#manna moon

[darkchastity]

[harvestmoonconfessionsv2]

FoMT should let you marry Manna. I should be able to cuck Duke for being an abusive drunk and take care of that sweet, chattery MILF just like god intended.

[ranchstoryblog]

Official artwork featured in a promotional calendar released in 2001 for the month of May. Artwork by Igusa Matsuyama.

[yorunoangel]

So the Cliff brainworms are still wriggling around in my head and I realised I really enjoy the whole Cliff and the Aja/Adge Winery family dynamic. That led me to the thought, what if Aja/Adge returned to Mineral Town and met Cliff? So naturally, I had to design her.

My personal headcanon is that Manna's old design is how she looked when she was younger, so I included some elements of that in Aja's design. And though she looks more like Manna, I think her personality would be more like Duke's so she'd be kinda bossy and hard-headed. I imagine her to be in her early 30s and she moved to The City ~5ish years before the beginning of the game, where she worked in some low-key but stable office job.

[sakuraswordly]

Pffff I love how Manna tells her story. I love this couple. Also Duke, not with Jeff again! When did he ever learn 😂 ?

In Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town, there was an event Duke and Karen's Wine Competition and Duke lost to Karen.

[callieramics]

[bungitonthen]

some italian - brazilian - swedish - canadian - french - norwegian - argentinian - netherlands - greek - finnish prog

[hug-kiss-marry-kill-farm]

[swedehole]

God is basically a cryptid

[muzansfangs]

Imagine Douma’s first real emotion is jealousy and/or anger (alongside some horniness), and you being the cause of it, meaning he will be letting it all out on you.

Jealousy.

Starring: Douma x f!reader; Akaza;

Format: drabble;

Warnings: nsfw, jealousy, lust, first time Douma actually experiences a human emotion, possessive behaviour, dom!Douma, sub!reader, rough sex, biting, fear play, unprotected sex, mention to bruises, vaginal sex, dirty talk;

Plot: He had always desired to feel something. From the dreadful emotions to the blissful ones. When his multicolored eyes landed on you back then, Douma knew you might have helped him to feel less of an empty shell. Surely, he did not expect to feel sick at the sight of his ‘best friend’ conversing with you.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“What did you do to me, huh?” Douma rasped out, hands pinning your twitching ones above your head, whilst his hips smacked against yours in a steady and brutal tempo. He demanded an answer, he wanted to hear an explanation from you, he yearned for coherent words to roll out of your tongue and not those high-pitched cries and moans filling the air as he occasionally hit your cervix.

You witch, you had clearly casted a spell on him. If it was not for your human nature, he would have probably blamed it on a demonic technique. He felt so sick.

If only he knew what your proximity, what his lust over your pretty face and body would have caused to him, he would have probably ignored you at the local festival the infamous night you met. He should have devoured you. After all, it was what demons did: they ate humans. Then again, he had not felt that urge, primal desire to consume you to the bone back then. Something had stopped him and, naturally, he took it as a manna from the Heaven.

Years of clinical apathy, centuries spent in observing people interacting and chattering in ways he could not comprehend, eager to mimic their emotions, to experience them too for real. He thought he had grasped the essence of them all, the feeling they caused. Why? Faking them should have been the equivalent of manifesting them.

It all turned out to be useless, in the end. He had always wanted to feel something, whatever it was that life had gifted him with. The salty tears streaming down his face, when he pretended to be heartbroken in front of his followers, had never actually tasted bitter and found himself hoping they did now. He had never felt the typical pang of sorrow in his chest, prelude to a meltdown, or the lump in his throat hard to swallow for the very first time before bursting into a desperate cry. He had always feigned his emotions, especially the dreadful ones people tried to escape. Still, he had tried to imagine what those sensetions would have felt like for real.

But, oh dear, did it feel horrendous now that he was affected by one of them.

You writhed underneath him, squirming, sweat beading your forehead as he thrusted into you with a cold brutality he had never showed before. You knew he could not be in love with you, his heart had never been blessed with the capacity of feeling that surge of positive energy and dizzying emotions all people did. Yet, you did love him and you had chosen to stay by his side. For that, Douma lavished you, he showered you in exepensive gifts, he gave you honors, he treated you with care.

The beast hovering over you now, though, was not your loving boyfriend. It was a pissed off Upper Moon, whose fangs were bared and claws were scraping your tender flesh. His cock, engorged and twitching, was bullying your gummy, delicate walls with ferocity to get answers from you. He was going insane.

“I did n-nothing!” you choked out, screwing your eyes shut as he scoffed and shook his head.

“Don’t lie to my face! You talked to him! You sang! You treated him the way you treat me! How dare you?” Douma seethed, a vein popping on the side of his head as he brought his mouth down to yours in a searing kiss. Your blood had run cold for a split second. Those pearly fangs, sharp enough to rip out your throat, had dangerously grazed your jaw and finally bit down onto your bottom lip. The metallic taste of blood on your tongue a warning to take matters in your hands.

You knew what had happened, what was going on with him right now. It took you by surprise, but he was going through the different stages of jealousy. Currently, taking it all out on you was the last one.

The root of his envy and anger was the way you, his companion, were beaming at his so-called best friend. You had heard so many stories about Akaza that you had been dying to know him. He was a kind demon, at least to women. Striking up a conversation with him came natural to you, therefore you had offered the Upper Rank Three to sing for him like you did to Douma.

A smile, a sweet and innocent smile of yours had been the final straw.

The sound of pottery smashing, your look of concern when Douma coldly demanded Akaza to leave, and the way he had easily sliced his arm off of his body at his refusal to leave you with him in his moment of instability, were all you could recall before he had you moaning out his name onto his bed. You were struggling to endure this pleasurable torture. You had lost the count of how many orgasms he had denied you. With a blurry vision, you arched your back to lock your legs behind the small of his back.

“J-Jealousy! You’re feeling something! This— Ah! This is jealousy, D-Douma!” you blurted out, only for him to still his thrusts and push further down onto the mattress.

Jealousy. Disgusting feeling, a lame one. Out of everything he could learn to experience, Douma had been sentenced to endure such a deplorable emotion.

He snorted, hand grasping your jaw as his tongue lapped at the small cut on your lower lip, still bleeding “Jealousy, huh? If that’s the case, you can fix it, right? Be a dear and stay away from any man in the Temple, at the village, down to the cities and at the Infinity Castle” he snarled, the glint of malice making his kaleidoscopic eyes even more mystical in the dim light provided by the candles on the nightstand.

His, permanently, caged and strangled by his consuming love. This was your fate, for you were his and no one else’s.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Oh, how dearly I had missed writing for my favorite upper moon. Thanks for this thirst, anon! I hope you enjoyed the meal!

Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

X O X O

TAGS: @doumadono @mrskokushibo because we started a cult with the upper moons✨

[darkchastity]

[flowercrownsandherondales]

Against the Odds Pt. 7

Sorry this is so late! This weekend was insane and totally got away from me. I promise I’ll go back to updating daily for those who are following it! Let me know what you think! 

VII: Lost Track

Haymitch was the one to break my emotional kiss first. 

“Y/N…” He murmured, petting my hair with a look of…pity? I pulled away, wiping my eyes harshly with the heel of my hand. His pity disgusted me and maybe I wanted it? 

“Sorry I- sorry.” I mumbled, turning on my heel and towards the door. I needed to curl up in bed and never come out. Maybe I’d earn the title of hermit woman and no one would ever bother me again. 

Part of me hoped Haymitch would call after me, beg me to stay and talk about what happened. Instead he just stood shell shocked, mouth open like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. If I had turned around again I would have seen him gently pick up the discarded flower, cradle it in his hands as if it was a piece of his heart rather than mine, and place it with utmost care onto his dresser. 

I raced out of his house at the speed of light, forgetting all of my cleaning supplies as I cut through the seam and into my house. The door slammed behind me with a rattle as I tossed myself into bed, not bothering to lock the door. Let someone come in and see the mess I’ve made of things. 

I laid in bed for two days before there was a knock at my door. The energy to physically open it was too much, instead I stayed silent as it cracked open and Burdock Everdeen strutted in. I watched with half lidded eyes as he unloaded his bow onto the shoddy kitchen table, laying out a plucked chicken and some vegetables with it. 

He gave me one look from the kitchen, his eyes soft and gentle, bringing me to tears. Burdock sighed heavily, rummaging through my kitchen as I closed my eyes. Safe. He’s safe. 

I opened them again to the smell of soup filling my nostrils. He was still here, humming a tune under his breath while ladling out two bowls. Another voice joined him in his song, his little girl with two brunette braids singing softly. I rubbed my bleary eyes, heaving my body off my bed turned coffin to join them. 

“Welcome to the land of the living.” Burdock grinned, presenting me with a steaming bowl. “I don’t think you’ve met my girl yet. Y/N, this is Katniss.” The girl gave a shy smile, digging into her own bowl. I nodded to her, offering a quirk of my lips, not quite a smile but close. 

She was the spitting image of her father, especially when he was younger. The female version of the boy I had seen in Haymitch’s photo. Katniss wasn’t a talker, similar to Wiley. Instead she offered small glances and half smiles. Burdock just ruffled her hair, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before he joined us at the table. 

“You’ve been cooped up here for a few days, figured you needed a good meal and good company.” He said, careful not to bring up Haymitch flat out. I just nodded, taking small sips so I didn’t get sick. I had only gotten up twice to rummage through my pantry, surviving the last few days on stale saltines and water. This meal was like being blessed with manna from heaven. 

I didn’t know how to properly thank Burdock. He had been a silent, solid figure all my life, watching from the sidelines and never quite making his way into my orbit. It was as if he had seen his chance and taken it, treating me with the care he treated his girls with. 

The sounds of glasses clinking and quiet chatter from Burdock filled the space with peace. He had opened the blinds before I woke, letting light back into my dungeon. Katniss was a quiet girl, reflective and inquisitive. She hung onto every word her father said as if he hung the moon and stars. For just a minute I looked up to see my boy sitting there, giggling at my impression of Effie Trinket, chewing on his flapjacks with a barely contained grin. My mood didn’t sour with the comparison, rather it lifted. What a blessing it is to have another little one giggling in my dining room. 

Burdock and Katniss cleared the plates, ignoring my protests to do my own dishes. I watched as he shoo’d his daughter away from the sink. She frumped down at the chair again, looking around for something else to do. Her gray eyes caught the old record player I had inherited from my pa in the corner, lips upturning as she softly padded towards it. I got up to follow her, crouching down to meet her level on the floor. 

“You ever played a record before?” I asked, watching her braids shake no. I sat with her, looking at a few of the records pa left. Old folk bands that had been recorded decades ago. The record player had been in our family for generations, and while it was broken down, it still played on with a crackle. I picked something random, showing Katniss how to put it on the spinner and place the needle. Gentle music broke through, something soft and sweet that made the morning come alive. 

“I like this.” she said so softly I almost didn’t hear it. She started to sway, Burdock looking on fondly as we chatted quietly about the different records in my collection. 

They stayed for a few more hours before he mentioned something about Primrose and Astrid waiting for them. I walked them to the door, Burdock pulling me into a bear hug and scolding me lightly on the importance of taking care of myself. I turned to Katniss, who chewed on her lip for a moment before she shot out to give me a hug, throwing me back before I slowly wrapped my arms around her. 

“Thank you for coming to visit, sweetheart. If you ever want to come and listen again, my doors always open.” I whispered to her, feeling her shy smile and nod as she pulled away. I watched as they faded down the path, folding my arms around my body and feeling lighter than I had in days. 

As the night descended I decided to sit on the steps outside for a bit, needing the warm breeze against my skin. I lit a cigarette, exhaling into the night. It would be autumn soon, the air chilling and bringing in the scent of warm cider from the hob. My mind drifted from thoughts of Wyatt and I running around the harvest festival a lifetime ago, orange and yellow flowers woven in my hair as he pulled me through the seam, pushing me into areas where we wouldn’t be seen to steal a kiss. Then, a few years later when I had taken Wiley and my ma, both of us holding his tiny hands as he waddled around babbling. 

Another memory hit me, one I hadn’t thought about since it happened. Before Wiley or Wyatt, Louella grasping my hand as she tried to find Haymitch. That year she’d had the biggest crush on him, wanting to follow him around incessantly. Sid had been sick, Mrs. Abernathy shooing her eldest off to the festival without them. Haymitch had stuck with Burdock and Blair as they ran circles around the seam, filling up on fried bread and cider. It was before Haymitch started spending every spare moment with Lenore Dove, young love hadn’t entered either of our lives yet. 

Louella and I had caught up with the three of them as the band started playing. Haymitch had dramatically bent down, asking for Louella’s hand to dance. I watched from the sidelines as he spun her around and around, both their faces in a permanent smile. I giggled at Louella’s blush, listening to Blair rattle about Hazelle Whitaker. Burdock had been attempting to conceal his eye rolling for the last fifteen minutes before nudging me and begging for a spin. I had refused, trying to laugh off the fact that I had two left feet and no ounce of rhythm. He just wiggled his brows, coaxing me out onto the dancefloor. 

We swayed for a while. “I can’t listen to him talk about her anymore. I like someone too but you don’t see me boring him to death about it, do you?” he grumbled, his eyes locked in on the blonde who was dancing in a circle with Merrilee and Maysilee Donner. 

“It’s just a crush, he’ll get over it eventually.” I retorted. Burdock chuckled, pointing to Hazelle who was blushing up a storm talking to Garrett Hawthorne. “He’s going to have to, looks like his girl might be preoccupied.” The music changed up, a faster song that involved swinging. Burdock watched as Merrilee and Maysilee grabbed onto each other, spinning around in circles. “Now’s my chance, sorry Y/N.” I barely caught on before I was spun, landing straight into Haymitch Abernathy’s arms. I hadn’t noticed Blair taking over with Louella, picking her up and sweeping her all around the dancefloor. 

“Hey.” He grinned, one hand falling to my waist while the other caught my hand. 

“Hey yourself.” I said breathlessly, falling into a semi rhythm of soft swaying. We stayed quiet for a minute, a blanket of pre-teen awkwardness falling over the moment. Louella shrieked as Blair held her forearms and lifted her off the ground in a spin. 

“She’s having the time of her life.” Haymitch grinned at the comment, watching on fondly. Burdock had managed to grab Astrid for a dance, his face beet red as she leaned into him. “So is he.” Haymitch commented, both of us erupting into laughs. 

“Should we try and one up them?” He asked, a sly grin taking way. Before I could protest I was being tossed at arms length before being swung back in. Haymitch grabbed my left hand, holding it up and swinging me in front of him, a hand wrapping around my back as he bent his knees and brought me across, dipping me low to the ground. I yelped, face blanching as my calves brushed the ground. We locked eyes for a minute, breathless as he brought me back up. I felt a few eyes on us, hoots and hollers at the insane move he pulled with effortlessly. Burdock raised his eyebrows, looking between the two of us. 

The moment had been broken by Louella begging to be swung around like that, which Haymitch had laughed and obliged. 

Maybe my emotional kiss hadn’t come out of the blue afterall. 

Lost in the memory of the dance, I once again didn’t notice the heavy boots coming to settle beside me. Haymitch looked like hell, carefully sitting down next to me. We sat in silence, letting the night air breeze between us. I let out a deep sigh, my hand coming to rest on the concrete next to him.

Softly his fingers inched closer to mine, hovering over before settling on top of my hand. He let out his own sigh, still looking out into the night. 

“We need to talk about some things.” he whispered into the air. For once, I agreed. Standing up and brushing off my pants, I moved in front of him, holding out my hand. 

“Let’s go then.” He hesitated, finally resigning with a huff and taking it from me, letting me lead him in the house. 

[twola]

Chasing Waterfalls

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader  Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link ➵ Next

Welp - this is an interesting one. A half-cooked challenge where some fic writers are inebriated? Perhaps.

To my dear @reddeaddufus - I feel slightly silly dedicating a piss kink ficlet to you, but actually this makes a ton of sense for us :D

cw: watersports, piss kink

“Can we stop up here?” You whine, pulling on Arthur’s jacket from your place on his mare’s rump. You’ve been riding for hours- your back is sore and bladder full, and it’s still another two or so hours before you reach camp. The moon has risen over the pines, shrouding the forest

Arthur looks back at you with an amused smirk. “You sick of ridin’ there, Princess?”

“We’ve been riding for hours, Arthur. I need to stop.”

“Fiiiine.” He complains but urges the mare off the road and a little further back into the woods.

Arthur swings down from the saddle and reaches up to take you by the waist, lifting you from the horse’s rump with ease, setting you down as if you were as light as a feather.

“Y’know, Princess, we’re gonna be back in a tent tryin’ to be quiet again in a few hours.” His hands move from your waist down, down to cup your rear through your skirts, squeezing gently.

“Mm.” You agree, winding your arms up around his shoulders - he did have a point. A knowing smile graces your features.

Your cowboy takes one hand, tilts the rim of his hat up, and leans back down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. His large frame pushes you backward a couple of steps until your back presses against the trunk of a large pine. 

The clicking of metal rings out in the forest as Arthur wrenches his gunbelt open and it clatters to the ground. The rustling of fabric against fabric, the wet smack of lips meeting echo in the night.

“Pretty little thin’,” he rumbles as he starts to hike up your skirts. You clutch at his shirt as you feel him grope for your bloomers, his greedy fingers catching the fabric and pulling downward as he suckles at the curve of your neck. You moan, loudly, enjoying the ability to do so outside of camp.

The syllables of his name drip from your mouth like manna. You pull one leg up as he works the fabric down your legs, then lift the other to step out of your underthings. He tosses your bloomers to the side and they disappear in the tall grass. You give a slight frown before he devours your lips again, pressing you against that pine tree’s trunk once more. You yelp into his mouth before melting into his embrace, and it’s an instant more before he spins you around to face the tree. He pulls you back half a step so that your arms stretch out to press against the trunk as he once again lifts your skirts.

“Think you’re ready f’r me?” He grunts into your ear as he bends you slightly at the waist.

“Always-” you pant, “I’m always ready for y-”

He presses into you and it’s a punch to your gut. Hard, hot, thick inches of him slide into your cunt and you moan like a goddamn whore.

“Oh yes, you are.” Arthur retorts, you can see his smirk in your mind's eye as he he gracious enough to allow you to grow used to his intrusion.

But not too gracious.

His hands clamp around your hips hard as he thrusts his hips once, twice, three times slowly before moving into a much more punishing rhythm.

It’s not long - it never is, until he’s able to bring you to the edge of orgasm - your cunt full of him and cleaved just enough to find pleasure. You bite your bottom lip as you come, trying to stifle the scream that bubbles up from your lungs.

“Ss-stop-” You stutter as he pounds into you, after your orgasm you feel like your bladder is going to burst. As if his steel-hard cock pistoning into your cunt wasn’t enough pressure in your hips, he shoves one of his hands between your legs, and his thumb parts your folds to find that bundle of nerves of your pleasure.

“Stop-  Arthur, I’m gonna-” You squeal and try to jerk away from him, but with the vicegrip he has on your hips, you’re unable to move.

It’s too much - his cock shoved fully up your cunt, his thumb furiously working at your clit, your knees shaking, it’s too goddamn much-

You try to push his hand away but moving him is like trying to move a brick wall - a brick wall hellbent on you being wrung out and left to dry. A groan escapes your mouth through gritted teeth, nearly pained - “No, stop, m’ gonna - you’re gonna make me piss m’self.” 

“Do it.” He grunts hoarsely, rocking his hips forward ever so slowly, even gently, compared to the assault of his digits on your swollen clit. The hand that was clamped near painfully around the curve of your hip bone starts gathering up your skirts, hamfisting them up above your hips so that your legs are bare as you lean against that tree.

“Wh-what?” You grit out, your eyes crossing as you unconsciously clench on his flesh within you.

“Let go.” Arthur groans, his cock twitching within you as he slides his hand upward slightly, so that his thumb rests above your pubic bone while his ring finger continues lazy circles on your abused nub, pleasure racked and overstimulated.

He presses on your bladder with that strong thumb of his and it’s over. You cry out - half in pain and half in relief as that great pressure is loosed from your pelvis. Hot liquid pours from you, forcefully against the ground and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly against the sensation - heightened by the inches of flesh crammed up your channel. 

Arthur slides his hand down to let the stream run through his fingers before pooling on the dirt between your feet.

“Good girl,” he murmurs into your ear as tears collect under your eyes, and you couldn’t stop if you tried. His hips pulse forward jerkily once, twice, and he moans far louder than he ever has with you in the past, his dick splattering his spend into your cunt as your bladder empties first through his hand then pooling on the ground.

“I- I need -” Arthur pulls out quickly, and stumbles forward half a step. You feel his pubic hair against your rear, one of his hands wrapped around his softening cock, “M’ gonna- don’t be mad -” He rambles, and suddenly you feel warm moisture on the back of your thigh, trailing down your leg over your boot. He groans in satisfaction as you gasp breathily, eyes widening as rivulets of hot piss course down your leg. You tighten your grip on the tree to stay upright, your blunt nails digging into the bark until Arthur makes a choked-off gasp and the liquid peters off.

“I- uh,” Arthur pants as he straightens up.

“You…like that?” You glance over your shoulder as he steps away from you.

Arthur is sheepishly tucking his cock back into his pants, cheeks blazing red and his gaze unwilling and unable to find yours, “I…,” he buttons his pants with fervor, turning his head away to make himself even further from you, “I understand if you don’t wanna do this no more cause of-“

You spin around and grab at his fiddling hand once he’s finished buttoning his pants.

“I mean… I’m okay with it, as long as we wash up afterward.” You say, shaking your boot slightly, drops of moisture falling to the ground as you step away from the veritable puddle that was between your legs.

“Seriously?” Arthur finally looks up, skepticism plain on his face.

Half a smile comes across your face as you drop your skirts with your other hand, “Let's head on down to the river to clean up. I don’t want to feel sticky.”

Arthur’s frown remains, but he lets you pull him toward the forest toward the nearby river, he leans over after a few steps to grab his discarded gunbelt, throwing it over his shoulder.

Once the two of you reach the bubbling waters of the mountain stream, you let go of his hand.

“Think we could probably take a bath.” You start playing with the laces of your skirts.

Arthur looks around in either direction, knowing that the road’s river crossing is rather close to where the two of you stand.

“Yer not worried about gettin’ caught naked as the day you were born?”

“I mean… worried ain’t the word that I would use to describe it.” Your skirts drop to the ground, your skin completely bare in the moonlight below your waist.

Arthur’s lips crook up into a smile as he starts to unbutton his shirt.

[the-astral-archives]

Ἡφαιστος - Hephaistos

"To Hephaistos (Hephaestus), Fumigation from Frankincense and Manna. Strong, mighty Hephaistos, bearing splendid light, unwearied fire, with flaming torrents bright: strong-handed, deathless, and of art divine, pure element, a portion of the world is thine: all-taming artist, all-diffusive power, 'tis thine, supreme, all substance to devour: aither, sun, moon, and stars, light pure and clear, for these thy lucid parts [of fire] to men appear. To thee all dwellings, cities, tribes belong, diffused through mortal bodies, rich and strong. Hear, blessed power, to holy rites incline, and all propitious on the incense shine: suppress the rage of fire's unwearied frame, and still preserve our nature's vital flame."

Orphic hymns from theoi / Images from pinterest.

Feel free to ask about our practice or request boards in our ask box!

[sakuraswordly]

Oh C'mon! I help bring you to Manna when you are drunk, and I help you harvest Grapes at Aja Winery and even find Cliff for work with you! What's his problem anyway?

[24kmagiic]

Issued from the High Throne of the Ancients, Sealed by the Crown of Mystic Falls:

In light of the recent scandal involving Her Grace Bonnie Sheila Bennett, Duchess of the Ancient Flame and Heiress of the Bennett Dynasty, and His Grace Niklaus Mikaelson, Duke of New Orleans, and Hybrid Lord of the Ton, this decree is hereby issued to preserve the sanctity of the Social Season and the ancestral order of the realm.

Let it be recorded in the Great Book of Manna and Courtly Law and etched into the Cosmic Registers:

Any couple entering into engagement without formal matchmaking endorsement is subject to a trio of ancestral rites:

The Veilwalk — a rite of emotional truth

The Court of Truth — a magical inquisition judged by the Ancestral Council

The Unbinding Waltz — a final public display of magical and emotional harmony

Said trials shall be observed by the Crown and her appointed Magical Council. Completing all three rites shall result in formal betrothal, sanctified by crown and coven. Failure to comply or succeed shall result in:

Revocation of ancestral holdings

Public dissolution of all noble titles

Magical exile from the Court of Ancients

Eternal shame sealed by song and scroll

The trials must conclude with the Full Moon of Beltane. Any interference will be met with swift and supernatural consequences.

May the bond be true, the trials merciful, and love rise from the ashes of scandal.

Signed and Sealed,

Her Majesty, Queen Esther Mikaelson High Sovereign of Mystic Falls Keeper of the Hollow Crown

A Most Inconvenient Vow

May 4 - Arranged Marriage (ish) Queen Esther’s Manor A Week Later - Still Spring 1812 AD

“When proximity breeds a scandal, the crown demands commitment. A curious solution for an even curiouser couple…”

“As if being tethered to a Rake isn’t enough, I have to prove that I like him, too.” The disdain in Bonnie’s voice made Klaus chuckle.

“All you need to do is channel that vitriol into passion, and you’ll be fine.”

Bonnie rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore his comment. “She’s your mother, Klaus. She knows you better than anyone else. She’ll know you’re lying even if we manage to pass these ridiculous trials, which, might I add, have never been enacted, so I don’t see why we’re being singled out.”

“You said it already.” Bonnie turned to face him with a perked brow. “She’s my mother,” he smirked. “And she’s been singling me out since the world learned of her transgressions.”

Bonnie frowned. It was true. After her great ancestor Ayana cast the spell to create the Original family, the duality of Klaus’s nature was revealed. He was born of a Lycanthrope and therefore could not be the child of King Mikaelson, The Forgotten.

“Well, that isn’t fair,” Bonnie said softly. “For you or me.”

Klaus changed the subject so swiftly that Bonnie had difficulty keeping up. “The trials can be manipulated if you speak the truth,” he began. “For instance, if they ask about your undying affections for me, you can say something along the lines of how you can’t stand to breathe the same air as me, yet you always manage to get lost in my eyes,” he said, batting his eyelashes. He pinched her cheek, quickly pulling away when she lit his glove on fire.

Bonnie giggled as he struggled to dispose of the charred garment. She watched as his fingers healed with supernatural precision. He removed the other glove and threw it at her, which she also burned in mid-air.

“I’ve never gotten lost in your eyes,” she lied.

“Lying isn’t very becoming of you, Lady Bennett.”

“And yet you’ve put me in a position where I have to lie at least thrice!” She huffed and squared her shoulders. “Let’s get on with it. The sooner we complete them, the sooner we can live in banishment.”

“Together? I have stowaway houses scattered throughout the kingdom. You’d want for nothing, all I ask is that you—”

“If you finish that statement, I will burn your arse alive,” she snapped.

Klaus held up a hand and chuckled. “As you command it, My Fair Lady. Come. Night is approaching, and the trials wait for no one.” He offered his arm to her, a simple act that made her heart falter slightly. He was gracious enough not to tease her if he heard it, and for that, she was thankful.

“They emerged hand-in-hand… but the Veil saw what even they would not admit.”

The silver glow of moonlight bathed the Ancestral Grove in its glory. She and Niklaus had walked there together, but now, they faced the veil alone. She glanced to her left and watched him from across the Garden as he entered the veil without hesitation and exhaled deeply before taking the plunge.

The mist was thick and teeming with ancestral energy. Her eyes frosted, a ghostly white hue as the physical world melted away, replaced by the mystical energy of the ancestral plane. The blinding white glow faded into something softer as ghostly figures began to take shape before her.

It was her. A version of herself, not much older than she was currently. She watched as visions of life flashed before her eyes. It showed her surviving the trials, navigating a very public ‘break up’ with the Hybrid Rake, and then living a life of duty. Peaceful, reserved. Fullfilled…

But not happy, she noticed.

The feeling of ‘what if’ lingered in the center of her chest, but the visions began to shift before she could contemplate it.

Before her now was a joyful Bonnie, filled with light, love, and laughter. There was a spark in her eyes that was missing from before. And more importantly, she felt fulfilled. True fulfillment that didn’t come from her duties as a witch or the burdens that came with being the ‘last of her name’. She felt certainty.

And then she saw him. The Hybrid, The Rake, the Bane of her existence. Laughing alongside her. She should have been shocked. Should have turned her nose up in disgust. Instead, she felt… familiarity. The same vitriol present whenever he was near was no longer masked with feigned disgust. It was unfiltered, unapologetic.

It felt freeing.

Bonnie’s eyes stung with unshed tears as the visions began to fade. She blinked several times before her eyes landed on a young boy, no more than twelve. Alone beneath a full silver moon, wrecked with emotion and soaked in blood. The sight made her falter. She approached him slowly and knelt before him.

When she spoke, her voice didn’t come from her throat but her mind, and somehow he heard her. 

“What is the matter?” she asked. The boy lifted his head, his face tear-stained, his expression distraught.

“It’s my fault. I caused this.” She knew that voice. It wasn’t that of a boy. It was that of an eight-hundred-year-old hybrid. Her breath caught as she stared into the young boy’s eyes—the same eyes she’d been accused of getting lost in. She saw the regret, the vulnerability, the disgust he held toward himself. Her heart ached.

She gasped as everything faded to black, stumbling back when she was ejected from the mist. She fell against Niklaus with a soft thud, who stood behind her with an amused expression. He helped her regain her footing before glancing over her shoulder.

“What did you see that made you overstay your welcome?”

She had a hard time adjusting to reality. Rather than answer him, she gripped his shirt, clinging to a version of him that did not exist in this realm. A version she didn’t wish to let go of just yet.

Niklaus’s smile faltered briefly, noting her haunted expression. His ears twitched at the sound of her racing heart and noted how she clenched his shirt. He quieted. Rather than tease her, he simply let her be, allowing her time to adjust—allowing her to use him as her anchor.

“What happened?” She finally whispered, staring not at him but through him.

He nearly answered before he knew what he was saying, even though he wasn’t sure exactly what she meant. Yet somehow, he knew she was speaking beyond their current predicament.

What happened to you, she wanted to say, but caught herself just in time.

“I think Grandma Bonnie has been out too late. Let’s get you back to your chambers before you crack like a nut,” he teased, though he wasn’t sure if it was for her sake or his.

Bonnie remained silent, allowing him to guide her back to her quarters in silence. She needed to pull herself together.

But when they arrived and he turned to leave, she couldn’t help but ask: “What did you see?”

It was brave of her to ask, knowing she wasn’t ready to share what she’d seen. But she needed to know. He seemed so… unbothered, and it was unnerving her.

The vulnerability in her eyes caught him off guard, and every witty remark he had rehearsed was swallowed in an instant. “Just a girl, sorry—a woman—trying to survive the best way she knows how.”

For whatever reason, his answer didn’t feel good enough.

The two of them stood in silence before Bonnie scoffed softly. “So, a mess,” she teased at her own expense. The urge to correct her surged within him, but the moment slipped before he could seize it. “Goodnight, Niklaus,” she said softly before disappearing behind the oak door.

He stood there silently for a moment before vanishing into thin air. Bonnie lingered by the window, watching the spot he’d once occupied before blowing out her candle. Two more days and she’d be free from this, she hoped.

Or did she…

“Pretend all you like, Your Graces—this author knows true spark when she sees it.”

The Court of Truths would be the most intimidating of the trials, or so the Duchess thought. Their truths laid bare wouldn’t have been such a distressing thought if they hadn’t entered this predicament by lying through their teeth.

Bonnie sat nervously outside the Ancestral Court, waiting to be summoned. She was a wreck and what’s worse? Niklaus wasn’t saying a word.

No witty remarks, no dazzling charm, nothing. Only the pensive expression he’d worn since earlier that morning when he picked her up. “They’ll ask a series of questions,” he finally spoke, his tone more serious than she was used to. Still, she clung to every word, desperate to escape her ruthless ruminations.  “Answer them as honestly as you can, but keep it short. Less is more.” 

“You wouldn’t happen to know the questions, do you?” Her tone was so hopeful he nearly laughed.

“We are the first couple ever to have to go through this, so no, Bonnie, I don’t know what the questions are,” he snapped, though there was no real ire in his tone. Bonnie recognized what he was doing instantly. It was a lifeline—a means to help her release the nervous energy currently holding her hostage.

She immediately jumped on it.

“Well, forgive my asking. You’re what? Nine hundred years old, and your mother’s the queen. Silly of me to think you’d actually know something.”

“Eight hundred and thirty-one, and I know nothing, just like you.”

“You don’t look a day past a thousand.”

“And I’ll never reach it if you keep talking me to death.”

The door swiftly opened, signaling it was time to enter. She wasn’t sure when he’d grabbed her hand, but she didn’t fight it. The pair walked in sync, presenting a good front to the spectral eyes following their movements. The Ancestral Court was more of an amphitheater. A dark corridor led them to the open area. There were no walls, no ceiling, no confinement. Just vast openness meant to intimidate. They moved to the center of the theater, where the bright violet and gold floor immediately glowed—the Bennett and Mikaelson crest colors. 

Each of Bonnie’s steps created a violet trail to the center, and she stared in awe at the golden steps following Klaus. She looked into the hillside where the spectral figures of their ancestors sat, waiting and observing. Though she couldn’t make out their specific faces, she felt a familial bond emanating from each one.

As she stared in awe, Klaus remained fixed beside her with an almost bored expression. She brushed the back of his hand with her thumb to gain his attention, nearly flinching when his gaze burned through her. Her mouth went dry, and the words died on her lips. What she planned to say was long forgotten, and to her relief, a loud, genderless voice spoke. The voice came from everywhere around them, making it hard to pinpoint the source.

“Do you come with love in your heart, and truth on your tongue?” The voice asked.

Bonnie exhaled slowly, answering first. “I do,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t betray her. Thankfully, the question was vague enough for her to mean it.

Niklaus nodded, “I do.” 

Bright flames traveled around the circle they stood in, trapping them both. Bonnie could only assume that the fire would subside once the trials were completed and tried not to think of what would happen if they failed.

“Then let the Truth be summoned. Let what you hide be laid bare. Let what you deny be spoken aloud. Let what you fear be faced.”

A surge of magic filled the air, thick and humming. The ground between them illuminated with ancestral runes, and a tether of light flared from Klaus’s chest to Bonnie’s—and another from Bonnie’s to Klaus’s.

Bonnie winced as her heart rate accelerated. She could feel him and was sure he could feel her too. She didn’t like the sensation of being read. She felt exposed in ways she’d never experienced.

Klaus, to his credit, did not smirk.

The voice returned. “Duchess Bonnie Bennett… what do you desire most?”

Bonnie froze at the loaded question. How on Earth was she supposed to answer that? When she parted her lips to speak, a golden mist flowed from her chest and swirled above them.

The image it created knocked the wind out of her.

It was him. Not the Hybrid Rake she loathed but a gentler version of him. A softer side she’d seen in the Veilwalk. A version she’d made up. He laughed beside her in the vision, kissed the inside of her wrist, and held her in a garden at midnight.

Bonnie’s heart stopped.

Gasps rang out from the invisible audience seated beyond the spectral veil. From beside her, Klaus’s breath caught. Bonnie’s face flushed two shades darker.

“Wait—” Bonnie began, horrified. Her chest twisted with emotion. “That isn’t—I didn’t—”

But the vision didn’t lie. It never did. The truth had been summoned, not spoken, and couldn’t be manipulated like they’d planned.

At the revelation, her heart rate accelerated tenfold, and she closed her eyes, hoping the ground would swallow her whole.

The voice pressed on. “Duke Niklaus Mikaelson… what do you fear most?”

Klaus’s jaw locked. His chest rose sharply as the light pulled from him, unwillingly.

A violet mist flowed from his chest, hovering in the space above them. A spectral version of herself appeared, following Niklaus through the woods. When he turned to face her, his face was distorted. Not the man he presented at court, but the beast who feasted at night. The one she’d heard stories about. The one mothers warned their little girls about at bedtime.

Bonnie watched as the spectral version of herself ran away from the monster, horrified by what she’d seen. In the vision, Niklaus reached for her as she left in an almost heartbreaking way, yet even as she ran, there was no hatred in her eyes, just sadness and disappointment.

Bonnie couldn’t look away—not from the monster, but from the man who feared she’d see it… and leave.

She felt Klaus flinch before the vision disappeared.

“Do either of you deny these truths?” the voice asked.

Klaus swallowed, hesitating momentarily before stepping forward to place much-needed distance between them.

Bonnie ignored how his warmth left her exposed to the coolness of the air surrounding them and tried not to follow him. She wasn’t sure when his closeness shifted from irritation to comfort, but she opted not to question it.

“No,” he finally said.

Bonnie’s voice cracked as she spoke. “No.”

“Then you may proceed to the next trial. But know this—it is not love you must perform, but the truth you must survive.”

The trial ended with the ancient runes of their family crests intertwining on the floor below them. Golds and Violets mixed until they formed a new sigil—a Bennett-Mikaelson crest.

Bonnie felt her insides twist with unspeakable emotions. It wasn’t just a crest. It was a destiny neither of them had asked for, and one they could no longer unsee.

The light faded, and the flames stilled, yet Klaus and Bonnie remained motionless. They were too exposed to move or even look at one another. 

Bonnie was the first to break the silence.

“…You’re afraid I’ll leave?” It wasn’t exactly what she intended to say, but she was too curious to take it back.

Klaus didn’t answer immediately, and at one point, she was afraid he wouldn’t answer at all. “I’m afraid you’ll see me clearly… and decide I’m not worth staying for.”

Bonnie stared at him wordlessly. The court had stripped her raw, revealing one undeniable truth: this was no longer a facade.

He wasn’t playing anymore.

And neither was she.

Her chest heaved, the weight of the realization gnawing at her. “You think I haven’t already seen you?” she whispered.

“Not all of me.”

Klaus met her eyes, his intense gaze making her squirm as it always had. Yet, for the first time, she didn’t look away.

And neither did he.

His hand twitched as he instinctively moved to grab her hand, yet he faltered. Instead, he stepped ahead, creating more distance between them. Bonnie felt the familiar pang of rejection. The same one she’d felt that night. The night that sealed their fates.

She watched him walk away, but didn’t follow. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she was afraid of what might come if she did.

“A most inconvenient vow, indeed. And yet… how quickly inconvenience becomes desire.”

Find the 2nd installment here...

Find the 4th & final installment here...