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thyme-in-a-bubble · 8 months ago

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the butchery of the beloved, the boulder, the bimbo and the brilliant

kinktober, day twenty-five

a/n: ahhh, it's finally time to share the kinktober fic you all helped shape!! it turned out so fucking unhinged and i love it. happy halloween, folks!

polls for this fic: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

summary: “they–… they were right…” the warnings your now deceased friends had given you since the moment you got involved with the frat boy buzzed in your mind, though when they’d light-heartedly called him a psycho, you never in your wildest dreams thought that they would have been correct in their choice of words, “I can’t believe they were right…”

warnings: dark!rafe cameron x innocent!reader, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, slasher au, final girl!reader, 00’s slutty horror movie vibes, found family, nonverbal, murder, violence, blood, gore, crying, alcohol consumption, smoking, possessiveness, jealousy, mask kink, kissing, size kink, belly bulge, manhandling, dirty talk, just the tip, pussyjob, oral, spit kink, impact play, pain kink, choking, bondage, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, overstimulation, squirting, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, references to anal/painal

word count: 7400

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masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2024

It all started at a lunch table, as so many friendships do.

The first one to sit was Hana, the nurturing soul of the group who had been a genius even back then. The next to join was Brian, the blonde bombshell whose smile brightened any room he entered. Then came Oliver, the guy who at twelve years old had stood up to the bully you couldn’t face yourself and swore from that day on he’d do so for each and every one of you till the end of your days. And lastly, there was you, in many ways the glue of the little pack.

To say that the four of you were thick as thieves didn’t even begin to cover it, as you’d been there for each other in every up and down in each of your lives since adolescence. Even when your mother passed, especially when your mom passed, that’s when you truly knew that they weren’t just your pals, but your family.

“Oh wow,” you breathed as you gazed out the window to the destination you’d finally reached, “is this really your dad’s cabin?” you glanced over your shoulder at the man behind the wheel, a proud smirk ever on his lips.

“Yep,” Rafe nodded and reached down to put the car in park.

You’d met him at the beginning of this semester and it hadn’t taken you very long at all to fall embarrassingly and completely head over heels for the guy.

Though he wasn’t the first boyfriend to grow to be a part of the tight-knit clique, he hadn’t been welcomed with open arms as you remembered Jerome, Brian’s partner, had two years ago. The gentle giant of few words had melted into your dynamic so naturally that none of you remembered any longer a time before him. But it wasn’t like that this time, not with Rafe. For some reason, your friends just couldn’t warm up to the frat guy you loved so dearly.

As you heard the other car roll to a stop behind you, the vehicle where the four remaining resisted, your fingers dipped down into your pocket and fished out your phone to snap a photo of the luxurious lake house and its breathtaking views, though that’s when you noticed the lack of bars up in the upper corner of the screen.

“Oh, damn it…” you squinted down at your phone, “is there seriously no service out here?”

“Yeah, sorry I forgot to tell you,” Rafe snatched out the keys, “this place is pretty off-grid, you have to probably walk half an hour or something to get any signal.”

The dry leaves on the forest floor crunched beneath your shoes as you stepped out of the car and tipped your head back to glance up at how high the surrounding pine trees stretched up towards the cloudy sky.

As Rafe hopped up onto the wide porch and fiddled with a bundle of keys to unlock the place, your gaze kept finding him as you hung back a while and helped your friends unload their car.

“Can you all please promise to play nice this weekend?” you quietly asked them.

“Yeah,” Oliver huffed, yanking out a heavy duffle bag, “I’ll play nice if he does, which I sincerely doubt since I haven’t yet discovered one kind bone in his body.”

“Oh, come on,” you defended your beau, “he’s the one who suggested this trip so that you could all finally discover what a sweet guy he actually is,” before you all ascended the short steps and filtered into the abode.

Not soon after you all crossed the threshold, Rafe’s arms seized your waist and drew you back against him, whispering in your ear that he wanted to give you the grand tour of the house.

However, when you reached the room that was to belong to the two of you for the rest of the weekend, his ulterior motives for the journey around the cabin became crystal clear.

At first, when he wrapped his arms around you from behind as you gazed out the tall windows at the foot of the bed, a giggle bubbled in your belly as you felt his desire poke the small of your back. Though it was already during his palm’s swift voyage under the hem of your shirt and up towards your boobs that he let slip what crucial item he’d neglected to pack.

“You didn’t bring any condoms?” you twisted around to glare at the persistence that still sparkled in his eyes.

“Oh, come on, don’t let that fact spoil our fun,” he pulled you back into his arms, “don’t you want me to dick you down this weekend, huh?” he murmured in your ear.

“Well, I don’t wanna get pregnant,” you slowly pushed him back, “so it’ll just have to be another weekend.”

But then he seized your hand and brought it down to the palpable tent in his jeans, “babe, come on. Just feel how hard I am. You can’t just leave me like this, not when it’s your fault to begin with.”

Your mouth then fell open as a shy scoff rolled off your tongue, “I literally haven’t done a thing, how is it my fault?”

“Come on, don’t act like a prude,” his grip around your wrist shifted and it slid down to rub your palm against his hardness, “be a good girl and at the very least get down on your knees.”

“No,” you chuckled lightly and pushed yourself off of him enough to stumble closer towards the bedroom’s exit, “if you’re so desperate, then take care of it yourself.”

Even though winter was creeping ever nearer, each one of you still dared to go down to the lake’s small pier and soak up the mild rays of autumn sun that peeked out behind the clouds. Both Hana and Oliver even gathered enough courage to take a dip in the cool water, though weren’t successful in any of their attempts at talking the rest of you into the same.

Though when your friends in the water began to splash at one another, Oliver teasingly let some splatter upon Brian as he sat on the edge, eyes closed and face turned up towards the sky as he relaxed back against his boyfriend.

“Oh my god! Don’t!” he tensely straightened up, his tone startling Jerome enough that his palm that rested on Brian’s waist tightened, “stop! You’re giving me flashbacks to summer camp!”

As you heard your grinning friend in the lake apologise, you opened your mouth to note, “that’s right, I forgot you went to camp when we were kids.”

“Yeah, it was honestly revolting,” Brian recoiled slightly at the recollection, “mosquitoes, terrible food, even worse people. Had a big old lake just like this one,” he gestured to the surrounding landscape.

“Actually,” Rafe then spoke up, his voice booming to your ears as he sat directly behind you, his legs slotted on either side of your frame as his chin rested atop your shoulder, “this place used to be a summer camp too back when my dad bought it.”

“Really?” Hana glanced up from the water, their childish game now halted.

“Yeah, I mean,” Rafe cast a glance over his shoulder at the structures on the bank just behind him, “it had been abandoned and completely deserted for a long time, but a lot of the buildings, the main house and the shed and stuff, they’re the original cabins just renovated.”

“Your dad bought an abandoned camp?” Oliver scrunched up his face, “okay, creepy…”

“Oh, hell no, I’m out,” Brain began to unravel, “babe, if we wake up in the middle of the night to a ghost child standing at the foot of our bed, it’s your job to take care of it,” he glanced over his shoulder at Jerome, “I’m too delicate and pretty to deal with the paranormal, especially if it’s kids,” to which his boyfriend simply hummed in agreement and soothingly let his palm run down his partner’s arm.

“Oh, this place isn’t haunted,” Hana said after she’d swam up to clutch against the side of the pier, “calm down.”

“Well, you don’t know that, it might be,” the blonde man behind you shrugged, “especially with what apparently happened here back in the day…”

“What are you talking about?” you looked back at him.

“Well, back like forty years ago or something, when this was still a camp, there was this one counsellor who one day just went nuts, like snapped and murdered every single person there,” Rafe told, purposely making his tone more ominous the further into the story he got, “that’s why the place was shut down and abandoned, why no one ever wanted to return it to its former glory. It’s one of the most gruesome unsolved cases in this entire corner of the country.”

“Wait, unsolved?” Brian clutched his imaginary pearls.

“Yeah, the guy was never caught, supposably never even left these woods…” he then leaned in and attempted to truly spook you all, “at night if you listen closely, you can still hear him sharpening his blade, getting ready to hunt his next prey…”

Hana, assuming that he was only joking, let out a dry laugh to cut the tense silence that had fallen over you all, “okay, very funny, ha-ha.”

“Yeah,” you gently rubbed your boyfriend’s arm as you tried to shake the tale off of you, “let’s maybe not joke about psychopaths running around a rural area when we actually are in a rural area,” though goosebumps still pricked and tingled every inch of your skin.

“Wait, how did it go?” your giggle mingled with Oliver’s as you both leaned against the kitchen counter, nearly bumping your foreheads together from how hard you were laughing, “was it…” and you began to hum a faint melody.

“No because, remember, at the end it went,” your friend cut you off and then made his own attempt, though much more accurate than your own, causing your eyes to promptly light up with recognition before they crinkled together in laughter as he tried to hit the high note at the end.

Once the woods surrounding the cabin had succumbed to darkness, the group of you all decided to wrap the day up in a bit of merriment, going through Rafe’s father’s liquor stash and turning up the music.

During your and Oliver’s secluded moment in the kitchen away from the rest, your laughter caused you to sway even closer to one another, your palm naturally planting itself on his chest as your faces nearly touched.

Though just as the pair of you were doubled over, a figure appeared in the doorway.

“Oh,” your grin continued as you spotted your boyfriend, “hey baby,” though your laughter finally began to fade.

Staring daggers at the man beside you, Rafe then uttered coldly, “hey,” before his feet carried him straight towards you, seized your waist and twisted you away from your friend and towards himself to capture your lips.

“Okay, right,” Oliver exhaled as Rafe kept marking his territory, kissing you way more passionately than he needed to, “I’ll just see you guys back in the living room then…”

You tried to tilt away enough to utter your friend a reply, though your boyfriend didn’t allow you, only let you go once Oliver was long gone and Rafe returned to his original plan of cracking open the fridge to get a cold beer for himself.

Walking back out into the living room while your boyfriend scavenged for a bottle opener, you plopped yourself back down on the couch, on the opposite side to where Brian and Jerome were snuggled up. Next to where the lit fireplace crackled sat Oliver in a chair and not far from his feet on the fuzzy carpet rested Hana, legs crisscrossed as she held up her wine glass to stare through it.

When Rafe rejoined you all, a freshly glowing cigarette trapped between his lips as he sauntered out of the kitchen, he situated himself right beside you, making space for himself where there hadn’t really been previously. In his hand, he didn’t just balance his own drink, but also a stout glass filled with an amber liquid, one he swiftly handed off to you even though you hadn’t asked for it, yet that had still been the routine of the evening, and after the first one was sloshing on your belly, the others became harder to deny and not accidentally sip absentmindedly, especially when he’d playfully help you along by tilting the glass the remaining distance up towards your lips.

“Sweetie,” Hana soon leaned closer to utter for your ears only, “don’t you want a glass of water instead?”

Though your boyfriend beside you unfortunately overheard and grasped his cigarette between two of his longer fingers, a puff of smoke accompanying his words as he answered before you got the chance to, “she’s fine.”

From across the couch, as Hana scooted back to her spot on the carpet, having not caught the quiet interaction, Brian then suggested, “why don’t we play a game or something?”

“What, like truth or dare?” Hana leaned back against an unoccupied armchair.

“No, this isn’t a slumber party. Isn’t there like board games here?”

Brian’s glance then drifted to Rafe as he smothered his cigarette in the nearby ashtray and, without warning, pulled you into his lap and caught Oliver’s eye from across the room as he shamelessly let his hands wander across your frame.

“Uh, yeah. There should be some in the cabinet over there,” Rafe vaguely gestured before his lips began to nip at the side of your neck, making your eyes flutter and only half watched along as Brian then got up to skim through the aforementioned cupboard.

“Okay,” he glanced through the options, “there are cards, so we could play poker or something,”

“No way,” Oliver swiftly shook his head and shot a glance at Jerome’s bulky form, comfortably slumped on the couch, “I’m not repeating that fiasco again.”

“Aw,” Brian glanced back at his friend, “but it was so cute seeing my boyfriend fucking demolish you,” and Jerome, the quiet man he was, just let out a grunt in agreement.

“No, pick something else,” Oliver waved a hand.

“Well, we’ve got monopoly, scrabble, cards against humanity–, uh! There’s clue!” he excitedly picked up the box and spun around, “oh, work! Let’s play that!”

With his kisses still dancing along your skin, they then suddenly ceased as Rafe announced, “you guys go ahead, I think Y/n is ready for bed.”

Shooting a concerned glance at how your intoxicated form wobbled slightly as your boyfriend helped you up on your feet, Hana uttered, “oh, are you sure?”

“She is,” Rafe’s touch clung to you, “aren’t you babe?”

“Oh, uhm…” you hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that he mentioned it, as if he himself planted the thought in your hazy mind, all of the alcohol had in fact made you pretty sleepy, “yeah, I guess so.”

“Alright, well then,” Hana’s voice stayed slightly hesitant, “sleep tight.”

“I love you guys,” you blew the group kisses as Rafe helped you over towards the stairs.

His kisses made you even more dizzy than you already were, so when you stumbled over the threshold into your shared room, you flopped down onto the mattress, though you weren’t quite sure if you’d just fallen or if Rafe had manhandled your intoxicated and pliant frame, giving you a push before his form was atop of yours.

Though now that you were horizontal and with the weight of a frat boy squishing you further down into the bed, that was when you truly noticed just how much you’d had to drink that evening.

The room was spinning as Rafe made out with you, his palms raking across your body like a wild storm, squeezing every soft curve he could get his hands on. As one hand disappeared up your skirt, his kisses wandered down and over your throat to the bit of your chest that was exposed in the neckline of your top. Wasting no time at all, he then yanked down the hem, catching one of the cups of your bra as well as he unwrapped your tit like a present.

As his face was buried in your boobs, surely giving you hickeys from the way that he sucked at your pebbly nipple and the surrounding sensitive skin, a breathless attempt at halting his affections left your lungs, “baby–”

Though he didn’t take the whimper as you’d intended it and simply continued, “shit, you’re so fucking hot,” he yanked down the other sliver of mesh fabric covering your other boob, “god, these tits are just insane.”

Weakly, you ran your fingers through his buzzed hair and gasped as you felt his hardness grind into your covered core, “Rafe, I–”

“Yeah?” his lips began to flutter back up to your own as he let himself rock against you with more intent, “you want this big dick, huh?”

“No, we can’t, we don’t have a–”

“Oh come on, baby,” he shifted, slipping a hand down under the waistband of your skirt and into your underwear, not hesitating to sweep his fingers through your wetness and bully your little button, “I know you want to…”

“Stop, that feels too good,” you tried, but couldn’t yank his strong hand away, “you can’t–, I have to get up and brush my teeth.”

“You know, all my exes let me tap it raw,” he purred in your ear and attempted to guilt you, “why won’t you? Don’t you trust me?” his touch then suddenly disappeared, but only to tug down the zipper on the side of your short skirt.

“Of course I do, I just–”

“Then why won’t you let me make you feel good, huh?” he yanked both your skirt and panties down your legs, so fast it nearly gave you whiplash. Crawling off of your jelly-like form, he stood tall and loomed at the foot of the bed. Wasting no time, he yanked your core closer to the edge before he desperately freed his fat cock. The taps he then offered your glistening cunt, letting you reel in the weight of his length, “doesn’t that feel nice, baby?” he smirked at the way your mouth fell open, “because it sure seems like your little pussy thinks so, just look,” you followed his command and glanced down to spot how his intimidating girth nudged at your weepy petals.

Even after months of dating, you still hadn’t gotten used to the daunting size of him.

“Oh, fuck…” your brows knitted together.

“Just listen to that,” he flicked the bulbous tip through your slick folds with more vigour, causing the melody of your want to echo even louder throughout the bedroom, “you’re so fucking wet. You want it so bad…”

You then felt yourself fade away into the intoxicating sensation, letting him continue to fuck your fold and make your pussy drool even further till your eyes fluttered shut.

However, it didn’t take very long at all, through all of the hazy motions, before the very tip of him caught your entrance and slipped inside.

“Rafe!” you gasped, eyes snapping back open as your spine lurched off the mattress just an inch.

“Fuck,” he let out a loud groan, “sorry, babe. You’re just too soaked, it slipped in,” though didn’t move at all to pull it back out, since it had secretly been completely on purpose, “christ, you’re so tight…”

As he slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side, you pleaded once more, “Rafe…” quietly begging for him to take it out through the conflicting haze as the familiar sensation of him stuffing you full always shut your brain completely off.

“This doesn’t count,” he claimed as he began to move, pumping just the bulbous head of himself in and out of your little hole, “not really. I can fuck you with just the tip, right?” a few of his fingers then lowered to strum your clit and summon a loud moan from deep within your soul, “yeah, that’s what I thought…”

As he removed his fingers from your clit, he then stuffed them in your mouth, muffling your soft whimpers and letting you suck them clean of your juices. As the taste of yourself coated your tongue, your own hands came up to clutch his, holding it near as you soon let your pecks wander across his palm and even down to plant a soft kiss to the gold ring that never left his finger.

“Oh–,” a gasp then left your lungs as he suddenly pushed in a bit more of his length, “Rafe, that’s too deep,” selfishly letting himself feel more of your warmth.

“No, that’s not too deep,” he began to fuck you properly, making you lose your breath, “you wanna know what is too deep?” a purposefully harsh thrust then buried itself so far inside of you that a tingle of pain joined the pleasure, “that’s too deep,” he then retracted just a tad, though still filled you up completely with each long stroke, “this is just right.”

“We can’t–,” you foggily tried to shake your head.

“Yes, we can. Just look how good you’re taking me, baby,” the palm you’d been clutching then escaped your grasp and scooped behind your head to tilt your neck and lock it there, directing your glance down between your bodies and forcing you to spot the faint bulge that appeared at each one of his mind-melting thrusts, “you don’t wanna stop…”

Feeling that all too familiar high begin to fuzz up your periphery, you trembled, “o-oh, fuck…”

“You feel so fucking good…” he grunted as your pussy began to clench around his fat girth, “just let me use you for a bit, yeah?”

“I–, I–,” gasps of air expanded your lungs as his pace then thrust you over the edge, “holy shit…” and your cunt helplessly clambered around him.

In your orgasmic haze, Rafe then abruptly flipped you around for you to lay on your stomach, and you barely managed to process it before you felt the weight of him settle atop of you, smooshing you down into the mattress as he slid back in.

“Ah!” you yelped at the way he didn’t hold back, “Rafe, it’s too much,” not even bothering to grant you a chance to recover, but simply fucked through your soreness, “I can’t–”

“Oh, shut up, you can take it,” he growled in your ear, his feet hooking your ankles and spreading your shaky legs further for him, “take it like the good little slut you are.”

It was strange how he’d taught your body to love the pain he inflicted. Even if the source was just his god-given gift of a girth, or curse, all depending on your point of view, and not the roughness he occasionally let slip out of the dark depths he tried to hide his jagged sides in for you and you alone.

“Fuck,” you soon heard him groan as his heavy sack slapped against your cunt at each one of his furious rocks, “I’m gonna cum!”

“Pull out–,” you managed to mumble into the sheets.

“What?” he kept on pounding your poor pussy.

“Not inside,” you tilted your head a bit to beg, “please!”

“Oh my god, fine,” he then begrudgingly pulled out and with one hand flipped you back onto your stomach as the other wrapped around his cock and he began to fuck his fist. Pushing himself up onto his knees, he crawled further up your body till his thighs caged you in, denting the mattress on either side of your face. He didn’t even wait for your lips to part before he shoved his dick down your throat, making you gag as he groaned loudly above you, “fuck…” and fed you his load.

When he soon flopped down on the bed beside you, the both of you catching your breaths, you instinctively gulped down what he’d given you before you curled your frame into his side.

As he wrapped an arm beneath your head, his glance then flickered down to you as he caught your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting you up to him before he asked, “did you swallow it?” digging his digit slightly into your skin and making you open your mouth for him, letting him discover the answer him himself, “fuck… that’s my girl…” he groaned before dipping down to kiss you.

The peck however didn’t carry on for long as his warmth then suddenly disappeared.

“Where are you going?” you watched as he got up, reaching out your arms to him in a silent plea for cuddles.

“I’m thirsty,” he zipped his pants back up, though didn’t bother with his shirt, “you just try and fall asleep, I’ll be right back.”

Flashing him a drowsy smile, “okay,” you then tug the duvet over your form and let your gaze shadow him as he made his way out of the room.

You thought you hadn’t managed to fall asleep, but evidently, you had as when the door to the room suddenly burst open, you were jolted awake, Rafe as well stirring as he was now settled behind you with an arm draped over your frame.

As three of your friends rushed to slam the door behind them, Rafe propped himself up and mumbled, “hey, what the fuck–”

But Hana then cut him off, a downright terrified look plastered not only all over her own face, but the rest as well.

“Oliver’s dead,” she uttered through the tears that thickened up her voice.

Still groggy, you slowly sat up and murmured, “what?”

Snapping her bloodshot eyes to lock with yours, she bellowed, “Oliver is fucking dead!”

As your gaze flickered over the group in search of any sign that what she claimed wasn’t true, you heard Rafe behind you exhale, “okay, this isn’t funny.”

“Oh shut up, you dick!” Brian shot back, doubled over in the corner, hyperventilating as Jerome kneeled before him, trying to calm him down.

“Hey, hey,” you gently raised up a hand, “don’t talk to him like that. What the hell do you mean Oliver is dead?”

“I mean that he’s dead as in dead, dead,” Hana explained, her words causing the world to suddenly crumble all around you, “Jerome went outside to get something from the car and found him on the porch, not moving and with his head stuck under the water in the hot tub.”

With tears now stinging the corners of your eyes, you struggled to suck in a breath of air, “what?”

“It’s that fucking ghost story you told us,” Brian panicked in the corner, “it’s real, isn’t it?”

“Okay,” Rafe uttered as the both of you leapt out of bed and scrambled to get some clothes on, “let’s all just calm down.”

“We gotta call the police,” Hana said, to which Jerome swiftly pulled out his phone, only to then curse quietly as he discovered what Brian too noticed when he glanced over his shoulder.

“Fuck, we can’t, there’s no signal!”

Hana then glanced around at everyone, “well then one of us has gotta drive and find some, right?”

“Hell no,” Brian shuttered, “if there’s some psycho out in these woods, then I’m not staying behind to get murdered. We’re all going.”

So that’s how, after you’d all scurried downstairs and filtered out through the sliding door to the porch, that you saw the truth with your own eyes.

Even though his head was obscured beneath water, the unmoving corpse of your dear friend still caught your eyes and stopped you in your tracks.

“Oh my god…” you sobbed, your blood running cold.

But before you could let your feet carry you closer to the scene of the crime, Rafe seized your arm and uttered, “baby, come on,” before pulling you along the last short distance towards the cars, “I’m sorry, but we gotta go.”

Though when you did reach the vehicles and attempted to start them, neither one of them would as they’d seemingly been tampered with, forcing the panicked lot of you all to run back inside.

“Shit…” Brian clutched onto the back of the couch in the living room for support, “what do we do now?”

“We can’t go on foot, not in the dark through this forest,” Rafe spoke, “so we gotta stay here till morning.”

Glancing around the space, Hana uttered, “then we gotta make this place safe. Lock all the doors and windows, find somewhere to hide.”

“Yeah, good idea,” your boyfriend nodded before suggesting, “let’s split up, it’ll be faster that way. Y/n with me, we’ll take that side of the house, and the rest of you stay over here.”

And before anyone could protest, he’d yanked you down a dark hallway.

You nearly stumbled twice as Rafe dragged your shaking visage through the lake house, only stopping once you’d reached a large closet.

“In here, baby,” he shoved you inside, though began to shut the door before he nuzzled himself in as well.

“No, what are you doing?” tears streaming down your face, you attempted to stop him.

Though he only halted his efforts a second, grasping your face as he uttered, “please, just stay here.”

“No, it’s too dangerous,” you clutched onto his dark t-shirt, “you can’t–”

“Babe, I can’t let anything happen to you. I can’t lose you,” he then collided his lips with your own, a sob escaping your lungs as he briefly kissed you, “please, just stay right here, hide, for me.”

Slowly, you loosened your trembling grip on his shirt and cried, “I love you.”

“I’ll be right back!” he promised before shutting the closet door and bathing you in darkness.

You had no idea how much time passed, if it was only a few seconds or hours that you stayed in the dusty and dim abyss of that closet, but then when a loud crash and a shrill scream suddenly found your ears, your shaky hand pushed the door back open.

You’d never in your life been as terrified as you were when you found yourself tip-toeing down that long, dark hallway. Though, as you sneaked past the ajar door to the study, your entire body suddenly froze up at the massacre that met you within.

Unmoving and slumped over the threshold, there lied Jerome, his face beaten to a pulp, rendering it nearly unrecognisable as blood slowly trickled into the tight curls on the top of his head.

Past where Hana was lying in the middle of the room, battered and coughing, in the corner you saw as a tall figure, masked by a dark motorcycle helmet, crouched over the still form of Brian and landed the last few blows to claim his life.

“Please,” Hana’s words were gurgled by blood as the killer slowly straightened back up. Twisting ever so slightly, the assailant plucked out one of the clubs from the gold bag that leaned against one of the tall bookcases, “just let me go,” your last living friend begged as you watched the murderer wrap his long fingers around the handle and take the few steps to where Hana lied, “just let me–”

As he took a wide swing and hit your friend right in her temple, the loud crack that echoed throughout the cabin made you shutter in terror and let out an uncontrollable scream, causing the killer’s head to snap up to spot you in the dark hallway.

For a second you both just stood there, frozen and staring at one another, like two deer in headlights. But then, as he began to move, taking his time as he stepped over the bodies littering his path, you stumbled back and collided with the wall directly behind you.

You tried to run, but even though you managed to slip out the wide glass doors and escape a good distance into the dark forest surrounding the house, the masked man still caught up to you and flung you against a tree. As he had you cornered, you felt him drag the cold tip of the golf club up your right leg and over your shuttering skin, drawing a crimson line of your beloved’s blood across your goosebump-ridden flesh.

“P-please don’t kill me, please–,” you cried, but just then, the moonlight that streamed through the dense treetops caught in a glint of gold that adorned the hand that clutched the club, a recognizable ring that caused your heart to drop.

As your eyes then flickered up to the dark helmet, that too seemed oddly familiar now that you truly looked at it.

In some sick and twisted way, you hoped that the killer had just stolen the jewellery from your boyfriend as a trophy of the night’s conquest and not the horrifying alternative.

But when you then tried to slip away and the man pushed you back, your hands defensively shot up, though only managed to knock the helmet off his head and let it tumble to the dark forest floor below, unveiling the earth-shattering truth.

“Oh my god…” you gasped, eyes wide as you now stood face to face with your boyfriend.

“Shh,” he took a step closer to you, caging you in even further, “calm down, baby. Don’t do anything stupid now.”

“They–… they were right…” the warnings your now deceased friends had given you since the moment you got involved with the frat boy buzzed in your mind, though when they’d light-heartedly called him a psycho, you never in your wildest dreams thought that they would have been correct in their choice of words, “I can’t believe they were right…”

A low sigh then escaped Rafe’s lungs.

“You really should have just stayed hidden like I told you to… I didn’t want you to find out this way… it would have been so much simpler if you’d just bought into the story I made up…”

“You killed my friends…” your chest ached with every painful gasp of air, “how–… how could you?”

“Oh, honey…” his head tilted slightly as the corners of his lips twitched, “do you really think this is my first time?”

Staring back at him in horror, you sputtered, “w-why?”

“Because of you,” he uttered as if it was obvious, “it was all for you,” his feet shifted him even closer to you, “they were a bad influence, so this was the only way.”

“They were my family!”

“They were like a poison, all of them, trying to control you, trying to take you away from me,” he inched in even closer, making you wish the harsh bark that scratched up your spine would simply open up like a portal and let you escape, “I know Hana was trying to get you to break up with me… Oliver always followed you around like a lost puppy, just hoping you’d one day spread your legs for him… and Jerome and Brian? They were just plain annoying,” his hot breath fanned across your skin as he petted the edges of your features with a knuckle of the hand clutching the golf club, “I did it all for you, for us, because I love you… fuck, you have no idea how much I fucking love you, baby…” he uttered before bringing the bud of the improvised weapon down upon the side of your head and knocking you clean out.

When you came to, the flicking light from a lit fireplace was the only source of light in the dim room you found yourself in. Arms folded up behind your head, a long rope was tangled around them and stretched up to a beam in the ceiling above. Your legs too were tied, keeping your naked frame upright and locked in place in the middle of the room.

“Fucking finally,” a low voice echoed from the chair across the chamber, causing you to wince as the tone pierced your soul and worsened your splitting headache, “you really took your sweet time waking up.”

Blinking back at your boyfriend as he leaned back in the seat, pants undone and his hard length tight in his fist, a murmur escaped your lips, “…you knocked me out…”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he got up and walked towards your suspended form, “but you didn’t give me any other choice.”

As he slowly neared you, your glossy eyes flickered up to meet his.

“Rafe, please,” you heard your voice break as you tried to keep your tone soft, “you don’t have to do this. Just untie me, I promise I won’t be mad at you.”

“Oh yeah?” a small scoff slipped through his smirk.

“Yes. I’ll do whatever you want, just please let me go,” you begged, “please don’t hurt me.”

“Shh, shh,” his palm rose up to stroke your hair before letting it rush down and over the curves of your exposed body, “but you’ve been such a bad girl. I think you deserve a lesson that hurts a little bit,” his palm then slapped your pussy, still soaked and sore from earlier, rendering you to let out a shrill yelp, “it’s okay, you can cry…” he briefly leaned in to kiss your cheek before he shifted, though still staying so close that his nose ghosted along your skin as he made his way around to stand directly behind you, “you look so pretty when you do…”

You then squirmed as he reached down to grasp his cock and nudge at your sensitive entrance, “Rafe, please–, ah!” a cry then left your form as he ruthlessly rammed his way inside, plugging you up so completely that his balls nuzzled against your slick skin.

“Fuck!” his moan tickled the shell of your ear as he tangled his arms around your torso, “you’re so perfect…” he began to move, finding a selfish pace to wreck you with, “so perfect and all mine…”

As his thrusts caused your tits to jiggle, one of his wide hands soared up to grasp one while the other one snaked up to wrap around your throat. He then squeezed it fiercely enough that all your noises eventually faded away and he kept you completely quiet for a good moment before his hold slackened and he once again granted you the privilege of gasping for air.

“This is all you need, just me, only me,” he grunted, “just like this, using your pretty little hole for exactly what it was made for… you were made for me and nobody else… no one…”

His grip then drifted down to dent your hips before he lifted them, raising your bound frame till your tip toes were barely grazing the cold floor. Your back arched slightly as he repeatedly brought your hips back to him, his balls sloppily slapping against your swollen clit each time he manoeuvred your body and treated you like a toy.

When he then hooked an arm around your front to keep moving your body greedily against him, it granted the other one the grace to roam your frame freely.

As his fingers found one of your nipples in a harsh pinch, he let out a groan at the way you began to clamper down around his fat girth, “are you gonna cum, baby? Huh?” his palm then slapped your tit, “because it sure fucking feels like you’re close,” before he suddenly retracted completely, slipping out of your drooling cunt and causing a shy whimper to slip from your lips, one he swiftly cut off when he smacked your cheek, “too bad. You’re not allowed to.”

As you shakily struggled to stay on your unsteady feet, you panted, “Rafe, my legs, I can’t–”

“Oh yeah?” he mockingly pouted at you as he sauntered around to your front, “do they hurt? Are you tired?” and as you offered him a nod, his fingers grasped your chin, “well,” his thumb slowly stretched up to trace your bottom lip, “if you promise that you’ll be a good girl for me, then I’ll give you a little break.”

“Yes, I will,” a tear rolled down your still stinging cheek.

“You will what?” his palm briefly slapped the side of your face once again before returning to the same hold.

“I’ll be your good girl, I’ll do whatever you want,” you begged and as he then sank down to his knees, grabbed a pocketknife resting on a nearby table and held up his end of the bargain, slicing through the ropes at your legs and cutting them loose. A new wave of sobs tumbled out of your form, “thank you! Oh, thank you so much!”

Tossing the blade far away before he rose back up, “you’re fucking welcome, baby,” he then caught you off guard as he suddenly plucked your lower half up into his arms.

“W-wait, I thought you’d give me a break!” your legs trembled in his grasp as he slide you back onto his fat cock.

“Yeah, your legs were tired, so I’m being nice and giving them a break,” the wet claps of your skin roughly colliding once again filled the dark room, “your pussy doesn’t deserve one yet… unless of course, this is you begging me to fuck your ass…” a wicked wish that he’d been begging you for ever since the very first time he banged you.

“No! No, not there, please, I’ve never–”

“Oh, I know you haven’t,” he smirked, “that’s what makes it so much more fun…”

“Please, Rafe,” you blinked back at him, “don’t.”

“You told me I could do whatever I want…” he angled his bucks right against that spot that caused your teeth to dig into your lower lip, “you promised to be a good girl for me and just take whatever I give you…”

“I will,” your eyes couldn’t help but flutter, “just please not that.”

He then let a dollop of his spit splatter directly against your face, “alright, but only because I love you,” before he dipped down to plant a feverish kiss against your lips, “tell me that you love me too.”

“I love you,” you murmured against his mouth.

“Huh?” one of his hands let go of you and he shifted to balance you with only one, letting the other instead drift down between your forms to bully your puffy pearl, “what was that?”

“I lo–, a-ah!” you suddenly whined as he pressed one of his fingers inside your pussy, not caring in the slightest that you were already completely filled up as he forced his digit in alongside his fat cock.

“Come on, baby,” he stared down at you, “tell me you love me,” and kept up his ruthless pace as he hooked the finger inside of you, “tell your soulmate just how much you love and adore him, how you want nothing more than to worship him at his feet.”

“I–, I–, Rafe,” you gasped, feeling as if he was splitting you in half, “it’s too much–”

“No, it’s not too much, it’s exactly right, you can take it, baby.”

“I can’t–”

“I don’t fucking care,” he continued to fuck you without remorse, slamming his intimidating length so deep inside of you that you nearly couldn’t breathe, “I wanna feel you cum, just like this.”

“Rafe–”

“Do it or I’ll get a lot meaner,” he warned you before he finally got what he wanted. Your squirt drizzled down on the floor as the intensity caused a scream to erupt from your form, “there you go, fuck,” he groaned as he watched your pussy gush around his girth, “that’s it,” before the way your cunt clambered down around him caused him to let go as well, “shit,” and pump you full of his cum.

Rafe pressed a peck to your forehead before he pulled out of your warmth and you breathlessly glanced down to watch as his hot load began to leak out of your quivering hole.

“Alright, baby,” he exhaled and then uttered words that caused a shiver to trickle down your spine, “foreplay’s over. I think you’re ready for your punishment now.”

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fading-event-608 · 8 months ago

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A fig tree for pixel dailies.

"Figs are planted in most Palestinian cities. However, it is most common in two districts, Nablus — especially in the village of Tell — and Ramallah — namely in Silwad, which became known as Im-Qutteen (mother of dried figs). Other villages also have names relating to the fig, such as Teeneh (fig). There are also flat areas called masateeh referring to the places where figs are dried to produce qutteen.

The fig has long been linked to Palestinian cultural heritage because it is nutritious and filling, and thus a staple of the Palestinian diet. It was known in Palestine as far back as the Canaanites. Palestinians have their own terms for the fig: while it is forming, the fruit is taqsh, then faj and then ‘ajr. Other used terms are nafal and thbeel.

Old traditional sayings reflect the importance of figs in Palestine. For example: ‘I tasted the first fruit, I hope my life has a long route’; ‘Eat the figs from the early season and the grapes from the late season’;* and ‘If we have qutteen (dried figs), we are safe from hunger.'"

-from The Palestinian Museum which took that info from 'A Garden Among the Hills: The Floral Heritage of Palestine'

Trees, would it be olive trees (which I also have a drawing of) or fig ones are important in Palestine. Just like in other countries, they provide shade, fresh air and produce. But in Palestine, they are also a symbol of resistance - as long as family's tree is growing, they are growing too; as long as the tree is alive, they are alive too.

When Israeli occupiers takes Palestinian's homes that they've built over multiple generations, they take their trees that they groomed too. When IOF drops bombs on civilians, they take trees with them. They uproot the trees, they burn them - because those trees remind them of people they've killed and whose land they have taken.

It seems like the world is slowly growing numb to cries for help; it seems like people are closing their eyes and covering their ears to not see the Palestinian blood on their screens, to not hear them scream. And Israel sees that and continues it's aggression on Lebanon. After all, if they can get away with a year (76 years) of genocide, why not start another one?

Please take any action you can. Protest, boycott, keep your eyes on Palestine and please, please, please donate to Palestinian fundraisers. I have spotlighted one fundraiser, for Falastin's family evacuation funds from Gaza that she organized in late June - it is still very far away from it's goal.

There are 24 family members that depend on that fundraiser. They need not only evacuation funds but also money to buy basic necessities like food and medicine that are very expensive in Gaza right now. Recently Falastin started hearing them talk about waiting for their fate because the funds this campaign gets daily are not enough to ease their suffering and cover evacuation.

Please, do not let it happen. Please, donate and check conversion rates before you do as:

10$ = 103 SEK

25$ = 257 SEK

50$ = 515 SEK

100$ = 1,030 SEK

I've talked about this fundraiser before numerous times, a lot of info can be found on this post [here] or [here].

Vetting info: #282 in El-Shab-Hussein and Nabulsi's spreadsheet [here], #957 in the Butterfly Project spreadsheet [here]

I do semi-regular art updates (last one [here]) and accept commissions for proof of donations, please dm me for info as my art blog was terminated recenty.

#pixel art #pixel dailies #artists on tumblr #falastin

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antinousletmehit · 5 months ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 26 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇I can’t tell if I should stop it after they get married or make the continuing chapters about them early marriage, also this one’s a long chapter.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The week had passed with an uneasy calm. Telemachus and Y/N were lounging under the shade of an olive tree near the palace gardens, her head resting on his lap as he absentmindedly played with her hair. She was smiling softly, feeling the warmth of his hand as he combed through her locks. “You know,” she said, breaking the silence, “for a guy who fought off suitors and snuck around secret passageways, you’re surprisingly calm now.”

Telemachus chuckled. “I have you to thank for that. You’ve been my calm in the storm.”

Before she could respond, a palace servant appeared, bowing respectfully. “My lord Telemachus, the king and queen have requested your presence in the main hall. Alone.”

She immediately sat up, glancing at Telemachus with curiosity and slight worry. “What do they want with you?”

Telemachus shrugged but felt a knot of anxiety twist in his stomach. “I don’t know, but I’d better not keep them waiting.”

He kissed her forehead quickly before standing, brushing off his tunic. “Don’t go getting into trouble while I’m gone.”

She smirked. “Trouble? Me? Never.” With a grin, Telemachus followed the servant into the palace, his nerves growing with each step. When he entered the hall, Odysseus and Penelope were seated side by side, their faces serious but not unkind.

“Son,” Odysseus began, his deep voice echoing in the room, “we have something important to discuss.”

Penelope offered a soft smile, her tone gentler. “Telemachus, it’s about Y/N.”

Telemachus blinked, his heart pounding. “Y/N? What about her?”

Odysseus leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You’ve proven your loyalty to her. Your love for her is clear. And after much deliberation, your mother and I agree that it’s time to solidify this bond—for the good of Ithaca and for your future.”

Penelope reached out, placing a comforting hand on her son’s arm. “We want you to marry her, Telemachus. In a month’s time.”

Telemachus froze. “A month?” he stammered.

“Yes,” Penelope said with a smile. “We believe it’s best for both of you to have this union sooner rather than later. The people will see it as a new chapter for Ithaca, a symbol of peace after the chaos.”

Odysseus, however, narrowed his eyes at his son. “You do intend to marry her, don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” Telemachus blurted out, his face heating. “I love her, I want to marry her, I just… a month? That’s so soon.”

Penelope chuckled softly, patting his hand. “Trust me, Telemachus, time will fly. You’ll see. Besides, I think she will be more than thrilled.”

Telemachus scratched the back of his neck, his nerves bubbling to the surface. “I just… I don’t know if I’m ready.”

Odysseus let out a bark of laughter. “Ready? You fought suitors, braved the seas, and stood against me without knowing who I was. If you can do that, you can handle a wedding.”

Telemachus sighed, his head spinning. “I guess there’s no point in arguing with either of you.”

Penelope leaned over and kissed his forehead. “That’s my boy. You’ll be fine, Telemachus. Just think about how happy you’ll make her.”

Telemachus nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah… I guess I’d better start practicing my vows.”As he left the hall, his mind reeled. A month. He loved y/n more than anything, but the thought of standing before the entire kingdom, of stepping into a new life as her husband, sent a wave of nervous excitement through him.

He made his way back to the gardens, already rehearsing how he’d break the news to y/n without tripping over his words. Telemachus found her exactly where he’d left her, sitting under the olive tree, her fingers idly plucking at the grass. She looked up as he approached, her lips curving into a soft smile. “Back so soon?” she teased, noticing the anxious look on his face. “What’s wrong? Did your parents scold you for sneaking around with me again?”

He chuckled nervously and sat beside her, fiddling with the hem of his tunic. “No, nothing like that… well, not exactly. They, uh, had something to tell me.”

She tilted her head, curious. “And what’s that?”

Telemachus hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “They, uh, want us to get married… in a month.”

She blinked at him, her expression calm and even. “That’s it?”

Telemachus gawked at her. “That’s it? Y/N, it’s in a month! That’s practically tomorrow!”

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “Honestly, I thought it would’ve happened sooner. You’re royalty, after all. Isn’t this kind of thing expected?”

“You thought—wait, you expected this?” Telemachus asked, utterly baffled.

“Of course,” she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought your parents would demand it the moment they found out about us. A month? That’s practically generous.”

Telemachus groaned, falling back onto the grass. “Great, so you’re perfectly fine while I’m over here losing my mind.”

She leaned over him, a teasing smile on her lips. “You’re overthinking, Telemachus. We’ve been through so much already—sneaking around, hiding from suitors, fighting for our lives. A wedding? That’s the easy part.”

He stared up at her, his lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to worry about messing up your vows in front of the entire kingdom.”

“Who says I’m not worried about tripping over my dress?” She shot back, poking his chest playfully. “We’ll survive it, just like we’ve survived everything else.”

Telemachus sighed, letting her words sink in. “You’re right. As always.”

“Of course I am,” she said with a smirk, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Now stop stressing and start thinking about what you’re going to wear. A month will pass before you know it.”

He groaned again, but her reassurance softened the tension in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, this whole marriage thing wouldn’t be so terrifying after all—especially with Y/N by his side. her lips curled into a mischievous grin as she sat back on the grass, watching Telemachus recover from his earlier nerves. She let the silence linger for a moment, letting him think he was safe, before dropping the bombshell.

“You know,” she started casually, plucking at a blade of grass, “once we’re married, that would technically make Antinous your brother-in-law.”

Telemachus froze. His eye twitched. Then, slowly, he sat up, his face twisting in utter horror. “Brother-in-law? Antinous?!”

She bit her lip, trying and failing to hold back her laughter as Telemachus threw his hands in the air and began pacing in frantic circles. “No, no, no! Absolutely not!” he ranted, pointing a finger at her as if accusing her of some heinous crime. “Do you realize what you’ve just said? Antinous, the Antinous—smug, arrogant, insufferable—would be family! My family!”

“Technically, he’s already my family,” she pointed out with a shrug, her tone innocent but her eyes dancing with amusement.

“That’s different!” Telemachus snapped, running his hands through his hair as though he were on the brink of losing his mind. “You’re stuck with him. I’m choosing this, and nowhere in that choice did I agree to him being involved!”

She chuckled, leaning back on her hands. “Come on, Telemachus. It’s not like you’ll have to sit around bonding with him. Though…” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “It might be fun to see you two try. Imagine the heartfelt brotherly talks.”

Telemachus whirled around, his face a mixture of disbelief and outrage. “Heartfelt talks?! Y/N, the man tried to kill me! He literally plotted to have me ambushed and thrown into the ocean! What am I supposed to say to him—‘Hey, thanks for the warm welcome, bro’?! No! Absolutely not!”

She couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as Telemachus continued his tirade. “And another thing!” he ranted, gesturing wildly. “He’s always got that smug, punchable look on his face! How am I supposed to sit at a family dinner without wanting to throw the nearest plate at him?”

“Family dinners will be so fun,” she teased, wiping a tear from her eye as her laughter died down. “Just think, you and Antinous, side by side, passing bread rolls like civilized men.”

Telemachus groaned, dropping dramatically to his knees. “Y/N, I’m begging you. Don’t make me do this. There has to be a loophole, right? Maybe we can disown him? Or—”

“Telemachus,” she interrupted, leaning over to cup his face in her hands, her smile soft but still teasing. “You’re going to survive this. I promise. And if you behave, I might even make sure Antinous doesn’t tease you too much at the wedding.”

He groaned again, letting his forehead fall onto her shoulder. “I’ve fought monsters, Y/N. Literal monsters. But this? This might actually be the thing that breaks me.”

She just laughed, wrapping her arms around him. “You’ll be fine, brother-in-law.”Telemachus let out a strangled noise, and she couldn’t help but laugh even harder.

———

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, biting her fingernails—a habit she had long outgrown but couldn’t help revisiting. Her heart felt heavy, torn between guilt and anxiety as she thought about the dark, damp dungeon where her brother was being kept. It had been a week since everything went down—the suitors’ deaths, Odysseus’s dramatic return, and Antinous’s imprisonment. She hadn’t visited him once.

Her stomach twisted. What if he’s angry with me? What if he thinks I’ve abandoned him? She loved her brother, despite everything. Antinous had always been complicated—harsh, arrogant, and difficult to read—but she couldn’t shake the memories of the boy who used to protect her, the brother who shielded her from everything.

“Are you still thinking about him?” Telemachus’s voice broke her train of thought.

She looked up to see him leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed but his expression soft. She nodded slowly. “I can’t help it. It’s been a week, Telemachus. He’s my brother… I can’t stop thinking about how he must be feeling. Alone. Abandoned. I should’ve gone to see him by now.”

Telemachus walked over, sitting beside her on the bed. His jaw clenched briefly, but he forced a smile, hiding the venom he felt toward Antinous. “Y/N, listen. I know you care about him. I get it. But… don’t guilt yourself too much over this. He’s the one who made the choices that put him in that dungeon.”

“I know,” she whispered, looking down at her hands. “But he’s still my brother. And what if he thinks I’ve just forgotten about him? What if he thinks I hate him?” Telemachus sighed, resting a hand on her shoulder. He didn’t know how to navigate this. The thought of Antinous rotting in the dungeon brought him satisfaction, but seeing her this distraught? That wasn’t what he wanted.

“You’re overthinking it,” he said, his tone as soothing as he could manage. “He’s probably… fine.” He hesitated, not wanting to lie but also not wanting to encourage her to go. “You know Antinous. He’s too stubborn to sit down there worrying about whether or not you’re thinking about him. He’s probably spent the whole week plotting some clever insult to throw your way when you show up.”

She laughed softly, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely,” Telemachus said, leaning back on his hands. “It’s Antinous. He’s too proud to let a dungeon get the better of him.”

Her anxiety didn’t ease entirely, but she appreciated the effort Telemachus was making. She glanced over at him, noticing the faintest twitch in his jaw—he was trying hard to keep his dislike for Antinous under control. “You don’t have to pretend to like him, you know,” she said quietly.

Telemachus blinked, caught off guard, and then laughed awkwardly. “I’m not pretending to like him. I’m… tolerating him. For you.” He reached over to take her hand, squeezing it. “And because I know he’s important to you. That’s enough for me to—” He caught himself, searching for a word that didn’t betray his true feelings. “—put up with him.”

She smiled faintly, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Thank you, Telemachus. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

“It’s not,” he admitted with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “But I’ll survive. As long as you don’t start calling him my brother-in-law again.”That drew a real laugh from her, and Telemachus relaxed slightly. For now, at least, he could handle this. Even if it meant biting his tongue whenever Antinous came up.

——

The stone steps leading down to the dungeon were cold and damp, and each one felt heavier than the last as she descended into the dimly lit space. The faint drip of water echoed through the halls, and the air smelled of mildew and stale despair. She wrapped her arms around herself as if it would shield her from the oppressive atmosphere.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She hadn’t seen Antinous in a week—not since Odysseus had declared his punishment. The last memory she had of him was the look in his eyes as the guards dragged him away, his usual bravado shattered into something raw and bitter. Finally, she reached the cell where he was being held. A guard gave her a cautious look but didn’t stop her as she approached the iron bars. “Five minutes,” he muttered before stepping back to give them space.

Antinous sat on the floor, leaning against the wall with his arms resting on his knees. His once-pristine clothes were now torn and dirty, and his hair was disheveled. He looked thinner, weaker—but his sharp eyes flicked up to meet hers, and that familiar edge of defiance was still there. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice rough from disuse. “Look who decided to grace me with her presence. I thought you’d forgotten all about me, dear sister.”

She flinched at the venom in his tone but held her ground. “I didn’t forget,” she said softly, gripping the bars. “I’ve been… I’ve been trying to figure out how to face you after everything that happened.”

Antinous raised an eyebrow, pushing himself to his feet. He stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “Face me? What exactly do you think I’m going to do from in here, Y/N? Lecture you to death?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “I just… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to fix this.”

His jaw tightened, and he leaned against the bars, his face inches from hers. “Fix it? There’s nothing to fix, Y/N. You’re on their side now. Odysseus’s little pet, Telemachus’s future wife—congratulations, by the way.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“That’s not fair,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. “You know I didn’t choose any of this. I didn’t choose to have to pick between my brother and the man I love. I—”

“The man you love?” Antinous cut her off, his voice rising. “You love him so much you’d let his father throw me into this pit like an animal? You love him so much that you’d just stand by while I rot down here?”

She recoiled, tears spilling down her cheeks. “That’s not true! I begged him to spare you! You’re still alive because of me!”

Antinous’s gaze softened for a brief moment, but he quickly masked it with a sneer. “And what a mercy this is,” he said bitterly, gesturing to his cell. “You really went above and beyond for me, Y/N.”

She shook her head, gripping the bars tighter. “I don’t know how to make you understand… I’m trying, Antinous. I’m trying to keep what little family I have left, but you make it so hard. You’re so angry all the time, and you can’t see past your hate for them to realize that I’m still here. I still love you!”

His eyes widened slightly at her words, but he quickly turned away, running a hand through his messy hair. “You shouldn’t,” he muttered.

She blinked, her breath catching. “What?”

Antinous faced the wall, his voice quieter now. “You shouldn’t love me. I’m a bastard, Y/N. I’ve done things you wouldn’t forgive me for if you knew. And now? Now I’m just a failure. A prisoner. A disgrace.”

She stepped as close to the bars as she could, her voice trembling but resolute. “You’re my brother. I don’t care what you’ve done, Antinous. I don’t care about any of it. You’re still my family, and I will never stop loving you.” He turned to her then, his face unreadable but his eyes glistening with something unspoken. For a moment, he seemed like the boy she used to know.

“You’re a fool,” he said finally, but his voice lacked its usual bite.

She smiled faintly through her tears. “Maybe. But I’m your fool.”

Antinous let out a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Go, y/n. You’ve done your duty as the good little sister. Go back to your prince.” She hesitated, wanting to say more, but the guard’s shadow loomed over her, signaling that her time was up. With a heavy heart, she stepped back, her eyes lingering on her brother one last time before she turned and walked away.

Antinous watched her go, his expression hardening again. But as soon as she was out of sight, he sat back down against the wall, running a hand over his face and letting out a shaky breath.

——

Y/N climbed the stairs from the dungeon slowly, her legs feeling like lead. Her encounter with Antinous replayed in her mind, the bitterness in his voice, the pain in his words. She wiped her eyes quickly as she reached Telemachus’s room, not wanting to let him see how deeply it had affected her.

Pushing open the door, she found Telemachus seated on the edge of his bed, flipping absently through a scroll. His brow furrowed when he noticed her face, streaked with remnants of tears, and he immediately set the scroll aside. “Y/N,” he said, standing up and walking toward her, concern etched into his features. “What happened? Did something go wrong?”

Without a word, she stepped into his arms, burying her face against his chest as her arms encircled his waist. She clung to him tightly, her body trembling slightly. Telemachus froze for a moment, startled by the intensity of her embrace, before wrapping his arms around her protectively.“You went to see him, didn’t you?” he asked softly, though his tone darkened with suspicion.

She nodded against his chest but didn’t lift her head to meet his eyes. “I had to,” she whispered. “I couldn’t just leave him down there without… without saying something.”

Telemachus tensed, his jaw clenching. “And what did he say to you?”

She hesitated, pulling back just enough to look up at him. Her eyes were glassy, and her lip quivered. “He’s angry. He thinks I’ve abandoned him… that I’ve chosen you over him.”

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Telemachus snapped, his frustration boiling to the surface. “You should choose me. He’s done nothing but bring chaos and ruin to this house, to you, and to my family!”

“Telemachus…” her voice was soft but pleading.

“No!” he barked, stepping away from her slightly, though his hands still rested on her shoulders. “I’ve been more than patient, Y/N. I’ve tried to understand your bond with him, but every time you cry over that bastard, I swear—” His voice dropped, cold and furious. “If he so much as says one more word to hurt you, I’ll march down there myself and have his head on a spike.”

Her breath hitched, and she reached up to cup his face with both hands. “Don’t say that,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Please, don’t. He’s still my brother, Telemachus. I love him, even if he’s broken and cruel. He’s still a part of me.”

Telemachus looked down at her, his stormy expression softening as he took in her tear-streaked face. He let out a slow breath, his hands moving to her waist as he pulled her close again. “I don’t want to lose you, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice gentler now. “But I can’t stand the thought of him hurting you anymore. It’s like… he doesn’t deserve to have someone like you care for him.”

She rested her forehead against his chest, her fingers gripping the fabric of his tunic. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to hurt you. I just… I don’t know how to let go of him. He’s all I had for so long.”

Telemachus kissed the top of her head, his anger simmering down as he held her close. “I’ll protect you, no matter what,” he promised. “Even if it’s from him. But if he crosses a line, Y/N, I won’t hesitate. I love you too much to let him ruin you.”

She nodded, her tears soaking into his tunic. She didn’t want to think about what might happen if Antinous tested Telemachus’s patience, but for now, she let herself sink into his embrace, finding solace in his steady heartbeat.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan

@holywizardprincess @galaxygurlll @xo-cuteplosion-xo

#aphrodites gamble #epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #antinous #antinous x reader #epic telemachus #telemachus #epic antinous #telemachus x reader

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multi-fandom-imagine · 3 months ago

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⟣ rose quartz - Odysseus

A/n: I did it, Reader (aka) takes Penelope's place, you are his wife

Prompt used:

⟣ rose quartz (love) - "i have so much love for you.”

The bedroom door creaked open.

For a moment, all was still.

Your breath caught in your throat as you turned from the window, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your dress while the other clutched a sword tight. The night air was cool, but your skin burned with the possibility of what—who—stood before you.

Your heart ached at the sight of him, the sword falling from your grasp as the metal hit the floor with an echoing clang.

“Is it you?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, trembling as though speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile reality before you “Have my prayers been answered?”

Odysseus stood in the doorway, a shadow of the man she remembered.

His eyes, once filled with laughter and mischief, were hollow, dark with the weight of unseen horrors. His frame, once strong and unshaken, was leaner, his stance rigid as though even standing was an effort. His smile—gods, his smile—was broken.

And yet, he was here.

He had returned to you.

“Or am I dreaming once more?” You murmured, stepping closer, afraid to blink. Afraid that this must be a cruel vision.

Odysseus exhaled slowly, as if grounding himself in the moment, but he did not move closer.

“I am not the man you fell in love with,” he said at last. His voice was low, roughened by time and war.

Your brows furrowed, your chest tightening as you searched his face for the man you had waited twenty years for.

“I am not the man you once adored,” he continued, his gaze downcast, his fists clenched at his sides. “I am not your kind and gentle husband. And I am not the love you knew before.”

Your throat tightened. You could feel the tears pricking the corner of your eyes. You had spent decades dreaming of his return. You had imagined this moment countless times—his arms around you, his voice whispering your name, the warmth of his presence beside you once more.

But he was standing before you, and it was nothing like you had imagined.

Odysseus finally looked at you then, and for the first time, you saw it.

The doubt. The fear.

The question that weighed heavier on him than any war ever had.

“Would you fall in love with me again,” he asked, his voice quieter now, weaker, “if you knew all I’ve done?”

You swallowed. “What kinds of things did you do?”

His jaw tightened.

“Left a trail of red on every island,” he admitted, his voice like gravel, like regret. “Traded friends like objects I could use. Hurt more lives than I can count on my hands.”

You felt your stomach twist, your heart aching at the pain behind his words.

“But all of that,” Odysseus continued, his voice desperate now, pleading, “was to bring me back to you.”

The words pierced your soul.

He had fought, he had suffered, he had become something else entirely—but all of it, all of it, had been for this moment.

So you stepped forward.

“If that’s true,” you murmured, “could you do me a favor?” Your eyes scanning him, as if this could still be one of the gods to deceive you

Odysseus frowned, watching you carefully.

“Just a moment of labor, that could bring me some peace,” you said, your voice soft, testing. You turned slightly, gesturing toward the wedding bed, the very one he had built for you two all those years ago.

“See that wedding bed?” You asked. “Could you carry it over? Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far away from here?”

Odysseus stared at you.Disbelief flashed across his face, then hurt, then something dangerously close to anger.

“How could you say this?” His voice was hoarse, betrayed.

“I built that wedding bed with my own hands,” he said, his voice growing sharper, his breath coming quicker. “Carved it into the olive tree where we first met—a symbol of my love everlasting.”

He took a step closer, his brown eyes burning into yours. “Do you realize what you’ve asked me?”

You did not move.

“The only way to move it,” Odysseus rasped, “is to cut it from its roots.”

Silence fell between them.

Then—

Your lips curled into a small smile.Only your husband knew that.

Only Odysseus knew that truth.

You took a step forward, lifting a gentle hand to his war-worn face, your fingers brushing against the rough stubble along his jaw.

“So I guess that makes you him,” You whispered.

Odysseus froze.

His breath was shallow, his body tense beneath your touch.

And then, slowly, something in him cracked.

“Y/n…” he whispered, his voice breaking.

And in that moment—the twenty years between them collapsed.

You wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself against the body you had longed for in the empty nights.

“I will fall in love with you,” You whispered against his chest, “over and over again.”

Odysseus let out a shaky breath, his arms finally coming around you, crushing you to him.

“I don’t care how, where, or when,” you murmured, your voice trembling with emotion. “No matter how long it’s been. You’re mine.”

Odysseus squeezed his eyes shut, his forehead dropping against yours, his hands shaking as he held you.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your hands cupping his face, your thumbs brushing away the tear that slipped down his cheek.

“Don’t tell me you’re not the same person,” you whispered. “You’re always my husband.”

Odysseus let out a broken laugh, his arms tightening around you as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

God did he miss this, missed you in his arms, how soft you felt in his arms.

“And I’ve been waiting,” You whispered, your lips just a breath from his.

“Waiting…”

“Y/n,” he murmured, voice raw.

You closed the distance between them, pressing your lips to his, the first true kiss in decades, the kind that mended wounds and stitched two souls back together.

When you both broke apart, your breaths mingling in the stillness of the room, you asked the only question that mattered.

“How long has it been?”

Odysseus swallowed, his hand threading through your hair as he whispered,

“Twenty years.”

You exhaled, pressing your lips against his once more, as if you could make up for every second you two had lost.

“I love you,” You murmured against his lips.

Odysseus let out a shuddering breath.

And then, in the quiet of the night, beneath the roof of the home he had fought to return to, he whispered the words he had been holding in his heart for twenty years.

“I love you too.”

There was no hesitation now.

No doubt. No fear.

Only him and you, the way they had once been, the way you both had always meant to be.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you could melt into him, to never wanted to be apart from him again.

His lips traced the curve of your throat, the edge of your collarbone, learning you all over again.

And when he lifted you, carrying you back toward the wedding bed, there was no war between them anymore.

No battle. No distance.

Only love.

When you had awoken, the dawn was barely breaking, the soft blue of morning creeping through the windows.

And you were not alone.

Odysseus lay beside you, his body half-draped over yours, his arm curled around your waist as if he feared you might disappear.

His breathing was deep, steady.

For the first time in twenty years, he was home.

You turned slightly, running your fingers through his dark curls, watching as his brows twitched, as he stirred beneath your touch.

His brown eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep.

For a moment, he simply stared at you.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

A true smile.

A smile that belonged to you, and you alone.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice husky from sleep.

You smiled back, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Good morning,” You whispered.

And in that moment—Odysseus knew.

He was exactly where he was meant to be.

#oneshot #oneshots #one shot #Odysseus #odysseus x reader #Odysseus x you #epic #epic the ithaca saga #epic the musical #epic x reader #epic x you #epic odysseus #greek mythology #greek

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ccstiles · 5 months ago

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I had originally posted this through a reblog of the art, but decided it would be easier to just make a post with it, but anyways

Fic inspired by this art and the trans!Penelope AU by @bigidiotenergytm , go check it out!!

(in the AU, Penelope's preferred name is Vasileios, just so you know!)

Could you love me again?

"Penelope..."

Odysseus said to himself, scared to open the oh so familiar doors in front of him.

He didn't know how she would react to him, to what he had become. Last she saw of him, he was simply a man going off to war, to help his brotherin, but now... He was caked in blood, and looked like he hadn't seen a bath in years.

He took a deep breath, gathering as much courage as he could, and he pushed the doors open.

His eyes were stuck to the floor, unable to look up at his wife that he knew was standing there.

"Is it you?"

Odysseus was expecting a soft voice to greet him, not knowing if it was going to be filled with hurt, anger, or love.

"Have my prayers been answered?"

But as he heard who was speaking to him, his eyes widened, not expecting the voice he was greeted with.

"Is it really you standing there? Or am I dreaming once more?"

Odysseus began to look up as the deeper voice registered in his mind.

"You look different. Your eyes look tired, your frame is lighter, your smile torn."

Finally, as his eyes landed on the person that was speaking, he felt his heart drop.

"Is it really you my love?"

It wasn't her.

Where was she?

"Who... Who are you?" Odysseus asked the person, the man, in front of him, his anger growing as he continued to speak, "what have you done to my wife?"

"Ody," the man began to take a step towards Odysseus, but he was quick to draw the sword at his hip.

"Where is Penelope?!" He all but yelled, staring down the man in front of him, threatening him with his sword.

"Odysseus, it's me," the man in front of him stepped back, figuring it best to reason with the angered king at a distance.

Odysseus stared for a moment at the man, his face seeming familiar yet not at the same time, his voice, deep but still light as he talked, and his eyes...

The eyes he saw every time he closed his own to sleep. Eyes that both haunted and eased him any time he thought of them during his 20 year long journey.

Her eyes.

His eyes?

Odysseus lowered his sword as these thoughts raced through his mind.

"....Penny?" His voice was quiet, confused and curious as the pieces started to click into place in his head.

The man nodded, still uncertain as he brought his hands to his chest in comfort, something she- he? Would always do when upset.

"Vasileios," he corrected quietly, scared at how Odysseus would react to the name. "I... I know I am different," Vasileios continued, "I am not the woman you fell in love with, the woman you were looking to be with when you returned."

Odysseus' shoulders began to lower as Penelope- Vasileios? talked. He took the other in, everything that was the same and everything that was different.

"...neither am I" Odysseus stated, "I am not the man you fell for under the olive tree all those years ago. I've done so much..."

As the two lovers looked at each other, at what they had become, fear struck them both that all this waiting was for nothing, that they couldn't love each other as they had 20 years ago.

"... What have you done?" Vasileios asked, curious.

"So much," Odysseus breathed, like the weight of his actions suffocated him, "killed, betrayed, hurt, crossed, everyone I saw. Gods, mortals, giants and monsters, none escaped the bloodshed."

Vasileios looked at him with sympathy in his eyes, listening as Odysseus laid his sins out for the other to see.

"Would... Would you ever fall in love with me again?" Odysseus braced himself as he asked the question that rattled around in his brain. After everything he'd done, after the monster he had become, would he love him the same?

"...I knew that those years at war and years disappeared would leave you with blood on your hands. I was prepared to see you with horrors of war painted across your thoughts and dreams." Vasileios' face softened as he spilled his own heart out for Odysseus, "You are still the man I fell for, the man I married, even if you have crossed those that once trusted you, I still love you. I never stopped."

Odysseus was shocked at his words, his eyes filling with tears and his heart filling with love knowing that even after the horrors he had committed, they didn't matter to him.

"But..." Vasileios looked down as he fidgeted with his hands, "could you ever love me again?"

Odysseus felt his heart break, hearing the sadness and fear in the other's voice.

"Pen- Vasileios," Odysseus corrected himself as he slowly walked towards the other, letting his sword drop onto a nearby table, "my love. No matter how you change, no matter if your voice deepens, if you grow hair on your chin and cheeks, if your muscles tone, if anything, you are still you. You are still the mind that interested and intrigued me, the soul I connected with, the person I love and married. No matter how your physical body changes, you are still you; the person I love."

Odysseus' vision blurred with tears as Vasileios ran to embrace him, feeling tears on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around his lover, never wanting to let go ever again.

They stood there in a tight embrace, scared that if they let go that the other would disappear.

Vasileios slowly pulled away to look up at Odysseus, cupping his cheek in his hand.

"How long has it been?" Vasileios asked, tears still falling.

"20 years..." Odysseus sighed, bringing his forehead to rest on Vasileios'.

"I love you"

[divider]

#cc's works #cc's fics #epic the musical #epic #epic the ithaca saga #epic odysseus #epic penelope #trans Penelope AU #epic odypen

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auspexsims · 6 months ago

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#where olive trees grow #wotg: vol 1 #ts4 #simblr #sims 4 decades challenge #historical sims #sims 4 story #1920s #1924 #luca calabria #olivia rheist calaise

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ouiouibaguettt · 2 months ago

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Amore e Pasta

YN YLN -> your name & your last name

2,7k of words! Sorry in advance for my italian lmao

masterlist (1) - (2) - (3) - (4)

The sea always smelled like memories.

Every summer, the coastal air carried that same blend of sun, salt, and the sharp scent of lemon trees. You'd grown up with that scent, with the hiss of olive oil in a hot pan, the laughter of families filling the cobblestone alleyways, and the soft buzz of cicadas under a golden sun.

This year, though, that air carried something else too—Alessia Russo.

She was here again. Just like every summer since you were kids. And just like every summer, your heart did that stupid little flip the second she stepped off the ferry with her duffel bag and impossibly soft smile.

She was still yours. Somehow. After all the years, the distance, the growing up.

Alessia Russo, half-English, half-Italian striker, and all heart — and somehow still in love with the local chef who used to burn pancakes at 10 years old but now ran the town's most adored trattoria.

This summer, though, was a bit different. She hadn’t come alone.

Behind her followed Beth Mead, Vivianne Miedema, Victoria Pelova, Leah Williamson, Lia Wälti, Steph Catley, and Kyra Cooney-Cross — all sweat-slicked and sun-kissed, dragging their suitcases down the stone road, muttering “it’s so hot” and “this is heaven” in alternating breaths.

Your mother was already hugging everyone at the gate. Her voice rang out: "Vai, Y/N! Vieni a salutare la tua fidanzata!" ("Go on, Y/N! Come say hi to your fiance!")

You blushed. Of course she had to say it like that. In front of literally every Arsenal player.

But Alessia just turned, wide smile, arms open. "Ciao, amore."

She still looked at you like she was sixteen and you’d just stolen her gelato and kissed her on the cheek to make up for it.

Later that night, your trattoria was alive with energy. The team sat at the long wooden table in the courtyard, passing around antipasti, sipping limoncello, dipping bread into your nonna’s recipe of olive oil and sea salt. You were in your element—commanding the kitchen with ease, every dish kissed with intention.

And every now and then, your eyes would flick to the table, where Alessia sat like she belonged there. Where she always had.

She caught your glance, holding it for just a second too long. Leah elbowed her, smirking. “God, you two are disgustingly in love,” she whispered. Alessia rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “Yeah. I know.”

That night, as the stars settled above the ocean, you walked hand in hand through the sleepy streets of the village. The others were scattered—some back at their rented villa, others still nursing wine on your restaurant’s patio.

“You know,” Alessia said softly, her thumb brushing your knuckles, “I could stay here forever.”

“You say that every year,” you teased.

“I mean it this time.”

You stopped walking, turned to face her fully. Her hair was damp from the sea, her cheeks still pink from the sun, and her eyes—her eyes were home.

“I never stopped loving you, you know?” she whispered, her accent softening into something warm and familiar.

“I know,” you replied. “I didn’t either.”

She kissed you under the moonlight, in the middle of that cobblestone street, where the scent of lemon trees still lingered in the air.

You were hers. And she was yours. From gelato-stealing kids to grown women, with summer in your veins and love like wine — better with age.

The trattoria could survive without you for a few days.

At least that’s what your mamma promised — even if she made the Sign of the Cross when you handed over your apron and kissed her on the cheek. “Vai, vai,” she said with a smile. “Godersi la vita con la tua ragazza.” ("Go, go. Enjoy life with your girlfriend.")

And so you did.

You packed a small bag, threw a bottle of prosecco in the basket, and took Alessia by the hand like you always had — like you'd never stopped.

You drove out of town on that same winding road you used to take as teenagers, the one that curved along the cliffs and opened onto the hills of wildflowers and olive groves. Alessia sat in the passenger seat with her feet up on the dash, sunglasses too big for her face, hair tied in a lazy bun.

She hummed to the radio, completely off-key, and you could barely keep your eyes on the road.

You reached the cottage by late morning — a family friend’s place, rarely used, hidden among vineyards and fig trees. No phone signal. No schedule. Just time. Just the two of you.

You cooked together that first afternoon — or tried to. Alessia burned the bruschetta and dropped a tomato between the stove and the counter.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, arms around her waist as you stood behind her, guiding her hands on the knife.

“You’re lucky I’m still hungry,” she shot back, bumping your hip with hers.

You kissed her temple.

Later, you ate under a trellis of grapevines, the dappled sunlight painting golden shapes on her bare shoulders. Wine stained your lips, but hers still tasted sweeter.

That night, with the windows open and the summer air still clinging to your skin, you lay tangled in the linen sheets, heartbeats slow, limbs bare.

Alessia leaned in, her voice hushed in the dark.

“Do you ever think about how lucky we are?”

You turned to her, brushing her cheek with the back of your fingers. “All the time.”

She smiled, then leaned closer — and kissed you like she meant it.

It was a slow kiss, not rushed, not desperate. A kiss that said I’m here. That said I never really left. A kiss that made your chest ache in the best way.

She pulled away, forehead resting on yours. “This. This is what I want. For good.”

You nodded, breath catching. “Then let’s make it forever.”

The next morning, she woke up to you standing on the balcony with a cup of espresso, the sun behind you, a sleepy smile on your face.

She joined you, arms slipping around your waist from behind.

“Chef Y/N,” she whispered into your neck, “I love you.”

You turned, kissed her softly, slowly.

“Ti amo, Alessia Russo.”

And in that moment, with nothing but cicadas and the scent of figs around you, it felt like the world had stopped just for you both.

The trattoria glowed that night.

Strung-up lights hung like fireflies above the stone courtyard, casting a soft golden haze over the worn wooden tables, the clay pots full of basil and lavender, and the red-checked tablecloths fluttering gently in the breeze. The scent of roasted garlic and fresh oregano floated through the air, wrapping around laughter and wine-fueled conversations like a familiar blanket.

And right at the heart of it all — the Arsenal girls.

Beth was already halfway through the bread basket. Viv was arguing (playfully) with Lia about the proper way to say “parmigiana.” Leah had stolen a bottle of limoncello from the kitchen. Victoria and Kyra were making a TikTok, much to Steph’s horror. It was loud, unfiltered, and undeniably warm.

Then you stepped out.

Apron tied tight around your waist, a clean dish towel slung over your shoulder, a teasing smirk already tugging at your lips. And the noise died just for a second — just long enough for Alessia’s eyes to find yours.

You’d been apart for less than a few hours, but it didn’t matter. The second she saw you, her smile softened. Her shoulders relaxed. Home.

“Buona serata, ladies,” you greeted, pen in hand. “Welcome back to my chaos.”

“Oh god,” Steph muttered, eyeing the menu. “I’ll take one of everything.”

“I’ll take the chef,” Alessia added, grinning as she leaned back in her chair.

You raised a brow. “That one’s not on the menu.”

“Pity,” she said, still holding your gaze.

You winked and started taking orders, scribbling down requests in a mix of Italian and English, throwing in little jokes and flourishes for the girls you now knew well. But when you reached Alessia, you just smiled softly, hand resting on her shoulder for a beat longer than necessary.

“Surprise me,” she whispered.

“Oh, I will,” you replied.

The dinner unfolded like something out of a dream. You moved between the kitchen and the tables like a well-rehearsed dance — plates of ricotta-stuffed zucchini flowers, slow-cooked ragu, hand-rolled pasta, and flaky sea bass garnished with lemon slices passed from your hands to theirs.

And then dessert came.

Except, this time, it was different.

You stepped out of the kitchen carrying a single plate. On it, a delicate panna cotta with a drizzle of berry coulis. Nestled beside it — a small velvet box.

Alessia blinked, her fork halfway to her mouth. “What’s…?”

Beth gasped. Viv’s jaw dropped. Leah grabbed Kyra’s arm like they were watching a live proposal on TV.

You walked straight to Alessia, setting the plate down in front of her. No big speech. No microphone. Just you, her, and the twinkling lights above.

“Surprise,” you said quietly.

Alessia looked at the box. Then at you.

“You didn’t,” she breathed.

You just smiled. “You said this was what you wanted. For good. So… let’s make it forever.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. She covered her mouth with one hand, then looked around at her teammates — all frozen in giddy anticipation, phones out, trying (and failing) to stay quiet.

Then she stood.

And she kissed you. Right there. In front of everyone. No hesitation. No filter. Just the kind of kiss that said yes a thousand different ways.

When she pulled back, her eyes were glassy, but her smile was unstoppable. “Of course it’s a yes, idiota.”

Cheers erupted. Wine glasses clinked. Beth was crying. Lia was crying. Even Viv looked emotional.

You slipped the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Just like everything else about you and Alessia Russo.

The trattoria had never been this loud after closing.

Chairs had been pulled into loose circles on the patio. String lights overhead danced with the breeze. Empty wine bottles lined the walls like trophies. Someone had found a speaker, and a mix of English pop and old Italian classics bounced between the stone walls and the laughter of half-drunk footballers.

The sign on the door said “Chiuso per Festa Privata” — Closed for a Private Party — but that felt like an understatement.

This was your engagement party.

And it was perfect.

Inside, your mamma and Alessia’s parents were laughing over espresso and biscotti. Outside, Beth Mead had taken over DJ duties, pairing Eros Ramazzotti with Spice Girls. Vivianne was holding court with Lia and Victoria over a tiramisu that somehow kept regenerating from the kitchen. Steph was trying to teach Kyra how to dance to Italian folk music, failing miserably.

And in the middle of it all — Alessia, barefoot on the tiles, a glass of prosecco in hand, wearing a soft red summer dress and the diamond ring you’d placed on her finger the night before.

She was glowing. Not just from the wine or the fairy lights — but from joy.

Real, warm, overwhelming joy.

You stepped behind her, wrapping your arms around her waist. She leaned into you like it was second nature — like it had always been.

“Are you happy?” you murmured into her hair.

She hummed. “I’m in Italy. I’m engaged to the love of my life. There’s cake. I’d say I’m more than happy.”

“Even with Beth playing a techno remix of ‘Volare’?”

She laughed, head tipping back against your shoulder. “Especially because of that.”

Later, your mamma insisted on a toast.

Everyone gathered around, some perched on countertops, others squeezed onto benches, wine glasses or espresso cups raised. You stood beside Alessia, your hand never leaving hers.

“She has burned pasta in my kitchen,” your mamma began in Italian, “but she has never failed to love you with her whole heart.”

Alessia blushed. You translated quickly as your mamma went on, her voice soft and proud.

“She is sunshine, and you are fire. She is wild, and you are steady. You’ve been each other’s since you were bambini. And now, you will be each other’s… per sempre.”

A soft chorus of “awwws” and a few sniffles followed. You and Alessia clinked glasses, kissed — and the party picked right back up.

As midnight approached, Beth shouted, “Speech! Speech!” while clinking a spoon against a Prosecco flute.

You stood on one of the tables (against your better judgment), pulling Alessia up with you. Arms wrapped around each other, shoes long gone, you looked out at the people who’d made your world feel so full.

“I don’t know how to say all of this,” you started. “But I’ll try.”

You turned to Alessia.

“You’ve known every version of me. The shy one who wouldn’t speak to you at eight. The mess of a teenager who used to sneak you leftover cannoli. The young adult who stayed up at night dreaming of what this — us — could be again.”

You paused, voice catching just a little.

“And now I get to call you mine. Forever. I can’t wait to cook with you. Laugh with you. Grow old with you. Maybe burn some pasta with you, too.”

She kissed you before you could say more, the crowd cheering, glasses clinking, someone yelling “Ti amo!” from the back (probably Victoria).

That night, as the music faded and the stars settled over the hills, Alessia took your hand and whispered:

“Let’s never leave here.”

And you nodded, because for the first time in your life, you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

The trattoria was silent now.

The party had faded into memory — half-drunk wine glasses left on tables, confetti still caught between the cobblestones, the faintest scent of basil and lemon lingering in the morning air. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting golden streaks across the walls of the apartment above the restaurant, where the shutters were half open and the bedsheets were still warm with sleep.

Alessia stirred first.

Her hair was a soft mess across the pillow, her face still flushed with joy, her arm lazily draped across your bare waist. She blinked slowly, the world still quiet and hazy, and smiled before her eyes had even fully opened.

“Mmm,” she murmured, voice gravelly with sleep. “What time is it?”

You, lying beside her on your stomach, turned your head just enough to see the light spilling across the wooden floor.

“Early. Too early.”

She buried her face against your shoulder and sighed. “Let’s never get up again.”

You chuckled, rolling onto your side, your fingers tracing soft, sleepy lines across her ribs. “We have a trattoria to clean, remember?”

“Nope,” she replied, eyes still closed. “That’s a tomorrow problem.”

There was something so sacred about mornings like this — the kind where no alarms existed, where you could hear the birds waking up and the clink of a delivery truck down the road, but none of it reached you, not really.

Alessia opened her eyes fully now, locking into yours with a lazy grin.

“Hi, fiancée.”

You smirked. “Hi, future Mrs. Chef.”

She rolled her eyes, giggling, and then kissed you. Soft. Slow. Still tasting a little like prosecco and panna cotta. Her hand found your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye like she was memorizing the curve of your face all over again.

“I dreamt about you last night,” she whispered when she pulled back, her forehead against yours.

“Oh yeah?” you asked, voice still raspy.

“Mhm,” she said, kissing your jaw, “you were making pasta…”

You laughed, your body shaking gently beneath hers.

“Of course I was.”

“…in just an apron.”

You blinked. “Alessia!”

“What?” she said, all faux-innocence, kissing your shoulder now. “You looked very professional.”

You groaned, grabbing a pillow to playfully hit her with, but she caught your wrist midair and kissed your knuckles instead. Everything stilled again.

“Ti amo,” she whispered.

You didn’t rush the answer. You just looked at her, your everything, with a heart full of warmth and a future full of love, and replied:

“Ti amo anche io. Da sempre.”

I love you too. Always have.

Outside, the trattoria waited to be cleaned. The town slowly blinked awake. The world continued turning.

But in that quiet apartment, in your tangled bed of sun-drenched sheets and sleepy smiles, you and Alessia stayed exactly where you belonged:

Together.

Forever.

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo #arsenalwfc x reader #arsenalwfc #awfc x reader #awfc

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phoenixyfriend · 1 month ago

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Ko-fi prompt from @becauseforoncethisisme:

I don’t understand how importing and exporting works and I’m trying to write a story that doesn’t have colonialism but does have chocolate and vanilla and coffee available to everyone and it’s set in fantasy Spain so I can’t grow them locally. If that fantasy Spain is trading with the people who produce chocolate and vanilla and coffee as equal partners, then how do they import enough stuff to make it readily available, and could they export things like olive oil and wine in exchange or would that not work?

Honestly, my first reaction was 'this is a very Western perspective on international trade.'

We have a few questions to ask here:

What do we mean by "readily available?"

What are the barriers in place that prevent domestic production in a fantasy setting?

What are the logistical barriers to trade that impede international trade in a fantasy setting?

What are the labor and production conditions in these countries that are uncolonized?

What are substitutes that could feasibly be present?

Readily Available

There are varying degrees of availability that one may consider here. A rough spectrum would be:

Unavailable -> Expensive Luxury -> Affordable Luxury -> Generic/Staple -> Cheap Junk

We are very used to, at least in the US and similarly wealthy nations, having some of these available as Cheap Junk. Vanilla is an affordable luxury, Coffee ranges from cheap to affordable luxury but tends to sit at Generic in the public conscious, and chocolate is a Cheap Junk item that can enter Affordable Luxury, but by god do we have it at the dollar store if you're willing to put up with immense amounts of sugar and saturated fats as a filler.

Vanilla is, actually, unlikely to change much, but that's due to the fact that it's an expensive flavor already. It might move from Affordable to Expensive, but in the real world, vanilla beans are incredibly limited in agriculture, as they are difficult to grow outside of Madagascar or Mexico due to the pollinator requirements. This is also the main focus of question five, as it's the one most likely to be substituted for with a cheaper substitute; synthetic vanillin can be derived from clove oil.

The other two, you could expect to move up at least one tier into Generic or Affordable Lux, but possibly to Expensive Lux dependent on the next factors and how quality the items are; it's very easy to stretch chocolate if you're willing to cut corners. The products would be more expensive, but not unavailable... kind of like when I go looking for imported foods from Eastern Europe.

Domestic Production Barriers

This is a fantasy setting, which means there must be a cause for not being able to grow something domestically. For vanilla, a tropical plant, the primary barrier IRL is pollinator requirements. In its native Mexico, it is pollinated by a specific bee, and outside of Mexico, it must be pollinated by hand, which is what they do in Madagascar. Since Madagascar is one of the few countries where that labor is affordable...

Then again, maybe fantasy Spain has the magic to make that work without immense amounts of underpaid labor.

Coffee and cocoa are less specific in practice, but still require tropical climates that make farming in other zones difficult at scale. You can have a greenhouse at that temperature, but it's not really viable, financially.

It's also plausible that, without colonization, the origin countries have refused to allow live seeds to exit the country, in order to maintain control over production. Can't grow your own cocoa trees if you never get a live seed to plant, right?

Logistic Trade Barriers

What is international travel like for your setting? How long does it take to get from point A to point B? What are the options for transport at scale? Do you have cargo ships, cargo planes, long-haul trucking? Is teleportation a thing? Does the transport require some kind of fuel and, if so, what is the cost of that fuel? How many humans are needed to man the transport, or is it largely automated?

Are there domestic industries that feel threatened, like spice companies that import cinnamon from SE Asia and would like to avoid the cocoa coming out of South American farms? Would they lobby the government to institute barriers, or act as a guild?

Are there political barriers, like tariffs? Wars that are liable to disrupt supply chains? Black markets that spring up to avoid customs?

Production Conditions

So. A country does not need to be a victim of colonization to be built on cheap, underpaid, labor, or even slavery.

The Aztec Empire had slaves before Europe arrived. China was never actually colonized by Western powers; at most, they ceded small amounts of territory for a temporary period. You could argue they were colonized by Huns and Mongols, but those assimilated in. Nepal, Japan, and Thailand have never been taken over by another power, though they occasionally lost territory or were forced into trade.

It is entirely possible, even likely, that the countries Fantasy Spain trades with are abusing their own people for cheap labor. If there is any degree of a class system where nobility and peasantry exist, especially if there's slavery, then you will have cheap products being exported for the upper classes. China was never taken over by the West, but the silk and spice trades were booming in part because of cheap labor under Imperial rule, and then again under communism. The Aztecs were running farms on slave labor before Spain got there. Nepal is still incredibly poor compared to the West, which is why the Mt. Everest tourism trade is one that doesn't run out of employees.

Once you know what the labor conditions are like, you can decide what the cost of goods is. If there's been a peasant revolt, trade diminishes and prices go up. Good labor conditions mean lowered rates of production, and then prices are higher because of basic laws of supply and demand.

Substitutes

Vanillin is magical.

#trade #economics #fantasy #phoenix posts #ko fi #kofi prompts #colonization #history

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forestclan-clangen · 12 days ago

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MOON 14 (Part 2)

<< FIRST | < PREVIOUS |

Airkit wants to be helpful. He brings some flowers back to the medicine den. Shiverstep notices that they're forget-me-nots. Nothing helpful medicinally, but she thanks him for being so kind.

(Shiverstep, medicine cat, female, 14 moons. Loving.) (Airkit, kitten, male, 4 moons. Polite.)

Owlkit tries to get Barleywave's attention, but he freezes up and doesn't say anything. Owlkit pouts back to the nursery, and says something rude. Barleywave bristles in both shame and frustration.

(Barleywave, warrior, male, 43 moons. Playful.) (Owlkit, kitten, female, 1 moon. Bullying.)

Daffodilkit talks to Cloudthunder, asking why she's in the nursery - she doesn't look like she's nursing. Cloudthunder says she's the mother of Deerkit, Airkit and Cottonkit. They're much older than Daffodilkit, so they don't need milk anymore. Daffodilkit is bewildered that she won't need milk! She's impressed by how much Cloudthunder knows.

(Cloudthunder, warrior, female, 47 moons. Adventurous.) (Daffodilkit, kitten, female, 1 moon. Quiet.)

Hopechase confronts Riversnow and her refusal to talk to Barleywave - at least to establish co-parenting in any regard. Riversnow is still sticking by her story that he is not the sire, which Hopechase calls foxdung on.

(Riversnow, warrior, female, 63 moons. Adventurous.) (Hopechase, warrior, female, 96 moons. Playful.)

Redstar is starting to go on nightly patrols again to try and feed the woods. She is getting progressively more exhausted from lack of sleep. Olive tries to advise her against pushing herself too hard, but to no avail. Olive finds the way Redstar acts to be progressively more uncomfortable.

(Olive, mediator, female, 70 moons. Calm.) (Redstar, leader, female, 73 moons. Strict.)

Windfur invites Morningspot on patrol with him, looking to calm her down and provide some distraction. Morningspot asks him about the nature of StarClan, and Windfur provides her with an explanation that reduces her stress.

(Windfur, medicine cat, male, 28 moons. Lonesome.) (Morningspot, warrior, female, 16 moons. Nervous.)

Tree notices that Cloudthunder is getting restless, and they ask her to join them on a long patrol to stretch her legs.

(Cloudthunder, warrior, female, 37 moons. Adventurous.) (Tree, warrior, non-binary, 45 moons. Adventurous.)

---

Cloudthunder wanted to scream.

Windfur had just finished entertaining her kits by answering their questions in his trademark complete sincerity. Airkit had asked if all animals were made of fur, and before Cottonkit could make some retort - likely about how birds exist - Windfur said that all animals had some kind of skin, and from there, different protection would grow, like fur or feathers. So, technically, every animal was made of skin, including themselves.

Ten minutes later, Deerkit bounced into the nursery where Daffodilkit and Owlkit were play-fighting and said with loud enthusiasm: "HEY! DID YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE MADE OF SKIN?"

Owlkit stumbled to her feet with her back arched. Daffodilkit's fur puffed out and stared at Deerkit with wide, shocked eyes, before bursting into a crying mew.

Deerkit panicked and tried to hush her. Cottonkit criticized her sister for yelling, at equally loud of a volume. Owlkit bit her in response. Now Cottonkit was also screaming. Airkit sank to the floor and covered his ears, whining loudly to "please stoooooop!".

Cloudthunder wanted to nap in the sun for thirty minutes. Just thirty minutes. Couldn't even do that without something happening. She groaned as she forced herself out of her sunning spot and towards the nursery.

She loved her children, she really did, she wouldn't trade them for the world. But she was exhausted and just wanted her kits to behave quietly for once. It didn't help that Riversnow dashed from the medicine den to the nursery before her, immediately starting to coo over her two kits.

"It's okay, it's okay, shh, shh, you're okay - "

Cloudthunder had appeared at the mouth of the nursery when she saw Riversnow throw a furious glare at the three older kits.

"Don't cause trouble!" she hissed.

"Hey, sorry Riversnow. I'll handle it," Cloudthunder intercepted between the new queen and her own kits.

"They're four moons old! Old enough to know better," Riversnow retorted, her cyan gaze was piercing.

"I know. They know. I'll handle it," Cloudthunder sighed as she immediately started pawing her kits out of the nursery. "Go now. I'll make you apologize to Riversnow and her kits when you've all quieted down."

"B-But - " Deerkit started, and was shut down by Cloudthunder's gaze.

"I didn't even do anything…" Airkit mewed pathetically.

"Out, please," the white and gray molly hissed. She only needed to tell them once, thankfully, before they scattered outside. Cloudthunder shot an apologetic glance at the new queen again before padding away. She watched as her kits had already bolted in the medicine den and started pestering Shiverstep for a story.

Cloudthunder stared at the sky in exhaustion. She watched as the clouds gently passed above, and listened as the songs of cardinals and chickadees filled her ears. She took a deep breath, then exhaled. Her heart throbbed with longing. Redstar had cleared her for basic patrols as long as someone was with her, but what she really wanted was to go on an adventure again. She loved being a mother, but she didn't love being a queen. She wanted to stretch her legs, explore for hours and gather any possible berries or spices she could throw over a meal. She wanted a taste of freedom again.

"Beautiful day, no?"

Cloudthunder jumped as Tree's voice piped up from next to her. She forcibly relaxed and gave a small smile, her tail flicking. "Indeed it is," she said.

Tree smiled and gave a knowing purr, glancing at the entrance of the now-noisy medicine den. "Busy, I take it?"

"Unfortunately," Cloudthunder sighed. The molly glanced at the camp gates longingly. "It is what it is, I suppose."

Tree said nothing in response. However, their tail twitched pensively. Then, it seemed like they made a decision. "Cloudthunder, could you wait here for just a moment?"

The grey and white molly tilted her head at the cat, puzzled. "...Um, okay?"

Tree padded into the medicine den before she could ask why. But, it must be for a reason. Cloudthunder's ear twitched, and she licked her paw before grooming herself.

Tree then left the medicine den and leapt onto the High Rock, interrupting a meeting between Redstar, Iciclepool and Hopechase. After a few minutes, Tree leapt down from the rock and approached Cloudthunder again, tail raised and green eyes sparking.

"That was easier than expected. You have very considerate Clanmates," Tree meowed, whiskers twitching. "Would you like to go on patrol?"

Cloudthunder perked up, her pupils dilated, but she stiffened with apprehension. "...Define 'patrol'," Cloudthunder asked.

"Well…" Tree suppressed a mrrow of amusement. "I pointed out that blueberries may have grown out by this time in summer - er, greenleaf. But…"

"They're found closer to the marshes," Cloudthunder breathed, feeling a sudden weight lift off her shoulders, her paws rapidly carrying themselves into the warrior den, where she rummaged through her small stash corner and yanked out a small leather bag she had painstakingly made over a year ago.

Tree purred in amusement as they followed after them. "Hey, hey, but you haven't heard the condition yet," they said.

Cloudthunder frowned, knowing Redstar didn't want her to go alone. Then, she turned to Tree and asked, "Care to join me?"

Now it was Tree's turn to seem surprised, but only briefly, their tail twitching. "Oh. Well, I suppose that settles it," they laughed.

Cloudthunder let out a breath and for a brief moment, she stared at the medicine cat den. A brief pang of guilt entered her heart, before she saw Tree's brown and golden tail swish in front of her vision.

"They'll be alright, promise," Tree said with a chuckle. "Shiverstep's telling them the epic of the Fire that Saved the Clans."

"Oh, StarClan, that's a long one," Cloudthunder said with a laugh. "Are you sure they'll be able to pay attention for long enough?"

"And if they don't, so what? I'm sure the kits can find something to do. Your restlessness is not unnoticed by your friends, and you deserve to have some sense of normalcy," Tree replied.

Cloudthunder considered these words. She wasn't sure if she was just stressed or overly touched, but she felt her heart pang and she had to bite down the sudden urge to cry.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, before exhaling. Tree was right. She loved her kits. But she also wanted to feel like herself again. She felt like a bird trapped in a cage, and she wanted to spread her wings again.

When she opened her eyes again, she looked at Tree with deep gratitude. "Thank you," she meowed.

"Not a problem. Now, shall we get going?" "Yes, please." Cloudthunder trotted towards the gate with her tail held high and her eyes sparkling with wonder. She was going to collect so many blueberries. She was going to hear tree frogs and toads and blue jays and mallards, and it was going to be beautiful.

---

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rheanyraaaa · 5 days ago

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Fruit on the tree

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summary: you are a southerner (of your own description) used to basking in the sunlight, with flowing dresses and not much left on your skin, but since an unfortunate arranged marriage, you are left to stay in the coldest part of the North. Married to Robb Stark.

oneshot - fluff

a/n: this was a long term one stuck in me for some time and i needed to write it down so here it is!

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The wind howled like a lonely wolf beyond the stone walls of Winterfell, its icy fingers creeping through every crack and crevice, whispering secrets of frostbite and endless nights, and you, a creature of golden warmth, of citrus groves and silk-draped courtyards, shivered beneath the weight of furs that felt more like chains than comfort, your skin prickling with the unfamiliar bite of the North, the cold sinking into your bones like teeth, unrelenting, unforgiving.

You had been born where the sun dripped honey over olive skin, where the air clung thick with salt and jasmine, where the very earth pulsed with heat beneath bare feet, but here, the world was a monochrome tapestry of grey and white, the sky a heavy shroud pressing down, the ground frozen iron beneath your slippers, every breath a visible ghost escaping your lips as if your soul were trying to flee this bitter exile. When you first met Robb Stark it was the day before your marriage, the first the winter chill hit you, causing you to tremble, he looked calm and you were straight away fearful of him.

Tall & brooding, with larger arms and a sword attached to his side, you could barely hold eye contact with his dark ocean like pools for eyes. He would love you and protect you but the way his hands twitched and his breathing seized when he saw you only made you fear him more, what if he took advantage of you one night? your thoughts said to yourself, you shook your head and looked up to meet his dark blue eyes and gave a polite smile, which he nodded too, and you swallowed your tears back.

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A couple weeks after the marriage, Robb Stark watched you from across the hearth, his blue eyes flickering with something softer than the firelight, something warmer than the flames that danced between you, he had seen the way you curled into yourself like a flower wilting in the frost, the way your hands trembled even when clasped tight, the way your gaze lingered longingly on the high windows as if you could will the sun to break through the iron clouds

"You're cold," he murmured, not a question but an observation, his voice rough yet gentle like the scrape of a woolen blanket over chilled skin

You laughed, a sound too bright for this frozen world, a sound that belonged to lemon trees and sun-drenched courtyards, not this fortress of snow and stone, “I am always cold here," you admitted, your words curling like smoke in the air between you, "it’s as though winter lives inside me now"

He moved then, crossing the room with the quiet confidence of a man who had never known a home that wasn’t wrapped in frost, his boots silent against the stone, his presence solid as the ancient walls around you and then his hands were on yours, broad and calloused, swallowing your fingers whole, his skin radiating heat like a forge, like the heart of a star

"You’ll grow used to it," he promised, his thumbs brushing slow circles over your knuckles, coaxing the blood back to the surface, "the cold becomes a part of you, like a second skin"

You wanted to protest, to tell him you would never belong to this land of endless grey, that your heart still beat for the south, for the sun but then he was lifting your hands to his lips, pressing warmth into your fingertips with his breath, his mouth a brand against your frozen skin, and something in you melted, just a little, like the first thaw of spring

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The next morning, the world outside was a blinding expanse of white, the snow piled high like the walls of some forgotten castle. You had insisted on venturing out, determined to prove that the North would not break you, but the moment your foot slipped on the hidden ice beneath the powder, the ground rushed up to meet you, and you landed in a heap of furs and snow, the cold seeping through your layers like a thief stealing your warmth.

A deep chuckle rumbled behind you, and before you could even gasp, strong hands were lifting you, turning you, pulling you back to your feet as if you weighed no more than a feather. Robb's eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was no mockery in them, only warmth.

"Careful," he said, brushing snow from your cloak with firm, deliberate strokes. "The North doesn’t take kindly to strangers."

You huffed, cheeks burning, whether from the cold or embarrassment, you couldn’t tell. "I thought I could manage."

His lips quirked. "And yet here you are, half-buried in a snowdrift."

You scowled, but before you could retort, he was sweeping you into his arms with effortless strength, cradling you against his chest as if you were something precious.

"Robb!" you yelped, clutching at his shoulders. "I can walk!"

"Not with frozen toes, you can’t," he said, his breath warm against your temple as he carried you back inside, his strides long and sure.

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The bath was already waiting when he set you down in your chambers, steam curling in lazy tendrils from the water, the scent of pine and something sweet honey, perhaps, hanging in the air.

"Get in," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Before the chill sets any deeper."

You hesitated, fingers trembling over the laces of your gown. "You don’t have to—"

"I know," he interrupted, softer now. "But I want to."

And then his hands were there, deft and steady, unlacing the ties with a patience that surprised you, his touch never lingering, never presuming only helping, only warming. When the last of your layers pooled at your feet, he guided you into the bath, the heat of the water stealing your breath in the best way, your skin tingling as life rushed back into your limbs.

You sighed, sinking deeper, the tension leaching from your muscles. Robb knelt beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves before dipping a cloth into the water and wringing it out.

"You’re not what I expected," you murmured, watching him through half-lidded eyes.

He raised a brow. "Oh?"

"I thought you’d be as cold as your land," you admitted. "But you’re not."

A slow smile curved his lips, and for the first time since you’d arrived in Winterfell, you felt something other than cold, something bright and golden, something that had nothing to do with the sun you missed and everything to do with the man before you.

"No," he agreed, pressing the warm cloth to your shoulder, his touch lingering just a heartbeat too long. "I’m not."

Outside, the wind still screamed, the snow still fell in silent sheets, the world still ached with winter, but here, in the circle of his care, with his hands gentle on your skin and his voice a low murmur in your ear, you thought perhaps the cold wasn’t so cruel after all.

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should i make a follow up with a short smut scene?

#robb stark #robb stark x reader #asoiaf #robb stark imagines #robb stark x y/n #robb stark x oc #fanfic #game of thrones

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greenwitchcrafts · 4 months ago

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March 2025 Witch Guide

New Moon: March 29th

First Quarter: March 6th

Full moon: March 14th

Last Quarter: March 22nd

Sabbats: Ostara- March 20th

March Storm Moon

Also known as: Crow Moon(Ojibwe), Hard Crust on the Snow Moon(Ojibwe & Chippewa tribes near the Great Lakes), Hrethmonath, Lenten Moon, Little Sand Storm Moon(Zuni), Moon of the Whispering Wind(Hopi), Moon When the Leaves Break Forth(Pueblo), Moon of the Winds, Sore Eyes Moon(Sioux, Lakota & Assiniboine of the Great Plains, northern plains, & Dakotas), Sap Moon(Shawnee of Ohio & Pennsylvania), Spring Moon(Inupiat in Alaska & the Passamaquoddy of the northeastern US), Storm Moon, Sugar-Making Moon(Ojibwe of southern Canada), Wind Moon(Choctaw, Cherokee of the southeastern US & the Catawba of South Carolina), & Worm Moon

Element: Water

Zodiac: Pisces & Aries

Nature spirts: Air spirts, water spirts & mer-people

Deities: Artemis, Astarte, Athena, Cybele, Isis, Luna & Minerva

Animals: Boar, cougar & hedgehog

Birds: Sea crow & sea eagle

Colors: Pale green, red-violet & yellow

Trees: Alder, dogwood & honeysuckle

Herbs: Apple blossom, high John root, Irish moss, pennyroyal, wood betony & yellow dock

Flowers: Daffodil, jonquil & violet

Scents: Apple blossom & honeysuckle

Stones: Amethyst, aquamarine, bloodstone, moonstone, obsidian, onyx, red zircon & topaz

Issues, intentions & powers: Astral, banishing, beginnings, empowerment, fertility & purification

Energy: Balance, beginnings, dream work, energy breaking into the open, exploring, growth, inner development, prospering, spirtual debt & truth seeking

March’s full Moon is often called the Worm Moon. It was thought this name referred to the earthworms that appear as the soil warms in spring.

However, In the 1760s, Captain Jonathan Carver visited the Naudowessie (Dakota) & other Native American tribes & wrote that the name Worm Moon refers to a different sort of “worm”—beetle larvae—which begin to emerge from the thawing bark of trees & other winter hideouts at this time.

• Storm moon comes from heavy rains & gray skies abound — the earth is being showered with the life-giving water it needs to have a fertile & healthy growing season. This is also a time of equal parts light & darkness, so a time of balance.

This month's full moon is a blood moon which is a full moon that coincides with a full lunar eclipse. This moon can have an unusually reddish appearance

•There is a partial solar eclipse on March 29th

• There is a total lunar eclipse on March 13-14th depending on where you are

Ostara

Known as: Alban Eilir, Lady Day, Spring Equinox & Vernal Equinox

Season: Spring

Element: Fire

Symbols: 8-Spoked wheel, butterflies, chicks, decorated baskets, eggs, feathers, hares, rabbits, seeds, shamrocks, spring flowers & sunwheels

Colors: Green, light-blue, indigo, pink, red, silver, violet, white & yellow

Oils/Incense: African violet, apple blossom, columbine, crocus, daffodil, daisy, florals, ginger, honey, honeysuckle, jasmine, jonquil, lilac, lotus, magnolia, narcissus, orange blossom, primrose, rain, rose, sage & strawberry

Animals: Bees, boar, butterflies, hare, hedgehogs, horse, rabbit, ram, sheep & snake

Birds: Chicks, cormorant, hawk, robin, sparrow & swallow

Stones: Amethyst, aquamarine, bloodstone, moonstone, red jasper & rose quartz

Mythical: Pooka & phoenix

Food: Asparagus, dairy foods, dill, eggs, fruit, honey, honey-cakes, lamb, leafy green vegetables, mead, pine nuts, pumpkin, radish, seafoods, spring onions, sprouts & sunflower seeds

Herbs/Plants: Acorn, broom, ginger, gorse, hyssop, high John root, Irish Moss, lemon grass, olive, strawberry, woodruff

Flowers: Apple blossom, columbine, crocus, daffodil, dandelion, daisy, honeysuckle, iris, jasmine, jonquil, lilac, lily, linden, orange blossom, narcissus, peony, primrose, rose, snowdrop, tansy, tulip, violet

Trees: Alder, apple, ash, birch, dogwood, hawthorn, maple, yew

Goddesses: Aphrodite, Amalthea, Ariadne, Artemis, Astarte, Athena, Blodewedd, Coatlicue, Cybele, Demeter, Diana, Eos, Epona, Flora, Freya, Gaia, Guinevere, Hera, Idunn, Iris, Ishtar, Isis, Juno, Libera, Maia, Minerva, Ostara, Persephone, Rati, Renpet, Umaj, Venus, Vesta & Vila

Gods: Adonis, Aengus MacOg, Attis, Celi, Cernunnos, Coel, Dalon ap Landu, The Dagda, Dumuzi, Eros, The Green Man, Kama, Mithras, Odin, Osiris, Ovis, Pan & Thor

Tarot cards: The Empress, The Fool, The Magician, The Priestess, Strength, Justice & The Star

Spellwork: Altar rededication, beginnings, fire magick, new employment & new projects

Issues, Intentions & Powers: Agriculture, balance, beauty, fertility, growth, life, light, love, rebirth & renewal

Activities:

•Go on a hike/walk & look for signs of spring

• Add Ostara symbols to decorate your altar space

• Plant vegetable &/or flower seedlings indoors after blessing the seeds

• Color bight, decorate & hunt eggs

• Set your intentions for the weeks/months ahead

• Start a new class or hobby

• Create eggshell candles

• Make plans & new routines for the future

• Participate in rituals & ceremonies that connect you with energy & the life force of nature

• Have a feast with your friends &/family with sprouts & leafy greens

• Bake hot cross buns

• Clean & de-clutter your home

• Try a re-birthing/ renewing ritual

• Bring fresh flowers or plants into into the home

• Host a spring & floral themed tea party

• Make egg based food dishes & desserts

• Assist houseless individuals as most temporary shelters will soon be closing

Ostara gets it's name from Eostre, however the celebration isn't based on her even though she is said to be interpreted as the goddess of spring, fertility & the dawn. There is very little information on Eostre and none have shown up before the eighth century because of disagreements on she had Celtic or Germanic origins.

People tend to believe Ostara is an ancient holiday at it's core with an ancient goddess, but that may not be the truth. While most gods & goddesses have many myths & stories surrounding them, the same cannot be said about Eostre

It is still up for debate whether or not this goddess ever existed or if she was revered & celebrated the ways she's been in the more recent years.

•Like many other spring celebrations in other cultures, Ostara symbolizes fertility, rebirth & renewal. This time of year marking the beginning of the agricultural cycle when farmers would start planting seeds.

There is no evidence that the ancient Greeks or Romans celebrated Ostara, although they did celebrate their own spring festivals, such as the Roman festival of Floralia & the Greek festival of Anthesteria. It was a time to honor the returning sun, fertility & rebirth.

Related festivals:

• Nowruz: March 20h-

Nowruz marks the first day of spring & renewal of nature. It is celebrated on the day of the astronomical vernal equinox. It is also celebrated as the beginning of the new year by people all around the world for over 3,000 years in the Balkans, the Black Sea Basin, the Caucasus, Central Asia, the Middle East & other regions.

It promotes values of peace & solidarity between generations & within families as well as reconciliation & neighbourliness. Nowruz plays a significant role in strengthening the ties among peoples based on mutual respect & the ideals of peace and good neighbourliness.

Traditional customs of Nowruz include fire & water, ritual dances, gift exchanges, reciting poetry, symbolic objects & more; these customs differ between the diverse peoples & countries that celebrate the festival.

• Holi: March 14th-

Holi is a popular & significant Hindu festival celebrated as the The festival of colors, Love &Spring. It commemorates eternal and divine love of the deities Radha & Krishna. Additionally, the day signifies the triumph of good over evil, as it celebratess the victory of Vishnu as Narasimha over Hiranyakashipu. Holi originated & is predominantly celebrated in the Indian subcontinent, but has also spread to other regions of Asia & parts of the Western world through the Indian diaspora.

The festival has many purposes; most prominently, it celebrates the beginning of spring. In 17th century literature, it was identified as a festival that celebrated agriculture, commemorated good spring harvests & the fertile land. It's believed to be a time to enjoying spring's abundant colours & say farewell to winter. To many Hindus, Holi festivities mark an occasion to reset & renew ruptured relationships, end conflicts, & rid themselves of accumulated emotional impurities from the past

It also has a religious purpose, symbolically signified by the legend of Holika. The night before Holi, bonfires are lit in a ceremony known as Holika Dahan (burning of Holika) or Little Holi. People gather near fires, sing & dance. The next day, Holi, also known as Dhuli in Sanskrit, or Dhulheti, Dhulandi or Dhulendi, is celebrated.

•Easter: April 20th-

Also called Pascha or Resurrection Sunday, is a Christian festival & cultural holiday commemorating the resurrection of Jesus from the dead, described in the New Testament as having occurred on the third day of his burial following his crucifixion by the Romans at Calvary c. 30 AD. It is the culmination of the Passion of Jesus Christ, preceded by Lent (or Great Lent), a 40-day period of fasting, prayer, & penance.

Easter traditions vary across the Christian world & include sunrise services or late-night vigils, exclamations & exchanges of Paschal greetings, flowering the cross & the decoration and the communal breaking of Easter eggs (a symbol of the empty tomb) among many others. The Easter lily is a symbol of the resurrection in Western Christianity traditionally decorates the chancel area of churches on this day & for the rest of Eastertide. Additional customs that have become associated with Easter & are observed by both Christians & some non-Christians include Easter parades, communal dancing, the Easter Bunny & egg hunting.

Other celebrations:

• Festival of Luna: March 31st-

Is a feast day honoring the Goddess Luna who is seen as the divine embodiment of the Moon.

The Temple of Luna was a temple on the Aventine Hill in Rome, dedicated to Luna, the moon goddess. Its dedication was celebrated on March 31st, thus the celebration.

According to Tacitus, it was built by king Servius Tullius. However, the first confirmed reference to a temple to Luna dates to 182 BC & refers to one of its doors being knocked off its posts by a miraculous blast of air & shot into the back of the Temple of Ceres. That account probably places the temple at the north end of the hill, just above porta Trigemina. The temple was struck by lightning around the time of the death of Cinna, as was the temple of Ceres. After the destruction of Corinth, Lucius Mummius Achaicus dedicated some of his spoils from the city to this temple. It was destroyed in the Great Fire of Rome in 64 AD & not rebuilt.

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

Wikipedia

Encyclopedia Britannica

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Encyclopedia britannica

Llewellyn 2025 magical almanac Practical magic for everyday living

https://www.learnreligions.com

Llewellyn's Sabbat Essentials: Ostara

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