#Winter's Feast update

[e-one-seven]

Don't Starve Together: Tales From the Constant: Swine & Dine [Animated S...

Happy Winter’s Feast everyone! Check more on the new update here.

[nadeen-the-spore]

I wish casual stardew dialog would change after major events bc Leo saying how welcome he feels in town right before Linus says that the townspeople avoid him gave me whiplash

[svt-luna]

𝜗℘ SANTA BABY

❛ 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘢 𝘴𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦, 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭. 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵. ❜

timeline: 2024

synopsis: On a Christmas Eve brimming with emotion, Luna and Jeonghan exchange gifts that bring tears, laughter, and a profound realization that in each other, they’ve already won the greatest gift of all.

warnings: short but sweet, cursing, slightly suggestive, crying, a concerning amount of fluff, fluff, fluff, fluffiness, tooth-rotting fluff, fluff, oh! and have i mentioned more fluff? if not, then… fluff, may make you feel single on Christmas, established relationship, simp!Jeonghan, what-are-you-willing-to-do!Jeonghan, what-are-you-willing-to-do!Luna, down bad!JeongNa, just over all good vibes

this is the one-shot of JeongNa’s Christmas Eve and the full story behind their recent instagram update: This Christmas, With Love which you can read before this or after, whenever you prefer!! Merry Christmas and happy holidays, my loves!!! 🎄🤍

╰ ౨ৎ ig update: this Christmas, with love

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ writings masterlist

Luna had always loved the holidays.

Ever since she could remember, the mere thought of winter filled her chest with an inexplicable warmth, despite the icy chill in the air. It wasn’t just the season’s weather— though she adored that, too. The cold was like a gentle bite against her skin, the kind that turned her cheeks rosy and made her breath visible in small clouds.

She loved bundling up in scarves and coats, the feeling of knit gloves on her hands as she clutched warm drinks in the bitter cold. There was something magical about stepping outside into a world transformed, the frost painting delicate patterns on windows, the snow crunching softly beneath her boots, and the sharp, invigorating air filling her lungs.

And then there was the snow itself.

Oh, how she loved the snow.

It blanketed the world in pristine white, silencing the chaos of everyday life and making everything feel softer, purer.

As a child, she would press her tiny hands against frosted windows and watch with wide-eyed wonder as snowflakes danced and twirled their way to the ground. Each flake was unique, her parents had told her, just like people, and she used to imagine the stories each one carried before landing to become part of the earth.

Even now, as an adult, snow still held the same allure.

It wasn’t just precipitation— it was possibility, the kind that made her heart flutter with childish delight.

Luna is a child at heart despite her cold exterior.

But what she loved most about winter wasn’t the cold or the snow. It was the way the world seemed to transform with it, the festivities that erupted in its wake. Streets adorned with twinkling lights, their golden and multicolored hues casting a glow that could rival the stars. Storefronts dressed in wreaths and garlands, windows painted with frost-like designs. Homes turned into miniature wonderlands, with trees laden with ornaments and stockings hanging by fireplaces.

The air carried the unmistakable scent of pine and cinnamon, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked cookies and roasted chestnuts. Every corner of the world seemed to hum with life, bursting with the kind of chaotic joy that only the holidays could bring.

As a child, Luna had thrived in that chaos.

She might have been an only child, but she never felt lonely during the holidays. Her family was large, sprawling with cousins of all ages, aunts and uncles who filled rooms with loud chatter and booming laughter.

The holidays were a cacophony of voices, a blur of brightly wrapped gifts, a feast that stretched across tables and seemed to last for hours. She loved every second of it— the giggles that echoed through the halls, the way wrapping paper was torn apart in a frenzy, revealing carefully chosen gifts that would elicit gasps of delight.

And oh, the food.

Plates upon plates of lovingly prepared dishes, the kind that could make anyone feel at home with just one bite.

For Luna, those gatherings were the essence of the holidays: love, warmth, and a little bit of chaos, all wrapped together in a bow.

Even now, as an adult, not much had changed.

Luna still carried that same love for the holidays in her heart. She’d grown older, of course, and her world had expanded beyond her childhood home. She had met people who changed her life, built friendships that felt more like family.

The members of her group had become just as much a part of her holidays as her own blood relatives.

Each year, no matter how busy their own schedules or how far apart they might be, they always made time for each other. Even if they spent the holidays with their own families, they exchanged gifts and heartfelt messages, sometimes sneaking moments to celebrate together.

A quiet dinner, a surprise visit, or even a late-night video call— those small gestures kept them connected.

Luna cherished it all.

To her, the holidays weren’t just about one’s own traditions but about sharing the joy with others, whether that meant her childhood family or the family she had found along the way.

The truth was, Luna loved everything about this season.

The lights, the snow, the chaos, and the spirit of giving. It reminded her of who she was— someone who poured herself wholeheartedly into the people she loved. And in return, the holidays gave her a kind of magic she carried with her long after the season had passed.

This year’s Christmas, their house glowed with warmth, its halls bedecked in festive splendor that seemed to reflect the happiness within its walls. Twinkling fairy lights hung across doorways, their soft golden glow matching the gentle flicker of candles on the dining table.

The Christmas tree stood in the corner, a towering figure dressed in silver and gold ornaments, its star perched proudly at the top. Beneath it, an array of carefully wrapped gifts spilled out in every direction, their ribbons tied with care. The air was filled with the mingling scents of pine, cinnamon, and the rich aroma of dinner wafting in from the kitchen.

It was, without a doubt, the perfect backdrop for a Christmas celebration, one that carried an extra layer of excitement this year.

For the first time in their five years of celebrating Christmas together, Jeonghan and Luna were doing so as an engaged couple.

Neither of them had spoken it aloud, but there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere, something electric and unspoken that urged them both to make this year unforgettable.

It wasn’t about the grandeur of the decorations or the extravagance of the gifts; it was about the meaning behind it all— the deepening of their bond, the blending of their families, and the joy of creating memories they would carry with them forever.

Jeonghan’s parents and his younger sister had arrived first, greeted at the door by Luna, who immediately pulled them into warm hugs, her smile brighter than the Christmas lights around her. Her parents followed soon after, carrying platters of food they insisted on contributing despite Luna’s protests that everything was already taken care of.

It wasn’t long before the house was alive with chatter and laughter, the kind that only family could bring.

Dinner was a feast fit for royalty, with dishes spread across the table in a kaleidoscope of colors and aromas.

At the center was a steaming pot of galbi-jjim, tender braised short ribs simmered in a rich soy-based sauce, its sweetness heightened by chestnuts, jujubes, and carrots. Bowls of velvety tteokguk, the rice cake soup, plates of crispy jeon, golden pancakes made from savory ingredients like seafood and kimchi, were stacked high, inviting everyone to share. A platter of hobakjuk, creamy pumpkin porridge, added a touch of sweetness, balanced by the fiery kick of kimchi. For dessert, there were delicacies like yakgwa, honey-soaked cookies, and soft baesuk, steamed pears infused with cinnamon and pine nuts.

The feast, a harmonious blend of flavors, mirrored the joy and togetherness of the season, with every bite evoking the warmth of home. Luna sat beside Jeonghan, their hands occasionally brushing as they passed dishes or poured drinks, a small, private smile exchanged between them every time.

The conversation flowed effortlessly, stories weaving in and out as glasses clinked and plates were filled.

The laughter continued, each story sparking another until the room felt as though it might burst with joy.

Luna’s father shared a story about her childhood Christmas antics, like the year she tried to stay up all night to catch Santa in the act, only to fall asleep under the tree. Jeonghan’s mother chimed in with tales of his childhood mischief, and soon the table was a tapestry of memories, old and new, weaving their two families closer together.

When the meal finally wound down, it was time for the gifts. They gathered around the tree, the soft glow of the lights casting a warm hue over their faces. Each person took turns handing out their presents, the room filling with exclamations of gratitude and delight as wrapping paper was torn away.

Luna watched the exchange with her heart swelling, her gaze drifting to Jeonghan. In that moment, she couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by gratitude— for him, for their families, for the life they were building together.

Finally, as the night grew late, it was time to say goodbye.

Jeonghan’s parents hugged Luna tightly, thanking her for hosting such a wonderful evening, and her parents did the same with Jeonghan. Promises to meet again soon were exchanged as coats were retrieved and farewells were made.

Soon, the house was quiet again, the echoes of laughter lingering in its walls as Jeonghan and Luna closed the door behind their families.

For the first time that evening, they were alone.

As the door clicked shut behind the last of their family, Luna instinctively turned toward the dining table, her hands already reaching for the nearest stack of plates.

The remnants of their joyous evening lay scattered across the table— half-empty wine glasses, crumpled napkins, and the last crumbs of their feast. The soft hum of holiday music played faintly in the background, blending seamlessly with the warmth still lingering in the air.

It was the kind of mess that didn’t bother her, really.

To Luna, it was evidence of a night well spent, but her natural instinct to tidy up took over before she even thought twice. She moved efficiently, stacking plates and gathering utensils, her steps light but purposeful.

Jeonghan, still leaning against the wall near the tree, watched her with an affectionate smile. He hadn’t moved yet, his arms folded loosely as he admired the way she seemed to glide through the room. There was something endlessly endearing about Luna when she was in her element, her focus so pure and unassuming.

But tonight, Jeonghan wasn’t about to let her get too far into her routine.

As she reached for another plate, she felt familiar arms slide around her waist from behind. The sudden warmth of his touch startled her for only a second before she leaned into him, already accustomed to his affectionate interruptions.

Jeonghan’s chin came to rest on her shoulder, his soft hair tickling the side of her face as he nuzzled her cheek.

“Leave it,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, punctuated with a kiss to the side of her head.

Luna let out a small laugh, but her hands continued their work, stacking another plate onto the growing pile in front of her. “We’ve been over this, Han. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish.”

Jeonghan groaned dramatically, tightening his hold on her waist as if to physically stop her. “But why do we have to start at all right now? It’s Christmas,” he crooned, his tone lilting and playful, as though he were coaxing a stubborn child. “Can’t we just… enjoy the night? You know, us?”

Luna tried to twist her head to look at him, but he pressed another kiss to her temple, effectively stopping her. “I am enjoying the night,” she countered, her tone firm but softened by the smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll enjoy it even more when our house isn’t a mess.”

Jeonghan laughed softly, the sound vibrating against her back. “You’re impossible,” he whispered, brushing his lips lightly against her ear. “But you love me, right?”

“I do,” Luna admitted without hesitation, her voice quieter now, though her hands still busied themselves with gathering utensils. “Which is why you should help me instead of distracting me.”

“I’ll help,” he promised, his voice taking on a sing-song quality as his hands shifted to her hips, gently swaying her from side to side. “Later.”

“Later?” she echoed, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably as a giggle escaped her lips.

“Yes, later,” he confirmed, his tone overly patient as though explaining something to a small child. “Right now, I’m more excited to give you your gift. And to see what you got me. Isn’t that more fun than cleaning, Nana-ya?”

Luna paused at that, finally setting the plates down with a sigh. She turned her head just enough to catch a glimpse of his face, his expression smug and entirely too pleased with himself.

“You’re so persistent,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him even as her resolve wavered.

“And you’re so stubborn,” Jeonghan countered, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Which is why we’re perfect for each other and which is why I love you. But come on, Jiyeonie. Just for tonight. Let’s not worry about the mess. I’ll clean every single plate tomorrow if it makes you feel better.”

Luna sighed again, this time louder, though she couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “Fine,” she relented, her voice tinged with mock exasperation. “But if the house is still messy tomorrow, I’m holding you accountable.”

“Deal,” Jeonghan said instantly, his grin widening as he released her waist only to grab her hand instead. He began leading her away from the table, his excitement palpable. “Now come on. I’ve been waiting all night for this.”

As Luna allowed herself to be guided, she couldn’t help but reflect on how this had become their tradition.

Just as they had started spending the holidays with both their families after they began dating five years ago, this part of the night— just the two of them exchanging gifts— had become sacred.

Neither of them could quite pinpoint when or why it started.

Maybe it was the intimacy of it, the way it felt like a quiet pocket of time reserved solely for them amidst the chaos of the holidays. Or maybe it was just easier to be vulnerable when there were no prying eyes, no pressure to perform or impress.

Whatever the reason, they had come to cherish this moment, when it was just them, raw and unfiltered, sharing their hearts in a way they couldn’t with anyone else.

Luna glanced at Jeonghan as he guided her to the couch, his fingers laced with hers. There was a spark of boyish excitement in his eyes, and she couldn’t help but smile.

No matter how many years passed, no matter how much their lives changed, this moment— just the two of them— felt like home.

Jeonghan led Luna to the couch with a confident stride, his fingers still laced with hers. As they sat down, he shifted slightly to face her, leaning against the cushions with a teasing glint in his eyes.

It was a look Luna knew all too well— mischievous and self-assured, like he was holding onto a secret so tantalizing that he could barely contain himself.

She raised a brow at him, already sensing he was up to something, though she couldn’t quite figure out what. “What?” she asked, drawing the word out, her tone skeptical but laced with curiosity.

Jeonghan tilted his head, his grin growing wider. “Nothing,” he replied, his voice light and sing-song, which of course only made her more suspicious.

“You’re such a bad liar. Terrible actually,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes at him.

He chuckled, leaning closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “Okay, fine,” he said, lowering his voice to a mock whisper, as though he were letting her in on a great secret. “I just know something you don’t.”

Luna blinked at him, deadpan. “Oh, here we go.”

Jeonghan leaned back, feigning shock. “What? You don’t even know what I’m about to say!”

“I don’t have to. It’s you. You always think you know everything,” she teased, crossing her arms over her chest, though she couldn’t hide the small smile playing at her lips.

“That’s because I do know everything… especially about you,” he declared, puffing his chest out dramatically. He nudged her side gently with his elbow, his grin turning smug. “For example, I know that my gift for you is the best gift in the entire universe.”

Luna scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, really?”

“Really,” Jeonghan affirmed, his tone dripping with mock seriousness. He leaned in again, his eyes locking onto hers. “I’m so confident, in fact, that I’ll bet my entire Christmas stocking you’re going to cry.”

“Cry?” Luna echoed, her brows lifting in disbelief.

“Cry,” he repeated firmly, his voice dropping into a soft, almost teasing coo. “Big, pouring, emotional tears. You’re going to cry so hard that you’ll need, like, three tissues. Minimum.”

Luna’s laugh bubbled up before she could stop it, and she shook her head at him. “Three tissues, huh?”

“Maybe four,” he added, shrugging nonchalantly. “You’re a crier. I know these things.”

“I am not a crier,” she protested, giving him a light shove, though she couldn’t keep the grin off her face.

“Oh, you are, my baby,” Jeonghan said, catching her hand before she could pull it back. He interlaced their fingers, his thumb grazing her knuckles in a way that was almost distracting. “Remember last month when we watched that random commercial about a dog? You cried for, like, twenty minutes.”

“That was different!” Luna argued, her voice rising slightly as she tried to defend herself. “The dog was lost and then found his way home. That’s emotional, Hannie.”

Jeonghan just laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Exactly my point. If a dog commercial can make you cry, my gift is going to ruin you.”

“Bold words,” Luna said, narrowing her eyes at him again, though her tone was light. “But you know what? If you’re so sure your gift is the best, I hope you’re ready to eat your words. Because I know my gift is going to make you cry.”

Jeonghan’s brows shot up, his expression one of exaggerated surprise. “Oh? You think so?”

“I don’t think so. I know so,” Luna replied, her voice turning smug as she tilted her chin up. “You’re going to cry harder than me. One hundred percent.”

Jeonghan let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he leaned closer again, his eyes sparkling. “You’re cute when you’re cocky, you know that, my pretty moon?”

“And you’re insufferable,” she shot back, but her tone was fond, her lips twitching into another smile.

“Mm, but you love me,” he teased, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as he stared at her with that soft, adoring look that always left her feeling like her heart was a little too big for her chest.

“Unfortunately,” she said, pretending to sound exasperated, though the warmth in her voice betrayed her.

Jeonghan suddenly poked her side, making her jump and let out a small squeak. “Stop that!” she protested, swatting at his hand, but he only grinned wider, clearly delighted by her reaction.

“You’re too confident, Miss Luna,” he said, poking her again and laughing when she squirmed. “We can’t have that.”

“Yoon Jeonghan!” she whined, her voice a mix of annoyance and laughter. “If you keep that up, I swear—”

“What? You’ll cry before I even give you your gift?” he teased, poking her one last time before grabbing her hands to stop her from retaliating.

Luna huffed, glaring at him, but there was no real heat in her gaze. “You’re such a child.”

“And you love that about me,” he countered, his voice softening as his teasing grin shifted into a gentle smile. He brought her hands up to his lips, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles. “Admit it.”

“Maybe a little,” she muttered, though the way her cheeks flushed gave her away.

Jeonghan’s eyes softened as he gazed at her, and for a moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them charged with something quiet but undeniable. Luna looked away first, clearing her throat as she tried to regain her composure.

“Anyway,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant, “I guess we’ll just have to see who cries first.”

“Oh, we will,” Jeonghan said, his tone full of certainty as he leaned back slightly, still holding her hands. “And when you do, I’ll be ready with the tissues. Four of them.”

Luna laughed again, shaking her head at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re perfect,” he replied, his voice so soft and genuine that it caught her off guard. She looked at him then, really looked at him, and for a moment, she felt like the rest of the world had melted away.

This was their Christmas tradition, and in moments like these, she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Jeonghan leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms with a playful smirk. “Alright, Nana-ya,” he teased, his voice light and coaxing. “Why don’t we start with your gift for me? Not because I’m dying to see what you got me or anything— though I totally am— but because we need to save the best for last, which is obviously my gift for you.”

Luna rolled her eyes at his cockiness but couldn’t fight the soft smile tugging at her lips. She stared at him for a moment, her eyes softening as her gaze lingered on his face.

His smile was mischievous, his hair slightly tousled from leaning against the cushions, and his confidence was absolutely shining through. And yet, there was an undeniable tenderness in his features that made her heart skip a beat.

After a few seconds, Luna shook her head, giving in with a small laugh. “Fine,” she murmured. “We’ll start with mine.”

Jeonghan grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Knew you’d see things my way.”

Luna reached for her phone on the table, unlocking it swiftly and beginning to type with purpose. Her fingers flew over the screen, her brow furrowed in concentration as Jeonghan watched her with growing curiosity. His head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.

“Are you just ordering my gift right now?” he teased, his voice light but probing. “Don’t tell me you forgot to buy me something.”

Luna didn’t even look up as she smirked. “Nope. In fact, I’ve been working on your gift all year.”

That made Jeonghan pause. His brows shot up, and his lips parted as if he were about to say something, but before he could, the familiar chime of a notification sounded from his phone. He looked down at it, then back up at her, his expression skeptical yet intrigued.

“What’s this?” he asked, holding her gaze.

Luna only smiled as she locked her phone and placed it aside. “Go ahead,” she said, leaning back against the couch with an air of playful mystery. “Open it.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow at her, his lips twitching with a faint smirk. “Did you wire me your entire bank account? Because that will actually make me cry, baby.”

Luna let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Just check your phone, Hannie.”

Still watching her closely, Jeonghan picked up his phone and unlocked it. His thumb hovered over the screen before he noticed the Instagram notification at the top.

It was a post from Luna.

His curiosity peaked, and he clicked on it, his brows knitting together in confusion before they shot up in surprise.

It was a new post on Luna’s feed— a picture of her… it was an album cover and the track list which he has not seen before and her caption immediately caught his attention. His eyes darted across the text as he read it under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper:

“‘Not all gifts come wrapped; some are sung… here’s my gift wrapped in melodies! A little something for the holidays. Five songs for someone who makes my world brighter. Maybe they’ll make yours a little warmer too! For the one who inspired it and for all of you… Santa’s biggest secret this year? Is that I made this about you, thinking of you, inspired by you, just for you, @/jeonghaniyoo_n, because Santa doesn’t know you like I do, my angel boy…. this Christmas, with love… out now!!’”

Jeonghan’s voice faltered at the end, and he fell silent, staring at the screen as the weight of her words sunk in.

Luna watched him closely, her soft smile widening as she took in his reaction.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak— he was utterly frozen, his thumb still hovering over the caption.

“You wanna listen to it, my love?” she asked softly, her voice warm and teasing.

Jeonghan didn’t respond at first.

He inhaled deeply, blinking as if trying to process everything, before letting out a shaky breath. “Give me a second,” he murmured, his voice unusually firm. He looked up at her then, his face blank, but the deadpan humor in his tone was unmistakable. “I just need to wrap my head around the fact that you’re this obsessed with me.”

Luna burst into laughter, doubling over as her shoulders shook with mirth. “Obsessed with you?” she echoed, grinning at him. “You think I wrote an entire album because I’m obsessed with you?”

Jeonghan tilted his head, his gaze sharp yet amused. “Did you not? Five songs, Nana-ya. Five. All about me. That screams obsession, babe.”

“And here I thought you’d be flattered,” she teased, sitting up straighter and shrugging nonchalantly. “Guess I’ll just take it back.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Jeonghan shot back, his grin returning as he leaned closer to her. “You’re not taking anything back. In fact, I’m going to make you admit it.”

“Admit what?” she asked, her eyes twinkling as she matched his energy.

“That you’re absolutely head over heels for me,” he said, his tone both smug and playful. “I mean, I already knew that, but now the whole world does too.”

Luna laughed again, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re in love with me,” Jeonghan countered, his voice dropping into a softer, more teasing tone as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Deeply, madly, irrevocably.”

“Maybe,” Luna admitted with a small shrug, her smile turning coy. “But you’re not much better, Hannie. I bet you’re going to cry when you listen to those songs.”

Jeonghan groaned dramatically, throwing his head back against the couch. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he said, his voice full of mock exasperation. “First, you ruin me with that caption, and now this? I swear, Bae Jiyeon, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Luna couldn’t stop smiling as she leaned closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder. “But what a way to go, huh?” she teased softly, her voice warm and full of love.

Jeonghan let out a low laugh, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. “Yeah,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “What a way to go.”

They sat like that for a few moments longer, Jeonghan’s eyes still fixed on his phone screen, until Luna nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “Come on,” she coaxed, her voice soft and encouraging. “Let’s listen to it together.”

His gaze shifted from his phone to her, his lips curving into a faint smile. “You’re really not going to let me mentally prepare for this, are you?”

Luna leaned in, her eyes bright with mischief. “Nope. I’ve been waiting for this moment all year, Hannie. Indulge me, please.”

Jeonghan let out a mock sigh, his fingers moving to unlock his phone. “You’re impossible,” he murmured, but the way his smile deepened betrayed the fondness behind his words.

“And you love it,” Luna teased, inching closer to him on the couch as he navigated to her album.

“Unfortunately,” he replied, his voice dripping with fake exasperation. He pulled up the album, the tracklist appearing on his screen. “Alright, your majesty, let’s see what all this fuss is about.”

Before Jeonghan could press play, Luna crawled closer to him, her movements unhurried and natural, until she ended up seated snugly on his lap. Jeonghan didn’t even flinch— his arms automatically moved to encircle her, caging her in as he adjusted the phone in front of them so they could both see the screen. Luna leaned her head against his chest, her cheek pressing against his sweater, the scent of his cologne familiar and comforting.

“Comfortable?” Jeonghan asked, his voice low and teasing, but his fingers rested lightly against her back, tracing small, lazy patterns.

“Mmhm,” Luna mumbled, her eyes already fluttering shut. She was exhausted from the day, but there was nowhere else she’d rather be than here, wrapped up in his arms.

Jeonghan chuckled softly. “Alright, let’s do this,” he murmured, pressing play on the first track.

The first song began to play, and the room was filled with Luna’s voice, sweet and melodic, carrying lyrics that spoke of warmth, love, and quiet devotion.

Jeonghan was quiet as he listened, his focus entirely on the music. Luna, on the other hand, let herself sink deeper into her position, the memories of writing each song flooding her mind. She remembered the late nights spent scribbling down lyrics, the moments of inspiration when Jeonghan would unknowingly say or do something that would spark a melody in her head.

As the second, third, and fourth songs played, Luna remained still, her head nestled against Jeonghan’s chest. He hadn’t said a word, but she could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath her cheek. Every now and then, his hand would tighten slightly on her back, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes.

It wasn’t until the fifth and final song ended that Luna heard it— a soft sniffle. Her eyes snapped open, and she tilted her head up to look at Jeonghan.

“Hannie?” she asked softly, her brow furrowing when she saw the glassy sheen in his eyes.

Jeonghan immediately looked away, tilting his head to the side as if that would somehow hide the tears threatening to fall. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice slightly strained.

Luna blinked, her lips parting in surprise. “Oh my gosh, are you really crying?” she asked, her tone somewhere between teasing and genuine concern.

“No,” Jeonghan said quickly, his voice unconvincing as he brought a hand up to rub at his eye.

Luna sat up straighter, turning fully to straddle his lap as she cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to look at her. “You’re actually crying,” she said, her voice softer now as she took in the sight of him.

Jeonghan rarely cried— she could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen him like this— and it made her chest tighten in both amusement and tenderness.

“I’m not crying,” Jeonghan insisted, though his voice wavered, betraying him.

Luna bit her lip, trying to suppress a laugh. “Hannie,” she said, her thumbs brushing gently across his cheeks. “Are you really crying because of my songs?”

Jeonghan exhaled a shaky breath, his lips twitching upward in a weak smile. “What can I say? You’ve turned me into a sap,” he said, his tone light but his eyes betraying the depth of his emotions. “Also, correction, songs about me, Jiyeonie. Who does that? You’re literally obsessed with me.”

Luna couldn’t hold back her laughter this time. “I thought we already established that,” she teased, leaning in closer.

Jeonghan groaned, tilting his head back against the couch. “You’re not helping,” he said, his voice muffled. “You’re trying to kill me, I swear.”

Luna giggled, brushing her fingers through his hair. “I mean, if this is how you’re going to react, maybe I should write five more songs next year.”

“Don’t you dare,” Jeonghan said, lifting his head to glare at her, though the corners of his mouth were still curved upward.

They both dissolved into laughter, the tension in the room melting away. As Luna’s giggles subsided, she leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Thank you for letting me embarrass you,” she said softly, her voice full of affection.

Jeonghan wrapped his arms more securely around her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. “Thank you for loving me enough to embarrass myself,” he murmured, his tone earnest now.

Luna smiled, her hands cupping his face once more as she wiped away the remnants of his tears. “You’re welcome, my love,” she whispered.

Jeonghan leaned back slightly, his mischievous grin returning. “You know,” he began, his voice teasing, “if you ever decide to make a second album about me, at least title it something dramatic. Like ‘The Yoon Jeonghan Effect.’”

Luna groaned, dropping her head to his shoulder as laughter bubbled out of her. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, her voice muffled against his sweater.

“And you love it,” he shot back, his arms tightening around her.

“Unfortunately,” she replied, echoing his earlier words.

Jeonghan's fingers trailed softly over the curve of Luna's back, his touch featherlight yet deliberate, sending a shiver down her spine. His hand lingered for a moment at the small of her back before gliding upward, his movements unhurried. When his hand reached the nape of her neck, he gently cupped it, his thumb brushing tenderly against her skin. With a gentle tug, he coaxed her to tilt her head up, making her meet his gaze.

Luna's lashes fluttered as her eyes rose to meet his, her lips parting slightly at the intensity of his expression.

Jeonghan was looking down at her like she was the only person in the world, his eyes drinking in every detail of her face as though committing it to memory. His soft smile carried a reverence that made Luna's heart stumble in her chest.

Without breaking eye contact, Jeonghan leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled back just enough to whisper, "I love you."

Luna's lips curved into a small, content smile, her eyes falling shut as Jeonghan moved to place a kiss on the tip of her nose.

"I love you," he murmured again, his voice barely above a whisper, the tenderness in it making her chest ache in the best way.

The next kiss landed on her right eyelid, prompting her to close her eyes

instinctively. "I love you," he said softly, the words falling like a prayer.

Then, he kissed her left eyelid, his thumb brushing along her jaw. "I love you."

Luna felt her cheeks grow warm under the gentle onslaught of his affection, a soft giggle escaping her lips as he kissed her right cheek next.

"I love you," he murmured, his smile growing wider at the sound of her laughter.

He kissed her left cheek next, lingering for a heartbeat longer. "I love you."

Luna's giggle turned into a soft hum as she kept her eyes closed, her smile unbroken.

She felt entirely at his mercy, her body melting into his touch as though he was the sun and she was a flower basking in his warmth.

When Jeonghan finally stopped, his hands cradled her face, his thumbs gently brushing against her cheeks. He studied her face for a moment, his gaze sweeping over every feature as though searching for something he hadn't yet memorized.

"Open your eyes," he murmured, his voice so soft it felt like a secret meant only for her.

Luna slowly opened her eyes, her gaze locking with his. The air between them grew heavy with unspoken emotion as they stared at each other, their faces mere inches apart.

"I love you," Jeonghan whispered again, his voice cracking just slightly, his sincerity cutting through the air like a blade.

“I love you,” Luna's breath hitched as his eyes flickered to her lips. He licked his own, almost subconsciously, and she caught the faintest movement of his throat as he swallowed.

Then, with painstaking slowness, he leaned in.

His lips met hers softly at first, like the brush of a butterfly's wings. Luna's breath caught as her senses were overwhelmed by him-the taste of wine lingering faintly on his lips, the gentle pressure, the warmth of his hands framing her face. Jeonghan moved with deliberate care, his lips molding against hers in a way that felt both tender and possessive.

As the kiss deepened, he tilted his head slightly, his movements unhurried but assured. His lips parted just enough for his tongue to trace the seam of hers, coaxing a soft sigh from her. Luna responded instinctively, her hands curling into the fabric of his sweater as she leaned into him.

The kiss lasted for what felt like an eternity and a single moment all at once.

When Jeonghan finally pulled away, it was only by a fraction of an inch. Luna's lips chased after his on instinct, a soft whine escaping her as her eyes remained closed.

"Impatient, aren't we?" Jeonghan teased, his voice low and laced with amusement.

Luna huffed, her cheeks flushed as she opened her eyes to glare at him half-heartedly. "You stopped, Han," she mumbled, her lips curving into a pout.

Jeonghan chuckled, his hands still cradling her face. "I just needed a second to remind myself how lucky I am," he murmured before leaning in again.

This time, the kiss was hungrier, more urgent. His lips moved against hers with a confidence that made Luna's heart race, his hands sliding down to rest on her waist as he pulled her closer. Luna's arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss further.

Jeonghan groaned softly against her lips, the sound sending a thrill down her spine.

Their movements were synchronized, a perfect give and take, their kisses growing slower but no less intense as they savored each other.

When Luna finally pulled away, her chest was heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her forehead rested against Jeonghan's, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, "I love you too, so much."

Jeonghan's eyes fluttered open, his gaze searching hers. "You're going to be the death of me," he repeated, though his smile betrayed the lack of real complaint in his words.

"Good," Luna teased, her fingers playing with the strands of his hair as she leaned in to peck his lips lightly.

Jeonghan chuckled, his hands sliding up to rest on her back. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Love me forever," she replied, her voice soft but unwavering.

Jeonghan's smile softened, his arms tightening around her as he pulled her into a hug. "That's the plan," he murmured into her hair, his voice filled with quiet conviction.

Luna smiled against his shoulder, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on the back of his neck. "You're stuck with me, you know."

"Good," Jeonghan said, echoing her earlier words. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes filled with a love so profound it made Luna's heart ache.

Jeonghan’s fingers gently combed through Luna’s hair, his touch soft and soothing. “Do you want to see your gift, pretty girl?” he asked, his voice low and warm as he looked down at her.

Luna hummed, her cheek pressed against his chest, her arms still loosely draped around his neck. “I completely forgot about that,” she admitted, her voice muffled by his sweater.

Jeonghan chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. “You shouldn’t. My gift for you is just as unforgettable as your gift to me.” His lips curved into a teasing smile, his tone lighthearted but with a hint of excitement.

He gently shifted her off his lap, moving to stand. The moment his warmth left her, Luna whined softly, her arms reaching out as if to pull him back. “Don’t go,” she pouted, her lips tugging downward as her eyes followed him.

Jeonghan bent down, his hands cupping her cheeks as he cooed, “Baby, I’ll be quick. I promise.”

Luna’s brows furrowed, her lower lip jutting out in defiance. “You just got me all comfy, and now you’re leaving?”

His laugh was soft, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “I’m not leaving, my moon. Just going to get your gift.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, his voice a soothing murmur. “Stay right here, okay? I’ll be back in no time.”

Luna huffed, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the couch. “Fine. But you better not take forever.”

“I won’t,” he assured her, his tone laced with amusement. Jeonghan straightened up and started toward the hallway but stopped midway, glancing back with a mischievous smile. “And don’t even think about snooping. That’s off-limits.”

Luna raised a brow, feigning innocence. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

Jeonghan gave her a knowing look before disappearing down the hallway to the guest bedroom.

Left alone, Luna sighed, letting her head fall back against the couch. Her gaze flickered to the ceiling as her curiosity began to bubble up. What could he have been keeping in the guest room all this time? Jeonghan had been oddly secretive about it since this morning, even telling her earlier that day not to peek inside.

Her mind wandered as she traced idle patterns on the armrest of the couch. Despite her momentary impatience, she couldn’t suppress the warm feeling that spread through her at the thought of Jeonghan planning something special just for her.

Minutes felt like hours as she waited, her ears straining to pick up any sound from the other room. “What’s taking him so long?” she muttered under her breath, her curiosity mounting with each passing second.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the faint creak of the guest bedroom door, followed by the sound of Jeonghan’s footsteps approaching. Luna sat up straighter, her eyes fixed on the hallway with a mixture of anticipation and excitement.

“Finally,” she said as he appeared, a teasing lilt to her voice. “I thought you were never coming back.”

Jeonghan chuckled, his hands behind his back. “Patience, Nana-ya. Good things take time.”

Luna narrowed her eyes playfully but couldn’t hide the growing smile on her lips. Whatever was hidden behind him, she could tell by the look on his face that it meant a lot to him.

And that made her heart flutter.

Jeonghan walked into the living room, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, his hands tucked behind his back to keep the gift hidden from view. Luna, sitting cross-legged on the couch, eyed him suspiciously. Her curiosity had been bubbling since he’d disappeared down the hallway.

Jeonghan took a seat next to her, still holding the gift behind him, and leaned back casually as if he weren’t keeping her in suspense. “Hmm,” he mused aloud, glancing at her sideways with a mischievous smirk. “You know… maybe it’s too early to give you this gift. It’s still Christmas Eve, after all. Maybe we should wait until Christmas morning.”

Luna immediately narrowed her eyes. “Yoon Jeonghan,” she said warningly, her tone dripping with suspicion. “Don’t even think about it.”

Feigning innocence, Jeonghan rose from the couch, making a show of stepping backward as if he were about to leave. “What? I’m just saying, it might be more meaningful tomorrow. You can wait, right, baby?”

“Try walking backwards all the way back there. I dare you,” Luna challenged, crossing her arms as a smirk tugged at her lips.

Jeonghan couldn’t help but laugh, his shoulders shaking. “You’re persuasive,” he said, moving to sit back down beside her. “Fine, fine. You win. But…” He turned to face her fully, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You have to close your eyes for me first, alright?. No peeking.”

Luna tilted her head, eyeing him suspiciously for a moment before sighing. “Fine,” she relented. She was, after all, a good girl— his good girl. Obediently, she closed her eyes, folding her hands neatly in her lap as she waited.

Jeonghan, still grinning like a mischievous child, leaned forward and placed a quick, soft kiss on her lips. “There you go,” he said teasingly. “That’s your gift. Merry Christmas!”

Luna’s eyes snapped open, and she glared at him, unimpressed. “Yoon Jeonghan,” she said, her voice a mix of disbelief and mock annoyance. “If the kiss is the gift, at least make sure it’s a proper one and not something you’d give back in kindergarten with your crush.”

Jeonghan’s grin widened, a playful glint in his eyes. “A kindergarten kiss?” he repeated, raising a brow. “Are you sure? Do you want to talk about our kiss earlier? That was definitely not childish. And trust me, you don’t want to challenge me on this.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a flirtatious murmur. “If I show you what a real kiss looks like again, we might end up with another gift in nine months.”

Luna’s eyes widened, her cheeks turning bright red as his words sank in. “Ya!” she exclaimed, smacking his chest in embarrassment.

Jeonghan groaned dramatically, removing one hand from his back and placing a hand over his chest where she’d hit him, though his lips curled into an annoying smirk. “What?” he said, laughing. “I’m just saying the truth.”

“Yoon Jeonghan!” Luna said again, her voice high-pitched with exasperation. “Just give me my gift already!”

Jeonghan chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “But you have to close your eyes again. For real this time.”

Luna shot him a pointed glare but reluctantly complied, her eyes fluttering shut as she huffed in irritation. “If this is another trick, I’m going to—”

“It’s not,” Jeonghan interrupted, his voice soft with reassurance. “I promise.”

Luna took a deep breath, waiting patiently, her hands resting on her knees. She couldn’t see Jeonghan’s face, but if she could, she’d know he was grinning ear to ear as he stared at her.

Her trust in him, the way she immediately complied with his request, made his heart swell.

A few seconds passed before she felt it— a soft weight settling in her lap.

Confusion flickered across her features as her hands instinctively moved to touch it. Her fingers brushed against something warm, something soft. Then, it shifted slightly, its small, fluffy body wriggling under her touch.

Her breath caught as her fingers trailed upward, feeling long, velvety ears that flopped over in her hands. Luna froze, her mind piecing it together even before she opened her eyes.

“Hannie…” she whispered, her voice shaky with surprise. But she kept her eyes shut, savoring the moment.

She didn’t need to see to know what— or rather, who— was now sitting on her lap.

The soft, warm sniff of a tiny nose brushed against Luna’s fingers, and her entire body tensed as if holding back a flood of emotion.

Without opening her eyes, her head dropped forward, her hair falling like a curtain around her face. Her shoulders began to shake, silent tremors overtaking her before a quiet sob escaped her lips. Tears streamed down her cheeks, unchecked and unstoppable, as she broke down completely.

Jeonghan, still seated beside her, watched her with a soft smile, his chest tightening at her overwhelmed reaction but also brimming with quiet amusement. “Open your eyes, angel,” he coaxed gently, his voice laced with a low chuckle.

Luna obeyed without hesitation, lifting her head and blinking her watery eyes open.

The world came into focus, and there it was— a small tan bunny, its tiny paws resting on her lap, its soft fur a shade of warm beige that seemed to glow in the Christmas lights. Its long, floppy ears trailed down as it gazed up at her with curious, shiny eyes.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips, and the tears that had already been falling came down in an even heavier torrent. She covered her face with both hands, her whine muffled but still audible. “No, no, no,” she whimpered, shaking her head. “Han… no… are you fucking kidding me right now?!”

Jeonghan’s chuckle grew into a laugh, low and affectionate. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone cry harder over a bunny,” he teased, leaning closer to her and brushing his fingers gently across her trembling shoulder. “Hey, hey, breathe, Jiyeon-ah. Come on, pretty girl. It’s okay.”

Luna peeked at him from between her fingers, her cheeks wet and her lips quivering. The bunny remained in her lap, still and sweet, its nose twitching as if trying to figure out its new owner.

From as long as Luna could remember, she’d been obsessed with animals. Dogs, cats, birds— she loved them all. But bunnies had always held a special place in her heart. Maybe it was their soft, round bodies that felt like clouds come to life. Or the way their long ears drooped behind them as they moved. Or perhaps it was their fluffy tails, little pom-poms that bounced with every hop. Whatever it was, bunnies had enchanted her from the time she was a child.

When her fans started calling her a bunny, it only cemented her affection for the creatures. She remembered how her heart had swelled with joy the first time she saw the nickname trending online.

It felt like a perfect reflection of her— small, sweet, and sometimes a little shy.

But despite her deep love for them, she’d never had one of her own. Her mother had been allergic to fur, and that had meant no pets— no dogs, no cats, and definitely no bunnies. As a child, she’d begged and pleaded, but it was never possible and she understood that.

When she grew older and moved to Seoul to be an idol and finally moved into her own space, the thought of getting a bunny crossed her mind immediately. She’d even researched breeds and names, imagining what it would be like to finally hold one. But her busy idol life had always interfered. There was no time to properly care for a pet, and eventually, the dream of owning one slipped into the background.

It became something she daydreamed about but never acted on.

And now, Jeonghan had brought that dream to life.

“You didn’t…” Luna choked out, her voice breaking as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. She looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, her hands trembling as they hovered over the bunny’s soft fur.

Jeonghan reached out to cup her cheek, his thumb gently wiping away her tears. “I did,” he murmured, his voice so soft it felt like a lullaby. “And you’re going to cry yourself into dehydration if you don’t stop, angel. Breathe for me, okay? Deep breaths.”

Luna tried, hiccupping as she inhaled shakily. But the sight of the bunny in her lap sent another wave of emotion crashing over her. Jeonghan chuckled again, pulling her closer.

Carefully, he shifted her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her securely. Luna let herself collapse against him, her face buried in his chest as the bunny hopped across her lap to nestle against her stomach. She reached down, her hands finally finding the courage to scoop the bunny up. Its fur was softer than she’d imagined, its tiny body warm and alive against her palms.

“Is it really mine?” she whispered, her voice barely audible through her sobs. Her wide eyes searched Jeonghan’s face, her lips pouting like a child seeking reassurance.

Jeonghan smiled, his hand stroking her hair. “It’s yours,” he said firmly, his voice dripping with tenderness. “All yours. Merry Christmas, pretty girl.”

Luna’s grip on the bunny tightened as she hugged it to her chest, her tears soaking into its fur. “I can’t believe this,” she murmured, shaking her head. “When did you— how did you even— Yoon Jeonghan!”

Jeonghan laughed at her flustered state, his eyes sparkling with adoration. “One question at a time, angel,” he said, placing a kiss on her temple. “I’ve been planning this for a while. I wanted it to be perfect for you.”

She sniffled, her eyes still wet as she looked up at him. “How long?”

“Almost the entire year,” he admitted, smiling. “I started looking at the beginning of the year. Found this little one through a breeder who specializes in raising calm, sweet rabbits. I wanted one that would fit you perfectly.”

Luna hiccupped again, her hands trembling as she stroked the bunny’s floppy ears. “And you kept it a secret this whole time?”

“Of course,” he said, his tone teasing. “What kind of surprise would it be if I didn’t?”

Her bottom lip wobbled as she stared at him, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to her nose. “No more crying,” he whispered. “Enjoy your bunny, okay? He’s all yours now. Just like I am.”

Luna couldn’t hold back a watery giggle, burying her face in the bunny’s soft fur. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much, Hannie.”

Jeonghan tightened his hold on her, his smile softening. “Anything for you, angel,” he murmured. “Anything.”

Luna’s fingers trembled slightly as she cradled the bunny close to her chest, her tears slowing as awe overtook her features. She tilted her head down, her full attention shifting to the soft, warm creature in her hands.

Gently, she let it rest against her lap before lifting it higher, gazing at it as though it were the most precious thing she’d ever held. Her voice dropped into a soft, cooing tone, her words as tender as the way her fingers brushed over the bunny’s floppy ears.

“Hi, little one,” she whispered, her lips trembling into a smile as the bunny’s nose twitched at her voice. “Oh my gosh, look at you. You’re so tiny… and soft. Are you real? Huh? Are you really mine?” She nuzzled her nose against the bunny’s fur, her giggles muffled by the soft fluff. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Aren’t you? Yes, you are. What’s your name, hmm? Or do you not have one yet?”

Jeonghan leaned in silently, a soft chuckle escaping him as he kissed the damp streaks of tears from her cheeks. His fingers worked gently, brushing away the strands of hair that had stuck to her skin. He smoothed her hair back as if fussing over her was second nature, his touch lingering like a feather against her temple.

Luna didn’t look up, too engrossed in her new pet, but Jeonghan couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“I can’t believe this,” he said suddenly, his voice filled with disbelief but tinged with amusement.

Luna finally lifted her gaze to him, her brows furrowing slightly. “Can’t believe what?” she asked, her voice still soft, almost absentminded as she stroked the bunny’s fur.

Jeonghan tilted his head, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “I can’t believe this made you cry harder than when I proposed to you,” he said, his tone mock serious but teasing enough to make her pause.

Her eyes widened before she burst into laughter, the sound bubbling up so unexpectedly that the bunny gave a small wiggle in her hands. She quickly steadied it, cradling it closer as she giggled uncontrollably. “That is not true!” she managed between her laughs. “You are so dramatic. I literally almost blacked out when you proposed to me!”

Jeonghan shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he brushed an invisible speck of dust from his knee. “I don’t know, Jiyeonie. You were crying pretty hard over this bunny.” He gestured to the small creature in her hands, his smirk widening. “I’m just now realizing that not only do I have to share your attention with twelve other members, but now I have to compete with… him.” He nodded toward the bunny as if it were a rival.

Luna snorted, her laughter subsiding into soft giggles as she pressed a kiss to the bunny’s head. “Him?” she repeated, her tone curious. “It’s a boy?”

Jeonghan nodded, his smirk softening into a grin. “Yeah. He’s a boy. What are you gonna name him?”

Luna tilted her head, her gaze drifting back to the bunny. She studied him intently, her lips pursing in thought as she stroked his long ears. A few seconds passed before her face lit up with a mischievous grin. “Bugs,” she declared.

“Bugs?” Jeonghan repeated, arching a brow.

“Bugs Bunny, duh,” she said with a playful roll of her eyes, as though the name were the most obvious choice in the world.

Jeonghan groaned, leaning back slightly as he placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “I think I’m starting to regret getting this bunny now,” he joked, though the laughter in his voice betrayed him.

“Oh, you are not!” Luna shot back, kissing the bunny again as if to prove a point. “You love him already. Admit it.”

Jeonghan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched her dote on the bunny. His smirk returned, sly and teasing. “I’ll admit I love him under one condition,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

Luna raised an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. “What condition?”

Jeonghan tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Every kiss Bugs gets has to be doubled and given to me.”

Luna gaped at him, her jaw dropping slightly before she burst into laughter again. “You are so ridiculous!” she said, shaking her head as she hugged the bunny closer. “I’m not keeping track of how many kisses I give him.”

Jeonghan leaned even closer, his face mere inches from hers now. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, his tone dripping with playful charm. “I’ll keep track for you.”

Luna rolled her eyes, but the flush that spread across her cheeks didn’t go unnoticed. She nudged him lightly with her shoulder, her smile never fading. “You’re impossible, Yoon Jeonghan.”

“And you love me for it, Bae Jiyeon,” he shot back, his grin softening as he reached out to brush his fingers over her cheek one last time.

Luna looked back down at Bugs, her heart full to the brim. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I do.”

Jeonghan leaned back on the couch, the smirk on his lips smug as he observed Luna holding Bugs protectively against her chest.

“I guess I won,” he said, his voice laced with playful arrogance, his eyes twinkling as he glanced down at the faint tear tracks still glistening on her cheeks.

Luna’s lips parted in disbelief before forming into a pout, her brows furrowing as she turned to face him. “Won?” she huffed, tightening her hold on Bugs, who twitched his nose curiously. “Need I remind you that you cried too? That means I was right. So technically…” She tilted her head with a cheeky grin. “We’re even.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly, his gaze softening as it lingered on her face. His eyes traced every detail— the way her lashes clumped together from tears, the slight swell in her lips from nibbling on them earlier, and the way her cheeks flushed as she cradled Bugs. His attention then shifted to the bunny, whose small movements brought uncontainable joy to Luna’s face.

And just like that, he felt it, a feeling that only Luna managed to make him feel— a rush of something so deep it made his chest ache in the best way.

“We both won,” he murmured, the realization striking him with an unexpected clarity.

Luna blinked, her teasing expression melting into something softer as she looked at him. “We did,” she said, her voice quiet but warm. Her lips curved into a smile that made Jeonghan’s heart stutter, and she leaned forward slowly, Bugs still nestled in her hands.

Jeonghan caught the intent in her eyes and leaned back, his smirk deepening as he allowed her to take the lead. She didn’t hesitate, closing the small gap between them to press her lips to his in a kiss so soft it felt like a whisper. Jeonghan’s hands instinctively moved, one resting lightly on her waist while the other gently cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing over her skin as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. It was slow and unhurried, a quiet exchange that spoke volumes, filled with tenderness and gratitude.

When Luna finally pulled away, her forehead resting against his for a brief moment, she opened her eyes and whispered, “Thank you, Hannie. For everything. For Bugs, for always knowing what I need before I even do.”

Jeonghan smiled, his eyes searching hers as he leaned forward to press a fleeting kiss to her temple. “You don’t have to thank me, angel. I just love you. That’s all.”

Luna bit her lip, her voice soft as she replied, “I love you too. So much.”

Jeonghan brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face, his touch lingering. “I know. Everyone in this planet might be listening to you sing your little heart out about me right now,” he teased, his grin making her roll her eyes before she kissed him on the cheek.

As they sat there, the moment of quiet intimacy wrapping around them, they both seemed to come to the same realization. Their earlier predictions about their gifts making each other cry had proven true, but as Jeonghan looked at Luna’s glowing smile and Bugs wiggling his way comfortably into her lap, another thought struck him.

It wasn’t just the gifts. It was the life they’d built together. The love that filled every crack and corner of their hearts. The way their worlds felt brighter simply because the other was in it.

“Looks like we were both right,” Luna murmured, her fingers absentmindedly stroking Bugs’ soft fur as she glanced at Jeonghan. “But it’s more than just that, isn’t it?”

Jeonghan nodded, his eyes soft and full of emotion as he gazed at her. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It’s everything. We both won life, Jiyeonie. You’re my win.”

Luna’s breath hitched slightly, her smile growing wider as her free hand reached for his. Their fingers intertwined effortlessly, their connection as natural as breathing. “And you’re mine,” she whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder as Bugs nestled closer to her chest. “You’ve always been mine.”

And in that moment, with the soft glow of Christmas lights illuminating the room and a warm, shared laughter lingering in the air, they both knew— there was nothing more they could ever ask for.

ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SUBMIT A REQUEST AND ASK ME ANYTHING!

: ̗̀➛ requests are always open ♡ - lunaఌ

Taglist: @yeoberryx @minminghao @angie-x3 @jennwonwoo @k13endall @heeseungthel0ml @chisskaa @megumi2020 @yoonzzziino @lllucere @smh-anon @yveclipse @randomworker @bunnystrm @iamawkwardandshy @gratefulbunny1 @bmo-bri @syren-ash @megseungmin @multiplums @unlikelysublimekryptonite @night-storm7 @cookiearmy @seokqt @btskzfav @billboard-singer @junhuisworld @caturdayvibe @coralbatlampzonk @sof1eya @lyraea @jihoonsbbygirl @cocopuff2424 @okoknotco @minvxq @soulphoenix1618 @whineywheeiny @rairaine @toplinehyunjin @ateez-atiny380 @cherrylovescheol @jiimtaee @blurr3db3rry @seomisaho @amanda08319 @peanutbutterslothsstuff @cheolsboo @allthings-fandoms @mystic-megumi @sherlockbye @tastyluvr

[revelboo]

good lord I just very recently found your blog and it's everything I've been begging for out of a transformers blog I'm so weeeeaaaak for transformers x human content, I've been kicking my feet and SO giddy giggling or crying over pretty much every chapter of "everything is Alright" and let me tell you I spend every chapter screaming to myself that everything is NOT alright, I love them and how you write them SO much, literally tore through Everything Is Alright in a few days just to be blessed that you're still kicking with this tasty brilliant feast and UGH the glee I felt ripping into the new update like it's my favorite brand of chocolate 👌 your writing is such a comfort and is so,,,, hot chocolate on a winter night while huddled in blankets with a heating pad type feeling, literally so good, actually had to get up and pace around in petty anger about Megatron being like "yessss a bargaining chip" bc SIR THATS EXACTLY WHY THEY DIDNT TELL YOU ABOUT THE HUMAN DONT BE SHOCKED, seeing your takes on Starscream and Soundwave too are so GHRRHRGRHRGRHR/pos, just so good, you're cooking and we're all eating very very well

Thank you!

Everything Is Alright Pt 81

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• It’s worse, hearing him say it. Admitting to the things he’s done, to how cold he can be. And you’ve seen that indifference from time to time, felt that chill but not in a long time. But as he speaks, his voice is empty, cold as ice. Like the things he’s done mean nothing to him. There’s no regret, no horror. He’s just recounting them like someone mentioning the weather. When it’s over, you’re both silent aside from the ragged way he’s venting, the only give away that saying all of it affected him. “You think I’m a monster, don’t you?” He asks and your chest hurts. Because he is a monster, he’s awful and unrepentant, but he’s your monster. The one who’s so gentle with you, who wipes away your tears, and takes care of you like you’re the only thing he actually does care about. And maybe you’re a monster, too for still loving him despite how awful he is, despite how what’s he’s done hurts your soul.

• Tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling because he can’t look at you, he waits for the condemnation. Can’t bear to see the disgust there. Because how can you not despise him now? You’ll ask to be freed and then realize how awful he really is when he refuses, because he can’t lose you. Even if you hate him, you’re his and he won’t let you go. “You were,” you say, words so soft he almost can’t hear them. “But I don’t think you still are.” And now you’re lying to yourself, wanting to believe he’s better. That he can change when he’s not so sure. Unable to crush that fragile hope of yours as he slides a servo against your side. So he’ll let you choose to believe that he’s better than he is. That he’s not as awful as he knows he is and that he can change. Again, he thinks of all things he wants to say to you, but never can. Wanting to live up to your hopes and knowing he’s just going to fail you.

• “You’re going to be disappointed,” he mutters, lying back on his berth and lifting you on top of him, servos lingering. Your soft ‘maybe’ hurts, but he laughs anyway, the sound bitter. All those things just there on the tip of his glossa that he can’t bring himself to say. He’s always had a way with words, but he has none now. Can’t say them, but can show you. Knows you don’t want this, him, right now even as he pulls back the protective panels around his spark and nudges you toward it. Your eyes still red and tired when you push back even as he slides you closer and you give in. “Let me have this,” he says, as you sigh at him. Lying down against him and dipping your fingers down, tendrils of spark energy reaching out hungrily to snare you as you both shudder at the connection.

• It’s like falling. Like when he mass displaces under you even though you don’t actually move, but part of you gets pulled into those luminous waters that are him, his spark. Drowning in him as he envelopes you, wrapping himself around you. Protecting you as his emotions and thoughts wash into you like a tide. All the things he wants to say and can’t. What you are to him, that thought so tentatively offered, so fragile. Love. Afraid of rejection, so scared of being alone. Always alone, always betrayed. Tangling in him, you swim through him. Seeing everything. The good and the bad. Fear so visceral it leaves you breathless, hate and despair so hot they burn you. And his love, consuming and desperate. So overwhelming it’s almost terrifying even as you gather him to you. All of him, the monstrous and the good and claim it as yours. Accept it. Aware that the real you is crying, the broken, ragged sound of it echoing through you.

• Sitting on the side of his berth, Soundwave’s hands begin to tremble. Unable to sense you suddenly, your mind just disappearing from his awareness. The Seeker. Had he taken you away from the base like he had before? Had he accidentally hurt you in a fit of temper? Frantic, he reaches out for that warm chaos that’s your mind, finding nothing. The disconnect too sudden, almost crippling with how abrupt it was. You were right there in the back of his processor and now you’re gone. Just gone. And it’s his fault, all of it coming apart even though he’d been trying to protect you and Starscream both. Because he needs you, the warmth of your mind humming in his own, the softness of you against him. Staggering upright, he finds himself striding out of his quarters, his cassettes watching worriedly. Almost running down the hall, because he needs to know. Even if you’re gone, if Starscream did the unthinkable to you, he has to know.

Previous

Next

[charlesslut16]

-Pregnant christmas-

summary : you and lando visit his family pregnant...

PAIRING : lando norris x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : i am so sorry that i didn't post for two days but i had so much to do with collage that i ahd no time to update.

december masterlist ; masterlist 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You stepped out of the car, the crisp winter air biting at your cheeks as you and Lando arrived at his family's home for Christmas. The air was filled with the scent of pine and anticipation, a light blanket of snow covering the ground, making everything seem like a scene from a holiday card.

The crisp winter air carried the scent of pine and cinnamon as Lando Norris, the Formula 1 driver, and you, his radiant wife, made your way to Lando's family home for a magical Christmas reunion.

With beautiful snowflakes dancing around you, you approached the door adorned with lights, nestled amidst a snowy landscape, adorned with twinkling lights and wreaths.

Lando squeezed your hand gently as you walked up the front steps, his smile warm and infectious. He was excited to introduce you as his wife and share this special time with his family, especially with a little one on the way.

The house was adorned with twinkling lights, a magnificent tree standing proudly in the corner, adorned with colorful ornaments and tinsel.

Laughter echoed through the halls, and you were immediately enveloped in a flurry of hugs and greetings from Lando's family.

As you entered the cozy home of the Norris family, the warmth of festive cheer enveloped the two of you. Lando's family greeted you with open arms and infectious enthusiasm.

His mom, a bundle of joy and warmth, enveloped you in a tight hug, her eyes shining with happiness.

"Welcome, both of you! Oh, look at that bump," she exclaimed, gently placing a hand on your growing belly, a gesture that made Lando beam with pride. His mother adored you.

Your pregnancy bump, adorned with a festive ribbon, was immediately ushered to the comfiest armchair by Lando's mom, who insisted she would take it easy while the others bustled around, preparing a lavish Christmas feast.

The day was a whirlwind of festive activities. Lando's nieces and nephews eagerly showed you their handmade decorations, each one proudly displaying their artistic skills.

Lando, ever the mischievous one, snuck behind you and whispered silly jokes in your ear, making you burst into fits of laughter. He could be serious if he wanted to be, but you liked him better this way.

Amidst the joyful chaos, you found yourselves in the cozy kitchen, where Lando's dad, an expert in culinary delights, was concocting his famous Christmas dinner.

The aromas of roasting turkey and spices filled the air, and you couldn't resist stealing a bite of the freshly baked cookies cooling on the counter, you were allowed, I mean you were pregnant.

As the day drifted into evening, everyone gathered around the fireplace, cups of hot cocoa in hand. Lando's sister, armed with a guitar, led the family in singing classic Christmas carols.

Lando, ever the enthusiast, joined in, his voice blending harmoniously with the melodies, eliciting smiles and applause from everyone. He truly was an angel, your angel.

Later, you found a quiet moment with Lando by the glowing tree, the twinkling lights casting a magical aura around you both. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, and whispered,

"This is perfect, isn't it? Spending Christmas with you and our little one on the way."

You nodded, feeling a surge of emotion as you rested your head against his chest.

"Absolutely perfect," you whispered back, your heart swelling with love for this man and the family you were becoming a part of.

The evening ended with exchanging heartfelt gifts, laughter, and embraces. Lando's mom pulled you aside, handing you a beautifully wrapped box.

"For the little one," she said with a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

It was a beautiful little necklace with Norris been standing on it. You knew that either bean would be a girl or a boy, she or he would appreciate and love the lovely gift.

As you and Lando drove back home, the moon lighting the snow-covered landscape, you couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude and happiness.

"I love you, Lan. I hope that we can spend a thousand more Christmas together."

"I love you, angel."

"And I love you, bean," Lando added and gave your bump a little kiss, as he stood at a red traffic light.

The day had been filled with love, warmth, and the promise of new beginnings. And as you both nestled into each other's arms, you knew that this Christmas would be a cherished memory forever etched in your hearts.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 14 Chapter 14 | silent strain⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The days that followed were restless, though you tried to hide it beneath the mask of routine.

Each moment you could spare, your eyes trailed toward Andreia and Prince Telemachus. Whether it was during dinners where the royal families mingled or as you passed by the courtyards in your duties, you found yourself drawn to their interactions.

Andreia's demeanor toward Telemachus was as obvious as sunlight. She was coy, her voice lilting with playful notes as she leaned toward him just enough to invade his space without overstepping.

She'd twirl a strand of her auburn hair around her fingers, her head tilting at the slightest inclination of his voice, as though every word he spoke was a revelation.

Her laughter was sweet, too sweet—a bubbly, ringing sound that set your teeth on edge, especially when compared to the cold detachment she'd shown you that day in the sheepfold.

It was jarring, to see her so kind and open with him, far removed from the icy, calculating figure you had encountered. She radiated warmth, her emerald eyes sparkling with a feigned innocence that you couldn't unsee now that you knew better.

She was a different person entirely—charming, demure, and confident in a way that left little doubt of her intentions. Her fingers would linger on Telemachus' arm just a moment too long, her smile a fraction too wide.

It was as if she were weaving a net around him, one thread at a time.

Telemachus, for his part, seemed polite and cordial, though there were moments when his boyish charm peeked through.

At dinner, he'd lean in closer when she spoke, his face attentive, his easy smile encouraging her to continue.

You couldn't help but notice how his eyes occasionally flickered to her face, perhaps taking in the faint blush that colored her cheeks. But then, there were times he seemed to grow restless, a faint flicker of something unreadable in his gaze as if he were only half listening.

It stung, though you tried not to let it show, especially during those evenings when you'd catch snippets of their laughter echoing through the halls. Your hands would tighten on the linen you were folding, or your steps would quicken as you passed by the feasting hall.

Still, you reminded yourself that this was his role—a prince courting a princess, ensuring alliances. Yet, even with that reminder, Callias' words lingered in your mind, a whisper of reassurance battling against the tightening in your chest.

The days grew shorter as autumn began to edge into winter, the chill creeping into the mornings and biting at your skin despite the midday sun. The air carried a sharper edge, and the light waned faster, casting the palace in long shadows that came too early in the day.

It was on one such brisk afternoon that you found yourself leaving the seamstress' quarters, a small scroll in hand detailing the queen's updated winter measurements. The cold nipped at your cheeks, and you tugged your shawl tighter around your shoulders as you moved through the quieter corridors of the palace.

You were on your way to the queen's chambers for lunch, the scroll meant to be presented alongside her midday tea. The thought of her warm smile and the calm wisdom she carried in even the simplest exchanges brought a small measure of comfort as your steps echoed softly against the stone floors.

"____!" The sound of your name, called with warmth and familiarity, startled you, and your heart leapt in your chest.

You turned sharply, your fingers tightening around the scroll as your eyes landed on Telemachus. He was walking briskly toward you, his steps purposeful yet light, and you couldn't help but notice how his smile grew wider as he caught your gaze.

His eyes brightened, the fatigue that had seemed to cling to him in recent days momentarily lifting, and there was a slight spring in his step, as though seeing you had filled him with a sudden energy.

"____," he called again, his voice carrying easily over the quiet. "I was hoping to run into you."

"Telemachus," you breathed under your breath, his name slipping from your lips without thought as he approached, stopping in your tracks.

Your heart beat faster than you wanted to admit, your heart fluttering in your chest, each beat heavy and echoing in your ears. You tightened your grip on the scroll in your hands, suddenly hyperaware of how cold your fingers felt against the smooth parchment.

As he stopped before you, his smile softened, and his gaze swept over you with quiet intensity. His eyes lingered briefly, studying you as though searching for something. "How are you?" he asked, his voice low and warm, a thread of concern woven through his tone. "Are you feeling well?"

For a moment, you forgot how to breathe, caught off guard by the way he looked at you—his brows slightly furrowed, his head tilted just enough to show genuine interest.

The wind teased at the loose strands of his hair, and the soft sunlight caught in his eyes, making the warm brown hue seem almost golden.

"I-I'm fine," you managed to say, though your voice sounded too light, too forced, even to your own ears. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other before offering a small bow of respect, glancing down briefly before meeting his gaze again. "Thank you for asking, my prince."

His lips twitched, as though suppressing a deeper smile, and he gave a slight shake of his head, waving a hand dismissively at the formality. "There's no need for that," he said, his tone light.

The words seemed to relax the air between you, and his shoulders loosened as he studied you again. This time, his gaze held no urgency, only a quiet satisfaction as he took in the healthy flush of your cheeks, the steadiness of your stance. "Good." The tension around his eyes eased as his smile softened further.

"You look much better," he murmured, almost to himself, before clearing his throat. "I mean, not that you looked unwell before, but... you know." He trailed off, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

You felt a warmth rise to your own cheeks, and you nodded quickly, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. "Yes, I'm fine now. Thank you for asking, my prince."

He studied you for a moment longer, as though committing the sight of you to memory, before his expression shifted slightly. The softness in his gaze gave way to a more thoughtful look, and he hesitated before speaking again. He shifted his stance, his hands brushing lightly against his tunic as though gathering his thoughts.

"Uhh, I noticed," he began, his voice slower now, deliberate, "at the feast the other night, and... well, even before that." He paused, his brow furrowing slightly as he searched for the right words. "You haven't been playing your lyre. You usually don't go a night without it."

The words hit you like a sudden gust of wind, freezing you in place. Your breath caught sharply, and for a moment, you could only stare at him, wide-eyed. The scroll in your hands felt suddenly heavy, your fingers trembling as your grip tightened.

"I mean," he continued, seemingly unaware of your sudden tension, "you still play beautifully—every instrument you touch, really—but I couldn't help but notice. Your lyre... it always seemed to be your favorite. And now..." He trailed off, his voice soft, almost hesitant. "I just wondered if everything was alright."

You forced yourself to swallow, trying to steady the rising panic clawing at your chest as your mind scrambled for a response.

No one else had noticed—not the queen, not the other servants, not even the musicians you occasionally played with.

You had thought your quiet substitution of instruments had gone unnoticed, a small, insignificant change in the grand scheme of things.

But Telemachus had noticed.

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice, and it only made the lump in your throat grow heavier. How could you explain it? How could you tell him about Andreia, about what had happened?

Only Callias and Andreia herself knew the truth, and you had worked so hard to keep it that way.

The thought of revealing it to him—to anyone—made your stomach twist with unease.

"I..." You hesitated, your voice faltering as you tried to steady your breathing. You forced a smile, though it felt brittle, and shook your head lightly. "I've been trying something new," you blurted out, the words rushed and awkward. "Different instruments, I mean. I thought it might be... refreshing." You forced a smile, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt.

For a moment, Telemachus said nothing, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. You braced yourself, the seconds stretching into what felt like an eternity. But then, to your immense relief, he nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing.

"That makes sense," he said finally, though his voice carried a note of skepticism. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before his lips quirked into a small, reassuring smile. "You've always been talented. Whatever you play, I'm sure it's worth hearing."

His words sent a strange mix of relief and guilt washing over you, the warmth of his praise clashing with the unease that still churned in your chest.

You nodded, managing a quiet, "Thank you," though the words felt hollow in your throat.

"And, ____, if there's ever anything you need... anything at all—you know you can come to me. Right?"

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his voice, and you nodded quickly, your throat tight with emotion. "Of course, my prince. Thank you."

He held your gaze for a moment longer, as if searching for something unspoken, before his smile returned, softer now. "Good," he said simply, his tone warm. "That's all I wanted to hear."

Telemachus' smile lingered, and for a brief moment, the air between you felt lighter, warmer, as though the weight of the conversation had been lifted. But deep down, you couldn't shake the sinking feeling that the truth was closer to surfacing than you were ready for.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in the quiet corridor, the world around you fading into the background.

You cleared your throat softly, the sound barely breaking the quiet between you. Telemachus' head tilted, his brow lifting slightly as his attention sharpened. For a heartbeat, you hesitated, feeling the weight of his gaze, before the words tumbled out.

"Have you, um—" You faltered, your voice catching for just a moment. "Have you seen any new constellations recently? Or... perhaps something interesting in the stars lately? You know, with the season changing."

Telemachus blinked in surprise at first before his expression shifted immediately, his eyes lighting up with a boyish excitement that made your chest tighten. "Oh, yes," he said quickly, the words spilling out like he'd been waiting for an excuse to talk about it. His smile grew, softer but no less genuine, as his fingers brushed absently over the hem of his tunic.

"The skies have been stunning this autumn," he began, his tone growing warm with excitement. "Just a few nights ago, I was out watching the heavens, and I caught sight of Lyra—the Harp—hanging low near the horizon. It's faint this time of year, but clear if you know where to look." He paused, his lips curving into a thoughtful smile. "It... made me think of you."

Your breath hitched, and his cheeks flushed, the faint pink spreading across his nose as he seemed to realize what he'd said. "I—I mean," he stammered, his hand lifting to rub at the back of his neck, his eyes darting to the ground before flicking back to yours, "it's just—you play the lyre so beautifully, and, well, Lyra always reminds me of music and..." He trailed off, his voice softening, his gaze dropping for a moment as though he needed a second to steady himself.

He cleared his throat, his hands now clasping in front of him, and when he looked back up at you, there was a tenderness in his eyes that made your heart ache. "Since my father returned, he's been teaching me tricks about the stars—navigating by them, learning their patterns—things he picked up on his travels." A faint, bashful smile tugged at his lips. "He says I've got a good eye for it."

You couldn't help but smile, the image of Telemachus and Odysseus stargazing together filling your mind. "That sounds wonderful,"

Telemachus' gaze flickered away again, the faint blush deepening on his cheeks as he nodded. "It is. It's... peaceful, being out there under the open sky. Sometimes, it feels like you can hear the stories the stars are trying to tell."

He hesitated, his weight shifting slightly, his hands brushing against his sides as though searching for something to do.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, softer, almost unsure. "So, uh, tomorrow night, Venus will be at its brightest," he said, his eyes glancing up at you briefly before darting away again. "It's—it's something to see, really. It lights up the sky like a beacon."

He cleared his throat again, his fingers now fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. "I... was thinking—" He stopped, biting his lip as his gaze darted back to you. His voice dropped to almost a whisper, and he stuttered slightly as he continued, "If—if you'd like, you could... join me? To see it, I mean. It's, uh, better with someone else. I think you'd... enjoy it."

Your heart leapt, the warmth in his voice wrapping around you like a gentle embrace. The way he looked at you—shy, hopeful, as though his entire world hinged on your answer—made it impossible to refuse.

Your lips parted, the word "I—" barely forming before a voice interrupted the moment.

"Telemachus~" the voice cooed, smooth, and saccharine, cutting through the air like a blade.

Your breath hitched, the faint warmth that had begun to bloom between you and the prince cooling instantly. Both of you turned toward the source of the interruption, and there she was—Andreia.

Her auburn hair gleamed like polished copper, catching the soft light spilling through the corridor windows, and her practiced smile curved effortlessly across her lips.

She strode toward the two of you with an ease that bordered on regal, her eyes flashing briefly over you before locking onto Telemachus.

"Here you are," she said, her tone light and lilting, as though she'd spent hours searching for him. The way her words flowed, so casual yet so perfectly placed, made your stomach churn.

Andreia's hand brushed lightly against Telemachus' arm, her touch lingering just enough to feel possessive. Her fingers rested there, delicate yet firm, like she had every right to stake her claim. "I was wondering where you'd gone," she added with a soft laugh, tilting her head ever so slightly as she looked up at him.

Telemachus stiffened at first, his shoulders squaring in surprise, the flush still on his cheeks as his gaze darted between you and Andreia. "Oh, uh... Lady Andreia," he greeted, his tone polite but lacking the warmth he'd just shown you.

His fingers flexed at his sides, betraying his awkwardness as his eyes flitted back toward you, only to snap back to Andreia under the weight of her commanding presence.

Andreia's smile widened, a flash of teeth, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Don't tell me you've forgotten about our lunch plans," she teased, her tone playful but carrying an undercurrent of reprimand. "You promised to show me the olive grove today."

The words hung in the air, heavy despite her light delivery. Your grip on the edge of your shawl tightened, your knuckles brushing against the scroll you still held.

Telemachus shifted his weight, his unease evident in the way his eyes flitted briefly to yours before snapping back to Andreia. "Right," he said slowly, his voice faltering as though caught off guard. "The olive grove."

Andreia's hand slid down from his arm but stayed close, her posture angled toward him with practiced grace. "Shall we go?" she asked, her emerald eyes locked on his face, her expression one of expectation.

Your chest tightened at the sight, and for a fleeting moment, you thought Telemachus might turn back to you. His lips parted slightly, his gaze turning to linger on you just long enough for something to flicker in his eyes—regret, perhaps, or an apology he couldn't voice.

Andreia's attention, however, was unrelenting. Her smile faltered for the briefest moment as she followed his gaze, her expression cooling when her eyes landed on you. "Oh..." she drawled, her head tilting slightly, the tone of her voice dripping with feigned surprise. "You're ____, yes?"

You straightened instinctively, willing your voice to remain steady. "Y-Yes, Lady An—"

Andreia didn't let you finish. She turned back to Telemachus, her gaze softening as though you weren't even there. "Oh," she said lightly, her voice airy, "am I interrupting something, Telemachus?" The question was directed at Telemachus, her tone sweet but pointed, her wide eyes locked on his face.

Telemachus' face remained carefully neutral, his features set in a mask of calm that he had learned to wear during courtly interactions. But beneath the surface, his mind churned.

He was acutely aware of how close Andreia stood now, the scent of her floral perfume faint but distinct in the chill air. The warmth he had felt only moments ago, while speaking with you, had all but drained away.

His eyes darted toward you again, lingering for a fraction longer than was prudent. You stood stiffly, the scroll in your hands held tightly against your chest, your gaze lowered.

There was something almost imperceptible in your posture—disappointment, perhaps? Hurt? The thought made his stomach twist, though he quickly shoved it aside.

He couldn't afford to focus on that, not now.

"No—no, you're not interrupting," he stammered, his tone caught between reassurance and discomfort. He forced a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, and gestured vaguely toward you. "We were just finishing up."

Andreia's smile returned, brighter than ever, the edges curling with satisfaction as though she had won a quiet battle. She stepped closer to Telemachus; her fingers grazed the edge of his tunic, an almost imperceptible gesture that felt calculated, meant to be seen but subtle enough to be dismissed as casual. "Good," she said with a soft laugh, her emerald eyes glinting as they met his. "I wouldn't want to pull you away from anything... important." Her words hung in the air, carrying a subtle challenge that wasn't lost to you.

Telemachus swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw tightening briefly as he resisted the urge to glance at you again.

He knew how this moment looked, how it felt, and it gnawed at the edges of his resolve. But he also knew his duty, the expectations that came with his station.

Andreia wasn't just a princess—she was a potential alliance, a symbol of unity between Ithaca and her own kingdom. To dismiss her or show favoritism toward someone else, no matter how innocent the context, would be unwise.

"Of course not," he replied, his tone even, though his chest felt heavy. He offered a small, polite nod, one that he hoped would convey the right amount of respect and deference. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Andreia tilted her head slightly, her smile softening as though his words had pleased her. She reached up, brushing a strand of auburn hair back from her face, the motion deliberate yet graceful. "You're always so considerate, Machus," she said, her voice light and teasing; her gaze flickered briefly to you again, as though gauging your reaction, before returning to him.

Telemachus felt his pulse quicken, his discomfort growing. He hated how easily Andreia commanded the conversation, how her presence seemed to overshadow everything else in the moment.

But he hated more that he couldn't bring himself to break away, to say what he truly wanted. His role as prince demanded restraint, diplomacy, and sacrifice.

And so, he buried the flicker of guilt that had sparked when he'd seen the look in your eyes.

You shuffled your feet, the use of the nickname "Machus" feeling like an invisible weight pressing against your chest, the easy familiarity of it jarring in its intimacy.

How comfortable she was using it—and worse, how Telemachus neither stopped her nor corrected her—made the moment heavier, more painful than you cared to admit.

You knew better than to take it personally; you knew the realities of his station and the delicate politics at play, but that knowledge didn't dull the ache.

Your throat tightened, and you softly cleared it, drawing their attention briefly. You dipped into a polite curtsy, your voice steady though quieter than usual. "If you'll excuse me, my prince, my lady," you said, keeping your gaze lowered as you took a step back. "I'll...I'll take my leave now."

Telemachus' eyes flicked toward you, his lips parting as if he might say something, but the words never came.

Andreia giggled softly, leaning closer to him as though you had already gone, her hand lightly resting on his arm. "Oh, Machus," she said, blinking up at him with a coy smile. "I almost forgot—one of Bronte's navigators mentioned that Venus will be at her brightest tomorrow. Isn't that perfect? We should watch it together."

Her tone was light and airy, but there was an undercurrent of possession in her words that wasn't lost on you as you turned to leave. The sound of her laughter, soft and musical, lingered behind you as you walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last.

You didn't glance back, though your heart clenched at the thought of what you might see if you did.

You had barely made it halfway down the corridor, your steps deliberate yet distant, when the sound of hurried footsteps behind you broke the rhythm of your retreat. Before you could react, a warm hand wrapped gently but firmly around your wrist, halting your escape.

"Wait," Telemachus' voice came, low but rushed, tinged with urgency. You turned halfway, your heart skipping at the sight of him. His face was flushed, his breath slightly uneven as though he'd chased after you without thinking.

"What are you—?" you began, but he shook his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he leaned in closer.

"Please," he said, his tone softer now, imploring. His gaze darted briefly over his shoulder, and you caught sight of Andreia still standing in the corridor.

She was a distance away, her posture poised, though her expression was unreadable. She waited, her presence a looming reminder that you didn't belong in the same orbit as her.

Telemachus turned back to you, his brow furrowed, his words coming in a rush as if trying to explain something too complex for the time he had. "I know how this must look—how she must seem—but you have to understand, this isn't—I-I didn't mean for you to think... I just—" He exhaled sharply, clearly frustrated with himself as he glanced back toward Andreia again, and he looked back at you. "This isn't what it looks like."

Your chest tightened, and you pulled your wrist gently out of his grasp, stepping back to create some distance. "You don't have to explain anything," you said softly, your voice measured, though you felt anything but calm. "I understand."

His eyes flickered, confusion flashing across his face. "You... do?" he asked, his tone unsure, as though he didn't believe you. He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if afraid Andreia would hear. "I just mean... Andreia is a princess and she's here because... because of alliances. It's all political, so I have to entertain her. I—" He stumbled over his words, his frustration evident. "It doesn't mean anything."

The words were like a stone dropped into a still pond, rippling through your mind in ways you couldn't fully grasp. It doesn't mean anything. Then why did it feel like it meant everything?

You tilted your head, searching his face for clarity, but all you saw was a young man caught between two worlds—one of duty and one of desire. His expression softened as his eyes met yours again, his voice gentler now. "I just... I want you to understand, that this isn't real," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I have to do this—for Ithaca, for my father. For everyone. But it's temporary." His explanation was clumsy, the words jumbled as though he didn't quite know how to phrase what he wanted to say.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "I just... I didn't want you to think that this, that she..." He trailed off, his eyes searching yours, desperate for some sign that you believed him. "You see that... don't you?"

You wanted to, desperately. But the words felt hollow, his explanation thin. Temporary or not, Andreia was a princess, and you were... you. Someone who could be excused without a second thought, whose place in this palace was dictated by servitude, not status.

Besides, part of you couldn't ignore the lingering ache in your chest. His words didn't erase the sight of Andreia's easy closeness or the way he hadn't corrected her use of the nickname.

You forced yourself to nod, the movement stiff and mechanical. "I see," you murmured, though your heart felt like it was splintering with each syllable.

Relief washed over his features, his grip on your wrist finally loosening. "Good," he said, exhaling as though a weight had been lifted. "I just didn't want you to think—" He stopped himself, shaking his head again, a faint, almost boyish smile tugging at his lips. "I didn't want to lose your trust."

You nodded again, a small, tight smile finding its way to your lips. "Of course, my prince," you said, the formality slipping out before you could stop it. "I understand."

The formality of your words made him flinch slightly, but before he could say anything else, you curtsied quickly and turned to leave.

This time, he didn't stop you.

As you walked away, your heart felt heavier than before, each step echoing in the quiet corridor. You couldn't shake the feeling that you'd just crossed some invisible line, that something between you had shifted in a way that couldn't be undone.

Meanwhile, Telemachus remained where you'd left him, a heavy sigh escaping him, watching your retreating figure with a conflicted expression. He rubbed a hand over his face, his thoughts spinning in disarray.

He'd thought you understood—hadn't you just said so? He didn't know why the moment still felt so unfinished, why his chest felt tight with an unease he couldn't shake.

He sighed again, running a hand through his hair as he glanced back toward Andreia, who was waiting for him with a curious tilt of her head.

He straightened his shoulders, forcing himself to push it aside.

You understood, he told himself. You knew his actions were only temporary, a necessary pretense, and that was enough.

Or so he thought.

.☆.         .✩.                 .☆.

You barely made it a few steps down the corridor before the tears began to blur your vision. They welled up hot and fast, threatening to spill over no matter how tightly you bit your lip to keep the sobs at bay.

You kept your head down, focusing on the stone floor beneath your feet as you tried to steady your breathing, but the lump in your throat refused to ease. Each step felt heavier than the last, and no matter how much you told yourself to stay calm, the pressure inside you grew with every passing second.

By the time you rounded the corner, the tears had started to fall, hot and unbidden, streaking down your cheeks. You swiped at them angrily, as though erasing them would somehow make the ache in your chest go away.

Another sob tried to claw its way out, but you bit it back harder, a metallic taste filling your mouth as you forced yourself to stay quiet.

You're so foolish, you thought bitterly, your hands tightening into fists at your sides. You don't have any claim over him. He's a prince, and you're... Your chest heaved as you drew in a shaky breath, your steps faltering as the realization settled deeper into your mind. You're a servant. You have no right to feel this way.

And yet, no matter how hard you tried to reason with yourself, you couldn't ignore the way your heart clung to the moments you shared with him—the stolen smiles, the quiet conversations, the way his eyes seemed to soften whenever they met yours.

Were they just illusions? Things you'd foolishly read too much into?

Just as you turned another corner, lost in your thoughts, you collided with something—or someone. The force knocked the breath out of you, and you stumbled back slightly, the scroll slipping from your hands as you let out a startled gasp.

"I'm sorry!" you blurted out, your voice trembling as you hastily bent to retrieve the scroll. Your fingers fumbled clumsily as you wiped at your face, trying to hide the tears that still streaked your cheeks. "I-I wasn't looking where I was going, I—"

A low, warm chuckle cut through your hurried apology, freezing you in place. The sound was rich and teasing, carrying a lilt of amusement that made your heart skip a beat.

"Why," the voice drawled, smooth and playful, "do I always seem to catch you at the worst moments?"

Your breath caught, and you slowly looked up, blinking away the last of your tears. The figure before you came into focus, and your eyes widened in recognition.

Hermes stood before you, his divine presence striking against the mundane backdrop of the palace corridor.

His tousled curls caught the dim light, the faint shimmer of his form almost too vibrant for the simple stone walls surrounding him. His scarlet cloak draped effortlessly over one shoulder, and the faint flutter of the wings on his sandals sent a soft breeze brushing against your skin.

He looked every bit the god he was, radiant and untouchable, yet somehow entirely at ease.

You stared, momentarily frozen by the contrast of his divine radiance in this otherwise quiet corner of Ithaca's halls. His head tilted slightly, a grin tugging at his lips as he observed your stunned silence.

Then, raising a hand, he lightly tapped a finger against your forehead, the motion playful yet deliberate. "Anyone home?" he asked, the amusement in his voice pulling you out of your daze.

You blinked rapidly, heat rising to your face as you realized you'd been gaping. "H-Hermes, I—I'm sorry," you stammered, taking a step back, gripping the scroll tightly against your chest. "I—I didn't expect to see you here."

"No, clearly not," he said with a grin, crossing his arms as he leaned casually against the wall. "Though I must admit, bumping into you is quickly becoming my favorite pastime."

You frowned slightly, glancing down at the floor. "Sorry," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. "I wasn't paying attention."

Hermes tilted his head, studying you with a look that was equal parts curious and amused. "Apologies, apologies," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "You mortals are always so quick to blame yourselves. Tell me, little musician, what's got you so distracted this time? Or should I guess?"

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You weren't sure what to say—how to explain the storm of emotions swirling inside you without sounding utterly ridiculous.

A part of you wanted to open up, to let him know everything, but another part held you back, unsure of how much a god could—or would—understand.

Hermes, however, seemed content to wait, his gaze steady, his golden eyes filled with a quiet patience that felt strangely comforting. Still, you couldn't help but wonder what had brought him down to Ithaca this time, and why, of all places, he'd found you here in such a state.

"I—" you started, but the words caught in your throat. Your grip on the scroll tightened, and you swallowed hard, shaking your head. "It's nothing," you said quickly, your voice barely steady. Clearing your throat, you glanced at Hermes, forcing a small, uncertain smile. "What brings you down here? Are you here to deliver another message?" you asked, your voice wavering between curiosity and hesitation.

Hermes waved a dismissive hand, his expression light and amused. "Nah, no messages this time," he said, leaning casually against the wall. "I was bored. Thought I'd drop in on my grandson-in-law, Laertes. You know, see how the old man's doing. Deliever a message for my granddaughter Anticleia and all that."

For a moment, your mind froze, his words not fully registering. "Your... grandson?" you repeated, blinking up at him in confusion.

Hermes chuckled, bending slightly to meet your gaze, his head tilting in mock curiosity. "What's the matter? Didn't you know Odysseus is a descendant of mine?" His teasing tone and the glint in his golden eyes sent a ripple of warmth to your cheeks.

The faintest memory stirred in the back of your mind—Penelope mentioning the royal lineage, the gods woven into their family tree—but you hadn't thought much of it at the time. The knowledge had slipped away, buried beneath the weight of your daily tasks.

"I... think I heard that before," you admitted softly, your brow furrowing as you tried to recall the details. "But I guess I didn't really connect the dots."

"Figures," Hermes said with a laugh, straightening up and gesturing grandly to himself. "It's why Odysseus is so clever, you know. Gets it from me. Same with Telemachus, to some degree—though he's still figuring it out." He shot you a playful grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You're lucky, by the way. Not everyone gets such a close-up view of divine legacy in action."

Your mind finally caught up, a single word from earlier sticking out in your thoughts. "Anticleia," you murmured, hesitant yet certain. "Isn't she...?" You trailed off, unsure how to phrase it delicately.

Hermes raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your reaction. "Dead? In the Underworld?" he finished for you, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. "Good ear, little musician." He tapped the side of his head playfully. "I do sometimes stop by to deliver messages for her. She's one of my favorites, you know. Sweet woman. Always appreciated my visits." A fond smile softened his face for a moment before he glanced back at you.

"Why?" he asked suddenly, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief. "Are you interested in going?"

The question caught you off guard, and your breath hitched. "G-Go to the Underworld?" you stammered, blinking at him in confusion. The idea sounded absurd—terrifying, even.

Hermes let out a hearty laugh, his voice echoing lightly through the corridor. "Not permanently, little one. I meant for a visit! Think of it as a 'bring a mortal to work' day." He winked, the boyish charm in his expression making the suggestion sound almost enticing. "I'm due to deliver a message to Anticleia from Laertes anyway. You could come along—get a glimpse of something most mortals only dream about."

You hesitated, the weight of the offer settling over you. The thought of traveling to the Underworld was daunting, to say the least, but a part of you was intrigued.

If you declined, you'd only be left alone with your swirling thoughts of Telemachus and Andreia, so perhaps this unexpected detour was just the distraction you needed.

Swallowing your nerves, you nodded slowly. "Alright," you said, your voice soft but resolute. "I'll go."

Hermes' grin widened, his excitement almost contagious. "That's the spirit! Stick with me, little musician, and you'll have quite the story to tell." He extended his hand toward you, his long fingers steady and inviting.

For a moment, you hesitated, glancing at his hand. It was unlike yours—smooth, unblemished, and seemingly untouched by the trials of the mortal world.

When your hand finally met his, you were struck by the warmth of his palm and the lightness of his touch. His fingers closed gently around yours, cradling your calloused hand with an unexpected tenderness, as though you were something fragile.

The contrast was stark, your roughened skin a reminder of the countless hours spent working and playing music, his touch soft and divine.

"There we go," Hermes said, his tone playful yet reassuring. "Don't worry, I won't let you fall." His golden eyes twinkled with mischief, but there was something else beneath them—a quiet promise of safety. Then, without warning, he pulled you closer, his warmth enveloping you as he bent his head down, his breath brushing against your ear. The soft rush of air sent a shiver cascading down your spine, your skin prickling in response.

"The shadows conceal the threshold, a gateway unseen to mortal eyes," he murmured, his voice low and smooth, carrying an intimate thrill that made your heart race. His breath was warm, each word laced with an excitement you couldn't quite place.

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling ever so slightly in his grasp.

Just as you thought you might ask a question, he pulled back slightly, a playful grin spreading across his face. "You're going to love this," he said with a happy chuckle, his tone shifting to one of boyish enthusiasm.

Before you could respond, Hermes stepped backward, tugging you with him. The shadows seemed to ripple and twist as he moved, pulling you effortlessly into their depths.

And then, you were gone.

A/N: ahhh love a good miscommunication 😩 as promised heres the promised chappie ❤️ next update features more hermes, stay tuned (p.s am i forgiven??? 🥹)

Tag List: @uniquetravelerone

[cleo-fox]

As the Clock Strikes Midnight - Part II

Series Masterlist Chapter Summary: In which you sneak into a masquerade. Chapter Warnings: Loki being an absolutely shameless flirt, some kissing, lots of banter.

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

It’s a strange feeling, walking into the masquerade in your mother’s dress. You’ve thought about this so many times that parts of it feel oddly surreal, like you’ve somehow wandered into a memory you’ve forgotten you had. 

You’re not entirely prepared to feel so visible. Your dress is a shade or two too fine to be owned by a servant, so most people assume that you’re a noble—when a footman calls you “my lady,” you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from correcting him. People smile and incline their heads slightly, whereas before their gazes would simply slide right past you. You find that you have to remind yourself to take slow and deep breaths. Inhale, exhale. Just breathe.

You’d caught glimpses of the ballroom before, but it, too, feels different now that you’re actually here as a guest. Garlands of exotic flowers drape from the walls and ceilings along with strands of crystals and colored glass beads that sparkle like diamonds when they catch the light. The remnants of the feast that you helped prepare are a rainbow of colors that seem grander than they had in the kitchens. Even the cakes—the same ones that you’d barely finished icing before Anja shooed you away—even they seem a little extraordinary.

People are dancing, a glittering array of fabrics, sequins, and masks swaying in time to music played by a small orchestra. You keep to the edge of the room, taking in the sights, keeping a weather eye out for Fritjof. You’re content to watch the crowd for a while—you’re too nervous to eat and dancing seems similarly risky. It’s enough just to be here, wearing your mother’s dress and pretending that you’re someone who you used to be. 

You’re not sure when all the noise and color starts to feel a bit too much, just that your focus on your breathing suddenly isn’t doing enough to combat the tightness around your ribs that squeezes at your lungs. It’s been so long since you’ve attended an event like this that you’ve forgotten how claustrophobic it can become. The room is just a degree or two too warm and the mingling smell of the food, sweat, and perfume is starting to feel suffocating. You’re not used to people noticing you and every pair of eyes that lands on you squeezes your ribs just a little more and you can feel beads of sweat beginning to gather at your temples and down the column of your spine. You catch a glimpse of Fritjof far away in the crowd—

Air. You need air.

The ballroom looks out onto the palace gardens and winter lingers enough to discourage most people from venturing outside, so that is where you decide to go. It doesn’t take much effort to slip out the door unnoticed and the moment you step outside, it’s a relief. You can still hear the rumble of voices and the swell of music, but it’s more manageable, especially with the balm of the night air so blessedly cool on your cheeks. The tightness around your ribs loosens and the sweat on your brow and spine cools and suddenly you can breathe without feeling like you’re about to choke.

There’s a circle of benches surrounding a fountain not far down the garden path and you make your way to one of them, sitting down heavily. The chill of the stone beneath you is soothing, anchoring you more firmly in the moment and easing the trembling in your arms and legs until you feel more like yourself. You take a few deep breaths. After a moment, a weak, shaky laugh falls from your lips.

“Norns, this was a terrible idea,” you say. “I never should have come.”

“Come now. It can’t be all that bad.”

Your heart leaps wildly into your throat at the sound of another voice and belatedly, you realize that there is a figure standing just in the shadow of the empty fountain, easy enough to miss if you’re not paying attention—which of course, you haven’t been.

The air leaves your lungs when you realize who it is. He wears a mask, but there is no mistaking that buttery smooth voice, those emerald green eyes, or the sardonic tilt of his lips. 

Your legs feel as steady as overcooked noodles, but you scramble to your feet anyway. “I beg your pardon, your highness,” you say, dipping into a curtsy. “I didn’t realize anyone was out here.”

His lips curl into a catlike smile as he approaches you. “Isn’t the point of a masquerade that you’re not supposed to know who I am?”

The prince is as imposing as he ever is, but there’s something about the protection of the mask, the glamor of your dress, the crispness of the night air, and the wild and giddy relief of being away from all those people that makes you feel like you can be yourself. Besides, it's not like he knows who you are—he’s only seen you in the dim light of the library; surely the moonlit garden will provide him with no further clues.

“Well, either I am very clever or you are very obvious,” you say. “I’ll leave it to you to decide.”

He chuckles quietly and you can’t help but feel rather pleased with yourself. “And tell me, what is a very clever lady doing hiding in the gardens during the biggest event of the year?”

“I should ask the same of you, your highness.”

He grins. “Ah, but I asked first, my lady.”

You tilt your head to the side. “You act as though you are expecting something scandalous of me.”

“You must admit the circumstances suggest that you have a good story,” he says.

You laugh, partly because he has no notion of how ridiculous your circumstances actually are. “There could be any number of unexciting reasons why I’m out here.”

He folds his arms across his chest, smirking. “Name one.”

“Perhaps I don’t know how to dance.”

“Doubtful. Even if you didn’t, I should think there would be a score of gentlemen eager to show you. Try again.”

“Perhaps I don’t know how to dance and I am very shy.”

He chuckles, a low throaty sound that makes your spine tingle. “If you were very shy, I think you would have taken your leave of me almost immediately.”

“Perhaps I am all of those things and unfailingly polite,” you say.

“Unfailingly polite, yet here you are, skulking in the garden, hiding from your hosts.”

“And again, your highness, I am compelled to note that you are out here as well.”

“Perhaps I am looking for stragglers in order to reprimand them.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort. “I doubt it.”

“Oh?” he says, his voice sounding lightly amused. “You would doubt a prince?”

“You do not seem like a man who concerns himself overly much with the affairs of others.” 

“You are astute, my lady.” He taps a finger against his lips and you’re fairly certain he’s raising an eyebrow underneath his mask. “But you’re trying to distract me from my question.”

You give him a coy smile. “Will you like me as well when my answer is as dull as I promised you?”

“You have my word.”

You lower your voice as though you’re sharing something scandalous. “I needed some air and a moment or two to be myself. Are you terribly disappointed now?”

“Not at all,” he says, giving you a smile that feels like a rather thrilling secret. “We have that in common.”

“Do we?” you say. “I should think you would be used to these events by now.”

“They tend to make for poor conversation,” he says. “Present company excluded.”

“You flatter me, sire.”

“I was hoping that enough flattery might convince you to tell me your name.”

You smile. “Of course not.”

Defying royalty was probably not a smart thing to do (another reason why it was perhaps wise to keep you in the kitchens), but Loki’s lips curl into another smile, like this is all a rather delightful game. “You would deny a prince a simple request?”

“Isn’t the point of a masquerade that you’re not supposed to know who I am?”

You’re using his own words against him and his smile grows even more foxlike. “But you know who I am. It seems only fair that I should know who you are.”

“Well, then, you must be very clever and guess,” you say.

“And how should I know you are telling the truth?”

You allow yourself a coquettish smile. “They call you the god of lies, do they not?”

“I see my reputation precedes me,” he says.

“You are a prince,” you say.

“That I am. And you are…?”

“Not telling you my name.” You raise your eyebrows at him. “I hope you didn’t actually think that would work.”

“Not especially,” he says. “Though I can’t help but wonder why you insist on being so mysterious.”

You grin. “You seem to forget where we are, your highness. Shall I quote you again?”

He laughs and it makes your stomach flip. “If you will not give me your name, then tell me something else about yourself.”

“Hmm.” You pause for a moment. “I am reading a very good book.”

“And what book is that?”

“The Cloistered Heart.”

He makes a face. “That drivel?”

You laugh. “I take it you are not a romantic.”

He scoffs. “I’ll have you know I’m very romantic, I simply prefer more sensible writers.”

“Like who?”

“Auber.”

You can’t help the bark of a laugh that falls from your lips. “Auber! Now I am convinced that you are not possessed of a beating heart.”

“You wound me. What fault could you possibly find in Auber?”

“He describes emotion like he is writing a technical manual.”

“His prose is a triumph of language.”

“He’s boring.”

You continue like this for a while, playfully arguing about books. His taste is quite different from yours—his interests tend to skew more toward the philosophical and dryly intellectual, which is the sort of thing that makes you want to claw your own eyes out—but you share some surprising overlap on a few notable titles. The more you talk, the more you find yourself wanting to stay, even though you shouldn't. He’s still imposing in a way that makes your heart beat a little faster, but it’s also easy to talk to him when you’re an anonymous masked noblewoman. You’re perhaps slightly too informal with him—you scoff at his bad opinions and tell him precisely what you think, but he only seems delighted by these barbs.

More concerning, though, is the fact that he is very charming and handsome and the more you talk, the more you are tempted to let this go on a little longer. You find yourself wondering what it might be like to kiss him, to run your hands through his raven dark hair.

“Is something the matter?” he says.

Your stomach drops as you realize you have been staring at him for just a second too long dwelling on the possibility of a kiss. “Forgive me, my mind wandered for a moment.”

“Am I truly that dull?” he says, sighing rather dramatically.

You breathe a quiet laugh. “You’re trying to bait me into complimenting you,” you say, giving him an arch look. “It won’t work.”

“I rather think I’m deserving of a few compliments after so many cruel blows to my ego,” he says.

“If you had better opinions on books, I would not need to strike so many cruel blows.”

“You wound me.” He is smiling as he says this.

“I rather think you enjoy such unfiltered honesty,” you say. “You could have stormed off in a huff or ordered your guards to throw me in the dungeons, yet you are still here.”

“That I am.” He looks at you for a moment and you feel as though something has changed, though you can’t quite put a finger on what. “I confess, I’ve grown rather enamored of your wit, my lady,” he says after a moment.

Oh.

You swallow. The way his gaze sweeps over you makes you quite glad for the half-dark of the garden and the shield of your mask. “You flatter me, your highness.”

“What, no witty riposte?” he says. “Are you feeling quite well?”

“I often find myself unmoored by compliments,” you say.

“I should hope so,” he says, his voice lowering and taking on a depth that makes your stomach flip. “I’m trying to charm you.”

“Oh? To what end?” You are amazed that your voice remains steady.

He takes your hand and brushes his lips against your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. “A kiss, perhaps.”

“How very proper of you.”

The corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly. “I did say perhaps. The garden is dark and my chambers are close should a more intimate setting be agreeable.”

“Are you always so forthright in your pursuits?”

“Only when the lady is enticing.” 

You swallow. “And you find me enticing?”

There is a hunger in his eyes that you can’t help but be thrilled by. “Extremely.”

You raise an eyebrow, hoping that your voice does not betray the fact that you are trembling. “You don’t even know who I am. You could find me quite dull without my mask.”

He laughs quietly and gives you a look that conjures a dull ache between your thighs. “Would you care to make a wager? It’s nearly midnight.”

Panic cuts through your false bravado like a hot knife through butter and you raise your eyes to look at the clock tower. You’ve lost track of time—it’s five minutes to midnight.

Your first instinct is to flee and you try to do that, but Loki is quicker, his hand closing around your wrist.

“Fleeing without a farewell?” he says. “That would be terribly rude, my lady.”

You fight to tamp down the growing panic in your chest. “I’ve my reasons for not wanting to be seen here tonight.”

“Oh?” he says. “Do tell.”

Your heart is pounding. He thinks this all a game, a small obstacle on his path to seducing you. And of course you can’t tell him that the stakes are much higher, that this is a matter of being found out by a man who goes out of his way to make your life miserable, possibly a matter of being thrown in the dungeons for defying orders. Anja would probably be in trouble as well. His grip on your wrist is firm and his smile is teasing and you’re not sure how you’re going to get out of this.

Unless…

Perhaps you can play along, pretend this is all a game. It’s not certain, but it’s the only plan you have.

“I’ll make you a bargain.” The words fall out of your mouth quickly, albeit with some uncertainty. 

Perhaps it’s the slight quaver in your voice that intrigues him, or maybe it’s the lure of a bargain with a mysterious masked woman that he can’t quite resist. “Go on,” he says and you can tell he’s raising an eyebrow behind his mask.

“You let me go tonight and we let the chase go on a little longer,” you say. “You come and find me in the coming days.”

He chuckles softly and it sends a shiver up your spine. “Now why would I do that when I have you here in my clutches right now?” He pulls you closer, one hand snaking around your waist, his palm pressing lightly on your back so that there is very little space between you.

You wet your lips and try to summon your sultriest look. “Would it not make the conquest all the sweeter?”

He smirks, his voice dropping to a low purr. “And when I find you? What then, little mouse?”

“A kiss, perhaps.”

“A kiss?” he muses softly. His gaze trails over the curve of your lips and it’s all you can do not to shiver.

“Yes.”

“A kiss is a rather dangerous proposition, my lady,” he says and he’s so close that you can feel the whisper of his breath against your lips. “A kiss may stoke other...appetites.”

Despite your fear of being found out, there is part of you—a large part of you—that would gladly let him take you right here, right now in the garden if he wanted to. Instead, you summon every ounce of self-control that you have in order to ignore the heat that stretches like a panther low in your hips.

“I might be agreeable to stoking those appetites,” you say, “but you have to find me first.”

His lips twitch into a slight smile. “Your proposition is intriguing, my lady,” he says, “but I would request one small gesture of your good faith.”

He’s staring at your lips as he says this and you know without a doubt that he intends to kiss you before he lets you go. And it’s probably not a good idea, but you are inclined to allow it.

You lick your lips. “What sort of gesture?” 

He smiles and there’s time for you to draw a single, shaky breath before his lips brush ever so softly against yours.

You’ve been kissed before, but not like this. Never like this.

Loki kisses you like the world is ending and the only salvation to be found is on your lips. His movements are lazy and languid, but there’s a hunger that simmers just below the surface, promising you something more than a breathless kiss in a moonlit garden. He tastes your lips and tongue, first as though he’s tasting a fine wine and then like a man dying of thirst. His hand curls around the nape of your neck, his thumb resting in the hollow of your throat. It’s entirely proper, but something about it is so intimate that it feels like it should be scandalous. 

You try to memorize every part of this moment because after tonight, you will return to your life of drudgery. No more stolen kisses in the last days of winter, no more flirting with a prince in the moonlight. And because it has to last you the rest of your life, you give yourself fully to the sensation, kissing him back with the same intensity, your hands winding around his neck, pulling yourself closer, pressing against him in a way that borders on indecent.

You don’t want it to end.

He is the one to break the kiss, to draw back just a little, resting his forehead against yours for just a moment before taking a step back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He’s probably only thinking of leaving you wanting more, not realizing that your little flirtation will go no further than tonight. The thought pains you just a little, but you stifle the feeling, keeping your expression neutral.

“Until we meet again, my lady,” he says.

You force a small smile. “Until then, your highness.”

With one last look at Loki, you turn and walk away, the feeling of his kiss burning on your lips.

The clock strikes midnight as you exit the garden. You turn back, half expecting to find him chasing after you. Instead, you see him standing there, a pale figure in the moonlight, his eyes still trained on where you disappeared into the darkness.

Next chapter

[creepswrites]

MASK OF HATE (CH 3) | Michael x Reader

just when i was finally starting to feel better physically, i tanked mentally :') so i'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. i hope this was worth the wait though! i promise i Do plan to work on other stuff besides just MoH but rn i just. needed to write Michael for a bit

MICHAEL MYERS x FTM!READER (he/him)

SUMMARY: You internally cursed Dr. Loomis for tormenting this man for so, so many years. Embodiment of evil your ass, he was so obviously desperate for love and care that he'd practically thrown himself at you as soon as you'd proven you would love him no matter what. He was more than the traumas he felt compelled to reenact. He was so, so much more and you loved every part of him.

PREV || NEXT

Halloween in Haddonfield was always a high-strung time for the town.

Ever since the Halloween killings a few years ago, the town had taken a hesitant approach to the holiday. Parents made a point to accompany their kids everywhere or just simply stay home with them. If phones went down or power went out, babysitting teens were told to cross the street and get help, no matter what. Despite the horrors, people still dressed up, still went looking for candy, and still snuck out to make out with their respective partners.

Halloween for you had been quiet. You'd gone to a small costume party with your friends and tried to stay busy. You knew Michael was out working since news of his crimes reached your party, people whispering and gasping at the reported murders coming from the televisions.

You tried not to think about it.

By the time you got home, it was nearly 2am and you were exhausted. As though sensing your arrival, the Boogeyman stepped out of the shadows of your kitchen, bloodstained and breathing heavily. "Busy night?" You'd called to him with a tired smile. He tilted his head in lieu of any response.

With the holiday over, you wondered what Michael would do next. For many nights after, you lay in bed and bore holes in your ceiling as you tried to come up with a plan. Would he leave? Go back to Smith's Grove? Surely he couldn't keep killing, right? There'd be no people left in Haddonfield eventually. But was that the point?

You didn't know. You didn't like not knowing.

But he didn't do any of those things. Instead, he'd sit on your couch and watch television, intrigued by the cartoons, or follow you around the house. If you left, he'd stalk you from a distance just out of sight. He joined you for dinner and movies in front of the television and seemed to enjoy watching horror films when you put them on. You knew him well enough to notice he had a soft spot for The Thing so you tried to put it on as often as possible.

It became the new normal. Domestic and quiet.

Months passed. Fall oranges faded to browns and whites as winter approached. You'd leave out food for Mayhem in hopes he'd come home but you began to lose hope. All you could do now was pray he didn't suffer or that he hadn't been eaten by some other animal.

Michael always watched you when you did this, stood in the doorway of the backdoor while you sat on the narrow steps, hoping your kitty would come home. It might've looked silly to him but he never tried to stop you. You appreciated that.

During all this, he didn't kill anyone. At least, not that you knew of. You tried to avoid the news and, with your dad gone, you didn't have much insider information anymore. Who knows if they were even still looking for him.

So you made a Thanksgiving feast. Michael was familiar with the concept but you knew it had likely been a long time since he'd actually gotten to participate. So you went all out - turkey, mashed potatoes, corn, green bean casserole, gravy, the whole nine yards. The two of you ate together on your couch and watched Charlie Brown episodes, eating your weights in food and falling asleep on opposite ends of the couch.

When you'd woken, you had been taken aback by how peaceful he looked when he slept. Curly hair ruffled from the awkward angle he lay against one of your throw pillows, his face still but not tense. Pretty, you thought to yourself not for the first time.

It was nice. Everything felt perfect.

One afternoon when you'd gotten back from work, you saw Michael masked up and standing on your front porch cradling something wrapped up in an old towel. "What is that?" You gasped, fearing the worse as you hurried closer.

But you broke down into tears, immediately recognizing Mayhem. Cold, trembling, and most certainly sick in so many ways but alive and home. You'd taken him to the vet's office, a sobbing mess in the waiting room. He'd need surgery for his infected wounds and have to be on antibiotics for a long time but you were just relieved he was home and safe now.

Michael never told you how he found him. You didn't ask, just baked him a pumpkin pie as thanks.

November browns turned to December blues as snow and frost began to make appearances. The first snow day, you'd bundled both yourself and Michael up and dragged him outside to see the falling snow. He wore the mask much less now, often leaving the thing in the corner of the closet, hidden away like a bad memory.

You didn't really understand that. Your best theory was that the mask compelled Michael to kill and now that Halloween had come and gone, he was back to some semblance of normal. He still wore masks from time to time - rustic paper mache ones crafted at your kitchen table on quiet afternoons - but significantly less now. Maybe it was just a Halloween thing and he was relatively normal the rest of the year? You weren't sure. Obviously, you knew better than to push about what happened with his sister but you wondered if the killings were a reenactment of the trauma.

Psychology has always interested you.

It wouldn't surprise you if the great Dr. Loomis neglected to acknowledge that Michael was traumatized, quick to demonize him rather than provide him proper care. That he didn't put together Michael went from a normal boy to suddenly completely nonverbal and monotonous after killing her. It had affected him, even if people didn't want to admit that. Michael himself included.

But wearing the classic mask a little less meant you could slip a cute wool hat on his head and drag him out, mitten-clad hands clasped together as you charged outside. "Come see, come see!"

Michael looked up at the falling snow, squinting against the snowflakes that began to freckle his face. You'd laughed and nudged him. "Try this," you said before opening your mouth and letting the snowflakes fall on your tongue.

He'd given you a bewildered look but tried it. Only because he'd grown so fond of you, you assumed.

Days passed. Mayhem made a full recovery and now spent his days lounging in the winter sun. Sometimes he'd brush against Michael for attention and the man had gotten better at returning it, fingers brushing soft black fur occasionally. It was sweet, you thought, how he'd slowly begun to reintegrate into your life.

When you caught him drawing on looseleaf papers, you decided to get him paints and canvases as an early Christmas present and cleared out your dad's old room to let him have an art studio to paint and work on his masks in private. You'd layed down old newspapers to keep the floor relatively clean when you revealed it to him. He'd spend hours up in there, painting or making masks. You'd helped him hang some up on the wall of the room with little thumbtacks as hooks. He was getting good, you'd thought as you examined a bright orange mask that resembled a jack o' lantern.

Michael didn't show you his paintings very often. That wasn't really the point anyways so you didn't mind. But there had been a few times when he'd leave a dried canvas outside your bedroom door or atop your bed like a cat offering dead animals. Your favorite so far was one of the winter sky painted with fluffy whites and cold blues with your own profile looking up at the sky. The way he painted was streaky, like his hands shook, but it was still beautifully detailed despite the messy lines and bleeding colors.

It was interesting seeing yourself through someone else's eyes translated to art. You'd kept the painting in your room and you'd trace your fingers along the raised streaks of paint, fingers running along the lines of your face. You wondered, fleetingly with bright red cheeks, if he painted you often and just never showed you.

There was a chance. You liked to think he did.

It was around the middle of December as you attempted to get ready for a holiday party. Attempted being the key word. “Michael,” you sighed, adjusting your elf hat. “I told you, I’ll be back later tonight. I’ve left dinner in the fridge and I promise I’ll call when I’m coming home.”

It was nearing Christmas when you'd gotten invited to a holiday party. You were attempting to get ready, dressing up as a cute little elf. Attempting being the key word. "Michael," you sighed, adjusting your stupid looking elf hat, "I told you, I'll be back later tonight. I've left dinner in the fridge and I promise I'll call when I'm coming home."

Michael glared at you behind the accursed Halloween mask. He had a habit of being a bit of a brat and you found it equally annoying as you did endearing. He'd put the mask on when he'd learnt you were leaving but you'd expected that. Whenever he was generally stressed out or upset, you'd find it covering his head. The symbolism there wasn't lost on you but you had more pressing things to worry about then the possible metaphor of Michael masking himself literally and figuratively.

"If you're so upset, why not come with?" You snorted to yourself as you focused on doing your eyes in a dark green with white mascara. "I can do your makeup, dress you in a cute sweater, no one would know it's you. Could be fun, yeah?"

You paused to do your lips in a dark red. Makeup wasn't really your preference but it suited the costume you wore - a dark green tunic with red and white striped knee socks with brown boots. The hat was a matching green and jingled stupidly from the little bell on the end. You'd done your face with a heavy blush and had drawn little white snowflakes in liquid eyeliner. It was cute.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching you had you spinning around. Michael stood directly behind you and tilted his head when you made eye contact. "Wait, are you serious?" You blinked in surprise. You'd gotten good at reading him in the few months you'd spent living together and you could tell he was accepting your offer.

He gave you a blank stare before putting a hand around your neck and squeezing. You noted his tense shoulders and tried to relax. A few months ago, this gesture would have terrified you. Now you knew that it was just his way of expression. A knife and a violent hand was all he could use to convey things so you'd learnt to just roll with it, knowing that his intent wasn't to kill you.

So you didn't panic.

"I'm not making fun!" You insisted, lifting a hand to push lightly at his chest. "I just need to be sure you're actually interested in going. There'll be people there, you know that right?" Silence. "People you can't kill." More silence. "I'm not kidding either, you can't hurt or kill anyone if you come with me." It had been a long time since he'd killed anyone but you could never be totally sure of his motives. He could still be unpredictable from time to time.

Michael let you go and marched towards the dresser. You watched curiously as he fished out a black shirt and black jeans - clothes you'd gotten for him when he couldn't be in the jumpsuit - before offering them with outstretched arms. He gave you a curt nod and you smiled.

He didn't do that often so you knew he was serious.

"Alright then, c'mere big guy," you motioned for him to sit on the bed as you began gathering up makeup supplies. You kept your head turned away as he changed to offer him some semblance of privacy. Growing up in an institution meant he didn't have a lot of shame left but you always felt bad when you thought about that. 

You missed the way his hands shook as he took off the mask, too busy searching for a colored contact for his injured eye. You found a pretty jade green and figured that'd work. Heterochromia was uncommon, not unheard of. Some red eyeshadow for his eyes would help cover up the scar and would also be cute for a Rudolph nose. You collected your supplies and turned to Michael with a wide smile.

That smile fell when you saw him sitting on your bed, dressed up nice as he stared at the mask clutched tightly in his hands. He stared into its face with wide, terrified eyes and that made you freeze. You'd seen that look only once before: when you held each other in the bathroom after you'd saved him from being shot.

"You don't have to go." Your voice was soft and reassuring. He looked up at you slowly and you continued. "I know this isn't something you normally do, but-" Michael blinked slowly as you rambled. "I don't want you to feel like you have to do this for me." The last thing you needed was him snapping and killing people at the party. You'd both be in trouble for that.

But you also wondered if he was unfamiliar with being given choices. You never forced Michael into things he didn't want to do and it was possible he wasn't used to that.

He stared at you for a long time, fingernails digging into latex, before he unclenched long enough for the mask to fall to the floor with a soft crunch. The two of you stared at it for a long time and he blinked rapidly as he stared. You could tell by the clenching and unclenching of his jaw that he was fighting something off.

You wanted to make it easier for him.

So you took a seat beside him and reached for his face with slow hands. His flinch made your heart break and you cooed to him softly. "It's just me," you soothed as you clicked open the container with the contact lens inside. "I'd never hurt you."

Michael relaxed slowly, watching you with something storming in his eyes. You cupped his cheek with one hand and his eyes fluttered briefly. "Have you ever put contacts in?" You asked, smiling warmly at him.

He shook his head once. This was going to be tricky.

It took some time to get the contact in. Neither of you really knew what you were doing and you kept worrying it'd roll back to his brain. But, with your combined efforts, it now sat comfortably in his eye. Pretty green-hazel heterochromatic eyes that you fought to not get lost in. Even with the scarring he looked… normal.

"Should I even ask if you've ever worn makeup?" You teased as you took out the eyeshadow. "I'll be brushing your face and around your eyes. Is that okay?"

Michael blinked slowly, which you took as a yes.

"Stop me if it gets to be too much, okay?" You said softly before dabbing the brush in the dark red and swiping it gently over his lids, relieved it covered the scar pretty well.

You weren't sure how familiar people were with his actual face. When people thought of Michael Myers, did they just see the pale, masked face of the Boogeyman? Or did they see his mugshot, televised on the evening news as they reported his escape and recapture?

When you moved to his next eye, his hand shot out to clench your hip tight. He hated feeling vulnerable. You were the only exception to his no touching rule because you'd proven your loyalty. In exchange, he'd given you protection. But he still disliked giving over control and holding you like a stressball was the only thing he could do to abate his anxiety.

You dusted some red on the tip of his nose and smiled to yourself. "So a few of my friends will be there," you hummed as you added the finishing touches on the raccoon-style eyeshadow you'd given him to hide a lot of the scars. Since he was wearing darker clothes, you reached for the black eyeshadow next with the intent of dusting it around his lids to give him a smokier look. It made him a tad intimidating, black soot that petered out into a dark red. "They'll probably try to talk to you but I'll try and take over. If they ask, we'll say you got in a car accident when you were young and haven't been able to talk since."

He gave your hip a squeeze in confirmation.

You brushed some red on the tip of his nose with a hum. "My friend Leslie is the chattiest so at least we won't have to worry about him. He's always rambling on and on about the horror novel he's writing. To his credit, it's really interesting." You began to brush a heavy blush on his cheeks, chuckling at the way he squinted against the sensation. "It's about some boy who was thrown over a waterfall before rising to take revenge on the town? I think? I mean, he'll certainly tell you all about it. I think he's calling it Behind the Mask or something, I'm not sure."

Michael opened his eyes when you finished with the blush and you froze. He looked good and you couldn't help but stare. Tight fitting shirt, half-lidded eyes decorated in smoky colors, and messy brown curls that you made a note to fluff up before you left. He looked painfully normal and pretty and you wanted to-

You cleared your throat and grabbed the white eyeliner pen. "This'll be colder but try not to move." Gently, you held under his chin to keep him steady as you began to dot little freckles along his cheeks and nose, pausing to draw larger snowflakes at the corners of his eyes. That way you two matched!

When you pulled back, you realized he'd been staring at you.

There were a few times in the time of you knowing Michael that you wondered if he could read minds. If, in order to be the scariest thing possible, he knew exactly what scared someone. But, you reminded yourself, this wasn't some Stephen King novel. Still, it unnerved you to consider he knew what you thought of him privately.

"Oh! I know!" You hopped up and hurried back over to your vanity, grabbing a brown headband decorated with felt horns wrapped in tiny bells. They were painfully cute and you spun to show him.

He squinted at you and you giggled. "Trust me, it'll look super cute." Sliding it atop his head, you finally got to fluff his hair out to disguise the band better. When you stepped back, you gave him a once-over and a smile.

Michael fucking Myers dressed up as a reindeer. Cute little nose, horns, and all.

"You think we should use nicknames to be less suspicious?" You hummed, tilting your head - a habit you'd picked up from him. "I could call you Mike." He glared at you and you smiled with a faux-innocence. "Aw, don't like it?" He glared harder and you laughed. "Well, if they ask for your last name, I'm making something up!"

He got up wordlessly and made his way to your vanity, examining himself in the mirror. As expected, he didn't say anything. But he did touch lightly at his eyes, curious when the powder came off on his fingers. You joined him, looking you both over in the mirror. From the outside, you two looked like any normal young couple heading for a Christmas party.

“Well Mikey,” you said as you grabbed your bag, “Shall we?”

You laughed at the slow, unimpressed blink he gave you.

You were honestly impressed Chrissy managed to get so many people to come. She'd been very popular in high school - a cheerleader who'd dated the quarterback of the football team, well-liked, and clearly still riding that high despite graduating out of high school cliques. Chrissy had been a year above you but had always been one of those girls to try and invite everyone she knew to any events she threw. So you weren't exactly close friends but you'd helped her with a school project once and apparently that was enough for her.

The house was decorated to the nines, lined in little white lights that glistened against the freshly fallen snow. Little reindeer animatronics made of the same lights "grazed" in the front yard and little candy cane lights lined the pathway. It all felt a little magical. A small flurry had picked up when you and Michael got out of the car and made your way up to the front door.

Michael paused to look up at the sky while you rang the doorbell, listening to the melodic chimes ring out inside the house. You swore he almost smiled, his hair dusted in little white flakes when he looked down at you. Your heart seized at the sight and you were struck with the urge to k–

Chrissy opened the door, smiling wide and dressed in an inappropriate Mrs Claus outfit. She surveyed you both and let out a surprised gasp, the corners of her mouth curling in delight. "And who's this hottie?" She whispered at you while giggling like a schoolgirl. "I didn't know you knew any cute guys. No offense." She twirled her hair, shamelessly looking Michael up and down.

Jealousy shot through you like a bolt of lightning. "He's my boyfriend."

"Oh," she seemed almost disappointed, which you tried to brush off. She'd always felt a little entitled towards whomever she determined was the most attractive guy. It was just how she was, even if it pissed you off in the moment. "Well, I'm happy for you!" She spun on her heel and led you both into the house, gesturing for her butler to take your coats. "Feel free to mingle, lovebirds! We've got drinks, food, and our chef made a bunch of cookies."

Michael seemed to notice the lovebirds comment and you flushed, giving a nod and smile to Chrissy while trying to ignore his stare boring into the back of your head. "Thanks. Oh, um, here!" You reached into your bag and held out a small, nicely wrapped gift. "For the Secret Santa."

She lit up and took the box enthusiastically. "Ohmygosh, thank you! I was just going to ask." Chrissy added the box to a nearby table and clasped her hands together excitedly. "Alright, perfect, you're free to go!"

You led the way to the kitchen, dodging a few familiar faces with smiles and waves and promises to return once you'd gotten some food and drinks. Michael held your wrist the whole way there, squeezing harder and harder the more people spoke to you.

The kitchen was huge, white, and perfectly pristine. The maid who cleaned everything always made their house look like an interior design catalog rather than an actual home. A large plate of highly elaborate sugar cookies lay atop the countertop, a large amount already missing with only trails of crumbs indicative of their place there.

You grabbed a candy cane shaped cookie and gestured for Michael to grab one. "I think you'll like these." He just stared at you, eyes widened ever so slightly. "What?" You asked through a mouthful of cookie. His head tilted slightly and you swallowed nervously. "Sorry for the, um, boyfriend comment. It just, uh, it felt like a safe alibi, y'know?"

Michael stared at you, eyes calculating. You prepared a million apologies in your head before he reached for a snowman cookie and bit into it, never breaking eye contact. You weren't sure if that was approval or disapproval so you both just stood there, staring awkwardly at each other and eating sugar cookies. Your fingers drummed anxiously on the cold marble tile of the kitchen counter as you tried to stand your ground.

When he finished his, Michael stepped closer to you and placed a hand at your waist. He leant forward and pressed his lips to your forehead, making you gasp in surprise. It wasn't exactly a kiss but the intent was there and the message was clear. You swallowed when he pulled back and you swore his eyes softened. "Okay, okay, cool," you said quietly, trying - and failing - to hold back your smile.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and smirked to yourself about the faint lipstick stain there. You snagged another couple cookies and a glass of cider. His cheeks were a soft pink when you passed him one of the cookies. "Shall we brace the music?" You grinned as you took his arm and led him out the door back into the party.

Everything went perfectly, all things considered. Of course, everyone you knew wanted to meet your new boyfriend. "It's a recent development," you'd say as Michael took a drink to avoid talking. "I met him when my car broke down and we just… hit it off, y'know?" You'd smile as though recounting the memories through your pleasant buzz from the cider.

"How long have you been dating?" You were asked a few times.

"Oh, a month and a half now, I think. It feels like it's been longer." You'd say while Michael chewed on cookies.

It had been, if you thought about when the starting point of your relationship could've been. Maybe not long after he'd gotten sick and you'd cared for him in a way he hadn't had since he was a child. Or maybe after you'd both made a wordless pact to each other while your father lay bleeding on the kitchen floor. Hard to say. But calling him your boyfriend had come so easily that you questioned how long you'd considered him that in your subconscious.

When Chrissy announced her parent's arrival with a few of their friends in tow, you went to greet them without a second thought. You froze in fear when you caught sight of her father: John Kallas. Officer Kallas. A friend of your father's who had been part of the team searching for Michael around Halloween.

You clutched Michael's arm and steered him to a quiet hallway of the house. "Don't let her dad see you," you whisper-yelled. When he tilted his head, you ran a nervous hand through your hair. "He was one of the cops looking for you. He might recognize you."

Michael didn't visibly react but you did notice him clenching his jaw. "I didn't know he'd be here! I hadn't thought of it until I saw him." You sighed, frustrated with your own anxiety rising. "I'm sorry. Do you want to leave?"

He seemed to think it over but you were interrupted by heels clicking on the tile floor. In a panic, you grabbed his wrists and put his hands at your waist. "Act like we were kissing." You whispered as you leant in, bumping your foreheads together.

His head tilted askew slightly and gave you a moment to mess up your lipstick a little. The footsteps came to a halt and you heard a familiar laugh that made all the anxiety in your body melt away in an instant.

Kalei stood with their arms crossed, looking you both over with an amused expression. "So is this the guy you were telling me about back in September?" They laughed at seeing the way you hid your face in your hands in embarrassment.

Michael gave you a quizzical look and you groaned. "Yes, yes, he is." You confessed with an exhausted sigh. "But shh!" You waved a hand at them to try and quiet them.

They didn't back down though. "He would gush about you at work to me all the time," they drawled out, ignoring your flustered protests.

"I didn't-!"

"You better treat him right!" Kalei said, crossing their arms over their chest. "I may not look it but I can pack a serious punch."

Michael blinked slowly before looking back at you. "What do you need, Kalei?" You sputtered, trying to change the topic before your impromptu boyfriend decided to make a scene.

"Oh, the Secret Santa's starting. Came to getcha." They gestured for you both to follow with an impish smile growing on their face. "Better hurry up before people start making assumptions." They teased with a waggle of their eyebrows.

Your face lit up like a torch and you gently pushed Michael away to march down the hall. "N-no, wouldn't want that, yeah." Your voice sounded far away to your own ears, too much blood pounding through your head.

Michael followed on your heels like a loyal dog and you tried to ignore the way that made you feel.

You and Michael took a seat on one of the couches and you held his arm almost possessively, especially when you noticed some of the other girls at the party kept looking at him with bashful faces. It pissed you off just how shameless they were even when they knew he was dating you. Was it that hard for people to believe?

The absence of John Kallas made you think that he and his buddies had gone into one of the other rooms. Which put your mind at ease, at least a little.

The Secret Santa was relatively uneventful. You clapped politely as people opened their gifts and were surprised when Chrissy handed you your gift from her. A book on growing vegetables with a tab already inside on a picture of a tomato plant. "You think I should grow tomatoes?" You gave her an amused smile.

"Well, duh! It, like, suits your whole vibe, y'know? I'm surprised you don't grow more vegetables." Chrissy had nudged you gently as you began leafing through the rest of the book, skimming the words as Michael watched over your shoulder.

As it finally came time to leave, you were saying your goodbyes to Chrissy when you spotted Officer Kallas leaving the kitchen. You pulled Michael out of there quickly, hoping that the stumble the officer gave was simply him tripping and not because he'd seen The Boogeyman as your date to his daughter's party.

Your walk back to the car was brisk and silent. White snow was like stars as it fell overhead before coming to rest on your shoulders and the ground below. "Thank you for coming," you said, reaching over to squeeze Michael's hand. "It was nice having you there."

Before you could pull your hand away completely, he gave you a squeeze of his own before climbing into the passenger seat.

Oh, you thought to yourself. Oh.

For Christmas, you'd gotten Michael a drum set.

It had been an impulsive buy, a decision you had made while walking past a thrift store and noticing a decently priced set on display in the window.

He enjoyed doing things with his hands - be it painting, making masks, or, most recently, helping you decorate Christmas cookies. So you figured he'd get a kick out of drumming. You lived far out enough that he could afford to be loud without worrying about waking the neighbors up and you had a detached garage he could play in. Maybe when the weather got warmer, he'd move outside.

And it might help him to let energy out. You'd caught him giving death glares to random postmen who came to your door and he'd already begun the habit of wearing the accursed Halloween mask around the house again. So you didn't want him to get bored.

“Here,” you said as you passed him the drumsticks. He examined them curiously and you gestured to the drums. When he gave you an empty stare, you took one of the stucks and whacked on the cymbals. That made Michael’s eyes widen and he moved around to take a seat. “You can be as loud as you want with them. No one’ll hear soooo… go crazy!”

Michael took the stick back and held them both in hesitant hands. With a few bangs that seemed exploratory coupled with getting the hang of pressing his foot to make a lower noise, he seemed to catch on pretty quick. His banging grew in speed and volume as he gained confidence and you laughed, covering your ears when the sound echoed off the walls of the small space. "You got it!" You called over the crashing cymbals.

A loud bang signified the end of his "song" and he stared at you with wide, crazy eyes, panting heavily. "Fun, right?" You smiled at him. "They're all yours so you're free to come play them whenever you want."

His lips curled into an almost feral smile that made you smile back. You'd never seen him smile before, much less like that.

Over the next few days, Michael continued sneaking – literally sneaking, like he'd be in trouble if you spotted him – into the garage to play the drums. His disorganized, chaotic banging was slowly starting to take form. Organized chaos, you smiled to yourself. The loud sounds and movements gave Michael a chance to express himself with noise which was quite the contrast to his usual quiet self.. You also found it exceptionally cute when he'd go play and come back inside hours later with his wild brown curls disheveled and a crazed grin on his face.

It had been unsettling at first seeing him smile the way he did but now it just made your heart seize. His fingers would drum on things to a tune you couldn't hear and he was painfully human now, relaxed around you and genuinely happy, from what you could tell.

So you made a mixtape for him that focused on heavy drum sounds, steady but loud beats the way he liked. At first he didn't seem too interested in it but you'd since caught him listening to it a few times, eyes closed and posture relaxed. Music wasn't something Michael had a lot of exposure to so you had fun introducing him to various bands and musicians.

Metal music seemed to be his preference, which made a lot of sense.

It was New Years when things really changed.

You and Michael had the television on with the channel turned to watch the ball drop. It wasn’t typically a tradition you cared about but you could tell your housemate was intrigued. He’d been upstairs painting for most of the day while you cleaned the house up a bit. "Spring cleaning," you said to Michael as he watched you from the kitchen. "Cleaning makes me happy. It's nice to get everything back in order after the holidays. 'sides, it's still too cold out for gardening."

Michael tilted his head but retreated back upstairs with his water jar for his paints.

Once the sun set, you made hot chocolate and ordered pizza. Michael preferred just plain cheese but you’d gotten yours with olives - something Michael always gave you looks for. "Don't knock it 'till ya try it," you'd snickered through a mouthful of pizza.

His brow furrowed in distaste as he took a bite of his own pizza.

It was cute. He had a lot of personality once you knew where to look. And he’d clearly gotten very comfortable with you during the time you’d been living together. It felt like a great honor to get to see Michael Myers do something as mundane as eat pizza in lounge clothes.

The two of you watched cartoons for a few hours until 11:57 hit. You flicked to the news channel and let your head loll to the side and rest against the back of the couch. "It's not the most exciting thing in the world," you said as you glanced at Michael, "But it's fun. It's nice to see everyone around the world get together for something like this."

Michael had just stared at the television with a slight tilt to his head. 11:59 struck and you felt your throat tighten as an idea came to mind. You recalled a conversation you'd had with Chrissy a couple years back where she'd told you about her favorite New Years tradition.

50 seconds…

It couldn't hurt to ask, right?

45…

“Hey, Michael?” Your voice was barely a whisper. You kept your eyes trained on the TV even when you felt his eyes on you.

40…

Swallowing was a challenge for you. “There’s, um, a kind of New Years tradition. That, um, it means-”

30…

“-you’ll have good luck for the rest of the year.” Your words were slow and methodical. It felt like you had to really sell him on the idea, even if you were afraid to tell him what it was. You weren't even sure you wanted to admit to yourself how badly you wanted to-

25…

“Want to do it?”

Michael just stared blankly at you. His eyes darted between yours, calculating. It made you feel flayed open despite the fact you were pretty sure he didn't know what you were talking about.

20…

He gave you a single nod. You quickly darted your tongue out to wet your lips. Now or never, you sighed internally.

“Trust me,” you said more than asked. His eyes widened slightly but he didn't pull away. You knew he trusted you and all you could do was hope he didn't react poorly.

15…

You swallowed around the heavy lump in your throat and tried to not look too worried. If he got the impression it was something bad, you may lose your chance. Lifting a gentle hand, you let your fingertips graze his cheek before slowly settling to cup his face properly.

It was like you could hear the sound of your own heart pounding even over the cheering on the television.

10…

"This okay?

9…

Michael's eyes softened and he gave a slight nod, as though worried he'd dislodge you entirely.

8…

You scooted closer, the both of you adjusting so you were sat facing each other, opposite shoulders brushing the back of the couch. He sat perfectly cross-legged while one of your legs braced against the floor.

7…

Slowly, you reached over with your free hand to tangle your fingers together in a loose hold.

6…

His eyes widened more and his lips parted. A look of realization flashed in his eyes and for a moment you worried you'd overstepped.

5…

"Still okay?"

4…

Michael gave a small nod again, eyes darting all over your face as he searched for…something. You weren't sure.

3…

2…

1…

You leant forward and pressed your lips together in a sweet kiss. The sounds of cheering that came from the television felt far away and underwater. Every sense in your body was focused on Michael - the warmth of his hand, the residual taste of hot chocolate on his lips, and the soft intake of breath you heard when your lips met.

It felt like the cheering was for you two.

At first, Michael didn't seem sure what to do with himself. With some gentle guidance, you tilted his head to the side to let him lean into the kiss better. He was clearly trying, so you scooted closer and let him set his hands on your hips to lift you into his lap without breaking the kiss.

When you parted to catch your breaths, Michael was staring at you with half-lidded, glassy eyes. It felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest

You pulled him back in, tangling your fingers in his hair to keep him in place. His arms wrapped around your waist and you sunk into his hold. Being with him felt warm and safe.

So yeah. Things changed on New Years. But neither of you were complaining.

The snow finally began to clear up, being replaced smoothly by sleet and rain. It was honestly far more preferable to you, since it made walks in the forest more enjoyable. You'd always preferred the rain.

It had been a few weeks since the New Years and you and Michael were in some type of relationship. The word "dating" had come to mind but it wasn't really accurate. It was more than dating. You were partners in crime - literally and figuratively - as well as good friends, housemates, close confidants, and, more importantly, you saw each other. Really and truly. You'd both picked up on the others wordless sentences and slight shifts in your bodies were like loud declarations. Sure, you two held hands and he let you touch him more but that wasn't what was important to you.

Michael smiled more. He'd watch you with soft, sleepy eyes, stopped tensing whenever you cut his hair, and you'd caught him dozing off on the couch a few times.

You internally cursed Dr. Loomis for tormenting this man for so, so many years. Embodiment of evil your ass, he was so obviously desperate for love and care that he'd practically thrown himself at you as soon as you'd proven you would love him no matter what. He was more than the traumas he felt compelled to reenact. He was so, so much more and you loved every part of him.

Today, you needed to run down to the store to grab a few things. The rain had finally let up enough that you felt comfortable driving. "Michael? I'll be back around 5:30, alright?" You called into the house as you fastened your shoes.

Ever since the Christmas party, he'd gotten better about you leaving the house for short periods of time. So long as you promised to come back, that is. If you didn't, you knew he'd hunt you down with a knife and a bloodstained jumpsuit. Of that, you had no doubt.

Michael appeared in the doorway of the kitchen staring at you. You shot him a grin and grabbed your bags. "Be back soon!" You called over your shoulder as you ventured outside.

Looking back on it, you wished you'd stayed home…

You were examining a box of cereal for dents when someone approached you. "Hey," Chrissy's voice came from behind you. When you turned, she looked tense with her arms around herself and her smile was tight. Forced. Alarm bells began ringing in your head but you smiled back.

"Hey, Chrissy. Uh, you okay?"

"How's your boyfriend? What was his name, um, Michael, right?" She looked like she'd be sick and you felt white-hot adrenaline shoot through you like a bolt of lightning. "He, um, is he around?"

You swallowed, keeping your movements slow and casual. If you cracked, then she'd know. So you made a show of putting the cereal box into your cart and took the chance to look around. The aisle was empty but you caught the sign of movement near the end. Blue police uniforms, likely Chrissy's dad and his partner.

"No, he's traveling." You gave Chrissy an exhausted smile. "Y'know I'm not gonna pass your number along, right?"

She looked pale but her smile got wider and she took a small step back, like you terrified her. "Did, um, did someone die?" Her fake pout made you want to punch her in the face. Her faux sympathy oozed from her tone and you couldn't help the way your eye twitched. "Maybe his sister-?"

You froze in place. She knew. You don't know how she found out but there was no doubt she knew. Why the hell Officer Kallas had waited so long to act, let alone use his daughter as bait, was beyond you. Had he seen pictures from the party and asked Chrissy to identify him? Had he compared it to his mugshot? The thought of that made you irrationally angry.

"His dad is sick." You grit out through clenched teeth.

"You're sick," Chrissy shot back like a viper. "You've been sleeping with the fucking Boogeyman! You brought him to my house, oh my god, what if he killed-!" She choked back a sob, having the audacity to look betrayed.

Like a Barbie doll with mascara tears.

Enough was enough. You spun on your heel and marched away from a sobbing Chrissy like a man on a mission. You heard Officer Kallas call your name and you took a steadying breath before spinning, swinging the metal cart full of boxes and cans behind you and watching the two officers stumble and trip. Chrissy shrieked in fear and you took off towards the sliding glass doors. The crackle of a walkie talkie behind you was loud, too loud for you to make out any words being said. Everything in you was hyperfocused on running.

You heard heavy footsteps hot on your heel and you wished, momentarily, that you had a weapon of your own.

All you had to do was get to your car, the little piece of junk like an oasis in a hot desert. All you had to do was get in and you could get away, get to a phone booth and call Michael. Tell him to get Mayhem, pack bags, and get out. You'd promise you'd pick him up. Something. Anything.

But you’d never get the chance. 

The officer tailing grabbed you around your middle and lifted you up like a bratty child hauling a cat around. “Put me down!” You shrieked and began to slam your fists on his arms.

"You're under arrest for disrupting justice, harboring a criminal, and assaulting an officer," his robotic words fell on deaf ears as you continued to fight for your life. Cornered animals bit and he was finding that out the hard way as you twisted to claw at his face.

But he easily overpowered you, shoving you into the backseat of his police cruiser and slamming the door. Tears began to fall down your face as you began to panic. Michael wouldn't know they were coming. They surely knew to check your house. They'd catch him there and then what? Would they kill him? Shoot to kill, like you remembered hearing on the radio all those months ago?

You felt like throwing up. All you could do was curl up on the leather seats and sob your heart out.

All you could do was hope he'd be okay.

Dr. Samuel Loomis considered himself a brilliant man.

He was assigned to Michael Myers' case when the young boy had first been admitted to Smith's Grove when he'd just been a young, non-speaking child. His mother had brought him in, her eyes red rimmed and pleading to help her son.

And Dr. Loomis always loved a challenge case. Every 'difficult' patient he ever had while working in this institution had eventually cracked under his methods. So he studied Michael, subjecting him to various medications, talk therapy, and tried everything to trigger any kind of response out of him. At first, Michael seemed to truly want to be helped. His mother visited every week and talked with him about home, about his life after the institution.

Michael took well to art therapy, much to Loomis' frustrations - he had strongly advised against giving the young boy access to making masks - and he started to make progress in sorting through what happened to him.

Then his parents died. It was like everything in Michael shut down after that. Walls were built up high and became impenetrable the longer Dr Loomis poked and prodded for a reaction. 

Years went by and no more progress was made. It was like talking to a brick wall. A brick wall with eyes like the devil, as far as Loomis was concerned. There was no way a child could commit such atrocities without an ounce of guilt, no confession of sin. He'd advocated strongly against Michael being released on parole, insisting he was soulless and dangerous.

So Halloween came and Michael escaped, killing teenagers and reenacting the horrors he'd committed to his sister fifteen years ago. And now he had escaped yet again. This time was different though - Michael had gone missing for several months now. Too long had passed without any new murders and Loomis was becoming anxious and impatient. Police had let the case go, grateful at the idea Michael moved on to terrorize a new town.

But Dr. Loomis knew Michael Myers all too well.

He stood in his dimly lit office, watching a police car drive up through the large open window. Watching you get unloaded from the car and observing the way you fought so viciously, Loomis felt like he hit the jackpot. It was no wonder Michael was so obsessed with you. There was a darkness to you that had yet to grow anywhere. Surely he was just biding his time, playing house with you while he waited for you to snap and join him in his killing sprees.

He couldn't have that though. Michael had to be returned to Smith's Grove before he caused any more devastation.

“Doctor?” Officer Kallas’s voice broke the psychologist from his stupor.

“Come in.” He turned, looking over his shoulder and smiling when he lay eyes on you.

There you were. In handcuffs with tear tracks on your face. Your lip was split from where you'd nicked it while trying to bite Officer Kallas. “We apprehended him like you asked. We’ll head to the house to retrieve-”

“Don’t,” Loomis held up his hand to still the room. “No. We’ve got all we need right here.” He approached you slowly, like you were something to behold. You felt slimy under his fascinated stare. “Michael will come looking for him. Then we’ll catch him. We can’t give him any home-turf advantages.”

Officer Kallas nodded and shoved you forward into the room before closing the door behind him. You felt like a muzzled dog, glaring down the doctor with such hate that it reminded him of Michael.

Dr Loomis took a seat at his desk. “Tell me,” he hummed, “What was it like being held captive by Michael?” You looked at him, brow furrowed. Held captive? Was that the narrative they were running with? He seemed to misinterpret your confusion and gave you a sympathetic smile. “I know you were held by him for quite some time. Your friend Chrissy told her father about it. You were seen-”

“I wasn't a prisoner.” You spat, almost offended.

“So you were simply afraid.” The doctor clicked his pen, beginning to write something down. His scribbling felt grating on your nerves and you felt the urge to strangle the man, cuffs be damned.

But you just glared at him instead. “What is this, an interrogation?”

Dr. Loomis lifted his head and you could see the arrogance in his eyes. “I’ve studied Michael for sixteen years,” he said slowly, “And I’ve never seen him so fascinated by another human being.”

“Maybe you’re just shitty at your job.” You scoffed.

If you weren't already glaring daggers, you would have missed the disapproving look Loomis gave you. "In good time, my theory will be proven." He gave you a smile and gestured to one of the chairs sat in front of his desk. "Michael will come for you. And when he does, I will finally rid the world of that potent evil." He said with a menacing, teeth-filled smile.

You wish you’d stayed home.

[greenwitchcrafts]

2025 update:

February 2024 witch guide

Full moon: February 24th

New moon: February 9th

Sabbats: Imbolc-February 1st

February Snow Moon

Known as: Eagle Moon, Horning Moon, Solmonath Moon, Bear moon, Ice Moon, Wild Moon, Raccoon Moon, Big Winter Moon, Groundhog Moon, Quickening Moon, Storm Moon, Goose Moon, Hungry Moon & Red/Cleansing Moon

Element: Fire

Zodiac: Aquarius & Pisces

Nature spirits: House Faeries

Deities: Aphrodite, Brigid & Nut

Animals: Otter & Unicorn

Birds: Chickadee & Eagle

Trees: Cedar, laurel, myrtle & rowan

Herbs: Balm of Gilead, hyssop, myrrh, sage & spikenard

Flowers: Primrose

Scents: Heliotrope & wisteria

Stones: Amethyst, jasper, moonstone, obsidian, onyx , rose quartz, topaz & red zircon

Colors: Light blue & violet

Energy:  Astral travel, banishing, beginnings, breaking bad habits, creativity expressiveness, empowerment, energy working to the surface, fertility, forgiveness, freedom, friendships, future plans, growth, healing, problem solving, purification, responsibility & science

February’s full Moon is a “Micromoon” this year. Think of this term as the opposite of a “Supermoon.” It simply means that the full Moon is at its farthest point from Earth (not the nearest point).

The explanation behind February’s full Moon name is a fairly straightforward one: it’s known as the Snow Moon due to the typically heavy snowfall that occurs in February. On average, February is the United States’ snowiest month, according to data from the National Weather Service. In the 1760s, Captain Jonathan Carver, who had visited with the Naudowessie(Dakota), wrote that the name used for this period was the Snow Moon, “because more snow commonly falls during this month than any other in the winter.” 

Imbolc

Known as: Feast of Torches, Feast of Waxing Light, Oimele & Brigid's Day

Season: Winter

Symbols: Besoms, Brighid's crosses, candles, candle wheels, fertility symbols, fire, ploughs, priapic wands & white flowers

Colors: Black, brown, Earth tones, lavender, light green, orange, pink, red, white & yellow

Oils/Incense: Apricot, basil, bay, carnation, chamomile, cinnamon, dragon's blood, frankincense, heather, jasmine, myrrh, neroli, red sandalwood, sage, vanilla, violet & wisteria

Animals: Badger, cow, deer,groudhog, robin, sheep, snake, & swan

Mythical: Dragon

Stones: Amethyst, bloodstone, citrine, clear quartz, garnet, green tourmaline, hematite, iron, lodestone, onyx, red zircon, rose quartz, ruby, turquoise, yellow tourmaline

Food: Breads, chives, curries, dairy products, grains, garlic, herbal teas, honey cakes, lamb, muffins, onions, peppers, poppy seed cakes, pork, poultry, pumpkin seeds, raisins, scones, spiced wines & sunflower seeeds

Herbs/Plants: Angelica, ashleaf, balsam, basil, bay laurel, benzoin, blackberry, clover, coltsfoot, coriander, dragon's blood, garlic, heather, lemon, myrrh, rosemary, sage, vervain, wheat & witch hazel

Flowers: Celandine, chamomile, iris, rose hips, snowdrop, sunflower, tansy, violets, white flowers & yellow flowers

Goddesses: Anu, Aradia, Arianrhod, Artio, Athena, Branwen, Brigid, Danu, Februa, Gaia, Inanna, Juno, Selene, Sirona & Vesta

Gods: Aegus Mac Og, Bragi, Cupid, Dian Cecht, Dumuzi, Eros, Februus & Pax

Issues, Intentions & Powers: Activation/awakening, animals, beginnings, fertility, healing, hope, illumination, inspiration, light, pregnancy/childbirth, prophecy, transformation, well-being & youth

Spellwork: Air magick, banishings, candle spells, divination, fertility spells, prosperity & purification

Activities:

• Make & light white candles

• Clean/decorate your altar & consecrate your  altar tools

• Go on a walk in nature & look for signs of spring

• Make a Brigid's Cross

• Have a feast with your family/friends

• Give thanks & leave offerings to the Earth

• Set intentions, reflect & look deeper into your goals for spring

• Start a bonfire

• Find Imboloc prayers & devotionals that bid farewell to the winter months, honor the goddess Brigid, as well as seasonal blessings for your meals, hearth, & home.

• Pepare plans for your upcoming garden

• Craft a priapic wand

• Spend time with children celebrating Imbolc by making crafts & or baking

• Practice divination & fire scrying

• Draw a cleansing ritual bath for yourself

• Meditate, reflect & say your farewells to winter

• Cleanse & clean your house to prepare for spring

• Create a Brídeóg: a doll of Brigid made of straw

• Make Bride's bouquet satchets & exchange as symbols of good luck and fertility

• Set aside food & or drinks as an offering to Brigid to invite her in your home

Imbolc is a Gaelic festival marking the beginning of spring. Most commonly it is held on January 31 – February 1, or halfway between the winter solstice & the spring equinox. The holiday is a festival of the hearth, home, a celebration of the lengthening days & the early signs of spring. 

The word "imbolc" means "in the belly" and refers to the pregnancy of ewes at this time of year. The term "oimelc" means ewe's milk. Around this time of year, many herd animals give birth to their first offspring of the year or are heavily pregnant & as a result, they are producing milk. This creation of life’s milk is a part of the symbolic hope for spring.

Imbolc is mentioned in some of the earliest Irish literature and it is associated with important events in Irish mythology. It has been suggested that it was originally a pagan festival associated with the goddess Brigid and that it was Christianized as a festival of Saint Brigid, who herself is thought to be a Christianization of the goddess.

Some use Imbolc to celebrate the longer days which herald the return of Spring & The Goddess's recovery from giving birth to The Sun (The God) at Yule. The God & The Goddess are children symbolizing new life, new beginnings & new resurrections.

Related festivals:

• Groundhog Day-  Is a tradition observed in the United States & Canada on February 2 of every year. It derives from the Pennsylvania Dutch superstition that if a groundhog emerges from its burrow on this day & sees its shadow, it will retreat to its den & winter will go on for six more weeks; if it does not see its shadow, spring will arrive early.

While the tradition remains popular in the 21st century, studies have found no consistent association between a groundhog seeing its shadow & the subsequent arrival time of spring-like weather.

•St. Brigid's Day- 1 February. It was originally Imbolc, the first day of spring in Irish tradition. Because Saint Brigid has been theorised as linked to the goddess Brigid, some associate the festival of Imbolc with the goddess. St. Brigid is the patroness saint (or 'mother saint') of Ireland. She is patroness of many things, including poetry, learning, healing, protection, blacksmithing, livestock & dairy production. In her honour, a perpetual fire was kept burning at Kildare for centuries.

A recent campaign successfully established her feast day as a national holiday in 2023.

• Chinese New Year- (February 10th) the festival that celebrates the beginning of a new year on the traditional lunisolar Chinese calendar. In Chinese, the festival is commonly referred to as the Spring Festival,- marking the end of winter and the beginning of the spring season. Observances traditionally take place from Chinese New Year's Eve, the evening preceding the first day of the year, to the Lantern Festival, held on the 15th day of the year. The first day of Chinese New Year begins on the new moon that appears between January 21st & February 20th.

The Chinese New Year is associated with several myths and customs. The festival was traditionally a time to honour deities as well as ancestors. Within China, regional customs and traditions concerning the celebration of the New Year vary widely & the evening preceding the New Year's Day is frequently regarded as an occasion for Chinese families to gather for the annual reunion dinner.

It is also a tradition for every family to thoroughly clean their house, in order to sweep away any ill fortune & to make way for incoming good luck. Another custom is the decoration of windows & doors with red paper-cuts and couplets. Popular themes among these paper-cuts and couplets include good fortune or happiness, wealth & longevity. Other activities include lighting firecrackers  & giving money in red envelopes.

•  Candlemas- is a Christian feast day on February 2nd commemorating the presentation of Jesus at the Temple. It is based upon the account of the presentation of Jesus in Luke 2:22-40. 

While it is customary for Christians in some countries to remove their Christmas decorations on Twelfth Night, those in other Christian countries historically remove them after Candlemas.On Candlemas, many Christians also take their candles to their local church, where they are blessed and then used for the rest of the year.

•Setsubun- (February 3rd) Is the day before the beginning of spring in the old calendar in Japan. The name literally means 'seasonal division', referring to the day just before the first day of spring.

Both Setsubun & Risshun are celebrated yearly as part of the Spring Festival (Haru matsuri ) in Japan. In its association with the Lunar New Year, Setsubun, though not the official New Year, was thought of as similar in its ritual & cultural associations of 'cleansing' the previous year as the beginning of the new season of spring. Setsubun was accompanied by a number of rituals & traditions held at various levels to drive away the previous year's bad fortunes & evil spirits for the year to come.

Other Celebrations:

• Lupercalia-

In ancient Rome, this festival was conducted annually on February 13th through 15th under the superintendence of a corporation of priests called Luperci. The origins of the festival are obscure, although the likely derivation of its name from lupus (Latin: “wolf”) has variously suggested connection with an ancient deity who protected herds from wolves and with the legendary she-wolf who nursed Romulus and Remus. As a fertility rite, the festival is also associated with the god Faunus.

to purify the city, promoting health & fertility.

Each Lupercalia began with the sacrifice by the Luperci of goats and a dog, after which two of the Luperci were led to the altar, their foreheads were touched with a bloody knife & the blood was wiped off with wool dipped in milk; the ritual required that the two young men laugh. The sacrificial feast followed, after which the Luperci cut thongs from the skins of the sacrificial animals & ran in two bands around the Palatine hill, striking with the thongs at any woman who came near them. A blow from the thong was supposed to render a woman fertile.

In 494 CE the Christian church under Pope Gelasius I forbade participation in the festival. Tradition holds that he appropriated the form of the rite as the Feast of the Purification (Candlemas), celebrated on February 2, but it is likely that the Christian feast was established in the previous century. It has also been alternately suggested that Pope Gelasius I replaced Lupercalia with St. Valentine’s Day, celebrated on February 14th, but the origin of that holiday was likely much later.

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Encyclopedia britannica

Llewellyn 2024 magical almanac Practical magic for everyday living

[estcaligo]

Made this list while I was in the mood

Classical music pieces that I associate with twst characters

* these pieces are available to listen to on youtube. Perhaps I will make a video with them one day. But I doubt it. * I apologize for any mistakes, it was a lot of information to digest * updated because I forgot to add Presto for Malleus, sorry!

Malleus - Vivaldi - The Four Seasons - "Summer" - 1 Allegro Non Molto and 3 Presto (I mean of course these ones. Add evil overblot laugh here too.) ok also Schubert - Erlkönig (The Elf King), D. 328

Sebek - Prokofiev - Romeo and Juliet, Suite No. 2, The Montagues and Capulets "Dance of the Knights" (it's just him. period.) or Rachmaninov - Musical Moment No.4 in E minor or Rachmaninov - Prelude in C Sharp Minor (Rachmaninov for Sebek in general lol)

Silver - Grieg - Peer Gynt, Suite no. 1 "Morning mood" or Debussy - Clair de lune (from "Suite bergamasque") (Yes, basic, but it fits so so much so)

Lilia - Chopin - Fantaisie impromptu in C-Sharp minor, Op. 66 (first notes - Lilia's evil grin, then whimsical nature and the whirl of memories of countries he has been to. When it goes hard, it's cooking, some violence, and then when it gets gentle, it's when he remembers Silver's childhood. Then he softens in general but also reminds us about his playful nature and strong character.)

Idia - Vivaldi - The Four Seasons - "Winter" - 1 Allegro Non Molto (resembles how Idia speaks when he's getting confident and how his character, in general, opens up. And kinda gives me his genius vibes)

Ortho - Graun - Gigue in B-Flat minor (sounds like super-fast calculation is going on. But also, some notes sound like random signals and/or signs of creativity/sudden thoughts in AI) also Chopin - Etude Op. 10 No. 5 (Black Keys)

*Erik Satie for Octa in general. Gives me mysterious underwater vibes*

Azul - Satie - Gnossienne No. 1 and Gymnopedie no.1 also kinda Chopin - Nocturne Op. 9 No. 1 (pondering, deep in thought, underwater, calculating, but also melancholic…)

Jade - Satie - Gnossienne No.3 (such big Jade vibes)

Floyd - Liszt - Mephisto Waltz No. 1 (hehe)

Leona - Haydn - Symphony No. 49 in F minor ' La Passione ' (it's long, but it's worth listening. I just imagine Leona's character and lore in general here)

Jack - Händel - Suite no. 11 in D minor. Sarabande (not really sure about this one. But it gives me 'strength and determination and values' vibes today)

Ruggie - Mozart - Symphony No. 40 in G minor, IV. Allegro assai (reminds me how he can adapt and be different if needed. Also, it sounds quite boisterous, like Ruggie is going fast, fast, fast and earning a lot, lot, lot!)

Kalim - Mozart - The Marriage of Figaro, K. 492: Overture (specifically wanting to throwa feast)

Jamil - Chopin - Waltz in E minor, Op. Posth. (he's so skillful and makes it look like he's not even trying, but he's super hardworking. Also, some parts sound like his occasional emotional outbursts) also - Chopin - Prelude in E Minor (I can't explain it, but it's just Jamil for me. I feel so sorry for him - he's such a cool and talented (and handsome) guy, and such destiny mgd. Or maybe I'm just in a melancholic mood today)

Vil - Vivaldi - The Four Seasons - “Spring” - 1 Allegro (won't be original meh. like there're so many classical pieces that fit Vil but I don't really wanna bother here so)

Rook - Mozart - Le Nozze di Figaro: "Non più andrai, farfallone amoroso" (instrumental) (ookay it was hard with Rook because I think a lot fits him but I'll stop with this one or I'll never finish this list)

Epel - Litvinovsky - Pelléas and Mélisande: III. Galliard. Navire dans la tempête (Galliard. Ship in a storm) (unrelated but my life is divided into before seeing Epel in Book 7 dreams and after)

Riddle - Beethoven - Symphony No. 5 in C Minor, Op. 67 I. Allegro con brio (duh. basic but c'mon. it suits him)

Ace - Litvinovsky - Suite for Strings "Le Grand Cahier": IV. Nos Etudes (yes that's how I feel Ace)

Deuce - Tchaikovsky - The Nutcracker Suite, Op. 71a: March of the Toy Soldiers (Deuce the honour student edition)

Cater - Beethoven : Sonatina in F Major plus "a glimpse of a depressed real Cater" one - Chopin - Mazurka in A minor, Op.17, No.4

Trey - Beethoven - Sonata No. 8 in C Minor Pathetique, Op. 13 (Adagio cantabile) (I tried to find someting "normal" meh so went with this today)

Special mentions

Rollo - Mozart - Requiem, 3 Dies Irae Bach - Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, BWV 565 Orff - Carmina Burana: Fortuna imperatrix mundi. O fortuna (super super obvious but c'mon it's basically canon)

Baul - Wagner - Ride of the Valkyries (ya Baul has big Wagner vibes for me)

Grim - Edvard Grieg – In the Hall of the Mountain King (the escalation lol)

[uhitsum]

1000 follower special (pt. 7, finale)

(+ also Spring blog update)

1st Breakfast: 510 cal, Tuna Bagel

2nd Breakfast: 1100 cal, 3 Belgian Waffles + Nuttela. Followed by food coma #1

1st Lunch: 800 cal, 4 Samosas

Snack: 430 cal, Starbucks drink

2nd Lunch: 2160 cal, Sponsored Wendy's Feast

Dinner: 500 cal, Fried Rice w/ fam

1st Dessert: 800 cal, Frozen Custard w/ fam. Followed by food coma #2

2nd Dessert: 700 cal, 2 Belgian Waffles + Nutella

Adding it all up, I reached an impressive 7000 calories, far outstripping the goal of 4500 calories set by y'all. This wasn't my plan, but I suppose I should've seen it coming - once i got going, it was just too much fun to stop 🤭

My poor belly has been through a roller coaster today: varying between sapping all my energy, to making me jittery; from reaching stuffing bliss, when all of the muscles around it relaxed, to being stuffed PAST the bliss throughout the night. The one constant is that it was always digesting, always storing fat, and making lovely new fat cells to be filled ☺️ I'm happy to check my weight on Thursday, and i'll make sure to let y'all know how much I gained from today.

I'd like to thank all of my followers, all 1200 of you, for making all of this possible! I'm very grateful for all of the traction this blog has garnered.

I'd like to thank all of the lovely people who messaged me today, you all made it so much easier to stay motivated while pushing myself so far!

Finally, I'd like to give a special thanks to the wonderful @ilovesquishybits for donating to today's binge! If you'd like to donate towards a future meal, any amount is welcome over at paypal.me/sillybearcreature!

Going forward

Unfortunately for me, Spring is a very busy season. I'll start working my part time job again, focusing on exams, and eventually graduating from school this year! While I intend to stick around, I will be posting far less over the next few months than I have been this winter. My DMs and Question Box will remain open, and if you'd like any stuffings, I'll do them on-demand whenever I receive a donation, or if I feel tempted towards them myself 🤭. I love you silly kinky people, and goodnight!

[vivwritescrappythings]

masterlist

updated: 1/20/25

character list: friedrich harding, tangerine, felix catton, recom miles quaritch, jake sully, kylo ren, miguel o'hara, hobie brown, john price, simon riley, könig, eddie munson, geralt of rivia, luke danes, logan howlett, thranduil, joel miller, din djarin, deiter bravo, francisco morales, ezra (prospect), oberyn martell, marcus acacius.

requests are: OPEN

limits

joel miller

yours: you get new neighbors in Jackson, Joel doesn't like how much attention they pay to you so he decides to teach them a lesson. [SMUT]

unfair: an au about Joel attending a wedding simply inspired by Pedro's slutty little fit at the SAG awards. [SMUT]

part 2: good morning: Mornings with Joel are the best. [SMUT]

saying thanks: Joel is your grumpy patrol partner who doesn’t even talk to you in the streets of Jackson. But one night a man grabs your arm at the Tipsy Bison, and Joel’s decided he doesn’t like it. [SMUT]

set me on fire, i'll keep you warm: you and Joel get stuck in a cabin together during a winter storm [SMUT, a/b/o dynamics]

part 2: crack me open, swallow me whole: you go on one patrol without joel and a band of raiders finds you [SMUT, a/b/o dynamics]

hollow: Joel spends a day remembering what could have been [ANGST, no comfort]

frankie morales (triple frontier)

never have i ever: your childhood best friend Ben takes you on a beach trip with him and his friends from the army. you and frankie seem to get along like a house fire [SMUT]

eddie munson

the boy is mine (viv's version): a romantic night at the trailer

just love me and eat: you watched Eddie die, so this must be some nightmare in your room

part 2: it’ll heal: Eddie’s perspective on his new life [SMUT]

late night visits: Eddie catches you dropping Max off and invites you over, he teaches you how to smoke weed [SMUT]

velma: You attend a Halloween party with Eddie, things don't go quite as planned when Jason Carver acts like a jerk

twenty-five: You always cry on your birthday, and this is the year Eddie finds out

silence: The five times you asked Eddie to be quiet, and the one time he was [ANGST, NO COMFORT]

squeeze: Eddie is your tattoo artist and long term boyfriend, one night you have an idea of how to spice up your next tattoo session. [SMUT]

simon "ghost" riley

simon riley brainrot: you sit next to him on a plane [drabble]

roadburn: someone hits simon’s motorcycle while you were riding

take it all: you meet simon at a bar and go home with him [SMUT, toxic simon]

small apologies: six months later simon decides he wants to apologize [SMUT]

könig

king of the joust: you attend a tourney with your family, a knight you’ve never seen before wants your favor [plus size reader]

part 2: sworn sword: civil unrest in the kingdom forces your father and the king to assign a knight to you for your protection. thankfully he is someone you have already met before

part 3: golden linings: the evening ball presents you with an unconventional dance partner

part 4: words fall short: you can’t stop thinking about some rude words said about you at last night’s feast, but your knight doesn’t let you worry for long

part 5: if she would have me: könig personally comforts you through the news of your betrothal. things get out of hand [SMUT]

part 6: anything you ask: despite all odds, it is finally your wedding day [SMUT]

hobie brown

and they were roommates: you and Hobie always toe the line between friends and something more.

[dishonoredgiftexchange]

It's Time for the Winter Feast 2024 Gift Exchange! ❄️

Hello Dishonored fans! It's that time of year again for our twice-a-year gift exchange event! If you need to read up on how it all works, you can check out our Carrd 😎

Our schedule for this event looks like this:

October 7th (Mon) to November 1st (Fri) (25 days): Sign-ups to participate are open! We accept anyone who signs up!

November 2nd (Sat) to November 5th (Tue) (4 days): Prompts are allocated and sent out! So be on the lookout for your messages.

November 6th (Wed) to December 23rd (Mon) (48 days): Creation period where you work on your gift! Check-in forms will open near the end of November or beginning of December.

December 24th to 30th (A week): Gifting period to give/post your gift!

December 31st onwards: Backend wrap-up and pinch hitter week (aka if someone drops out and we need someone else to make a gift).

You can apply here or find the link on our Carrd as well. We also make event announcements in our Discord if you are interested in joining for updates!

If you want to sign up, please be sure to do so by November 1st! We're excited to be hosting this event once more and we'll hope you'll join us! ⛄🏂

Welcoming our new mod!

In addition to the beginning of 2024's Winter Feast, we would like to announce a new addition to the mod team! Danny (@mozzarellamint on Tumblr, mozzarellamint on Discord) will now help us with organizing the events.

[laughtalelogs]

❄12 days of christmas writing challenge masterlist❄ (discontinued)

I am participating in @12daysofchristmas's writing challenge! for the next couple of days I will be posting daily blurbs, fics, and head canons for one piece in celebration of the holidays. some of these are just winter-themed, it’ll increasingly get more festive as we get further down the list.

here's what you have to look forward to!

anything marked red is up and ready to enjoy! happy holidays!

update: Hi! sorry I haven’t updated this, I had a family member have surgery and I ended up being one of the primary caretakers while they recover. Priorities, priorities.

I’m going to save the fics I have written for next year! But, part 2 with zoro is still coming!

Sorry again :c

Day 1 - Sanji❄ first snow, getting soaked, “Your hands are so cold.” Day 2 - Zoro❄ little lie, trapped together in a snowstorm, “I thought you knew where you were going?!” Day 3 - Nami❄ accelerated heartbeat, kissing in the snow, “Here, take my coat.” Day 4 - Robin❄ mulled wine, playing board games, “I have no regrets.”, “Cheer up, dude. It's Christmas.” —How the Grinch Stole Christmas, 2000 Day 5 - Ace❄ cookies, holiday-themed contest, “That definitely looks… interesting?”, “That is exactly why you want a high-quality fire extinguisher right in the kitchen.” —The Santa Clause Day 6 - Law❄ present, making a new christmas tradition, “Not another Christmas movie!”, “You say you hate Washington’s birthday or Thanksgiving, and nobody cares, but you say you hate Christmas, and people treat you like you’re a leper.” —Gremlins Day 7 - Straw Hats (Platonic)❄ decorations, a little accident, “I was just trying to help!”, “I want my house to be seen from space.” —Deck The Halls Day 8 - Sanji❄ touch starved, telling secrets around the fire Day 9 - Usopp christmas fair/market, late shopping (together), “Hmm, this is actually not bad.” Day 10 - Zoro❄ Surprise visit, Lighting scented candles, “I didn’t know you were here.”, “You’re skipping Christmas! Isn’t that against the law?” —Christmas with the Kranks Day 11 - Sanji❄ Fairy lights, Christmas party/ball, “I never want this night to end.” Day 12 - Straw Hats (Platonic)❄ Feast, Indoor picnic by the tree/fireplace, “I baked your favourite cookie/pie/cake.”, “You are all I need tonight underneath the Christmas lights.” —Sia

like these? check out my other fics! (x)

[rand0m-pine]

Welcome Warriors and Catters

Hello all!! 

Are you a fan of Warrior Cats? 

Are you looking for a place to roleplay ocs and join a community of 

Well.. You have found your spot here at-

A NEW CHAPTER

A New Chapter is a discord based Warrior Cats roleplay, where we have: 

Traditional Clan Roleplay (With a few exceptions to some new lore we have made) 

New Culture and Lore for each Clan (Including festivals, customs and specific items for each group) 

LGBTQ+ friendly! A good community here too

Questing system (quests to help you gain more xp slots and badges, earning fun new items) 

And some DND inspired stats to help RP combat and hunting. 

This is an older server, having been around for a year or two, but we are doing a reboot and even more lore leading into our Season 2, and looking for plenty of new members to join us. 

DM me if you have any questions or want to join the server! 

Also continue on to see all we have to offer. 

“After years and years, journeys upon journeys, the clans found themselves back in the original forest territory, grown over and renewed. They had been able to find a sense of peace within the forests and rivers, the marshes and plains.

But peace can only last for so long. 

There is something stirring. Something underground, something in the air. A disaster waiting to wake. Have the clans had their time spent here, Starclan forcing them to move along once more? Will the clans survive the darkness looming over the horizons?” 

As stated before, each of the individual clans has some updated customs that our lore writers have been working on, and we’d love to show you. 

Thunderclan: 

The Greenleaf Trials - A form of competition and games for apprentices, the winner of said challenges gets to be Deputy for a day.

Den building

Courtship rituals (Showing skills of power) 

Shadowclan: 

Fall Feast - A day full of hunting leading into a night full of prey and celebration. Usually celebrated on the brightest night of Leaf-Fall 

The Hunt - Basically a game of tag between warriors, while the younger cats and ones not participating celebrate in camp, dressing up in whatever they can find (think Halloween for cats) 

Windclan: 

New Moon gatherings, no work during the day and stay up all night to share-tongues with clanmates and the stars above. 

Wall paintings/carvings - Using paste and dye like materials to draw on the sturdy walls of camp, telling tales of the older times. 

Storytelling is a very important practice here

Winter Solstice (think gift giving and remembering their kin) 

Riverclan: 

Shell necklaces, each with a different accessory to show the personality of the cat and any endeavors they have been in. 

Basket weaving 

Courtship rituals (Gift giving) 

All the clans are open! Roles such as warriors, apprentices, elders, queens and kits are all welcome. Each having a unique role for each of them. 

Thunderclan is currently looking for a deputy, so if you are interested, feel free to audition! (Just note, these are auditions so you may not get the spot.) Again, if you are interested in joining or have any questions, please feel free to DM me!

[whosnero]

Empire Bay: Dragon's Blood.||

Credits: Original story written by whosnero.

Synopsis: “Set in the late 50s, Empire Bay becomes a rapidly growing metropolis in the United States. The Japanese Mafia takes over the city under the name of numerous clans, but the most important one is labeled as Shinryu (the real dragon). The story focuses on three characters (love triangle and drama): Karina (Jimin), with her high social status and dark nature, aspires to become the new Oyabun (leader) of the clan; Winter (Minjeong), the faithful right hand of the current Oyabun, has the support of her Kobun (clan mates). Despite the mutual contempt between the two, the arrival of Aria (Original OC), a young girl of Italian descent who only wants to help her family by working as a taxi driver, will intensify the rivalries between Karina and Winter."

Pairing: Karina(Yu Jimin),Winter(Kim Minjeong) x Aria(Fem/OC)

Genre:“Mafia,Mature,Explicit content,Violence,Drama,Romance,Love triangle,Power struggle, Organized Crime,Historical Fiction,Difference in social status.”

Warning:“Graphic violence,sexual content,dark themes, explicit language,grammar mistakes (eng not my first language),drug abuse,weapons,physical abuse,emotional abuse,gore, supernatural powers..may add more”

Status:“On going.”

Updates: “When i'm free and have time or whenever i can.”

Chapters: (may change names)||

1. The dance of the wolves.

2. Macabre feast.

3. Eden's Gate.

4. The devil's trill.

5. Chain reaction.

6. Poison.

7. House of the rising sun.

(More to add..)