had absolutely no idea where you were going. Every single hallway in this keep looked identical. 

Sconces with lit candles sat between windows that allowed moonlight to stream in. Deep red curtains hung on either side of each window.

Occasionally you would see a small table with two chairs on either side, a candle or a bundle of flowers would be on top. 

And of course, shelves upon shelves of books. 

Most of the titles you had never even heard of. Some were in different languages and others appeared to be sold old as if they were stolen from tombs of the ancient. 

You were stopped in front of one of the many windows, looking outside to what looked like the gardens. 

Even at night, some of them seemed to glow. Perhaps Felix had some part of that, they looked like the flowers that hung in the healing ward. 

A large stone fountain sat in the middle of a light cobblestone path, lined with beautiful rose bushes. The flowers were no longer in bloom, but you were able to identify them, even from this distance.

When you turned on your heel to leave, you accidentally smacked right into a body. A startled yelp leaving your lips. 

“By The Six, I apologize. I usually have my bearings.” You say quickly, looking at who you ran into. His hands hot shot out to grab your arms to keep you steady. 

He was tall, dressed in the same black leather armor that Minho was wearing earlier. Straighter brown hair hung over his forehead and stopped right above a sharp set of eyes. His lips were pulled in a straight line. 

“You must be the mercenary then.” His voice is low, and if you’re being honest, much softer than you were expecting. 

With the way his eyes track even the smallest movement you make, you expected his voice to be harsh.

“I am. I hope what you’ve heard is not too cruel.”

He takes his hands away, but you can still feel the warmth of where he grabbed them.

“What I heard is that an outsider came into Miroh, slaughtered four men in an extraordinary fashion, and was then offered a job.”

“I—“ you open your mouth to defend yourself but he cuts you off again. 

“I must say, I could not wait to see you for myself. It is not every day we have such excitement within the keep, nonetheless receive a new court member.” A smirk crosses his face and your mouth snaps shut. “My position is similar to yours, except when the Jarl sends me on jobs, no one knows about it.”

“A rogue, then?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. Your arms come up and cross over your chest. 

“Aye, you may call it that.”

“You and I are two sides of the same coin then.” A smirk on your face mirrors his for a moment. His sneaky, playful nature seems to have rubbed off on you rather quickly. 

“It seems that way.” 

The two of you study each other for a moment.

“You have a name?” You ask.

“Seungmin.”

“Can you do me a favor, Seungmin?” His response to you is a lift of the brow. “Can you please show me where the kitchens are in this maze of a castle.”

A soft chuckle comes from his chest and the corners of his lips twitch. “Aye, I can do that.”

Without another word, Seungmin turns on his heel and walks in another direction. “Let’s go, Y/N.” ----------------------------------------------

“Erbus? I do not see why you were so adamant on returning there.” Seungmin scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He was leaning against one of the countertops in the kitchens. 

The staff went to sleep hours ago, leaving the ingredients to you. Instead of actually making something, you chose to sample some of the bread and cheese that was available.

“Perhaps it is not the best, but it is where I was born and raised.” you answered, taking a bite out of the loaf of bread in your hand. 

Seungmin was holding the other half in his. He took a bite. “I have heard naught but cruelty and stories of woe from Erbus.”

“I have only heard the same of Miroh. My father used to tell me that the former Jarl was going to come get me during the night if I did not finish my chores.”

The rogue laughs under his breath. “We had similar stories about Erbus. As a youngling I was told that one of the villages was constantly bathed in flame.”

You bite your bread, “We do,” you tease, “it is awfully hot there this time of year.” The quick joke falls from your lips and is well received by the rogue, who lets out another easy chuckle.

“Are you always awake this late Seungmin?”

“Nay, I was departing for an assignment when I ran into you.”

Your jaw falls open, a bit shocked at his statement. “I apologize, I did not mean to distract you.”

He held up his hand to stop your rambling. 

“It is quite alright, a quick detour to the kitchens will not cause my quest to fail.”

You let out a small breath before taking another bite of your bread. “Are you able to tell me what your mission is?”

Seungmin only smiles, “Of course not, silly mercenary. I would not even want to tell you and bore you with all the details.”

He pushes his weight off the counter and walks towards the door, passing you on the way out. Seungmin’s shoulder brushes lightly against yours as he passes you. “I trust you can find your way back to your chambers?”

“Probably not, but I will find it eventually.”

“Have a great night, Y/N. Speak soon.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you to your own thoughts once more. Every time you enter a new part of the keep, you’re met with a new face. 

With the bread now in your stomach, you turn and fill a mug with some fresh water and take a long sip.

It’s your first night in Miroh. The first night of many to come it seems. When do you suppose that the Jarl will give you your first mission? What sort of quests is he going to send you out on anyway?

He’s the Jarl of the entire hold, what would he need you for that he cannot send out guards?

It wasn’t until you finished the mug of water that you realized how thirsty you were. When was the last time you had a sip of water? Most likely this morning when you and Guatier came to the hold.

That was another thing, what ever happened to him?

You assume he was killed based upon what they tried to do with you. But killing him seems too nice for what he did to them.

Perhaps he was down in their dungeons.

That was a question for another day.

Tomorrow, you’ll take Jeongin up on that offer to train with him and the rest of the guards. 

But, for right now there was an enormous, cozy, warm mattress in your own personal bedroom waiting for you to rest your head in. 

That was if you ever found your room again.