#sacred bundle

[a-modernmajorgeneral]

Just after noon on 4 June, Yellowstone photography guide Jordan Creech was sightseeing with clients when he spotted the freshly-born white buffalo calf, taking its first steps in the park’s Lamar Valley.

Bison calves can walk within two minutes of being born, and run alongside their herd within the first seven minutes of life.

“It’s the most unique experience I’ve ever had,” Creech says.

Erin Braaten, a photographer of Native American descent from Kalispell, Montana, also witnessed the calf’s first moments of life before it disappeared into the herd.

"I thought I'd have a better chance of capturing Bigfoot than a white bison calf," she tells BBC News.

For the last 2,000 years the people of the Lakota, Dakota and Nakoda tribes have told the story of a woman who arrived during a time of need.

A version speaks of two scouts searching for food and buffalo in the Black Hills of South Dakota.

The mysterious woman appeared and offered their tribe a bundle of sacred gifts, including a pipe carved from red rock, and instructed the people on how to live and pray.

She transformed several times before taking the form a white buffalo calf with a black nose, black eyes and black hooves. As she departed, a great number of buffalo returned to feed the people.

Dozens of other tribes have white buffalo stories, interpreting its arrival as both a blessing and a warning.

Chief Arvol Looking Horse, a spiritual leader of the Lakota Tribe, is known as the Keeper of the Sacred Bundle — the bundle and pipe left by the spirit. He likens the white calf’s return to the second coming of Christ.

Looking Horse, 70, said that before she departed, the woman told the people that she would return as a white buffalo calf “when everything is sickly and not good, and when people are with a not good mind”.

“This is spirit. It means spirit is happening,” he added.

On 26 June, more than 500 supporters formally celebrated the white calf at an event in West Yellowstone, just outside the park. Nearly a dozen tribes were represented.

Together, they heard the name bestowed upon the calf - Wakan Gli, meaning Sacred Returns or Comes Holy in the Lakota language. An altar of three buffalo skulls and three buffalo robes marked the occasion.

Waemaetekosew Waupekenay, 38, who travelled from Wisconsin to attend on behalf of the Menominee Tribe, said the birth of the sacred calf has been a spiritual awakening.

Its arrival, he says with amazement, shows that “there's a lot of healing, a lot of love going around. People are being united.”

National Park rangers at Yellowstone have confirmed the white bison's birth, but rangers have not reported any sightings themselves.

“The birth of a white bison calf in the wild is a landmark event in the ecocultural recovery of bison by the National Park Service,” the park said in a statement on 28 June confirming it as the first white bison ever seen inside Yellowstone.

They added that it "may reflect the presence of a natural genetic legacy that was preserved in Yellowstone’s bison, which has revealed itself because of the successful recovery of a wild bison population".

"The National Park Services acknowledges the significance of a white bison calf for American Indians,” it added.

[dungeonofthedragon]

PCRF Tiltify Bundle: solo games

I've been checking out the solo games included in this incredible bundle. $15 for over 190 games and game supplements- and all proceeds go to the great cause of helping Palestinian kids in the aftermath of the horrors they've endured.

Early thoughts on three solo games below:

Dwelling by Seb Pines

(Reflective- Horror- Artistic)

As much an exploration of yourself as an exploration of the titular dwelling; a haunted house. The specters your draw present scenes and encourage you to explore the personal memories these bring to the forefront. It's a journalling game, played on scraps of paper and in the rules text itself. My favourite mechanic is that you mark your own body after each encounter to cement your connection to it.

High Above Them All by Damian Oddson

(Whimsical- Flexible- Low-key)

This game has a Ghibli-esque feel to it- the precise vibe I was hungering for this morning! Using a standard deck of playing cards (or a generator like this one), take on the role of a solitary individual floating high above the world and witnessing the splendor below. In the three prompts generated so far; I have saved a unicorn, observed ancient ruins, and speedrun social situations because strangers are scary (what a mood!)

In the Sacred Wood of Monsters by Stuffedtern

(Eerie- Pensive- Unhurried)

Even the introduction is so beautiful, written much like a fairytale. We are told the story of a duke whose beloved wife died, and who in his grief had a marvelous and terrible garden constructed in her memory. Hundreds of years later, this garden is a famous local attraction that the player has decided to visit. chari

The player randomly generates the features of the garden they encounter (using a d6 and a deck of playing cards), and receives impressions and sensations- inspired by the story of this place? Direct reflections of the past? Who can truly say?

[nochepsicodelica]

NSFW

Perv!Toji who just hums when he hears you say that you need to go underwear shopping, again, over the phone. You explain how it seems like you have to buy more every month because they keep disappearing by the bundle, and that maybe you just keep forgetting them at his place. Toji says he'll be on the lookout for a pretty pair of your lacy, blue panties, in his room, which lures a laugh out of you, but he knows your reaction would be much different if you knew that he was just describing the current pair he has in his hand. His collection grew bigger than he ever intended it to, but he thinks that as long as you remain unsure of why your sacred treasures keep disappearing, he's in the clear to continue stealing them.

Perv!Toji who props his phone up against a pillow with a picture of you making the screen glow in the darkness of his room. It's a picture he took of you on one of your dates, you turned around and gave him the prettiest, soft smile, and he was able to capture the shininess of your eyes. It was his lock screen for a while, but of course you always outdo yourself and give him something better. That doesn't mean the previous picture just gets lost in his gallery. No, no, no. It's good material for when he's missing your body against his. His spank bank is riddled with you, it's an unorganized shrine that mixes his pure and sinful memories of you. Just thinking of you is enough to get him off, but it's always nice to be able to turn his head in the direction of his phone to get that crystal clear image of you while he furiously fists his cock until his sticky cum is dripping down his palm and landing on the warm skin of his abdomen. Busting once isn't always enough and in those cases, he just swipes to the next picture of you and does it all over again.

Perv!Toji who always has his hands beneath your clothes. Sometimes, he'll come up behind you while you're cooking, and the second his hands start sliding down your waist, you know what he's up to. His hands keep lowering until they're under the waistband of your shorts, moving the material of your underwear slightly so that he can caress and squeeze your bare hips. He really loves the sudden jolt he earns from your body when his fingers explore a little further and he starts tracing the creases that join your pelvis and thighs. Even when you're out and about, if you're standing around for too long, waiting to order food or just figuring out what you want to do next, he'll stand behind you as if he's giving you a back hug, and his hands will go up your shirt to rub and pinch your tummy.

Perv!Toji who can't watch a movie with you without teasing and playing with your pussy. You'll be sitting on his lap and at some point, his hand will slide down the front of your pajama pants and he'll just rest his palm on your pelvis, not moving for a good while. Once he knows you're used to the feeling, and you're not so riled up about the placement of his hand, he'll "mindlessly" start feeling up the material of your panties. His hand does an opening and closing motion, spreading his fingers apart before bringing them all close together, again. On the inside, you're going insane over every chaste drag of his fingertips over your clothed clit, but it's translated into subtle, occasional, little squirms and shifts on Toji's lap. He won't stop the teasing motions until he breaks your focused bearing entirely, and you're the one greedily chasing friction from his hand.

Perv!Toji who is absolutely terrible at the 'guess who' game. The second he's behind you, one of his enormous hands goes over your eyes, while the other one swiftly goes up your shirt and under your bra to grab a handful of tit. While he shamelessly squeezes, you try to process how fast you were put in this position by him. His familiar scent engulfs your nose, and his lips press against your ear, a deep, goosebump inducing, spine tingling, "guess who?" murmured. You're speechless as you attempt to think of anything other than the throbbing going on between your legs. His lips attaching to the side of your neck doesn't help him at all, but it does bring you back so you're finally able to take your wild guess. "Toji," you breathe out. On the outside he chuckles and plays the defeated man, but deep down, he loves that your body has his touch memorized, and that his smell is distinct, but you're able to recognize it in an instant. He loves that when you hear the sound of his voice, nobody else comes to mind. He loves that you didn't hum as if there were options, and instead, confidently said his name, because it confirms that nobody else is touching you this way.

Perv!Toji whose perverted behavior amplifies every time you send him a video of you playing with yourself. He opens the message, and the sight of your bare body instantly makes his cock spring to life, even before he presses play on the video. Immediately, he's met with the sound of your moans mixed with the slick sound of your fingers going in and out of your drooling cunt. Toji's heart races and his cock twitches at the sound of his name being crooned so sweetly by you. Unknowingly, he looks like he's trying to go into his phone, with the way he holds it so close to his face. He's pinching the screen, zooming into everything, every inch of your skin, your heaving chest, your tummy, before reaching the lewd scene of your glistening cunt being stuffed by your fingers. God, he's like a broken faucet, leaking precum in his boxers because of you and your tendency to be so sinful, that it's holy for him to be the only one who sees you behave this way. He finally goes back up to watch your face, and thank god he always saves this part for last, because you look like hell. Every. Single. Time. His brows are slightly pinched and his breathing quickens as he watches your pretty face contort with pleasure. Toji impatiently unbuttons and unzips his jeans with one hand and pulls his cock out of his boxers, a deep groan leaving him when his hand wraps around his sticky length. He's watching you, hips bucking up into his hand as he imagines it's him making you feel that way. When you cry out his name as you orgasm, his breath hitches, and as if he was actually there fucking you, he follows right after you, groaning as ropes on ropes of thick cum land on his pants and his hand. He lets out a heavy sigh and curses under his breath about the mess he made on himself. His attention is brought back to his phone when he hears you giggle in the video, followed by a quick "Love you, baby" before the video ends. He groans and shuts his eyes, resting his head against the wall behind the couch as he thinks about how badly he needs you. The aftermath is sent to you, followed by a request for you to come over.

[seafoamaphrodite]

a beginner’s guide to…

✨ altars ✨

here are some materials you can use for an altar, whether it is for your spellwork, a deity, or any other use! altars should reflect your personality, and be a space where you feel happy and safe :D

none of these materials are required, and everything is completely customizable to your beliefs! (just practice respect and safety obviously)

🕯️ basics 🕯️

an altar cloth is a piece of fabric that covers your altar. this could be a bandana, a small blanket, or even a piece of paper!

a glass plate is a mundane but VERY versatile altar piece. it can work as an offering dish, a tray to collect wax drippings, or just a little trinket holder

candles are an easy addition to any altar. you can use any type of candle, but my favorites are taper and prayer candles. scented candles are completely fine to use as well! choose candles based on color and scent

natural materials like crystals, flowers, plants, animal bones (responsibly sourced), etc. are an incredible addition to any altar! if you have a deity altar, learn about their associations and use this to guide your choice

paper and pen/pencil will be your best friend if you write petitions, draw sigils, etc. keep them near your altar for convenience

🌱 cleansing 🌱

many people believe an area should be “cleansed” before it is used as an altar or sacred space

methods of cleansing include incense, water cleansing, sage smudging, and more

incense cleansing is often done by wafting an incense stick or cone through a space and visualizing the smoke clearing out negative energy

sandalwood, lavender, and rosemary are common incense choices for cleansing

water cleansing is something i do a lot, it can be done by sprinkling water in an area or even washing/pouring water. regular tap water is perfectly fine, but you can also incorporate moon water, sun water, rainwater, etc.

smudging with sage involves burning a bundle of sage and, similar to incense cleansing, wafting the smoke through the area. sage smudging is traditional to indigenous tribes like the Lakota and Navajo. as a result, sage smudging (especially the use of white sage) is often considered cultural appropriation when done by non-indigenous people. i am not indigenous nor do i use sage, so i am not incredibly well versed on the subject but i thought i should include it. always do research and practice respect and sensitivity 💌

🌙 takeaways 🌙

finally, your altar is YOUR space. you can include or exclude anything you want; your space doesn’t need to be “aesthetic” or make sense to others

my first altar was a cardboard box with one candle and a handful of crystals. it wasn’t expensive or fancy, but it got me into my practice

through the years, my altar has grown and changed as i have

if you want to make an altar, start with what you have! you would be surprised how powerful your resources are 🩷

[itsswritten]

Earth's Song

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 795 (she's a drabble)

Warnings: Difficult birth is briefly mentioned no major details though.

Summary: Fairies are made for the wind & sun <3

Wings Masterlist

You could see it, just beyond the archway. Only a step away, the golden streams of rays filtering over the flowers. The breeze, a scent of fresh grass, pollen and peonies filling your senses– so close you could almost taste it. The melody of the earth was calling to you, its creatures and plants singing in a verse only you could hear upon your arrival. Your lips tugged into a gentle smile across your tired expression. 

Oh you had missed this.

A soft gurgle pulled you from your musings, your gaze settling down on the little bundles that were swaddled to your front. Your babes, twin sons. Only weeks old. Could they hear it too? The earth's music? it’s song, it’s heartbeat– you were sure they could. Certain they felt it in their bones just like you.

“Isn’t it wonderful..”, you whispered to them, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on the tops of their heads. Wefts of hair as dark as their fathers atop, and their scent so inexplicably yours and his.

“My love…” Azriel spoke, an ache in his tone that seemed consistent with any action you did nowadays. You had tried to step forward, feet moving past the tiles of the River House subconsciously into the outside that was calling you–calling your sons too. Any action you seemed to make these past few weeks only made your mates heart lurch.

“Azriel…” your tone was gentle but firm, your free hand subconsciously rubbing the backs of your babes who were nuzzled against your chest. Their eyes slowly opened and closed under the gentle glow of the sun that reached within the doorway of the house. “I want to– need to feel the earth,” you replied. 

It had been several weeks since you had been outside, several weeks since you brought your baby boys into this world. The birth had been difficult. A thought you didn’t want to dwell on, but something you knew was still very prevalent as you felt your mate's supportive hand press against the small of your back. His free hand still looped with your arm for stability.

It had taken a great deal of convincing for him to bring you here, to let your boys experience the world beyond the safety of the house walls. Azriel, ever the protective Shadowsinger, had been beside himself when he’d almost lost you. The birth of your twins—Illyrian-winged miracles born of a meadow faerie—had been far from easy. The ordeal had left you in a deep, unnatural slumber, robbing you of those precious first days with your sons. It was a cruel twist of fate, one that left you fragile in body and spirit. Even the sacred traditions of your kind had been set aside in the wake of it all.

And well, Azriel’s protectiveness had grown to a level you didn’t know was possible. You understood though. Didn’t blame him; if the roles were reversed, if you’d almost lost him, you weren’t sure what kind of person you’d become in the aftermath. But you were still here. Healing, growing stronger with every passing day.

So you convinced him, explained to him how fairies were made for the wind and sun, your boys, despite only being half of you– needed this too.

You watched as your mate hesitated, bringing you this far had gone against every instinct he had, but as he gazed into your reassuring smile he nodded. Gently moving with you, each step at a time. Your bare feet feeling the soft grass under your pads. The sensation sent a shiver through your body and as you began to ground yourself tears filled your eyes.

The evening sun basked it’s golden hour upon your skin, it’s rays warming your flesh in a way you hadn’t felt in weeks. You had missed this. 

Your babes stirred softly, their tiny forms swaddled snugly against your chest. Their warmth grounded you further. You inhaled deeply, the scent of the flowers and the earth beneath your feet blending with the faint sweetness of your sons.

Azriel’s wings rustled softly behind you as he stepped closer, his shadowed presence a constant comfort as you let yourself lean back against him. You glanced up at him, your tear-filled eyes meeting his gaze, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. 

Wordlessly, he leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead, his gaze moving to his sons pressed against you with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “I love you– I love you all so much,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion.

Your smile was the only reply he needed. Your expression looking fuller than it had done in weeks. And then you hummed, eyes closed as you harmonised along to the earth’s song.

a/n: a little wings drabble, our first snippet at seeing the baby boys...which yes I've finally landed on names. Introducing...Rune & Rain <3

wings universe: @minaethrym @megscabinetofcurios @scorpioriesling @dottedhalfnotes

Permanent taglist: @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @lilah-asteria @writingcroissant @searchingforbucky

[m00nl1ghts1vt]

Neighbor!Matt x Brat!Reader - Plan B

Your white sheets drape loosely around Matt’s waist, daring to fall each time he pumps himself in and out of you at a steady pace, going so deep he teases your cervix each time. Low, raspy grunts escape his lips with every snap of his hips, one hand glued to your waistline, not letting you squirm out from his grip one bit while the other dangerously thumbs at your clit. “Ahh! — Matt,” you croak out, your eyes low from the little ball of pleasure building up in your stomach, “I can’t — Fuck!”

You hadn’t had a senseless hook up in months, you were too focused on work and isolating yourself, you had no time for distractions. You didn’t know how you got in this position – pinned underneath your obnoxiously rude and loud upstairs neighbor whom you’ve hated up until twenty minutes ago when he was forcing his tongue in your mouth and clawing at every article of clothing you had on. 

His blue orbs suck you in much like a heavy current. His bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he stares down at you with a gruff expression sewn deep into his face. He was so focused on making those sweet, sacred moans roll off the tip of your tongue, he almost failed to respond. Too busy fucking you into a mindless state, studying the way your face contorted in pleasure with each thrust. It was all due to him. His mouth gapes open as your eyes roll back, "all that — Mph! — shit you were talking," he manages to get out all while plowing into your sopping cunt, "now you can't — take it, huh?"

Wetness drips from your arousal at the sound of his voice, so deep and husky like he had been holding back his groans. Your wet pussy spits out squelching sounds adding to the mixture of your heavenly moans and Matt’s thighs slapping against yours as he rams himself in and out of you. The sex sounds are so satisfying, you both find yourselves leaning in, foreheads pressed together just to watch how his cock glides in and out of your wet cunt with such ease. You look up at Matt, his eyes already fixated on your face, “look at you," he coos before pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips, "y’almost there for me, sweet girl?”

That euphoric feeling you had been chasing the last twenty minutes finally reaches its boiling point, sending you over the edge and making your legs shake in an uncontrollable manner. A loud mewl erupts from your lungs and your body goes limp, collapsing onto the memory foam bed beneath you as you moan out, “oh my – god!” You cling onto the bedsheets for dear life, digging your nails deep as he fucks your thru your orgasm, his thumb still working tight circles around your small bundle of nerves.

“Fuckk — y’pussy squeezing me so tight,” he drags out, his eyes clenching shut as your walls convulse around his thick shaft, the feeling becoming too much for him to handle. Matt gives you one final thrust, burying his cock so deep, your entrance sits around the base of him as he spills his full load into you, his dick twitching with each spurt of cum he shoots out. As much as he’d love to stay buried as deep as he could be in the best pussy he’s ever had, the realization quickly sweeps over his mind. Not only did he have his bitchy downstairs neighbor that he couldn’t fucking stand under his complete control, cumming so hard on his cock she was shaking, but he just came in her. He fucking came in her.

Matt tries not to let the awkward silence take over the mood. Letting exhaustion take over his body, he collapses on top of you. Your heart thumps in your chest as he presses a light sloppy kiss to your collarbone, almost like it's an apology. “Fuck, sorry. I’ll uh –,” he breathes out, his nostrils flaring in an attempt to catch his breath, “I’ll insta cart plan b.”

Meanwhile, all you could think about was his cum dripping out of your pussy and onto the silky, freshly washed bed sheets below you. That asshole better buy you a plan b.

Introducing Neighbor!Matt x Brat!Reader

wc - 713

♡‧₊˚ New au incoming 🫣👀 ofc im still doing babydaddy!Chris, just miss writing about Matt 🥰 Let me know what you guys think?! Also want to say thank you @sweetshuga, @strnilolover & @chrislilcumslvt for their second opinions. This probably would've sat in my drafts forever if it wasn't for them lol

Posting the intro next!

Tags - @lvrsturniolo @ribread03 @unknvhx @m11rx @sweetshuga @loveparqdise @emely9274 @frickin-bats @delusional-4-fake-people @katie-tibo @leila-marie4 @thepubeburgler @shadowthesim @immy08 @trevorsgodmother @watercolorskyy @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @luvr4miya @strnilolover

© M00NL1GHTS1VT - please do noy copy my work

[moonselune]

You're like one of my FWVEEEE authors!! And I'm so excited to see ur RQ's are open, because I've wanted to rq this for a bit.

Maybe surprising the boys, after you've given birth, with the babies name being something meaningful to them? Or something they wanted but didn't say anything bc they would assume you didn't like it. My sister recently did that with her husband, and I just am obsessed w the idea. Like, maybe with Wyll naming your daughter Francesca, after his mother? And Ulder hearing that? UGH I'm very sentimental lately.

ahhhh thank you so much !!!!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The quiet of the early morning hours in the tower felt almost sacred as you cradled your newborn in your arms. You had just returned to the tower after a long and exhausting labor, and Gale had been nothing short of a perfect partner, by your side for every moment, but you had made sure to keep one small, precious detail to yourself until now.

Your eyes drifted to where Gale sat near the hearth, engrossed in the flames that flickered softly in the fireplace. His expression was contemplative, lost in thoughts that you couldn’t quite read. He had been gentle and supportive throughout the entire pregnancy, but there was something he had held back—a hesitation you had sensed but never pushed him to express. You knew it had something to do with the baby's name. You suspected that he had a name in mind but hadn’t spoken it, perhaps because he thought you wouldn’t share the sentiment.

As you rocked your baby gently, you decided it was time to reveal the surprise you'd been holding onto for these precious first few hours. With a quiet sigh, you stood, cradling your newborn in your arms as you approached Gale. The soft glow of the fire illuminated his face, and he looked up as you neared, his expression instantly softening at the sight of you and the baby.

“She’s finally asleep?” Gale asked softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper, as though he didn’t want to break the serene quiet that enveloped the room.

You nodded, sitting down beside him, the weight of the baby still comfortably nestled in your arms. Gale leaned in, brushing a gentle kiss on your temple before glancing down at the tiny bundle. His eyes shimmered with pride and awe, as they always did whenever he looked at your child.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” you murmured, your voice tender as you watched Gale’s expression shift to one of mild curiosity.

“What is it, my love?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly, concern flashing briefly across his face. “Is everything alright?”

You smiled at the worry in his voice and reached out to take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "Everything is perfect. I just wanted to tell you her name."

Gale blinked, his eyes widening slightly as he realized you hadn’t yet shared the baby’s name. He had been patient, never once pressing you on the subject, but you had seen the way his gaze had lingered on your daughter with a quiet longing.

“I know we talked about a few names,” you continued, your voice soft as you leaned in closer. "But there's one name I think is perfect. And I know it’s a name that means a lot to you."

Gale's breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he looked almost vulnerable, as though he was afraid to hope for what he thought you might say.

His eyes searched yours, filled with unspoken emotion. "What… what name?"

You smiled gently, your heart swelling with love for both Gale and the tiny life you had created together.

"Her name is Morena," you whispered, the name falling from your lips like a promise. "Mora, for short."

For a brief moment, Gale just stared at you, his expression frozen in shock. The name—his mother’s name—hung in the air between you, filling the room with its quiet significance. You could see the emotions flickering in his eyes: disbelief, joy, and a deep, aching sense of gratitude.

"Morena," he repeated softly, almost as if testing the sound of it on his tongue. His voice cracked ever so slightly, and you saw the shimmer of unshed tears in his eyes. "You… you named her after my mother?"

You nodded, squeezing his hand gently. "I know you never asked. I could feel how much you wanted it, but you never said anything because you didn’t want to push me. But Gale… the name is beautiful. And I want our daughter to have something meaningful to you. Something that connects her to the part of you that’s shaped who you are."

Gale let out a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling as the weight of your words sank in. His free hand reached up to wipe at his eyes, and when he looked back at you, there was such overwhelming love and appreciation in his gaze that it nearly took your breath away.

“You…” Gale began, but his voice faltered. He swallowed hard and tried again. “You don’t know what this means to me. I… I never thought you’d want that. But… Morena, Mora.” His voice broke again, but this time with joy. “It’s perfect. She’s perfect.”

He reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing the soft blanket that swaddled the baby. Mora stirred slightly, her tiny face scrunching for a moment before relaxing again. Gale’s breath hitched as he looked down at her, his daughter, named after the woman who had given him life and shaped so much of the man he had become.

"I hope she’s as strong and as kind as your mother is," you said softly, watching as Gale gently stroked Mora's cheek with the back of his hand. "And I know that she’ll be loved just as fiercely."

Gale exhaled shakily, his eyes never leaving your daughter as he spoke.

"She will be," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I’ll make sure of it. And you… you’ve given me more than I ever thought I deserved."

He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, his touch full of reverence and gratitude. When he pulled away, his eyes were shining with unshed tears, but his smile was full of warmth and love.

"Thank you," Gale whispered, his voice barely audible as he looked at you, his heart clearly overwhelmed. "Thank you for giving her this name. For giving me this family."

You rested your head on his shoulder, watching as Gale’s gaze returned to your daughter, his fingers gently tracing her tiny hand as she slept soundly in your arms.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the stone walls of your shared room, casting long shadows as you sat by the fire, cradling your newborn in your arms. The long and arduous process of giving birth had taken its toll on you, but the sight of your baby’s peaceful face nestled against your chest filled you with a joy so deep that the exhaustion seemed to melt away.

Astarion had been supportive throughout the pregnancy, doting on you in ways you never imagined he would, but ever since the birth, he had become quieter, more reserved, as if he wasn’t sure how to step into this new role. He had gone out earlier that evening, likely to clear his head, as he often did when faced with unfamiliar emotions. You hadn’t pressed him, understanding that this was a profound change for him, one he likely never expected to experience.

Now, with your baby in your arms, a surprise lay in wait for him. You had chosen a name—a name that held deep meaning, not just for you, but for him. A name that would connect him to this new life in a way you hoped would touch the very core of who he was.

The sound of the door creaking open pulled you from your thoughts. Astarion stepped into the room, his pale skin catching the firelight, making him look even more ethereal. His red eyes found you immediately, softening as he approached, though there was still that cautious distance he had kept since the baby’s arrival.

He was hesitant, not out of disinterest, but out of fear—fear of this new chapter, of his own ability to be what you and the baby needed him to be. You smiled warmly at him, your heart swelling with love.

“Astarion,” you called softly, beckoning him closer.

He approached cautiously, his eyes drifting to the small bundle in your arms, and you saw the flicker of something vulnerable cross his face. His hand twitched as though he wanted to reach out, but he held back, unsure of how to move forward.

“I don’t want to intrude,” Astarion said softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “I… I’m not quite sure what to do in all of this.”

You shifted slightly, making room for him beside you. “You’re not intruding. You’re her father. Come sit with us.”

His eyes widened ever so slightly at the word father, but after a brief hesitation, he sat beside you, careful and measured in his movements. His gaze flickered from you to the baby, then back again, his usual confidence overshadowed by a nervous vulnerability that you had rarely seen in him.

"She’s so tiny," he whispered, almost in awe. "So… fragile."

You nodded, adjusting the baby gently so Astarion could get a better look at her. “She’s strong, though. Like her father.”

Astarion gave a soft, breathless chuckle, though it was clear he was still overwhelmed by the reality before him. "I’m not sure I deserve that comparison."

You reached out, gently taking his hand and placing it on the baby’s back, encouraging him to feel the steady warmth of her little body. He flinched slightly at the contact but quickly relaxed, his expression softening as he felt the tiny life beneath his palm. The look of wonder in his eyes made your heart swell.

“I named her,” you whispered, watching his reaction carefully.

His gaze snapped to yours, a flicker of curiosity and trepidation in his eyes. “Oh? What name did you choose?”

You took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness at the surprise you were about to reveal. “Her name is Astra.”

Astarion blinked, his face momentarily blank as he processed the name. Then, slowly, realization dawned on him, and his red eyes widened in disbelief. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, his breath catching in his throat as the meaning behind the name sank in.

“Astra?” he finally whispered, his voice barely audible. “You… named her Astra?”

You nodded, smiling at him with all the love you felt. “Yes. Astra, the female version of your name. I wanted her to carry a part of you with her, always. I know how much your name means to you—how it’s the one thing that’s truly yours after everything you’ve been through. I wanted to give you something else, something between just you and her.”

Astarion’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and for a moment, he seemed utterly speechless. His gaze dropped to the tiny baby in your arms—his daughter—and the depth of emotion in his expression took your breath away. His hand, which had been resting so gently on her back, now trembled slightly, as though the weight of what you had done was almost too much for him to bear.

“You named her after me,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I never… I never imagined…”

He trailed off, his usual eloquence failing him as he struggled to find the right words. His eyes shimmered with a vulnerability that was rare for him to show, and you could see the mix of awe, disbelief, and gratitude that swirled within him.

“Astarion,” you said softly, leaning in closer. “I wanted her to know where she came from. Who her father is. And I wanted you to know how much you mean to both of us.”

A single tear escaped the corner of his eye, and Astarion quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand, as though embarrassed by the show of emotion. But when he looked back at you, his face was alight with something that could only be described as love—a deep, profound love that he rarely allowed himself to express so openly. He leaned in, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead.

"You never cease to amaze me, you know that?" he whispered, his voice still thick with emotion.

When he pulled back, he looked down at Astra again, and a soft smile spread across his face—a smile that was filled with a mixture of pride and wonder. He gently traced a finger along the baby's tiny hand, and when her fingers instinctively curled around his, he let out a soft, breathless laugh.

"She’s perfect," Astarion said, his voice filled with awe. "Absolutely perfect."

You leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his body beside yours, and together, the two of you watched over your daughter, named in honor of a man who had been through so much yet had found love and light in the most unexpected of places.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The sun was just beginning to set over the horizon, casting a warm amber glow through the windows of your shared room. You sat by the window, gently rocking the newborn in your arms, her small body bundled up in soft blankets as she slept peacefully. The past few days had been a whirlwind of emotion and exhaustion, but every time you looked down at your daughter, you were filled with a deep sense of love and pride.

Wyll had been nothing short of incredible during the birth—strong, reassuring, and steadfast, even when it seemed the weight of his emotions might overwhelm him. But despite his joy, you had sensed a subtle hesitation in him when it came to naming your child. He’d mentioned nothing specific, always deferring to your wishes, but you knew there was a name that held deep meaning for him, a name he hadn’t suggested because he didn’t want to push his own desires onto you.

You had been planning this surprise ever since you realized what name would mean the most to him. And tonight, after all the love and sacrifice he had shown, you were finally going to give him that gift.

The door creaked open, and Wyll stepped inside, his posture weary but his face lighting up when he saw you with the baby. His dark eyes sparkled with a mixture of relief and adoration. He had spent the day attending to his responsibilities, making sure the city was safe and handling the myriad of duties that came with being the Blade of Frontiers. But now, here in the quiet of your home, he was just Wyll, your Wyll.

“Hey, love,” he said softly, approaching you with a tender smile. “How are my two favorite ladies doing?”

“We’re doing well,” you replied with a soft chuckle. “She’s been sleeping soundly.”

Wyll knelt beside you, his eyes fixed on your daughter. His expression was filled with awe every time he looked at her, as if he still couldn’t quite believe she was real, that she was his. Gently, he reached out, brushing a thumb along the baby’s tiny cheek.

“She’s beautiful,” Wyll whispered, his voice filled with emotion. “Just like her mother.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for him. He had been so patient, so selfless, never once pressing his own hopes or desires. And now, you were ready to surprise him with something you knew would touch his heart in a way that nothing else could.

“I’ve been thinking about her name,” you said softly, watching as Wyll’s eyes flickered with curiosity. “And I’ve decided.”

Wyll’s eyebrows raised slightly, his face a picture of attentive concern, but also restraint. “Oh? Have you? I know it’s been a difficult decision, and I didn’t want to rush you.”

You held his gaze, feeling the love you had for him radiating in every word you were about to speak. “I’ve named her Francesca.”

For a moment, Wyll didn’t react. It was as if the name hung in the air, sinking into him slowly, its meaning unravelling. His eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat. He stared at you, his expression a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

“Francesca…” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “After my mother?”

You nodded, your smile soft and loving. “Yes. I know you never mentioned it because you didn’t want to sway me, but I’ve seen the way you talk about her. I’ve heard the love in your voice every time you’ve told me stories about her, that your father passed down to you. I wanted to honor that, and I wanted our daughter to carry that legacy with her.”

Wyll blinked rapidly, as though trying to hold back the sudden rush of tears. He stood up slowly, his hand coming to rest over his mouth as he turned away for a moment, struggling to compose himself. When he finally turned back to you, his eyes were filled with tears, but there was a smile on his face—a smile so full of love and gratitude that it made your heart ache.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Wyll whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “I never expected… I never thought…”

He knelt beside you again, this time more tenderly, as if the weight of your gift had overwhelmed him. Gently, he reached out and touched his daughter’s tiny hand, watching as her fingers instinctively curled around his. His tears finally spilled over, but he didn’t bother wiping them away. Instead, he looked at you, his eyes shining with gratitude.

“I promise you,” he said, his voice low and filled with emotion, “I will be the best father to Francesca. I will make sure she knows who her grandmother was, and I will teach her everything my mother taught me. I will protect her, love her, and cherish her, just like you’ve done for me.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I know you will, Wyll. I never had any doubt.”

For a long moment, the two of you sat there, watching your daughter sleep, the room filled with the quiet warmth of your love and the promise of the future you would build together. Wyll wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as he whispered into your ear.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “Thank you for giving me this gift. You’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”

The next morning, a warm breeze filled the air as you and Wyll prepared to visit Ulder Ravengard, Wyll’s father, with your newborn daughter. The weight of the decision you had made—the name that carried such profound significance—still lingered between you both like a quiet, shared secret. Wyll had held you close the night before, murmuring his love and endless gratitude. Now, it was time to share that gift with his father, a man whose stoic exterior hid the deep love and pain of having lost his wife, Francesca, so many years ago.

As you dressed your daughter in a soft blanket, Wyll stood by, watching with tender pride. His hands trembled slightly as he straightened the collar of his tunic, clearly nervous about the conversation ahead. He hadn't told his father yet. No one knew of the decision except the two of you.

"You look beautiful," he said softly, his voice filled with love as he gazed down at you and your daughter. "Both of you."

You smiled up at him, sensing his anxiety. "She’s going to love hearing her grandfather’s voice. And she’s already wrapped around her father's little finger."

Wyll let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "If she’s anything like her mother, she’ll have me wrapped around hers in no time."

With your daughter safely bundled in your arms, the three of you made your way through Baldur's Gate. The city was bustling with activity, the markets alive with voices and the scent of fresh bread filling the air. Wyll walked close beside you, his hand occasionally brushing your back in a quiet gesture of reassurance. You could feel the weight of the moment in his silence.

When you finally arrived at Ulder Ravengard's estate, the sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows over the grand stone steps. A guard greeted you and led you inside, where Ulder sat at a large, intricately carved table, maps and documents spread out before him. He looked up when you entered, his stern face softening slightly at the sight of Wyll and the baby in your arms.

"Father," Wyll greeted him, his voice steady but filled with something deeper—something reverent. He reached out, shaking his father’s hand before glancing nervously at you and the baby. "We wanted to come by and… introduce you to your granddaughter."

Ulder’s gaze shifted to you, and then down to the small bundle in your arms. His brow furrowed slightly, his usual unreadable expression slipping into something more curious. He rose from his chair, approaching slowly, almost cautiously.

"She’s beautiful," Ulder said quietly, his deep voice rough around the edges. "You must be proud."

"We are," Wyll replied, his voice tight with emotion. He cleared his throat, glancing at you before continuing. "There’s… something important we wanted to tell you."

You stepped forward, offering your daughter to Ulder. He hesitated for a brief moment before gently taking her into his arms, his hands surprisingly tender for someone so often defined by duty and discipline. He looked down at her, a soft light filling his eyes that you hadn’t expected to see in a man as hardened by war and loss as Ulder Ravengard.

"Father," Wyll began, his voice steady but thick with meaning, "we’ve named her Francesca."

The name hung in the air for a long moment, sinking into the room like a warm, bittersweet weight. Ulder’s hands froze as he held his granddaughter, his gaze locked on her small, sleeping face. His expression was one of shock, disbelief, and something much deeper—a pain that had never quite healed, a loss that had never truly faded.

"Francesca…" he whispered, his voice so low you could barely hear it.

Wyll stepped closer to his father, his hand resting gently on the older man’s shoulder. "We named her after Mother. We wanted to honor her memory, and… we thought it was the right way to keep her close to us, through our daughter."

Ulder’s eyes grew wet with unshed tears, his grip tightening slightly around the baby as though she were the most fragile thing in the world. He looked up at you, his gaze soft but filled with unspoken emotion, before turning his attention back to Wyll.

"I… I don’t know what to say," Ulder admitted, his voice thick with emotion. His usual stoic demeanor had cracked, revealing a depth of feeling that rarely surfaced. "It’s been so many years since…"

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. You could see the memories swirling in his mind, the image of his beloved wife, Francesca, whom he had lost far too soon, a loss that had left a permanent scar on both father and son. But now, here she was again, in a way—in the form of this tiny life, this new beginning.

Ulder blinked rapidly, as if trying to force back the tears that threatened to spill over. He looked down at his granddaughter again, his large hands cradling her gently as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you both."

For a long moment, Ulder simply stood there, holding his granddaughter with a tenderness you hadn’t expected to see in him. He was a man of war, a leader, but in this moment, he was just a father and a grandfather—grateful for the chance to remember and honor the woman he had lost so many years ago.

Finally, Ulder handed the baby back to you, his eyes filled with something deeper than gratitude.

"Francesca," he repeated, his voice stronger now. "She will grow up knowing who her grandmother was. I will make sure of it."

Wyll nodded, his eyes shining with emotion as he looked at his father. "Thank you, Father."

As you held your daughter close, you couldn’t help but feel the depth of what you had given Wyll, and by extension, his father—a piece of Francesca’s memory that would live on, carried forward into the future. Wyll wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close as you both watched Ulder wipe away the last traces of his tears.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The soft murmur of the forest outside your home was a constant, soothing presence as you gently rocked your newborn in your arms. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a warm golden glow over the room. You sat by the open window, the scent of pine and fresh earth drifting in, mingling with the soft coos of your daughter. The world felt at peace in this moment, and your heart swelled with love for the tiny life you now held in your arms.

Halsin had been an incredible partner throughout your pregnancy. His calm, reassuring presence had been your anchor, his strength your shelter, but also his tenderness, that unshakable connection to nature, was ever-present. Now that your daughter was here, he had been even more attentive—both in caring for you and in gently bonding with your newborn. His large hands, capable of such strength, were so gentle with her, cradling her as if she were the most delicate thing in the world.

But even with all his devotion, you had noticed something in him over the past few days. A slight hesitation, as though something was on his mind that he didn’t want to burden you with. It was subtle—Halsin was never one to impose his feelings on you—but you could see it in the way his eyes softened when he looked at your daughter, a fleeting glance of something unsaid. You had a suspicion about what it was, but you had waited for the perfect moment to surprise him.

That moment had come.

The door creaked softly, and you looked up to see Halsin entering the room, his presence filling the space as always. His expression immediately softened when he saw you holding your daughter, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He approached quietly, as though not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere you had created.

"How are my two loves?" he asked, his deep voice as warm as the sunlight streaming in through the window.

"We're perfect," you replied, smiling up at him. "Just enjoying the quiet and some time together."

Halsin knelt down beside you, his large hand resting on the arm of your chair as he gazed down at your daughter with an expression so full of love it made your heart ache. He gently reached out to stroke her tiny head, his fingers brushing through the soft tufts of hair.

"She is perfect," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "Every time I see her, I am reminded of how precious life is… and how much I have to be thankful for."

You watched him closely, seeing that flicker of something unsaid in his eyes again. It was time to give him the surprise you had been waiting to share.

"I've been thinking about her name," you said softly, catching his attention. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, his expression attentive but patient.

"Of course," Halsin replied, a gentle curiosity in his tone. "It is important to choose a name that carries meaning, one that honors the spirit of life she represents."

You smiled, your heart racing a little in anticipation. "I’ve already chosen it. I’ve named her Thania."

For a brief moment, Halsin froze, his expression one of pure shock. His lips parted slightly, and his golden eyes widened as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had heard. He stared at you in stunned silence, as though trying to process the weight of the name you had just spoken.

"Thania?" he finally whispered, his voice so soft it was almost a breath. His hand stilled over your daughter’s head, trembling ever so slightly. "After Thaniel?"

You nodded, your smile tender and full of love. "Yes. I know how much he means to you. Thaniel was a part of your life in such a profound way, and I wanted to honor that. So, I thought… what better way to honor the bond you had with him than to give our daughter a name that reflects that connection to nature and life?"

Halsin stared at you, his chest rising and falling as emotion swirled within him. You could see the conflict in his eyes—the joy, the disbelief, the overwhelming gratitude that he struggled to put into words. His hand moved to cover yours, his grip firm but tender as if grounding himself in the moment.

"I…" His voice caught in his throat, and he paused, taking a breath to steady himself. "You’ve given her a name that is sacred to me. Thaniel was not just a spirit of the land… he was a part of my soul, a symbol of everything I fought for, everything I believe in. To name her after him… it is more than I ever could have asked for."

Tears welled in his eyes, though he did nothing to hide them. His usual composure was shattered by the depth of his gratitude and love. He leaned in closer, pressing his forehead gently against yours, his breath warm and shaky.

"Thank you," Halsin whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for this gift. You have honored not just me, but the land itself, the spirit of life. She will grow up knowing the importance of that connection."

You felt your own tears sting at the corners of your eyes as you leaned into his touch. "She’ll know, Halsin. We’ll teach her together."

Halsin pulled back slightly, his eyes shining with unshed tears, but his smile was radiant. He turned his attention to your daughter once more, gently taking her tiny hand in his and brushing it with his thumb.

"Thania," he whispered, testing the name on his lips as if savoring it. "You are a child of the earth, of the wilds. You carry a name that is tied to life itself, and you will always know the beauty and strength of the world around you. I will make sure of it."

He gently kissed the top of her head, his touch reverent, before turning back to you. Without a word, he cupped your face in his large hands and kissed you deeply, a kiss full of love, gratitude, and promise. When he pulled back, his eyes were full of nothing but adoration.

"I love you," he whispered. "More than words could ever express. You’ve given me more than I ever thought possible."

You smiled, your heart overflowing with happiness. "I love you too, Halsin. "

For a moment, the three of you sat there in the warmth of the fading sunlight, surrounded by the quiet serenity of the forest. Your daughter, Thania, was nestled between you and Halsin.

Halsin gently cradled his daughter in his arms, looking down at her with a sense of wonder and awe. His voice, soft and full of promise, carried through the room as he whispered to her, "You will grow strong, little one. As strong as the land itself. And I will be by your side, every step of the way."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

SO WHOLESOME OMFG; my heart died numerous times whilst writing this. Hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[novaursa]

Winter's Eve

- Summary: A short story for Christmas Eve.

- Pairing: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: The reader is Rhaenyra's daughter.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

- A/N: I'm wishing you all warm and happy Christmas Eve. Be kind to yourself. ❤️

The snow fell thick and silent outside the towering walls of Winterfell, blanketing the world in a hushed stillness that seemed sacred. The air smelled of evergreen and pine resin, mingling with the faint, rich scent of roasted venison wafting through the stone halls. It was Winter’s Eve, the North’s cherished celebration of hearth and kinship, a day to honor the gods for surviving the long night and welcoming the promise of lengthening days.

Candles glowed warmly in every nook of the Great Hall, their light shimmering off the polished swords hung as decorations along the walls. Evergreen boughs and red winterberries adorned the long wooden tables, filling the air with a faint, crisp fragrance. The hall was alive with laughter and song, the kind of revelry that made the cold beyond the walls seem a distant memory.

You stood near the hearth, the massive blaze casting your silver hair in a warm golden glow. Your gown, a deep blood red edged with silver embroidery, stood out amidst the furs and wools of the Northern lords and their families. At your side, Rickon, your stepson, and your eldest daughter, Lyanna, giggled as they shared a slice of honeycake. Your youngest son, Rhaegar, was bundled in your arms, nestled against your chest. His tiny hand reached up to clutch at the strands of your hair, cooing softly.

Cregan entered the hall, a commanding figure even among the gathered lords. His dark hair was windswept, and a light dusting of snow melted on his heavy black cloak. His presence always seemed to fill the room, his deep voice carrying as he greeted his bannermen, clapping hands on shoulders and exchanging hearty laughter.

“Y/N,” he called out as he approached, his grey eyes softening when they found you. “You’ve made the hall shine brighter than the stars themselves.”

“And you’ve brought the winter in with you,” you teased gently, noting the snowflakes still clinging to his beard. “Come here before the children think a bear has wandered in.”

Rickon laughed at that, reaching for his father, who hoisted the boy up onto his shoulder effortlessly. “A bear, is it? Perhaps you should be wary of this bear stealing your mother away.”

Rickon giggled, shaking his head. “Mother would never leave us!”

“Smart boy,” Cregan murmured, ruffling his son’s dark curls before setting him down again.

The merriment paused briefly as Lord Harwyn Manderly, a stout man with a booming laugh, entered the hall carrying a large bundle of fur. He set it down carefully at the edge of the fire, and the bundle shifted, revealing the unmistakable forms of direwolf pups. The room fell into an awed hush.

“Winter’s blessings, Lord Stark,” Manderly said, bowing slightly. “I thought it fitting to bring gifts for your children—a pack for the pack, as it were.”

The pups, four of them, were small but already carried the proud features of their species: thick, shaggy coats, sharp eyes, and strong paws. One was silver-grey, like freshly fallen snow; another was black as night. A third was mottled white and grey, while the fourth was a soft brown, almost tawny.

Rickon was the first to approach, his face alight with wonder. “Are they truly for us?” he asked, glancing at Cregan.

“Aye,” Cregan said, his voice warm with approval. “The North remembers its own. A wolf for each of you.”

You knelt beside Rickon, helping him approach the pups. The black one padded forward and sniffed Rickon’s outstretched hand before nuzzling into it. The boy’s face lit up with joy. “This one’s mine!” he declared, holding the pup carefully.

Lyanna hesitated before stepping closer, her small fingers gripping your gown. You encouraged her gently. “Go on, sweetling. They’re meant to be yours.”

The silver-grey pup seemed to sense her shyness and padded over, wagging its tail. Lyanna giggled as it licked her hand, her bright eyes wide with delight. “I’ll name her Frost,” she whispered, hugging the pup to her chest.

Even little Rhaegar was not left out. Cregan held the mottled pup up for him to see, and the baby cooed, reaching out to touch its soft fur. “He likes you already,” you said softly, marveling at how the wolf seemed to settle instantly in Cregan’s arms, as if knowing it belonged to the smallest Stark.

The brown pup, meanwhile, padded up to you, its head cocked as if studying you. Cregan chuckled. “Seems you have a wolf of your own, my love.”

You reached down to scratch behind its ears, smiling as it leaned into your touch. “Then we’ll call her Ember,” you said. “A wolf to match the fire in our hall.”

The celebration continued late into the night, with the wolves curling at the feet of their new masters and the children’s laughter echoing through the hall. Cregan pulled you close as the night deepened, the warmth of his presence as steady as the roaring fire.

“This,” he said quietly, his voice filled with reverence, “is what Winterfell was always meant to be—a home, filled with life and love.”

You leaned into him, watching your children and their wolves play in the firelight. “And it always will be,” you replied, your voice soft but certain, “as long as we’re together.”

The warmth of the previous night’s celebration still lingered, faint strains of music and laughter echoing in the air as a few lords and ladies, who had stayed the night, stirred slowly in their chambers. Fires crackled in the hearths, and the scent of bread baking in the kitchens mingled with the crisp winter air.

You stirred awake to the sound of muffled giggles and the unmistakable pitter-patter of small feet on the stone floor. It took only a moment to realize that the source of the giggles was your children. Rolling over, you found Cregan still beside you, his arm draped protectively over your waist, his breathing steady and deep in sleep. Smiling softly, you disentangled yourself from him and slipped out of bed, wrapping a fur-lined robe around yourself to shield against the morning chill.

The giggles grew louder as you stepped into the corridor, and you followed them to the courtyard, where Lyanna and Rickon were already bundled in their cloaks, dragging their new direwolf pups along on makeshift leashes fashioned from ribbon. Rhaegar toddled after them, clutching a toy carved from weirwood, while the brown direwolf pup, Ember, kept a watchful eye on him.

The sight brought a smile to your face, but the moment of quiet admiration was short-lived as you noticed what—or rather who—they were approaching.

In the far corner of the courtyard, nestled in the snow, lay your dragon, Balelyx. His massive, silver-scaled form shimmered faintly in the morning light, his great wings tucked tightly against his body to conserve warmth. Wisps of smoke curled from his nostrils as he slept, the ground around him melted into dark slush from the heat of his presence.

“Lyanna Stark!” you called out, striding quickly toward them. Your voice carried a note of warning, and the children froze mid-step, turning to look at you with wide, guilty eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Rickon, always the boldest, spoke up first. “We just wanted to see if the wolves liked dragons.”

“Dragons and wolves don’t always mix well,” you said, softening your tone as you knelt beside them. “Balelyx is still half-asleep, but if you startled him...”

“He wouldn’t hurt us!” Lyanna interrupted, clutching her silver direwolf pup protectively. “He’s your dragon, Mama. He’d know we’re family.”

Your heart softened at her innocent trust, but you still shook your head. “Balelyx is a dragon, my love. He’s not like the wolves. He follows his instincts first and foremost. Come, step back.”

The children reluctantly obeyed, though Rickon glanced longingly at Balelyx’s massive tail, which twitched faintly even in sleep. “Can’t we just sit near him?” he asked. “We promise to be quiet.”

Before you could answer, a deep rumble echoed through the courtyard as Balelyx opened one great, molten eye, focusing immediately on the children. The dragon lifted his head slightly, a plume of smoke curling from his nostrils. For a moment, the children held their breath, but Balelyx only huffed softly, his tail curling protectively around his body as if acknowledging their presence but not perceiving them as a threat.

“See?” Rickon whispered triumphantly. “He likes us.”

You sighed, reaching out to stroke Balelyx’s scaled neck, murmuring softly in High Valyrian. The dragon relaxed under your touch, and you turned to the children. “You may sit nearby, but no loud noises, no sudden movements. And if he so much as growls, you’ll come straight to me. Understood?”

They nodded eagerly, settling onto the snow-covered ground with their pups, who sniffed at the dragon curiously but kept their distance. Balelyx watched them lazily for a moment before lowering his head back onto his forelegs, his eyes half-closing.

The scene might have remained peaceful if not for the arrival of Lord Harwyn Manderly, still dressed in his fine green doublet from the night before. His booming laugh shattered the stillness of the courtyard as he approached, accompanied by a few other Northern lords who had stayed the night.

“Well, well,” Manderly said, clapping his gloved hands together. “It seems the little wolves are braver than most grown men, sitting so near to such a beast.”

“Lord Manderly,” you said, rising to greet him with a polite smile, “Balelyx is no beast. He’s a dragon of Valyria and far smarter than he appears.”

“Smarter, perhaps, but still dangerous,” Manderly countered, though his tone was light. He turned to Cregan, who had appeared in the courtyard as well, his dark hair still tousled from sleep. “What say you, Stark? Shall we make this a Northern tradition—dragons in the snow?”

Cregan chuckled, crossing his arms as he surveyed the scene. “I think it’s enough that the children have wolves, Harwyn. Let’s not tempt fate by encouraging them to bond with fire as well.”

The lords laughed, their voices carrying across the courtyard, and you couldn’t help but smile at the warmth and camaraderie that lingered even after the festivities. Cregan approached you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he gazed down at the children.

“They’ve inherited your boldness,” he murmured, his voice tinged with pride.

“And your stubbornness,” you replied, leaning into him. “We’ll have our hands full with these three.”

“Aye,” he agreed, his tone warm. “But there’s no joy greater than this.”

The morning passed in a blend of lingering celebration and quiet moments like these, the North’s stoic strength softened by the warmth of family and kinship. Winterfell, in all its cold and grandeur, had never felt more alive.

[nickeverdeen]

Best Fort | JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Pairings: JJ x reader (romantic)

Type of fic: Fluff

Warnings: None

Summary: With it being cold outside and nothing much to do inside JJ figures a way to make you cheer up again, even if it’s something as silly as a… well, you’ll see

—————

The cold December air seeped into the small cracks of the windows, making the heater in the corner work overtime. You were seated on the couch, bundled in one of JJ’s hoodies, flipping through the channels with little interest. JJ sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, poking at the fire he’d started in the fireplace, the soft glow casting flickering shadows across the room.

“I’m bored,” you finally declared, letting the remote fall onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.

JJ turned his head, the flames reflecting in his mischievous blue eyes. “Bored, huh?”

“Yeah,” you said, dragging out the word. “It’s too cold to do anything outside, and there’s nothing good on TV.”

JJ stood up, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Alright, Sunshine, if the great outdoors is out of the question…” He trailed off, looking around the room like he was sizing up the possibilities. Then his eyes lit up, that familiar spark of trouble dancing across his face.

“What?” you asked, sitting up straighter.

“Blanket fort,” he said simply.

Your eyebrows shot up. “A blanket fort?”

“Yeah,” he said, already pulling cushions off the couch and tossing them onto the floor. “You know, like when we were kids. Only better. Because now we’re cooler.”

“And because we’re adults, JJ,” you teased.

“Exactly! Adults who can build a fort and stay up as late as we want.” He gave you a pointed look. “Come on, don’t act like it doesn’t sound fun.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

The next hour was spent in a chaotic blur of laughter, cushions, and mismatched blankets. JJ had no real plan, which meant the “construction” process was a mess. He insisted on using fishing line at one point—“For stability!”—but quickly abandoned the idea when it tangled in his fingers.

You managed to rig a broomstick between two chairs as a support beam, draping blankets over it to create the roof. JJ stole pillows from every room, piling them into the center of the fort like a nest. By the time you finished, the two of you were out of breath, sitting back to admire your work.

“It’s… lopsided,” you said, tilting your head as you examined the fort.

“It’s perfect,” JJ countered, grinning as he flopped onto the floor and crawled inside.

“Only you would call this perfect.”

“Get in here,” he called, ignoring your teasing. “Trust me, it’s cozy.”

With a laugh, you followed him inside. He’d somehow managed to string up a few lights along the walls of the fort, their soft glow making the space feel warm and magical. You settled into the pile of pillows beside him, tugging one of the larger blankets over your legs.

“This is ridiculous,” you said, though your tone was more amused than critical.

JJ leaned back on his elbows, smirking at you. “Yeah, but you’re smiling. So, mission accomplished.”

You rolled your eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. There was something about being here with him, wrapped up in a tiny, makeshift world, that felt perfect in its own way.

“So, what now?” you asked.

JJ’s grin widened. “Now, we do fort things.”

“Which are?”

He tapped his chin dramatically, pretending to think. “We could make shadow puppets, tell ghost stories, or—” His voice lowered conspiratorially. “We could raid the snack stash.”

You gasped in mock horror. “The sacred snacks? How dare you suggest such a thing!”

JJ laughed, the sound warm and carefree. “Come on, Sunshine. You know you want some.”

It didn’t take much convincing. The two of you emerged briefly to grab an assortment of snacks—chips, candy, and a questionable pack of cookies JJ swore were still good—and retreated back into the fort.

Time blurred after that. You traded stories, teased each other relentlessly, and competed to see who could make the weirdest shadow puppet on the wall. JJ, of course, claimed victory with an unidentifiable blob he insisted was a dragon.

At one point, you leaned back against him, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders. The lights cast a soft glow across his face, highlighting the boyish charm that never seemed to fade, no matter how much life tried to beat it out of him.

“You know,” you said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence, “this might actually be one of your better ideas.”

JJ pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice low and teasing. “Told you I’m a genius.”

You laughed softly, tilting your head to look up at him. “Might be pushing it, Maybank.”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Admit it—you love me.”

“I do,” you admitted, your voice soft but steady.

JJ’s grin softened into something sweeter, his free hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Good,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you. It was slow and unhurried, the kind of kiss that made you forget the world outside even existed.

When he pulled back, you rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The fort creaked slightly in the wind, but neither of you cared. For now, this little world you’d built together was enough.

“Best fort ever,” JJ murmured sleepily.

You smiled, your eyes drifting closed. “Best December night ever.”

[edgeray]

I BESEECH YOU

Goddess! Arlecchino x Reader

You fear that your death draws near. You pray to be spared from suffering when you meet your fate.

Content warnings / info - none

When you're a dying individual, time swims past you, ungraspable and constantly evading you. There is almost too much time and never enough of it, a phenomenon that only comes to those whose mercy is death. While you bide your time, waiting for the inevitable to approach, there are still things that need to be tended to. Your farm and animals reserves no impatience despite your aching body and weakening limbs. Still, you find it hard to gripe when they preoccupy you from your fate.

No physician that has found a cure for your ailment, a medical anomaly for someone whose age was just ripe for marrying a reliable, decent man. Oh, how the villagers pity you, yet have not spared a single moment of their time or peace of mind for you.

Winter draws near. Whispers on the streets tell you that this year's harvest was abysmal. A famed apostle foretells that this winter will be harsher than the last. The nobles have, expectedly, stockpiled much of the village's harvest, and your neighbors were left to barter for remains and leftovers. Mania runs amok in the markets. The village brims with a fraught energy, despair palpable in the sad sight of the commoners.

It's an omen, you think. Just as your condition starts to worsen, every breath grows more labored than the last with each frigid and snow-casted night. Even now, with the fur-lined coat and the wool hat, the chill penetrates into your skin. You clutch onto the loaf of bread and bundles of fruit a little closer to your body as you traverse through the snow. It crunches underneath your feet, each bare step another dose of iciness injected into your veins. You shudder and lift your gaze.

A forgotten, barren shrine greets your view, a crumbling but no less sacred sanctuary. A relieved huff escapes from you.

The villagers have long abandoned this shrine and its goddess a long time ago. When the town began prospering, there sprung up many other trivialities for villagers to fret over–not when death seems so distant. When fields thrive, the weather is fair, the villagers’ pockets are full, and the nobles bless them with protection, death comes for few. Why worship the Goddess of Death when you can earn Lord Pantalone's blessing or be gifted with Lord Dottore's longevity and vitality? No longer is death a contagious disease, more so an afterthought. You used to think this way before you were struck with a curious illness. What use does currency have when you're dying? Why had Lord Dottore cursed you?

You kneel before the house of Lord Arlecchino. The coarse ground bites into your skin. The remains of your past offerings suggest that some critters have gotten to them before your Goddess has. Pesky creatures. You lay down the offerings in the center, before closing your eyes.

“Almighty Lord Arlecchino. I greet you, my Goddess of Death. How do you fare?” There is silence, but you still wait for an answer.

“I apologize this time for my lacking offerings. If you could find it in your heart to forgive me, I would be gratified. This year's harvest was not abundant… perhaps my village's luck has been used up. I believe there will be a lot of souls for you to collect. And… I will be among them,” you profess quietly, looking up at the ceiling.

You dip your head back down, inhaling deeply. “I know I have provided only humble gifts to you. But I have been devoted to you for years… I have taken care of this place of worship… may I ask of you for one thing, my Lord?”

The wind whistles through the shrine, and a gust kisses your skin. You take it as a sign to continue. “If you deem me worthy of this grace, then… I would like to die without suffering. If possible… I would like to pass during my slumber. If my request is too impudent… you may strike me down now. Or… I will wait for the time when I meet you. I thank you for your presence. Please indulge yourself in my gifts, Lord Arlecchino.”

You take one final bow, before getting up. You pray that the Goddess will take pity on you. You begin to turn, but then falter. Uncoiling the fabric around your neck, you place down your wool scarf onto the ground.

“I am not certain if you feel the winter chill as I do. Even if you do not, I would like for you to have it. The winter is grueling, as cold and beautiful as you are.”

You finally turn and leave. When you are nothing but a small silhouette in the distance, a pale woman emerges in the shadows of the shrine, observing you.

“Foolish, precious human,” the Goddess sighs as she leans down, grasping onto the scarf. “Do you undermine my omnipotence so much that you do not ask for me to relieve you of your illness? Or perhaps your heart is too large to muse the thought.”

She wraps the soft material around her neck. It is comforting. “It is not time for you to meet me just yet.”

Whipped up something quick cuz I was in a mood. Should I continue, maybe? Lowkey should finish my Halloween Event fic but... too many other ideas.

[misswynters]

Heart of the Beast

beast!Cregan Stark x beauty! gn!reader

[a/n: abit sloppy with the writing for this one…beauty is subjective so your gender doesn’t matter here, time jumps all around kinda feels messy :/

[note | pls don’t just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

A short story inspired by Beauty and the beast. . .

The North was a place of stark beauty and harsh realities, where winter's grip could be both a blessing and a curse. Deep within the ancient walls of Winterfell, Cregan Stark lived a life shadowed by a curse he could not escape. Rumors whispered of his ferocious demeanor, his unapproachable nature, and his solitary existence. But those who knew him best spoke of the man he once was, before the curse transformed him into a beast of legend.

You arrived at Winterfell on a cold, windswept evening, bundled against the chill. Your father's debt had brought you here, a bargain struck to save your family's honor and future. You had heard the stories of the beastly lord, but standing before the towering gates of Winterfell, you felt a mix of fear and determination. You were a Celtigar, after all, and Celtigars did not shy away from challenges.

The castle's great hall was vast and imposing, lit by flickering torches that cast long shadows across the stone walls. As you were led to the heart of Winterfell, you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe mixed with trepidation. The heavy doors creaked open, revealing the figure of Cregan Stark, seated at the head of a long, wooden table.

He rose as you entered, his imposing figure draped in furs. His face was partially obscured by the dim light, but you could see the sharp angles and the intense, brooding eyes that seemed to see straight through you.

"Welcome to Winterfell," he said, his voice a deep, resonant growl. "I trust your journey was not too arduous?"

You inclined your head, meeting his gaze with as much courage as you could muster. "It was long, but I am here now, my lord."

Cregan studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I appreciate your willingness to come. Your father's debt is a heavy burden, and I do not take it lightly."

The weight of his words hung in the air, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. "I am here to fulfill my family's obligation, my lord. Whatever that may entail."

He nodded slowly, a hint of something softer flickering in his eyes. "You are brave, for a Celtigar. Few would come willingly to face the beast of Winterfell."

Days turned into weeks, and you found yourself adjusting to life at Winterfell. The castle's cold, imposing exterior began to feel more like home, and the people within its walls started to warm to your presence. But it was Cregan who remained the most enigmatic, a puzzle you were determined to solve.

He was a man of few words, his actions speaking volumes in their stead. You watched as he cared for his people with a stern but fair hand, his gruff exterior hiding a deep sense of responsibility and honor. He was not the beast of the stories you had heard; he was something much more complex, a man burdened by a curse he could not break.

One evening, as the snow fell softly outside, you found yourself drawn to the godswood. The heart tree stood tall and ancient, its red leaves rustling in the cold wind. You often came here to think, to find solace in the quiet beauty of the sacred place.

Cregan found you there, his presence a comforting shadow amidst the ancient trees. "This place has always brought me peace," he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. "It reminds me of the strength of our ancestors, the resilience that runs through our blood."

You looked up at him, seeing the man beneath the beastly exterior. "And you carry that strength within you, Cregan. You are not defined by the curse, but by the choices you make, the honor you uphold."

He met your gaze, his eyes softening. "You see me as I am, not as the beast the world believes me to be. For that, I am grateful."

A silent understanding passed between you, a connection forged through shared trials and mutual respect. As the days grew shorter and the nights colder, your bond with Cregan deepened. You saw the man he could be, the leader Winterfell needed, and you were determined to help him break the curse that held him captive.

One night, as the moon cast a silver glow over Winterfell, you found yourself standing in the great hall with Cregan. The fire crackled in the hearth, the warmth a stark contrast to the chill outside. Cregan's eyes were filled with an intensity that took your breath away.

"I have lived under this curse for so long," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of sorrow and hope. "But you have shown me that there is more to life than this darkness. You have brought light into my world."

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you took a step closer to him. "And you have shown me the true meaning of strength and honor. We can break this curse, Cregan. I believe in you."

He reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "With you by my side, I feel like i can be myself again."

In that moment, the walls of Winterfell seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you standing together, united by a love that had grown amidst the harshest of conditions. As his lips met yours in a tender, heartfelt kiss, you knew that you had found something rare and precious—a love that could withstand any storm, a bond that could break any curse.

The beast of Winterfell was not the monster of legends, but a man of honor and strength, and with your love, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that together, you could conquer anything.

The days passed swiftly, and you and Cregan fell into a comfortable rhythm. He showed you the hidden nooks of Winterfell, places he had discovered as a boy. You spent hours in the library, reading together by the light of a crackling fire. Cregan often found himself captivated by the way your eyes lit up when you discovered something new. The moments of quiet companionship, the laughter, the shared stories—all of it knitted your hearts closer together.

One winter morning, as you both walked through the snow-covered courtyard, Cregan stopped suddenly, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The sky was a clear, crisp blue, the kind of day that promised a bitter cold but also breathtaking beauty.

"Follow me," he said, a rare smile touching his lips.

Curious, you followed him to the stables. He saddled two horses, and soon you were riding out into the wilderness, the cold wind biting at your cheeks. The landscape was a frozen wonderland, the trees heavy with snow, the ground sparkling like a field of diamonds.

Cregan led you to a secluded glen, a place he said he had discovered long ago. A small, frozen pond lay at the center, surrounded by tall pines. The silence was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of branches in the wind.

"This place," Cregan began, dismounting and helping you down from your horse, "is special to me. It's where I come when I need to think, to find peace."

You looked around, feeling the magic of the place. "It's beautiful, Cregan. Thank you for bringing me here."

He took your hand, his grip warm and reassuring. "I wanted to share it with you. To show you that even in the harshest of places, there can be beauty and peace."

You smiled up at him, your heart full. "You've shown me that, Cregan. You've shown me so much more than I ever expected."

He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you. For a moment, you both stood there, holding each other in the quiet of the glen, the world outside fading away. It was a moment of pure, unspoken connection, a bond that needed no words.

As the days grew longer and spring began to whisper its arrival, you and Cregan found yourselves spending more and more time together. The bond between you deepened, a blend of friendship, respect, and something more profound—love.

One evening, as the first hints of spring thawed the snow, you sat together in the godswood, the heart tree's red leaves rustling softly in the breeze. The air was still cold, but there was a promise of warmth, of renewal.

Cregan turned to you, his expression serious. "I've been thinking about the future," he said, his voice steady. "About what it means to lead, and what it means to love."

You felt your heart skip a beat. "And what have you decided, my lord?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with unwavering determination. "I've decided that I don't want to face it alone. I want you by my side, not as a tool for a debt, but as my partner, my love."

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his words sinking in. "Cregan, I—"

He held up a hand, his expression earnest. "You don't have to answer now. Just know that I love you, more than I ever thought possible. And whatever comes, I want to face it with you."

Tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of joy and overwhelming emotion. "I love you too, Cregan. More than words can express."

He leaned in, his forehead gently resting against yours. In that moment, surrounded by the ancient trees and the promise of spring, you felt an unshakable sense of peace. The future was uncertain, filled with challenges and unknowns, but one thing was clear: with Cregan by your side, you could face anything.

As the seasons changed and the days grew warmer, you and Cregan began to make plans for the future. The curse that had once loomed so large now seemed like a distant shadow, its power diminished by the strength of your love. Together, you would build a life, a future filled with hope and promise.

Winterfell, once a place of isolation and sorrow, now thrummed with the warmth of love and the promise of new beginnings. The people of the North, once wary and fearful, now looked to you and Cregan with respect and admiration. Your love story had become a beacon of hope, a testament to the power of love and the strength of the human spirit.

That bright, sunny morning, as you stood together on the battlements of Winterfell, looking out over the vast expanse of the North, Cregan took your hand in his. "This is just the beginning," he said, his voice filled with a quiet, determined joy. "Together, we'll build a future, not just for us, but for all who look to Winterfell for strength and guidance."

You squeezed his hand, your heart full of love and hope. "I wouldn't want it any other way, my love."

As the sun set, casting a golden glow over the ancient walls of Winterfell, you stood together, united by love, ready to face whatever the future held. The curse was broken, the beast was tamed, and in its place stood a man of honor. You had brought to him the courage, and a love that would endure through all seasons.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood @travelingmypassion @shoxji @thornsandtulips @spn-obession

[xo-codbby]

i loved loved loved lazy sunday dad!price and since requests were open i was wondering if you could continue on with that idea like maybe they take a nice walk through the park and he’s wearing a baby carrier on his chest or something? i feel like dads wearing chest carriers are lowkey sexy looooooool

aw nonnie they are highkey sexy !! and i love seeing them do the work 🤣

the park was calm and quiet as you strolled with your husband, your hand interlaced with his calloused one. his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckle while you both walked, every step of his careful not to jostle the baby too much. he cherished the days when work wasn't calling him up, the moments where he was just simply a man in complete love with his family.

it had been amusing to see him take the role of the doting father so naturally, like he was made for it. usually a hard headed, strong willed soldier on the battlefield but here he was an adoring husband and the most loving father. so completely adoring for the bundle wrapped in her little yellow fleece, embellished with small little purple flowers. he melted into pieces everytime he changed her into her little clothes, so bittersweet that one day she would outgrow these small tiny garments but so excited for the little person she would grow into.

price was a tall man, broad than most and it definitely turned heads when people saw a tiny little baby strapped to his chest with his no nonsense face. but it was the moments he cooed softly to the infant, his lips pulled into the most softest of smiles, gently bouncing her when she got a little fussy. pulling a little face to make her giggle and hear just how precious that sound was reverberating deep in his soul wanting to protect her from any and all harm always. he loved the carrier, he loved holding his baby close to him. and you loved watching him, how tending he was to the both of you. it only strengthened the bond and the love between you both

price's other hand rested gently on the baby's back, stroking every so often giving her a little cuddle whenever she made a soft sound. her eyes were wide with curiosity, looking around at all the different sights and sounds trying to soak it all up. the infant had been tucked securely in the baby carrier and then zipped inside his jacket pressed into his chest for good measure. it made his heart swell how small she was, so utterly delicate and fragile. she was always so calm when he held her this way, the steady sound of his strong heartbeat lulling her into a sleepy daze after a while

"aw look at 'er, can barely keep those little eyes open. should be heading back right about now, love" his arm rests around your shoulders, bringing you in closer to his side while he chuckles down at his infant strapped to his chest falling fast asleep content to be held like this. you could only offer a gentle smile, looking at your little one. you knew exactly how it felt, being held by john always felt like home no matter where you were or what was happening. it felt safe and familiar always.

"then let's head back" you nod softly, head leaning against his body for a moment just taking in the beauty and keeping the moment playing for as long as you could. and john's arms brushed over the both of you pulling you in close, a tenderness in his touch that was reserved only for his family.

his mind had already framed this perfect moment forever, holding you both sacred in his heart for those times he can't hold you in his arms

[softpascalito]

Dulcissima I Marcus Acacius x Vestal!Reader I Chapter II

! This Fic contains major spoilers for Gladiator II ! Proceed with caution !

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Vestal Virgin Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Secret Relationship, Vestal Virgins, Religious Guilt, Gladiator fights, Gladiator II compliant (more or less), Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Ancient Rome, Age Difference, Slow Burn (ish), More tags to be added (!)

AO3 // Series Masterlist // Masterlist // Fic Playlist

notes: ! last major spoiler warning for gladiator II below the cut !

thank you all so much for the love on the first chapter. we delve a little bit into their backstory now (gladiator II is set around 211 AD). feel free to let me know if you are interested in reading how these two get to where we picked up before <3 i also have a little acacius playlist that fits the vibe of this fic very well. feel free to check it out here!

vestal (vigins) - priestesses of vesta, virgin goddess of Rome's sacred flame (details will be explained later in the story) dulcissima - sweetest (fond nickname) domus - a roman house palla - a traditional mantle for women paludamentum - a cloak worn by high ranking military officials

Chapter II

209 AD

The domus sits just on the edge of Palatine Hill, on the side opening towards the Forum Romanum and Via Nova. You have passed below it more times than you can count, though you have rarely walked the small street that weaves up the hill and leads to the edge of the property.

Many of the neighboring houses are too harsh for your taste, with columns twice as wide as your body and barely a shrub of greenery in front of them. A supposed sign of strength, no doubt. But when passing the house with the large garden, you like to take as much time as you dare, occasionally catching a whiff of the lavender that grows all around it.

It reminds you of the shadowy figure you often saw walking those same gardens after dark, many years past. A bereaved woman, shrouded in dark cloth, keeping her head down as she tended to the plants with dainty fingers, decorated with a thick gold ring that framed a green stone. You remember lingering too long on your way past the iron fence once, fascinated by the way her dress flowed in the wind. She had called out to you, beckoning you towards her.

Lucilla was not a terrifying woman but you knew that every misstep could cost you, especially in your position as a vestal. She had knelt down in front of your trembling form, brushed your hair out of your face and looked at you with an expression you did not understand. But she had whispered words that you did. Asked you not to collect the water after dark, to stay with the older vestals. Then she had offered you a small bundle of lavender.

You stuffed it under the linen of your bed later that night, breathing in a scent that felt like a world where a woman could freely roam her garden and the city beyond, who did not have to be afraid.

The guard at the gate gives a small bow of courtesy when you reach him and moves to the side, allowing you to tread the stone path that leads up to the house. “The General is inside. Please, knock.”

A gentle “Thank you” escapes your lips as you reach to lift your stola just enough to not step on it. The torches lining the way are extinguished, not needed during the day. A short glance down the hill allows you to spot your own home, right beside the rounded building that is the Temple of Vesta.

When you reach the wooden door, you raise your hand and will yourself to knock with enough force to make it heard.

You can hear someone calling out from inside and a few seconds later, a man with broad shoulders opens the door. His gaze flies over you briefly–taking in your white tunic and the palla wrapped around your shoulders. The thin veil attached to your headdress and all the linen of your clothes tucked neatly into place are usually enough indication for whoever is stood in front of you to understand your status.

“General Acacius?” You ask softly, your eyes taking in his brown eyes and the curve of his nose, one that looks like it belongs on a statue rather than a living man.

“Vero, that is me. Please, come inside.” He gives a small bow, gesturing past himself and you nod at the invitation, gracefully stepping into the house and finding yourself in an atrium that renders you speechless. The columns that line its sides are slightly worn, flowers stretching along them towards the upper floor. Stone basins and pots holding a variety of plants stand at almost every corner of the open space, making it feel more like a garden than the stuck-up room you would have expected in a Generals home.

Acacius’s hand hovers behind you, guiding you past the fountain that holds a few orange fish and to the opposite end of the open room, though he never actually touches you. “Please. Have a seat.”

“Thank you,” you repeat your earlier words, lowering yourself onto the chair he indicated.

“Would you like some wine? Perhaps some grapes too?” He waves to one of the servants, who promptly places two glasses on the table, though Acacius takes the carafe and dismisses him with a small nod as he begins to pour you some of the dark red liquid. You make to reach for your glass to hold it steady but he shakes his head quickly. “Allow me. Please.”

You nod at that, leaning back and waiting politely while he pours himself a drink as well. It allows you a moment to take in his form up close, the white tunic and his red paludamentum wrapped around his body. A cloak fastened with a gold brooch, one that–similar to your headwear–makes him a respected man no matter where he goes. You wonder if he feels the same about it, that some days it's more like a heavy curse weighing one down. Then again, he is a General of Rome. You are a priestess of Vesta. Your paths may cross today but you are certain they look very different from one another.

He sits down across from you, a small sigh leaving his lips as he toasts in your direction and takes a sip of his wine. Then, he leans to the side and produces two rolls of parchment. “I had to make some adjustments to my will. It was kept by one of the other priestesses, but I believe she has finished her service with the Vestals since I last saw her.”

You give him a small smile as you take the parchment from him, nodding. “Yes, she left the year before last. But of course I will be just as happy to keep the will for you.”

His eyes fly over your face briefly and he gestures to the rolls on your lap. “I crossed out the old version. I married, you see.”

You stare at him for a moment before nodding a little too quickly. “Of course. Yes, I–The lady of this house I presume–” You break off, realizing your mistake. If he indeed married Lucilla, he is now the head of this house. “What I meant–” you add hastily. “–is that it is your house now. And the house is beautiful, I mean–” It’s the second time you stop in the middle of the sentence. But this time, it is because you have dared to look back over at the General. And he is not even trying to conceal his amusement.

You bow your head in another silent apology and he tuts softly. “You are quite right, you know. As far as I am concerned, she is the woman of this house.” A smile plays around his lips. “And I would not have it any other way.”

It’s clearly not his atrium that surprises you. He is not what you would expect a General to be. Especially not one that is about to entrust you with his will. “I give my word that I will see it is stored safely,” you reassure him, carefully taking another small sip of the wine.

Acacius nods. “I appreciate that. You have my thanks.” He pauses briefly, his gaze darting around the atrium for a split second before landing back on you. “You seem uneasy. Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No. No, of course not, General.” It is not a lie, per se. But you are all too aware that it sounds like one.

“Is it your first time taking a will?”

You do not know how he does it. He seems to have read you so easily–or he is just very well connected to know such a thing. “Yes. It is, but I promise–”

“I trust you,” he states almost casually while reaching for the grapes and offering you some as well. You politely decline.

“Forgive me but … you met me mere moments ago. How can you know I am trustworthy?” Your eyes catch his and this time you hold his gaze, not missing the small glint in them.

“All of Rome trusts the Vestals. If not you, who would we put our faith into?”

“The gods. You should put your faith in the gods,” you say quietly.

“I prefer to put my faith in people,” Acacius responds, though his voice is slightly lowered as well. “The gods do not fight our wars.”

You stand up so abruptly that you almost drop the scrolls. “I should go.”

He seems perplexed for a moment but quickly catches himself and nods, standing up before leading you back the same way you came. You allow yourself a quick sideward glance at his face and are met with a professionally neutral expression. At the door, you turn towards him, giving a last, small bow. “My General.” His title falls off your lips like the silk they sell at the market, flowing effortlessly. His brown eyes lingering on you as you address him–even if normal custom–as yours, make your stomach clench slightly.

Acacius lets his hand hover beside you again, never quite touching you. Yet you almost seem to be able to feel his touch. “I did not mean offense.” His voice is much softer than it was when he greeted you.

“Of course.” You force yourself to smile and step away, shaking your head at the brief moment of confusion you allowed yourself. He is a General, you are a Vestal. He has sworn his vows and you have sworn yours. And both include promises that are enough to keep you at a few feets distance for several lifetimes. “Please, call for me if you ever need to make adjustments to the will. And–” You force yourself to smile a little wider. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

You turn around before he can speak again, suddenly wanting to put some distance between yourself and the house you so longed to see from inside–until you did.

***

211 AD

“You have to go, dulcissima.”

Acacius' voice is quiet, the back of his head resting against the stone pillar as he watches you drag the chaise lounge across the atrium, muttering under your breath when you have to maneuver it around the small fountain in the middle of the space.

“Please.”

You shake your head just as you reach him, gesturing for him to sit down. His begging breaks your heart–it always has. But the thought of leaving him here with open wounds is worse.

“Let me see your arm.” He doesn't move, forcing you to become a bit more stern. “Acacius. Let me see the arm. I am not leaving until you do.”

A curse slips out under his breath but he does as told, sitting down and allowing you to inspect his wound. The rustle of the chain on his ankle breaks the quiet as he moves and you pointedly ignore it as you crouch down in front of him.

You let your hand hover above his skin for a moment, taking a small breath. It is still difficult to break the rules you have been taught for so long sometimes. You tell yourself that this is not even a sin, that you are merely caring for a wounded Gladiator. It tricks your brain enough to lower your hand onto his skin. You do not believe it tricks Vesta.

“He should not have fought you,” you mumble quietly, thinking back to how Lucius was swinging away the moment he entered the arena.

“He did not understand. And it is how the Colosseum works, you know this.” Acacius mutters back, tensing slightly when you run your finger over the cut the sword left on his arm. It doesn't seem too deep but you know Acacius must be in much more pain than he lets on.

“I hate that place,” you whisper, surprising yourself with the force of your words. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you stiffen when you feel a calloused hand tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before brushing over your cheek.

“Oh, sweet,” he mutters, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. “I am fine. I made it out, see? I promised I would.”

“They were going to shoot you,” you choke out, trying and failing to hold back the tears now slipping down your cheeks. You feel his lips touch the crown of your head briefly.

“But they didn't. Now, please, I will take care of this. But you have to leave.”

You wipe your tears with the back of your hand and shake your head again, blinking a few times to clear your vision and shift your attention back to his wound. “How would you take care of this? They have sentenced you to death. The Emperors have called for it, in front of the whole empire.”

“I can talk to them. I have things to offer, even now. They do not know how to lead an army. But they need someone who does. And–”

“You would sell your soul to stay alive,” you whisper as you reach for a piece of cloth and begin to wipe down the crusted blood.

Acacius sighs. “No. But I would sell my soul to stay with you.”

! when commenting or reblogging, please make sure to hide spoilers from others !

[witchboxco]

Imbolc Altar Ideas & Correspondences

Imbolc, also known as Candlemas or Brigid's Day, marks the halfway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It's a time to celebrate the returning light and the awakening of the Earth.

Altar Decorations:

Candles: Imbolc is strongly associated with the element of fire. Decorate your altar with candles in shades of white, yellow, and light blue to represent the increasing daylight.

Brigid's Cross: Craft or purchase a Brigid's Cross, a traditional symbol associated with the Celtic goddess Brigid. Hang it on your altar as a protective charm.

Seasonal Flowers: Place early spring flowers like snowdrops, crocuses, and daffodils on your altar. These symbolize the first signs of life returning to the land.

Herbs: Incorporate herbs such as rosemary, thyme, and cinnamon for their purifying and invigorating properties. Bundle them together with a red or white ribbon.

Seeds: Represent the potential for growth by adding a dish of seeds to your altar. Consider seeds associated with early spring crops like wheat or herbs.

Imbolc Symbols: Include symbols like lambs, ewes, and the sun to capture the essence of this seasonal transition.

Candle Holders: Choose unique candle holders or lanterns to enhance the ambiance. Consider using candle holders in the shape of suns, stars, or nature-inspired designs.

Divination Tools: Add divination tools like tarot cards or runes to your altar for seeking guidance during this transitional period.

Symbolic Stones: Integrate crystals such as citrine for abundance, aquamarine for clarity, and moonstone for intuition. Arrange them aesthetically around your altar.

Feathers: Symbolizing air and spirituality, feathers can be incorporated to invoke the energy of the season. Choose feathers from birds associated with the goddess Brigid, like swans or owls.

Artwork: Display artwork or illustrations that resonate with the themes of Imbolc. This could include depictions of Brigid, snow-covered landscapes, or symbols of growth and renewal.

Imbolc Incense: Craft or purchase incense blends with scents like frankincense, myrrh, and chamomile to fill your sacred space with a soothing and purifying aroma.

Correspondences

Goddess Brigid: Imbolc is sacred to Brigid, the Celtic goddess of hearth, home, and inspiration. Invoke her energy for healing, creativity, and protection.

Colors: White, yellow, light green, and light blue are associated with Imbolc. Use these colors in candles, altar cloths, and decorations to align with the festival's energy.

Stones: Crystals such as amethyst, garnet, and clear quartz resonate with Imbolc's energies.

Foods: Dairy products, especially cheese, and foods made with seeds like bread or muffins are fitting for Imbolc. Set offerings on your altar or incorporate them into your celebration feast.

Water: Imbolc is also associated with the element of water. Include a small bowl of water on your altar to symbolize purification.

Creativity Symbols: Imbolc is a time for inspiration and creative endeavors. Include symbols of your creative pursuits, such as a paintbrush, musical instrument, or writing quill.

Anointing Oils: Create or purchase anointing oils infused with herbs like lavender, rosemary, and frankincense. Use them to anoint candles, tools, or yourself during Imbolc rituals.

Animal Representations: Incorporate figurines or images of animals associated with Brigid, such as lambs, cows, or swans, to honor her connection to the animal kingdom.

Wheat or Corn Dolls: Craft small dolls from wheat or corn husks, symbolizing the harvest to come. Place them on your altar as a representation of the Earth's fertility.

Bell or Chimes: Hang a bell or wind chimes near your altar to symbolize the awakening of nature and the stirring of life. Ring it during your Imbolc rituals to mark significant moments.

Decorative Cloth: Choose an altar cloth with intricate patterns or symbols related to Imbolc, such as suns, wheels, or Brigid's crosses, to add a touch of magic to your sacred space.

May you find warmth in the returning light. <3

[v33n4-c4rn1s]

"Promise."

Remy LeBeau x fem!reader

A/n: This is my first proper fanfic! it's over 2000 words lolol and it's just Angst/Comfort with everyone's favorite Cajun! I'm really proud of this and I'm happy Remy gets to be my very first proper fic..i hope you enjoy!! also tag for because they asked so nicely :3 @kaidan-z

Summary: When wade wilson dragged you into the mess you were miserable, mourning and utterly heartbroken but now, after following Wilson and Howlett around for hours, watching them fight you finally get your end of the deal. Seeing a man you thought you'd never see again.

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Maybe it’s the fact this was all so..confusing.

I mean how are you supposed to feel when you come face to face with a ghost? 

Well, not really. A ghost would still remember, clutching time in its weary hands, allowing freedom and the soft embrace of closure. A ghost would know. Instead you’re both faced with the haunting idea of a lost memory. Something to yearn and claw for, barely scratching the surface of remembrance. A flame of longing and desperation that’s snuffed out by the force of time. 

- - - - - - - 

You were forced into this mess, against your own will really. One minute you’re sitting in your own misery, clutching a pen and paper, biting back inevitable tears. You mourned the loss of a man who had been long gone, Remy Lebeau. Your Remy. God he was the brightest star, the sweetest man with a sharp tongue. You loved him. You loved him more than anything. The best part? He loved you. Of all the wonderful people in the world, he wanted you, always you. Only you. So that's why it hurt so much when he met his end. 

That's why it tore a hole in your heart. He was tied to you, so deeply rooted in your soul that nothing could pull him away, no gentle persuasion could remove him. Only brute force, A harsh tug that tore him away and left you burning. Painful rage that was so blinding that people cowered away. So in this moment..you just needed solace.

But the universe didn’t give you that, instead You're hauled over some guy's shoulder who's blabbering about how “relieved” he is to see you.

So..what the fuck?

You later learn that you're stranded in a trio, a pathetic one at most. A merc with a mouth, Anger issues in a little yellow bundle (he comes with claws too.) and of course...you.

To most, you weren’t anything special. A mutant? Yes. Despite that being heavy enough itself, your mutation wasn’t anything flashy, just simple enough to cope with.

So why the hell did this bloodstained bastard take you of all people? 

- - - - - - -

So here you are now, stalking behind the pair you now know as Logan Howlett and..Wade Wilborn?..no, Wilson. That's it. Wade Wilson. He was the reason you were here. The void. That’s what this place was..a void. An endless layout of trash and gunk. The TVA, who you later learned “preserved the Sacred Timeline and prevented the creation of alternate timelines.” 

Turns out Wade’s universe was fucked because it lost its “anchor being.” Which was his universe's version of the grouchy companion he’d brought with him..or well, forced with him. Paradox, the one responsible (sorta) for Wade's wonderful kidnapping plan did not seem too pleased..especially since wade had to be that tiny bit extra and break his nose. So he sent you all here..the void.

Wade seemed to be a bit too friendly in all the wrong aspects..seriously how many sex jokes are too many? He’s sweet, you’ll give him that. You found that out only after he attempted to use you as a human shield against some bald headed bitch that only existed to grind on your nerves..But hey, that Johnny guy definitely got it worse.

- - - - - - -

The two overgrown children further proved their hatred to each other by fighting all their tension out in a shitty honda odyssey..all night. They fought till the sun went down. You just sorta sat there, lazily trying to wipe the nose bleed you had received after Wade shoved you to the ground in order to reach a “precious angel.”

..A dog. She was cute but you didn’t take too kindly to him picking a slobbering dog over your mental stability. Still, now all you really had to do was sit and wait for the two to finish their very loud and sharp disagreements. 

- - - - - - -

So..now you’re all caught up? Good. Then let me jump back to our present time.

He could have been a ghost, hell he might as well have been considering how much he paled when he saw you. The way the cards in his hands fluttered to a gentle stop. Even when wielding his weapons he was a gentleman. His lips parted..He wanted to say something, anything..but words could not find him. He just starred. 

To say you felt sick was an understatement. You felt like your body was about to give up any second. Overcome with the heaviest wave of nausea you’ve ever experienced. Here he was..a dead man. Standing in front of your very eyes..and he was beautiful. A little different..but beautiful. From the hair to the tip of his boots, he was the most gorgeously sculpted man you have ever seen.

“Chère?..”

“Remy?”

  Oh fuck. You’re kidding right? So this..version of him had a version of you too? He knew you? He knew you and without even knowing what had happened to his version of you, just looking at his face you knew that something so unforgettable had happened that he was just as broken as you.

“Ooh shit!! Are you seeing this!? I gotta say..i expected all the flashy entrances but look at these two lost loves? Ugh it's like I'm drowning in their self deprecating..”

Remy gave a half glance at the merc, scowling immediadently. His eyes set on him for just a split second before the glare was gone and he was back to looking at you. A softness creeping into his gaze that you didn’t think you’d see ever again. His brows furrowed as he took a step closer.

He knew it wasn’t his lost love but still. From the tips of your hair to the flush in your cheeks, the tentative grasp of your fingers against the fabric of your suit, the way your eyes brimmed with uncertain tears..it didn’t matter. He could rebuild. As selfish as that sounded he could rebuild it all if you’d let him.

“it..it ain’t you but-”

He tried to speak, he really did but the way you flinched at the sound of his voice made him want to cower like a small child. Your eyes fell onto the set of cards in his hand that he soon tucked away into the pocket of his coat. The gentle rustle of the fabric brought you snapping back to the present, a sharp gasp slipping from your lips as you carefully backed away, allowing Wade to take the lead again.

- - - - - - -

He watched you the whole time. He didn’t pay attention at all to whatever the hell the nuisance in the centre babbled on about. He watched you like a hawk. Eyes tracing over every piece of you. The way you bit down on the plush of your lip or how your lashes seemed to dampen everytime you blinked. He took note of the unsteady rhythm of your chest. He knew all the signs. When his eyes flicked back up to your face, he saw a tiny tear, barely visible but he could see it. It slipped down your cheek, resting on the curve of your jaw before it dropped onto the floor, seeping into the wood.

Remy had known you all his time in the void. He had no grasp on anything other than this wasteland and well..you. For a brief moment, he let himself daydream, just resting in the past, in the familiar sight of the sweetest smile he had ever seen. Yours.

- - - - - - -

“Don’t you think this is an awful idea?”

“Nonsense Chère, you think Remy doesn’t know a fine place when he sees one?”

His lips curled into a smile as he watched you glance at the rundown diner. It wasn’t exactly heaven, he knew that..but that didn’t matter, as cheesy as it sounds everywhere was heaven when he was with you. You laughed at the way he struggled to open a cabinet, the way he tugged at the wooden handle.

“Careful remy..it looks unsteady..maybe you should-”

“No need to worry about me Mon amour, what? You think Remy can’t handle a little push and pull? Dis is nothing, you just sit there and look- merde!!-”

It swung open, nearly taking him out in the process. You burst into fits of laughter, your knees buckling under how hard your laughter had hit you.

- - - - - - -

And that..bittersweet memory was the very thing that kept him pushing. Your laughter was the sweetest thing to him, he adored it more than anything and he’d longed to hear it once more.

He glanced over at you again, seriously he couldn’t stop. How could he? It was like looking into the past, the love of his life was a few steps away from him and he was doing nothing? What was wrong with him?

He couldn’t stand the silence anymore, the tension. He watched as you looked at his hands that were now nervously playing with his card deck. He carefully placed them all in one hand before pointing at you. He saw the way you jumped a little at being addressed. He then pointed to himself before pointing to the exit.

He wanted you alone, He wanted to talk.

Despite the ache in your chest, the tremble in your body, you followed him. You followed him out the arch and into the cool near evening. The sun was beginning to set, it casted the warmest glow over the wasteland. It was the prettiest thing about the whole dump.

The two of you walked in silence for a bit. The only sound filling the air were the gentle crunches of twigs beneath Remy’s shoes. It suddenly hit you. You were here, with an exact copy of your former lover. This was so fucked up.

He led you to a smaller campfire, letting you take a seat on the log before lighting the fire, sitting down with a soft grunt.

“Remy know’s dis is a bit..confusing and he’s damn sorry about it but..I've gotta know, chère..”

His soft honesty brought warm butterflies to your stomach. The words rolled off his tongue, combed by his heavy accent. His knee bounced nervously as he watched your face, biting his lip slightly.

“It's..complicated, it would take a long time to even-”

“Remy’s got all the time in the world Chère, just talk t’me..”

You glanced at him one last time. He looked like a kicked puppy when you denied him. How the hell could you say no to such hopeful eyes?

And so you told him, you told him everything. The love, the loss, the pain. The way his absence had left a gaping wound on your being, leaving the ugliest scar and a hideous rage, a burning hatred. You spilled it all and it felt good. It felt good to finally just talk. You were so into explaining it all that you didn’t even notice the fact you were in floods of tears, droplets streaking down your cheeks. Your breathing shortened as you forced more words out of your throat. You were too engrossed in the pain.

“Chère.”

His firm tone cut you off, he reached up, carefully swiping a tear away with the pad of his finger. It sent a range of sparks up your spine and you quivered under his gaze.

He watched you for just a moment before making up his mind. He knew he was overstepping the imaginary boundaries but he knew his Chère well enough to know what she needed. One arm wrapped around your waist and the other slid up to your shoulder, bringing you into a warm embrace. He was so different yet the exact same. He smelt like whiskey and leather. He smelt like home and it made you feel sick.

“Ma pauvre fille..”

He was so comfortable that he didn’t even realise the words that left his mouth, the soft claim he made..but you did. You heard it and it stung, it healed a tiny part of your wounded soul, to be addressed as his once more. You squeezed his shoulder, letting the last few tears fall. He pulled back, hesitantly cupping your cheek, relaxing a little as you leaned into his touch. This felt right, despite the gnaw of pain it felt right. To be here with him, to feel him.

Remy lifted his hand, capturing your smaller ones with a gentle touch. He pressed his lips to the back of it. A kiss, full of tender love and sweet affection. A rush of blood reached both of your cheeks. The cool air gently brushed against the heated skin. He leaned forward pressing another kiss to your forehead this time, letting his own rest against yours as he brought one of your hand to his chestplate, placing it above his heart.

“It’s yours Chère, mon coeur est à toi.”

You knew what he meant, he had promised you that despite all odds, if ever something went wrong, he would find you. He’d find you in every universe.

And he did.

Remy Lebeau was many things. He’d been branded as a scoundrel all his life..but if there was one thing he couldn’t do, it was lie to you. He was an honest man who kept his promises to you.

He fulfilled each one. Including this one.

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[daycourtofficial]

Sweet Dreams of Holly and Ribbon

Summary: you teach the Inner Circle about your home court’s tradition of mistletoe, and someone begins placing them all around the house to catch you underneath them.

Author’s note: this is heavily inspired by Operation Mistletoe by Wkemeup, so feel free to check that out.

“So you just hang them up so you can what- make out with people all the time?” Mor asks, confusion etched on her face as she takes a sip of her wine.

“Sounds awesome,” Cassian says, taking another bite of porridge.

You sigh, “well you don’t really do it to just make out with people,” sending a pointed glare at Mor. “Previous people viewed it as sacred for it’s healing properties, and many view it as a symbol of fertility. It’s only really grown in the Winter Court, but it’s a fun reminder of who we come from.”

Rhys leans forward, “I’m still confused about the kissing thing, I get using it as decor, I suppose. But why kissing?”

“Like I said,” you say, taking a bite of your cereal, “since it survives the winter and blooms during it; many view it as a sign of prosperity and fertility, so maybe people started kissing under it to prompt further fertility.”

Cassian huffs, “you just made sex sound so boring.”

You roll your eyes and point at Cassian, “you’re the one who asked me about winter court traditions for solstice!”

He glares at you, “yeah, well I was hoping you’d tell me you all jump in the lake naked every year.”

You laugh, “oh so you’ve heard of the polar bear plunge?”

Cassian stills, turning his head to look at you with incredible speed. “So you do do it!”

“Well, I don’t,” you say, picking up your glass to drink, “at least, not anymore.” You say with a wink.

Azriel speaks up, his soothing tone taking over the room. “So if you’re caught under the plant, you have to kiss?”

“It’s bad luck not to. You don’t have to kiss on the lips, most people kiss on the cheek or on the forehead.”

-

You woke up the next morning, coming down the stairs, clinging to the robe wrapped around your nightgown.

Coffee, then getting dressed. That was your plan, after all. You poured yourself a cup of coffee, a big perk to living with early risers being that there’s always coffee ready when you roll out of bed.

You start moving for the doorway to the dining room, to see if anyone is eating so you can say hi, when something catches your eye.

Right above you in the doorway is a sprig of mistletoe, tied together in a bundle with a red ribbon, hanging from the doorway.

You look at it, just as pretty as they are in your memories, the vibrance of the green capturing your attention, when you hear shuffling behind you. You go to turn to see who it is, when a large hand envelops the right side of your face, bringing your left cheek into contact with something.

Not something, someone. Someone’s kissing you on the cheek. Before you can process what’s happening, the warmth that was pressed against you is gone, and Azriel comes striding into view.

“Good morning,” he says nonchalantly, walking out of the dining room, nodding to Feyre as he passes her and out of the house.

You whip your head around to see if anyone else witnessed what just happened, and you see Feyre sitting at the table, a spoonful of porridge stuck midway between the bowl and her mouth.

“Did you- did that - see?” You ask, your flustered state making Feyre giggle in amusement. You bring your hand up to your cheek where he had pressed his lips to you.

You wrote it off as him getting caught up in the idea of mistletoe, until a few days later when you were heading into the library. Your head was down, trying to focus on not sliding since your shoes were still wet from the rain. You look up in time to keep yourself from running face first into someone’s chest.

You reach your arms out to steady yourself against them, apologizing for running into them, until you look up and find Azriel’s amused eyes looking back at you. You look above him, seeing he has run into you right underneath the mistletoe.

“We have to stop running into each other like this,” you joke, as you motion with your finger for him to come closer. You stand on your tiptoes, reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck as you kiss him on his left cheek, perhaps lingering a bit longer than you should. Breathing in his piney scent one last time, you pull back, letting him continue on his day.

That night the entire group went out to Rita’s, attempting to have some fun despite the busy season. It seems like these days all of you are working double time to ensure you can keep the day of Solstice free from work.

All of you head upstairs to your private room, just large enough for your group to comfortably lounge about. Azriel stays behind, waiting for a tray of shots to take up the stairs. You decide to stay with him, opting to keep him company while he waits. You would offer to help him carry the drinks, however the shadowsinger’s height allowed him to manuever through the crowd with the tray much more swiftly than you could.

“Is all your solstice shopping done, then?” You ask the shadowsinger, knowing he most likely had finished his shopping months ago.

He flashes you a grin, one he reserves only for you. “Mostly, just little odds and ends left.”

You gasp, “As I live and breathe, Azriel hasn’t finished his solstice shopping? It’s a week away- you’re usually finished by September!”

He rolls his eyes at your playfulness. “There’s one gift left I’ve been waiting for - I just have to go pick it up.”

He leans his left arm against the counter, his body facing the room surveying the area.

“Who’s it for?” You ask, trying not to get too flustered at how close his body is to yours.

He leans in closer to your ear, as he whispers, “Beron.”

He laughs, pulling away from you. You try not to let the disappointment of the loss of his warmth show on your face.

You huff and cross your arms, “fine then, keep your secrets.”

“What about you?” He asks, nudging your foot with his, “any last minute shopping to do?”

You went through the gifts you had bought for everyone, very impressed with some of them. You got Nesta an advanced copy of the next Sellyn Drake novel, some enchanted canvases that allow multiple paintings on them, showing them like a moving picture for Feyre, a hand knit sweater from Winter for Rhys, an exquisite wall mirror for Mor.

Yet you couldn’t figure out what to get the male in front of you. Do you go with simple, so he doesn’t think you tried too hard? Or do you go all out, lay all of your feelings for him out there?

Before you can answer, the bartender presents Azriel with the tray of shots, so you lead him through the crowd of people, walking up the stairs.

You go to turn around and make a comment about how unfair it is that he can manuever through the crowd so easily, when you feel him gently place a hand on your upper arm, sliding down, lifting your hand up to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of it.

Your cheeks heat immediately, as he lets go of your hand, pointing above the two of you, where someone has crudely hung a mistletoe plant above the top of the staircase.

He smiles at you, “tradition, right?“ before sauntering into the room to boisterous cheers that the alcohol has arrived.

The next few days pass and more and more mistletoe made appearances. You found yourself running into Azriel underneath them, wondering if he was catching anyone else under them.

Rhys was grumbling about his house being ruined by the plants, crudely hung by a nail from doorways, arches, balconies, really any surface, but the rest of you seemed to enjoy them.

Azriel wasn’t the only one you ran into underneath them, having run into Cassian a few times, who loved making a big show of it whenever you two were caught under one.

“Oh, sweetheart! We’re caught under the mistletoe! Whatever will we do?” He dramatically, and quite loudly, said to you one morning.

“Good morning Cassian,” you say, as he wraps his arms around you, planting an overly dramatic kiss to your cheek.

He pulls away, letting you go, starting to walk off, but he turns around and smirks while looking somewhere behind you before he’s gone. You look around, but can’t find anyone nearby.

You weren’tt the only one caught under the plant, with most members of the inner circle caught once or twice underneath the plant. You had caught a glimpse of Elain and Lucien underneath one, turning on the spot to provide them with some privacy.

You got caught under it with Nesta, who kissed you on the lips like her life depended on it. The kiss caused Mor to wolf whistle at you two, and Cassian had to pry Nesta off of you after he felt like it was lasting too long.

But it was mostly Azriel, him always catching you when you’re walking through a threshold where the mistletoe is dangling. He had kissed your forehead, your hands, the top of your head, but usually it was on your cheeks, and as much as you enjoyed the kisses, each time you secretly hoped he’d kiss you on the lips.

Rhys sighs, walking into the living room to find that Azriel and Cassian have already been by here, the room covered in mistletoe. From his beautiful crystal chandelier (a delicate heirloom, he grumbles), to the doorways where they’re crudely hung (those nails will leave holes!), to the ones hanging from the ceiling (really?), Rhys is tired of the plant.

The fresh scent of it coats the room, as he walks towards his mate and hangs his head in her shoulder. “What did I do to deserve this?” He grumbles to her.

She giggles, closing her book, “come on, it’s only a few more days, Azriel has some plan cooked up.”

His grip on her loosens, his body going even more slack against her, “yes but why does my house have to suffer for it?”

She coos, stroking his hair as he pouts.

“I think it’s romantic. Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining when I caught you under one last night.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively, as Rhys begins kissing her neck.

As if he summoned them, Cassian and Azriel come back through, holding massive bags of mistletoe.

“I’m just saying, Az, you’re going through a lot of effort. I say you just plant one on her.” The general says, shrugging.

Azriel rolls his eyes at his brother, “Not everyone is wooed by someone just ‘planting one on them’.” He replies, using finger quotes at the end.

Cassian sets down his bag as a grin overtakes his face, “so you are trying to woo her.”

Azriel gives him a look that would terrify a lesser man.

“Considering the effort he’s going through, Cass, it’s quite obvious what he’s trying to do,” Rhys responds, “even though he’s ruining my house to accomplish it for a girl who looks at him like he created the night sky.”

Feyre tuts at Rhysand, as he straightens off of her. “Well, I find it sweet, Az. And this is my house too, so continue on.”

Azriel smiles at his high lady, grabbing Cassian’s bag of mistletoes as he walks out, blatantly ignoring Rhys and Feyre’s intense staring at each other as they are obviously arguing telepathically.

-

You had left for the day before Solstice to return to Winter to drop off some gifts, but hurried back to Night to be able to spend all day Solstice with your new family. You returned to find the house a green chaotic mess, with mistletoe hanging everywhere. Dozens and dozens of sprigs sprouting from the ceiling, almost looking like a garden on the ceiling.

You can’t find Azriel anywhere, unsure of where he’s gone off to. You actually get caught under a mistletoe with both Rhys and Feyre, each of them kissing you on the cheek, Rhys muttering something about not letting live plants in the house anymore as he pulls away.

You eventually retire to your room, deciding if you can’t find the spymaster, you’ll take a nap to prepare for the evening’s festivities. It’s the night before Solstice, and everyone seems to usually spend the days leading up to the holiday drinking their asses off.

Later that evening, after you took a glorious nap, a nice bath, and spent a while getting dressed and ready, you went up to Azriel’s door, knocking softly on the wood.

He opens the door after a moment, taking longer than he usually does, and he smiles down at you, his build taking up the entire doorframe.

“Hey Az, can you come to my room for a sec? I need your help.”

He nods, closing his door behind him, following you across the hall into your room. You open your door, letting him into your space, and shut it behind him. “What did you need help with?”

You pull out the box you had been holding behind your back, presenting it to him. “Open it,” you tell him, putting it in his hands.

The tips of his ears redden, “aren’t we exchanging gifts later?”

You smile, “yeah, but I wanted you to open this one now.” He undoes the ribbon on the box, opening the lid to find a piece of parchment. He sets the box down on your nightstand, standing up straight to unroll the parchment.

Neatly written in your handwriting are the words “Look up”. He does as the parchment says, looking towards the high ceiling of your room to find a small mistletoe hanging directly above the two of you.

“Happy Solstice,” you say, grabbing his shirt and bringing him towards you. You stand on your tip toes, bringing his face into yours.

At your words, Azriel swears he forgets how to breathe, much less think, as your lips cover his. You taste like cookies and coffee, a taste he wants to get lost in when he realizes he hasn’t moved, standing still like a complete buffoon.

He wraps his arms around you, deepening the kiss. He causes you to lean back, dipping you as he deepens the kiss.

When he pulls away, his eyes aglow with joy and humor, he reaches beside himself, pulling something from the shadows.

“If you’d like to open your gift,” he tells you.

You unwrap the wrapping paper, opening the box inside containing another sprig of mistletoe. You laugh, but Azriel starts speaking.

“I asked Kallias to bless it. It is an immortal sprig now. I just picked it up this morning from winter.”

He fidgets with his hands, a little worried this gift isn’t as great as he thought it was. “It’s a little piece of home to have year-round. I know how much you love Solstice.”

You smile up at him, “I love it,” and kiss him again.

He pulls back, obviously needing to tell you something. “Um- it was me, all the mistletoe around the house and everywhere we went.” He raises his hands to gesture all around. “Well it was mostly me, but Cassian helped a bit.”

He sighs, “he caught me one night, hanging them up. Nosy bastard,” you giggle. “So he insisted he help, then big blabbermouth told Rhys and Feyre.”

You laugh, appreciating how much effort he truly went to to do this.

“So I may or may not have been sitting in my shadows all week, waiting by mistletoes for you to walk by.”

Your jaw slackens at his admission, but before you can say anything, he continues. “Cassian beat me a few times when I was about to come out and kiss you. He’d gloat all night about it.”

The shadowsinger rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics.

“But what about the one at Rita’s? How did you do that one?” You ask, confusion lacing your voice. “I was with you the moment we walked in.”

He smiles, a shadow coming by you holding a sprig of mistletoe. “They can’t resist if I ask them to do something for you.”

You throw your head back to laugh, but he wraps a hand around your neck, capturing your laugh with his lips.