#Winter Droving

[stripeycatt]

Just hanging out in my horns. #winterdroving #penrith

[heatherwitch]

[royaltea000]

No one:

Ethan in the Baker house:

[happyk44]

"I'm not leaving you behind! It is my duty," he hissed. "I swore myself-"

"Your swore yourself because you had no choice, Percy." Her eyes were endless dark, devoid of feeling, of life. "You had a price to pay for your mother's life and this was your only offer." Her thin fingers cup his face through the bars. "You didn't choose to be my protector." She gave a weak laugh that made his stomach plummet to the floor. "You're not even my guard yet, not really."

Like a phantom, her touch slid down his cheek. He caught her wrist before her fingertip stopped gracing his skin. He could feel the rounded edge of her fingernail poke against him. Silence held fraught between them.

"Bianca-"

"Percy," she cut in, voice so sharp it cut him to the core. "I want you to survive. You're free. Take advantage of that, and go. Now."

"I can't go back without you," he said, quickly. She didn't fight his hold, but still his grip tightened. As though the harder he held her, the more she would stop protesting her escape. "You are-"

"Dead." Her lips thinned. "I'm dead, Percy. I was dead the moment they got their hands on me and I will be dead before either one of us even makes it beyond these walls, but you-" Her voice cracked, eyes watering.

He shook his head. Blood pounded in his ears. He didn't want to hear what she was going to say, wanted her to stop, wanted it all to stop. Just for a moment.

But it didn't, and neither did she. With a deep breath, she carried on, "You can make it. You can live. But only if you leave without me, so go."

His lungs burned. She inhaled so deeply, spoke so forcefully, and it made him hold the air in his chest until he couldn't take it anymore. If he didn't breathe, maybe she would. But his chest ached. Self-loathing wedged itself like a rock in his throat as he let go. The sound of his own breath was like nail on chalkboard.

"Percy," she whispered. He shook his head and leaned in closer. Although tears hadn't yet fallen, her eyes were still wet. They glistened like the night sky. Her forehead pressed against the bars.

He looked away. The brick wall to his left was growing a fair bit of moss in the corner. "What's our star again?"

She laughed. It was a watery thing that choked him where he stood. Memories of standing the long grass, moonlight shining off the river, while she read her books beside him. Every so often, she'd look up at the night sky and search for the brightest star that month. She'd tell the stories behind the constellations. Or at least the stories from her kingdom. Any time she told a story, a fantastical myth, she'd follow up that her brother knew more - Nico, the quiet prince with a voracious appetite for legends and monsters.

Then, if she could spot the brightest star that month and if she recalled, she'd tell him what it meant for the people born that month. At least, in their hemisphere anyway. The stars were different elsewhere. Sometimes she'd crack open the newspaper, the stark image of her father, and read aloud the horoscopes.

He still remembered the incredulous sound she made when he told her they shared the same birthday. She'd dragged him to the library to refresh her memory on their star. Then argued furiously that he did not share the same traits as her.

It was a silly thing. She didn't believe it. He didn't either. But it was the first time they hadn't played the stiff act of royal princess and her knight-in-training. Not Percy holding his tongue and following strictly one step behind. Not Bianca doing her best to pretend he wasn't her shadow.

Awkward civility and stiffness carried thick between them from the moment Percy had been casted into his role. But that night, with the sound of yelling and laughter still echoing in their ears, they made an agreement. They didn't have to be the best of friends, but they sure could be casual with each other. After all, they were going to be stuck with each other for the rest of their lives.

At least... they were supposed to be.

Slowly each finger detached one by one until all that was left was his palm pressed against her wrist. Then that fell away too. Still he couldn't bare to turn his head and face her.

"Leo," she said. "The lion. Strength, pride, loyalty, confidence."

A stabbed orange toy on new year's day passed through his mind. "Sacrifice."

It was quiet for a beat. Then, "Yes." His heart hammered so fast he could feel it in his throat. "The lion represents sacrifice."

What was he supposed to say? He wanted to run, to turn the lock with the key he stole, take her and run. Run far and fast. But deep inside, he knew she was right. He could get by undetected. No one cared about a child knight, not even yet passed his training. He could blend in and slip out. Even if he got caught, they wouldn't nearly put in as much effort to get him back as they would if she were with him.

She was right.

She was already dead.

He swallowed thickly and met her eyes again. The night sky glistened back at him and he thought of constellations and warm handshakes and kind agreements and silly arguments. Breath caught in his throat. "I'll miss you," he whispered, voice hoarse.

Her lips twitched. "I'll miss you too." She blinked, and one tear slid down her cheek. He tracked the wet trace it left behind until it welled up at the bottom of her chin and dripped to the floor. "Will you do me a favour?"

"You're my princess," he said. "I would do anything for you."

It was a weak smile she gave before she spoke. The sight of it crushed him. "Tell my family I love them." Her breath escaped from her shakily. She pushed back her hair. A classic move to hide the nerves that drove her hands to tremble ever so slightly. "And take care of Nico. Please."

"I will," he promised.

Her smile strengthened ever so slightly. But the tears fell fast now, one right after the other. Her face tilted away at the first streak. He immediately turned his line of sight back to the brick wall. Weakness, sadness, grief - she hated being seen with any of them. He always respected it. Look away until she was done. Don't speak, don't ask her anything, don't help her. Just look away and stay silent unless she calls out.

So, even as his mind's eye was trapped in the wet track of tears on her skin, the hitched sound of her breath holding in a cry, he turned and headed back for the dungeon's door. The doorknob twisted in his hand. The door cracked open.

"Percy."

He held stiff. "Yes?"

"Don't forget the bracelet."

Heat burned at the back of his head. In his pocket, the bracelet felt heavier than the weight of the world. When he had first arrived, she gave it to him. When he refused to take it, insistent that she could deliver it to Nico herself, she shoved it into his pocket herself. Like a ghostly stain, his thigh still tingled with the forceful and firm press of her hand. He was sure it always would.

"I won't."

"Stay safe," she said, a princess in a dungeon ready and waiting to die.

His heart shattered. Still, he kept his head held high. "I will."

Then, without another word, he left the girl he had spent the last three years training to protect. He was meant to die for her. It was the role he had accepted the night he and his friends had stormed the castle and pleaded for help with his dying mother. He didn't argue. He didn't plead. Without hesitation, he swore his life away for hers. Without hesitation, he swore his last breath would be hers.

Yet she was the one embracing the eternal coldness to come. She was the one breathing weakly so he could breathe strong. She was trading away her life for his. She was the lion, giving a mighty roar before the dawn of a new year. She was the sacrifice, held down by chains with a glistening sharp blade raised above her head.

But he wasn't the one lowering it upon her neck. No, he was the cold breath of winter. The first drop of snow. The wilting grass. He was the barren wasteland that drove her out into the open. He was the starving masses desperate to live. He didn't have to drop the blade. He didn't have to use his own hands to spill her blood across the ground. His survival was her end. And that made him her killer anyway.

[puhpandas]

gonna make fnaf guys in the sims 3

[pepsinister]

cute

[abelas]

got 30cm of snow twice in one week. lads, i think ive got to move somewhere warm year round

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Jones/Winter!! It's like you read my secret wishlist!

LOOK, I WATCHED "LAST MAN OUT." I HAVE EYES. I KNOW WHAT I SAW.

and Jamie Winter I know what you are

In all seriousness I'm delighted that there are other people who know this show and are excited for this fic, thank you dear!

[livestosave]

@ein-schnee-sturm asked: Comforting (from Winter to James)

After so many years in politics - Atlesian politics to boot - James would have thought he'd seen it al. Heard it all. Every accusation and argument that could leave him raw and bleeding in every way but the physical. Indeed, these days, it did seem a struggle to find insults and accusations that did more than frustrate him...the vast majority he found he could accept, excuse, or even forgive entirely.

It was just a bad day.

He told himself that, bare metal fingers clenched in his dark hair as he sat on the couch in his apartment.

The apartment itself was near pitch-black, his dimmed lights so low that someone unfamiliar with the furniture might have struggled to avoid it all. The dark blue walls - painted with constellations and stars in a soft silvery-white - enhanced the warm, enclosed, dark feeling. The charcoal gray furniture was far easier on strained eyes than anything lighter or darker, and the thick gray carpet in the livingroom absorbed noise near-perfectly.

The migraine pounded at his skull relentlessly, though it was not the cause for his distress. Nor his state of relative undress: his heavy leather coat was balled up and thrown angrily into the chair near the couch, his tie dropped carelessly somewhere between the door and the couch, along with his waistcoat by the arm of the couch. His gloves stripped off and left in an uncaring heap on the table before him, leaving the bare metal of his hands exposed.

Left in only the soft, stretchy black sweater that always lay underneath his other layers, titles stripped away, he was left as merely James Ironwood. Tired. Breaking under the strain of all he had taken on, and...and the loathing of all those he sought to protect.

The gentle touch to his cheek nearly caused him to start, but even starting to move caused him to draw in a sharp breath between his teeth, the throbbing pain in his skull enough to make him think better of it. At least, so suddenly.

"Winter..." His voice came raw, hoarse. Choked. He swallowed, not quite daring to curse even under his breath, and forced his fingers to slide from his hair so he could try and look at his daughter. Uncommonly, it was his gaze that could not raise to even come close to hers, sapphire eyes skittering away as if he could somehow conceal the depth of pain at what they had all witnessed in his office.

Nora Valkyrie was an outspoken, fierce young woman, and in another situation, with a different argument, he might have found her spirit and strength inspiring. Here and now...her accusations had thrown him off his precarious balance, and - faced with no truly friendly gaze, faced with such overwhelming numbers in his own space, driven to the door of his own office - he had retreated to the only other space he knew would grant safe haven. A sanctuary that had been his for most of his life.

He'd handled worse from far crueler, nastier politicians than Nora Valkyrie could ever hope to be. It just...didn't make the emotions any easier to handle, just now. Didn't make an already-bleeding heart any easier to staunch.

He dropped his gaze again, one hand covering his mouth as if it might hide it all from view, as if the frayed edges of his being weren't on full display for even the uninitiated to see.

"...I'm sorry. I'll- I'll be alright. Just a bad...migraine, is all." Far from a lie. The tears didn't account for how blurred his vision was, or the pounding, throbbing, splitting agony in his skull.

[nei-ning]

Just woke up from weird dream but it was nice too, at least partly. I leave everything else out except the nice part.

In this part of the dream, I entered in this tiny but beautiful wooden house which had one floor only. There were few wider "pillars" / walls which you could circle around (open space in a way). I had Grimmjow there with me and we, kind of (?) dated (?). I mean we had so warm, deep bond with lots of fun! No, no sex etc!

We were playing some kind of tag indoors. I fast walked this short and narrow hallway (to my left) which took me from mudroom + entrance into this tiny kitchen which looked like it was from fancy Finnish summer cottage. I tried not to giggle while hearing Grimmjow's steps coming closer behind me. The idea of this game was not to be seen and running / hiding.

From this little kitchen, I turned to the right next to wall. From this spot I was able to see tiny living room (fancy!) and little hallway leading to left from living room. There also was tiny pillar which blocked partly my view to the left.

Grimmjow, all of the sudden, stepped out behind this long wall (which is still on my right and goes forward towards living room), saying something like: "Gotcha." with a grin. I made tiny pout and then laughed how unfair it was that he caught me already. He just grinned in happy way, his hand sneaking in his pants. From his groin area he pulled out this tiny white fabric bag, tossing it to me. This was part of the chase game.

"I really hope this has not been in your groins, rather between your pants."

He grinned even more with a chuckle, saying: "Smell it and you know."

I laughed out an "Eeww!", dropping the bag. We both laughed. We honestly were having so much fun! Just being two goofy adults, playing this weird game, enjoying each other's company :3

[youthdecayenjoyer]

I keep mentioning my ex and not doing a good job of differentiating them huh. live in confusion ig

[quietarchivist]

/waves from the back half of Partizan (Episode 31 to be precise; still processing some feelings).

In light of Palisade finishing, I'm obviously still not caught up, but...

I started Winter in Hieron on March 7, 2023.

Palisade started on March 10, 2023.

So, between then and now (August 31, 2024), I have made it through Winter in Hieron, Twilight Mirage, Spring in Hieron, Road to Partizan and Half of Partizan proper (as well as the first season of Bluff City).

While I abandoned any lofty goals of catching up to Palisade, the fact that I made it through basically 4 seasons in the past year feels like something to be proud of. And maybe it's not so lofty that I'll catch up to the next season? Maybe?

Just some stats for me really.

[francisforever2014]

one thing about me is that i will be on the i5 north to seattle

[shima-draws]

I love you fall I love you red and orange and yellow leaves I love you pretty trees I love you perfectly chilly weather I love you pumpkins I love you cozy sweaters I love you Halloween I love you huge leaf piles I love you apple cinnamon I love you autumn

[wyrddogs]

We had a GREAT, extremely wet, field trial weekend! Third place on Saturday, and first place on Sunday! And Sunday Open Dogs was done while the sky was dumping buckets on us!

I'm so incredibly proud of Kermit; he's my first field trial dog, and this is his third field trial weekend. He only needs 6 1/3 points until he earns his Field Champion title!

He is such a good boy. He’s pictured here suddenly realizing he’s cold while waiting for second series. (He got his coat, bed, and blanket about thirty minutes later.)

[drev-the-procrastinator]

my car broke :( rest in peace sweet kuha