#holly harvest

[frej3318]

NG World: All Love No War Ship: Big McIntosh + Sugar "Cube" Bell

Big Sugar Big Sugar is the oldest and tallest of the family, even taller then his father. He has taken on the plowing of the farm after his father, as it takes a lot on ones body and Big Mac couldn't do it anymore after Holly's birth. Though Sugar is very strong and tall, he is still very scared of bugs and mice, finding them creepy and unpleasant. But him running away from anything almost feels like a earthquake, even framed pictures fall to the floor.  Sugar will always run to his mother for help, even though she herself doesn't like them either.

Sugar and his mother have a strong bond, as after his field work, he would help her in any of her baking. Enjoying the more peaceful feeling of it all and how much joy such small things can bring to the whole family.

Holly Harvest Holly thought she had nothing special she could help the farm with but as their wheat died mysterious. The farm all panicked as they couldn't find the reason as to why and how it happened. Holly read every book she could find on the matter, even asked for unicorns for help but it only seemed to help for a short time. One night she took a walk by the new wheat they had planted and she could see it was starting to die once more. She was devastated as she sat by one of the wheats, looking at it in her hoof she could see orange like blisters on the leaves. She decided to not just go around to find the answer, she would force it!

Holly started doing tests on a small portion of the farm, where she would try all sorts of things till she found the cure. She had to make sure its genetic resistance was stronger and to use some foliar fungicides which she had created. After curing their wheat, she knew this is what she was to do and would research all sorts of plant diseases and how to cure them. She often doesn't stay home much, as many need her professional help and with each trip, she gets smarter on what to do.

Bright Luck Luck looks very much like her grandmother Pear Butter, only difference is the horn on her head. She was a trouble child as she would use her magic and cause trouble to the mostly earthly family. However with her mothers help, Luck would learn to control her magic. Luck being the youngest, most of the farm jobs had already been taken, so she would stick to her mother and help with food and the animals.

Luck felt very connected to the farm animals and they seemed to like her very much, even the most shy of them would come out if she was near.  But wanting to be like the stories she would hear of her grandmother Pear, she thought she would be at music, butter making or even baking. None of them were her talent and even she didn't get any from caring for the animals. It was only when one of the bulls had escaped that Luck would get her cutie mark. As she would catch him with a lasso throw, her throw was perfect even without her use of magic. Luck can always be seen with a rope on her side, as she always likes to show off new tricks she has learned while feeding the chickens.

[sugiarttime]

Happy (belated) 8th anniversary Trio of Towns!

[outofcontextbokumono]

very brave to say that in public ludus

[pansy-picnics]

he’s a little confused but he’s got the spirit

[bbbartblog]

Some older Story of Seasons drawings~

[popppyfur]

val slowly becoming more considerate as the series progresses ToT

[thedrunkenreadersreviews]

A Quick List of My Best Rereads of 2023

Ah, I remember when I was but a new reader, exploring all the worlds of books and telling myself, "I'm not going to reread books. That is a waste of time. Time I could spend exploring other realms."

Foolish was I.

(Sip, sip)

Happy winter solstice, my friends, a fitting holiday for this list as one book is what changed my whole opinion on the entire "rereading" thing. To celebrate, let's have some nice Apothic Red Wine and briefly talk about my favorite rereads of 2023. My favorite reads of 2023 will be posted on either NYE or NYD.

(Sip, sip)

Well, let's get to it!

Sorcery of Thorns by Margaret Rogerson

(Sip, sip)

I picked this book up after the announcement for The Mysteries of Thorn Manor, wanting to refresh myself on this incredible world and the characters. I enjoyed everything about this book essentially: the magic system, the characters, the world-building, and---something unique for YA books in my case, especially standalones---I felt the stakes. The dynamics between the characters were fantastic, nothing felt rushed or forced.

It has become a comfort read of mine, as well as The Mysteries of Thorn Manor. There is also the incredible level of creepiness, especially with Nathaniel's nightmares and him projecting those nightmares; that I devoured and always wanted more. Even though The Mysteries of Thorn Manor is a novella, it still delivers heavily on the darkness of Nathaniel's nightmares, which grew more intense following the whole Silas affair. Both novel and novella are exceptional and I will recommend these books any chance I get.

(Sip, sip)

Between by L.L. Starling

I have an entire post dedicated to this book. It is adorable, cozy, funny, heartbreaking, fantastic! The magic is interesting, the characters are treasures, the humor is actually enjoyable, and the plot is engaging. I have scribbled all over the chonk of this book with thoughts, predictions, things I think will be of importance later. I have never done that with a book before.

This book also holds a very special place in my heart as it was the last book I read to my dearly departed cat (yes, he'd snuggle up close and listen to me read, purring in delight, and even hold my page open) before having to watch him cross the rainbow bridge.

Still, I reread it every year as not only does it bring back fond memories, but is also an enjoyable read. It is by an indie author but do not let that dissuade you. It is everything!

(Sip, sip. Pours one out for my baby. Refills. Sip, sip)

Dark Harvest by Norman Patridge

My goodness is the book small but it is written like poetry! Such a silly, creepy idea and yet, I don't know how Norman Patridge did it, but he made it all weave together so effortlessly. You feel embraced by the story, immersed in the culture, like you are a part of it. Lived. in it.

And the October Boy character, ole Saw Toothed Jack, damn is his story and POV one for the ages! What an amazing character! His thoughts, his actions, the mission he is on is such a harrowing journey that I so thoroughly enjoyed reading and it always gives me those sweet, spooky Halloween vibes.

The movie was good, but the book is outstanding! Read it, folks! As is usually the case, the book is a thousand times better!

(Sip, sip)

The Darkest Part of the Forest by Holly Black

Believe it or not my The Folk of the Air lovers, but Severin, that background character that Jude approaches for help in The Cruel Prince and later requests the sword from in The Queen of Nothing, well, he has his own novel. And he is pretty fucking awesome and he was my first faerie love before Cardan came into the picture.

Severin's story is what made me fall in love with Black's Faerieland. The Darkest Part of the Forest reads like a true fairytale and feels so incredibly cozy and whimsical. And the characters are all so precious, even one of the "villains."

Oh, and "scheming great schemes," yeah, that actually came from this book. So, if you love Cardan, Jude, and the rest of the High Court, you must read The Darkest Part of the Forest. In simple words, it is enchanting.

And it was the first time I teared up during a love confession (Severin, you softy 🥺).

Also, no character is sacrificed in power to favor another, which is what I see a lot of YA authors in fantasy do, specifically to favor the female character. What I mean is, that they will write the male character as faltering in some magical way and then have the female character pick things up and save the day. Holly Black doesn't do that. She doesn't take power away and redistribute it to her female characters. She makes them powerful in their own ways. For example, Cardan is more magically inclined than Jude because he is a full-blooded faerie, of Mab's bloodline, and the High King, while Jude is a far superior swordsman because she was trained vigorously at it by a redcap while Cardan was not. They complement each other, and neither is considered weaker than the other. They both have their strength.

It is the same in this book. Never is Severin's power as a faerie lessened for the sake of building Hazel up, and in the final confrontation, it makes sense for it to play out as it did given the circumstances.

Overall, The Darkest Part of the Forest is tremendous! Give it a read if you haven't. It certainly complements The Folk of the Air trilogy.

(Raises glass)

To you, Alderking Severin, my first and always faerie crush. 💕

(Sip, sip)

The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison

This book ... oh, this book ... I will never get over it. I had mentioned previously that I do not often cry when reading books, and that is true.

This one had me tearing up constantly and yes, even the waters flowed at a certain point. But why?

Some of those tears were sorrow.

Others were joy.

The story of Maia is the most inspiring one I have ever read in any book. Ever. Maia, a goblin in an elf-supremacy world, finds himself suddenly the emperor, as the title implies. And that's it. That is the story. Maia is attempting to navigate through this tremendous obstacle; meeting friends, making enemies (though through nothing that he did beyond just being a goblin), and trying to make as many people as possible happy while questioning and discovering his own emotions towards his family and himself.

Maia is a character blessed with unconditional kindness and empathy. He is a person just trying to make the best out of a most impossible situation. The world-building is exceptional, the writing is superb, and Maia is a character that will touch your heart no matter how stone it is.

There are spinoff novels to this book but, truthfully, this one alone is all you need. It has everything a fantasy book should have minus some grand quest. There is none. It is just about Maia finding the emperor buried beneath years of trauma and prejudice. But even with all the hate, Maia and his friends are a beacon of so much hope.

20/10, one of my favorite books of all time and quite possibly my favorite standalone novel ever written.

(Sip, sip)

Last but certainly not least as we bring in the winter solstice, I bow before my High King and High Queen, and raise a toast to the faerie I love most and my beloved mortal warrior.

The Folk of the Air by Holly Black.

I have come to understand the purpose of rereading books you love because of this series. Granted, when The Cruel Prince came out I originally thought I was not going to be interested in it. But Amazon was persistent, always having it appear as a suggestion whenever I opened up that damn website. And I caved one day, figured I could always return it or donate it.

(Sip, sip)

Now I have nine versions of the damn thing (mutters from rim of wineglass: no, I don't have a problem).

(Sip, sip)

Every time I reread this trilogy, I am reminded of why I fell in love with Cardan, why I aspired to be like Jude and related to her so much, why I adore fantasy, what incredible writing sounds like, and what a faerie book has the potential to be. Cardan is not some thousand-year-old, super intelligent, militaristically inclined, muscular faerie king.

He is a moody, noodly, seventeen-year-old teenager who is ticked that he has a crush on the weird girl and doesn't want any responsibilities whatsoever. It. Is. Genius!

There are always new secrets I'm discovering in the trilogy; the lies within the truth, the truth within the lies, character quirks, hidden jests, and foreshadowing small details.

I had heard that for mortals the feeling of falling in love is much like fear.

Jude, are you afraid of me?

Like, come on! Ugh!

Every year since I purchased The Cruel Prince I have reread this series. And I will continue to do so for the foreseeable future.

(Sip, sip)

So those are my favorite rereads of 2023. My favorite reads will be posted soon, as will be my most disappointing. But, cheers to you, dear readers!

May your Christmas (if you celebrate it) be merry and bright! May your New Year (if you celebrate it) be inspiring and magical, and may the coming days bring you bliss.

Thank you for sharing a drink with me and reading my silly opinions. It means the world to me.

Happy holidays, friends!

Cheers!

(Sip, sip)

[lulururuartcorner]

Hello!

I'm once again participating in @bokumonobigbang! This time my drawing program didn't mess up so I could actually make some proper art this time for it.

Also the art is a tad old as I finished it around the end of December/beginning of January.

If you haven't already, check out my partner Chickadee's story for the big bang, Waiting in the Wings.

It's accidentally christmas themed. Whoops.

It also works as fireflies though so it can also not be christmas themed.

I did some experimenting and I think it turned out alright! Holly's facial expression is a little weird in my personal opinion but it works for what I wanted it for.

Overall, it was a fun experience drawing this.

Here's the second drawing.

This one is more focused on Stephanie's past. I really liked the backstory that Chickadee came up for this drawing. It really fit to the overall vibe of a younger Stephanie performing.

Fun fact, this outfit is actually based on one of her other outfits that her character designer was considering for Stephanie. I think it looks great in my opinion.

Overall, I think this drawing fits the vibe of the past very well.

And that's my entry for this year's Bokumono Big Bang! As always, I had lots of fun, and can't wait to see what the organizers plan next year for this.

In case you missed it earlier, the story to go along with these drawings is Waiting in the Wings by Chikadee!

[slverblood]

Aylin's got so much trauma she does not want to acknowledge, let alone process

[katlimeart]

Made in 2020

If you’ve seen this anywhere else, I posted it back on my deviantArt when it was made.

Mario girls cosplaying as the female player characters (Harvest Moon franchise)

1 - 3. Sabrina

4. Gretel

5. Holly

6. Rachel

7. Annie

8. Connie

9. Naomi

10. Pony

[h-didanart]

I had that exact same thought when I was making this lmao, they deserve a break once in a while

I see, I see, a bit of an introvert? Can relate lol. Y’know I kinda figured once I finished typing ‘Hally’ and ‘hallucination’ so close together 😅, thanks for the clarification though!

Did think of that, but it is true that’s a very good ability for an emergency contact to have, we are dealing with multiple BMs after all. Glad to hear Hollow has some sort of physical company :3

That’s great! We’ll get you situated in a circle as soon as we’re able to

Hello fellow sams au creator, do you have a Bloodmoon? You do? That’s great! Have they gone through some hard times? They have? Well then, would you like to put them in therapy? Specifically therapy with other Bloodmoons who might’ve experienced similar things? Then look no further, as you have come across the Bloodmoon Therapy Circle!

Yup, I finished it :), really like the way I organized this, it looks cleaner.

Anyways, the offer is open, any of you wanna put your blood boy in therapy feel free to fill this out, tho I do ask that you tag me, I’d love to see what y’all have!

And if you’re not sure what the fields mean, I made a post earlier about it, I can still answer any questions you might have about it tho

@potatotato-26 @bipolar-sad-and-ready-to-cry I saw you guys wanted this so here!

@atherflame-theconcubus @raye-6-art you guys helped inspire this so you too get quick access

Go wild y’all!

[thebibliosphere]

We playing Manor Lords. Holly Mop demands the people harvest more EGGS.

[pansy-picnics]

holly and ford with their silly freak ass little son <3 another commission for @ceaselessbeholder

[ceilidho]

in the cauldron boil and bake

prompt: pretty little witch who lives in a cottage in the forest who sometimes eats wayward travellers but Ghost has some kind of magic repulsion aura that doesn’t allow her to use her powers on him. (ON AO3) tags: very nsfw, implied/lightly described violence, dubcon/noncon, noncon spanking, implied cannibalism (just in general, not with the pairing lol); 5.5k

-

He moves at a pace too slow for you to make out with the naked eye, but you feel it creeping through you.

The vision of him appears in a dream first, a premonition. A hulking figure trekking through the woods. You snuggle deeper under the covers and scrunch up your nose in your sleep. In the morning, you go outside to harvest the holly leaves and buttercup and return home dreaming of tender, slow cooked meat. It’s been awhile since you last had a proper meal. When you hang up the laundry to dry, you chew on peppermint cuttings and try not to salivate. 

In the centuries you’ve lived in these woods, travellers have come and gone. You don’t eat every single one that happens to pass by—that would be a surefire way to get your forest branded as bedevilled and a longer route established circumnavigating your grove. You might be hungry, but you’re prudent, careful. Not like some other witches these days, greedy for any morsel that happens to pass in front of them. 

No; you take care of your woods. You have to, if you plan on remaining here for the centuries to come. If a few travellers happen to disappear here and there, that’s simply life. Not everyone can make treacherous journeys. 

You always have a sense of when a traveller is nearby. It’s as though your being is embedded within the forest itself, privy to those who dwell within it. You feel him along the outer regions of the forest, a lone traveller hauling not more than himself and a rucksack filled with the bare essentials. He appears to you in flashes in your dreams, not the full image of him but piecemeal, a shadow obscuring his full face from you. You see only tendons and meat on his bones, a rough hewn strength to his limbs, touch muscle and fat wrapped around his middle.

It makes you giddy to think of him circling ever closer to your spider’s web at the centre of the forest. After him, you won’t be hungry for years. 

Your restless leg acts up the day you know that he’s close enough to approach. All morning, you sit at the little table in your kitchen and rip lavender buds from the stems, black shoes tap-tapping away at the floor. The broom sweeps by itself in the corner, sweeping the dust into a neat pile. When you snap your fingers, it’s brusque, impatient. The broom halts in midair and then clatters against the floorboards. The chair scrapes against the floor as you rise to your feet. 

“Come, come, Asphodel,” you whisper to the black cat curled up on the windowsill, which barely lifts her head enough to blink at you. “No more dallying. Mommy’s hungry.”

In a show of great defiance and disrespect, Asphodel merely meows at you and lays her head back down. Insipid little familiar. 

You go off on your own then, keen to see the travellers with your own eyes. Jowls growing tighter. Robe cinched tight around you and hair pinned back by a thin strand of velvet. The days have just begun to shorten, just begun to exhale frost and rot. The leaves however, by agreement, do not crunch under your feet and give you away. You are a phantom amidst the trees as you flank the lone traveller, following the breadth of him as he traverses past your homestead. 

It’s fortunate that you are not beholden to physics because he is formidable. Broad as a man might be, no less sizable than in your dreams, but much more menacing in the flesh. He too moves quietly in the brush, with a care and precision that you have not seen many humans employ. 

He conceals the lower half of his face with a black piece of fabric, which you had mistaken for shadows. Not so. It is a deliberate concealment, meant to unnerve. Without magic, you might not have approached. 

His size alone isn’t enough to frighten you though. You are two hundred years old and you have eaten men twice his size when you were naught but a babe. 

You step out into the clearing just a few paces from him, halting the man in his tracks. 

“Hello,” you call out tentatively, raising a hand to shield your eyes. “C-can you help me? I think I’ve lost my way.”

At this point in your career, it takes a bit to hide the smile that threatens to break. You are like the spider posing as a fly. The show is half the fun though. 

The man doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even seem shocked at your presence, arms loose by his sides. It makes your stomach clench, the script flipped a bit. It should be you, loose and limber, and the wayward traveller tense and nonplussed, then eager to help the lost girl. You wait a moment longer for him to respond, but he remains silent, blue eyes unblinking. 

“Can you help me?” you repeat, taking a step closer. The tendrils of your magic slither out of you, snaking across the forest floor towards him. “I’m lost. Can you help me find my way out?” 

Your magic finds his boots in the dirt like mycelium threads, the pulse of him rich and earthen. It makes the saliva pool in your mouth, hunger gnawing at your guts. He will taste so good. Meaty and huge, enough to last you the winter. You take another step closer despite his continued silence, a tad too eager. You only need a moment though, long enough for your magic to take root, to render him febrile and inert. When he collapses to the ground, you will float his body back and rend him limb from limb by your hearth. 

Another step brings you closer to him when your magic suddenly recoils, unwinds from him. You frown. You try sending it back, but your magic shrinks away, an atavistic fear blooming up in you. It does not want near this man. 

A cold sweat breaks out on your neck. The hairs on your neck and arms stand on end. 

The masked man staring back at you tilts his head, the skin under his eyes crinkling with a smile that you cannot see. Suddenly eldritch, blood-curdling. 

“Now, what are you?” he asks with a rumbling voice, rough from disuse, and takes a step towards you.

You trip over your feet scrambling back. Branches from a nearby tree scoop towards you, catching you before you tumble down into the soft dirt. He advances quickly on you, big hand finding now the hatchet strapped to his side and pulling it out, the thing dwarfed in his massive paw. 

“Stay back—stay back—” you hiss, the branches listening to your fear and dragging you away from the man. “Leave—I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” he asks, taunting. Just a twinge of it, as if he can’t help that he has a predilection to mock.

He catches up to you fast enough, the strides of his long legs enough to eat up the distance. When you whip the branches towards him, they stop mere inches from him, giving him ample time to bat them away. The ones that get close enough meet his hatchet, a single cleave enough to sever them from the tree. You don’t feel the tree’s pain, but where his blade meets your magic—a thin coating along the branches, like extended, ghost limbs of your own—it stings. 

“Stay back!” you shriek, heart pumping away ferociously. Your voice comes out like a caterwaul. He’s too close now though, towering over you, the bitter smell of old sweat and musk. Up close, he does not smell like anything you know. He smells sun bleached, the rust of old blood like the blades in your shed after a long season’s hunt. 

“What sort of girl—” he starts, hand fisting in your hair and wrenching your head back, “—ambushes strange men in forests? Do you have a death wish?”

To have him touch you is singularly terrifying. You haven’t been touched in a hundred years, certainly not by a human. His touch sends you skittering back, but he has you trapped in place. Your shoes dig into the dirt when you try to push yourself away, hands pressed against his chest much to your distress. 

“Men can’t kill me,” you hiss, fingers clawing at the hand holding you in place, scratching at him with the little nails that you never bothered to grow out. 

You can’t see the whole of his face, but his expression is undoubtedly unimpressed. “I could kill you easily, girl.”

“I’m not a girl—I’m a witch.”

“A witch is a girl.”

“I eat girls,” you snap, so angry now that spittle drips from your mouth. You shrink back when he wipes it away with a gloved hand. “I eat men like you too. If you are a man.” 

You say that because the way your magic curls away from him has you on edge. Humans may not scare you, but eldritch, ancient monsters do and they hunt little witches like you. Usually not in your own woods, but stranger things have happened. 

“‘Course I’m a man. Look at me.”

He presses the whole length of his body against yours, dragging you so close to him by your hair that you almost rise up onto your toes. He’s solid all the way through, only a bit of give around his middle. There’s something distinctly hard pressing against your low belly. It leaves you flustered, hot under your collar. An unfamiliar heat in your core, legs clenching on nothing. You give in to the instinctive urge to look down, but pressed so close to him, there’s little to see beyond the wideness of his chest, covered by a brown tunic laced up the front. 

“Means nothing. Plenty of things look like other things. I look like a girl but I am not,” you stutter. 

“Were you trying to eat me then, witch girl?” he breathes, amused. You yelp when he gives you a little shake by the hair. 

You flash your teeth at that, hoping he takes that as a threat. You have chewed off flesh far tougher than his. “Still might, human. If you don’t let me go.” 

He stares down at you, eyes giving nothing away. “It’s not every day that a little girl threatens to eat me. Not very nice, you know. I’ve cut down men twice your size for less.”

“You like bloodshed?”

“I trade in bounties; it’s part of the job. But, yes, girl. I like bloodshed.”

It’s not reassuring to hear that when his hands are fast on you. You wish now you hadn’t dreamed of this strange man immune to your magic and left him to his wandering. There are bears in these woods that could have dealt with him for you. 

“I’m—I’m not going to anymore,” you say, quieter now, hands falling back to his chest, trying to shove yourself just the slightest bit away. You don’t move an inch. “I’ll…I can find something else to eat. Just let me go.”

The man widens his stance, feet bracketing yours. In two hundred years, you haven’t felt small. You’ve felt tremendous, expansive, big as the whole forest; monstrous some days even. The most ferocious predator in the woods, the haunting lurching her way through the trees, belly hungry for iron blood and the ripe taste of fear. 

You feel that fear now in your mouth for the first time, sour.

He smiles behind the mask again. “Maybe later. Need to teach you a lesson.”

“A lesson?” Maybe the fear hasn’t sunk in all the way because you ask that when he lets go of his hold on your hair and drops his hands to your waist, getting a tight hold there. Twisting you around while he walks you back. 

“You all alone in the forest?” he asks instead of answering you. “Is there a house that I missed? Been here for months and haven’t seen one.”

“Of course, I—I live here.” You don’t want to say more than though, lest you reveal too much about yourself. You’re still wondering whether surviving this ordeal will be as simple as getting away. There’s something savage in his gaze now, the mealy taste in your mouth translating that look like the hunter looking upon the hunted. 

There’s a tree stump that he guides you to, shaded under the canopy. When he tips you over the stump, the breath rushes out of you. The edge is rough against your stomach. You don’t even notice him pulling up the back of your dress until a few seconds later. 

“Wait, hold on—that’s my indoor dress!” you cry out, the front of your dress scraping against the stump and sure to tear. “Let me go—stop it!”

Your drawers are next, slid down your hips while you squirm and wail, feet kicking out behind you. 

“Behave.” It’s punctuated by the sudden sting on your cheek, bottom flaming red by his hand. Pain is such a foreign concept to you that it initially leaves you speechless. 

He props you against the stump with little care for how your knees drag in the dirt and whether your underwear gets dirt on them. He keeps you pinned there with a big hand on the centre of your back. Your shimmying gets you nowhere, only planted farther into the dirt; it only scuffs up your knees and pulls wretched little noises from your throat. 

The terror comes when you’re bare to him and he draws his hand back. You gasp at the first smack, shocked; it’s a broken, stupid sound. At the next smack, you react properly, going into a frenzy, twisting left and right to get away, but helpless under just a fraction of his strength. Your magic does no good for once in your long life either. You feel it sit on the periphery, unsure of what to do because it cannot come close to this strange man for some reason. 

You yelp every time his hand comes down on your bottom. Red fills your vision. Tears do as well. 

“I am going to—” you break off on a yowl, back arching, “—I am going to eat the flesh off your bones for this! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

His chuckle is bone-chilling, ices you right over. “You oughta at least know the name of the man you’re going to eat. They call me Ghost.”

“I’ll call you—” The caustic name you were about to call him is ripped from your lips by another well-placed smack on your ass. 

You shriek so loud that the birds flee from their perches within the trees. 

The worst part is the way your thighs flex together with every smack. Belly clenching. You can feel slick gathering where it shouldn’t, a high blush splotched across your cheeks as you pray that he doesn’t notice. It doesn’t happen often, only in the week following your cycle when you feel ravenous and flushed, skin prickly and raw until you go outdoors and roll around in the dirt under the moonlight. Always by yourself, of course, naturally. 

Little panting breaths hiccup out of you, your cheeks overflowing with frustrated tears. After the first minute, you simply go limp. There’s nothing else you can do. Even trying to levitate does you no good, it only props your butt up higher into the air since Ghost’s hand on your upper back keeps your chest pressed to the stump. It only seems to amuse him, judging by the hoarse chuckle he lets out. 

Without your broom, the little bit of levitation is more of a party trick than anything—and you haven’t even been to a party in fifty years, not since your coven’s last autumnal gathering. Not that it matters at a time like this. His hand comes down on your butt again and you wail, shoes digging into the ground and kicking up dirt. Your mind goes blank again, thoughts replaced by the looping ow, ow, ow that also falls from your lips.

“Does it hurt, lovie?” Ghost asks, hand coming to rest on your livid cheek. It makes you hiss, turning your head until your cheek is pressed to the stump’s inner rings. His voice is gentle, but mocking, like the voice you use when hacking into a screaming man, asking him if he’d like his hand back while you dangle it in front of him.

“It’s going to hurt so much worse when I dice you into little pieces,” you hiss. He gives a mocking pat to your butt, making you flinch. 

“Learned your lesson yet?”

You keep your gaze stubbornly off to the side. Somehow, it would be worse to look over your shoulder and make eye contact with the strange beast at your back. “If you leave now, I won't sever your limbs from your body and roast your organs from the inside.”

“I take it you haven’t,” he says, another chuckle rumbling out of him. 

His hand comes off your naked rear. Your ears perk up when you hear the sound of fabric over fabric, wondering if maybe he’s pulling your underwear back up, but you don’t feel anything. What you feel instead is the sudden heaviness pushed between your thighs, nestled right up against your wet core, so unfamiliar that it makes you jump. You stay put though, held down still by his hand. 

“Put that back,” you say severely. 

He holds it against your sex with his free hand and presses forward, coating himself with your slick. “You’re not in a position to make demands, girl.”

“I’m going to slice every bit of skin off your bones.” Your mouth salivates at the thought, thinking of all the thick, iron-rich blood from someone Ghost’s size. 

Those thoughts disperse again like smoke when he ruts forward, the thick length between his legs gliding through your wetness. It makes you break out into a sweat, keen catching between your teeth, just narrowly bitten back. Ghost makes no effort to suppress his groans. They’re loud, a lustful, masculine pleasure that you’ve heard far off in your woods before—unfortunate couples come to copulate before meeting their end at your hands—but never so close. Never right up in your ear.

“It’s not fair,” you sob, emotional suddenly. “You’re just going to—to do that and then kill me.”

He leans his full weight over you, the rough texture of his shirt catching on the back of your dress. You’re sweating so hard now that the lace embroidery around your collar is thoroughly soaked, clinging to your skin. 

“‘M not gonna kill you. What would I do something like that for?”

You sniff. “It’s what I would do.”

He chuckles again, the sound reverberating through you with him all pressed up against you. It would almost be pleasant if it weren’t for the cock pumping between your thighs. That brings you right back down to earth, mind torn away from the ravens perched in the branches of the tree looming over you, watching you from above. If you were able to pay them any close attention, you’d probably hear them chattering about the position their little witch has found herself in. 

“C’mon now,” Ghost grunts in your ear, hips shifting back. “Be a good little witch and say a little spell—don’t wanna knock you up on the first try.”

You open your mouth to reply and squeal when he rocks back forward, the bulbous tip pressing into you this time. Your toes flex in your shoes, thighs spreading without any prompting from him. You don’t even notice the hand on your upper back travelling to your waist, both of his big hands gripping you there now to hold you in place. There’s no thought of trying to get away, just breathing around the immense stretch from his shaft driving up into you.

“Ooh, no, no—it’s too much,” you squeak, fingers digging into the sides of the stump, the wood cutting into your soft skin. 

It is too much. It doesn’t even feel entirely possible. Even with the wetness leaking from you, his cock only manages to fit a couple inches in you before you’re too tight. 

“You’re doing fine, lovie,” he rasps into your ear, drawing his hips back and then plunging back into you, deeper than before. “See? Not so bad, is it? Gonna take a little more for me, a’right?”

“No—no more,” you slur, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Can you just—just keep it right there?”

“Yeah? That enough for you?”

Your fingers unlatch from the bark of the tree, trembling when you reach down to wipe them off on your dress before dragging the palm of your hand over your clit. It makes you jump and whine. The skin of your palm is a bit textured from gripping onto the stump, but the friction makes your brain leak right out of your ear. Especially when you push your hips back just a little bit, nervously fucking yourself on his cock.

Ghost laughs and lets go of your hip to bat your hand away, then reaches back around to fit a big hand around your jaw.

He holds your jaw in a single hand, palm supporting your chin. “You ever going to do this again, girl? Go up to strange men in the woods?”

You almost don’t hear him over the blood in your ears. A thick cock spears into you for the first time in your life and the man rutting into you expects coherence? Maybe you babble something into the palm of his hand, but it’s lost to the world when he pulls your knee out to make more room for himself and tips your ass up.

He gives your cheek a solid pat. “C’mon, focus on me, lovie. Tell me what you’re gonna do from now on.”

Your breathing picks up, heavier. When you don’t respond again, he abruptly pulls out and stands up, hauling you up to your feet with him. All of the blood rushes from your head, pooling around your pretty black shoes. Leaves crunch under your feet when he turns the two of you around and sits down on the stump where you’d just been spread over. The hands on your waist turn you to face him and that’s when an inkling of struggle works its way back into your veins. 

You hiss and snarl when he lifts you to straddle his thighs, particularly when you see the brutish, ruddy cock jutting out from his trousers. Ghost seems more amused than anything at your little attempts to escape, clutching you closer to him until your chests are pressed tight together, making it all the more intimate. All the more real. 

“Quit fussing.” You jump at the sharp slap he delivers to your ass. 

“Going to curse your whole lineage—” you grit out, wincing when he draws you back down over his length, cunt fluttering at the stretch. You can’t help dropping your forehead to his chest, shoulder hitched with a frustrated cry. 

His groan makes you seize up, a hot flash darting through you. “Don’t be like that, lovie. Might be yours too.”

A haze passes over you when firm hands lift you up off his cock and plop you back down, emptying you of any thoughts like you’d tipped your head and all the water had poured out. 

The worst is the way your body betrays you. Each time he shoves his fat cock into your cunt, a whine rattles out of you, snatched from your chest. Robbed from you. The nearby leaves rustle and swirl up into the air with an artificial wind, magic singing their edges. He reaches so much deeper inside of you like this, splayed on his lap, hands gripping onto his shoulders for dear life because it takes every bit of energy in your body to merely take his cock into you. 

Your knees scrape against the uneven wood every time he drags you back down. They’ll probably be scraped raw by the end of it; you’ll need to tearfully smooth on ointment and wrap thick bandages around them when you get back to the cottage. 

“There we go. Fuckin’ take it—come on,” Ghost grunts, dragging you down onto his length, just using your body how he likes. 

The thick head grinds up against a spot deep inside of you, spongy and sensitive. You feel it all the way up in your throat. Every time his cock rubs against that spot, your nails dig into his shoulders. A violent shudder rips through you because this position also lets him grind your clit down against the root of his cock. 

“Ghost—”

He ducks his covered mouth into the side of your neck. Even through the fabric, you can feel his lips press a firm, closed-mouth kiss there. “Bit more, bit more, love. Better than you thought it’d be, huh? Fuck. Only thing magic about you is this wet pussy. Fuck hiding this from me—gonna ride it twice a day from now on.”

“Never doing this ever again, you beast—”

Ghost bites you through the mask, the pressure dull but real. It says, try keeping it from me.

When you come, it’s sudden and sharp, painful like a cramp in your belly and then a wave of bone-deep pleasure. Ghost wrangles it from you with a thumb on your clit, pumping up into your pussy at the same time. He wrenches it from you like it’s his, like you have no choice but to come for him because he wants it. You press your whole body against him when you come, arms wrapping around his neck like you need him close. Heat unfolding and leaving you limp. No cauldron has ever boiled as hot as your flesh does now. 

He pulls out of you before coming. You watch helplessly as he settles you close enough to keep the heat of your pussy on him and then wraps a firm hand around himself, giving it a few good tugs before a white rope of come spurts from his cock. Right onto your exposed pussy, spilling across your folds. Your mouth drops open on a soft whine as it stripes across your inner thighs and the front of your dress, painting it white. 

His harsh pants ebb into something softer as his cock goes flacid against his thigh. You feel boneless, drained of all your energy. Even your magic only gives a pathetic twitch, the tendrils of it curling back up inside of you where it’s nice and warm. 

Your cunt feels tender, puffy when you reach down and touch it. You flinch when his fingers graze against yours, also feeling around your swollen lips. Ghost knuckles your fingers out of the way and scoops up the mess he left between your thighs, pushing two fingers just past your entrance. You don’t even have the energy to yelp, only wince and mewl.

He shushes you. “Didn’t even come inside. Quit whining.”

His words are belied by the way he scoops more of his come up into you. 

You really don’t like that he follows you home. The march back to your cozy cottage nestled in the middle of the forest feels like a death march, one you might have witnessed in the hundreds of years that you’ve lived here. Worse still because your legs are still wobbly, your sex achy and raw. Still, whenever you pause for a moment or lean against a tree, he nudges you forward with a hand on your back.

“This is unfair,” you snivel, eyes tearing up. “You can’t—this is my forest.”

“The woods don’t belong to anyone, girl,” Ghost counters. 

“Yes, they do. I’ve been…it’s been mine for two hundred years.”

“Of course, lovie.” You can almost hear the roll of his eyes. It makes you grit your teeth. You can’t wait to bury him in the backyard with all the bone mandalas. 

It doesn’t take long for him to settle in, making himself nice and comfortable on your plush couch with the intricate doilies knitted by your grandmother draped along the back. Your poor couch almost collapses under his weight. 

Your cottage is far too small for someone of his size; you built it to accommodate someone of your size, not the behemoth that’s taken up residence in your house. You know that Ghost is more of a man of action than words, but he’s plenty happy to grumble about needing to redo the door to make it big enough for him to come inside without having to duck his head. 

“You aren’t going to touch a single brick of my house.”

“I’ll take apart the whole damned thing if I want.”

You keep trying to lift him up with your magic but it does nothing to him and only tires you out because using magic is exhausting. You’re sweating and panting at the end of your efforts while Ghost just stands in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest and a single eyebrow raised. It’s humiliating. You used to be a powerful witch. You still are. 

He lets you yell at him until you’re red in the face and then drags you down for a rough fuck. Arguments with Ghost often end that way—you, sore and satiated in your bed, the window opened to let some fresh air in. Him, spread out next to you and dragging you close, playing absentmindedly with a nipple until you pinch his side. That always gets you a meaner pinch, one that leaves you teary-eyed and hot all over again. 

Magic might not work on him, but he’s still mortal, so you try to work with that. Bear traps by the windows and doors. Hemlock in the soap. Poison in his stew. He’s stealthier than you anticipate though and seems to have a sixth sense for death. 

It’s demeaning and humiliating to be punished for your ‘bad behaviour’ but that’s what he calls it when he passes by the kitchen and catches the stew burping out the telltale skull shaped steam. You’re taken off kitchen duty after that, but the worst part is being trapped under him on the bed with your hands pinned over your head, bottom exposed to him yet again. He laughs a little later on when you squirm around on your hard kitchen chairs because you refuse to sit on his lap.

Sometimes when he has you trapped under him when you’re sleeping—because, of course, he commandeers your bed like it was built for someone his size when truthfully he should be in a bed twice as large—he wakes up to you gnawing at his shoulder and he has to hold you jaw in his hand and rumble out “No biting” before going back to sleep. You stare over his shoulder petulantly, not even bothering to fight the pout. The kettle whispers in the kitchen, fueled by your frustration.

Ghost only lets out a dry, husky laugh. It sends a shiver down your spine. 

Asphodel takes to him like a new favourite thing, winding around his legs while you glare from the other room. Damned familiar. 

You only start to lighten up when your senses tingle one day when you’re out picking berries in the woods and you come back to find him ruthlessly butchering a band of raiders that had been trampling through your woods. He slaughters them methodically, almost bored. Almost like he does this every day. 

You can’t help the way it makes your pussy ache. 

He catches the look in your eye. You’ve been alone for far too long in the woods; everything you feel is laid bare, open for anyone to see. Ghost is just always looking. 

He grins under the mask, blood splattered across the front of his shirt. “Go on, lovie. I’ll be inside in just a few.”

Molten slickness drips from between your thighs. You bite your lip before you slip away, blood growing feverish when you glance back down at the mangled bodies bleeding out in the red-orange leaves. There’s a severed eye that’s rolled off to the side and your stomach gurgles. 

You lick your lip and look up at him from under your eyelashes. “Save me some for supper?”

Ghost’s eyes soften, a sharp contrast from the gore and viscera piled around him. “‘Course, lovie.”

The world seems different with the arrival of him. Cranberries beneath the sycamore, the russet moon on harvest's day, the scent of soldering iron, the laughter woven between your many faces. With him, you feel like the cynosure of all eyes. 

In the twilight hours, he presses a hand to your forehead and laves your belly with his tongue like he might push something back in there. The curtains draw shut and the lights flicker off.

[harvardfineartslib]

In honor of National Rice Month, here is a series of hand-colored lantern slides of the rice farming process in Japan, from stirring the rice paddy field to get the field ready and hand planting the rice sprouts. Stay tuned for the next post on harvesting and polishing rice. These lantern slides are a part of Etz-Trudell collection of hand-colored lantern slides of Japan, Korea, and India.

Stirring the rice paddy field, Japan. 1900-1940 Harvard Fine Arts Library, Special Collections VSCO 086 00144 HOLLIS number: olvwork367814

Men and woman planting rice sprouts, Japan. Harvard Fine Arts Library, Special Collections VSCO 086 00146 HOLLIS number: olvwork367816

Rice field, Japan. Takagi, Teijiro, Japanese [photographer] Harvard Fine Arts Library, Special Collections VSCO 086 00233 HOLLIS number: olvwork370135

[irlangelsdiary]

✿ A list of most (if not all) wicca holidays

✮ Lammas (Lughnasadh) – Pagan/Wiccan Aug 1st

Lammas, also known as Loafmas or Lughnasadh, commemorates the harvest of the first grains, primarily for breadmaking. Lughnasadh itself is named after Lugh, a Celtic deity associated with grain. Lammas celebrations include feasting, crafting corn dollies, and participating in games and contests as a way to honor Lugh and the bounty of the season.

✮ Mabon (Fall Equinox) – Pagan/Wiccan Sept 21st

Mabon, celebrated at the fall equinox, marks the transition to the approaching darkness of the coming winter months. Mabon celebrations involve giving thanks for the harvest, making offerings of fruits and vegetables, and performing ceremonies to honor the equinox’s change from the light half of the year to the dark. Decorations made of corn, squash, vines and pumpkins are common.

✮ Samhain (All Hallows Eve) – Pagan/Wiccan Oct 31st

Samhain today marks the end of the harvest, the start of the Pagan/Wiccan New Year, and the honoring of our ancestors and the dead. Samhain celebrations include lighting candles, setting up altars, and modern activities like costume parties, trick-or-treating, and jack-o’-lanterns.

✮ Yule (Winter Solstice) – Pagan/Wiccan Dec 21st

Yule, celebrated at the winter solstice, marks the day on which the “sun is reborn.” Yule celebrations include the burning of the Yule log, kissing under the mistletoe, decorating homes with holly and evergreen branches, and performing rituals to welcome the return of the sun’s warmth and light to the world.

✮Imbolc (Candlemas) – Pagan/Wiccan Feb 2nd

Imbolc heralds the first signs of spring and is dedicated to Brigid, a Celtic goddess of poetry and fire who was later canonized by the Catholic Church. Imbolc celebrations include candlelit processions, the lighting of a hearth fires, and sending blessings to the fields and farm animals.

✮Ostara (Spring Equinox) – Pagan/Wiccan May 21st

Ostara, celebrated at the spring equinox, marks the beginning of the light half of the year and the arrival of spring. Ostara is celebrated by the coloring and decorating of eggs, planting of seeds, and performing rituals that honor the balance of light and dark.

✮Beltane (May Day) – Pagan/Wiccan May 1st

Beltane is a joyful fertility festival that welcomes the height of spring and celebrates the divine feminine and masculine coming together in fruitful union. Beltane celebrations include dancing around the Maypole, wearing wreaths or crowns of flowers, the crowning of a May Queen, and the lighting of bonfires.

Litha/Midsummer (Summer Solstice) – Pagan/Wiccan June 21st

Litha, celebrated at the summer solstice, marks when the sun is at its maximum power and the longest day of the year. Litha celebrations include lighting bonfires, outdoor feasts, and rituals that honor the warmth and light of the sun and the season’s abundance.