#hooves just fit the vibe better than feet this time

[warlordfelwinter]

tiefling twednesday!!!!!

my friend is running the wild beyond the witchlight starting end of january and i'm SO EXCITED!!!!! i've wanted to play witchlight since it came out and i kept getting closer to just giving up and running it myself just so someone would get to play it but now!! i get to play!!

i'd been toying with a few ideas for various classes since the dm said she wanted to run it but the moment it became real i tossed them all out the window and went back to my warlock roots

meet Foxglove! i don't have all their details ironed out yet, but their vague backstory is that they were abandoned as a baby in the forest by their birth parents who didn't want a tiefling. they were found and brought into the feywild by a clan of pixies who raised them. they're fun loving and carefree and mischevious, as befits someone raised by pixies. their warlock patron is Zybilna the fairy godmother.

some fun facts are that they are 6.5 feet tall (with the antlers), they're a vegetarian (really more of a frugivore), they collect little things (lost objects, shiny rocks, etc), and they looked very different as a baby but being in the feywild for so long influenced their appearance as they grew up

[eachuisge-cc]

How to make regular TS4 clothing compatible with digitigrade legs: PART 2

This section covers long pants, as well as skintight and cuffed pants or other types of clothing that might require some texture/UV editing. For basic info on getting started and converting shorts/other above the knee clothing, see Part 1.

Mesh Editing For Long Loose Pants

These are arguably simpler than shorts in that there are fewer steps involved, but they can be more work intensive and may take some practice if you haven't done much blender modelling.

As with the shorts you'll want to be in orthographic side view (Numpad 3) switch the viewport shading to solid, and turn on x-ray view (alt+Z), but unlike the shorts those things are actually necessary here instead of just helpful. Once you've got the legs imported you won't actually need to touch them again, they're there as a visual guide.

select ALL segments of the pants mesh. go into edit mode and you should have a setup looking like this:

You now need to turn on proportional editing, which is the little concentric circle thing next to the little magnet thing on the lower toolbar

Choose Smooth, and make sure "connected only" is UNCHECKED. This will enable you to edit the whole thing a) without messing up the topology and b) without getting cracks in the mesh between segments. if you need to edit one vertex at a time, just scroll to decrease the radius of the tool and it will feel like working without it, the only difference being that you won't get cracks. Honestly this is a good thing to do any time you're working with sims 4 meshes due to the way they're constructed.

At this point honestly you just kinda. eyeball it. follow your heart. smush it around until you like the way it looks, then switch the viewport shading back to material to make sure it's not distorting the texture too badly. Instead of trying to explain how, I've just recorded my usual way of doing it and you can either copy that or do something else entirely that works better for you. The important thing is that at the end, the pants should follow a more or less natural-looking fall around the shape of the leg (one of the mesh seams frequently lands right over the hocks, which I choose to just let happen because I like the defined edge and feel like it makes a nice silhouette and fits TS4's cartoony vibe, but if you don't like that it's something to watch out for) and there shouldn't be any leg bits poking through. Once you're happy with the shape, go back to object mode and delete the imported digitigrade mesh, and you're done.

If you're having trouble lining the bottoms up with the feet, you can import some hooves or paws for reference and delete them with the legs at the end. This process will work for anything long enough that it ends below the ankle seam, and loose enough that the extra bend won't badly distort the texture or mesh.

Then just do the same with the other LODs and you're done with the mesh editing portion, and can refer to part one for additional steps. For capris and cropped pants you can often just combine this method with the shorts method, which brings us to...

So You Edited The Mesh And It Broke The Texture

There are certain styles that I prefer to shorten so they end at the hocks, like the second and fourth items in my werewolf edits, (the one between them, by contrast, was done with the long loose pants method above):

I don't really have any hard and fast rules for when to do this vs not but I usually base my judgement on "will leaving them long distort the mesh/texture awkwardly" and "if a werewolf transformed while wearing these pants, would they fall over the hocks, or be pushed up by them" (because the hocks are anatomically ankles, and digitigrade animals are basically standing on tip-toes with an elongated foot).

Anyway, sometimes you'll be able to do this just fine and move on with your life, but sometimes this happens:

I'm going to explain how to fix this as well as I can, but it's a process that's a bit less straightforward than the mesh editing and it involves some eyeballing and trial and error, so I'm sorry in advance. I'll edit this for clarity as needed, just drop me a message if you're stuck on something in the meantime.

In blender, go over to your UV panel, set it to display the outfit texture rather than the body (generally this will be DiffuseMap) and switch on UV Sync Selection. If you compare the UV panel with the model, you'll be able to see what you need to do to correct things. Here you can see that when I moved the pants mesh up the leg to fit with the hocks, it ended up higher than the placement of the UV, causing the texture to bleed over onto the leg.

Take note of where the UV needs to end and where you'll need to move it to; find a visual landmark on the texture if you can (if it helps, make a copy of the texture and draw markers on it to give yourself a reference point), because you'll need to hide the leg part so that you can edit the pants UV without distorting it.

With the leg hidden, select the bottom row of vertices on the pants UV, and hit G>Y to move it only on the vertical axis. Mess with the proportional editing range until it looks right to you, for best results I've found it's good to set it so all the vertices below the knee are affected, but no higher than that.

This is what it should roughly look like once adjusted, it's better to shoot for a little above where it needs to be than a little below. At this stage it will look like you just made it worse but don't worry, we're fixing the textures next. Hide the legs again, select all, and export the altered UV.

Go back to the package and export the texture for every swatch as well as the normal map (as a png), then open up your 2D editing software of choice and import them all into one layered file so you can edit them all at once. import the UV on top of them (might help to lower the UV's transparency to see what you're doing better).

At this point you can see pretty clearly how much the texture needs to be adjusted (and if it's not clear, I suggest exporting an unedited version of the clothing mesh and looking at the UV in blender, and using that as your guide) In this case, that lower detached bit is what the cuff needs to line up with, the strip at the bottom lines up with that very bottom row and makes up the underside of the cuff, and everything else is very light on detail so I can more or less focus entirely on getting the cuff right and the rest will look fine. As with adjusting the UV, select to just the bottom of the knee for best results, and frequently all you need to do is hit transform and move the bottom edge up. There may be some textures you need to mess with more if they're particularly detailed or have lacing/patterns/cuffs in an inconvenient area or something, but a lot of the time you can get away with just lightly squishing everything below the knee. Once you get a feel for the process you can also plan ahead while editing the mesh itself to minimize distortion (in this case, I made sure not to change the size of the cuffs while moving things around because those were the only detailed part).

Now export one of the swatches, test it in S4S or blender, make further adjustments if they're needed until it looks right. Make sure you hide the UV layer when you export, and make sure to import the mesh with the updated UV if you're testing it in S4S (I say this because I regularly forget and end up having to re-do steps).

To adjust the different LODs, you can just import one of the new textures to the UV editor in blender and use it as a guide, so you don't have to do the same eyeballing process four times.

Sometimes you'll also need to adjust the shadow map. to do this, just export it from the package, load it into your painting software, and just scoot the lower shadow up until it's sitting right, again using the new UV as a guide.

At this point you should have a finished set of digitigrade pants!

From here refer to part one for further directions if you need them.

[ficletfan]

Fem! Goat Monster reader, taken from Satyr myths!

(Okay so my personal OC is a Goat satyr, I just Hhhhad to write this, so this is a bit self indulgent 🐐 😋if you relate great! But it's closer to my oc than my generalized headcanons)

Poly Coven:

- You're a Goat based monster, big floppy ears, two medium sized horns, hooved feet, goat-like legs and a long thin tail with a tuft of fur on the end

- They are magic user humans, physically you beat them easily but their minds and teamwork balance that out. You'll outrun all of them anyday. Faith tries to join your morning jog but... Eh for her it's a morning sprint

- at least they fit into most pants, your bent goat legs need specialty pants with longer legs despite you being a small size or not

- shorts and dresses suit your anatomy better

- Please let them paint your hooves, it'd be so so cute!

- While you're not Vegan you can't digest meat, Joy shares her Vegan food with you often and you're glad to try it, even if sometimes its not very good because other times it's delicious!

- 10/10 Dances with your girlfriends in the living room, Joy sitting in her chair reading when you come over, kick on the music and convince her to dance with you

- Same with Faith and hope, but hope hardly needs convincing

- They keep you close around species that are known to eat satyrs during missions... There would be hell to pay if a big bad took a bite out of their Goat

-Yes, when you get surprised you goat scream, it gets them every time, even faith can't help but chuckle at the sound

Polly:

-High energy couple, you're always active and she brings you to dance partys to expel your energy

- She's dead, you're not, so she won't let you do the more hardcore drugs or drinking

- Will certainly make predator and prey innuendos to fluster you, its her second favorite thing to do

-her first favorite is your cute goat ears, she says they look like stitches ears from lilo and stitch!

- if she gets the chance she'll totally get a knitted goat horn hat and wear it "look boo we match now!~" its too sweet, daw vibes comaaaa

- will grab your tail out of the blue to get a reaction from you, anything, fluster, annoyance or even a little huff

- someone has to say it in head canon land: if you're shorter than her she will rest her boobs on your head or shoulders to fluster you

- shes a flirt and you agreed to date her, shes using those rights to fluster you

- will scare you to make you goat scream and post it on social media

Vera:

- Unlike others in this list, Vera is a predator species, she could kill you in an instant, it makes your blood rush when she's near and you love it!

- Her snakes have bit your horns before, much to their surprise it doesn't hurt you, they're mostly hard except near your scalp

- She doesn't try to catch up with your high speed jogging in the morning, it wears her out and she doesn't expect you to slow down for her either. You'll run past her many times and give her a kiss or compliment on your way by

- You've broken a mans ribs when they tried to steal you for ransom against Vera. She'd forgotten how vulnerable yet strong your kind are. Strong backlegs but no fangs or claws...

- Vera keeps you close, to anyone outside it looks odd that she sticks as close as she does but there's a small fear in her that you'll be a literal lamb to the slaughter without her and shes grown to love you a lot

- usually you're facing each other in bed or you're face first into her chest, those horns are hard to snuggle with when they point backwards

- Zoe totally ships it, Terrifying Killer gorgon and her forbidden Herbivore Satyr lover!

- Hopefully you don't mind seeing meat be eaten, she needs it just as much as you need plants

- Shes tsundere, showering her with affection is the absolute best idea

-Snort laughs when you goat scream when she accidentally scares you

[simplepotatofarmer]

comfort hug #16: welcome home

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dream SMP/Minecraft RP/??? Rating: General Relationships: Technoblade & Reader Words: 1,915 Additional Tags: hugs, fluff, comfort, reader insert, fluff without plot, found family vibes Summary: A platonic Technoblade and Reader fic, for all your soft Techno needs.

*disclaimer: it’s me, ya hug gremlin back at it again for reasons aka sometimes you just want to hug a war criminal and pig and that’s valid. also this is solely about canon/character techno.

ao3 link in the reblog

It’s hard to feel as though you belong.

You had travelled so far, trying to find a place to settle down, somewhere to stay, but each place has pushed you out. You’re not on their side, not a part of whatever community or government they’ve set up, no matter how hard you try to help, try to be kind to them. When you were little, you’d share your lunch with the other kids and then they would run off to play, leaving you alone. You never were sure how to make friends, never sure where you fit into their pretend hierarchy.

And now you don’t know where you fit into the real hierarchy and it makes your chest ache.

The wind picks up, whipping your clothes around and making the tip of your nose twinge with the cold. You rub it with the back of your hand and lower your head as the first few flakes of snow begin to fall. This far into the arctic, if you don’t find shelter soon, you’ll be stuck out in the storm and that’s a recipe for disaster or at the very least frostbite.

Ahead, the faint light of a lantern cuts through the growing dark, outlining a small house.

You hesitate, wondering if it’ll be like every other time you’ve come some place new. Perhaps it’s better to find shelter some place else than feel the disappointment of realizing you don’t fit in, that you don’t belong. But it’s getting colder and you find yourself trudging through the snow and up the stairs. Shivering, you reach out and knock on the door.

From inside you can hear a low voice and movement. Your heart starts pounding in your chest. The door opens. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust well enough to be able to see; the figure is tall, tall enough to block the light from inside the cabin and tall enough to have to bend slightly to fit through the doorway.

Once you can see, your heart stills in your chest and your mouth goes dry.

You thought it was a man but now you realize you were only half right; he stands like a man, is dressed like a man, and is looking down at you with human eyes but that’s where the similarities stop. His ears stick out from the side of his head, the tip of one folded over slightly, and his nose is more of a snout. Tusks stick upwards from his bottom jaw, mouth pulled into a frown.

A pig, you think, and just manage to choke down the nervous laugh that threatens to bubble up. He’s a giant pig.

“—heh?”

The noise is high pitched, confused, and doesn’t seem quite fitting for someone like him.

Looking up, you wonder what to say but before you can, he speaks again.

“Uh uh. No. Not again.”

The door slams shut in your face.

That feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. Once again, you’ll have no place to go, once again you’re being turned away. Wind whistles past you, stopped slightly by the porch’s roof. You’re tired and you can feel the hot pricks of tears in your eyes. You should leave, find somewhere else, but you can’t bring yourself to.

Sinking down, you huddle up on the porch, pulling your jacket around you as best you can. It’s still cold, still lonely, but the wind isn’t as strong and the light from the cabin makes you feel a little less alone. You rest your forehead against your knees and prepare to wait out the night.

The sound of the door opening jerks you awake and you shake off a thin layer of snow as you look up. The pig man stands looking down at you, a scowl on his face that seems more annoyed than angry.

“Alright, get up. I don’t want you freezin’ to death on my porch. Do y’know what that’d do for my property value?”

You blink up at him.

“Well, come on. I’m not gonna stand here all night.”

Your feet slip on the ice as you scramble to stand. He steps aside so you can enter the cabin. Immediately it’s warmer and you breathe a sigh of relief, rubbing your hands together.

“Just don’t touch anything, you got it? I don’t want you messing up my stuff,” he says.

You nod.

“I won’t,” you say, almost saying more but stop.

He’s imposing in looks with scars that speak of either battles fought or dangers encountered but the way he moves around the room, muttering under his breath, makes him seem awkward.

“Sit down, you’re making me nervous just standin’ there.”

You follow his gaze towards a chair in the corner and sit with a bit of a thud.

“You’re not some kind of spy, are you?”

“I—I’m not a spy.” There’s a hint of incredulity in your voice.

“Sounds like something a spy would say.”

You stare up at him, wondering what you could say that wouldn’t sound like something a spy would say and come up blank.

“Okay.”

“Who are you with?”

He moves to stand in front of you, hooves clacking against the wooden floor.

“With…?” you ask, sinking down in the chair a little.

“Yeah, with.”

A tightness grips your chest. You’re not with anyone; that’s why you’re out here, by yourself, trying to find some place to stay for the night, some place you can be safe.

“I’m not with anyone,” you say, voice cracking a little.

“Heh?” The noise of confusion escapes him again and then he narrows his eyes, considering you. “What do you think about government?”

“Uh…” The image of being turned away by someone who claimed to work for the president of one of the places you had tried to seek shelter in flashes in your mind. “I can’t say I’m much of a fan.”

“Wonderful, that’s perfect. I won’t have to kill you,” he says, voice deadpan.

You let out a laugh, nervous, and shift in your seat.

“That wasn’t a joke, I really would have to kill you.” He sits down, the chair near the fire creaking slightly under his weight, long legs stretched out. “So can I ask why you were knockin’ on my door in the middle of the night? It’s just a little bit suspicious, if you know what I mean.”

Looking down, you twist your hands in your lap and shiver. It’s warmer in here but the cold still lingers, the skin of your nose and hands feeling like someone had pricked it with tiny needles.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” you say after a moment. “I just saw the house and—”

The words die in your mouth. It’s too hard to talk about, that feeling of desperation to find somewhere you’re wanted, the fear that you never will, the pain when you’re turned away after trying so hard.

His features soften, a look of resignation and then sympathy crossing his face.

“They exile you, too, huh?”

You don’t have to ask who ‘they’ are.

“No but they said I couldn’t stay, that I had to find somewhere else.”

“Typical,” he says with a snort. “You’re lucky they didn’t try to execute you or steal your horse.”

The corner of your mouth twitches.

“I don’t have a horse.”

“Well, you know what I mean.”

Silence falls in the cabin as you stare at your hands, the pig man staring out the window as if he was remembering something unpleasant. There’s so many questions you want to ask but you can’t find the words. Instead you rub your hands over your arms, trying to remove the chill from where its settled in your bones.

“You still cold?”

“A little,” you admit.

He gives a sigh that borders on a snort and stands, grabbing a log from the pile next to the fireplace, setting it across the flames. Tiny embers jump up and after a moment, the log catches fire, spreading both warmth and light into the room.

“No wonder. You have nothing, huh? No gear, that jacket’s barely enough to keep you warm.”

It’s not harshly said, that sympathetic look from earlier now creeping into his voice.

“I did but—I thought I had found a friend so I gave them most of my things. I just wanted to help,” you say and this time you can’t stop the tears from leaking out of the corner of your eyes. Hastily, you wipe at your face.

“See, that was your first mistake, trustin’ other people.”

The way he says it makes you think he’s speaking from experience, an undercurrent of anger. It makes you cry harder despite your efforts not to. He sighs and the creak of the floor and the way a shadow falls across you tells you he’s standing in front of you.

“Oh, don’t do that,” he says and crouches down in front of you. “I’m not good when people cry, okay?”

Wiping your face on your sleeve, you give him a shaky smile.

“Sorry.”

“Apologizin’ for cryin’ is almost as bad as the cryin’,” the pig man says, reaching out to awkwardly pat your shoulder and for the first time you realize that he has hands. It wasn’t something you had paid attention to at first. You blink at him as he settles back on his haunches. “Look, it’s great you wanted to help someone you thought was a friend and I think you should keep doing that except when it’s gonna hurt you. I mean, you could’ve frozen death out there. It’s okay to think of yourself first.”

You want to ask him why he cares when he had shut the door on you at first but it had only been at first. He had come back to let you in and you think you know why. Even crouching down the way he is, he’s still taller than you and you have to rise out of the chair a bit to hug him, throwing your arms around his neck. He stiffens.

“You remember when I said ‘hey don’t do that’ about the cryin’? Let’s go ahead and add hugging to that,” he says in a low monotone that you can feel rumble in his chest. Despite the words, he doesn’t push you away, instead patting your back and letting you rest your head on his shoulder until the tears stop for good. “Alright, alright. You’re fine. You can stop now.”

A small laugh escapes you; you don’t mean to, but there’s something about the resignation in his voice, the protest even as he hugs you back, that strikes you as funny.

“See, if you’re gonna laugh, I’ll kick you out.”

An apology almost makes its way past your lips but you stop yourself.

“Thank you,” you say, pulling away, and mean it.

“Ew, gratitude,” he says as he stands but there’s a curl to his mouth, half hidden behind the tusks, that belies the words. For a moment he looks at you and then shakes his head, the braid of pink hair moving as he does. “Alright, fine. You can stay here.”

You perk up.

“Really? For how long?”

“Just until the snow clears, then you’re out, got it? And you’re payin’ rent.”

Smiling, you don’t mention how in the arctic the snow never clears or how you have nothing to pay rent with; he already knows.

“I got it.”

[silveraccent]

Running From The Pasta || Grace & Connor

TIMING: After this solo, a week or so ago. PARTIES: @connorspiracy SUMMARY: Grace and Connor run into one another while Grace is covered in pasta sauce. They run into some rancid ghost vibes and make a break for it, but not until they reveal a bit of their traumas to each other. TRIGGER: Death, blood, minor car accident. 

Grace wasn’t sure what she saw. It couldn’t have been Renee. She wouldn’t let herself believe that it was. That was something else, bent and broken-- years of distance put between them, albeit forced, unnecessary, heart breaking. The farther she ran, the more angry she felt. What kind of cruel trick? Grace finally found it in herself to stop running, to sit at a bench, faded greens and silvers, the paint having been chipped away by years of wear and tear. The sky was still a deep violet, and the fog made it hard for her to see beyond five feet. It hung in the air, and Grace swore it would swallow her whole. She hung her head in her hands, the heels of her hands digging into her eyes. The smell of pasta sauce burned her nose, and made her feel sick. Taking a deep breath, she leaned back against the bench and stared up at the sky before she rounded her gaze to land on somebody-- a familiar face that she had seen online. “Connor, right?” She called to him as she glanced at the camera in his hand. “Are you filming this?” Though, could she blame him? It was unbelievable, the way the town looked right now. 

Strange things happening in White Crest was the norm. So much so that Connor wondered if they could even be called strange at all. Regardless, it was always a little alarming when a terrified girl covered in a sticky red substance runs past you, seemingly holding back sobs of fear. He followed a few steps as she half-collapsed on a bench, only realising when she pointed it out that he was still holding his camera. “I was filming the fog.” He closed his lens cap, crouching near her to get a better look. Now that he was closer, he could smell the overwhelming and almost putrid scent of tomato. At least it wasn’t blood. “I thought you were bleeding. Are you okay?” 

“The fog. Right.” Grace dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, a move to make what she had seen flit from her vision. She still couldn’t believe her eyes. She bit back another whimper mixed with tears as she looked up at him. “I’m not bleeding, no…” She looked down at her hands and wiped them against her pants, tomato sauce seen despite the dark clothes. “It’s pasta sauce.” She laughed, and she realized how stupid she now sounded. “I’m fine, I just… dropped something and it scared the shit out of me.” She looked up to meet Connor’s gaze. “I look weird, right? I mean, I’d prefer people think I’m running around covered in blood, not pasta sauce, because…” she trailed off. 

“Whoa, whoa, it’s alright, love. Slow down.” Connor stepped closer to her, taking a seat next to her on the bench. “Sort of puts all the weird shit in perspective when someone tells you they’d rather be covered in blood than pasta sauce,” he said with a slight chuckle, just trying to make light of a weird, difficult situation. “I think I have an overnight bag with some spare clothes in the car, if you wanna change…” He did his best to not make that sound creepy. “People have been talking about all sorts of weird things popping up and scaring them recently. If it helps, you’re not alone.” 

“Does it?” Grace let out a shaky laugh. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say. The joke would go over the heads of most. She leaned into the bench and looked over at him, her eyebrows pulled up at his words. “Am I not? Did something happen to you?” Grace looked down at her bag, its usual tan fabric now smeared red. She frowned slightly. She could still feel the burn in her eyes from her crying fit, but Connor’s general concerned nature overlapped her fear, and she let it. “I think I’ll take you up on the clothes change,” Grace nodded slowly. They’d be big on her, but she wasn’t ready to go home yet. She could go to the office, maybe. Sleep on her floor. She had an extra pair of clothes there. “If it’s okay.” She looked back over at him and offered a smile, though she wasn’t sure if it was genuine. 

“I mean, most people would just pick the other option, I think,” Connor answered with a little chuckle. He could tell this poor girl was really shaken up. “Come on.” He gestured for her to follow, leading her to his car, a spacious Land Rover Discovery. Luckily, he always had everything on-hand that he might need if he decided to have an overnight shoot, towels, dry shampoo, baby wipes, and spare clothes. He was a smaller guy, so the clothing wouldn’t be too out of place on her. “I usually lay the back seats down flat if I’m not driving with anyone so I can have all my equipment there, so there should be plenty of room.” He unlocked the car, handing her anything he thought might be useful, then closed the door most of the way and turned his back so she could change comfortably. “So… what happened, anyway?” 

Grace followed him reluctantly. At this point, she’s not sure if she’s stupid for trusting strangers, or if she has the ability to tell if somebody genuinely means her harm. It didn’t seem like he did. As they approached his car, she raised an eyebrow. It was nicer than anything she had ever owned. Youtube must have paid nicely, or maybe he was a rich kid with a dream. She glanced over at him for a moment, then looked down as he began handing over the things that she needed to successfully get rid of her tomato sodden clothes. “Oh, thanks.” She gave him a meek smile, her eyes still burning. She slid into the car and did her best to clean herself up. “Uh…” Grace mumbled as she pulled his shirt over her head. ��You know all this fog? I think it’s doing something weird to my head.” Grace wanted to tell him more, but she was hesitant. He seemed to know a lot already. Once she was finished cleaning up, she slid out of the car, her dirty clothes crumpled into her tote bag. She tucked it to her chest and offered him a smile. “I saw an old friend who I shouldn’t have seen,” Grace said after a moment as she lowered her bag to her waistline, not wanting to smell anymore of the tomato sauce. 

Connor was respectful. He kept his back turned and made sure to give her plenty of room so she could change in private and not feel as if he was hovering over her shoulder. It was probably a little weird, inviting someone he didn’t know back to her car. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d turned him down. “Like, making you see things?” She wasn’t the first person to have said something like that. Some of his regular ghosts had reported being able to be seen by all kinds of people, then there had been the Fog Fish he’d seen with Ariana. “This might be a bit personal,” he started. “But the old friend. Is she… dead?” 

“Yeah, making me see things,” Grace said after a moment. She wasn’t sure what she saw, but she knew how it made her feel. Terrified, distraught, angry. She held the bag closer to her stomach, using it as a comfort item. She looked at him warily as he asked his question. Of course he knew, it was what his entire youtube channel was about. She cleared her throat and nodded. “Yeah, she is. Has been for awhile, so why--” Grace stopped for a moment. She didn’t want to ask why Renee would still be hanging around, or if whatever was happening in White Crest just.. No, there was no explanation. “Do you know what’s going on?” Grace asked him after a pregnant pause. “The truth, if you have it.” 

“I think we’re all seeing things.” In the distance, Connor heard the galloping of horses hooves. He lifted his head to see what looked strangely like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse run through a nearby intersection, chasing down some poor bastard on a bicycle. “Ghosts, non-ghosts, other weird shit…” He shook his head. “Isn’t that just another day in White Crest? I don’t know what’s causing it, but I know it’s not just you.” 

Grace looked up just in time to see the headless horseman. Grace’s eyebrows pulled together. That couldn’t be real, right? “That…” Grace bit the inside of her cheek. She wanted to believe it, that way it’d be easier. Things would be easier if she didn’t second guess it-- there was so much evidence already that this was all real. She swallowed thickly. “I guess you’re right, it’s everyone.” It was obvious that everyone had been dealing with their own issues, that they were being chased by what seemed to be their own fears. “Have you seen anything that’s for you?” She asked as she cut her gaze away from the horse. 

Connor couldn’t help but stare. Fortunately, the horses kept going, right on past the intersection, continuing to chase the person on the bike. He cleared his throat, swallowing the large lump that resided there. “Me?” He looked at her a little dumbly, as if he didn’t understand the question. “No, no. What would I possibly have to see?” And of course, fate saw fit to answer that question for him. 

“Connor! Con-man, you little bastard,” an older man with an almost indiscernible accent called from across the street, and Connor’s eyes widened. Uncle Joe. Wielding a massive fucking baseball bat. “You exorcised me? You really fucking exorcised me, you little shit? I oughta beat you black and blue.” 

“Get in the car!” He half-shoved Grace inside, pulling the doors shut and hitting the lock button as quickly as he could. Uncle Joe was fighting his way through traffic to cross the road and get to them, and glass shattered, filling the vehicle as Connor pulled away from the curb. “Shit! Are you okay?!” 

Things seemed to be changing quickly. Grace wasn’t sure if she was allowing for Connor’s inquisitive nature to rub off on her or not, but Renee was half-forgotten. Maybe it was the fact that she changed her clothes. Grace quirked an eyebrow and simply nodded. She wasn’t sure if she’d like somebody poking into what she had seen, though she had already opened up to it. Grace turned at the sound of yelling, however, and her eyes widened at the sight of a ghostly man, baseball bat in his hands. “Uh--” Grace said under her breath, but before she could react, Connor was pushing her into his car. She obediently followed his directions and threw herself into the seat, her bag falling to the floor of the car. “I’m fine--” Grace held onto the edge of her seat. “You said you didn’t have anything to see, I’m taking that wasn’t true?” She asked as she turned in her seat to look behind her as the ghost ran after them, yelling words she couldn’t quite hear.

“Well, I didn’t think I did have anything to see!” Bloody America and their cars on the wrong side of the road. Connor was still getting used to it at the best of times, never mind when he was trying to drive through thick fog with a spirit chasing him. “Fuck sake.” He narrowly dodged another vehicle whose fog lights seemed to be failing, and he prayed for his own to hold on. A gaggle of zoo animals seemed to have escaped and were having their own little fucking circus at the interchange, and Uncle Joe was still waving his baseball bat, chasing Connor at an impossible speed for someone on foot. “I hope your fucking seatbelt is on.” He took another turn, way too harshly. “It’s my Uncle. I exorcised him. Obviously he isn’t happy about it.”

Grace stared ahead, her heart in her throat. She had wanted quiet when she moved to White Crest. Not whatever this was. She could feel fear from Connor, maybe something else, too. Grace let out a yelp as a vehicle swerved towards them, but Connor was able to avoid it. “What in the hell--” Grace twisted to look out the side window, eyes widened at the sight of the animals. Her seatbelt wasn’t on. Grace quickly clicked it over her chest and held onto it tightly. “Obviously not.” Grace let out a breath as she braced herself, half-expecting the ghostly pack of wolves to interfere with them as they drove forward, but it went through the car and they continued on their way. “How are we going to get away from that?” Grace asked as she looked in the side mirror. Her voice sounded entirely too calm for what was currently happening. 

“Fuck! Bloody fucking hell--” Connor didn’t know where the hell he was going. He just knew that they had to get the hell out of there. He took another turn, as if randomly changing directions would confuse the spirit. He didn’t exactly want to lead Uncle Joe home, but that was the only place he could think to go. Grace was right. They couldn’t outrun him. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” Connor mumbled to himself. He closed his eyes, bringing the car to a stop. Uncle Joe swung at the wing mirror, sending it flying in smashed plastic over the side of the road. “You’re not real. And you tried to kill my dad,” he said, staring at the man. “I said I was sorry.” Before the apparition could say anything else, Connor reversed back, just far enough to adjust his angle and open the driver’s side door, smashing it into Uncle Joe’s face and sending him falling in a heap of his own blood. 

“What the fuck, you little bastard!” Uncle Joe gargled through his own blood. “I taught you everything you know. Everything you have is because of me! Your dad abandoned us.” 

“You tried to kill him! You almost broke his neck!” Connor yelled, now clutching the baseball bat Uncle Joe had dropped. This wasn’t fucking real. Uncle Joe was gone, and even if he was still around, no ghost would have that much blood for him to spill. “Now I… am trying… to get this poor girl home,” Connor grunted, collapsing in frustration against a nearby bench. “So would you kindly bugger off?” 

“You’re a little bastard,” Uncle Joe murmured from his position on the concrete, trying to get to his feet. “I never shoulda appeared to you, you know that? Your damn dad and my unfinished business. I shoulda let you think you were a fucking freak.” But he got up and started walking away, and Connor let out a heavy sigh, utterly exhausted.

Grace held onto her seatbelt as Connor came to an abrupt stop. She forced herself back in her seat and turned to watch as the ghost swung his bat, plastic shattering through the air. Grace leaned into her seat, away from the two. She watched in shock and terror as Connor began to speak. Something about his dad, had she heard that right? Grace swallowed thickly and let out a small yelp as she leaned into her own door, the car reversing, and then the car door coming into contact with the man’s face. Grace’s eyes widened at the sight. This couldn’t be real, could it? There was no way-- Connor had just, he had just killed somebody. 

No, she reminded herself. This isn’t real-- it’s real, but he’s not real, he’s already dead. A fear manifested by Connor, that’s how it had been explained. Grace watched as Connor took to a nearby bench. She was unsure of what to do, but the ghost was gone. She tentatively opened the door and rounded the front of the vehicle. “Are you okay?” She asked, voice shaky. 

Connor was barely aware of Grace approaching him, but he looked up as she did. He wasn’t much of a crier, but there were a few tears threatening to make an appearance. He pushed them back, wiping his face with his hands. “Yeah, that was just really bloody weird, you know?” He looked over the wrecked car. “No wonder insurance premiums are so high in this flipping town.” He stood up, climbing back in. “Come on. Doubt anyone’s going to pull me over for a broken mirror with all this shit going on. I’ll take you home.” 

Grace wasn’t sure what to say, she wanted to say something, but she wasn’t sure how to address it. She bit the inside of her cheek and simply nodded at his words, not wanting to push it any further. Of course she wanted answers, but things were strange enough without her prompting him for answers that it was quite possible he didn’t have. “Honestly, yeah.” Grace carded her fingers through her hair, her hand shaking slightly. “Probably not,” Grace said after a moment, following him back to the car. Once they were inside, she twisted to put her seatbelt on. A tiger, or maybe it wasn’t a tiger at all-- maybe it was something else, something unseen, began to devour Uncle Joe. Grace straightened forward, her gaze on the road. Maybe she would leave that out. 

[outroshooky]

my pretty sleeper | ksj

⇢ genre: series; part two (ghost!au; person b crying and screaming that they’re sorry, believing they caused person a’s death. person a’s ghost at their side, helplessly trying to comfort and hold someone they can no longer touch, or speak to, anymore.) (angst, fluff)

⇢ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

⇢ word count: 5.8k

⇢  warnings: major character death (reader insert); blood mention. there are darker themes here, please read with caution.

⇢ a/n: thank you for all of the positive feedback on part one!! this is a bit angstier than what i usually write but nonetheless, i’m proud of it. i hope you enjoy this winter-y fic; thank you to oh ms. believer for inspiring me all these years later (in the bleak bahamian summer, no less).

part two of the verses and vibes series. part three will be uploaded on wednesday, january 29, 2020.

“the woods are lovely, dark and deep,   but i have promises to keep,   and miles to go before i sleep,   and miles to go before i sleep.”

⤷ stopping by woods on a snowy evening; robert frost

Never in your life had you seen a more beautiful snowstorm.

Soft flakes drifted through boughs hanging like some great Gothic arches above you, a chapel of nature’s own wonderful creation. They swept past birds fluffed to fend against the bitter cold, settled around you in drifts like a miniature mountain landscape. Ahead you, the path stretched in peaceful calm, the white blanket an insulation for the sounds that leapt and tumbled with the puffs of wind exhaled from some indeterminable heaven. Somewhere to your left, a finch trilled a cheery tune, and the boysenberry vines rasped in scratchy reply. 

It was the picture-perfect scene to accompany what would, under all usual circumstances, be a nicely brisk walk in the chill of winter.

Unfortunately, these are not, by any standards, usual circumstances.

The snow falls delicately around your hustling figure, bound against the cold in nothing but the simple dress of a commoner and the jacket of a noble of the highest degree. Your outfit is completely contradicting, but it is not like you have a choice in the matter.

Because as hard as you try to will a speck of snow to settle gently in the crook of your palm, it does nothing but continue its downward descent, rocking to and fro hither and there. It passes through the translucent aura that is your hand, your arm, your entire body.

Perhaps the statement about how never in your life had you seen a more beautiful snowstorm needed to be amended to how never in your afterlife had you seen a more wonderful blizzard.

It is ever surprising to you how, though you are no longer made of tangible matter, the whistle of wind through endlessly tall trees will never cease to send a shiver down your transparent spine. The chill rests on your shoulders, curls around your neck with chilled lips; you know it must be cold, but you can’t for the life of you actually feel it. When you tread on the freshly-covered path, hurrying along in your urgency, the untouched pure white remains… untouched. When you glance behind you at the ringing of bells, no footsteps imprint on the finely frosted earth.

The horse is a dappled stallion, wide-eyed and foaming at the bit, hooves prancing high to escape the tug of the fallen snow. The gentleman sits, hands loose on the reins, comfortable in the saddle. He's handsome, with a jaw cut like glass and deep almond eyes peering out from a woolen scarf tucked beneath the folds of his jacket. As he passes by, wrapped deep in fur to fend off the chill, you step to the side of the path out of pure habit. It would take no effort at all to simply continue on your way, letting horse and rider barrel straight through your unseen figure, but you’ve learned by now that animals have a better sense of the preternatural and decided to spare the horse (and gentleman) undue panic.

The rider’s eyes never waver from the path ahead, confident and illustrious in his goings. He is bold and dashing and incredibly handsome, and you notice, too late, the scrawled insignia etched into the leather of the saddle, as refined yet regal as the very stranger who claims it.

The symbol of the nobility burns a brilliant gold against the black tanned skin, and your throat constricts with the pain of remembrance.

 Eyes as warm as the heat of summer sunshine; brow regal, fit for a king; tawny hair artfully sweeping across the breadth of his forehead; lips as plush as fat grapes in the fall; jaw as defined as a blade through wa-

The horse nickers, ridding snow from its hooves in dirt-flecked clumps, sending them straight through the aura of your petticoats.

You sigh, ruffling the folds of your dress, tucking tighter the corners of your jacket out of reflex. There are, you suppose, some benefits to being a ghost, but the complete and utter loneliness does tend to be a drawback. 

Indeed, the complete and utter loneliness makes you question whether your mission is even worth it in the first place. Is it worth trying to reconcile things with a lover when they can't even see you, hear you, feel you? You could caress their cheek with the most loving of touches, and yet they would guess it to be nothing but a passing breeze. The curse of eternity is one spent in solitude, a soul left to wander the earth with a purpose unfinished, aptly never to be ended. You watch as the horseman canters on, and something clenches in the space where your heart once nested, like the wrens that call the castle battlements home.

No. No. You cannot allow yourself to think like this. You cannot allow yourself to doubt, to assume that for a moment love is not a powerful enough force to wrest the bounds of time and shatter the fettered chains. Love is a blade more powerful than any forged sword, a fire more passionate than any raging mountain blaze. With love, one can mold a landscape to their liking, shift the sands of what is known into a brand new reality, a dawn previously inconceivable to any and all. 

Eyes as warm as the heat of summer sunshine; brow regal, fit for a king; tawny hair artfully sweeping across the breadth of his forehead; lips as plush as fat grapes in the fall; jaw as defined as a blade through wa-

The thought of him fills your mind; the gap in your chest mends. Every step you take is one step closer to him.

With every rise and fall of your boots, your boots seem to land in the tracks of the horse and rider, their figures now only a mere shadow against the backdrop of nature’s finest woodland cathedral.

The more you push on, the more memories seem to unconsciously surface in your mind. When you came to in that field, your mind was as untouched as the fallen snow. However, it took merely a wobbly rise to your feet for you to notice the massive jacket that hugged your frame, permanently welded to your aura whether you wanted it to be or not. Simply put, whatever you wore at the time of your death became your spirit’s regalia, and you often thanked the stars that you hadn’t decided to go riding in the buff that day. Not that you would in the first place.

With that jacket came the flood, as you called it. The waves of memories that lapped at the shores of your consciousness, their chaotic dances spilling foam into the crevices of your mind. They came back to you in one fell swoop, overwhelming in their sights and sensations and feelings, and you wondered how you could have, even if just for a brief moment, forgotten it all.

Eventually, the mouth of the forest opens to a broad, rutted dirt road, which has turned to mud with the advent of the blizzard. At the mouth sits a thatched roof shack, cheery with the ice that dangles precariously from the thickets of straw. Beyond it, fields of grain- sorghum and wheat and barley, their stalks cut low to the base. In a single breath, curling in on itself in the chilled air, your senses are flooded with thought and sound and breath.

“Catch me if you can!” Seokjin’s fingers slap at your shoulder, tagging you plain as day. He is barely thirteen, still gangly and slender with youth, but experienced eyes can see his frame beginning to thicken. There's delight in his eyes, a mirth that sparks double when he sees the fiery temper in your own. 

“Seokjin!” You hiss. He's playing a game of chance, egging you on as his father pauses at the edge of the forest to speak with the farmer who came bounding out of the newly-built barn. One of the things you loved about the king was his flexibility, his genuine interest in the lives of his subjects. He was willing to lend an ear to all, and it brought him a certain respect, from the lowest beggar to the highest knight. With that in mind, you dared not cross him. “Not now!”

“Papa’s not looking!” He teases, skipping backwards when you swing outwards with a well-timed smack. “Catch me if you ca-an!”

“Seokjin!” You hiss again with vigor, a concerned glance over your shoulder. “You’re not about to get us both in trouble!”

“You won't get in trouble.” He’s breathless, riled in his own games while his father talks business just beyond the magnolia bushes. “You're with me.”

“Just because you're the prince does not mean that I won't be sent to the gallows for participating in one of your stunts. This is an official business trip and I am thirteen and as so it happens your maid and I kind of need this jo-”

Without hesitation, the young prince saunters closer, leans in, and taps your nose lightly with a single digit. “I said,” Seokjin breathes, voice nearly a whisper. “Catch me if you can.”

In one fluid motion you lunge forward, your index finger landing squarely in the middle of his forehead. 

A smile breaks across his visage, radiant and mischievous, the grin of madmen. Or young boys. “Game on.”

You blink and the scene clears. The horses’ reins in your grasp evaporate, leaving you in front of a crumbling stone wall falling apart at the seams.

Peering closer, you realize the house has aged fast, too fast to be natural. The straw has grown thin in some places, the roof sagging inward, spine exhausted. The windows are grimy and cracked with age, and the foundation settles crooked into the soft earth. Beside the chimney, a rabbit twitches, darting into the brush at the inkling of eyes watching from afar. Something isn't right here, you think. Something is different from before.

You turn towards the horizon, the spires of the castle piercing the far-away arch of the sky, and continue on towards him.

He had never cared that you were only his maid.

You had been in his life as long as you could remember, and he had been in yours much the same. Your mother having been attendant to the queen meant that you inherited the duties for her royal child, born in the frigid chill of December a year and two months after you. From a young age you learned how to reorganize his endless closets and dressers, to attend him in a court of nobility, to keep a pitcher of cold water and a bottle of lavender on his bedside table every night. The fair-minded, fair-haired prince had never understood how you were any different to him- you thanked the stars his parents taught him humility from an early age- and as a result, he treated you much the same as he treated any of the other young boys in the court. You had never been “merely a maid” to him- you were a playmate, confidant, best friend, and later- much, much later- a lover. The only lover, in fact, that ever mattered to him.

He had had suitors from when he was as young as ten years old, coming to seek his hand in uniting their great kingdoms. They pranced about him in grand dresses of silk and lace, curtseying and bowing and placating themselves for his eyes. More than once, they’d nearly popped out of his head at how tight their bodices were. And yet, he never took one to be his bride- never even expressed interest in having one as his bride.

You secretly pondered if he was the stuff of legend, Ancient Greek myths that whispered of men coming together in ways that male and female could not. Meanwhile, as the years passed, you grew all the more closer to him, and he all the more closer to you. Often he'd tug a sewing needle out of your hand to insist that you go riding together, pulling you away from mending the jacket he’d torn the last time you went riding with him. He would beg you to visit him in the sparring circle to show you some new masterful combination he’d learned with sword and shield, even taking such liberties to teach you yourself some swordplay techniques. He would even take you down to the market to buy fresh vegetables for your grandmother, or new silks for a coat. It was clear that he cared about you deeply, deeper than he’d ever admit to himself for a long, long time.

Your journey continues on mile after mile; the closer you get to the center of the kingdom, the more broken down it all feels. Granted, it is the dead of winter, but the world seems to have fallen into disrepair along with it, lulled by the hypnosis of the cold into a weary, uneasy slumber. Cattle shuffle stiffly along their paddock fences; dry tufts of grass poke through the chilled mud. Civilians too hustle, wrapped in rags without splendor or hint of grace, trying their hardest to protect against the frosty bite. So much has changed in the brief time you've been gone, and for the first time, worry begins to gnaw at your thoughts with true voracity. It doesn't feel right, none of this does; but you know in the core of your being, that this, somehow, is home. 

With every landmark you pass, a new memory washes over you, scent and sight and feeling. You make a left at the second crossroads and continue on at the third, but your mind flashes back to the times you went right and then left to the beekeepers’ fields, or left and then right to the carpenter’s shack. Every memory rekindles a bit of something in you, something that you can name only as humanity, and you swear the chill’s begun to set in a little colder than it was before. You are more alive now than ever, you think.

It is as if in the brief time you slumbered, the world aged a hundred years without you. The miles to the city walls pass quickly, but not without mention. The closer you get, the more decrepit it all feels- richly constructed halls now ground to sawdust, fields of grain and vegetables now plains of snow and ice. The walls themselves are in poor shape, the dull stones lacking the regal glory they once held, and you ache at the sight. Once the pride and joy of the kingdom, now a sad hallmark- if there was anything left of the kingdom to begin with. 

A mere trickle of people flows on either side of the gate, a much, much slower stream from the constant push-pull of the tides you’re used to. Here, the roar was once chaos- a wave of crowds jostling in, a tide of jovial citizens pouring out in a flood of color and sound and energy. But the banners flutter threadbare, flapping without statement in the wind, as if they have fallen asleep at the helm, in the bleak of midwinter, in the midst of it all.

You crane your neck to see the guards as you approach, careful to keep your space from the few stragglers limping up the path along with you. In your youth, you knew every castle employee, every knight and guard and maid. Now, you squint till the nearest stern face comes into view, and realize, with a jolt of clarity, you don't recognize him at all.

His face is cold-cut, molded from a block of iron. His lips are pressed tightly together, back as straight as a ramrod, mouth as firm as an oak tree. He is completely unfamiliar to you, and for some reason, trepidation begins to roll a metaphorically thrilling drum beat in your stomach.

The fear, which had numbed to a gentle stream in the back of your conscious (if you could call it that), rose to a fever pitch. 

Something was horribly, horribly wrong, and you were absolutely determined to find out what.

You had a feeling that this is what you were brought back for, to get to the bottom of this horrid stunt, to find out why everything you knew had been thrown off its axis in one fell swoop. It thrummed in your silent pulse, lofted like owls’ wings through the quiet of the forest. No was simply not an answer, and when a renewed sense of determination beat in the space where your heart would have been, you touched your chest with a sudden burst of fondness. Seokjin was close, so close. It would be like old times; together, you would solve this, bring closure to this plague of wintertime. And you, his wonderful bride, reunited with him as if no time had ever been wasted in between. Not to mention you were home, back in your city, the place you had labored to visit for days, weeks, even months since you’d awoken in that godforsaken wheat field with a royal riding jacket wrapped around your shoulders.

Unassumingly, the guard turns his head and stares straight at you, gaze blank, numbly focused.

You hold your breath for one moment, two.

He blinks, stark eyes staring right through you, and thumbs the rutted shaft of his spear. You force yourself to tear your gaze away from his own, and, with only a moment’s hesitation, stride unfailing into the heart of the kingdom.

Your walk to the castle, at the very top of the city, is seemingly the longest, most arduous part of your journey by far.

Everywhere you look, in every corner seems to be darkness and despair. Shapeless forms, nameless figures cluster around pathetic fires, which sputter and lick with the will of the wind. Dead leaves tumble down the cobblestones to embed themselves in snowbanks, piled up high, effective barriers against the frost for the unlucky souls with no other place to go. Doors are wrenched shut but rattle every now and then, the muted glow under their edges a telltale indicator of the separation between poor and poorer. You hasten to avoid those clusters around the fires, god forbid a careless sweep of your petticoat extinguishes what little hope they have left. You pause for a moment when you see a mother clutching a child to her chest, wishing not for the first time you could simply reach out and make her problems melt away. If anything, you’d only make her feel worse, the lofty draft of your fingertips an added stress upon her already narrow shoulders.

With every step you take, you can feel the individual consciousnesses trapped here crying out for you, flocking to you, a bright burning candle flame against a backdrop of nighttime. There are so many souls beneath the ground, you wonder if there was some sort of famine. Does Seokjin see any of this? Where has he been? The questions plague you one after the other, much like the howling spirits that crowd the back of your mind, individually vying for your attention. No, you reassure yourself. I know him. Seokjin must have the situation under control, or if not, he's working to get it under control. The kingdom will be saved; happily-ever-after is just out of your reach, soon within. It simply cannot be any other way.

The higher and higher you climb, the more desolate the path becomes. It is clear that the only people who trek up here nowadays are the guards on their shift rotations, but even then, you’ve noticed less and less the closer you get to the castle. We had plenty of guards; I don't understand why the sudden lack, you think to yourself. Sooner or later you will have your answer, though, because you find yourself at the base of the castle, and your mouth drops open in some sickened form of awe.

Ah yes, what's the name of that feeling?

Horror.

Your home has fallen into disrepair, a state of shambles that never would have been allowed in the days of your lifetime. 

There are cracks and crevices that fracture the bones of the grand hall, splits and nicks in the wood from years of neglect. There once perched gargoyles and flowers and creations atop the limestone columns, so wonderfully sculpted that they seem to leap from their very material constraints into living, breathing figures. Now, only shattered fragments of the beasts remain, flower petals chipped away to fall hundreds of feet to the stiff dead stalks of grass below. A castle, once inhibited with beauty and life, now lies dormant, sleeping, decaying. A single piece of limestone, the wing of a butterfly, shears off, rebounding off the gutter to tumble to the dirt. From dust it is made, and to dust it shall return, but if you had a heart, you swear you would have felt it break.

Once again, it is the thought of him that keeps you moving, pushing on, except the fear is all-consuming now, a snarling dog snapping at the heels of your fantasy. You can barely think as you approach those great dark oaken doors, palm flat against the decaying planks as you pause, your eyes fluttering shut.

You still, readying yourself for this. This, the thing you have been waiting for, the only thing to keep you going, demanding that day after day you push on. Anticipation of it has pulsed in your veins for days, weeks; the closer you got, the more anxious and excited you became, but it is here now. It is here; there is nothing you can do to stop the hands of fate, for she brought you here to reunite you with him, Seokjin, the prince of your land but the king of your heart.

The toe of your boot eases into the splintering wood, and in one beat, your entire body passes through into the grand entrance hall.

For all of your preparation, however, nothing could possibly steel you for what lay on the other side of those doors.

The grand hall looked like it had been ransacked by an army. 

The stone arches above your head no longer bore their weight proudly, but drooped with depression suggesting hopelessness. A flurry of activity buzzed around you, a servant even stepping through you by pure mistake, but it was not the kind of bustling, cheery frenzy you were used to. This was a quiet kind of frenzy much like silent fury, the calm before the storm. Footsteps resonated against the grand ceilings flaked with paint, yet there was no exchange of greetings, no playful step of the servant children. It was an atmosphere so foreign it may as well have been a completely different house, rather than the home you knew so well as your own.

The throne room is many paces away from the entrance hall, but with your internalized map of the castle, it took a few mere passes through walls (and a left, another left, and a right) to land you in the hall of kings, or the waiting room outside of the throne room. There is a layer of dust that sits upon the artifacts, the Staff of Arrn’och, among others, nearly broken in two in its display case. Everywhere you looked, it seemed, was desolation. God forbid what the throne room itself would look like.

With a sudden bang!, the doors at the far end of the room were thrown open, a ragged, hunched figure stumbling through the open gap. Male or female you could not discern, matted strings of hair shielding its twisted visage, but the sobs its lungs produced pierced you to the core. The pair of guards at the opposite end of the room strode forward, collecting the pathetic creature by the underarms and practically dragging it down the muddy rug. Although you could pass through whatever surface you pleased, your instinct urged you through the gap in the closing doors, and you managed to slip past just as they slammed shut behind you.

In front of you lay a dias, fifty feet in diameter, upon which two thrones of the same size sat, both lonely, one bare. While large windows perched over the dias, casting blocks of light across the stone floor, any natural light that managed to filter into the high-ceilinged hall was dulled by grit and grime. Torches flickered low in their sconces, doing their best to compensate, but instead casting shadows across the walls that seemed to flinch at the quickest intake of breath. Indeed, the throne room had suffered much in your absence; it was as if you stepped into a nightmarish equivalent of your past life.

It was too dark to see the face of the king as you approached, his profile framed by shadow as he argued with an attendant.

“-can’t turn down every citizen who wants to make an audience with you and has good reason to do so,” The attendant insisted, his tone desperate. “The people are starving, but they haven't lost hope! They're looking to you, Your Majest-”

���And why would they look to me?” The king snapped, voice gravelly, a thickness there that you’d never heard before. “What good have I been to them? Haven't they seen enough of me yet? Every day, a miserable existence, and they seek to know my counsel on matters such as one calf between them?”

“One calf, my king, would provide food for their children for three days,” the attendant murmured gently. “Your people need you now, more than ever.”

But the king seemed not to hear, dismissing the attendant with a flick of his hand. “I can't hear any more.”

The attendant hesitated just a fraction, but bowed respectfully. “As you wish.”

It was at this moment you realized there were only two thrones, not the three you had been expecting. Although the queen had passed many years before, they had always kept a throne in its place for her, in her honor. You wondered now at this- where was Seokjin’s throne? 

The king, bowed over with the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers, paid you no mind as you approached, dipping a respectful curtsy out of habit. He’d certainly gone grayer in these last few months, his shoulders having lost their proud touch, and he looked as if he was a completely different man, aging a hundred years in the mere two hundred hours it had taken you to get back to the place you so lovingly called home.

In your living days, you would not have dared step up the dias to look at the king eye-to-eye, god forbid he strike you down himself. But you were not alive, and these were desperate times, and desperate times called for desperate measures.

And so, with one fluid motion, you stepped atop the dias, skirt swirling around your ankles as you paused, waiting for something, but you did not know what. 

The king lifted his head, and as your eyes met his, aged with the aches and pains of ruling, you felt as if someone had ripped the very carpet out from underneath your feet and cast you back to the underworld below.

Because these were not the clear eyes of the king, sparkling and gentle in their mirth. These were not the bright pupils that brought forth memories of afternoons spent on the lake, or crystal clear waterfalls that tumbled through mysterious glades. 

No, these eyes were dark, once as rich as chocolate, but now as muddied as silt. Cataracts strung silky webs across the clag, weaving intricate patterns in the depths of emotion, rendering not only the viewer incapable of reading emotion, but the seer incapable of, well- doing just that. While crows’ feet stamped their corners and fine lines etched their lids, you would know those eyes even if you had seen them once in ten thousand years, for they stamped themselves onto your soul all that time ago, never to be undone by any mortal power.

“Seokjin?” You gasp, and at once, all of time seems to stand still.

For it is indeed Kim Seokjin who sits on the king’s throne, his beautiful features softened with age and the passage of time but still regal, ever unforgettable. He is enthrallingly handsome, but your heart aches evermore, because you have missed it all.

You have missed seeing the aches and pains of early, and then middle age set in. You have missed watching his child, the prince or princess (and surely more than one), stumble across the floor of the nursery for the first time. You have missed him sleeping in the early morning, worrying in the late evening; you have missed him in bed and in combat and all things in between. For it has been years, perhaps decades since your death, and in one horrifying moment, it clicks into perspective.

And then he tilts his head up at you and whispers your name, and it is as if every weight on your metaphysical shoulders has been lifted. “Is it really you?”

“Yes,” you warble; somehow tears streak your cheeks, pale in their sheen. “Yes, Seokjin, I'm so sorry; I'm here now, it's me-” you grab for his hand, but it passes right through, and he recoils at the draft. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

Flashes. A golden field, merry horses, a beautiful spring day. “Take my jacket, my darling. It will keep you warm.”

Hooves pounding, heart racing. The royal horses are afraid of practically nothing, their one fear far from your mind, unworthy of mention. Together you dash through the meadows, up and over hills and valleys. What you would give to run free with him forever.

“She's here,” Seokjin’s voice nearly breaks as he half-rises from his chair, extending an arm to brush his thumb along your cheek. “After so long waiting for my queen, she's finally here.”

“You can see me?” You beg for clarity, but alas, he does not reply.

You pause atop a hill crested with wildflowers, white and pink rivers that cascade down the landscape, tumbling, flowing unbridled and uninhibited. Seokjin is a mere few paces behind you, slowing to appreciate the beauty ahead of you.

“My lord?” The attendant steps forward

“Can you not see her?” Seokjin turns, gesturing to you. “She's right here. She's come back to me after so long,” and there's so much fondness, so much promise in his voice that you know, just know that things will be okay. You will right every wrong, fight every demon- “I have missed her dearly.”

“I've missed you too,” you choke. “With every bone in my body I have missed you; I have been walking for days, Seokjin, I'm so sorry-”

It is then that your horse nickers and tenses, rearing without warning and whinnying like the devil himself. He panics, lashing and whirling about, and you can only hold on for so long before you are thrown from his back like a rock from a slingshot.

Seokjin is screaming. You have never heard him scream like that before, a sound that seems to so purely channel fear and terror and anguish, all in one. He is a roaring fury, knife drawn from his belt, and he beheads the snake lying hidden in one fluid motion before dropping to his knees at your side. His shoulders shake as he weeps, cradling your body to his as your eyes roll back in your head and you cough, frame shuddering, barely conscious.

“Sire, there is nobody there,” The attendant says, as softly, carefully as he can.

“Don't leave me,” he’s sobbing, over and over. “This is all my fucking fault, I'm so sorry, so so sorry-”

“My love,” you whisper, fingers brushing the inside of his palm. It is all the strength you can muster. “I will have gone a thousand years, but to still find your eyes imprinted on the breath of my soul.”

He’s whimpering, blubbering, desperate, screaming for help. Screaming and screaming, but there is no one to stop the ceaseless flow of blood, and your final act of life is to stain the sleeves of his riding jacket crimson where it lies comfortable across the breadth of your shoulders.

“I have never forgotten you,” he exhales. “It has been sixty years and not one day have I gone without envisioning your face in my hands, beautiful.”

“I’ll fix this,” you promise, but it's starting to fall into place now, why everything around you is falling apart. “I'll help fix the kingdom if you would just tell me what's wrong, Seokjin. Please, I want to help. Tell me what I can do.”

“I have loved you perhaps too much,” his voice cracks, wobbles with ache. “I've neglected these people, our people. I say our people because you have always been my queen; I have never taken another; there is no one who is worthy of replacing you.” 

“Perhaps you should retire for the night, my king. You've had a long and tiresome day,” The attendant tries to coax Seokjin, but he pays the servant no mind.

“You're here in this moment for a reason, my sweet. You're here and we will fix this, I promise you,” Seokjin is nearly begging, the urgency in his voice bleeding scarlet. He rushes forward towards you. “We will fix this together-”

“Seokjin, my love-” You rush towards him with the same intensity, but your hand passes through his chest, and suddenly you are staring up at him, and his eyes are blank, unseeing.

The attendant clears his throat. “Your Majesty, there is no one there, sir. It is merely a draft.”

“I want to help you,” you plead, fingers tracing his sternum, his ribs, his heart. “I'm here, Seokjin. I'm here, right in front of you; I'm here. Believe in me. Believe in us; believe in love as I have believed in love. Please.”

The once-legendary prince, now dishonorable king looks out over a barren, desolate throne room as a zephyr of cold brushes icy digits down his shoulder, along his chest. “Ah,” he utters, sounding exhausted all at once. “I believe you're right.” A small chuckle parses his lips. “What am I saying? Perhaps I shall retire for the night, yes.” He pauses. “Goodnight, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, my lord.” 

“Yoongi?”

“Yes, my king?”

“Start keeping the fire burning in the hearth. It's too drafty in this hall in the evenings.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Sleep well.”

“You as well, my faithful servant.”

[nobuckingway]

Winter is definitely NOT my favorite time of the year when it comes to horse riding. You are constantly disrupted with bad weather which in turn messes up your routines. Below I have outlined a few tips, and advice on how I cope, from keeping motivated while riding, to dealing with the likes of Mud Rash. 

Have a read below & be sure to comment on any tips you have of your own, be warned I have added in a few quirky tips of my own that may possibly only relate to me!! 

Rugging

If your horse is clipped, then I highly recommend they be rugged! Do be aware that over rugging can also be a problem. Be sure to keep an eye on the weight of your rug. Rugs can vary from light-weight, medium-weight to heavy-weight! If you turn your horse out in the winter rugged up be sure to keep an eye on their condition, take their rug of for an hour once a week to give them a breather, it also gives you time to have a good look at their weight etc. 

Try not to over rug your horse, just because you are feeling the cold doesn’t mean they are, that is not how it works! Older horses, and clipped horses may feel the cold that bit more. Start off with a light weight rug, and as you move into the depths of the winter increase the weight. Another valid point to consider, your horse may loose weight during the winter, if your horse is prone to this make sure to keep them well rugged.

You can check how warm they are & determine if they need an extra layer by simply putting your hand in under there rug, feel up around the withers, if its cold add an extra layer, if it is wet or they feel as if they are sweating they most definately need a lighter rug. Check out the 4 links below, for a selection of different rugs on offer at the moment! 

Holmestead Saddlery Winter Rug Collection

TRI Equestrian Winter Rug Collection

The Equine Warehouse – Currently have an Autumn Rug Sale!

Sports Direct Horse Rugs

Darielle’s Random Tip: A great way to find out your horses temperature, cuff your hand around the base of his ear, this is generally a great indication of their body temperature, a great way of telling if they are warm or cold! Well it works for Dante anyways!

Rugging Tips:

Keep a bail of twine handy around the yard incase of emergencies! You never know when you may need to repair a fillet string!

Label your rugs (If you can) It is quite handy to put a small tag on the front fasteners of your rug, its is barely noticable and relitavely stays out of the way! In the long run it will save you getting your rug mixed up with someone else, lets face it all rugs start looking the same once the muck starts sticking to them! 

Darielle’s Random Tip: This is a very interesting tip I read online a while ago, and I am hoping maybe one of our readers will test it out!! Here it goes, using dental floss to sew up tears/patches in your rugs! Apparently dental floss is waterproof and very strong, so feel free to give it a go and let me know how you get on!

Having a cooler on hand during the winter is vital. It is great to have them handy for those cold evenings, to throw on them to cool them down that bit quicker, also handy for putting on them while in the horse box for travelling!

Horse Care

Feeding: Some horses don’t get fed during the summer months, as they are turned out in luscious paddocks with rich grass! For me Dante, had the best of both worlds, he was fed twice a day during the summer. Not much will change for him during the winter months, with only a slight increase in his food intake. I will also be incorporating more oils into his feed, this will help his joints over the colder months. 

Sunflower Oil

Karron Oil

Linseed Oil

Karron Oil is my go to supplements for him, I find it great, that or linseed oil. When my bank balance doesn’t allow me to buy the more expensive oils, I settle with sunflower oil, (69c a bottle in Lidl, I really cant go wrong) 

Mud Rash: One of the most common winter infections for your horse to pick up. It affects the horses legs, and is associated with the skin being exposed to the bacteria that is in the soil. Not all mucky legged horses will get mud rash. Some horses simply have sensitive skin, so they are more prone. 

  Available to buy from Holmestead Saddlery

  Not to worry though, as there is a solution. When bringing in your horse from the field make it a habit to hose down their legs, and towel drying them afterwards. There are also a lot of creams on the market for this condition if it gets bad. I have linked above the Pink Hoof Clay, that I highly recommend!

Foot Care: Winter is not the most ideal time for your horses feet, especially if they are standing out in overly mucky wet soggy fields. This in turn makes your horses feet quite soft. Loosing shoes is a huge liability during the winter months, the muck has weird ways of sucking them off that I simply cannot explain, so keep an eye on those hooves when you bring them in from the field, and again hose off that muck! 

Cornucrescine, one of my favourites! Buy now from TRI Equestrian

Plus Vital, Holmestead are currently running a Plusvital Hoofcare package, click to view!

Keeping their hooves conditioned is another major plus to keeping good hoof care, you really cannot disagree that cornucrescine is on of the best, but Plus Vital is also another one on the top of my list, see a few of my suggestions below!

Darielle’s Random Tip: I am not sure if anyone else does this or if I am just a weirdo! But I always cut my horses tails a little bit shorter during the winter months, it keeps the muck from gathering on it! This may just be me being a complete freak though!! 

  Riding & Keeping Motivated

Winter is most definitely not ideal weather to be riding in, its cold, wet & miserable. I have listed a few tips below to keep you motivated. Myself & Orla will be running a winter exercise blog also, hopefully it will be up & running in the next two weeks! We will be going through different exercises to keep you & your horse motivated and fit over those dreaded winter months! So keep your eye on the blog in the future weeks!

Winter Riding Tips:

Dont put that half arsed effort in, give it 100% or dont do anything at all. If your miserable riding, more than likely your horse will start to be too. You want positive vibes & energy when your riding.

If your having an off day, or you simply cant get the heat into your body, lunge your horse. It will give them a chance to stretch out. More than likely your horse will be in the stable more during the winter, so getting them out to move their legs will keep them in good spirits. A 20 minute session is plenty, no need to go into long hourly sessions!

If you have a walker, USE IT!!! It is not only a magnificent addition to cooling down your horse quicker, but you can also use it for warming up your horse! Make the most of your amenities!

Keep things interesting. If you only have access to riding in an arena during the winter make sure to plan out exercises in advance to keep you & your horse on your toes, better yet set out a winter goal for you and your horse. Learn new things, or start doing more no stirrup work! Its all beneficial to your training!

Get up early and go for hacks! Hacking in the winter is one of my favorite things to do, those crisp winter mornings are my favorite. 

Have you got an Exercise sheet? If you do use it, a clipped horse will appreciate it hugely on those bitter cold days!! Worse case scenario, you can take if off mid session if you feel your horses is working up a sweat. 

Look After Yourself

As much as we all hate to admit it, we are all only human, not superhuman! Winter takes its toll on some of us, from catching colds to old injuries creeping back in due to the coldness in the air! If you plan on surviving the winter make sure you look after yourself as much as you look after your horse. The weather isn’t always fantastic, so don’t try to over do it with the riding if the weather conditions are not on your side. A few extra days off for your horse in the winter will definitely not hurt, and who can complain about those extra hours sitting in front of the fire!

Winter Tips:

Dress appropriately, Wear the Dam coat!!! 

During the winter months, I always bring a spare pair of clothes with me to the yard, or I leave them sitting in my car! It is not ideal walking around the place is soaking wet clothes, or with wet soggy feet, so make sure to pack some spares.

Wear a hat, keep that head warm! It keeps the heat in. 

Invest in a good pair of gloves, for riding and for doing the yard work! See below some I highly recommend with Roekl being my favs, I cannot fault them! 

I recommend everyone buying at least one pair of these gloves! I have 3 pairs, and have my eye on another for Winter! Click To Buy – Stockist TRI Equestrian

One last tip I would highly recommend to everyone during the winter months, look after your tack! It can take a bit of a bashing during the Winter, from not being used as regularly to sitting in cold tack rooms! That along with your boots, (tendon, fetlock boots)they will all need a lot of attention if you want them to stay in good condition over the winter months!

If you follow our Instagram #NoBuckingWayBlog you will know that I often waffle on about a certain leather cleaner that works absolute wonders!! I will link it below.

Absorbine Horseman’s Leather Cleaner, in my opinion, simply the best! Click To Buy – Stockist Holmestead Saddlery

  Hopefully someone finds the above helpful, if you have any tips of your own to get you throught he winter, make sure to leave your comments below!

Darielle

#NeighNSlay 

Tips & Tricks for Winter Riding Winter is definitely NOT my favorite time of the year when it comes to horse riding. You are constantly disrupted with bad weather which in turn messes up your routines.