#For Honor: Marching Fire

[witchthewriter]

@dream-bee-baby.

[pedroam-bang]

Remko Troost - Law Bringer For Honor (2018)

[venusdews]

ride or die

sylus [秦彻] + female reader

synopsis. you're a simple girl: you see your boyfriend win a street race, it makes you want to jump his bones.

genre & contents. 18+! MDNI! street racer!sylus, smut, pwp, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, masturbation, reader is a cowgirl yeehaw!, sweat, quickie in a car, biting, dirty talk, jealousy, established relationship. (i don't know anything about cars so excuse my bsing lol) wc; 1.5k

author's note. your honor, i plead the fifth. you read the tags... this is pure filth. nasty, disgusting self indulgence. enjoyyyyyy <3

Tucked away on the outskirts of Linkon, where the stars shine brighter, there’s a hum of engines.

The night is electric, the excited whispers of bystanders mixing with the crackle of the bonfire that was burning brightly. Its smoke served as a signal to those who wished to find a distraction from the sleeping city. There’s a remnant of heat from the summer sun, though it’s been long since it dipped into the horizon.

Everyone’s attention was pointed towards the two brightly painted vehicles in the middle of the crowd. The red and yellow colors reflect the fire burning behind.

You stood in between them, watching the red sports car intensely. Though the windows are tinted too dark for you to see through, it’s impossible to ignore the feeling that you’re being watched.

With a kittenish smile, you lift the flag in your right hand, pausing for a moment before it comes back down.

Before you can even blink, the two cars speed past you, leaving nothing but the smell of fumes behind.

Without hesitation, you turn, barely catching your boyfriend’s car disappearing down the road. The cacophony of cheering is overwhelming. There are worried looks and nail biting as the possibility of losing a bet weighed heavy on people’s minds.

But, you, you were anything but worried.

All your money was on Sylus.

And it’s not long before the familiar sound of your boyfriend’s muffler comes back into earshot. He stops abruptly, past the finish line.

Not even close.

The crowd rushes past you, wanting to congratulate the tall figure emerging from the car. A few straggle behind, frustration evident on their face as they watch the other racer arrive. 

They really should have known better.

You drop the flag you’re still holding, pushing past the crowd ready to run your victor’s arms, until you see the group of girls gathering around him.

Girls who were arching their backs a little too hard, tugging their already low-cut tops even lower, batting their eyelashes.

And although you were used to the attention Sylus got from women, tonight it made your hands clench into fists. Your eyes twitch, scowl scrunching your features.

Maybe it was something in the air tonight, because you march up to him, all but shoving the girls away from him and ignoring their dirty looks.

Sylus, who had already spotted you through the crowd, drops his tense shoulders as you stop in front of him. 

“Hey– mmph!”

You plant your lips onto his, not waiting for him to react before slipping your tongue into his mouth. His surprise does not linger as he reciprocates with ease, hand coming up to the small of your back to push you further into him.

As your tongues clash passionately, the girls gawk at you before leaving with a roll of their eyes. You pull away, unable to help the satisfied look on your face. Your hands come up around his neck.

Sylus tilts his head, eyes alight with a fire. He smirks.

“Kitty has claws.”

You were only slightly embarrassed at the wetness pooling in your panties already. Though you knew it didn’t take much for him to get you going.

His face was glistening, a thin layer of sweat from the humidity of the abnormal hot night. The black shirt he was wearing was entirely too tight for your liking, taut chest and broad shoulders on full display. 

He might as well just take it off.

You bit your lip softly, looking at his lips. Not shying away from your blatant eye-fucking, Sylus’ hand trails lower down your back, slipping into the pocket of your denim shorts that left little to the imagination.

Maybe you both were trying to drive each other crazy tonight.

“Sy…” you breathe, unable to contain the desire dripping from your words. “I need you.”

You don’t care if you sound whiny. You needed him inside, badly.

Sylus groans lowly as you tug at his strands slightly. He lets go of you, not before slapping your ass. “Get in.”

You should be ashamed at how quickly you run around the car to the passenger side. Everyone surely saw your display of affection, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You were way too needy right now.

Sylus reaches over to buckle your seatbelt, wasting no time in driving away as soon as he hears it click in place. You watch as the speedometer on his dash rises to the triple digits and it only makes your cunt throb harder. You sigh, frustrated at the lack of attention.

You kick off your kitten heels, sliding your shorts down your legs.

“Kitten…” it's a warning. Sylus glances in your direction, eyes stern.

“I just,” you slip your finger under your lace panties. “I can’t wait.”

His hand grips the gear shift.

You slip a finger into yourself, gasping at just how soaked you were. Without hesitating, you slip another in. The sound of your fingers deftly working your wet cunt was enough to earn another groan from Sylus.

“Sy…” a soft moan, “please.” another finger, but it was just not enough. 

“I need you, now.”

He’s sloppy, clearly affected by your words as he swerves, haphazardly parking on the empty field that surrounds the road. Reaching over, Sylus unbuckles your seat belt and pulls you on top of him with such speed it leaves you dizzy.

His lips are on yours before you can process it, tongue swirling in your mouth. His kiss was burning with desire, unrelenting, his hand holding your head in place even as you struggle to breathe. You bring your hands to his neck, unable to let your instincts kick in.. You wished to devour him whole.

Sylus is the one to pull away, teeth softly biting into the swollen flesh of your bottom lip.

“What’s gotten into my sweet girl…” he ponders as you attack his neck, fingers now pulling his shirt up to feel the heat of his skin. Your tongue comes down to lick the sweat from his skin. You feel rabid, sucking down until you see the purple marks bloom just above his shirt.

Enough for everyone to know he’s yours.

You pull back, biting your lip with barely contained delight. 

It makes him look so pretty, you think.

Sylus catches the way your eyes twinkle at your work. It almost makes him laugh.

Like a woman entranced, you quickly make work of his pants, pulling out his thick, hard length. You don’t even try to stop the soft moan that leaves your lips at the sight of his wet tip. You wonder if you’d ever stop being surprised at how big it was in your hand.

“Are you trying to tease me?” he questions roughly as you slowly slide your hand up and down his length.

“Can’t I just appreciate my boyfriend for a minute?” you bite back, and it earns you a hard slap onto your ass.

“But, you were so eager just a few minutes ago. Be a good girl and take my cock already.”

You knew better than to argue.

Sylus slides your panties to the side, helping you as you align your dripping pussy with his tip. You slowly slide down his length, feeling every. single. inch. until you’re completely full. You whine, back arching as you let his cock spread you deliciously. 

He groans, hips coming up to meet yours impatiently. He leans back, hand on your hips as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Now ride it, kitten.”

His words make you lift your hips, slamming back down as soon as his tip is at your entrance. 

Your breaths mingle, clouding the car’s windows. You continue to bounce on his cock, moaning sweetly with every move of your hips. His nails dig into your ass, guiding you to make sure he doesn’t slip out of your tight cunt.

“Oh, Sy!” 

Sylus comes up, pressing his chest against you. His head is heavy on your shoulder, and you feel his teeth sink into your skin.

You’re not even sure if you’re still the one controlling your movements. Sylus’ hands come to your waist, using his absurd strength to keep sliding your slick against him. You're impossibly close, skin to skin, nails clawing at his back.

You were getting so close.

He knew.

The seat comes down and you squeal, falling onto his chest. Before you can question him, Sylus is slamming his hips up into you, deeper than before. 

“C’mon, kitten. I wanna see you cum for me,” he’s breathless at the sight of you, mouth open and eyes rolled back. “Cum all over this cock, you know it’s all yours.” his words coax more honeyed moans out of your swollen lips.

He was making a fucking mess out of you.

And he was enjoying every second of it.

The euphoria is sudden, your orgasm making every limb in your body spasm against him. Sylus can feel your tight pussy creaming on his length, almost enough to send him over the edge. But—

“Can I—”

“Yes,” you whimper, still on cloud nine. “I want you to fill me up, Sy, please.”

That’s all he needs to hear.

You feel his hot spurts of cum inside you, doing just as you asked.

Legs numb, you stay on top of him, struggling to catch your breath. Sylus brings his hand to cup your face, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. When he pulls back, he has that infuriating smirk on his face again.

“All because of some girls?”

Your face is warm, and you try to blame it on the suffocating heat in the car.

“Shut up.” you drop your forehead onto his chest.

It makes his smirk wider, but his gaze softens. He brings his finger up to the window, using the condensation as an easel. You turn to watch him as he draws a tiny heart with your initials.

“You’re always going to be the only one for me, kitten.”

thank you for reading <3

[ghostpalmtechnique]

If not now, when?

Historically, I have been an institutionalist. I opposed government shutdowns, because they hurt both public employees and everyone who relies on government services. I consider the debt ceiling unconstitutional, and failing to honor US financial commitments would be economically disastrous.

However.

You may have noticed that public employees and those dependent on public services are already being severely harmed by Elon Musk's illegal rampage through US institutions, and our ability to make credible commitments to the outside world has also already been severely compromised by the assertion that the executive can unilaterally decline to pay individual recipients that it objects to.

The deadline to fund the government is 14 March. The debt ceiling is likely to be breached again sometime in 2025.

If you have a Democratic representative in the House, I encourage you to call their office and tell them not to support any budget or debt proposal that does not include the funding for an Independent Counsel -- that cannot be fired by Trump or the Attorney General -- to investigate DOGE's illegal activities.

And if you happen to have a GOP Freedom Caucus representative, I encourage you to call them while pretending to be a right-winger and ask them to stick to their (insane) principles, which will force GOP majority to rely on Democratic votes to pass anything.

You can find your representative here: https://www.house.gov/representatives/find-your-representative

Generally, a couple of dozen phone calls on a specific issue is considered a lot of pressure by congressional staffers. You will make a difference by participating. Please be polite but firm (maybe a little less polite if you are doing the pretend right-winger part).

Please reblog this widely; this is one of the few remaining points of leverage a free citizenry still has before much uglier and more dangerous approaches become unavoidable.

[fangirl-dot-com]

🕸 With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility

Driver: Oscar Piastri Genre: SMAU/Fluff Occupation: Actor

☆ TAG LIST IS CLOSED ☆

oscarpiastri2013 has posted

liked by marvel, spider_osc, flickthewrist, lewishamilton, and 930,385 others

oscarpiastri2013 just hanging around set 🤟😁

see all comments

user1 oh my gosh he's such a loser....perfect for peter parker

user13 UHHGGG I WANT TO SEE THE SUIT - ALL WE'VE SEEN IS THE OLD ONE FROM CIVIL WAR 👹

flickthewrist still waiting for him to meet y/n l/n 🥱

user40 who's y/n and why is she important?

flickthewrist she's a formula 1 rookie driving for mclaren (which happens to be Oscar's favorite team) 🤭

user40 hmmmm might have to look into it!

robertdowneyjr you're crushing it kid! 💪

oscarpiastri2013 learned from the best 🥳

user2 YOUR HONOR I LOVE HIM ALREADY

lewishamilton my nephews are already waiting to see the movie

user77 WHAT THE HELL IS A POLAR BEAR DOING IN ARLINGTON TEXAS????

landonorris oohhhh ok I see the appeal y/n81

y/n81 YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO TAG ME WHAT THE HECK DUDE I HATE YOU

maxverstappen1 we were tired of hearing about him from you

y/n81 WHY ARE YOU ALSO HERE??? GO AWAY??? I KNOW WHERE YOU HIDE YOU SNACKS 😀

user33 my worlds are colliding and I'm not ready for it 🧍‍♀️

y/n81 has posted

liked by charles_leclerc, mishi81, mclarenf1, robertdowneyjr, and 1,209,856 others

y/n81 YES TEAM, P-WAAANNN BABY - THIS IS EVERYTHING I'VE BEEN DREAMING OF AND YOU'VE MADE IT POSSIBLE! I'M NOW ADDICTED TO THE TOP STEP 🧡

SUCK IT LANDO 🫵😌

see all comments

user3 I'm definitely NAWT crying like I actually know her in person but I'm so proud!

user91 PAPAYA 1-2 FINISH OH I USED TO PRAY FOR TIMES LIKE THIS!! 🙏

landonorris ...suck it....lando?? 👁👄👁

y/n81 YES SUCK IT

landonorris charles_leclerc pls come get your gremlin - I don't want her as a teammate anymore 🧍‍♀️

charles_leclerc I fear she became your problem back in march, I'm keeping my peace

landonorris is that code word for sucking max's d-

y/n81 HEY NOW LET'S NOT IN MY WINNING POST

charles_leclerc norris you better watch your back next race 😀

landonorris I feel threatened and I don't like it

user45 so underserved - if you can't win without your teammate being told to swap positions then you don't deserve it

user82 kindly shut up 😚

oscarpiastri2013 👏 amazing race!

y/n81 THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU (I'm totally normal about this)

maxverstappen1 did she just scream from her motor home??

landonorris yep. get the ear plugs ready.

user57 this is just the beginning of l/n domination - it could bore the fans

oscarpiastri2013 has posted

liked by y/n81, dior, mclaren, maxverstappen1, and 2,049,285 others

oscarpiastri2013 I am so very thankful to have been invited to the McLaren garage to witness another spectacular win from Y/n!

(also thank you to the nice worker who lent me a team polo after spilling coffee down my shirt 😁)

see all comments

user47 SOMEONE PINCH ME I'M DREAMING

user91 is the movie done filming?? he seems like he's had a lot of time on his hands??

flickthewrist filming ends in a couple of months and then there will be the premier!

user91 thank you!

y/n81 I'm beginning to think you might be lucky

landonorris you seem quite tame?

maxverstappen1 oh she's not. she's about to hyperventilate and Charles is freaking out

charles_leclerc SOMEONE TELL HER TO BREATHE?? HER FACE IS THE SAME COLOR AS THE SPIDER-MAN SUIT!!!!!

oscarpiastri2013 I will have to 🕸stick🕸 around then!

y/n81 AHAHAHAHA STICK THAT'S SO FUNNY YOU'RE SO COOL

charles_leclerc yeah she just fell out of her chair 🧍‍♀️

chrisevans kid you need to get back to set

robertdowneyjr evans here decided to set fire to the microwave

oscarpiastri2013 fine 🙄

user22 is anyone else ever confused as to WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON IN THE COMMENTS??

lewishamilton I've just decided to roll with it ☕️

user72 finally, a race that showed off y/n's talents! no team orders this time!!

maxverstappen1 has posted

liked by redbullracing, y/nl/n_updates, landoscaring, and 1,204,402 others

maxverstappen1 didn't know air-max was part-time baby sitting that includes nap time

see all comments

user38 this is actually hilarious

user4 this just shows that lando can indeed fall asleep anywhere :D

user88 ARE WE JUST GOING TO IGNORE THAT Y/N IS LITERALLY SLEEPING ON SOMEONE??

charles_leclerc they're going to be so pissed when they wake up

maxverstappen1 they sleep on my plane, I get black mail 😈

danielricciardo I fear for my life

maxverstappen1 you should ☺️

robertdowneyjr pls bring the kid back in one piece?? Jon will kill me if he's not

maxverstappen1 👍

user79 DOES THIS MEAN OSCAR IS ON AIRMAX?? IS HE SLEEPING?? IS HE THE ONE BENEATH Y/N?? ANSWERS PEOPLE I NEED ANSWERS

mclaren just a pair of sleepy teammates 🧡

maxverstappen1 the bill is $1,203,206 for daycare

mclaren I'm just the admin 🧍‍♀️

user37 ok but Oscar and y/n together would be so cute!!

f1wags has posted

liked by y/nl/n_updates, pia81, maxverstappen1, and 4,209 others

f1wags so after some recent (very recent) activity between y/n and Oscar, I felt like he needed a little introduction IF he's going to be the newest wag to the paddock!

oscar jack piastri is an australian actor now most known for his role as Peter Parker in the MCU. he made his debut two years ago in Captain America Civil War and now fans are debating if he's the best spiderman yet! the perfect mix of boy-next-door Peter with a sarcastic side behind the iconic mask! Spiderman Homecoming is set to release in theaters January 5, 2025 (two years after the announcement of the movie).

His other roles include The Impossible, In the Heart of the Sea, and The Lost City of Z.

His interests outside of Formula 1 include cricket and chess.

Although there hasn't been an official announcement from either Y/n or Oscar, their friendship so far has been fun to see. Oscar would be Y/n's first boyfriend (as she has previously stated that she has had no time to date due to trying to work toward a full-time Formula 1 seat).

see all comments

f1gossipgirl I am INVETSTED IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP

user2 what is max doing in the likes???

maxverstappen1 shhhhh I'm on a secret mission 🕵️

charles_leclerc it's not a very good secret mission SINCE YOU COMMENTED ABOUT IT

landonorris someone free me from these two I BEG

user84 y/n has also been a fan of Oscar's since The Impossible :)

user8 awwww first boyfriend 🥹 Oscar better not hurt her in anyway or there will be blood

oscarpiastri2013 .....dully noted 🧍‍♀️

user92 I need y/n to be invited to the premier!!!

y/n81 has posted

liked by dior, marvel, mclaren, pia81, and 3,048,957 others

y/n81 my spider-boy 🕷❤️

see all comments

user30 I KNEW IT I KNEW IT I KNEW IT AHAHAHAHA

user92 I'm glad they just decided to hard-launch after max soft-launched for them

charles_leclerc YES FERRARI RED 👏 SO PROUD

landonorris this is betrayal at it's finest - you WILL be hearing from my lawyers

y/n81 I'm surprised you know what that word is

landonorris ya know what? I'm glad that osco has taken you off my hands

user94 LANDO ALREADY HAS A NICKNAME FOR OSCAR I'M DYING

user84 y/n is SLAYING IN THE SPIDER-MAN RED

charles_leclerc *ferrari red 😌

oscarpiastri2013 my spider-girl 🥺

y/n81 I'm glad you didn't pass out while we tried to do the kiss

oscarpiastri2013 it's not like I hang upside down for a living or anything :)

maxverstappen1 you're welcome for that picture by the way. I still want compensation 🙄

oscarpiastri2013 you can be in the next film?

maxverstappen1 done.

charles_leclerc I WANNA BE IN THE NEXT FILM?? LOOK AT THIS FACE - IT DESERVES TO BE ON THE BIG SCREEN - MAX TELL THEM

landonorris please, for everything that is good and holy on this planet, GO AWAY

user33 I'm still confused as to what is GOING ON

lewishamilton just sit back and sip

user81 THEY DID THE KISS

TAG LIST: @scuderiadevils @marauderssworld @mehrmonga @glitterquadricorn @sinofwriting @splaterparty0-0 @ayohockeycheck @evalynkillgrave @bookishnerd1132 @vellicora @misty-inferno @minkyungseokie @khaylin27 @how-what-why-huh @theblueblub @zacian117 @fly-me-away @blueblinkx-blog @ilove-tswizzle @sinnerpalace @thatgirlmj @spilled-coffee-cup @iangelofmusic @suns3treading @roszszs @2pagenumb @ietss @morgan-getty @younxii @phantomxoxo @pastryboyyy @lolzzzzzzzzz @halleest @ggaslyp1 @skepvids @mil0sworld @u5dthsduttd @silkenthusiasts @coldcola @annispamz @fionaschicken @littlegrapejuice @boiohboii @crashingwavesofeuphoria @lancestrollsgf @tribbisweetdear @graciewrote @lozzamez3 @residentdegenerate @e-nonsense

[dionysianivy]

𝐎𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐚

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⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

What is Ostara?

Ostara is a lesser sabbat that marks the official arrival of spring and takes place on the spring equinox, around March 20-21 in the Northern Hemisphere and September 20-23 in the Southern Hemisphere. It’s the moment when day and night are of equal length, symbolizing balance before the days begin to grow longer and light overcomes darkness. This is a time of renewal, fertility, and new beginnings, making it perfect for fresh starts and setting intentions for the season ahead.

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The Legend of Ostara

According to a legend, Ostara is celebrated in honor of the Germanic goddess of the dawn and spring. The story goes that she once found a bird injured by the cold of winter. To save it, she transformed it into a hare, but the hare retained its ability to lay eggs. As a sign of gratitude, the hare painted and gifted eggs to the goddess, which is why eggs remain a central symbol of Ostara today. (1883, H. Krebs)

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Goddess Eostre

Eostre, also known as Ostara, is the Germanic goddess of spring, fertility, and renewal. Her name is linked to the word "east" and the rising dawn, and some believe it means "Radiant Dawn." Eostre represents the spirit of spring and the return of fertility to the earth. Her arrival was traditionally celebrated with flowers, singing, bell ringing, and the lighting of new fires at dawn. She is often described as a beautiful young woman with flowers woven into her hair, accompanied by her consort and also her sacred animal, a hare. Sometimes he appears as a full-grown man, other times as a small rabbit cradled in her arms. Together, they bring eggs, a powerful symbol of the earth’s rebirth and fertility.

There isn’t much information about Eostre, but she is mentioned in the writings of an 8th-century monk, Venerable Bede. He recorded that the pagan Anglo-Saxons of medieval Northumbria held festivals in her honor during the month of April. Other than this, we don’t know much about how she was worshiped in ancient times. However, by the 19th century, she had become an important figure in German folklore, appearing in literature, paintings, and stories. She is often depicted as a youthful maiden adorned with flowers, symbolizing nature’s renewal after winter.

Some ancient festivals are said to have honored her with offerings of flowers, eggs, and feasts, welcoming the warmth and life she brings. Venerable Bede documented these traditions around the year 700 CE while traveling through Europe, recording pagan customs for the Catholic Church. The Church later attempted to shift the focus from Eostre to the resurrection of Jesus, but many ancient traditions remained deeply rooted. Eventually, instead of trying to erase them, the Church adapted and merged the two celebrations, renaming their spring festival “Easter” as a way to unite both traditions.

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The Symbolism of The Painted Eggs

Eggs have long been a symbol of fertility, renewal, and the emergence of new life. Many cultures have used painted eggs in their spring festivals, from ancient Egyptians and Persians to European pagans. In the context of Ostara, eggs represent the potential for new beginnings and the fertility of the land as it awakens from winter. Decorating eggs is a tradition that has continued for centuries, carrying the magic of transformation and the blessings of abundance for the coming season.

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Magic Correspondences

Planets: Mars

Season: Spring

Element: Air

Time of the Day: Dawn, Early Morning

Tarot: The High Priestess, The Emperor, Sevend of Wands, Justice

Colors: All pastel colors, yellow, green, pink, blue, brown

Herbs: Sorrel, Mint, Rosemary, Ginger, Irish Moss, Tansy, Woodruff, Wood Betony, Star Anise, Catnip

Fruits: Strawberries, Tangerine, Bananas, Lemon, Grapefruit, Apple, Orange, Mulberries, Kiwi

Vegetables: Artichokes, Asparagus, Carrots, Spring Onions, Garlic, Wild Nettles, Mushrooms

Crystals: Aquamarine, Jasper, Amethyst, Rose Quartz, Green Aventurine, Moonstone. Amazonite

Runes: Teiwaz, Ehwaz, Berkana

Trees: Birch, Rowan, Dogwood, Ash, Alder

Godesses: Eostre, Freyja, Aphrodite, Isis, Hecate, Demeter, Gaia, Athena, Astarte, Minerva, Cybele, The Morrigan

Gods: Mars, Ares, Apollo, Pan, Cernunnos, Tyr, Odin, Osiris, Dagda, Adonis

Dragon: Grael, Sairys

Flowers: Daffodil, Hyacinth, Daisy, Tulips, Clover, Crocus, Violet, Rose, Jasmine, Lilac, Honeysuckle

Animals: Hare, Rabbit, Chicks, Lamb, Butterfly, Robin, Bee, Snake. Deer, Wolf

Magical Powers: Balance, Renewal, Action, New Beginnings, Hope, New Possibilities, Fertility, Rebirth

Symbols: Rabbits, Eggs, Flowers, Bees, Birds and Nests, Butterflies, Flower Crowns, Seeds

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Activities to do:

🐰 Decorate your space with Ostara symbols like eggs, bunnies, baby chicks etc.

🐣 Start planting seeds in your garden.

🐰 Buy or pick fresh flowers and place them in your home.

🐣 Paint some eggs. Use simple colors or add sigils, runes, symbols or anything you want to attract.

🐰 If you have a farm or a garden, it's the perfect time to buy and raise baby chicks! <3

🐣 Enjoy a festive meal to celebrate both Ostara and Spring Equinox.

🐰 Do some painting or other creative activities.

🐣 Do a deep spring cleaning, you rearrange your furniture for a fresh start.

🐰 Clean up your garden.

🐣 Leave seeds in your garden for birds.

🐰 Spend time in nature and look for the first signs of spring.

🐣 Make a list of goals to accomplish before spring ends.

🐰 Burn some incense to cleanse your space.

🐣 Make special Ostara candles with seasonal colors or herbs.

🐰 Do a tarot, rune, or pendulum reading in the morning of Ostara.

🐣 Try an Ostara guided meditation to connect with the celebration.

🐰 Honor Goddess Eostre with offerings or prayers.

🐣 Make an Ostara magickal jar

🐰 Wear clothing or jewelry in Ostara colors.

🐣 Try new recipes, especially with eggs and carrots.

🐰 Drink some tea and relax.

🐣 Read about Ostara and its traditions.

🐰 Make a flower crown for yourself or a loved one.

🐣 Try colorful makeup inspired by spring.

🐰 Dye eggs naturally or try flower prints on them.

🐣 Make friendship bracelets and share them with your loved ones.

🐰 Spend time with animals and connect with their energy.

🐣 Host an Ostara picnic or dinner with friends or family.

🐰 Plant your dream garden or buy new flower seeds.

🐣 Try aromatherapy with fresh scents (spring flowers).

🐰 Plan an egg hunt for fun with friends or family.

🐣 Connect with deities associated with Ostara and spring.

🐰 Worship your deities and honor Goddess Eostre.

🐣 Paint your nails in pastel colors.

🐰 Decorate your altar with Ostara symbols and colorful ribbons.

🐣 Try new activities, change routines, and care for yourself!

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

Food and Drinks:

Anything that has eggs! omelet, deviled eggs, stuffed eggs, carrot cake, braided bread, honey pastries, lamb, ham, fish, green vegetables, asparagus, goat cheese, sheep cheese, cow milk cheese, goat milk, sheep milk, cow milk, seasonal fruits, orange juice, tangerine juice, homemade carrot juice, dishes garnished with parsley, sweet egg tarts, muffins, carrot muffins, waffles, hot cross buns, herbal tea, mint, salads garnished with edible flowers, lemon, lemon bread, violet flower cake, lavender cake, brownies, preserves from last season, apples, yogurt, mozzarella, chocolate cake.

���⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

useful sources: Wicca: A Modern Guide To Witchcraft & Magick; Encyclopedia of Witchcraft: The Complete A-Z for the Entire Magical World by Judika Illes

gifs credit: Pinterest

tips♡🐇🌼

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Cregan Stark x Targaryen Reader (Rhaenyra’s daughter)

Instead of Jace meeting Cregan to get his alliance — what if it’s the reader. And when Cregan meets her he’s attracted to her and instead of just remembering his allegiance towards them, he purposes a wedding instead? Like he’s willing to help more to the Black’s IF he’s allowed to wed her daughter. 😏 Definitely just a rough ask so feel free to add or change anything!

It's been a long time coming... I have received so many request for this one! I picked little things from each and turned it into a slightly bigger fic. Reader is Velaryon, and Jacaerys' twin sister. I will be turning this into a small series as the story is getting too big and heavy in content for one post

Title (for ao3): The Pact of ice and fire

Warnings: mention of character deaths (spoilers), political marriage,

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Dragons are faster than ravens, so Rhaenyra sent her children on dragonback to raise support for her claim to the throne. Lucerys went to Storm’s End, Jacaerys to the Vale and you flew North to Winterfell. 

Lord Cregan Stark welcomed you into his home and offered you a seat at supper — and a chamber for the night. Dragonstone was a long way to Winterefell, your stomach was grateful for a hot meal. 

While you were eating, you informed the northman of the usurper sitting on the Iron Throne — your mother's throne — and how a war to take it back was about to begin. You didn’t forget to kindly remind him of his father’s oath to your grandsire. Starks were known for being just and honorable. 

‘’Starks do not forget their oaths, Princess,’’ Lord Stark said between two bites of mutton stew. ‘’My father made an oath to King Viserys twenty years ago, and I shall honor this oath. But winter is coming. I cannot promise the Queen my men — I need them at the Wall.’’

‘’Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather, the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne. If my mother is to defend her claim, to hold the realm united, she needs an army. War is coming to the whole of the realm, my Lord. We cannot wage it without the support of the North.’’

Cregan took a long sip of his wine, thinking as he drank, then set his cup down. ‘’I have thousands of graybeards who have already seen too many winters.’’

Graybeards? You frowned, trying to understand. Did he mean old men? 

‘’No offense, Lord Stark, but I cannot accept—’’ 

‘’They are well-honed,’’ he reassured with a soft chuckle, sensing your concern. ‘’They are not that old, Princess. I can ready them to march at once.’’

‘’If your graybeards can fight, the Queen will have them,’’ you replied with a smile, reaching for your fork to take a bite. You preferred duck over mutton, but was polite enough to eat what was given to you. 

‘’What do I get of this arrangement?’’ 

A frown drew between your eyebrows. ‘’Excuse me?’’

Cregan cleared his throat, then reformulated his question. ‘’If I give the Queen some of my men, what do I get in return?’’

You considered quickly. ‘’I can send a dragon to protect Winterfell—’’

‘’Winterfell is safe from the Hightowers, Princess. I doubt they will march the three month journey to the North to attack us. It would serve them nothing. And if they did, they would not be able to trespass our gate.’’

‘’Then, what do you want, Lord Stark?’’ 

He turned to you, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. ‘’A wife. I would be more inclined to help your mother’s cause if she offered me her delightful daughter.’’

You were caught off guard by Cregan’s demand. While you clearly understood his proposal, the realization of it was slow to dawn on you. For a moment, your mouth opened, before swiftly closing it again, lost for words.

When you overcame your own disbelief, you looked to the man beside you with suspicion. ‘’I am flattered, but I am not looking for a husband. I plan to fight for my mother’s throne, not stay behind and grow heirs for a lord.’’ 

‘’Who said anything about an heir? I am in no rush to step down as Lord of Winterfell. From your perspective, you see only disadvantages, but an alliance by marriage between two highborns would be strategically advantageous. Family is very important for Starks. If we were to wed, we could stand together. I will follow you to war, I will fight for your mother.’’

The dining hall fell into a long, contemplative silence as you considered Cregan’s proposal. You had come north to gain the support of the Northerners, not to find a husband. But an alliance with the Starks would be quite powerful, and perhaps Lord Stark had a point. A Stark and a Targaryen. A wolf and a dragon. Such a marriage had never happened before. 

And you wouldn't be displeased to have him as a husband. The Warden of the North was undeniably handsome. He had this rugged charm about him, with piercing gray eyes. You would not mind warming his bed. 

‘’Would I be required to reside to Winterfell?’’ 

Leaving your family during a time of war was not something you wanted.

‘’Not immediately, but eventually. It is the seat of House Stark, Princess. I would expect my wife, the Lady of Winterfell, to live there,’’ Cregan explained, his gray eyes fixed on yours, his expression serious. ‘’But we could make some arrangements to allow you to remain in the South until the war is over. Would that suit you?"

⁂

After treating with Cregan, you made the journey back to Dragonstone to bring the Queen good news. The northern Lord seemed disappointed to watch you leave, having taken a liking to your company in the few hours you spent together, but you promised to return in a fortnight. He kissed your hand before you mounted on Seasmoke, and watched you take the sky. 

You landed on Dragonstone as the day was turning into night. A knight of the Queensguard took you to your mother’s chambers where horrible news was waiting for you. 

You crumbled into your mother’s arms as the words left her lips, feeling your heart breaking into pieces. As twins, you and Jacaerys had a special bond. But you always felt protective of Luke. You would climb into his baby crib when he was crying at night and sing to him until he fell asleep. 

When you left her chambers, you visited the children’s. Aegon and Viserys were with the nanny, but Joffrey was sitting on the floor, holding a horse toy Luke had handed down to him. A sob escaped your lips, getting the little boy’s attention, and he ran over to you. You hugged him tightly. He was sad and confused, too young to understand death. 

⁂

The days that followed, you were not allowed to leave the castle. During a small council meeting, you had voiced your desire to get on your dragon and go to King’s Landing to burn Aemond Targaryen to a crisp. Jacaerys was on your side, wanting revenge for Luke, but your mother had shut the idea down quickly and forbade the two of you to leave castle ground. 

Alone in the library, you were reading about dragons to make up for not being allowed to ride your own. Unfortunately, the feeling was not the same. Seasmoke, who you had claimed after your father’s death, missed you. You could see him calling for you and flying over the bay from your chamber’s window. 

You sighed and flipped the page of your book, daydreaming of the wind hitting your face and the thrill of flying. 

A voice pulled you out of your head.

‘’A raven arrived from Winterfell, Princess. A message to you from Lord Stark,’’ Maester Gerardys said.

The maester handed you a piece of rolled parchemin, sealed with the Stark sigil. You thanked him, and he left, giving you privacy. You drew your eyebrows together, not expecting anything from Cregan. Did he wish to revoke his proposal? 

Dear Princess,

I have learned of the tragic loss of your brother, Lucerys. I offer you my deepest condolences in this dark hour. Losing a brother is a pain I know myself. Winterfell stands with you in your grief. May the gods give him rest. 

With deepest sympathy,

— Lord Cregan Stark

⁂

Following the murder of Prince Jaehaerys, the Greens had sent ravens throughout the realm claiming Rhaenyra had ordered the death of the little child in revenge for Lucerys — a son for a son. The accusation was absurd. Your mother would never order the murder of a child, or inflige this kind of pain to an innocent like Helaena. 

When night fell, Dragonstone was attacked. Ser Arryk infiltrated the island by passing for his brother, Ser Erryk, and came to the Queen’s chambers, attempting to slay her in her bed. Thankfully, Mysaria noticed the wrong brother making his way to the castle and alerted the guards, saving Rhaenyra’s life. 

‘’Thank you, Elinda,’’ Rhaenyra said as she poured tea to help her calm down. 

After hearing commotion in the corridors, you had asked one of the knights what happened and rushed to the master chambers to check on your mother. She was a little shaken after witnessing the Cargyll twins dueling and dying before her eyes. 

‘’Where was Daemon?’’ you asked, sitting across from her on the couch. 

She shrugged, not knowing. ‘’Harrenhal, I assume.’’ She took a sip of her tea, her hands slightly shaking. ‘’He has been talking of raising an army there.’’

‘’He should have been here—’’

‘’Daemon is following his own path.’’ 

You understood her words as closure to the conversation and respected her desire. 

Come morning, Dragonstone was deemed no longer safe for children. By the Queen’s command, Rhaena embarked a ship with your little brothers, their dragons, and dragon eggs to Pentos. Saying goodbye to your brothers — and half-sister — was sad, but they were too exposed on Dragonstone. 

⁂

‘’Releasing your anger through your sword is going to get you killed. Have you learned this tactic through Daemon?’’ you asked Jacaerys, his sword clinked loudly against yours as you trained on the beach. 

You took a quick step to the side, your movements fluid and graceful. 

Jacaerys grunted, adjusting his stance, and swung his sword again, aiming for your side. You blocked the attack with ease, your eyes never leaving his. ‘’How can I not be angry? The walls of Dragonstone have been infiltrated by the enemy, yet she refuses to attack.’’ He let out a frustrated sigh, his movements growing more aggressive.

‘’Because her war strategies are passive doesn’t mean she is doing the wrong thing. Do you remember when we wanted to go to King’s Landing and kill Aemond ourselves? We were angry and hurting, it was impulsive and foolish.’’ 

At the time, it seemed a brilliant idea, but with Vhagar patrolling over King’s Landing, she would have attacked the both of you before you could get to Aemond. Your mother was hurting so much from losing Lucerys, she would not have bore losing two more. 

Jacaerys swung his sword again, this time with greater force. ‘’It would have been justice.’’

‘’It would have been death.’’ 

Training came to an abrupt end, leaving Jacaerys to himself on the beach. You didn’t want to argue with him. He was usually the rational one between you, but going to King’s Landing to kill Aemond was a stupid idea. 

You were directed to the great hall by one of the guards as soon as you stepped inside. The Queen wanted to speak to you. 

She was standing at the head of the painted table with a piece of parchment before her. ‘’A raven came from Lord Staunton informing us that Ser Criston's army has burned his fields and livestock. Supplies in Rook's Rest are beginning to run low and he requests assistance. I want you to change into your riding gear. You and Rhaenys will be going to Rook’s Rest.’’ 

Excitement bubbled in your stomach. It was the first time she was sending you on a mission since Luke’s death. 

‘’Yes, Mother— Your Grace,’’ you quickly corrected. 

Rhaenyra smiled at your slip-up. ‘’Be safe. Listen to your instinct. Turn back if anything feels wrong. It’s okay to retreat.’’

⁂

The journey to Rook’s Rest was relatively short. When you got there, arrows were flying from both armies. The Green’s was larger, but Lord Staunton’s garrison did not back down. 

‘’Dragon!’’ one of the Green knights called out, catching sight of Meleys coming into view. 

Ser Criston’s archers shot arrows and scorpions fire at Meleys. The dragon was largely unharmed by their attacks, and responded by burning Criston's soldiers with dragonfire. Their screams echoed through the air, a chilling reminder of the chaos below. You tried not to let it get to your head that humans were being burned alive. They were Greens soldiers.

Coming right behind Rhaenys, Seasmoke roared, and burned more of  Ser Criston’s soldiers. A small part of you was praying to catch the man himself and turn him into ashes. It would be an amusing story to tell Jacaerys and Baela when you return. 

You clung to the saddle on Seasmoke's back as you scanned the battlefield from above, searching for any sign of Criston Cole. The heat from the dragonfire was intense, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. 

Your search was interrupted by a deafening roar coming from behind and filling the sky. You looked up to see Sunfyre, its golden scales glinting in the sunlight, joining the battlefield with Aegon atop him.

It was expected. The Greens would have been fools to come to battle with at least one dragon.

Rhaenys turned her head toward Sunfyre, having heard his roar, and came to meet him with her claws and teeth. 

The two dragons clashed in mid-air, their roars echoing across the battlefield. Meleys' scarlet scales flashed as she attacked, her claws slashing at Sunfyre's underbelly. Sunfyre responded with a blast of dragonfire, which Meleys narrowly dodged. 

You flew to Rhaenys’ aid. Although Sunfyre was slightly larger than Seasmoke, your dragon had battle experience from when your father was his rider. They participated in the war for the Stepstones together. 

Before you could get to them, another loud noise came from the forest — Vhagar. The massive dragon's roar sent chills down your spine as she emerged from the treeline, her vast wings unfurling. With Aemond atop her, Vhagar soared into the sky, heading straight for the battle.

Seeing them sent rage in your blood. They took your brother from you. 

You wanted to take them down, to kill them both to avenge Lucerys, but you knew Seasmoke would never win against Vhagar. 

Rhaenys glanced back, seeing the new threat approaching, but she didn’t let go of Sunfyre. She was determined to not let them go unscattered from this battle. 

You finally joined them, commanding Seasmoke to bite Sunfyre’s wing. Sunfyre cried out in pain as Seasmoke's jaws clamped down, and Meleys continued to claw at him relentlessly. The combined assault overwhelmed Sunfyre, and his injuries soon became too severe. With a final, agonized roar, Sunfyre began to crash toward the ground, Aegon clinging desperately to his back.

As you and Rhaenys watched Sunfyre and Aegon freefall and crash into the forest with a loud thump, Vhagar, taking Rhaenys by surprise, came from the other side and clamped her massive jaws around Meleys’s neck. The force of the attack was brutal, and Meleys roared in agony as Vhagar’s powerful grip tightened.

‘’No!’’ you screamed, knowing this bite would be fatal for the dragon. 

Life left the red dragon’s eyes, giving one last glance at her rider as they freefell from the sky together, leaving only you and Aemond standing. He looked at you with a smug winning smile on his face, having taken another member of the Blacks down. 

You could have continued this battle, but your mother’s words echoed in your head. It’s okay to retreat. 

With teary eyes, you commanded Seasmoke to turn around and return to Dragonstone, leaving behind the Queen Who Never Was. 

⁂

You felt like a failure after your first battle. Rook’s Rest had fallen into ashes, Rheanys was dead, and you lost a dragon. Your mother had been right, sending her inexperienced children to war was a terrible idea. 

Still in shock from the battle, you stepped into your mother’s chambers, tears streaming down your face. ‘’I’m sorry, Your Grace. I failed.’’

⁂

Guilt gnawed at you since you had returned from Rook’s Rest. Rhaenyra said it was not your fault, but you should not have let yourself be distracted when Vhagar was still standing. Rhaenys died because of your mistake. 

A knock at your door raised your attention. 

‘’Come.’’

The door opened, revealing your mother who came to check on you. She may be Queen, but she’ll never stop taking care of her children. Ser Steffon closed the door behind Rhaenyra, and waited outside your chambers. Since Ser Arryk infiltrated the castle, a knight of the Queensguard was always accompanying her.

She took a seat next to you on the edge of the bed, looking stunning in a blue dress. The color was unusual on her, preferring shades of red and black. 

‘’How is Lord Corlys? And Baela?’’ you asked, fidgeting with your fingers. 

You wanted to be the one bringing the regretful news of Rhaenys’ death to her husband, but your mother didn’t allow you. Although Lord Corlys had shown kindness to your family and that losses were inevitable in a war, he would not hesitate to put the blame on Rhaenyra for sending his wife to her death. 

Your mother regarded you with a mixture of concern and sadness. ‘’Lord Corlys is devastated, and so is Baela.’’ She observed the guilt in your expression and the tension in your body. ‘’You mustn't blame yourself for what happened,’’ she said, her voice gentle and loving. ‘’But it is not the matter I came here to discuss. I want to discuss my succession. If my end comes during this war, Jacaerys will ascend and take my crown, as intended. But if anything were to happen to Jace, I want you to take my crown.’’

The thought of something happening to your mother terrified you. But losing your twin brother, your other half, made you nauseous. 

You nodded. ‘’I will, Your Grace. But nothing will happen to Jace. We will protect each other—’’ 

‘’By making you the spare heir, you will be targeted, so I want you to take Seasmoke and stay at Winterfell,’’ she interrupted, her tone resolute. ‘’Lord Cregan Stark will ensure your protection.’’ 

You were taken aback by your mother’s declaration. You felt a pang of hurt and confusion. How could she send you away? She already lost two dragons, and Daemon was in Harrenhal. You going North would subtract another, leaving her defenses with only three dragons.  

‘’I do not wish to hide, I want to stay here! I am an asset to your sleeve, you need me on Dragonstone. I may not be at my best right now, but I am not a fragile daughter. I will go into battle again. Please, do not send me away,’’ you said, your voice cracking with emotion.

Rhaenyra took a difficult breath, her heart aching at your anguished plea. She understood your anger and frustration, having once been brushed aside due to being a daughter. But she never saw you as less than a boy. You always trained with your brothers and often had the upper hand when dueling with Jace. She was doing this to ensure the survival of her succession and the protection of the realm.  

‘’It is not a sign of weakness to hide. It is a sign of strength to know when to pick your battles.’’ Your mother took your hands in hers, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘’I speak the truth when I say the last thing I want is to be separated from you, but I cannot risk you getting captured. I can’t risk the Greens getting their hands on you.’’

⁂

No raven had been sent to Lord Stark to inform him of your arrival to Winterfell. You could not risk revealing your position were the message to fall into the wrong hands. So when Cregan heard from his men that a dragon had been seen flying over the northern villages, he was confused. 

With a loud thump, you landed outside the courtyard and dismounted Seasmoke. Guards bowed their heads as you walked to the gates of Winterfell, seeing the sigil of House Targaryen on your clothes. They escorted you into the castle as whispers of your arrival began to spread amongst the court, leading you to the council chamber where Cregan was occupied with matters from the Wall.

‘’I will inform Lord Stark of your arrival,’’ one of the guards said. 

You gave him a nod and waited in the corridor.

Normally, no one disturbed him during council meetings, but you insisted that the matter was urgent. With a nod, Cregan dismissed his council and instructed the guard to bring you in.

The men filed out of the chamber as you stepped in, dressed in your riding gear and flakes of snow sprinkled on your braid. Cregan stood from his seat at the end of the table, his towering figure casting a shadow against the cold stone of the chamber. 

‘’Pardon me for not welcoming you myself, Princess. Your presence here is unexpected.’’ His eyes fell on the bag on your shoulder, holding personal effects, raising his curiosity. ‘’But always welcomed,’’ he added, not wanting to give you the wrong impression.

You gave him a small smile. ‘’Thank you, Lord Stark. I apologize for my unannounced presence. Sending a raven was just not a possibility; actions had to be taken rapidly and in the utmost secrecy.’’ 

A frown formed between Cregan's eyebrows. Seeing you walk through his doors unannounced could only mean something serious had happened. You wouldn't come all the way to Winterfell unless it was necessary. 

He then gestured to a seat at the table, motioning for you to sit down. 

You tried to not make a scraping sound with the chair as you pulled it, and sat down across the taller chair. Cregan joined you, his gray eyes looking at you, waiting for explanations. 

‘’There was a battle at Rook’s Rest,’’ you began, a lump forming in your throat as horrific flashes of Rhaenys falling to her death filled your mind. ‘’Aegon the Usurper and his dragon were severely injured from my and Princess Rhaenys’ dragon. She and Meleys didn’t survive the battle.’’ You blinked rapidly, chasing the tears from your eyes. 

‘’May the gods give her rest,’’ Cregan said respectfully. 

You nodded in reciprocal, then continued. ‘’The Queen is worried they will come after me for what I’ve done to their King and decided I should go into hiding. Since I accepted your demand, she send me to Winterfell under your protection.’’ 

Before you, Cregan's frown deepened as he thought about the upcoming departure to the Wall. In a week, he and his men would be leaving for a long, harsh winter, and he wouldn't return until spring. As Warden of the North, his duty to the Wall was stronger than his duty to the Queen, but was it stronger than his oath to his future wife? You were only betrothed at the moment, but assuring your protection was part of his duty as husband. 

He gave you a single nod. ‘’Of course, Princess. You will be safe here, you have my word. No harm shall come to you behind these gates.’’

—

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[wyvernest]

cregan stark x f!targaryen!reader

previous(first) part - next part | all chapters list

>Queen Rhaenyra has sent you away from the brewing war to safety since your brother, Jacaerys, has secured the Pact of Ice and Fire. You have to honor it by marrying Lord Cregan Stark.

cw: slow burn, fluff, eventual smut, angst, follows book events with slight deviations, im planning to let jacaerys live! every chapter is around 2k wc

chapter cw: tension, fluff, a little angst, they are starting to fall for eachother

“The ceremony will be held tomorrow.” Cregan’s deep and steely voice rings with an imposing echo onto the stone walls of the great hall of Winterfell. “My lady is worn from the journey.”

Although the order seemingly held some benevolence to your sore legs and southern blood barely adjusting to the newfound cold, his voice feels so detached that you find yourself wondering whether he truly did care for your spirits, or if he only wished it as a polite formality.

“I will take my leave before sundown, sister.” Jacaerys places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I must be back at Dragonstone before the new moon.”

“Ill news?” you ask, already troubled and feeling incapacitated from protecting and helping your family.

“Ser Criston Cole marches on Duskendale lands. I must be present at the council to take action.”

“What about me?” You worry, and only after speaking do you realize how stupid the question was.

Jacaerys takes a moment to reply, evidently not wanting to make you feel more secluded than you were.

“I will not make any decision that you wouldn't have in my stead.” He decides, “I will send you ravens to inform you, and represent you.” a pause, “unofficially.”

There is nothing more to be said. Any words he could sweeten end with the same inevitable finale. No raven could fly fast enough to deliver your ideas soon enough for the Greens not to gain an advantage over the reluctance of your team.

You are a pawn. Your dragon is a pawn. And you will only read about the war as if it were history before you could contribute.

“I understand.” You manage to let out without showing how disturbed you are and possibly making the northern lords think that you were terrified to marry their leader.

With a hug too frail to even begin to express how much you will miss him, your brother mounts his dragon after the welcoming festivities in the great hall and takes off with a blow of wings that normally would have had you taking a few steps back from Vermax.

But now it didn't matter anymore. You watch as your only friend dissolves into the skies thick with white clouds, becoming nothing but a raven in the distance.

Suvion cries out, a sharp, strained screech that only pain as great as yours could have caused, and the clouds answer, though you cannot see him anymore.

You are taken aback at the feeling of heavy pelts placed upon your shoulders, and only then you realize how cold you are. Your frigid fingers reach around your own neck to grasp at it and keep it from falling.

“The cold is treacherous. One moment you may think you're warm, and the following, your heart stops.” Cregan comes to stand next to you, looking away to where Vermax had disappeared.

“Thank you, my lord.” You speak coyly, quietly, so he wouldn't catch the crack in your voice and think you weak and soft. Perhaps in a different situation, you would have blushed at his kindness, but the ice wall you felt between you and him was now more palpable than ever. Alone, with a stranger.

“You should come inside.” He insists, but it is not advice, it's a courteous command.

Without a word, you turn and listen. You are escorted to your chamber in the castle, and as you pass through the halls, you look around like a lowborn in a dragonpit. At least that's what it must look like, but in your heart it was storming; how different the place was from what you have known your whole life, the people, the sounds in the yard, the very air of the keep.

He stops in front of your door, beckoning you inside.

“Send for me should you need anything your handmaiden cannot provide.”

His voice is softer, as if trying to indulge you and your loss. As if he understands.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Cregan.”

You do not know for certain if there truly is a gleam of affection in his eyes as he says it, but you do know that you held yourself back from leaning forward in his arms.

Oh, how you wanted to just let it out, and how you wanted him to hold you through it. To offer some comfort that, at least, he cared for you. That he wasn't a cold hearted man with nothing warmer than diplomatic skills. Whom you would have to learn how to love the hard way. Only you know how your heart briefly yearned for him to offer you strength.

But alas, it was not proper. Too soon.

“Cregan.” You accept, and he barely hears it. Your heart sinks when he nods politely and slowly shuts the door, and it sinks further at the sound of his boots on the cold stone outside your chamber, walking away.

A terribly tragic thought slips into your tired mind; that he is betrothed to you, yet his heart belongs to another. Northerners love northerners, and the Stark men have mostly married into vassal houses of the north in the past.

No matter how loyal he is to be from now, his thoughts will always be about her, the people will always know about her.

Suvion's head appears at your window, blocking out the moonlight.

“Oh, you,” You whine, opening the windows and laying your upper body on his snout.

You hear someone gasp and scream in the courtyard, no doubt because of the dragon clawing at the walls of the castle.

“We should find some place good for you. Somewhere safe and warm.” He growls sorrowfully, as if aware.

But it doesn't last long. As quickly as he came at the window, Suvion rips away from your touch and carefully leaps out of the castle yard and up into the night sky. His otherwise white scales now partly reflect the dark of night in their shine, making it impossible for you to even tell how high up he was.

Alone again. You knew he wouldn't go far, that he only needed to hunt and come back, but you wished for leverage that was now gone.

Restless and troubled, you decide to take a stroll around the keep that is to be yours in less than a day.

You follow your curiosity back to the great hall, from where you hear whispered voices and see glimmers of lit torches.

“...of the beast. Food is scarce.”

“It will set eyes upon us.”

“Lord Glover, this is necessary. I do not wish-”

The lords at the table turn abruptly at the sight of the shadow you cast into the obscured hall.

“My lady. Is everything alright?” You hear Cregan's voice, his face away from light.

You feel embarrassed and stupid, interrupting a clearly important talk of resources that did not yet concern you and making the impression of a spoiled, uneducated woman.

“No- I didn't mean to intrude.”

“You could never be intruding on talks of our domain.” He attempts to soothe your nerves, although the implication of responsibilities is indomitable in his tone.

You approach them, carefully eyeing the other lords, feeling quite literally akin to a lizard slithering into a den of wolves. You cannot read anything on their stern faces, and it doesn't fail to make you uneasy and put your guard up.

“The dragon, my lady,” one of them starts, a man well past his youth, “he is a welcomed weapon in the North, although -”

“Although it is true that war has brought us both here, my lord, a dragon is not a weapon.” You warn with a poised expression, as respectfully as you could, yet fire dripped from your words.

The other men frowned in surprise and disapproval, but said nothing. You glance at Cregan, by your side, hoping to be faced with kindness, but instead your heart skips a beat at the sight of a cutthroat look he was throwing at the men, protective of your contribution.

“-apologies. The dragon is a welcomed ally. But livestock is barely enough to get us through what's to come. What are we to offer? Sheep?”

“We have endured harsher winters with lesser than we have today.” Your betrothed reassures, despite the evident growing concern.

“Suvion is big enough to hunt for himself, I dare say. The cold doesn't seem to burden him. There is absolutely no need to thin out the herd for him, my lords.”

You struggle to conceal a sharp gasp when his hand runs up your lower back. A way to show approval of your input, no doubt, yet you find that every crumble of affection he grants you is more than enough to spark fire in your body. Is that what you have come to?

You were worried enough that the rough stoicism of the north man wouldn't provide half the love you dreamed of, yet now you falter on that thought. If such a touch is already setting you alight, what would more do?

“A good omen. Prince Velaryon’s first visit wasn't as uneventful.”

“It is settled then. We will discuss other matters after the wedding.” He commanded, and your stomach flipped at the mention of your union.

With the lords out of the room, Cregan turns to you.

“I thought you would be resting. It's near the hour of the ghosts.” He speaks gently with a warm vibration in his voice, as if you have been wedded for years and he knows all about your practices and nature.

“I couldn't. The more I lay there waiting, the more it felt like I would never find sleep again.”

A faint smile lights up your tense visage, an instinctual way of wanting to see him soften as well.

He looks intently, clearly understanding of your friendliness, but it does nothing to soothe his brow further.

“Come. I wish to speak with you, since neither of us cannot find slumber.”

Neither of us? What is that supposed to mean?

You once again hook your arm around his, his body heat immediately warming you up and putting you at ease. He leads you into his chambers, a strong fire already lit in the hearth.

“Is this proper?”

“Whoever shall dare speak ill of my wife will never speak again.”

A shiver runs up your spine. Whether it's a pleasant or a distressed one, you cannot tell anymore.

“I know how you must feel, although it may not seem like it.” He begins, beckoning you to sit on the edge of the bed. “It's the duty that comes with the name.”

“Yes.” You agree, wanting to hear more of what he wishes to tell you. “Although my biggest concern lies with my position. I feel…” You cease before you could say something like “trapped” or “exiled”. He has been nothing but good to you since you arrived and you do not want to seem ungrateful or hostile. You do like him.

But before you could find the right words, he kneels in front of you on the floor and takes your hands in his. Your heart stops. Your brain shuts down. Gods.

“-powerless.” He untangles your mind and finishes your thought. “But you aren't. We will offer help, I do not intend to trample the oath I swore to your brother. The oath I am to swear to you.” He adds, his tone is soft and tender yet his words so meaningful and heavy, you hear them as though their echo reverberated in the entire room around you.

His thumb delicately rubs over your knuckles, his expression as stoic as ever, only his actions speak differently. He leans forward and places a kiss on the back of your hand, assuring and loving.

You draw in a sharp breath, as if you haven't felt affection before in your life.

“Cregan.” is all you manage.

“It is true that this union was made with interest. But you are not unwanted, my lady. I believe we will find more than allies in each other.”

TAGS!! im sorry for those that don't work its tumblr's fault i checked all of them multiple times

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[afeelgoodblog]

Feel Good News Weekly

Celebrating Acts of Kindness and Progress 🌟

Hey friends,

This week, we're diving into stories that warm the heart and inspire hope. From generous celebrities to groundbreaking policy changes, here's your dose of positivity!

Michael Sheen Writes Off Over $1M Worth of Debt for 900 People Using His Own Money

Actor Michael Sheen has taken philanthropy to a new level by personally clearing over $1 million in debt for 900 individuals in South Wales. Sheen invested £100,000 of his own money to establish a debt-purchasing company, acquiring debt portfolios at reduced prices to relieve those struggling financially. His journey and the impact of this initiative are documented in "Michael Sheen's Secret Million Pound Giveaway," airing on Channel 4 on March 10.

Trudeau announces $37B in child care deals with 11 provinces and territories

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau's government has signed agreements totalling almost $37 billion over five years with 11 provinces and territories that will extend the federal child-care program until 2031.

With just days to go before he leaves office, Trudeau said Thursday that these deals will ensure the long-term viability of one of his government's flagship policies.

British Parents to Gain Right to Bereavement Leave After Miscarriage

In a significant policy shift, parents in Britain will soon be entitled to two weeks of bereavement leave following a miscarriage before 24 weeks' gestation. This change is part of Labour's workers' rights reforms, extending existing bereavement leave laws that cover stillbirths after 24 weeks. The move acknowledges the profound physical and emotional impacts of baby loss and aims to provide necessary support to grieving parents.

Owner of Last Video Rental Store in Pocatello Saves Portion of Collection for 'Christina's Corner'

In Pocatello, Idaho, the last video rental store has closed, but owner David Kraning preserved a portion of the collection for a special customer. For 35-year-old Christina Cavanaugh, who has Down syndrome and is mostly nonverbal, renting movies has been a vital routine for over 15 years. To maintain this cherished activity, Kraning created 'Christina's Corner' in his adjacent convenience store, allowing her to continue enjoying her beloved pastime.

Many Countries Have Become Much More Supportive of Same-Sex Relationships

Global acceptance of same-sex relationships has seen a significant rise in recent decades. For instance, in the United Kingdom, the percentage of people who would not want homosexual neighbors has dropped from one-third in 1993 to less than 5% today. This trend reflects a broader shift towards inclusivity and acceptance in many parts of the world.

SoCal Firefighters Join Conan O'Brien on Oscars Stage

During the 97th Academy Awards, host Conan O'Brien brought members of the Los Angeles and Pasadena fire departments on stage to deliver some of his riskiest jokes. This collaboration not only added humor to the event but also honored the bravery and dedication of local firefighters, especially in light of recent wildfires. The audience responded with enthusiastic applause, highlighting the community's appreciation for these heroes.

----------

That's it for last week :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

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[gav-san]

Soul Shanked 1/4

Main Masterlist Here

One Piece Masterlist

Soul Shanked Masterlist

Chapter Title: Marked and Mildly Deranged Length: 8.5 K+

Next

 “What Is a Man?”

You were nine.

Curious. Bright-eyed. Holding a weathered story scroll in your lap and trying to puzzle out a sentence that read:

“The man took her hand gently…”

You blinked.

Then wandered down the palace hall to where Elder Gloriosa sat on a veranda cushion, drinking bitter tea and scowling at birds.

You approached carefully, the way one does when poking a large, judgmental cat.

“Elder Gloriosa,” you asked sweetly, “what’s a man?”

She froze mid-sip.

Then very slowly lowered her cup.

Her eyes narrowed. A wind stirred. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk cried.

“A man,” she said at last, voice grave, “is a selfish, sweaty beast.”

You blinked. “…Oh.”

She stood, joints cracking like angry firewood, and began pacing.

“They are crude and ugly. Faces like scarred potatoes. Hair like wet dogs. Smell like smoked failure.”

You clutched your scroll.

“Are they… dangerous?”

She wheeled on you like you’d asked if snakes could drive ships.

“They drink until they are stupid. Then they fight each other shirtless. Then they find someone smaller, usually a woman or a child, and try to hurt them with charm and shoulder width.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Shoulders?”

“They are weaponized.”

She knelt beside you, eyes wide and tragic.

“They are sentient, but not like us women who are graceful, and poetic. No. It is chaotic. Sticky. Loud. They grunt and wave their bits about like cursed barnacles.”

You turned white.

“Bits?!? What are bits?”

“Weapons.”

“I thought they were gentle. The story said—”

“LIES.”

She slapped the scroll from your hands.

“They cry when you beat them and scream when you ignore them. They name swords after their mothers and ships after their regrets.”

By now, you were backing toward the door.

She followed.

“They talk over you. They interrupt. They grow hair everywhere. Even places that should not be hairy. Backs”

You were shaking.

“They eat with their hands. Laugh like donkeys. Think they deserve power just for breathing! And worse—they believe in themselves.”

A pause.

Then, low and grim:

“And sometimes… if you’re not careful…they look at you like you’re a goddess.”

You blinked, trembling. “Why is that dangerous?”

She stood tall. Looked out to sea like she could see all her mistakes lined up on the waves.

“Because you might start to believe them.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

Carved protective runes on your bedframe.

They were crooked and backwards, but you meant them. Slapped a training dummy that vaguely resembled a chin. Painted it red. Called it “Captain Grossbeard.” No one said anything otherwise.

You marched around the temple halls muttering,

“I am the storm. I am the sword. I fear no man.”

And in the dead of night, wrapped in your blanket and resolve, you whispered with all the righteous fury your little heart could muster:

“No man creature will ever get me.”

You meant it.

With every scrap of fire your nine-year-old soul could summon.

You were ready.

Unshakable.

Unseduceable.

Untrickable.

—

Fate, however, was not so humorless.

The women of Amazon Lily came in every shape and size. Towering warriors, thunder-hipped sword dancers, graceful archers with legs like spears and tempers like fire.

The empress, Boa Hancock, was as fierce as she was beautiful.

And then there was you.

No statues in your honor. No warriors fighting over your affections. No chaotic marriage proposals from lovestruck pirate captains or suitors turned to stone in the palace courtyard.

You were level-headed, practical, and, according to Hancock, a ‘reasonable creature, which is to say, only mildly insane’.

Meaning, you had come out of the Amazon Lily once before and survived without succumbing to the filth of men.

Which was exactly how you liked it.

You didn’t crave glory or attention. You liked routine. Simplicity. Being useful. And so, when Amazon Lily needed someone to run messages, inspect trade ships, deliver threats with a smile, or retrieve a tea shipment from Sabaody, you were the one they sent.

Alone on a small ship from the Amazon Lily.

The usual route consisted of very few direct interactions with men and their ilk, and it made a nice diversion for regular work.

There was no clue that today would be any different.

You stepped off the longboat onto Sabaody soil, paid the toll, and adjusted your cloak. You're frowing, striking, and very out of place in your Amazon Lily cloak and braid adorned with shells. A curved staff rests across your back.

And then your palm ignited with a dash of heat, and as you lifted it you immediately noted the soft, glowing script that appeared.

You stared at it.

At first, you thought it was a prank. Some weird ink. Maybe pollen?

You rubbed it.

It stayed.

You squinted.

“Shanks.”

That was the word. Slanted. Gold. Elegant. Disgustingly confident cursive. Written in soft cursive, right across the center of your palm.

“What the-“

You blinked.

You rubbed harder.

You shook your hand like it was cursed.

“What the hell is a shanks? Did someone infect me with a disease?”

A nearby vendor looked up.

You glared at them. “Don’t look at me. I’m having a medical emergency.”

You ducked into a quiet alley, and stared at the name again like it was a venomous snake.

Shanks, the word unchanged by your poking.

What. The. Hell.

You ran your thumb over it. Tried spitting on it. Rubbing it with dirt. Muttered a few prayers under your breath. Nothing helped.

It glowed cheerfully back at you.

Mocking you.

A type of fish? A devil fruit?

A disease?

Written in soft gold, right across the center of your palm. You narrowed your eyes at the thought of what your sisters would say.

“She caught a case of the shanks.”

“We had to put her down.”

You sat down on a crate and buried your face in your hands. 

This couldn’t be happening.

Across the sea, ten miles away, Red-Haired Shanks sat cross-legged, watching his crew bustle on the deck with a sake jug in hand.

Suddenly, his chest warmed.

He looked down.

There it was.

A name.

Written like it had always belonged there, just under his collarbone.

He grinned like an idiot. “Well, well.”

Benn Beckman, nearby, didn’t even look up.

“That’s new.”

“Well,” Shanks replied easily, tipping back his jug. “Begin the preparations gentlemen!”

He paused. Then added:

“…I’m about to meet the love of my life.”

Benn took a deep drag of his cigarette.

You pushed open the door to Shakky’s Rip-Off Bar with one foot, the other braced against the crate of sealed scrolls you’d brought from Amazon Lily. You were sweating—not from the load, but from sheer existential dread.

The gold-etched name on your palm had not gone away.

If anything, it was glowing harder, like it enjoyed your panic.

“Shanks.” Cursive. Fancy. Aggressively smug. “More like shit.”

You hadn’t dared ask the people of the island, many unfortunately men. Or the harbor guards. Or the fish vendor who said something about a ‘Red-Hair being back in town.’

Nope.

You were going to get through this like a professional.

You were fine.

You blink at the smoky interior like you’ve just entered a dragon’s den.

Shakky waves.

“Welcome, darling. Ignore the mess.”

You drop the crate onto the floorboards with a solid thunk, flex your poor back, and approach the bar like a soldier on a battlefield.

Shakky doesn’t even blink.

“You okay, sweetheart,” she says smoothly, sliding a glass of something chilled your way. “Hancock’s still upset about the soap?”

“She’s considering burning the supplier’s house down.”

“Reasonable.”

“She sends her regards,” you say politely. “And says if the soap supplier raises prices again, she’s sending snakes. Plural.”

“Duly noted.”

You glance around, subtly inspecting the room for… her male creature. The old one with the excessive amount of body hair. Glasses, holding a drink like it’s a character trait, excellent at harassing you. 

The coast is clear.

For now.

You exhale.

And then you whisper urgently:

“I have a medical question.”

That earns a slow blink from Shakky.

She tilts her head. “Go on.”

You glance around again, then yank off your glove and slap your palm down on the bar like it’s a crime scene.

“What is this?” you hiss.

There it is.

That damned glowing word.

Shanks.

Still smug.

From the corner, a chair creaks.

You jump.

Rayleigh, lounging in the shadows with a bottle, squints toward your hand.

Motherfucker, how does he hide like that.

He ignores your glare, and for once, you want an answer enough to let him look.

He squints harder.

Then bursts into a laugh so loud it nearly knocks the rum bottle over.

You stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

“What,” you demand, “is so funny? Am I dying?!”

“Only emotionally,” he chuckles, wiping his eyes. “Oh, you poor thing. Couldn’t have happened to a worse woman”

Shakky smirks. “So it was what I suspect.”

You slam your hand down again. “What is happening?! What is a shanks? Why is it on my skin?! Is it a threat? A disease? Some kind of cursed pirate STD?!”

Rayleigh leans forward, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“It’s the name of an old cabin boy of mine.”

You stare at your hand.

Stare at him.

Back at your hand.

“Shakky,” you say flatly. “Is this Shanks a man creature? Did he put a hit out on me? Has your pet husband gone rogue?”

Shakky chuckled, to your consternation.

Rayleigh chuckles again, this time gentler.

“Don’t worry, girl. That’s just a soulmate mark.”

You freeze.

“…Is that a disease?”

Shakky wheezes.

Rayleigh falls off the couch laughing.

You try your best not to spear the man-creature, as you know he’s Shakky’s pet.

“What is so funny?”

“Not quite. It’s… uh, a romantic thing.” Shakky explained with a hand wave, “Like love.”

You clear your throat.

“Love? Like the concept of the curse?”

 “Happens when the other half of your fate gets close. Ten miles, give or take.”

Rayleigh winks and you growl.

You sit at the bar, hand still glowing, eyes wide and glassy like someone who just saw their own funeral invitation written in cursive.

Across from you, Shakky pours you another drink— alcoholic, by the look on your face you’ll need it.

“I need clarification,” You croak, not touching it. “About… everything.”

Rayleigh grunts. “She’s gonna need a chart.”

Shakky smiles gently, lights a cigarette, and leans on the bar like she’s preparing to explain gravity to a baby.

“Okay,” she begins, “So. First things first: A man is a person—usually taller, louder, and hairier than you—who you will find deeply aggravating.”

You rolls your eyes, which she ignores.

“They have a different biology. You don’t need to worry too much about it unless you plan on—”

“Absolutely not. I’ve seen yours.” 

Rayleigh cackles.

“—Right. So men exist, unfortunately. And outside of Amazon Lily, they’re… everywhere. Now, a soulmate is someone the universe pairs you with.”

“Like… like in combat?”

Shakky pauses.

“No. Not like a sparring partner. More like someone you’re cosmically drawn to.”

You blink.

“That sounds awful.”

Rayleigh wheezes.

“Now,” Shakky continues, trying not to laugh, “Soulmates usually feel a pull toward one another. A bond. Attraction.”

“Like gravity?”

“Sure. Except you might want to kiss them.”

You stare at her.

Then, slowly:

“Why would I do that?”

Rayleigh is fully keeled over now.

Shakky takes a drag of her cigarette and starts listing on her fingers:

“Sometimes people in soulmate bonds end up in relationships. Romantic ones. Emotional connections. Some get married. Some have children—”

You immediately shove the barstool back and stand, horrified.

“Children?! With a man?! That’s what the glowing means?!”

“Not automatically,” Shakky says quickly, clearly entertained. “You don’t have to do anything. Well, to have children you do-“

You cut in.

“Except battle a mythical threat no sister has bothered informing of-“

Rayleigh laughed. “This is going to be fun.”

Shakky grins. “Amazon Lily doesn’t really get male soulmates. It’s not a popular topic.”

You stare at your glowing palm like it just personally betrayed you.

Rayleigh leans back, finishing his drink.

“Best advice I can give you?”

He raises his glass.

“Run now. Or start emotionally preparing.”

You’re already pulling your glove back on like it’s a warding talisman, halfway to the door.

“I was just doing a supply run,” you hissed, pacing Shakky’s floor like a woman betrayed by gravity itself. “I was not emotionally prepared to be icked by destinies assigned man-creature’s.”

Rayleigh was wheezing.

“He’s not that bad, really,” he managed between gasps, one hand slapping the table as his shoulders shook with laughter.

You turned on him sharply. “You know the disease?!”

That was it. Rayleigh whooped like a man being punched by fate itself. He doubled over, tears streaking down his face. You suspected a heart attack was imminent and sincerely prayed for it.

Shakky, far calmer, sipped her tea.

“He comes here on occasion,” she said, as if discussing the weather. “I told you, Rayleighs former cabin boy.”

You looked at Rayleigh, her man-creative and gave him the most disguised look a woman has ever made at him, further sending him into cardiac arrest due to laughter.

You stared down at your palm—the cursed red name that had scrawled itself across your skin like a traitorous tattoo.

Shanks.

The name of doom.

An ill-conceived destiny.

A man.

“Does the shanks disease know?” you asked darkly. “Does he get infected as well?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Shakky replied brightly. “He probably saw your name appear and immediately said something dramatic like, ‘Finally.’ He’s a romantic.”

You went still.

Stone still.

Rayleigh hiccupped mid-laugh, coughing.

You slowly looked between them, horrified. Betrayed by scrolls, tea, and fate.

Then you whispered, utterly mortified.

“I have to flee this island.”

Rayleigh gave a very enthusiastic “Bye bye sweetheart” and Shakky sighed as you fled.

You returned to the docks like a woman possessed.

No delay. No farewell drink. You left the scroll receipt unsigned and muttered something about “soul rot” and “spontaneous name infections” to the stunned sailors as you boarded the ship you used to arrive..

By the time the anchor lifted, you’d already burned a loose scarf and were halfway through scrubbing your palm with seawater like it might dissolve destiny.

It didn’t.

You stared at the elegant, glowing “Shanks” etched into your skin like it was a personal attack.

Shanks barged back into Shakky’s bar, glowing.

Literally.

His shirt was half open and his smile was full chaos. Right across his chest, gleaming like sun-kissed treasure, was your name.

He skidded to a stop in front of Rayleigh and announced, proudly:

“I need a drink,” he said, voice easy. “Something celebratory.”

Rayleigh didn’t even look up from his drink, already smirking.  He seemed like he was restraining himself.

“Good news?”

Shanks tugged his shirt open just enough. Gold script shimmered faintly over his heart.

A name. Yours.

Beckman glanced up, sighed. “Don’t encourage him. He’s high on bad ideas.”

Rayleigh squinted. Blinked. Set his glass down a little too hard.

Then dropped his glass and howled with laughter.

Shanks was still proudly displaying his chest like it contained the One Piece itself. He rotated for better lighting. He even leaned into a patch of sun filtering through the bar window, just so your name would really sparkle.

Rayleigh had only just stopped laughing, wiping tears from his eyes with a bar towel and wheezing, “You’ve got no idea what’s coming, do you?”

Shanks blinked.

“…Coming? You mean the great adventure of love?”

Rayleigh snorted and almost choked on his drink again.

Shakky, merciful and amused, stepped out from behind the bar and gently placed a hand on Shanks’ shoulder like she was about to break bad news about his boat engine.

“Sweetheart,” she said patiently. “Have you met the owner of that name?”

“Shanks grinned. “Not a clue. But I got a feeling you do.”

Shakky shook her head slowly.

“No, no. This isn’t a vacation. Not without armed backup and a plan for extraction.”

Shanks stared.

Stared harder.

“…Why?”

Paused.

Rayleigh grinned. “Tell him, Shakky.”

“She’s from Amazon Lily.”

There was a pause.

Shanks tilted his head. “…The Amazon Lily?”

“The very same,” said Rayleigh, pouring another drink. “Land of no men, no mercy, and statues made from the unlucky.”

“She’s not just from there,” Shakky added. “She’s one of them. Top of her class. Favorite of the Empress. Tried to file paperwork to have her mark declared a battlefield injury.”

“…The island that turns men into stone with eye contact and keeps them as warning statues?”

“Exactly.”

His smile faltered.

Shanks’s smile twitched.

“…Wait. So you know who she is?”

“Oh, we know,” Rayleigh said, far too pleased. “We’ve known since earlier today, when she stumbled in here clutching her hand like it was cursed.”

“She asked me if soulmates were a disease,” Shakky muttered, eyes distant. “Dead serious.”

Shanks blinked.

“She meant it,” Rayleigh added, raising his drink.

Shakky nodded grimly. “And now she thinks she’s been infected. By a man-borne plague.”

Shanks slowly sat down, the light dimming behind his eyes.

“So what you’re telling me is—my one and only soulmate… is an Amazonin Lily Warrior, sworn off all men-”

“Correct,” Shakky said.

“…and thinks I’m a walking biohazard.”

“Bingo,” Rayleigh toasted. “To fate.”

Shanks groaned as Rayleigh drank an entire shot and Shakky smiles sympathetically.

Benn refrained from commenting.

Shanks exhaled. “Okay, I can work with that. At least it saves me the trouble of a chase. So I can’t visit the island without—”

Shakky: “No. Don’t cause a war.”

“…” Shanks tilted his head,: “…Can I send something?”

Rayleigh huffed, “Only if you want Boa Hancock to hunt you like a rabbit.”

Shakky smacked his shoulder.

Shanks leaned forward, face in hands. “Maybe I’ll write her a letter?”

“Start with an apology. And maybe… include clarification that you are disease free.” Shakky, dryly replied.

Shanks chuckled.

Then he drew a long breath, adjusted his coat, and rolled his neck with deliberate calm.

He looked up, steady and sure again.

“I’ll speak to whoever’s in charge first- Hancock, right. Properly. Face to face.”

There was silence.

“No.”

Beckman didn’t even look up, but reached for another cigarette.

Shakky blinked. “You’re going to what?”

“I’ll reach out to Hancock,” Shanks said. “Ask for a meeting. Just talk. Emperor to Empress-”

Rayleigh started laughing again—slow, wheezing laughter that didn’t stop.

“She’ll listen,” Shanks added. “If I’m respectful. If I make it clear I’m not a threat.”

Beckman groaned. “You are the threat.”

“She won’t turn me to stone on principle,” Shanks reasoned. “I’ve got manners.”

“You’ve got audacity,” Shakky snapped.

Rayleigh wiped his eyes. “You’re going to walk into Amazon Lily. Alone. After giving the Empress’s favorite a soulmate mark. And you think reason will win her over?”

“I’m an emperor,” Shanks said, shrugging. “Surely she won’t deny a simple conversation.”

“Not with her,” Shakky muttered. “She turned a man to stone for saying hello too confidently.”

“I’ll be diplomatic.”

Beckman sighed. “You’re going to get yourself turned into an art feature.”

Shanks leaned casually on the bar, unfazed. “If she kills me, at least I’ll go out looking good.”

Rayleigh raised his glass. “Send us a statue. I’ll put it in the garden.”

“Life-sized,” Beckman added. “We’ll use it to hang hats.”

Shakky poured herself a double shot of something unlabeled. “You’re all idiots.”

Shanks gave her a slow, confident smile. “What would you do if fate carved a name on your chest?”

“Button up my shirt,” she snapped.

He only chuckled.

“I’ll ask nicely,” he said again. “That’s all I’ll do.”

Beckman exhaled. “Give me one hour’s notice before you sail. Just so I can update your will.”

Rayleigh raised his glass one last time. “To love.”

“To statues,” Shakky muttered.

Shanks smiled and tapped the spot over his heart.

“You don’t meet fate halfway by standing still. Besides, if she kills me, at least it’ll be interesting.”

The moment you reached home, you marched into the palace, slapped the crate of trade receipts down with enough force to rattle the columns, and declared in a clear, unshakable voice.

“I’m never leaving again.”

Ran raised a curious eyebrow.

“Did someone insult the empress?”

“No,” you muttered, pulling your glove back on. “Worse.”

“…worse?”.

“I am spiritually unwell,” you added. “I have been afflicted.”

Gasps echoed across the hall.

The guards stood. “I’ll call for the snakes.”

“No, I need to speak with the Empress, right away.”

And so you were whisked away to Boa Hancock.

You stood before the Empress, palm out, the glow flickering like a curse that wouldn’t die. It shimmered just beneath the skin—his name, etched in gold, resting traitorously against your lifeline.

You had come to her for wisdom. Reassurance. A solution.

What you got instead was—

“WHAT. IS. THAT?!”

The words cracked like a whip across the throne room.

You flinched. Somewhere in the rafters, a dove actually keeled over.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, holding out your hand like it might explain itself. “It appeared when I stepped off the ship to go visit Shakky. She said…it might be a… soul… thing?”

Silence.

The word no one dared say hovered in the air like a ghost.

Soulmate.

You didn’t speak it. Neither did the Empress. But every woman in the room felt it sink into their bones like a divine hex.

Hancock was frozen on her throne, eyes locked on your palm. Her expression was a war between horror and something much worse: recognition.

Then she moved.

“What disgusting, treacherous man has dared mark one of my-“

She Grabbed your palm like a curse, reading the name with visible recoil.

Then, she snatched a report scroll from a nearby guard—half unrolled, seawater-stained, stamped with the last Sabaody ship logs. Her eyes scanned the names fast, each flick of her gaze more furious than the last.

She stopped cold.

Her hand clenched around the scroll.

Her face went pale. Then dark.

Then incandescent with rage.

She screeched.

“Shanks!”

You blinked. “You… know him?”

“Know him?!” she roared. “KNOW HIM! Everyone knows him! Do you have any idea who he is? What he is?! The threat he is to women everywhere?”

The word hit you like a slap. It’s not that you didn’t memorize many male pirates, but your experience was limited. To be frank you never memorized male names if you see them regularly. 

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “Rayleigh mentioned he used to train him—”

“Rayleigh’s old apprentice?” Hancock barked. “He is not some scruffy cabin brat! He is a global force of nature with a bounty in the billions and diplomatic immunity because no one wants to risk his crew tearing through the Grand Line like a divine plague!”

Your knees shook. Blood rushed to your head.

“Oh.” You squeaked.

“Oh?” Hancock’s voice shot up an octave. “Oh?!”

“I mean, that’s… it could be worse, right?”

“Worse? He’s one of the Four Emperors! You might as well have gotten branded by a tidal wave!”

Were those stars forming at the edge of your vision?

“Shanks!” You choked, feeling dizzy. “As in Red-Haired Shanks?!”

You were a trained warrior, a scholar of naval threats, and a woman of discipline—but your knees still buckled a little.

You did know of the fucking Emperors who ruled the sea.

You stared at her. “He didn’t do anything—he wasn’t even there! I never saw him!”

“Exactly!” Hancock shot back. “You never even saw him, and still—still—your soul reached for his?!”

Her sisters in the court murmured in terror.

Gloriosa, ancient and unbothered, sipped her tea in the corner. “At least it’s not Kaido.”

“Not the point!” Hancock snapped.

She rose to her feet, the motion sharp and dangerous, her cape whipping behind her like a flag of impending doom.

She pointed at your palm. “That’s not a name. That’s a problem.”

You looked down. The mark still glowed innocently.

Warm. Gold. Unbothered.

“Is there a cure?” You squeaked, not really joking. “Or a way to hide it? Perhaps he’ll find it inconvenient and ignore it?”

Hancock paced now, one hand in her hair, the other gesturing wildly. “He probably doesn’t know every detail, but make no mistakes, he’ll figure it out. He’s a famous romantic- and that man Shakky houses for some reason- he has a soft spot for degenerates. And when he finds out? Oh, he’ll come. Of course he’ll come. Men like him always do. Smiling. Apologizing. Making it worse.”

You stared.

“You think he���s coming here?!”

She stopped. Slowly turned back toward you.

Then said, with the seriousness of a woman already preparing her war face.

“Start practicing your ‘go to hell’ and for the love of the sea gods— do not accept rum from him. Don’t even leave the belly of the Lily, lest he discover a way to…compromise you!”

The entire palace erupted in chaotic wailing.

Sandersonia fanned herself. “A pirate has claimed her!”

Marigold shouted, “Prepare the ship! Prepare the cannons!”

Hancock paced, furious and rattled.

“He’s powerful. Annoyingly flirtatious. Laughs like a goddamn wind chime. And now he’s tethered to her?! One of my own?!”

You raised your gloved hand slowly.

“We have time, don’t we? I didn’t meet him. I didn’t even see his ship. I ran.”

“You ran correctly.” Hancock whirled, pointing a dramatic finger. “We must break the bond before he discovers it!”

“Is that possible?”

“I will try anyway.”

You fainted.

The message was hand-delivered with the kind of care usually reserved for ceasefires and war declarations.

Shanks had written it himself—ink smooth, edges clean, the handwriting firm and respectful. No roses. No flirtation. Just facts. Just a name. Send with a female on an aligned crew.

And an apology.

To Empress Boa of Amazon Lily,

I write with great care and no intent to offend. It has come to my attention that a mark—bearing my name—has appeared upon one of your own. I understand the nature of such an event is complex, unwelcome, and possibly distressing.

Know that I intend no intrusion. I ask only for the chance to discuss with you the implications of such an event.

With respect,

Shanks

The return message arrived exactly three hours later.

Folded into a seared chunk of driftwood.

Branded across the front in aggressive knife marks were two words:

ABSOLUTELY NOT.

Beckman, watching from the deck, just sighed.

“She’s going to try and sink the ship if you push this.”

Shanks unfolded the second, more official scroll tucked inside the burned envelope.

It read:

Should the Yonko known as Red-Haired Shanks approach the shores of Amazon Lily, he will be considered an active threat and treated accordingly.

There will be no meeting.

There will be no negotiation.

This is your only warning.

Shanks folded the message quietly.

Then he looked up toward the horizon, where the Calm Belt lay—still and wide.

“…She didn’t say I couldn’t send word again.”

Beckman rubbed his temple. “You’re going to escalate this into an international incident with that carefree attitude.”

Shanks smiled.

He simply turned, opened a second scroll, and began to write again.

To Empress Boa Hancock,

I got your message.

Dramatic. Charred edges. Good handwriting.

I understand your position. You’re furious, protective, and probably trying to have me classified as a natural disaster.

Fair.

But I’d like to remind you—I’m still asking.

Politely.

I didn’t choose this mark. Neither did she. But it’s there, and now so am I.

And like it or not, this situation now involves me.

I’m not trying to provoke anything. I’m not trying to cause a scene.

If I were, writing first would not be my opening move.

So please—don’t make me come to your island while I’m still being nice.

A quiet meeting. Just once. If you refuse that?

Well.

I’m famously bad at hearing no.

You know where to find me.

Shanks

He tied it with red twine. No wax. Just a smile on his face like he’d already made peace with whatever storm followed.

Beckman, watching, groaned. “You do realize she’s going to throw that in the ocean.”

“She might,” Shanks said. “But I wrote it anyway.”

“She might also fire a cannon.”

“I’ll duck.”

Beckman pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re flirting with death.”

Shanks grinned. “Only if she’s interested.”

The second letter was delivered by a trembling pirate courier, who clearly had no idea whether handing it over counted as a diplomatic act or an execution request.

Hancock ripped the thread binding with one fluid flick of her nail.

She read the first line.

Then the second.

Then she froze.

“Don’t make me come to your island while I’m still being nice?” she repeated aloud.

The entire throne room fell still.

Gloriosa slowly set down her teacup like she was bracing for a seismic event.

Hancock kept reading—face locked somewhere between seething and visibly calculating the surface temperature of lava.

“He thinks he’s being polite?!”

“I believe he does,” Gloriosa said cautiously. “Shanks is notorious for his diplomacy.”

Hancock’s eye twitched.

“I will polish the cliffs with him!”

“He did ask before he came,” Murmured Sandersonia helpfully. “Could be worse.”

“He’s still asking,” Marigold added, eyes wide.

Hancock hissed through her teeth. “You don’t ask an Empress. You bow. You beg. You certainly don’t smirk through the ink!”

“Technically, there was no smirking visible,” Gloriosa offered.

Hancock whipped around. “He charmed. In calligraphy!”

Gloriosa held up her hands. “I’m just the tea auntie.”

Hancock stomped to the edge of the dais, fists clenched, hair fluttering in her fury.

“He thinks this is a game. A charming letter. A little rogue diplomacy. He doesn’t understand. I will petrify him into a lawn ornament.”

There was a long silence.

Then Gloriosa spoke again. Quietly.

“…Should we inform her?”

“Absolutely not. She is in a fragile state, thanks to that pig.”

You were sitting in the palace garden, sipping tea, watching a bird hop sideways in the grass.

It was peaceful.

Which was suspicious.

You’d learned that silence in Amazon Lily usually meant someone was planning something—or someone had just made a very bad decision.

But today?

Today was—

“Hmm,” you muttered, looking down at your hand.

The mark glowed faintly. Again. For the third time this week.

You shook your head and pulled your sleeve back down. “No.”

You weren’t going to think about it. You weren’t going to ask questions. And you absolutely weren’t going to read into the fact that every time it flared, the guards on duty went tense like someone had set a cannon off three islands away.

Across the courtyard, a group of royal guards were whispering urgently with Marigold and Sandersonia. You caught snippets:

“…He wrote again.”

“…Still polite, technically…”

“…‘Don’t make me come while I’m being nice’—is that a threat or a proposal?”

“Empress broke a vase.”

“Make that two vases.”

You blinked. Then looked back down at your tea.

No one had told you anything.

And if the Empress breaking crockery over international pirate diplomacy was about you?

…Well.

You didn’t want to know.

You picked up a scone.

Ignorance was peaceful.

[fiercynn]

With Palestinians breaking free of their besieged ghetto, we suddenly hear the all-too-familiar chorus of “the cycle of violence” and other such clichés. As usual, this fixation on pacifism only arises when the oppressed strike back at their oppressors. It seems that the refusal to live in a cage is not a convincing explanation for violence and armed resistance. Regardless of whether Israelis were killed or not, there was no way Palestinians could have launched an effective resistance campaign without being widely condemned or demonized. Even when resorting to tactics such as BDS campaigns to effect change, Palestinians were quickly rebuked, with critics likening the tactic to a “Nazi campaign,” and eliciting draconian legislation to legally ban the practice in places like the United States. In 2018, Gaza launched the unarmed Great March of Return to challenge the occupation and demand the right of return. It was dubbed a “riot,” and met with sniper fire, killing over 300 Palestinians, and creating an entire generation of maimed youth. Palestinian administrative detainees — prisoners held without charge, trial, or access to lawyers — are demonized for daring to go on hunger strikes. Even merely trying to access the International Criminal Court, which in theory should be the most agreeable arena to air grievances in the supposed “rules-based-international-order,” was met with hostility and rejection. These specific examples were chosen not to imply that other forms of resistance are illegitimate but rather to illustrate how even when Palestinians try to play by the non-armed rules set out for their resistance to be seen as “legitimate,” they are still framed as aggressive terrorists. There is always a reason why even the mildest methods of resistance are deemed wrong, always some technicality explaining that while “usually” this would be the right way to do things, it doesn’t apply to Palestinians. The goalposts are infinitely shifting, and it becomes glaringly obvious that the issue is not with the methods, but instead with who is undertaking them.

fathi nemer on october 24, 2023 for mondoweiss

[mahtariel-of-himring]

Silm Headcanon:

Battle braids were common amongst the Noldor when they first arrived in Beleriand. The tradition of braids had transitioned from Valinorian family, friendship or marriage braids into ones for battle. New styles were invented and quickly spread across the Noldorian community.

The length, placement, thickness and beads that were added or not added told stories of survival and hardship throughout time.

The most common ones were the following:

First battle braids, a simple three strand braid with a black bead marking that an elf had spilled their first black blood.

Partaker braids, for different big battles that simply marked a soldier as having been apart of said fight.

Fealty braids, openly showing who one’s loyalty lies with.

And at last survivors braids, these were worn by those who survived any type of imprisonment by dark creatures, there was also a more complicated version of this braid for former thralls of Angband.

There were also very rare braids which brought the wearer great respect and honor if an elven warrior wore said braid in their hair.

One of the rarest and most admired was the braid marking the survival of an encounter with Sauron, which on its own was feat enough.

It was a complicated four too five thread braid with multiple smaller or larger beads depending on the length or severity of the meeting.

Another was the one worn by Balrog slayers. This braid however only really surfaced after the first age when Glorfindel returned from Valinor since there were no surviving Balrog slayers to wear it.

One of the few braids that stayed the same from Valinor to Beleriand was the braid of the High King. Having only ever been worn by Finwë, Fëanor, Maedhros, Fingolfin, Fingon and Turgon.

Gil-Galad did not continue this tradition due to his decent from the house of Finarfin who‘s braiding traditions, just as many other elven houses, had faded over the years.

But since braids were mainly worn by the first to arrive in Beleriand after the flight of the Noldor, therefore fëanorians and their loyalists over time battle braids became a symbol of their house which quickly resulted and a fast decline of elven battle braids being seen on daily basis.

After the second and third kinslaying they had nearly completely disappeared in all but those still loyal to the remaining two son‘s of Fëanor and the son‘s themselves.

There were also unique braid, only ever worn by one person.

One of those was Maedhros‘ side braid.

A simple but elegant side braid on his left with no beads or pearls or any decorations whatsoever.

He wore it always after his rescue from the cliffs of Thangorodrim.

This braid was neatly kept, closly against his skull and tightly braided.

The braid of Maedhros became a symbol for the Lord of Himring and only ever associated with him and his qualities.

His formidable talent as a warlord, his unchallenged title as the greatest and fiercest swordsman of Beleriand, his fëanorian heritage and his standing as leader of the followers of house Fëanor.

The orcs, goblins, werewolves and evil men began to fear the braid of the red haired elf and his name became even more devastating to them than it already was.

After Maedhros died none dared ever wear his braid, for it stood for a fury no one dared claim as their own.

The centuries went by and braids got fewer and fewer. The second age was nearly at its end and the war against Sauron in full go.

But then came the day on which Sauron’s forces marched with Celebrimbor‘s dead body used as a flag.

And the infamous fury of the Lord of Himring was set ablaze in another, one who deemed himself close to the deceased elf to this day.

Elrond.

When he saw his beloved cousin’s body, defaced and dishonored that fire his foster father had carried was lit within him, and something snapped.

The next day the entire army was in shock and disbelief as their King‘s herald walked onto the battlefield wearing said infamous side braid, paired with a set of armor made by Celebrimbor, and an ear cuff also known for having once belonged to Maedhros.

That day the orcs of Sauron learned to fear the fury of the half elf, for they had already forgotten what true Noldorian spirit was. Elrond cut them down one by one, killing hundreds of orcs by himself and struck terror into the hearts of his enemies as they watched their companions fall to his blade.

Elrond didn’t stop until nearly all orcs were either dead or had fled from his wrath.

Then he went to find his cousins body. He freed him from the wooden pole he had been bound to and carried him away. Far off into nature, away from Lindon and Eregion, far away from all they once knew and laid him to rest in a peaceful spot where many flowers grew and old trees surrounded them.

To this day Lord Elrond visits his cousin often, for his final resting place is no far from Imladris, and to this day he wears the braid once associated with Maedhros, and he would do so until his arrival in Valinor.

[saltcxrcle]

hold me, console me ── . ✶ s. winchester

summary: sam's not answering your texts, so you panic and track him down to a hospital OR where dean finds out that you and sam are dating

pairings: established sam winchester x witch!reader, sam winchester x gn afab!reader, sam x jinx!ノ wc: 3.3k warnings: no use of 'y/n', reader is a witch and referred to as jinx, based on my headcanons for this verse, angst, some hurt/comfort, fluff, dean being dean, slightly suggestive but not really, title is a lyric from no one noticed by the marias, kinda edited; all mistakes are my own a/n: happy birthday to sam winchester the loml!! lol ik im still technically on a hiatus but i had to post this in honor of his birthday and i've been meaning to write this since like march and ive been wanting to write for this universe again and so i finally finished it!! i still have shit ton of school work to do but trust ill be coming back soon (and hopefully with a mini series to post for you guys!) but in the meantime enjoy the fic <33 sam winchester masterlist | season of the witch masterlist

IF SAM WASN’T DEAD YET, YOU’D KILL HIM YOURSELF. 

It wasn’t like Sam for him to leave your messages unread for more than a day or two, but he had been MIA for almost three days at this point. You didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, knowing how rough some hunts got for the brothers—but there was this pit in your stomach that wouldn’t go away no matter how much tea you drank or how much you tried to distract yourself, the feeling persisted. 

You were distracted in class. You knew it, and your students knew it. You glanced down at your phone a couple of times while your students were doing group work that you had assigned after your short lecture. You looked at the digital clock that was mounted on the wall on the other side of the lecture hall. 

You quickly got the attention of the class—noting that you had about fifteen minutes before class ended and brought them back from their conversations. You guys had a quick class discussion before dismissing them. Some of your students lingered to ask you a few questions about the assignment you had assigned. You quickly answered them, trying not to be rude to them—eager to leave for the day and head back home, hoping that Sam would have texted you back by now. 

You had to resist the urge to check your phone at each stop light as you drove home from the university. You all but shot out of your car with your work bag, your phone clutched tightly in your grip as you made your way inside your house. Your bag fell onto the wooden table with a small ‘thump’ and ignored the way your cat was brushing up against your legs, and you stared blankly at your screen. 

Your message still hasn't been seen by Sam. You swallowed the lump of dread that was stuck in your throat as the little white letters reading ‘Delivered’ on your phone taunted you. You let out a harsh breath through your nose as your mind conjured up the worst scenarios that Sam could be in right now. 

Seeing Sam’s lifeless eyes flash through your mind and snap you out of your stupor, not wanting to entertain the idea that he was dead. You turned off your phone, tossing it on your kitchen table, right next to your bag as you walked down the hallway and opened the door to your office that doubled as your witchy workspace (Sam came up with the name and always called it that on the rare occasion he stayed over). 

You gathered the ingredients for tracking spells, some enchanted fire, and a spare map of the country. You took a deep breath before murmuring some Latin before lighting the map on fire. The spell took no longer than forty-five seconds to perform, and you were left with Sam’s location. You swiftly figured out that he was in a hospital in Hyde Park, Utah. After making a few phone calls and canceling class—you were on a redeye flight to the closest airport to that city. 

It was safe to say that your anxiety was at an all-time high at this point as you gripped the armrest of the chair. You couldn’t stay still, your knee bouncing up and down rapidly as you stared hard outside of the airplane window. You were grateful that there was practically no one on this flight—it wasn’t a commercial flight, the plane being a tad bit smaller than your average one, but you thought that no one was heading to Utah this time of year. 

You thought the next time you’d see Sam, you would be excited to see him and his infuriatingly gorgeous face, but you were uneasy and tense as you impatiently waited for the flight to be over. 

“Would you like something to eat or drink?” A kind voice pulled you from your spiraling thoughts. 

You tore your eyes away from the window to the flight attendant, who had a polite smile on her face as she waited for you to respond. 

You cleared your throat. “Yeah, do you guys have any tea?” 

She nodded. “We have chamomile, jasmine, green, or hibiscus tea.” 

“I’ll take some chamomile.” You sent the flight attendant a smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes as your lingering thoughts of Sam started to become more prevalent. 

“Okay, I’ll be right back with your tea.” She sent you another smile before making her way down the aisle and to her station. 

You let out a long breath before looking back out the window. Once you had landed (the chamomile tea you had did nothing to calm your nerves), you immediately got into the rental car and made your way to the hospital he was in. Did you break a few traffic laws? Well, if no one caught you, did you really break them? But you made it to the hospital in record time as you quickly parked and made your way into the lobby of the sterile building. 

When you entered the lobby, Dean was sitting on one of the chairs waiting for Sam to be discharged and immediately spotted your frazzled condition with your slightly rumpled clothing and frizzy hair—a stark contrast to your usual put-together outfits and calm composure. His eyebrows furrowed at the sight of you, confused as to how you knew where they were and why you were even there.

Just before you were going to ask the receptionist about Sam, the elevator doors opened—your head instinctively jerked in the direction of them, and out came your boyfriend, looking worse for wear but alive. 

The pit in your stomach finally settled, and a wave of relief washed over you. You didn’t even notice Dean getting from his chair and heading towards you. Your eyes were strictly on a limping Sam heading down the hallway toward the lobby.

You didn’t think as your feet started to carry you to Sam, his eyes finally dragging up from the floor and meeting your teary gaze as you met him in the middle of the hallway. His eyes widened, filled with confusion as you approached him with determined steps. 

Uncaring of who was around you, you didn’t hesitate to gather Sam’s face in your hands and pressed your lips against his. You could feel Sam's surprise at the initial contact—but he sank into the familiar feeling of your soft lips moving against his. Sam’s hands came to rest on your waist as your hands cradled his face, feeling the warmth of his cheeks against your chilled palms. 

Dean looked at the scene in front of him with widened eyes, a myriad of emotions coursing through him. Saying that Dean was shocked was an understatement. Seeing Sam kiss the witch that he would consider an ally/reluctant friend was something he wouldn’t have imagined in a million years—but here was his brother kissing you back in front of him. 

Sam pulled back, registering that Dean was right behind you and the fact that you were standing in front of him. His eyes darted to Dean, trying to read the expression plastered on his face, but it was unreadable. 

Sam’s attention was drawn back to you. “What are you doing here?” He asked after clearing his throat, a knot of nerves tangling up in his stomach. 

“Really?! That’s the first thing you ask me? I should be asking you that question Winchester.” You thrust a finger at his chest, “You were the one who hasn’t responded to me in almost four days.” You huffed, “You never do that without a warning.” You added quietly.  

Sam winced at the use of his last name. You were definitely mad at him. He grabbed the hand you were pointing at him with, rubbing circles into the back of your hand to try and quell your rising anger. 

“I know, I’m sorry. We got caught up in the case and when we were tracking the nest, there were a lot more than we anticipated and they got one over on us. My phone broke and well,” Sam gestured to his slightly battered appearance, “You can guess what happened after.” 

The anger left your body as your eyes raked over Sam’s figure—there was a gash on his forehead and on the bridge of his nose, and you can only imagine what he looked like underneath his clothes—it must have been serious if Dean had taken Sam to the hospital. 

Your shoulders relaxed as you sighed. “Sorry, I just got caught up in my head and it jumped to the worst possible situation you could have been in.” 

Sam smiled down at you, his hands resting on your shoulders. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were just worried.” He leaned down and kissed your forehead. “It’s cute that you were though.” Sam murmured into your forehead before pulling away. 

You lightly hit his stomach in retaliation, a playful scowl on your face before it morphed into a tender smile that mirrored Sam’s. 

“Not trying to break up this very heartwarming reunion, but when did this even happen?” You jumped at the sound of Dean’s drawling voice and whipped around to see him standing behind you with crossed arms and an impassive expression plastered on his face.

Sam moved past you, hiding you behind him, shielding you from the potential wrath of Dean. “Can we do this at the motel?” Sam said sharply, before sending his brother a look—a silent conversation passing through the two of them before Dean scowled slightly. 

Dean stalked off, grumbling under his breath. Sam let out a breath before turning to you.

“He’s gonna kill me isn’t he?” 

Sam shook his head. “He won’t, not if I have anything to say about it. Besides, Dean likes you more than Rowena.” 

“I think you mean he tolerates me more than her.” You pointed out. 

It wasn’t lost on you the fact that Dean hated, no loathed, witches with a passion. You knew he was reluctant to work with you from the minute that you told them that you were one yourself—always keeping you at arm's length and telling you the second that you stepped out of the proverbial line, you’d get a witch-killing bullet to the skull. 

“Trust me, he’d call you before calling Rowena for help.” 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Because he knows I wouldn’t ask for anything in return other than the promise that you guys won't ask for my help again.” 

“And yet you still help us. Wonder why that is?” Sam asked with a cheeky smile on his face. 

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s get to the motel before your brother actually decides to kill me.” 

You followed behind the Impala in your rental car to the motel the boys were staying in and quickly parked. You were led to their room, and it felt like you were in trouble and got sent to the principal’s office.  

Dean stood across the room from where you and Sam were. You were standing by the entrance just in case things went south and you could make a quick escape.

“So,” Dean started, with his hands on his hips like a disappointed father ready to scold his kids. “How long has this been going on?” He gestured to you and Sam with a slight frown on his face. 

You and Sam glanced at each other before Sam cleared his throat. 

“Almost a year.” Sam scratched at the back of his neck, a sheepish expression on his face as he took in the look of surprise that passed through Dean. 

Dean’s brows furrowed, clearly connecting the dots in his mind. “So, when you said you were-” 

“Yeah, I was visiting Jinx.” Sam cut him off, confirming his suspicions. 

Dean let out a breath. “Okay.” 

You and Sam exchanged confused looks with one another. 

“What do you mean by ‘okay’?” You spoke for the first time since you entered the room.

“I mean, you guys can date or whatever you guys have been doing for the past year. It’s none of my business.” Dean shrugged before moving to the mini fridge in the room and grabbing a beer. 

You were sure you were living in an alternate universe right now. Dean Winchester giving you the seal of approval (or what you considered the seal of approval) to date his brother. 

“But if you hurt my brother or do anything to betray us, you know I won’t hesitate to plant a-” 

“I got it. Any bodily harm or emotional damage done to any of you and I don’t ever see the light of day again.” You interrupted quickly, “Heard you loud and clear.” You sent Dean a tight smile as he raised his beer in the air towards you, a silent confirmation and agreement of your words. 

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, but he was relieved that Dean didn’t make it a bigger deal than it needed to be. 

You turned to Sam. “I’m going to grab another room.” You glanced between the two brothers, and there was lingering tension. You figured that they needed to settle before you headed back home. 

Sam nodded and kissed your cheek before you left the room. Once the door shut with a soft click, Sam stared at Dean, who was sitting at the edge of the bed he had claimed to be his own almost a week before. 

“So, you’re really okay with it? Me being with Jinx?” Sam questioned as he sat down on his bed. 

Dean took a sip of his drink before responding. “Yeah, I mean I would have preferred someone who wasn’t a witch.” Dean joked before looking at Sam. “You’ve been happier lately and I couldn’t figure out why, but now I do. As much as I hate to admit it, you’re good for each other.” 

Sam shook his head at his brother. Always count on Dean to give the both of you a backhanded compliment. “Thanks. I think?” A slightly puzzled smile on Sam’s lips. 

“No problem.” 

There was a knock on the door, and Sam got up and gingerly walked (limped) to the door and saw you with your bag slung on your shoulder, a tired smile on your face. 

“Got a room?” Sam asked as leaned on the doorway. 

You nodded in response before jostling your bag by your side. “I brought some things to help speed along the process.” You gestured to his injured face. “Walk with me to my room?” 

Sam nodded before turning back into the room and grabbing his bag from the floor. “I’m going with Jinx, don’t wait up.” He informed Dean. 

Dean’s lips pulled up into a sly grin. “Okay, make sure you wear protection! I don’t want to be an uncle right now.” 

Sam’s cheeks flushed red. “Fuck off Dean.” He quickly closed the door, cutting off the boisterous laugh that escaped Dean. 

An amused smirk was on your face at the scene and at Sam’s reddened cheeks. 

“I hate him.” Sam breathed out. 

You couldn’t help the small chuckle that left you, making Sam snap out of his embarrassment and smile down at you. You smiled back at him before you started to walk to your room, Sam following close behind. 

Once you made it into the room, you quickly ushered Sam to the nearest bed and set your bag down right next to him as he got settled on the edge of it. You pulled out the various healing salves and bandages that you hastily packed before leaving your house. 

“Take off your shirt.” You told him as you opened the lid to one of your salves. 

“At least take me to dinner first.” Sam teased as he unbuttoned the flannel he was wearing. 

“Haha. Very funny.” You shot him a deadpan look, but the corner of your lips was twitching, threatening to pull into a smile.

He pulled off his shirt, trying to hide the grimace of pain that passed through his face as his ribs were screaming in protest from the movements. His sides and ribs were bruised, and his torso was covered in minor nicks and gashes that were covered in gauze and that needed to be changed. 

You worked quickly, the room filled with silence but being broken once in a while with the harsh intake of breath that Sam would have if you pressed into a tender spot. As you worked, Sam took the time to let his eyes roam your face and figure. It had been almost a month and a half since he had seen you in person, and even though your appearance had barely changed, he could see the worry etched into your features. 

Sam instinctively raised his hand and used his thumb to smooth out the wrinkle between your brows. You looked up from bandaging the last gash in his tanned skin, meeting his hazel eyes. 

“Hey, I’m okay.” He murmured as Sam’s hand moved to cup your face. 

You let out a shuddering breath and leaned into the warmth of his palm. All of the stress and anxiety that you were trying to suppress for the past twenty-four hours seemed to unravel at the comfort Sam was trying to provide. You could feel your eyes start to sting with tears, and before you knew it, one fell from your eye unwillingly—then others began to follow it in its footsteps down your face. 

Sam was quick to pull you into his lap, and you went willingly. His arms wrapped around you as you tucked your face into his neck, tears streaming down your face as you silently cried in the comfort of Sam’s arms. Sam didn’t say anything, pressing the occasional kiss to your head as one of his hands rubbed your back and the other cradled your head. 

Eventually, your tears stopped, and Sam moved the two of you back onto the bed, heads resting on the pillows as you faced each other. Sam wiped your face, which was wet with tears, before pressing a soft kiss on your forehead, then one on either of your cheeks, another on the tip of your nose—making you smile, before pressing his lips against yours in a tender kiss. 

Sam poured all of the reassurances and unspoken promises into the kiss, sending warmth through your chest as you sank into his embrace. You eventually broke the kiss, Sam pressing one last lingering peck on your lips before resting his forehead against yours, breathing in the comforting scent of jasmine, honey, cinnamon, and something that he could only describe as distinctly you. 

Sam’s mouth moved before he could even think about what he was saying. “Move in with me.” 

Your eyes snapped open as you stared into the intense hazel hue of his eyes, trying to find any kind of teasing or amusement in his gaze. 

“You’re serious?” You whispered. 

Sam nodded, his hair shifting against the pillowcase as he kept his eyes trained on you. 

“What does Dean think about this?” 

“Dean can deal with it. We have plenty of room in the bunker, and it would be more convenient than driving out to meet you or ask for help.” Sam started to spout out reasons why you should move in with him. 

Before he could get ahead of himself, you shut Sam up by placing a hand on his mouth. “I’ll think about it. And I’d rather not move in if Dean isn’t okay with it, so please ask him.” 

Sam moved your hand from his mouth, a slight pout on his face, and looked at you with pleading eyes. 

You groaned slightly at the sight of Sam’s puppy eyes. “Don’t give me that look, I didn’t say no. Just let me sit on the idea before we jump the gun, okay?” You told him. You knew if you moved in with him, you’d say goodbye to the life that you built for yourself and take a plunge back into the hunting life.  

Sam sighed but nodded. “I love you.” He whispered in the little space that you shared with him.

“I love you too Sammy.”

[astralis-ortus]

sunday, sunday, sunday

✱ husband!bc × fem!reader

— now, and every sundays to ever come. i want to spend them all with you.

w.count → 1.1k genre → fluff, fluff, fluff. just tooth rotting fluff. warnings → very minor cussing (just once)(atp cussing is a given lol), kissing, time jump (twice), chan referred to as chris a.n → blame the man for putting the idea in my head like what can i do??? his insta post??? hello??? not to mention his song recommendation while i was writing this??? laufey's like the movies??? what??? he wants me dead atp<////3 ⋆ see masterlist

it’s sunday.

to be fair, it has been sunday since the moment chris’ eyes flew open a few hours ago. it’s sunday when he got ready, it’s sunday when he got his light makeup and hair settled, it is sunday when he finally wore the crisp tailored suit that has been turning his heart into the loudest marching band ensemble he’d ever known.

but to be fair,

it’s not just any sunday.

“bring those shoulders down, hyung. you’re gonna get cramps at this point.”

“oh shut up,” chris groaned, feeling more embarrassed about the fact that he got caught more than the fact that his nerves are firing non-stop at an untraceable rate. “just take the pictures, felix.”

albeit rolling his eyes at chris’ rather feisty comment, it was proven impossible to wipe the cheeky grin off the younger’s clearly ecstatic face. after all, it’s a monumental day in chris’ life—and he’s very honored the older trusted his (and technically hyunjin’s) skills to capture the day’s earlier moments.

“see? that’s already all better,” felix cheerily quipped, snapping several pictures as soon as he caught a glimpse of chris fixing his posture. besides, a little movement here and there does make the picture come out a lot more natural, which was the one thing you repeatedly told him (and hyunjin) as something you wanted to see most in the final cuts.

you.

the mere thought of you was enough to melt the remaining stillness present in chris’ face.

it has been a wild few months; meetings after meetings, fittings after fittings, testing, changes in plans, some other minor revisions, checklist, checklist, checklist. chris was justifiably spent, and so were you. there were arguments (you refused to call them fights, knock on wood), there were a couple of shed tears (out of frustration, of course), there were a few hours of leaving each other on read (justifiably so, considering both of you are quite the stubborn pair), but there were also a lot of make-up dates, plenty of exchanged giggles of excitement, and bountiful of prayers for the days to come.

those days have been wild, and this sunday will begin to prove that every second of it was worthwhile.

“chris hyung!”

woken up from his trance, the glint on chris’ eyes finally returned as he found hyunjin’s head peeking from inside the room—the one he’d been waiting on for the past 10 minutes while his head was busy creating bits and pieces for his life montage.

“ready to see your bride?” asked the younger, grin replicating the ones felix is sporting behind his lenses.

am i ready?

palms running over the fabric of his carefully crafted suit, ones you finally chose after debating over a dozen others you deem was ‘not grand enough for someone about to spend the rest of my life with’, chris took one final breath.

“ready.”

it’s sunday.

it’s been exactly a week since your wedding day, and you finally got your hand on the stack of developed pictures courtesy to your now-husband’s talented teammates. originally, you wanted to take part in picking the films, but the duo was pretty convincing when they said waiting for their pick would make a good little surprise to enjoy on your honeymoon trip.

“come on,” chris beckoned, curls framing his beautiful face while his hand motioned to the empty spot next to him on the bed; one you just left after a call from the front desk informing you about the tiny package under your husband’s name. “let’s see how hyunjin did at taking your pictures.”

“and felix at yours,” you added with a grin, swiftly claiming your throne while your fingers were busy ripping open the brown envelope. “i want to see my husband as much as you wanted to see your wife, you know. not to mention, that suit was absolutely perfect on you.”

“not again,” his defeated giggles has been chris’ way to answer to your every compliment on his look since the day of your wedding. “you need to stop that before my head blows up to the size of a hot air balloon, my love.”

“well,” you shrugged, finally getting your hand on the stack of pictures before then snuggling right into the warmth of chris’ arms, “have you ever thought about trying not to be so hot all the da-“

and of course, stealing kisses has also been his alternative should you continue to run your mouth and try to turn him into a blushing mess.

as if that’s not exactly the reason why you kept up with the praises.

“can we start looking at the pictures,” he muttered over your lips, evidently smiling as his lips brushed against yours, “or do i still need to shut you up?”

you hummed, letting the warmth of his skin hover over your face before your lips captured his in a quick peck, “pictures. need to see my cool husband.”

the way his laugh reverberates against his chest never fails to warm you up.

“okay, picture it is then.”

it’s sunday.

you didn’t expect moving to be this hard—sure, you’ve been living together with chris even before you two got married, but had you really been accumulating that many stuffs?

“fuck—i think it’s not the right screw,” your husband’s mutters forces your line of sight to gravitate towards his hunched figure, still hovering over the half-built shelf on the floor of your living room.

“you reckon it should still stick out this much?” he questioned, beckoning you to look at the silver piece, sticking out like a sore thumb. “no, right?”

“think not,” you huffed, crouching next to chris to look at the scattered pieces around him, “was this all? did they send the wrong one?”

chris groaned in defeat, deciding to lean onto your warmth instead of voicing his answer. maybe building your own furniture was not exactly a good idea to spend your first weekend home after your honeymoon trip.

treading your fingers through his soft curls, you then came up with a suggestion, “i’ll get you a pineapple juice then we’ll figure it out together, yeah?”

and it sure perked him right up.

looking at you with sparkles lighting up in his eyes, it felt right—it felt like even through the worst sundays, chris would still be the there to welcome you home.

“thank you,” he grinned—the boyish kind. the one that made you feel like a swarm of butterflies, one that gets you blushing like a schoolgirl in front of her first ever crush. his lips then found its home on the bare of your thigh, printing a quick kiss on the surface, “you’re the best.”

“mm, i know,” you answered with a giggle, feeling the warmth breaking through your skin before returning the kiss on his plump lips while feigning ignorance to the way your heartbeat grew louder by the second.

“you’re still the bestest of the best, though. can’t beat you.”

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[shadow-of-gehenna]

Introducing the Polemos - Honored Guardian

The Apex Renegades Polemos is a mainstay of land-based siege operations. Its massive and imposing frame serves as a force multiplier for any unit it is included in, serving as an indispensable vanguard for any combat situation it is placed into. This can be attributed to the fact that the Polemos was designed to complement the rest of A.R.C’s catalog, with the intent of being a monolithic presence on the battlefield that draws fire away from less durable, offensively-oriented frames. Over its years of service, the Polemos has received further refinements to fall in line with more recent frames produced by A.R.C. These changes include an active Phalanx array deployed around the frame at all times, which effectively increases the Polemos’ battlefield presence even further and allows it to push back the enemy’s front line while keeping its own moving forward.

-

Marching at the front of the Pack is the Polemos, ARC's dedicated front-line shield-wall, the first to come to blows with enemy forces and the first line in stopping the enemy making it any further unscathed. On it's own the Polemos is a formidable shield wall but, alongside it's allies it's strengths are bolstered even further, using their presence to strike harder and Deeper, and the Polemos is almost never alone with it's hoplite drones as backup.

In it's suite of weapons and systems, the goal of the Polemos Frame is to never be caught on the back foot, the ARC Xiphos proves that there is beauty in simplicity and the Face of the Stalwart shield reminds over eager hostiles that a shield is just as effective as a weapon as anything else. However, nothing compares to the Proclamation of Thanatos, the superheavy signature of the Polemos that can crack open the very ground under it's target's feet.

[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄 . ( a collection of dialogue prompts from the film the hobbit : the battle of five armies . adjust phrasing as necessary . )

he hit it ! he hit the dragon .

his arrows cannot pierce its hide . i fear nothing will .

we cannot turn back .

[ name ] ! what are you doing ? you were supposed to leave !

i came to help !

who are you that would stand against me ?

now that is a pity . what will you do now ?

you are forsaken .

you cannot save him from the fire .

tell me , wretch , how now shall you challenge me ?

you have nothing left ... but your death .

[ name ] . look at me . you look at me .

you are not alone , [ name ] .

[ name ] , come on , we're leaving .

they are your people , they must go .

i know how i feel , i'm not afraid .

i don't know what that means .

keep it . as a promise .

that is where you are wrong .

i'll catch my death in this cold .

it's all right , darling .

i have said it many times , this is a man of noble stock .

i'm not the master of this town . where is he ?! where's the master ?!

enough ! look around you . have you not had your fill of death ?

winter is upon us . we must look to our own .

we must look to our own . to the sick and the helpless .

those who can stand , tend to the wounded .

we must salvage what we can .

i tried talking to him , he won't listen .

he doesn't sleep , he barely eats ... he's not been himself .

it's this place ... a sickness lies upon it .

behold the great treasure hoard of [ name ] .

no one rests until it is found .

take only what you need . we have a long march ahead .

we can take refuge inside the mountain .

what gold is in that mountain is cursed .

we will take only what is promised to us .

you saw something out there .

they bore a mark i have not seen in a long time .

[ name ] , it is your king's command .

i command my own heart .

spells will not save you .

i am not alone .

you should've stayed dead .

do you doubt the loyalty of anyone here ?

dragon sickness . i've seen it before .

it is a fierce and jealous love , [ name ] .

perhaps it is best it remains lost .

i'm going to plant it in my garden .

it's a poor prize to take back to [ location ] .

there's gold enough in that mountain for all .

get some fires going .

[ name ] , you take the night watch .

do not tell me what they have lost .

i know well enough their hardship .

they have much to be grateful for .

the children , the wounded and the women come first .

all quiet , nothing to report .

we did not look to see you here .

i heard you needed aid .

i came to reclaim something of mine .

i ask that you honor your pledge .

i will not treat with any man while an armed host lies beyond my front door .

be gone , ere our arrows fly !

this does not concern you .

we are , in fact , outnumbered .

we attack at dawn . are you with us ?

true friends are hard to come by .

i have been blind , but now i begin to see .

i have been betrayed .

[ name ] , the quest is fulfilled .

is this treasure truly worth more than your honor ?

this gold is ours , and ours alone . by my life , i will not part with a single coin .

i will not part with a single coin . not . one . piece of it .

you started this , [ name ] . you will forgive me if i finish it .

i'm not doing it for you .

i'm not afraid of [ name ] .

how came you by this heirloom ?

they are taking us for fools . this is a ruse . a filthy lie .

you would steal from me ?

i may be a burglar , but i'd like to think i'm an honest one .

you have no claim over me , you miserable rat .

i was going to give it to you .

you are changed , [ name ] .

do not speak to me of loyalty .

did you not hear me ? [ location ] is surrounded .

life is cheap . but treasures such as this cannot be counted in lives lost . it is worth all the blood we can spend .

you are lesser now than you have ever been .

i will not hide behind a wall of stone while others fight our battles for us !

it is not in my blood , [ name ] .

will you follow me ... one last time ?

what took you so long ?

this was their plan all along .

i think [ name ] has fled .

keep low and out of sight . if you see something , report back — do not engage , do you understand me ?

don't be ridiculous , you'll never make it .

they'll see you coming , and kill you .

they'll never see me .

i'm not asking you to allow it , [ name ] .

you will not turn away . not this time .

today , tomorrow , one year hence , a hundred years from now . what does it matter ? they are mortal .

there is no love in you .

what do you know of love ? nothing .

you think it is love ? are you ready to die for it ?

we'll live to fight another day .

you will die last .

don't move , don't move . lie still .

i wish to part from you in friendship .

you're not going anywhere , [ name ] , you're going to live .

you did what only a true friend would do . forgive me . i was too blind to see it .

i'm so sorry that i have led you into such peril .

i'm glad to have shared in each of your perils , [ name ] .

go back to your books , and your armchair . plant your trees , watch them grow .

if more people valued home above gold , this world would be a merrier place .

i cannot go back .

[ name ] ... your mother loved you . more than anyone . more than life .

they want to bury him .

if this is love , i do not want it . take it from me , please . why does it hurt so much ?

songs will be sung , tales will be told .

well , i think i'll slip away quietly — can you tell the others i said goodbye ?

you can tell them yourself .

if any of you are ever passing [ location ] , tea is at four . there's plenty of it , you are welcome at any time .

it's here i must leave you .

i quite liked having a wizard around .

don't take me for a fool .

i've kept my eye on you ever since .

i'm not dead . presumed or otherwise .