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scribblestatic · 2 months ago

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Hmm... I wanna write more creachers...

Spider Yuan it is.

Spider Yuan on AO3

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Shen Yuan didn't attend Fan Zhenzhen's funeral.

Oh, like, he did, but not in person. He watched, yes, since he could now stand a bit further away in the trees and not be noticed unless someone looked closer.

Besides, he could tell it would distract the others. Humans would still be wary of him, naturally. He can't fault prey for being wary of a predator, can he? No, Fan Zhenzhen raised them too well for that.

So, he waited and watched as they carried her to the mausoleum on the side of his mountain, picked for its perfect fengshui.

And okay, maybe he watched them enter the mausoleum from one of the nearby trees. And maybe a villager noticed him watching and it took him holding up a silencing finger to ensure the man didn't panic.

It worked out just fine.

...Okay, yes, there was a rumor spreading of a strange, tall man who dwelled among the corpses and peered silently from the trees, but after telling them it was him, they were quick to apologize.

But yes, it all worked out fine.

And, as another five years passed, more spiders cultivated their human forms, leaving the mountain during the day to learn more about human life and adapt to their bodies.

After all, Shen Yuan was going to leave.

Not forever, no! But he'd been serious about going on a journey to explore more of the world. He just didn't want the village to be left without anyone to provide silk, plants, or protection. As much as his servants were reliable, they did require direction.

Zhuzi wanted to come with him, but Shen Yuan insisted otherwise. It was something he would like to do alone. He hadn't been alone for...decades at this point, wow.

Besides, spiders are generally quite solitary beings. Even his servants took vacations for themselves to be at peace and cultivate. He cultivated with company, but perhaps now was a good time for some self-reflection. Maybe to figure out what he wanted to do for the next few decades or centuries, depending on how long he'd be alive.

He didn't feel like his lifespan was getting any shorter, so staying in one place for this long...well, he wasn't actually bothered by it. At one point, he barely left his web of screens and strong walls and convenience for several days at a time, which was...hm. However or whenever that was. Anyway, sticking to one place really wasn't a bother.

...Seeing the mausoleum every day hurt, so maybe he was running away a little bit.

He's an old spider, leave him be!

So, after those five years passed and he'd thoroughly prepared Zhuzi as much as he could, he packed a little qiankun pouch full of a few things, like duplicates of his favorite stories, lots of scrolls, quills, and ink, and various plants in case he needed to cure someone (or himself) of some sort of ailment (or sex plant...which was a collection of ailments all on its own).

He'd already told Fan Ruoxing, letting him know that the mountain would not be bereft of spiders, but that he would be gone for a while.

The now older man smiled sadly.

"Mm...this servant understands. Thank you for telling us... And thank you for fulfilling my mother's wish."

By twilight, Shen Yuan breathed in the cool air of early spring.

He gazed up at the stars and the bright moon, marveling quietly at the sight of them. Zhuzi stood by his side, gazing up with him.

"Dage should enjoy his trip. Please don't worry about anything here. This one shall take care of them."

"Mm. He knows you will."

He moved, placing a hand on the top of her head. She blinked owlishly for a moment before her eyes closed, satisfied.

"Thanking Zhuzi for her hard work. This one shall be back in a few years."

"Yes. Safe travels."

...And then, he looked forward, toward a forested trail he'd never traveled before, and took his first step.

At first, Shen Yuan traveled aimlessly. He didn't have a particular destination in mind or anything, so he drifted around as he saw fit.

Getting off the mountain was fairly easy in the end. His web spread out far and wide. The many beasts and creatures that could have tried to be a threat had long started fleeing from his presence. Perhaps it was because of some sort of adaptation, having watched generations of their predecessors die at the hands of either his servants or himself.

Even after he finally drifted away from the small strings of webs at the barriers of his marked domain, fearsome creatures didn't dare to approach...

And that was a bit disappointing.

He usually just ate them, but now that he had some time to travel, he would like to study a beast or two. The way other creatures function had become more interesting to him. If they didn't at least get close, he could he watch them?

So, he had to practice more to conceal his qi—something he didn't really bother doing before. After all, it was his territory. Who did he need to hide from?

But sure, fine. If it meant he'd have an easier time actually finding the creatures he wanted to study, then he'd Git Gud.

Two weeks into his practice, and the birds still wouldn't chirp when he was within a few zhang of them. Come on. There was no need to be so dramatic that a few meters was all it took for the space he was going toward to go silent.

Maybe it was because of this silent alarm that humans traveling through the forest became extra cautious.

They never quite could sense when he was right beside them, though.

"...Excuse me."

The group of three startled, turning toward him with their ragtag weapons drawn. A partially rusted axe, a small sword, and a dagger... However, they didn't have armor on, and it looked like most of their belongings might've been held in the stuffed sack each had tied around their necks and draped behind their shoulders.

The men looked at his waist. Then up. Then up.

By the time they finally got to his face, the man with the dagger dropped his weapon.

Okay. Just like he practiced... Let's do this.

Shen Yuan didn't bother smiling. They couldn't see his face through the veil anyway. But he did start slowly to bend down, trying to meet them at their height.

The young, dirtied man with the axe managed to stand his ground, hands shaking and knuckles turning white. Ah, he must be the leader of the group, right?

"Would you happen to know where the nearest village is?"

The young man swallowed thickly.

"...No."

Shen Yuan sighed.

"Oh dear..."

"...?"

"This one would much rather you tell the truth rather than lie. It's very discourteous."

Of course the man was lying. His jackrabbiting heart skipped a beat when he'd asked, and it'd sped up even further before he answered.

Shen Yuan was a spider, not an idiot. Humans were terrible at lying to him.

To ease the mood a little, he clapped, his claws clicking against each other.

"Let's try again. Would you happen to know where the nearest village is?"

...One of the men behind him was starting to smell of ammonia. Perhaps he really had grown a bit more accustomed to the reactions of the villagers from Xiaoshan. They feared him, but not to this extent.

The axe boy finally began to utter a reply.

"I...erh...this lowly one knows where...a village is. But...wh...what do you...what does this esteemed person want to do with that information?"

Beneath the weimao, Shen Yuan's eyelids fluttered, his expression scrunching.

"To visit, like any visitor would?"

He wheezed in reply. "My...family..."

"Hmm? Yes, what of them?"

At this, the man dropped his axe. He then fell to the ground, immediately prostrating.

"Please...! Please! If I must die now, I will accept this. But please! Don't hurt my family!"

The others also dropped to the ground, giving him similar pleas of mercy for the ones they loved while offering their bodies up to him.

"...When did this one say he would hurt anyone?"

He listened to the villagers sob and beg at him for a little longer before he finally lost his patience.

"Sit up before this one smacks you."

They all immediately sat up. Shen Yuan huffed, the veil of his weimao fluttering.

"Is this a habit of your village, to assume the worst of people? This traveler is just looking to explore new things and gather stories. Aiyah, get up, get up! All this bowing—your clothes are already filthy enough, don't kneel in the dirt."

He really didn't want to watch them squirm.

Squirming things made him salivate.

Once they collected themselves, the axe wielder spoke.

"This...this lowly one apologizes for his rudeness. Begging your forgiveness."

"Mm, it's alright. Worry not about it. Though, this one is curious. What brings you three deep through the forest like this?"

They glanced at each other, unsure. But eventually, he spoke.

"We...are traveling to Jindao City (金道城市 - Jīndào Chéngshì - Golden Road City). There is an illness spreading in our village."

Jindao City...yes, he was familiar with the name of it, though he hadn't been there himself. Xiaoshan Village had also been under the authority of Jindao, though they never came to help when the famine ravaged the village somewhere around 50 years ago.

As he recalls, upon Fan Zhenzhen taking up the mantle of Village Elder, she reduced their dues after, having heard of their survival, the city tried to send tax collectors. They survived without Jindao's assistance, so they would only pay enough in produce to keep relative peace with the city that abandoned them.

If the spiders ever left, they'd have to defend themselves and their land, after all. So, it was best to not go about burning bridges all willy-nilly.

"Hmm. This one recalls a famine occurring somewhere around here before."

At this, all the humans brightened.

"Yes, the old master is wise. A famine ran through the area many years ago. Our village still hasn't fully recovered. Now, an illness is hurting our most reliable people. Men, women, and children have all fallen ill. Some have died. We lowly servants hope that, with our quick action, perhaps we can prevent further deaths."

Old master? Ah, because he remembered the famine, probably.

Well, he was old. No need to correct or ridicule him. Still, what a shift from deeming him a monstrous demon to calling him an old master! Don't you have any steadfast beliefs, ah? The switch-up could be disorienting!

"Mm. Did Jindao City offer assistance during the famine?"

"From what this lowly one remembers, no. He doesn't remember them helping. But he was a little boy back then. It's possible he doesn't remember much of what happened."

"But the fact the loyal worker questions if they helped likely means his elders and ancestors did not speak of it. If they didn't speak of it, this one believes it likely they did not help. There is more than one village Jindao City did not assist back then. If this is the case, does the loyal worker have anything now that may change the minds of Jindao's officials?"

"Something...?"

"This one does not think positively of Jindao officials because of their actions, or lack thereof, during the famine. Therefore, he assumes that, to move them to action, others must present them with a good-enough reason to do so. In his experience, this one believes having desirable goods, finances, or resources would lead them to be more likely to offer aid. Do the loyal workers have such items on them or in their village?"

Their following silence told him all he needed to know.

The one with the dagger whispered to the axe wielder, "This must be why Lao Heng (老恒 - Lǎo Héng - Old Heng) told us not to bother..."

Hmm.

It really wasn't any of his business. He'd just started his trip, and he was already encountering trouble. He could very well just thank them for their honesty and continue wandering around.

But, he kinda wanted to eat. He could practice inedia, but why do that if he didn't have to? A beast's cultivation rarely counted on restriction. No, it usually promoted levels of indulgence and selfishness, and he saw no problem with that.

He doubted they had food he'd enjoy, but if he couldn't eat that way, he could always eat another way. Something anyone with the ability to think could offer him.

"Hmm... This one is not a doctor, but he has tools and knowledge that may be of assistance. The only thing the loyal workers must offer him to begin is a story."

#static writes #dp writes #svsss au #svsss #shen yuan #spider shen yuan #au post 6 #shen yuan's gone exploring!#time to get new stories for his story hoard uwu

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acupofinkedblood · 3 months ago

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Icedagger and child reader who eventually grew up

Note: This is a new breeze because I want to give it a shot with Icedagger’s new potential personality because of his rewritten lore, maybe like a rant on this new side of his character in the tea itself (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

Note 2: I’m not exactly too proud of this (￣^￣ )ゞ

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• “Slumber, as the night shall be eternal when the sun has been casted away by the haze. The merciless cold shall wash away all the spouts of the upcoming spring, burying them under a blanket of everlasting snow in peace. Close your eyes, dear children of the cruel winter, embrace the blessing of your fate with no question. For he who has isolated himself in the icy heart of his own until the next lullaby of death. Sleep, with little care to the world,”…The lullaby itself has became a classic of old Blackrock based on its extreme weather’s conditions. But one thing that annoyed Icedagger until this day is how those mortals dare to include his personal matter inside their lyrics. Not calling his name out directly, but still. Out of everything they can add, they choose that. For a kid’s lullaby too, how ironic. Yet Icedagger can’t bring himself to even make a fuss of it, slumbering for too long has reduced his thirst of conflict at this point being

• How many millenniums have passed? How many times has the sun risen up after the curtain of the night? How many moment of silence had he realized after awakening from his slumber? How many blizzards have reflected his heart that caused nothing but misery to the mortals? Icedagger doesn’t know, nor does he care. After all, what even matters to him anymore? He simply can’t give a damn about such trivial matters that occur outside of his domain. If he doesn’t even bother to send his regards to his siblings to check up on them despite haven’t seen them since certain things have changed, why should he bother with anything else? All he has is his own company to be annoyed with, such a dull and monochromatic life of his that he has chosen for himself — O Icedagger, habringer of the cruel snowstorms born from his cold heart

• The snow has been nothing but a false glimpse of mercy, so pure and beautiful, how can such thing ever hurt anyone? That’s when you’re just judging a book based on its cover. Dear children of the land where the sun cradles your face with love, how foolish has you been. That snowflake which dances so graceful on your hands shall then melt into ice, and your smile shall quickly fades and you yelp when the frostbite has gotten through your skin. The children of Blackrock has soon grown accustomed to these harsh blessings their god has granted them with little complains. Yet, some of those children just can’t help themselves but adores the snow despite everything no matter what. How foolish. Icedagger has always found mortals to be beyond his understanding. Such distasteful creatures with unexplainable behaviors, one with such a small lifespan that is as insignificant as an ant that froze beneath his feet

• He will never understand the fascination that his sibling held so close to that annoyingly blazing heart of his with mortals. What is even the appeal of them when compared to the likes of him? They are ridiculously fragile, one small gust of chill is more than enough to send them shivering like crazy. Mortals have needs that they need to get access to, or else they might as well just bid life a goodbye and join hand with Ghostwalker himself. Always need to be handled as if they can melt away under stress at anytime, like a delicate ice sculpture that has to avoid the sun but still wants to be under it so they can shine. Icedagger has forgotten the last time he had ever interacted with mortals. Hell, should he even remember? He can barely remember how many ice sculptures he had, how can he just sit down and mourn the old times where everything was still right as it should be? But then again, for a deity that has lived for that long, he might need a better excuse to cover for the face that he just does not want to recall those time due to not feeling like it

• Icedagger can’t recall the exact period when he was still walking among mortals. Maybe when he was still around his siblings with their assigned duties, since he was less interested in sleeping his existence away in those times, a contrast to now. But maybe it wasn’t that long ago yet, maybe during when he accidentally sleepwalked out of his home which caused an unexpected snow showers to wherever he went? Though he wouldn’t say he was exactly “walking among mortals”, since he barely made an effort to even interact with them at the first place. Unlike Firebrand who is so insisting on meddling with mortals, Icedagger wants nothing to do with them, at least not every single time. To word it more correctly, he’d say it was those time that he still managed to get out of his domain for a walk during such wintry weather. Even when it was mainly to ensure that he can get some fresh air for once like how they insist him to do, Icedagger didn’t complain. It wasn’t like any mortals could recognize him anyway

• Out of the seven SFOTH siblings, Icedagger held an infamous record of isolating himself the most away from any living beings despite no matter how much the others tried to convince him to go out. Even the SFOTHs themselves found it to be a pretty big deal when it came to see Icedagger in his physical form for once, let alone mortals. He would find any excuses possible to ditch any event they held, only made an appearance briefly for pleasantries before got back to his place. Hell, Darkheart had soon given up on Icedagger’s stubbornness as he too couldn’t figure out a way to get Icedagger to be genuinely interested in doing something rather than just shutting himself off in his domain all by himself. He always had shown little consideration to matters that didn’t revolve around his own existence. Not mortals, not any trivial matter, not anything that doesn’t concern him directly. Not even his siblings’ lives. It was enough for mortals to forget that he exists in the first place and only briefly referred to him as a mysterious entity that was behind Blackrock’s constant blizzard without knowing his name. For someone, it was a curse. But Icedagger simply embraced his fate as he found it to be unnecessary to be remembered by those whose lives shall end before his own. Why would he care for mortals anyway?

• That is until the day he found something. The ‘something’ in saying that resembles a poor excuse of a small Inphernal almost buried alive beneath the pile of frosty snow outside of his domain while he was on a walk. Poor thing was all black and blue because of the ruthless cold, looking as if just by staying underneath the snow a bit more and this unfortunate soul shall be guided to the afterlife by Ghostwalker himself. It shouldn’t be Icedagger’s problem. He didn’t gain anything by meddling with mortals before, so why should he now? He could have left you and continued his walk without looking back, like how he did to the other creatures that had departed this physical plane by his power without acknowledgement of it. Icedagger could just walk away, yet something about you that made him halt his pace. No, he wouldn’t call it a glimpse of pity, maybe it was something else. Amusement? Curiosity? Or maybe it was simply mild annoyance out of the blue. Even Icedagger was a victim of his own swallow emotions, how laughable

• In the end, Icedagger surrendered. If any of his siblings ever dared to observed him from afar and witnessed the fact he just scooped up a mortal from the snow in his arms, he knew he would never hear the end of it. Honestly though, he gotta gave you a bare minimum of the credit. If his memory served him right, you were in his main territory — the entire region of Blackrock is his territory, but this specific part is the main one — which was probably far away from your original home, enough to make anyone wince. To what did you stumble into this place? Out of pure stupidity, or was there something else deeper? Damn him for being curious, yet he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t born with a gift of a medic, so he did try his best to somewhat sustain your life. Trust him, he tried, somewhat

• The moment you woke up, you were still feeling the chill running down your spine, but seemed like your temperature had been moderated to a balanced point so that you wouldn’t die right away like earlier. And to top it up, you saw him. He hadn’t left just yet since the last bit of decent empathetic feeling was trying to ground himself down until he made sure you have been saved. And well, you definitely didn’t recognize the person in front of you to be one of the feared SFOTH deities. As annoying as that made Icedagger sulked, he had that coming. He had been isolated himself long enough for time to bury the last remain of his existence in the mortal’s mind after all, so he had expected your lack of manners as well as tried to excuse it. You were still young after all, and he wasn’t petty enough to hold it against the likes of you. At least you were able to stand up again without collapsing, a relief, he’d say if he had to

• Though he might just regret saving you. Because then all of the sudden you kept bugging him like you have no common sense when it comes to strangers. Sure, he helped you, and that was it. And now you expected him to stay? For what? Was this what Venomshank meant when he said that rescued animals will sometimes cling onto you like a tail? Are mortals always like this? How could his siblings even endure this nonsense? Icedagger genuinely wanted to brush you off and fly away. He wasn’t awakened enough to deal with this. But damn him for that too, because Icedagger was still rather somnolent to the point that he just didn’t have the strength to get himself out of this position with you holding onto his cloak. It was a weak grip, but hell, he didn’t even feel like struggling at that time. For the icy heart of his, what had he gotten himself into? Just treat it as another weird dream, as he would say to himself when finally agreed to entertain your childish behavior for a mere moment

• Icedagger didn’t know what to expect. He hadn’t interact with mortals before after this long, so he couldn’t really understand you. Deities and mortals are different in that aspect of unable to fully understand each other after all, and Icedagger himself fully committed to that fact. You just met him a few minutes ago, yet here you are, following him around while talking about something that he couldn’t hear fully due to his lack of interest for such trivial matters. And not to mention the question you had for him too: Who is he? Why is he here? Does he live here? What color does he like? Gosh, it was endless. Sometimes he would nod to play along to mask the fact that he was counting every minutes of nonexistent seconds in hope that you would stop soon. And even when you stopped, you still followed him like a lost puppy. You were definitely a lost case. If you were to be even more stubborn than you had already showed him, then Icedagger might actually have to pray under his own name for his sake

• He expected you to give up soon when he didn’t answer you for more than a couple of short sentences, most of those who had crossed paths with him always surrender their attempts to try to interest Icedagger in a conversation for more than five minutes anyway. To melt the sculpture of everlasting ice just by a little match within a day wasn’t a task someone would have the patience to do. But then if he was to comparing you to a tiny match, that wouldn’t do justice to the item itself. Hell, you were definitely a flamethrower, much to his annoyance. Icedagger wouldn’t be the type that you could call as kind or merciful, but he was like ice itself. To call someone who was just cold ‘cruel’ wasn’t doing their personality the justice it deserved. Ice was never cruel in nature to begin with, it is just cold. Just staying there, doing nothing while shooing people away by its coldness. Icedagger had successfully isolated himself from the rest his kin by that. And yet despite all of that, you just couldn’t seem to take the hint that he had given out which just screamed ‘Leave me alone’ in subtle. He was being somewhat nice, mind you

• He had intentionally shoo you away. But Icedagger had never shouted at you to get away from him with full volume like his sister. He lacked that intensity of raw emotions, as you mortals would call it as such. Still, Icedagger still tried to make an effort in a passive aggressive way. In which he complained to you directly on how you just bragged into his territory without a warning, and here you were. Did he tell you directly to leave him alone? Yes. Did you leave him like he wished? Sadly, no. He tried to drop you somewhere and just moved on with his monotonous life, yet you always managed to get on his nerves with your wailing, which dragged his attention to where he had left you all over again. Even Icedagger couldn’t even explain why couldn’t he just get away from this insufferable child even when the last thing he wanted was for someone to walk into his life and just stayed there. At this point, he wholeheartedly gave up

• Even when the night had fallen and he had made you to return to your home, even walked you out of his territory to your town to bid you a farewell message, the very next day you would still show up in the same place where he first saved you patiently. Icedagger’s stroll schedule was rather inconsistent due to how he would just lose all of his energy and slept for days, but when you found out what you were doing? Icedagger found a new motivation to snap out of his slumber to try to drag you out of his area. As comical as that sounded, please understand that even Darkheart’s pranks couldn’t get Icedagger out of his cave no matter how much he tried. That meant you were definitely special, in your own whimsical way. It even resulted in him chasing you around while you were laughing your heart out as if this was nothing but a fun game of catch for you. Yes, he could just ignore you and left you to freeze to death because of your stubbornness as a punishment, but something kept making him go all of his way to check up on you. Why was it that he had such interesting complications going on in his mind when he first met you? No one could answer that question, not even the physical manifestation of fate itself

• Days after days, hours after hours, Icedagger still tried to entertain you enough so you can just listen to him and go home, while you were still…well, you. Full of life, full of energy like the warm sunshine itself. And Icedagger didn’t even like the sun, yet he managed to stretch his patience out just so he could try and tolerate you. A game of chase like it was mentioned before, a snowball fight which Icedagger had to literally hold back the urge of digging the snow up to sleep there for the rest of the game, a couple rounds of hide and seek when Icedagger could just easily follow your footsteps on the snow to catch you. One game after another, and Icedagger had somehow gotten used to it to the point that if you were to sulk and wanted to play a completely new game rather than the old ones, he would bring his own ability to come up with something. Another door to your fascination that was his doom when you kept pestering him to get creative even more

• Iceskating was probably what he managed to keep you busy with most. He knew there was no way that someone could easily do it in the first attempt without hitting their butt against the icy surface, and that should include you too. The whole purpose of the games was to tire you out enough so you wouldn’t have enough strength to protest when he brought you back to your home, and this whole ice skating scheme was to make sure that you would be so occupied with this specific activity to the point that it would stop you from asking him to exhaust his mind with creativity again. It was two birds with one stone. The only downside of it was that you insisted on him teaching you from the baby steps even when he wasn’t really that enthusiastic about the whole thing. After all, he originally just wanted to sit on the sideline and relax while you do your own things. Between exercising physically or exercising creatively, both options didn’t really seem that inviting. But oh well, he had it coming from the start, might as well obliged so you wouldn’t make a fuss about it

• Another thing he had managed to distract your enthusiasm with was solitaire. No, not with cards, sure he was definitely not the most interesting deity to talk to, he wasn’t that basic at all. Icedagger was still a deity, mind you. You don’t really see a deity such as him going around and buy a box of card on his own, especially when he was living alone. One thing you might found to be pretty interesting about Icedagger was the fact that despite not having an intense interest with anything at all — excluding you, but it wasn’t really an ‘intense interest’ because he only found you to be annoyingly interesting for the very first time in his life, it wasn’t something too ‘intense’ in traditional words — he oddly had a fondness with ice sculpting. He would do so just to kill the time with all the sizes, though his preference was still the small ones so they wouldn’t take too much spaces of his living area. Each sculptures were handled with upmost care to make up for the fact he had procrastinated the process for who knows how long. A small bunny, a little dragon, a tiny moth…All originated from his everlasting glacier

• The sculptures would be replacing the cards in this game of solitaire. How so? Icedagger had this way to explain things to you later. After all, the more he made it pleasantly complicated for you to understand, the more he could get you to pipe down to stimulate your brain. It would be good for you too, since playing solitaire can offer mental benefits like improved memory or focus, while also providing a relaxing and enjoyable way to pass the time. Not to mention the strategic gameplay of it. Now that Icedagger had replaced the cards with his sculptures, it would make things even more fascinating for you to take part in. Icedagger had always played that game alone to pass the time, he didn’t expect to be the one who would watch another player play from an opposite side. He wouldn’t say he had expected this soon in the near millennia, but so far, Icedagger didn’t really hate the feeling of teaching someone else but him. Maybe you — a stubborn child — had managed to make it somewhat better, it seemed

• His idle monochromatic peace was definitely disturbed by your appearance in his life. Yet this disturbance wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. Hell, you even considered him a ‘friend’. Icedagger had thought that word would never exist in his dictionary at the first place. Friend with a mortal, sounded like something Firebrand would say to him. It was less of a dramatic effect when Darkheart shared his own advice of him should befriend a slumbering snail instead, but still, those were equally absurd. A mortal who was barely an outstanding kid, there was nothing worth the gaze of a deity like him in the beginning of this whole thing between you and him. But maybe you were the slumbering snail that Darkheart had mentioned. It was an idiotic comparison, Icedagger was aware, yet that was the only explanation he had on how did you even manage to be this stubborn to be friend with him. For once he had gotten back his motivate to do something else rather than just sulked in the corner of his domain, all thanks to you, the stubborn child that was more of an enigma than he was

• There was time that Icedagger had asked you on that subject too. Surely there must be mortals your age that would be your friends, no? Yet you seemed to avoid his question at this specific topic of forming friendship with the Inphernals at your town. Icedagger could literally feel the mood shifting just by bringing that up. Of course, Icedagger wouldn’t really be the type to be fixated on getting an answer out of you for the sake of his low-functional curiosity. If you wanted to stay silence, then he respected your wish to not push any further. He could leave his territory to investigate the case himself, but then that wouldn’t be the Icedagger that you knew, but an imposter. He tried beyond his limits to get out of his self-isolation to hang out with you in his main territory, but to go out of it into a place with other living beings? You were definitely asking too much. This was the boundary that Icedagger shall not cross for the sake of his own comfort. You did mention just how it felt like you were stepping into a dream land to meet him, that this was like a fun dream to escape reality. Such interesting view for a kid, but you did have a point

• Whether it would take a while for you to gather up the effort of telling him of what had been troubling you or you would just spill the tea without a second thought, the decision to be made was purely yours. But in the end, you did tell him about your own situation within your own town. How you were being picked on by your peers to the point that you just ran away from them then got lost in his territory at the first place. The bullies were mean, saying all those rude things as well as made sure that you wouldn’t make any new friends as long as they were there. It was a natural circulation, if Icedagger had to admit. The strong shall rise while the weak somber, as such was how life itself worked. Though would he interfere? Not quite, it wasn’t really his thing to do all those heroic stuff. He would listen to you though, like always. Maybe gave you a few advice of trying to stand up for yourself while he was doing it. The weak couldn’t survive in this world by being weak, they had to find a solution to survive at all cost in any ways possible. He would encourage you to beat those kids back with a monotonous resting face, and somehow you knew he was actually serious about it. As long as you won or whatever, it was your attempt, not his

• Staying with Icedagger for long enough would grant you quite the great deal of philosophical viewpoints that you might have never heard before. Just judging on his character alone might stimulate your curiosity on how did he even become like that. Well, it was more of a natural thing since his existence as long ago as he could possibly remember, but if there was one thing that Icedagger would have said to back up this monochromatic personality of his was how he realized those lessons of himself and the world around him. Some might be too much for a kid like you to be able to understand, some could be explained in a less complicated manner if he made an effort. But overall, he would suggest you not to keep all of his lesson to heart and just treated it like story time for fun mostly. Icedagger had his reason, so you should just listen to him without question why in the first place

• A typical fact about Icedagger that you might have noticed was how he always carried a blanket outside whenever he went out on a walk to hang out with you. Based on how he looked sleepy for most of the time he was around you, you might guess that maybe he was like a bear that loved hibernation a bit too much. Honestly Icedagger would go on a rant to explain why was he like this to you, but he soon figured out that he should just let you keep that silly thought of yours rather than explaining in depths how sleeping was a good way to kill the time without the need to pay any effort to anything around him since he had lost all of the interest in reaching out for new connection on his own for the time being. He did try to be awake when you were there though. Sometimes he would give you the blanket if you were feeling too cold. Though you did have his blessing that allowed you to endure the cold better, you were still a mortal. As long as you didn’t tear his blanket in half or anything similar, you were good to pass

• With how you constantly talked about this new friends of yours after your adventure in the deep snowy wood at the outskirt of your town, the people that heard your stories might just assume that your vivid imagination had created this version of an imaginary friend with all these colorful details. No matter how much you tried to convince the folks that Icedagger was real, they didn’t really seem to take you seriously at all. Especially how Icedagger had made it clear that he wouldn’t leave his place at all, as he felt bounded there and had gotten used to it by now. It had definitely bothered you, that was for sure. But in Icedagger’s effort to keep a low profile, he suggested that it might be a good thing because if too many people know about his existence, it would be a hassle because then you would have to share you ‘best friend’ — your words, not his — to other people, and then he would be too busy to even pay attention to you. Safe to say that it did convince you. Children were easier to talk sense to than adults, Icedagger knew it mainly because of you

• All those times of spending most of your childhood with this mysterious yet magical friend of yours had definitely been a memorable experience. And even when Icedagger wouldn’t allow himself to say it directly in front of your face, he felt the same way too. He had been alone for if not most of his life after discovering just the philosophy of the world which he held against his frosty heart for dear life as he lived under it this entire time. You were definitely a flaw in his original calculation that had distorted the dull harmony he had tried to maintain this whole time. Who knew what he actually thought? Hell, even he couldn’t give you the clear answer. Yet one thing that Icedagger would say was how much you have been a good memory in his mind. All those games, all those silly little things you said or did, all those years of staying around him - even when to him, it was just a short period of time within a blink of an eye, you made it as if time had slowed down so the both of you could just live in the moment for once. And it meant quite a lot to him. But then Icedagger had noticed something out of the ordinary

• You were slowly, yet steadily, growing up. He had totally forgot the fact that you were a mortal, that this aging process was a normal thing to your kin. The unexpected realization hit when you suddenly gotten taller as time flew by. You were no longer the pipsqueak that was shorter than him, but then you started to grow taller like a spout climbing out of the snow for survival purposes. But he knew that it wasn’t how you were trying to adapt to whatever the environment you were residing at. His suspicion was confirmed even more as he noticed the naive tone of what was used to be a childish manner of yours was starting to become rather more responsible. Icedagger knew it. You were growing up. You were changing. He always reminded himself that nothing lasted forever, yet when it came to you, he almost forgot the entire thing - which explained why it had caught him so off guard. As if he could feel a major change approach. And changes had never really been his liking

• Yet Icedagger had mentally prepared himself before things would get too sudden. For a good while, he was preparing overnight for a gift dedicated to you, something that might be out of character for him to do especially when you had grown up beside him up until this point. Out of the blue, during that one time you two were still hanging out like usual, Icedagger suddenly gifted you a thing he called ‘lucky charm’ that was crafted from the same eternal glacier of his which he used to carve those sculptures. He knew you would like it, he knew you would wear it without a second thought. But he also knew that you didn’t know it was a parting gift that awaited for the unexpected future Icedagger had foreseen. During that time, he was still keeping that secret shut without mentioning it even once while you were still overjoyed with the gift he had made for you. At least then it would be a memento that would allow you to feel better during your hardship

• From a child to a teenager, you started to show up less to the meeting spot despite how it used to be a part of your daily schedule. Icedagger still made his effort to stay at the same place, waiting for you even when you were obviously absent that day. He did wait, until time was up, and he would return to his domain once again. He knew you were starting to forget about him. As much as the thought left a bitter taste on his tongue, he knew that this outcome was inevitable. Yet he still tried to fulfill this act of the play which would be served in your memory core as much as he could physically. From a teenager to an adolescence, Icedagger started to stop coming to the meeting spot as he did his calculations on how busy life must have gotten to you to the point that he barely saw you for weeks. When you came back to him, he could see the clear change in your expression. It was different than how he remembered you to look like. And he could definitely tell the confusion that presented on your face when sometimes you didn’t even know why did you come here in the first place. That marked the day Icedagger decided to retreat from your life as he had done his part. From an adolescence to an adult, you didn’t even come back at all

• You have completely grown up and moved on from your past memories of a mere imaginary friend that stepped out of your wild imagination. Most people could barely remember their childhood anyway, so you might just let it go like the rest of them so that you could walk your own path to see and experience the real world on your own. In another word, you had abandoned this piece of sweet dream and woke up to reality. Meanwhile, Icedagger had lost his motivation to go out again ever since you let your inner child go. He was back to where he was again, all alone with no actual interest in anything. Don’t think that he will recover quickly since in a deity’s eye, mortal is but a grain of sand in the eternal life of his. He will mourn you a little, but then he will discard the grief aside as he has always done to go back to that dull life of his like normal. The only difference is that now he has to live with the memory of a friendship who he might never get to experience again. Even when he is as cold as ice with barely any emotions to understand everything as it is, Icedagger can still be sentimental without showing it, even when he is now completely alone again

• They always left in the end, didn’t they? Nothing ever last forever, but the memories that have soon became a mere reflection of what he used to have shall stay in his cold embrace once more as he slumber himself to live in the past of somewhere no one knows. Icedagger has forgotten why did he feel so disconnected with his surroundings, even with his own peers, until now. Ice will melt when something warm comes into contact with it, but then what to do with the leftovers of said attempt of connection? It will take time before the puddle of water to be formed back into ice again, but things will never be the same. Nothing has ever stayed the same after all. The only comfort he can cling onto to soothe this unexplainable weight in his heart is the fact that you have fit into that definition of what he would call a ‘friend’. The first and maybe last friend he will ever have. A dear friend of his, who has woken up out of this melty wonderland to move forward to the unexpected future, while Icedagger is still there in the middle of nowhere. All by himself because of this act of self-isolation he has seek comfort in, all on his own as things have always been like such

• Mythology has it that when Blackrock is about to endure a sudden blizzard out of calculations, it is actually a reflection of a troubled supernatural force’s heart that is projected onto this land during their slumber. Some people is going to use science to get rid of that foolish myth, but some still firmly believes in that childish hope that maybe there existed someone who has the ability that is responsible to Blackrock’s current weather. And maybe, just maybe, you will still keep that little silly piece of ice he craved out for you. A keepsake, a lucky charm, or whatever you call it in the future. Even when you have forgotten him, calling him an ‘imaginary friend’ or never mention him again completely - that is fine too. Wherever you are, whoever you have become, he wishes you a life full of warmth, something he will never get to experience himself. Live with love, with empathy, live and know that you have been nothing but a memorable experience. And he regrets nothing, not at all, as this sweet dream shall live in his mind until time has stopped ticking

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

#phighting x reader #phighting!#x reader #icedagger and reader #phighting icedagger #icedagger phighting #shui mo’s floral tea

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m4rv3l-girl · 7 months ago

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Courting in Bloom

Bucky x Y/N

Bucky is a 40s gentleman, through and through…

Warnings: Heart melting fluff!

The vase of fresh daisies on the windowsill.

It had been refilled just yesterday, another token of affection from Bucky. Your eyes lingered on the delicate petals, still glistening with dew, and you couldn’t help but smile. Since you and Bucky had started dating, flowers had become a staple in your life.

They came in all shapes, colors, and meanings—roses, daisies, tulips, even the occasional bunch of wildflowers. And each time, Bucky would hand them to you with the gentlest smile, sometimes with a shy shrug, as if the gesture didn’t make your heart flip every single time.

It was charming, old-fashioned, and so quintessentially him.

Today’s delivery was a bouquet of peach and pink roses, wrapped in soft brown paper with a ribbon tied at the base. He had arrived at your door late last night, his metal hand carefully holding the bouquet, his human hand tucked into his jacket pocket.

“Did you know these mean ‘gratitude and admiration’?” he had recited, voice soft but proud.

And, of course, your heart had melted on the spot.

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

The next day, you were still admiring the roses when the doorbell rang. Padding across the room in your socks, you opened the door to find Bucky standing there, looking every bit the gentleman in a navy sweater and his favorite leather jacket.

“Morning, Doll,” he greeted, his deep blue eyes lighting up as they met yours. In his hand was another bouquet—this time, a mix of daisies and baby’s breath.

“Bucky,” you laughed, stepping aside to let him in. “Another one? At this rate, I’m going to need more vases.”

His grin was boyish as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple. “Can’t help it, Kitten. You deserve the world, and flowers are just the start.”

The day passed in a cozy rhythm. Bucky had insisted on taking you out for lunch at the little diner down the street, the one that reminded him of home. He told you stories from the ’40s as you shared a milkshake, his face lighting up with nostalgia.

“Back then,” he said, swirling his straw in the glass, “courting was serious business. You didn’t just date—you courted. There were flowers, dances, handwritten letters…” He trailed off, a wistful smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” you teased, though your voice was fond.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe. But if it means making my best girl happy, I’ll take it.”

You raised an eyebrow, resting your chin on your palm as you leaned over the diner table. “Oh yeah? So what else does ‘courting’ entail, Sergeant Barnes? Should I be expecting serenades under my window or maybe a sonnet or two?”

Bucky’s grin widened, and he let out a soft laugh, the sound so warm and genuine it felt like a blanket wrapping around you. “Well, if I could sing worth a damn, I’d be out there with a guitar right now. But poetry…” He leaned back, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “You just might get that. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the Shakespeare book you left on your coffee table last week. I’ve been doing my homework.”

“You’ve been reading Shakespeare?” you asked, incredulous but undeniably charmed.

“Of course,” he replied, smirking. “A guy’s gotta keep up with his girl’s tastes. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?’” He paused for dramatic effect, the smirk shifting into something softer as his gaze locked on yours. “Nah, doesn’t do you justice. You’re more of a spring morning—warm, soft, and full of life.”

The compliment hit you straight in the chest, and you felt your cheeks heat as you reached for your water glass, trying to hide your flustered smile. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, though the warmth in your voice betrayed how much his words had affected you.

“Maybe,” he admitted, still watching you with that fond, unwavering gaze. “But if ridiculous makes you blush like that, Doll, I’ll stick with it.”

You shook your head, biting back a grin. “Okay, Mr. Shakespeare. What else did courting in your day involve? Or are we talking purely sonnets and flowers?”

Bucky hummed, pretending to consider it as he traced patterns on the table with his metal hand. “Let’s see… There were dinners like this one, walks through the park, maybe a movie if we were feeling modern. But it wasn’t just about the gestures. It was about intention. Showing the person you cared, not just saying it.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you reached across the table, your fingers brushing over his. “You’re doing a pretty good job of that, you know.”

His eyes lifted to meet yours, and for a moment, the bustling diner seemed to fade away. The way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the world—made your chest tighten in the best way.

“Well,” he said, his voice dropping to a quiet, almost vulnerable tone, “I meant it when I said you deserve the world. I may not be able to give you that, but I can try my damnedest to make you feel like you have it.”

You squeezed his hand, unable to suppress the smile breaking across your face. “You do, Bucky. Every single day.”

🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷🌷

By the time you got back to your apartment, the sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Bucky had another surprise in store—he’d planned a quiet evening in, complete with a homemade dinner.

You sat on the couch, watching as he moved around the kitchen with surprising ease. He was focused, brows furrowed as he chopped vegetables with precision.

“You know,” you said, breaking the silence, “you don’t have to go to all this trouble for me.”

He glanced over his shoulder, a soft smile playing on his lips. “It’s not trouble, Darling. It’s… what’s the word? A privilege.”

You were leaning your elbow on the counter as you watched him chop the carrots with a surprising precision that would’ve made a professional chef jealous. “A privilege, huh? You really are something else, Barnes. Most guys these days just show up with takeout and call it a night.”

He paused, setting the knife down as he turned to face you, resting his hip against the counter. “Well, I’m not most guys, am I, Doll?” His smile was soft, but there was an unmistakable sincerity in his tone. “I grew up in a time when showing someone you cared meant more than just saying it. Actions speak louder than words. I guess… I like knowing you can see it.”

Your chest tightened at his words, and you couldn’t stop yourself from stepping closer. You reached up, brushing a lock of dark hair back from his forehead. “You know I see it, right? You don’t have to bring me flowers every day or make dinner to prove anything to me. You’ve already got me, Bucky. Completely.”

His gaze softened even further, if that were possible, and his hands found your waist, warm and steady. “I know,” he murmured, his voice low and tender. “But it’s not about proving anything. It’s about reminding you, every chance I get, how much you mean to me. After everything, I don’t take things like this for granted. I don’t take you for granted.”

Your throat tightened, and you felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill. “You’re going to make me cry,” you said, laughing softly as you blinked them away.

Bucky smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Not my intention, Kitten. But if those are happy tears, I’ll take it.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug, and he held you close, his metal arm cool against your back and his human hand warm against your side. The steady beat of his heart under your cheek felt like home.

“Have I told you lately how much I love you?” you whispered, voice muffled against his chest.

“Not since this morning,” he teased, his tone light. Then, softer, “But it’s always nice to hear. I love you too, Darling. More than you’ll ever know.”

You pulled back, tilting your head to look up at him, and he leaned down to kiss you—slow and sweet, like he had all the time in the world. By the time you pulled away, the carrots on the cutting board had been forgotten, and the smell of something slightly overcooking on the stovetop broke the moment.

“Oh no,” you said, laughing as you turned toward the stove. “Your romantic dinner might be in jeopardy.”

Bucky chuckled, his hands still resting lightly on your waist. “Eh, it’s just the carrots. You’re worth a little burnt dinner, Kitten.”

“Careful, Barnes,” you shot back playfully, grabbing a spoon to stir the pot. “Keep talking like that, and I might start expecting burnt meals on the regular.”

“I’ll try to pace myself,” he replied, grinning as he grabbed the knife again. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m not exactly a five-star chef.”

“Lucky for you,” you said, glancing over your shoulder to flash him a smile, “I don’t need fancy. I just need you.”

And with that, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm again—him chopping, you stirring, laughter and light banter filling the kitchen. It was simple, domestic, and perfect in a way that felt almost too good to be true.

The evening ended with the two of you curled up on the couch, the remnants of dinner forgotten on the coffee table. Bucky had one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other holding a small book he’d found on your shelf.

“Do you ever get tired of being so perfect?” you murmured, your voice laced with drowsiness.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your hair. “Perfect? Nah, Doll. Just lucky to have you.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The next morning, you woke to find another bouquet on your bedside table—a mix of sunflowers and daisies, with a little card tucked inside.

To my Darling Y/N, it read. Here’s to another day of making you smile.

And, of course, you did…

——————————————————————————————————

Hope you guys like this sickly sweet one (It was fun to write!) Make sure to leave a comment, or even a request if you liked it! 🫶

Requests Open!

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky fluff #40s bucky barnes #you can’t tell me Bucky wouldn’t want to court you first.

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pininghermit · 8 months ago

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Right Infront of My Salad?

Request: @dreamtogether2000 I was only doing it because I was curious but then I got Obsessed?! Please this with gn reader is everything I love! Go Buck Wild.

AN: First of all what a pick. Second of all, thank you for requesting this. I love writing crack fics especially this one was awesome. I hope you like it. We shall name this the Tropesvania Event- feel free to request

Genre: Fluff

Pairing(s): Adrian Tepes x GN Reader

Summary: Obsessed-gn-drabble

“They are, to put it mildly…” Lisa cringed, glancing into the camera, “obsessed with each other.”

“They’ve lost it. Whatever this is, it’s worse than anything unholy,” Dracula deadpanned, his tone dripping with the resignation of a centuries-old vampire.

Somehow, it had come to this: Dracula and Lisa, dragged onto Dr. Phil, seated stiffly next to their son, Adrian, and you. The root of the chaos.

Yet, the elephant in the room remained unaddressed. And riding triumphantly atop that elephant, entwined as if nothing else in the world existed, were Lisa and Dracula’s beloved son and you.

It had all started innocently enough, during the honeymoon phase of dating. At first, Lisa had found it endearing. Adrian gushing about you had been a breath of fresh air.

Every detail about your smile, your laugh, your favorite book had been recounted with an enthusiasm so pure it melted even Dracula’s icy heart.

Lisa had helped Adrian pick out the right outfits, thoughtful gifts, and conversation topics to avoid awkward silences. Dracula had joined in too, bemused by the adorable mess his son had become under the spell of young love.

Then, they met you.

From the moment of that first introduction, you had stormed into Castle Dracula like a burst of spring sunlight, your chaotic energy scattering the stoic gothic gloom.

Supper, once a quiet affair for three, transformed into a nightly event for four. The castle seemed warmer, brighter—alive. Though neither parent would admit it, there were moments they almost welcomed the change.

It was as if the wintery gloom of their home had been replace with fistfuls of spring shoved up ever nook of the castle.

But young love is nothing if not overwhelming.

Catching the two of you making out had been amusing at first, Dracula turning a delicate shade of crimson and retreating with an indignant swoosh of his cape.

But the charm wore thin quickly. After exactly twenty-three incidents of stumbling upon you in her lab, Lisa’s patience finally snapped.

And yet, here you were.

“I love you,” you giggled, nestled against Adrian, your hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate, the matching rings on your fingers glinting in the firelight.

Across the room, Lisa and Dracula watched from the couch, their expressions somewhere between weariness and acceptance, as Adrian’s face lit up to match yours. “I love you more,” he replied earnestly, leaning in closer.

“Noooo,” you drawled, sticking your tongue out at him playfully. “I love you more.”

Adrian pressed a kiss to your cheek, his golden eyes brimming with adoration. “I love you more than anything.”

Lisa saw Dracula’s face turn a distinct shade of green. Whether it was from the sweetness of the hot chocolate or the relentless PDA, she couldn’t say.

The count excused himself abruptly, clearing his throat as both parents caught sight of Adrian’s hand slipping under the blanket.

A single day. Adrian had been gone for one day to retrieve an ancient tome.

It had been an ordeal pulling him away, his golden eyes darting anxiously between you and the door as he nodded solemnly to your endless instructions about his health. To Lisa’s surprise, you had smiled and sent him off with a merry wave.

It unsettled both parents when you slammed the door shut immediately afterward only for your composure to crumble into pieces.

“I miss him,” you whimpered, staring forlornly at the cracks in the stone floor. “However shall I endure this?” you sobbed, burying your face in your arms.

For hours, you parked yourself by the door, refusing to move, before embarking on a grieving tour of the castle. Every room bore witness to your dramatic laments as you sprawled across tables, sighed mournfully in hallways, and flopped listlessly onto chairs.

Lisa and Dracula followed at a safe distance, watching in silent horror. By the end of the day, Lisa questioned her son’s doting nature, and Dracula could only mutter, “I'm too old for this Lisa.”

When Adrian finally returned, all hell broke loose.

You bolted toward him the moment the doors opened, nearly tripping over the carpet in your haste to reach him. Lisa and Dracula stood frozen in place, watching the soap opera that Castle Dracula had somehow become unfold before their eyes.

But it wasn’t the excessively affectionate reunion that left them speechless. It wasn’t even your tearful declarations of love or Adrian’s matching intensity.

It was the bold black ink scrawled across Adrian’s arm.

Your name. Permanently tattooed, proud and unashamed.

The sight left the family in stunned silence, each member processing the revelation in their own way.

For Lisa, it was an emotional breakdown, complete with head-in-hands groaning. For Dracula, it was a mental and spiritual crisis, punctuated by a mumbled, “By all the dark powers… what has he done?”

Meanwhile, the happy couple remained blissfully unaware of the chaos swirling around them, lost in a world that consisted of only each other.

Castle Dracula would never be the same again.

#castlevania #alucard x reader #adrian tepes x reader #hehe #tropevania event #fluff #crackfic #gn reader

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willofthequill · 2 months ago

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The Festival Of Dolls

Welcome back to another adventure in Mouse's Mini-verse! This time the family goes on an outing to the Hinamatsuri Festival !

If you prefer to read it on AO3 click here !

WC: 2600+

Summary: It is the day of the Hinamatsuri Festival, also known as Girls Day. Mouse is excited for food, Sukuna is craving sake, Monkey is watching everything and you're just trying to go with the flow. AKA a fun family day at a spring festival.

AN: To anyone new to my Daddy Duty series- Mouse is Sukuna's two year old daughter. Welcome to Mouse's Mini-verse!

CW: Reader called Mama but not described, family fluff, toddler in the wild, suggestive ending with 'grown up time' a bit more than implied

A/N: We are going to pretend that I did not write about traditions that were started hundreds of years post Heian era… Suspension of disbelief activate!

Heart divider by @strangergraphics All other graphics by me

“Where are we going, Papa?” Mouse asked as she walked holding her father’s pinky.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of them from behind. Your husband, 7’3”, shoulders almost as broad, 4 arms, mountain of a man walking with a pink hair little pixie dressed in an equally pink kimono and pink kutsu shoes, holding his little finger with her whole fist, skipping beside him.

She looked up at the man they called a monster like he hung to sun and moon. Like her Papa made the very stars themselves. Such a Papa’s Girl.

“We are going to a Hinamatsuri festival,” he answered.

“But what it for?” Mouse asked, curious as ever.

“It’s a festival to celebrate girls. This is the festival that will have kyoto-bina like the ones you got when you were born,” you further explained.

“You will not touch these ones either, Mouse,” Sukuna looked down at her with one of the eyes on the side of his face.

“I promise, Papa!” she gave a cheesy grin up at him. She looked behind and gave you the same grin. “Make sure Monkey knows not to touch it too, okay Mama?”

“Monkey, no touching anything,” you said, glancing down at the baby in a wrap on your chest.

He gave you a drooly grin. You smiled as you wiped his chubby little face. He definitely had his father’s features, including having 4 eyes (minus the bone deformation), but he had your hair and eye color.

You knew it was traditional to wear the baby on your back, but you felt better with him on your front. You were already used to people staring and gawking, so what was one more thing for them to look at if it was what made you feel comfortable? Besides, if he was on your back, you would miss out on the cute little faces he made as he discovered the world around him.

“Papa, what we do at the Hina-mad-sushi party?” Mouse paused to pick up a rock.

“It’s Hinamatsuri Festival. No more rocks, Mouse. That’s your 10th today,” Sukuna said with exasperation.

“But Papa, look!” she excitedly pointed out another rock and started to try to drag him towards it.

Sukuna let go of her hand and caught the back of her kimono as she instantly tried to flee, lifting her up into his arms. “We will see Momo in their first bloom and I will enjoy sake.��

“Why I no get sake?” Mouse asked, cocking her head slightly to the side.

“Because little girls cannot have alcohol.”

“But it girls day?” she replied, pressing her lips together as she looked into her father’s face.

“You’ll get plenty of sweets and treats,” you chimed in, distracting her from talk of sake.

Mouse squealed happily and hugged Sukuna’s neck before sitting back on his arm to grab his face in her hands. “Papa!”

“What now, Mouse?” You could tell he was dreading whatever the next question would be, but he held her gaze.

“What we gonna eat first?”

Sukuna grinned from ear to ear. “I think we shall start with hichigir i and then hishimoch i.”

“I want Sakura mochi!” Mouse cheered, throwing her hands in the air excitedly.

“We need to find some hina arare for Monkey too,” you reminded them.

Sukuna slowed slightly and shifted Mouse to his upper arm. He reached out the hand on his lower arm to tangle his fingers with yours. He glanced down at you with a soft gaze. “And ichigo daifuku for my precious one.”

The whole town was stunning in appearance as it came alive for the festival. Buildings were decorated in vibrant colors and there were delicious foods as far as the eyes could see. Mouse and Sukuna wasted not even a second before diving into the food options and eating their fill. You happily ate your ichigo daifuku and tried bites of everything they excitedly described to you and offered while Monkey slept against your chest.

After enjoying the food selections, Sukuna stated he needed to acquire something while you were in town. Knowing Mouse as you do, you knew that standing in place for any amount of time was akin to torture for your daughter. Not wanting to deal with a melt down in public, you looked around and found your destination.

Before you began walking, you adjusted the now awake and aware Monkey so that he was upright and could look around. Mouse and you both giggled at how all 4 of his eyes became as large as kozara as he took in the colors and people. It was sometimes startling just how intelligent his gaze was. He turned back and looked at you, cocking his head to the side for a moment and then giving you a giant drooly smile, placing an equally drool covered hand on your cheek.

“Thanks, Monkey,” you shook your head with a laugh, using a hankie you had tucked away to wipe your face.

“Him licked you with his hand!” Mouse giggled.

“That is definitely an interesting interpretation of what just happened.” Mouse came up with the most random things, never failing to make you smile.

“Can I do that to Papa?” she asked, taking your hand as you began to move.

“I would not recommend it.”

“What about Urau-rau?”

“Not if you want to live to see another day,” you snorted softly in amusement. Not even Sukuna would be able to stop Uraume in that situation. “Let’s go with not doing it to anyone.”

“Boooooring,” Mouse huffed and pretended to deflate. You really appreciated her father teaching her that word. Not.

You walked over to where the hinadan was set up, filled to the brim with beautiful, handcrafted Hina dolls. You and Mouse spent a good amount of time pointing out to each other different sets of dolls that caught your eyes while Monkey babbled and played with your hair.

Sukuna returned to your side, smirking when he saw Monkey was up. Monkey laughed happily when he saw his Papa and then hid his face in your chest like he was shy. Mouse, as per usual went running to Sukuna as fast as she could, laughing freely with her head thrown back as Sukuna caught her and put her on his shoulder.

“Papa made me big like him!” Mouse said, hugging Sukuna’s head. “Papa! Take us to the pretty flowers now, please and thank you!”

“Why should I?” he asked, turning his head slightly and the two eyes on deformed side of his face shifting up to look at her.

“Because it’s Girls Day. That means you have to listen to me,” she stated, ignoring his glare and pointing towards the bright flowers. “That way, Papa! Please and thank you!”

“Watch it, brat. I haven’t eaten in a long time,” he warned.

Your shoulders shook as you suppressed laughter as Sukuna headed in the direction Mouse had pointed. You followed behind listening to them go back and forth with a smile on your face. It only took about 10 feet for Sukuna to realize you were not trying to catch up. With an annoyed huff and an almost offended look on his face, he reached out his hand for yours and interlocked your fingers before he started walking again.

You were well aware that Sukuna would rather have his nose hairs ripped out individually than admit that holding your hand was as much for himself as it was for you. You did not protest his hold at all. You loved the simple act of holding his hand and it would be unfitting to have the King of Curses walking around pouting.

Your heart fluttered once again at the wonderful feeling of knowing that your husband needed and craved your touch just as badly and constantly as you did his. You gave his hand a squeeze and smiled up at him as you began to keep pace with him.

The orchard filled with blossoming peach trees was a breathtaking sight. The bright pink and white blossoms covered the branches of trees as far as the eye could see. The sky and clear blue sky were the perfect backdrop. It was peaceful. Serene. Not unlike the garden at your home. Maybe you could convince Sukuna to let you plant some of these

You looked up at Sukuna and smiled as he put a fallen blossom behind Mouse’s ear, making her giggle and hug his head again. Another blossom fell and Mouse managed to catch it in her hands. She giggled and pointed at you. “Papa, Mama needs one! This one! Put it in her hair too, please and thank you!”

You chuckled as he gave a dejected sigh and did as she said. But the gentleness in his eyes and the way he brushed his thumb over your cheek before he cupped it showed just how wholly it was drivel. He was just as madly in love as you were, even after all these years, and you knee it. He looked at your lips and softly said your name followed by the word, “Beautiful.”

“You better knock it off. We are in public and with our children,” you said, blushing.

“I think it’s time we left,” he smirked at you, his eyes had a heat in them as he looked at your lips again.

As if on queue, Mouse let out a loud yawn and leaned against her father’s head, wrapping her arms around his throat. Though still awake you could hear the tired whine setting into her voice. “I not ready to go.. I just rest here, please and thank you, Papa?”

Sukuna pulled her off his shoulder, ignoring the noise of protest she made so he could hold her in his arms more easily if she fell asleep. “It’s time to head home, Mouse. We’ve got a long walk to go.”

“I too tired, Papa. My feet will fall off. Let's just stay here, please and thank you, Papa,” Mouse tried a different angle, cuddling into the warmth and strength of her father and looking up at him with giant pleading eyes.

“If your feet fall off… Does that mean I can eat them?” Sukuna flashed his sharp teeth and tickled her leg with his long nails.

“No, Papa! Don’t eat my toes!” Mouse giggled, kicking her feet. She fisted the material of his kimono in her hands and buried her face in it.

You couldn’t help but be amused at the horrified looks of the judgemental peasants standing within hearing range of you all. They knew who Sukuna was, and the fools were unsure if it was a joke or a threat. Which was honestly fair with your husband’s history, diet and proclivities.

The judgement and staring had started the moment you all arrived and you were well aware that their narrowed gazes would trail after you until your forms disappeared from their line of sight. After several years with Sukuna, their whispers no longer sounded like screams. Now it sounded more akin to bugs buzzing in the summer heat. A truly fitting analogy for the gossiping gussies.

The moon was high in the sky but the time Mouse and Monkey were both asleep. Tuna, as per usual, crashed out with them held hostage in Mouse’s arms. Uraume doing whatever it was Uraume did. You and Sukuna went to sit on the engawa for a few moments alone. He set aside his tea and pulled you closer to him so he could wrap his arms around you. Another hand turned up your chin and he kissed you several times before pulling away.

You pouted at his retreat until he pulled a package out from the hidden pocket inside his black haori. You cocked your head to the side as he set it in your hands. “What’s this?”

“If you open it you will answer your own question, precious one,” he said in a teasing tone, kissing your cheek before leaning backwards and resting on the palms of his bottom two hands.

With a bemused look on your face you carefully unwrapped the package. Your jaw fell open and your eyes filled with tears. Sukuna was truly such a thoughtful person to those he loved…

You had smiled as you placed the Hina dolls Sukuna had bought for Mouse on the hindan. Their beautiful and ornately embroidered clothing was unlike anything you had ever seen.. “These are perfect. Mouse is going to love them. I only wish I had my own to add here with hers like many families do.”

“Did you never have them?” Sukuna had asked, learning against the wall, arms crossed and watching you.

“I did. The empress was adorned in greens and black with a beautiful silver Fengguan while the emperor was the opposite with a silver Ritsuiōkan to match his wife,” you remembered fondly. “The night they killed my parents and burned my home to the ground my dolls were destroyed. I am glad we will never allow something like this to happen to our Mouse.”

The dolls in your hand were so similar to the ones you had had in your youth, but honestly they were even more beautiful and more ornate. They were truly stunning. The empress’s Jūnihitoe was rich shades of green while her kimono and hakama were black. She had a beautiful silver fengguan with several small black and green stones in it. The emperor’s ikkan sokutai was a rich green with black designs embroidered on it like a pattern and a Ritsuiōkanthat matched his wife’s.

Sukuna’s thoughtfulness once again had your heart going into overdrive. You set the dolls aside, giving him a little grin before launching yourself at him, catching him off guard and managing to take him down. You grinned as he laid flat against the engawa on his back beneath you as you sat now straddling his hips. You leaned over and nipped at his bottom lip.

His large hands moved to your hips, pressing you down against him. He gave you a lazy, cocky grin. “I take it I did well?”

You looked down at him, one hand braced on his broad, muscular chest. The other hand reached up and removed the comb from your hair, letting it fall down freely around you. You placed that hand on his chest as when you finished and sucked in your lower lip. You leaned down and ghosted a kiss across his lips before nipping and pulling at his bottom lip again. You felt his hands gripping you firmer as they moved further back to grope your rear.

You pressed a kiss to the shell of his ear. “What do you think?”

In less time than it took to blink, you found yourself now flat on your back staring up into your husband’s handsome face. His hands moved to the belt on his robe as he took you in, sliding it off his shoulders as you took your time blatantly checking him out. He still wore his hakama pants, but your hands eagerly and greedily reached out to touch his tanned, contoured flesh.

“I think I did well,” he said, leaning lower. His mouth went straight to your throat, mouthing up the column of your neck and sucking marks into your flesh as he went until he reached your ear. He nipped and tugged at the bottom lobe, enjoying the small noise you couldn’t hold back.

“But I am not finished yet, far from it. I’ve got something else to give to you too, precious one. So just sit back…” His mouth moved to your neck and you felt his teeth drag down your skin. “Just sit back, my precious one, and relax. Just take what I give you.”

And that was exactly what you did.

#mouse's mini-verse #dad sukuna #soft sukuna #dilf sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #WOTQ fics

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silverseaming · 1 month ago

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Dear Aunt Winifred,

Do you remember how as a child I used to wait for the first crocuses of Spring, impatiently tramping over the lawn each morning after the snow had melted? Lately I have found myself back in the same habit, and now I can finally say that the first flower has appeared! The snow has been gone for several weeks, but it was only this morning that I saw petals peeking up from the grass by the henhouse, and all the childish excitement came rushing back to me.

All of this is to say that Spring has arrived, and with it my good spirits. I find it so much easier to be cheerful in the sunshine than in the snow! To me it seems that the Winter darkness lasted longer than ever, but that may have been somewhat due to the self-imposed winter I had been keeping inside me. The slow emergence of new life in the world around has somehow brought hope, instead of sadness. I like to think of it as a reminder that life continues, and can spring up in the most unexpected of corners.

While I don’t have any good news this month either, I have found the strength to try not to dwell on my disappointment. Instead I have resolved to make myself useful -- there is much to be done, and as you always say, the Devil makes work for idle hands! With Daisy to look after I certainly do not have idle hands. Every day she seems to be able to run faster, and to talk more. I look at her running around and marvel that only two years ago she was a tiny babe in my arms, barely larger than a sack of flour.

Kit has taken on a pet lamb from Zachariah Miller, as they have had an illness in their flock, and Daisy is just besotted! She’s named him ‘Snowball’, and I have an almost impossible job separating them. More often than not Daisy ends the day smelling like the farmyard. I suppose I should be grateful that Snowball keeps her occupied, and is much more tolerant of her constant pestering than the chickens.

Talking of my husband, do you recall my telling you that he had gone into business with a Mr. Fred Allen, who’s running an export company out of Rockland? Well, Mr. Allen seems to have taken an interest in Kit, and the two of them have struck up a friendship. Quite against Kit’s will, I’m sure -- if he had his way he’d hide away from all society with his horses (and his wife, I hope) -- but he’s warming to it. I certainly think it’s doing him good to expand his social horizons, and the best thing is that it’s expanding my social horizons too. Mr. Allen has invited us to a party he and his wife are giving for those involved with the Lermond’s Cove Company. It was my good luck that I was there to accept before Kit could make any excuses!

The appointed date isn’t for a few weeks yet, but I find myself quite unreasonably excited already. I suppose that speaks to how little we have been attending any sort of social event since taking Maple Farm -- or even since our marriage. It certainly feels like a long time since I have had cause to dress up for anything other than church. I shall have to take my old pink silk to Mrs Miller and see if she can work any of her magic on it, as I suspect it’s in dire need of brightening up.

Please tell me all is well with you and Uncle Thomas, that you’re not too lonely after Josie’s wedding. I think of you all as I watch Daisy grow, and how much she would love to run around at Rook’s Rest. I know every time I write I promise to come back, but we never seem to find the right time to leave the farm. I won’t say that Daisy will not have siblings, but I would so love for her to meet all her cousins before too long. Consider that my promise that we will come soon, and I shall put my best effort into keeping it.

As always you have my love in abundance, and I look forward to your next letter.

Your loving,

Meg

#ts4 historical #decades challenge #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 #ts4 #sims story #ts4 legacy #sims 4 legacy #simblr #calloways #calloways 1890s #meg calloway #kit calloway #daisy calloway #fred allen

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covenofvenus · 4 months ago

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🌸The History of the Magic of Spring🌸

Greetings fellow seekers of the arcane,

As the spring season is now upon us, let's delve into all of the mystical tapestries of spring, a season that has long been revered in occult and metaphysical traditions for its potent symbolism, transformative energy, and profound connection to the cycles of life, death, and rebirth.

As we explore its numerological significance, associated deities, spirits, colors, and herbs, we shall also draw upon the wisdom of the great Renaissance magician, Cornelius Agrippa, to illuminate its deeper occult meanings.

The Occult and Metaphysical Significance of Spring

Spring is the season of renewal, a time when the Earth awakens from its winter slumber and bursts forth with life. In the grand wheel of the year, spring represents the Maiden aspect of the Triple Goddess—youth, innocence, and the promise of new beginnings. It is a time of balance, as the vernal equinox marks the moment when day and night are of equal length, symbolizing harmony between light and dark, masculine and feminine, and the seen and unseen worlds.

Metaphysically, spring is associated with the element of Air, the realm of thought, renewal, change, communication, innovation and inspiration. It is a time to plant seeds—not only in the soil but also in our minds and spirits. The energy of spring is one of expansion, creativity, and the breaking of old patterns to make way for new growth. This season invites us to align ourselves with the rhythms of nature, to shed the stagnation of winter, and to embrace the vitality of life force energy that flows abundantly during this time.

Numerology of Spring

In numerology, spring resonates with the number 3, a sacred number that embodies creativity, manifestation, and the divine trinity. The number 3 is often associated with the Maiden, Mother, and Crone; the past, present, and future; and the mind, body, and spirit. It is a number of synthesis and harmony, reflecting the balance of the equinox and the triadic nature of spring’s energy: growth, renewal, and transformation.

The number 3 also corresponds to the planet Jupiter, which governs expansion, abundance, and optimism—qualities that are deeply aligned with the spirit of spring. In magical workings, the energy of the number 3 can be harnessed to amplify intentions related to creativity, fertility, and new beginnings.

🌸Western, Eastern, South American & Indigenous Deities and Spirits of Spring

Spring is ruled by a pantheon of deities and spirits who embody its themes of rebirth, fertility, and renewal globally & culturally.

African American Traditions and Spring

African American spiritual practices, which often blend African ancestral traditions with Christian, Indigenous, and Caribbean influences, hold spring as a time of profound spiritual significance. The season’s themes of rebirth, resilience, and liberation resonate deeply within African American culture, reflecting both the struggles and triumphs of the community. In the tradition of Hoodoo, a African American folk magic system rooted in African spirituality, spring is a powerful time for rituals of renewal, cleansing, and growth. Hoodoo practitioners often perform spring cleaning rituals, both physically and spiritually, to clear away stagnant energy and invite prosperity.

This might involve sweeping the home with herbs like hyssop or basil, or using Florida Water (a traditional cologne with purifying properties) to cleanse the aura. Spring is also a time for planting roots—both literal and metaphorical. In Hoodoo, roots like John the Conqueror and High John the Conqueror are used in spells for strength, courage, and overcoming obstacles. These roots, planted in the fertile soil of spring, symbolize the resilience and determination of the African American spirit.

Spring is also a time for honoring ancestors in African American traditions. Practices such as setting up ancestor altars with fresh flowers, candles, and offerings of food or drink are common. The ancestors are seen as guides and protectors, and their wisdom is sought during this time of renewal. The blooming of flowers and the return of life to the land are reminders of the enduring presence of those who came before us. For many African Americans, gardening is also not just a practical activity but a spiritual one. The act of planting seeds, tending to the soil, and watching life emerge is a powerful metaphor for resilience and growth. This connection to the Earth is deeply rooted in African traditions, where the land is seen as sacred and imbued with spiritual energy. Spring gardening rituals often include prayers or blessings for the seeds, asking for a bountiful harvest and the blessings of the Earth.

African Traditions and Spring

In many African traditions, spring is celebrated as a time of renewal, fertility, and the return of life-giving rains. The Yoruba people of West Africa, for example, sometimes honor Oshun, the goddess of rivers, love, and fertility, who is often associated with the vitality and beauty of spring. Oshun’s energy is invoked during rituals to bring abundance, healing, and joy. Her sacred colors are yellow and gold, and offerings of honey, oranges, and sunflowers are made to her.

In ancient Egyptian cosmology, spring also aligns with the festival of Sham el-Nessim, which marks the beginning of the spring season and is celebrated with feasts, music, and offerings to the gods. The goddess Isis, who embodies the power of resurrection and renewal, is often honored during this time. Her story of resurrecting Osiris mirrors the themes of death and rebirth that are central to spring.

Indigenous Traditions and Spring

For many Indigenous peoples of the Americas, spring is a time of profound spiritual significance, marked by ceremonies that honor the Earth’s awakening. The Hopi people of the southwestern United States celebrate the Bean Planting Ceremony, a ritual that aligns with the spring equinox and involves prayers for fertility, rain, and a bountiful harvest. The Green Corn Ceremony, practiced by many Indigenous nations, is another springtime ritual that celebrates renewal and purification.

In the Andean traditions of South America, spring is associated with Pachamama, the Earth Mother, who is revered as the source of all life. Offerings of flowers, seeds, and coca leaves are made to her during rituals to ensure her blessings of fertility and abundance. The Inti Raymi, or Festival of the Sun, celebrated by the Inca, marks the winter solstice in the Southern Hemisphere (which aligns with the spring equinox in the Northern Hemisphere) and honors the return of the sun’s life-giving energy.

Latin/Hispanic/South American Traditions and Spring

In Latin America, spring is often celebrated with vibrant festivals that blend Indigenous, African, and Catholic traditions. In Mexico, the arrival of spring is marked by the Festival of Xipe Totec, the Aztec god of renewal and agriculture. Xipe Totec, whose name means “Our Lord the Flayed One,” is associated with the shedding of old skin and the emergence of new life. His rituals involve offerings of seeds and flowers, as well as dances and processions.

In Brazil, the Festival of Iemanjá, the Yoruba-derived goddess of the sea and fertility, is celebrated in February, aligning with the energy of spring in the Southern Hemisphere. Offerings of flowers, mirrors, and perfumes are cast into the ocean to honor her and to seek her blessings of abundance and protection.

Asian Traditions and Spring

In many Asian cultures, spring is celebrated as a time of renewal and the blossoming of life. In China, the Spring Festival, or Lunar New Year, marks the beginning of the agricultural year and is a time for family reunions, feasts, and rituals to honor ancestors and deities. The goddess Nuwa, who is credited with creating humanity and repairing the heavens, is sometimes invoked during this time for her creative and restorative powers.

In Japan, the arrival of spring is celebrated with Hanami, the viewing of cherry blossoms, which symbolize the fleeting beauty of life and the impermanence of all things. The Shinto goddess Konohanasakuya-hime, who is associated with flowers and volcanic energy, is honored during this time for her connection to the life force and the cycles of nature.

In India, the festival of Holi marks the arrival of spring and is celebrated with vibrant colors, music, and dance. Holi honors the divine love of Radha and Krishna and the triumph of good over evil, as well as the renewal of social bonds and the joy of life.

Caribbean Traditions and Spring

In the Caribbean, spring is often celebrated with festivals that blend African, Indigenous, and European influences. In Trinidad and Tobago, the Carnival season, which culminates in February or March, is a time of exuberant celebration, music, and dance. While Carnival does have some Christian roots, its origins can be traced all the way back to African and it's vibrant energy and themes of liberation and renewal align with the spirit of spring.

In some Afro-Caribbean traditions such as Santería and Vodou, spring can be a time to honor deities associated with fertility, growth, and the life force. Oshun (Santería) and Erzulie (Vodou) are both spirits of love, beauty, and abundance who are sometimes celebrated during this season. Offerings of flowers, sweets, and honey can be made to them to invoke their blessings.

Western Traditions and Spring

Persephone (Greek): The goddess of spring and queen of the underworld, Persephone’s return from the realm of Hades marks the arrival of spring. Her story symbolizes the cyclical nature of life, death, and rebirth.

Eostre/Ostara (Germanic): The namesake of Easter, Eostre is a goddess of dawn, fertility, and the rising sun. She is often depicted with hares and eggs, symbols of fertility and new life.

Flora (Roman): The goddess of flowers and blossoming plants, Flora presides over the beauty and abundance of spring.

Green Man (Celtic): A spirit of nature and vegetation, the Green Man represents the regenerative power of the Earth and the life force that surges through all living things.

Freya (Norse): Though often associated with love and war, Freya also embodies the fertility and vitality of spring.

These deities and spirits remind us of the sacredness of the natural world and the interconnectedness of all life. They invite us to honor the cycles of nature and to celebrate the return of light and warmth.

🌸Colors of Spring

The colors of spring are imbued with magical significance, each carrying its own vibrational energy:

Green: The color of growth, renewal, and the Earth itself. Green is associated with the heart chakra, healing, and abundance.

Yellow: The color of the sun, intellect, and joy. Yellow energizes the mind and inspires creativity.

Pink: The color of love, compassion, and new beginnings. Pink opens the heart to self-love and emotional healing.

Pastels: Soft hues of lavender, mint, and peach carry gentle, nurturing energies that support spiritual growth and inner peace.

These colors can be incorporated into rituals, altars, and clothing to align with the energy of spring and to invoke its blessings.

🌸Herbs of Spring

The herbs of spring are potent allies in magical workings, each carrying the essence of the season’s vitality:

Dandelion: A symbol of resilience and transformation, dandelion is used in spells for wishes, divination, and spiritual growth.

Nettle: A herb of protection and purification, nettle clears stagnant energy and strengthens the body and spirit.

Violet: Associated with love, healing, and intuition, violet is a sacred herb of spring that connects us to the fairy realm.

Lemon Balm: A herb of joy and abundance, lemon balm uplifts the spirit and attracts prosperity.

Elder: A tree of regeneration and protection, elder is sacred to the goddess Freya and is used in rituals of healing and transformation.

These herbs can be used in teas, sachets, or incense to harness the energy of spring and to support magical intentions.

🌸Cornelius Agrippa on the Occult Significance of Spring

Cornelius Agrippa, the renowned Renaissance magician and philosopher, offers profound insights into the occult significance of spring. In his seminal work, Three Books of Occult Philosophy, Agrippa describes spring as a time when the celestial influences of the Sun and Jupiter are at their peak, infusing the Earth with life-giving energy. He associates spring with the eastern direction, the element of Air, and the zodiac signs of Aries and Taurus, which govern new beginnings and material abundance.

Agrippa emphasizes the importance of aligning magical practices with the seasons, noting that spring is an auspicious time for rituals of growth, healing, and manifestation. He also highlights the role of the planets in shaping the energy of the season, particularly the influence of Venus, which governs love, beauty, and fertility, and Mars, which brings vitality and courage.

Agrippa’s teachings remind us that spring is not only a time of external renewal but also an opportunity for inner transformation. By attuning ourselves to the rhythms of nature and the celestial forces at play, we can harness the power of spring to manifest our desires and to deepen our connection to the divine.

🌸🌸 Conclusion 🌸🌸

Spring is a season of profound metaphysical significance, a time when the Earth awakens and the veil between worlds grows thin. Its numerological resonance with the number 3 reflects its themes of creativity, balance, and transformation, while its associated deities, spirits, colors, and herbs offer a rich tapestry of magical correspondences.

Drawing upon the wisdom of Cornelius Agrippa, we see that spring is a time to align ourselves with the celestial forces of renewal and to embrace the boundless potential of new beginnings. Additionally, when we are exploring the traditions of African Americans, Africans, Indigenous peoples, Latin America, Asia, the Caribbean and Western Europe, we gain a richer, more intersectional understanding of all of the spring’s magic.

As we walk this path of the arcane, let us always try to honor the sacred energy of spring, planting seeds of intention and nurturing them with love, wisdom, and gratitude.

For in the cycle of the seasons, we find the eternal dance of life, death, and rebirth—a reminder that we, too, are part of the great cosmic web.

Blessed be, dear seekers. May the magic of spring this year always guide you on your journey.

Lyonessa Hart🌸

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lou-struck · 1 year ago

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The Hall Of Faces

Diavolo x reader x Barbatos

WC: 2.9k

~ After a trip through the palace’s art gallery, you find that a picture of Diavolo may need to be updated.

Warnings: Mention of eating humans, moments with both Barbatos and Diavolo showing their love of the reader.

No matter how many times you find yourself visiting the castle, you can't help but think it is one of the most beautiful places you have ever seen.

Despite being thousands of years old, its gleaming marble flooring looks brand new, and the historic art and statues line the halls with museum-level prestige. Every time you walk the long, carpeted hallways you always seem to find something new to captivate you.

On this visit, you find yourself following Barbatos down a grand window-lit hallway. Although he tries to keep his excitement at your visit to himself, you notice there is a joyful spring in his step as he leads you. "Thank you for joining the young master and I for tea this afternoon. I prepared a wonderful selection for us on the west balcony that should be to your liking."

"Of course Barbatos, thank you for the invitation," you say watching as his deep green eyes shimmer under the moonlight. "I don't believe I have been in this wing of the Castle yet."

"Then it is my pleasure to be the first to guide you," he replies with a smile. He slows his pace, allowing you to walk beside him. The two of you walk in content silence, enjoying the comfort of each other's presence, until you notice a strange-looking vase resting on an elegant pedestal. It seems to be composed of two types of clay: one looks like melted pearls that seem to absorb the light of the moon, and the other is a matte ebony material. The contrast between the light and dark is so captivating you stop to look at it.

Barbatos, sensing your distraction, chuckles behind you, "I thought that would catch your eye," he muses. "Would you like to know the significance of this piece?"

"I would," you nod. It takes so much self-restraint to not trace your fingers along the priceless art, but somehow, you manage to resist the urge not to touch it.

"This vase contains two different types of clay, one from the Celestial Realm and one from one of the depths of the Devildom. Usually, these substances repel from one another, but thanks to a bit of water from the human world, they are able to come together and create something beautiful."

"That's amazing," you breathe, looking at this art, this manifestation of what can happen when all three realms work together.

"I knew you'd appreciate its beauty," he smiles. "Shall we continue?"

You nod as he holds out his arm to escort you down the hallway.

The palace is a labyrinth, and after turning right, then left, and then right again, you find yourself staring down a long hallway littered with portraits on the walls.

"What is this place?" you ask, passing the painted eyes of regal-looking demons that seem to follow your movements.

"This is the hall of faces," Barbatos answers. "It is a place to honor those who have made a difference in the Devildom, past royalty, war heroes, and other notable figures."

"I see." your eyes rest on a figure with broad shoulders and familiar-looking eyes. "Is that?"

Barbatos' face falls slightly, "Yes, that is his majesty the King, the young master's father."

"Diavolo's father," you repeat, letting your eyes wander from the darkened painting to the one next to it. One of the Prince himself. But instead of the tender warmth in the Prince's features, you find him looking stern and cold. "That doesn't look like him," you murmur. "I hate that someday people will walk by this portrait and not see him as the ruler he is."

"I agree," Barbatos says. Although it is a subtle shift, you detect a hint of disdain in his voice as he pulls his gaze from the painting. "The artist who painted this portrait, and many others, is well renowned but does not know or care of the true light of the Young Masters' smile."

"He sounds like a jerk," you grumble, stepping away from the painting.

Barbatos laughs; the sound is light but pleasant. "That certainly is one of the many words to describe the Artist. Come, let me escort you to the balcony. I fear the Young Master will become jealous if I steal you for the entirety of your visit today."

You take his outstretched arm and allow the Butler to guide you away from the Hall of Faces and to the eagerly awaited tea party. But as you get farther and farther away from the portrait, you cannot rid yourself of the effect Diavolo's portrait had on you.

The balcony air is warm and comforting as you raise a hand-painted teacup to your lips. It's warm, rose-scented steam tickling your nose with it's tantalizing fragrance,

"Mc, is something troubling you?" The Prince asks gently from his seat next to you. He places his large hand on top of the one you have resting on the table's edge. "You seem troubled today."

You place your teacup back onto its saucer on the table and look at his handsome face fondly. "It's nothing, just lost in thought."

Barbatos lets out an amused chuckle as he comes up behind you to top off your cup. His gloved hand rests gently on your shoulder. "Mc and I walked through the Hall of Faces today, Young Master."

Diavolo's smile falls slightly as he shifts nervously in his seat. "Oh. So you saw my portrait?" There is an embarrassment in his gaze that makes you wonder if looking at royal portraits of the past is the Devildom equivalent of looking through your friends' old middle school yearbooks.

You nod hesitantly. "I did."

"And what did you think of it?" he asks, his golden gaze coaxing the truth out of you.

"It didn't look like you," you admit. "I mean, it was you in the picture, but it was weird seeing you look so serious and unhappy.."

"So you think I am unserious?" he smiles amusedly.

"No. I just really like your smile," you admit, shyly grabbing a lemon cake from the three-tiered stands.

"Well then, I suppose it's about time for me to update my portrait," he says, looking over to his Butler. "Barbatos, can you please fit that into our schedule?"

"Absolutely, young master. How about midday tomorrow?" The Butler hums thoughtfully. He knows the Prince's schedule by heart.

"Wonderful, and does that work for you Mc?"

"Me?" you ask with a mouthful of cake; a bit of the glaze drips down your chin as you look at the two demons in bewilderment.

"Of course," the Prince laughs, handing you a handkerchief to wipe your face. "You are the one responsible for this appointment, so It is only fair that you join us for an afternoon."

He says it lightheartedly so you know that if you truly had something going on, or if you did not want to go. You would not have to. But in truth, sitting for a royal portrait probably isn't something that happens very often; your curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself happily along with the Prince.

Both demons, seeing your acceptance, look absolutely elated. Diavolo flashes you a sincere grin as he claps his hands together. "Wonderful, then we look forward to spending the afternoon with you."

The next day, you find yourself sitting in the Parlor at the castle. Diabolo is finishing up a meeting and Barbatos is greeting the Artist at the doors. Apparently this Demon is older than the Butler himself, having been the one responsible for painting most of the portraits in the Hall of Faces. The idea of meeting such an ancient being makes your stomach bubble up with nerves as you wonder what they are like.

Looking around the Parlor, you notice that the room looks a bit different than normal; the furniture has been tastefully rearranged to make room for a lavish-looking armchair and an art station across from it. Instead of the typical moonlight streaming in through the large windows, some kind of enchantment on the glass fills the room with something close to sunlight.

When you close your eyes, you can almost feel the warmth on your face.

You hear a soft chuckle from across the room as Barabtos comes in carrying a large, worn case with little streaks and splatters of color on its surface. "The artist prefers to work in the light." he smiles, setting down what must be painting supplies.

"Can't say I mind it," you smile as the demon strides across the room, around your chair, and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. This little act of affection is reserved for the moments when the two of you can be alone.

"Then I'll make sure to use this spell more often." he smiles, placing his gloved hand on your shoulder. You find yourself getting lost in the warmth of his emerald gaze just as the parlor doors burst open.

A short demon, swimming in a bright smock, takes quick, impatient steps into the room. His skin is the color of dried dandelion petals, and his tail is tipped like a paintbrush. "Canvazu," Barbatos greets, stepping between you and the Demon politely. "It is a pleasure having you join us today."

"Yes, yes, you said it before; now, where is my subject?" he says with a wave of his hand.

"the young master will be here momentarily," The Butler says. In the meantime, Lord Diavolo would like to invite you to enjoy some refreshments."

"Diavolo?" The Demon, you now know as Cavazu, questions, "Haven't I painted that one before?"

"Indeed you have," Barbatos answers calmly, but you know him well enough to know that the Artist's disrespectful question irritates him greatly. "But as he plans to take the Devildom into a new era, he wishes to have an updated photo."

"I see." The Artist says shortly as his eyes take on a slightly red hue. Curiously, you lean forward to get a closer look. His pupils look like splatters of paint and seem to change color depending on his mood. Your movement catches his eye, and he notices your presence for the first time since he has arrived.

"A live one, eh?" he says, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "This Prince of yours has some questionable taste. I prefer my humans slow-cooked."

You shift back in your seat as the hair on the back of your neck stands up straight. Do you know that eating humans has been outlawed and the Devildom for quite some time? Maybe this guy is so old he missed the memo?

Barbatos clears his throat and takes a step toward the Demon, who is looking at you like their next meal. "Clearly, you are mistaken; this is Mc. A distinguished guest and friend of the Devildom."

The Artist opens his mouth to surely make another snarky comment, but he's interrupted by the doors parting and Diablo's timely arrival.

He looks just as handsome as ever as he greeted you with a smile, "Sorry I'm late, Canvazu. Thank you for taking the time to meet us today."

The Demon, who is becoming one of your least favorite beings in the three realms by the second, looks the prints up and down. "oh, I remember you. You look the exact same as the last time I saw you. So why do I have to immortalize your face again?"

Your jaw drops, how could he say this to the ruler of Hell?

You look at the Prince, but to your surprise, he only laughs. The wonderful sound fills the room and calms your nerves. "I suppose I wish for the Devildom to see the true me~"

"Actually, I don't care." the Artist says in an annoyed tone. "Go sit over there so we can begin."

Diavolo is unphased by the Demon's rude behavior but shoots a quick look at you and Barbatos, whose smile is murderous, to not intervene. If this Artist is as well respected as he appears to be, he certainly can get away with this attitude toward nobility.

"Is there anything else you need before you start?" The Butler asks, clearly wanting to get this whole exchange over with.

"Yeah, Silence." the Demon sneers, his voice low enough for Diavolo to not hear from his chair across the room. He dips his long- brush-shaped tail onto his palette. And painting the backdrop.

You see Barbato's jaw clench, and you gently reach out and give his hand a little squeeze to calm him down. He relaxes and looks at you warmly. "I apologize for my rudeness, Mc. You have been here for quite some time, and I haven't given you any refreshments. May I fetch something for you?"

"That would be lovely; thank you," you say, happy to give him a distraction. He nods and goes to make you something in the kitchen, leaving you in the room with the Artist and the Prince.

It kind of sounds like the start of a corny joke, and you smile to yourself, thinking up all the different ways you can set up the punchline.

You watch in amazement as Canvazu works, his tail flicking back and forth; his paintings are so lifelike, so realistic it looks like you can step onto the canvas and still be in the same room.

Diavolo sits perfectly still in his seat, but despite his best efforts to hide it, he looks extremely bored. He meets your gaze and gives you a little wave.

You stick your tongue out at him teasingly in response, and he beams back at you; at the change in his subject's face, Canvazu's head snaps toward you, and he glares into the very depths of your soul. "You, human. You are distracting my subject; stop that at once! Do you realize how privileged you are to be sitting in on one of my sessions?." Embarrassment boils beneath your skin and you open your mouth to apologize, but Diavolo stops you standing abruptly.

"There is no need for that; Mc is doing exactly what they're supposed to do, making me smile.

"As the artist, I will capture your image as I see fit." Cavazu objects. "I cannot immortalize your face looking so undignified with a silly grin."

You sit up from your chair, "there is nothing wrong with his smile," you say defensively, your patience finally running out . "will you really not paint him if he doesn't look miserable in the chair?"

"Absolutely not." The Demon says, throwing his pallet on the floor. Paint splatter everywhere. "Watch your tongue, Human. You are nothing but an insignificant pest. You have no right to speak to me that way."

Immediately, Diavolo is at your side, looking furious. "I believe we are at an impasse then, Cavazu. I tolerated your disrespect as a courtesy for your continued service of the Devildom, but you have crossed the line. As of now, you will no longer be contracted by the crown."

Canvazu looks absolutely frazzled, for once having to actually deal with the consequences of his actions. "You cannot be serious, My lord. I have served the Devildom for years and you choose this, your pet? Over me?"

"A thousand times over." Diavolo declares with certainty; he looks down at you and takes your hand, pressing it to his lips. "And this Human may one day rule the Devildom at my side. They mean more to me than anything. I refuse to let you rob the Devildom of its smile any longer." Diavolo says, his authority clear in his voice.

"Barbatos, if you please." The Prince says, addressing the Butler, who you haven't noticed come back into the room.

"At once, young master." The Butler says, and with a snap of his fingers, the Artist disappears from the room, leaving the three of you alone in the Parlor. "I must say, kicking that oaf out has been one of the highlights of my existence, Your Majesty. Thank you for that opportunity."

The Butler sent the two of you into a fit of laughter and, despite his prim and proper nature, lets out a genuine smile in response.

"Are you alright, Mc?" The Prince asks softly, the anger on his features disappearing as he looks at you.

"I'm alright; I'm sorry your artist was such a jerk, though." You reply. "Is there another artist you can use to paint your portrait?"

He shakes his head, "this situation has made me realize that I do not want to have my portrait painted anymore."

"But I thought you wanted a new painting to replace the one in the Hall of Faces," you say in surprise.

He smiles, "I do, but I was wondering if you would do me the honor of sitting with me in my portrait."

"Is that really okay?" you ask in bewilderment.

"Of course it is," Barbatos says simply. "You have done more than enough to earn your place up on the wall."

"I-I don't know what to say."

"How about yes?" The Prince asks, his golden gaze overflowing with hopeful affection.

You smile and nod eagerly, your heart feeling tender with love. "Yes, I will."

"Wonderful," he replies eagerly, looking like an excited golden retriever. "Barbatos, would you do me the honor of painting our portrait?"

"I would be delighted to," he replies, striding over to where the Artist once stood. "I have not practiced my oil paintings in quite some time, but I believe I can capture your feelings appropriately."

"So. Shall we begin?" The Prince smiles leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network, @starbbyy

#obey me!#obey me nightbringer #x reader #obey me #obey me x reader #diavolo #diavolo x reader #obey me diavolo #barbatos #obey me barbatos #barbatos x reader

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disasterofastory · 2 years ago

Text

Bedtime story (Brahms Heelshire x Reader)

Bedtime story // Brahms Heelshire Masterlist Brahms Heelshire x Reader Kinktober 2023 - 13/14 Warnings: mommy kink, nursing/breastfeeding kink (I'm not sure which)

Summary: You read (Jane Eyre) while Brahms is busy with something else.

"After a youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in dreary solitude, I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you. You are my sympathy—my better self—my good angel." Your voice is gentle in the quiet room as your eyes scan the long line of words as you read under the dim light of the lamp on the bedside table. The old book is a comforting weight in your hold while your other hand rakes through Brahms's dark hair as he rests on your shoulder. The soft strands curl around your fingers every now and again as you play with them mindlessly. His arm is over your middle, fidgeting with the hem of your pajama shirt. He smells like evergreen and sandalwood. His body is pressed to your side, keeping you warm and comfortable. His breath fans over your collarbone with every exhale. "I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one."

It's dark and cold outside. You can barely see the garden of the manor through the thick fog flowing close to the ground. The pale face of a moon and the stars around it are hidden by the clouds gathering at the top of the sky. The scent of oncoming rain is carried by the wind as the branches of the trees rock back and forth in the darkness.

While you are busy with the book in front of you, Brahms's hand slips under your shirt, caressing your side and moving to your stomach. "It's ticklish," you tell him. Your stomach quivers under his fingertips. "Continue," he hums as an answer, moving his touch up on your torso. His fingers brush over the soft skin under your breasts. Your shirt is almost at your neck now. "Jane!" recommenced he, with a gentleness that broke me down with grief, and turned me stone-cold with ominous terror—for this still voice was the pant of a lion rising—"Jane, do you mean to go one way in the world, and to let me go another?" Brahms's movements are lazy as he pushes your shirt out of the way entirely. His thumb brushes over your nipple until it becomes a hard pebble under his fingertip. "Give one glance to my horrible life when you are gone. All happiness will be torn away with you. What then is left?" Your voice trembles as you continue reading. The man in your arm tugs on your nipple, soothing the slight pain immediately after. "Continue," Brahms hums against your skin when you stop for a second. His lips slide over the side of your breast as he leans closer to your chest until his mouth closes around your nipple. "What shall I do, Jane? Where turn for a companion and for some hope?" The words roll down your tongue heavily as your voice shakes. Brahms's teeth graze over the sensitive skin around your nipple while his tongue laps on the hard bud. His other hand finds its way to your other tit, kneading and squeezing the soft flesh. "You will not come? You will not be my comforter, my rescuer? My deep love, my wild woe, my frantic prayer, are all nothing to you?" You feel like a raw nerve as you read. Your breasts ache under his ministrations. Your nipple is soaked by his saliva as he sucks and sucks on your tit. His tongue circles and laps and draws. Your hand is still in his hair, holding onto his curls and pushing his face even closer as your back arches. "I had already gained the door; but, reader, I walked back—walked back as determinedly as I had retreated. I knelt down by him; I turned his face from the cushion to me; I kissed his cheek; I smoothed his hair with my hand." Your fingers tighten around his curls. You gasp and groan. "Fuck! Brahms! Please!" "Read," he murmurs, not even bothering to lift his mouth from your breast even though you can feel his erection pressing to your thigh. For a second, you turn back to the book, lips open to continue reading, when suddenly, you change your mind. A smirk tugs on your lips as you look at the top of Brahms's head as he still suckles on your nipple. "Brahmsy," you coo. Your voice is deep and sultry. You can feel him freezing next to you. "Be a good boy for mommy." His whine trembles through your body from your breast to your pussy. The visible change in the air makes your thighs clench for some friction. "You want to be a good boy, don't you?" You ask him. His hips jerk against your thigh. "I want your words, baby." His mouth leaves your breast with a quiet pop. Your skin shines with his saliva. "Yes," he replies, staring at you with wide eyes. "You should eat my pussy to prove it," you smirk at him, already pushing away the blanket to open your legs wider. "If you will be good enough, I will let you fuck me." His eyes dart down between your legs while his head is still resting on your breast. There is a fight in him. He wants to stay and suck on your tit while you read him, but his hand already reaches between your thighs, palming your sex through your thin panties. You are warm under his possessive hold. "Mommy is waiting," you break the silence again. "Mommy," he groans, sliding down your body to become face-to-face with your center. His voice is high and whiny.

There are times when Brahms calls you mommy without really wanting to say anything. He just likes the way the word rolls down his tongue and grabs your attention.

"Good boy," you hum, lifting your lower body to help him tug down your panties. You are not even sure why you wear them when you go to bed. Brahms loves waking up early in the morning when the sun isn't even showing yet to warm his cock in your tight hole as he falls back asleep.

His eyes are on your wet slit as he throws your panties over his shoulder, not even caring where it lands. He uses his fingers to open you up, gliding a third finger over your folds. Your wetness soaks his digit before he takes it in his mouth to lick off your juices. A satisfied rumble breaks free from his chest.

You spread your legs wider, digging your feet deeper into the mattress to brace yourself. Brahms's fingers grab onto your thighs as he adjusts himself on his stomach, his broad shoulders pushing against your flesh.

Your head falls back on the pillows when you feel his tongue on your pussy. He laps over your slit, wanting more of your taste. Your hands go to your breasts to tease yourself while he is busy between your legs. His tongue rubs on your clit before closing his lips around it to suck you there this time. His eyes are on your breast, watching your nipples peaking out between your fingers. He suckles and slurps, pushing you to the edge with each brush of his tongue over your sensitive bud. Your pussy aches and flutters as you get higher and higher. "Good boy, Brahms," you praise him. "You are such a good boy for mommy." He whines under your words, diving into your pussy even more. His face is slick with your wetness, and his tongue glides down on your slit to poke into your hole. Your hips jerk against his prodding tongue while he tries to keep you in place. Your taste and smell fill his senses. There is nothing else in the world for Brahms but you. Only you. "Your finger, baby." Your words come out weak and quiet. The familiar burn in your lower stomach is distracting. Brahms just hums, latching on your clit once again while pressing his finger into your hole as you asked. One finger, then two. He is eager and overwhelming. Your eyes fall shut, and your lips open with a hoarse cry. Pleasure flares over your body, and your thighs tighten around Brahms's head. At the feel of your sweet hole fluttering around his thick fingers, he laps up your arousal more frantically. He helps you ride out your orgasm and prepares your pussy to take his cock next. His hips grind against the bed, humping the mattress without his noticing.

His face and beard glint with your juices when he breaks away from your pussy to look at your face more clearly. Your chest heaves and your hands are still on your breasts. Your eyes shine with satisfaction and desire when you look at him.

"You are a good boy, Brahms," you tell him, smiling. "You are mommy's good boy, hm?" "Yes," he nods. "Can I-?" You hum, putting your hand on the back of his head to pull him over your body. His weight is warm and comforting on top of you. The tent in his pants nudges your center. "Do you want mommy's pussy?" You grin. "Do you want to fuck me, Brahmsy?" He almost wails. "Please!" His hips prod against you, chasing any friction he can get. "Please."

While you are busy in each other's arms, it starts to rain outside.

#brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire imagine #brahms heelshire smut #the boy x reader #the boy imagine #kinktober 2023 #slasher fucker

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tohakumaru · 2 months ago

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Honey Porridge

once upon a time, there was a prosperous country ruled by a powerful king. the king, in his lifetime, like his fathers before him, had greatly expanded his territories through conquests of not only neighbouring lands, but also of countries far, far away, over sweeping deserts to the east, across raging oceans to the west. in the prime of his conquering days, he was known the world over as a great and terrible war-chief, his army carried themselves like a scourge over their enemies for many decades.

when all his wars had been waged, the king married the daughter of his most trusted general. together, they had three beautiful daughters. the youngest was as fair as snow with eyes as blue as the sky. the second was striking, with auburn hair like the colour of leaves in autumn, burning on tree tops. the eldest, however, was rather plain, but studious with the gift of speech.

nevertheless, the king grew old. in the dusk of his life, having no sons to succeed him and no willingness to give over his throne to a daughter, or anyone not of his blood no matter how worthy, he was eventually overthrown by his government in a coup. perhaps for the grace of what he had achieved, instead of death, they exiled him and his family to a castle in a quiet valley, cut off from the country by a white river. its grey stone walls fell back on a great expanse of dark forests, looming like a dark cloud over a day-dream.

with their parents in bitter sorrow over days gone by, and the castle so lonely and dull, the forests and rivers were the three girls' main source of enjoyment. they often went beyond the castle gate to gather flowers and wild berries, and amused themselves with what nature had to offer. for a time, the land was kind: in spring, the ground sprang colourful blossoms bright like drops of sunlight; the heat of summer soothed with swaying trees and cooling water from the river; autum flashed gold and red leaves, with mushrooms, acorns and all sorts of tasty things to pick; in winter, the forest puts on a coat of white, while the river frost over for them to skate on.

one day, the youngest princess, in chase of a little squirrel with a most exquisite tail, wandered too far. before she realised, night had fallen all around her. tried as she might, she could not find a way out of the forests. she looked at the stars and tried to recount her steps, but kept going round and round in circle. at last, feet tired and sore, with tears streaming down her face, the little princess walked aimlessly, further and further still into the forests, until she came upon a hut. it was modest and small, but the windows revealed warm fire light inside. without a further thought, the princess walked in, and found a little bear cub eating porridge by a fireplace.

'give me some of your porridge, and let me sleep here', the princess said.

but the bear would not give her any, so the girl, in her hunger, hit the bear and took his porridge for herself. the little bear screamed, 'my mama and brothers shall be home soon, and they will kill you, you rude thing!'. he started to wail, louder and louder.

the princess was afraid. she tried to sooth the little bear to no avail. she promised to give him all the porridge from her father's castle, yet he kept crying, louder and louder. until she could stand the crying no longer, and out of fear for her own life, she took a large stone in her hands. wiping tears from her face, she bludgeoned the little bear until no more sounds was heard. then, she skinned him, threw his body in the fireplace, put his hide over her body and smeared her face and skin with dirt until she looked very much like a bear herself, curled up in the little bear's bed and fell asleep. later that night, mother bear and the other two cubs came back. they saw that the porridge was eaten, the little bear in his bed, and did not suspect a thing.

in the morning, however, the mother bear took her cubs to the river to find fish. when the princess in bear skin stepped into the river, the water cleaned her face of the dirt, and its strong flows took the bear skin off her. now, there was no hiding. the mother bear was furious. she roared and pounded her chest, 'wicked thing, why have you killed my son?'

the princess was very sorry and with tears like crystals falling from her sky-blue eyes, she told her of how hungry and tired she was, that she had only wanted some porridge and a place to sleep for the night, and that she was afraid for her own life. the mother bear cried out, 'what gave your hunger the right over my son's life?', and instantly, her claws shredded the princess' throat. the blood spilled into the water, and was soon washed away. the river carried the girl's body down, down, down.

when the exiled king and queen had waited for their youngest daughter for many days, they understood that she was lost, mourned her and forbade their other daughters from crossing the castle wall ever again. this they obeyed for some time. yet, when summer came around, and the world outside seemed to burst with life, the greyness of the castle was unbearable. so, the second princess went to the forests one bright morning, and gave chase to a butterfly with wings of silver and gold. when she looked up, she realised that night had fallen. this princess too, got lost and found herself at the bear's hut.

like her sister, she stepped in to find another bear cub eating porridge by the fireplace and demanded some. this bear too, refused, and was robbed of his porridge by the hungry little girl. he too, cried and cried, until his life was ended by a large stone held in the dainty hands of the little princess. the same hands skinned him and wore his hide to bed. later that night, mother bear and her last cub came back. they saw that the porridge was eaten, the little bear in his bed, and did not suspect a thing.

in the morning, however, the mother bear took her cubs to the pine groves to find honey. when the princess climbed up the tree, the dew on its leaves cleaned her face of the dirt, while the branches caught on the hide and pulled it off her. the mother bear was mad with grief, 'wicked thing, have you not learned? why have you killed my son?'

the second princess too, was so, so sorry for what she did, and desperately explained how hungry and tired she was, how she only wanted a little porridge and a place to sleep, and how she was so afraid for her own life. the mother bear could hear none of it, 'what gave your hunger the right over my son's life?'

and once again, her claws struck the princess dead where she stood. the mother bear hung her corpse on the top of the pine tree, where insects drank her blood and birds pecked clean the flesh off her bone.

the exiled king, queen and their last daughter mourned for many days. for years after, they did not set foot outside of the castle gate. until one winter day, the river froze over in the harsh cold. the eldest daughter, who was now almost a young woman and prudent in her conduct, thought to bring out her skates. after all, the castle was within sight, so she would be perfectly safe. out she went, first in timid lines and small circles, then faster, twirling round and round like a ballerina on the river. all of a sudden, she tripped and lunged forward. lucky for her, the ice did not break, but when she gathered herself and tried to stand up, she noticed something under the surface. wiping the frost away with her sleeves, the girl cried out when she saw, bubbling and bloated under the thin ice, was a grey mass once resembling a face, with two eyes as blue as the sky.

horrified, she turned and ran as far away from the river as her legs could carry her. in her wild fright, she did not realise she had entered the forest, until her tiny frame collided with a large pine tree. the girl look up, and oh, what else did she see, but a skeleton picked clean by birds, nothing left but a striking mess of auburn hair like the colour of leaves in autumn, still stuck fast to the skull.

the princess screamed and screamed until her throat bleed, as she crawled on all four back the way she came, out of the forest, through the castle gate, and back into her parents' arms. they nursed her back to health, but her voice was gone forever.

what of the bears? no one knows, but the forest still sleeps, and the river still flows as peacefully as the day god placed them on earth.

#illustration #drawing #art #writing #fiction #fairy tales #bears #honey porridge #st. bedtime and other stories #artists on tumblr #writers on tumblr #impossible nomad #long post

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