#alms purse

[medievaleftea]

My latest tiny sewing project:

An alms purse from green, thick woolen fabric, a silk lining an a little stitch work on the front. For the decoration I used some glass beads.

While working my cat always supervised me. That was hard work (for the cat), I can tell you.

[jordanmoreau]

I have you / Dean Winchester

→ dean winchester x reader, 1,4k words / fem reader

; in which certain feelings are made known, tongue tied and flushed cheeks♡

You watch absentmindedly from across the diner as Dean leans casually against the counter, a grin plastered across his face as he chats to the female server.

His T-shirt rides up ever so slightly as he leans forward and you cough awkwardly, shifting in your seat to face away fro him, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over your hands as if to climb further inside it. Sam, who’s sitting opposite you with his nose buried in his notes, peers up to gives you a knowing look.

“He’s just being Dean,” he says calmly, nodding his head in his brothers direction. You freeze for a second, feeling caught. Sam doesn’t take his eyes off you for a prolonged second, wondering if he should reassure you some more but decides against it. He can tell you feel uncomfortable and so he moves his gaze from you.

It’s not that you don’t appreciate Sam’s attempt at comforting you. He had noticed your affections for Dean a while ago, watching the way you’d lean into him for comfort on every case or how you’d laugh at every stupid corny joke. You swallow, shaking your head slightly. It didn’t do you any good to keep pining after him.

It’s then that Dean returns to the table, a tiny piece of paper gripped in his hand. Your stomach does a painful flip when you notice it. The servers number? You look away again, focusing on the parking lot outside. Dean however takes notice of this, sliding into the seat next to Sam. Sam didn’t bother looking up at his brother and simply slid over a handful of pages, to which Dean rolled his eyes.

Dean instead turned his attention to you, mirroring you as he tries to figure out what you’re so intently looking at.

“What’re we looking at?” he says, startling you. He’s leant across the table, propped up by his elbows as he looks toward the parking lot and then back at you. He gives you a closed lipped smile when you don’t say anything.

“Y/N?” he murmurs softly. He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne. It overwhelms you a little and you sit back in your chair. His eyebrows knit together in confusion and he too sits back.

“Just thinking,” you reassure quietly, giving him your best “I'm okay” expression. It feels like a grimace. He searches your face for a moment and then nods, apparently accepting your words at face value.

—

The next evening, you find yourselves holed up in a motel, two rooms between three of you. You try not to look too alarmed at this at the front desk, the bags slung over your shoulders suddenly feeling like dead weights.

“Sam, can I bunk with you,” you ask instantly as you’re leaving the reception kiosk, hoping he can detect the pleading in your voice. Dean frowns at you, scratching his cheek with the back of his hand. Sam begins to agree when his brother interjects, stepping closer to you.

“What about me?” he pouts. Your heart pangs and you try to appear nonchalant, shrugging. He frowns again and Sam, who’s trailing behind you both, chucks the second set of keys at him. "Here,".

Dean catches it with his spare hand and mutters something you don't quite catch. Sam hums in agreement.

You decide to walk in front of the pair, needing to get in bed as soon as possible. Your whole body felt heavy and your feet dragged as you made your way down the hallway.

Dean follows you closely. It’s then that you recognize the right door number and plop your bags down on the door mat finally, groaning as your shoulder twinges.

“You okay?” Dean asks, his hand coming up to rest on your arm gently. You flinch for a second, not realising he was that close behind.

“Y-yeah,” you mumble, trying to ignore the way your arm felt hot under his touch. He rounds you now, standing opposite you at the doorway. He’s looking at you with an unreadable expression, lips pursed.

“Are you?” you ask him awkwardly. His stoic exterior breaks at that and he blinks at you, almost like he’s offended at the question.

“Am I okay?” he scoffs. He doesn’t answer you, unlocking the door instead. With ease, Dean pushes it open and gestures inside. You now blink back at him, not moving. "Ladies first," he deadpans.

“I’m sharing with Sam,” you say lamely. Dean ignores you, hiking your bags over his shoulder and entering the room. You glance back over your shoulder and see Sam entering the room on the far left. He turns back to close the door and shoots you an apologetic look. Traitor, you think.

You sigh, admitting defeat and walking inside the room, closing the door behind you. It’s nothing special, dank and small. Two beds are pushed against the far wall, sad beige comforters draped over cream white sheets. Dean is sat on the furthest one from you, jacket now discarded and hanging over the bathroom door. He's wearing a greyish blue shirt underneath, the short sleeves hugging his biceps tightly. It's your favorite on him. You shift from one foot to another, not knowing where to place your hands.

He’s placed your bags at the foot of your bed. You stand in the entrance for a moment too long and Dean notices. He always does.

“Are you going to sit down or am I gonna have to put you to bed myself?” he asks. You flush slightly, cheeks pink and move hurriedly towards your stuff, muttering a quick sorry as you do. Dean huffs loudly.

“Seriously, what’s wrong?” he asks exasperatedly. His upper body is turned toward you. You don’t miss the note of worry in his tone and you feel guilty.

Usually you’d play along with playful banter or his flirty comments and he wasn’t used to your solemn expressions and your sad eyes. It made his heart twist in a way he wasn't used to. It was painful and he didn't like it.

“I’m just…”you struggle for the right words to say, feeling tongue tied. Admitting your feelings for him was just out of the question. God you wished Sam had roomed with you like you’d asked.

Dean waits patiently and when you don’t finish your sentence, he pushes himself off the bed. You’re perched on the end of the bed now and he crouches so that he’s almost eye level with you.

“Is it something I said, or did?” he questions you. Again, you feel guilty. You shake your head quickly, lips pressed together in a tight line. He makes a “hm” sound that sounds pained and you break.

“I’m just not feeling my best,” you lie, trying your best to meet his gaze as he listens. “It’s not you,”

Dean doesn’t respond for a moment and you think perhaps he’s bought what you’ve said. However he scoffs again. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

His tone is somewhat harsher than you think he means but his face is soft, lips slightly parted as he silently pleads with you. You fidget, not sure how to answer him. “You know I care about you,” he whispers. He’s closer then you had realized. So close that you swear he must hear your heartbeat quicken.

“Did you call that girl?” you ask weakly, taking a sharp intake of breath as you spoke. Dean stares at you blankly for a moment.

“Girl?” he says, bewildered. You nod slowly.

“The girl from the diner,” you say, eyes trained at the tv stand just past Dean’s head in your line of sight. You fidget again.

“Why would I call her? I have you,” he says. You can’t help but laugh at that, it sounding shrill and foreign given the mood. It echos against the silence of the room. It seemed just like Dean to lighten the mood by giving you some line, something to cheer you up. But when you finally look back at him his face is serious. There’s no sign of amusement.

“She gave you her number though, right?” your voice is barely audible. He hears you though and a small smile pulls at the corner of his lips. He half rolls his eyes, clearly bemused.

“And that means I have to call her?” You look at him. So he wasn’t interested in her after all. Maybe Sam was right, he was just being Dean.

He cups your cheeks lightly with his callused hands all of a sudden and you feel like all the air leaves you. “I have you,” he repeats. You feel dizzy.

“Don’t I?” he asks softly. He searches your face as if worried you don’t agree. You notice the way his shoulders have tensed.

“Yes,” you breath. His shoulders relax and he flashes you the most Dean smile imaginable.

[mydearesthrry]

trinkets on tour — H.S.

hi angel pies this one is very self indulgent!!! i hope you enjoy <3

🎀 warnings/cw: none, fluff, swearing maybe?, kisses, harry being a sweetheart tbh

🐇 pairing: famous!bf!harry styles x fem!reader

💐 wc: 1.3k (short cute little baby!!!)

summary: a few different occasions with harry and your trinkets.

“Ow, fuck,” Harry muttered under his breath, something sharp poking in the skin of his foot. Moving his leg, he finds a small bunny figurine, the ears animated and floppy, wearing a pink dress with a small basket full of strawberries in its arm. “Y/n? Is this yours?”

The girl comes walking around the corner, seemingly doing her skincare in the hotel bathroom if the headband and glowy face had anything to go by. “Oh! Yeah, it is!” A small smile covered her face.

“It’s you, bun! I found it at a small corner store in Horsens and meant to give it to you. I thought I’d lost it since it wasn’t in my purse when I checked for it last night, but you found it! Isn’t it so cute?” She grins, walking over to her boyfriend to slip it from his fingers and roll it around in hers.

Harry had just about melted. She went to a shop and found something that reminded her of him, and just because of that, she bought it? God, was he in love.

“That’s s’ sweet, m’heart,” Harry pulls her into his side, pecking a few kisses to the top of her head, “thank you, sweet girl.”

She looks up from where her head is tucked into this side, wearing a pretty smile and bright gleam in her eyes. Harry looks on at her in awe, entranced by her beauty.

“Of course, H. Think about you always, all the time. Think I’d be broke by now if I bought you everything that reminds me of you that i’ve seen.”

—

“Harry! Harry, look!” His girl comes running to the stage, interrupting his phone time as he waits for soundcheck to start.

“What, wha’ is it?” Harry’s brows furrowed, locking his phone and placing it next to his legs that swung over the edge of the stage.

“I found this in the green room, you haven’t even fully looked in there yet! It’s you!” She carefully tosses a small item onto the stage, not being able to reach up and place it due to how much shorter she was compared to the stage.

“‘S a— strawberry? ‘M a strawberry?” He says confusedly.

“I mean- okay its not you, but it reminded me of you! It’s a gold strawberry ring, and I have a gold strawberry ring too! Look, I’m wearing it right now,” She brings her left hand up to rest on his knee, showing a small dainty ring on her pinky finger, “We can match!”

He looks down at where her hand was placed on her knee and smiles. “Okay, m’love, we can match.”

Hearing her soft giggles, he knew he just couldn’t say no now. There was absolutely no way he could say no.

“C’mere lovie, there’s stairs right there,” With a soft gleam in his eyes, he points to a different area on the floor, “Jus’ wanna hold y’for a bit before the show.”

She squeaks out a little ‘okay!’ and runs over to the stairs, taking longer strides to get to her love faster. Plopping down next to him, she twists in her spot and scooches forward a bit, laying her head on his lap. She plucks the small ring from his hands, pointing at details in it that he hadn’t— and probably wouldn’t have noticed otherwise.

Despite not looking at the ring, and staring at her instead, he memorizes every detail of the ring, while engraving every small peep and barely noticeable rasp in her voice into his brain.

Come showtime, the fans immediately notice a new addition to his ring collection, a small strawberry ring that adorns his right pinky finger.

—

“Oh shit!” A shout followed by a small crash catches Harry’s attention, raising him to his feet in record speed as he nearly flies out of the bedroom and to the living area of the hotel.

“Honey, y’okay?” He says hurriedly, rushing over to where his sweet girl was.

She spins on her heel immediately, a broken wooden box in her hand, a small light purple unicorn in the other. Behind her near her heels laid almost a dozen other little trinkets, some scattered farther away from her feet than others. A sad look glazes over her features as she nods softly.

“Yeah, I’m okay, I accidentally dropped my Love On Tour trinket box, and now I’m a little sad,” She places the box and tiny unicorn onto the table, taking small steps to get to him, resting the side of her head on his chest, “I even decorated it! I’ve been getting small things from every stop on tour and the box I’ve been putting everything in broke!”

Harry’s heart ached for her, knowing how sweet and sentimental his girl was and knowing how much the box probably meant to her. Not saying anything for a few beats, he wraps his arms around the girl and runs his hand up and down the length of her arm. “Hm, m’heart. ‘M so sorry, can I see it?”

She nods, stepping back to go retrieve the box from the table, going back to Harry with it in her hands.

“M’kay, I think I can fix this up for you just right, want me to?” He says, assessing the damage, handling it carefully.

Her eyes light up as soon as the words leave his lips, a soft gasp falling from her lips. “You can?”

“Of course I can, y’gotta give me a couple of days though, Lovie. ‘M sorry.”

“It’s okay!” She chirps. “‘S okay even if you can’t, but if you can, that would make me so happy, thank you, H.”

“I’d do anything f’you, but for now, I think I have a small jewelry box y’can put it in until I fix it. Sounds good?” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead at her graciousness.

“Sounds amazing, thank you, Baby.”

—

“Lovie? C’mere for a sec, baby.” Harry calls from yet another hotel bedroom, smiling softly as he heard a sweet ‘coming!’ followed by small steps on the floor.

“Yes?” Her head popped into the doorframe, a small furrow in her brow.

“Got a surprise f’you,” He smiles, hands behind his back.

“For me?” She walks over to him slowly, a suspicious look on her face.

“It’s nothing bad! Jus’ a quick something before we leave for the venue.” From behind his back, he pulls out her (now fixed!) box, placing it in front of her on the white duvet.

A gasp falls from her lips, followed by an excited squeal. In gratitude, she cautiously jumps onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck, placing her lips onto his. She places small ones on his lips first, before pressing them together in an elongated, sweet kiss.

“Wait, wait Lovie, there’s another surprise inside the box.” Harry laughs, muttering the words against her lips to keep her close.

“Another?! You’re spoiling me now,” Grabbing the box, she opens it before gasping in shock.

“Always spoil you, don’t I?” He chastises, plucking the trinket out of the box.

A small, red convertible keychain lay flat in his palm, another small charm of a white daisy on it.

“Harry-“ She starts, pulling his hand closer to her face to look at it in closer detail. “Thank you, s’much.”

She turns her head to him, now teary eyed. She knew the sentiment behind both items, making the experience all the more emotional.

“The car, from our fifth date, where I asked y’to be m’girlfriend, and then the daisy from-“ He drawls, a soft and sleepy lull in his voice.

“From the field in Holmes Chapel, where you first told me you loved me.” She giggles breathily, sniffling to contain her emotion. “They’re perfect, baby. Thank you, thank you s’much.”

Twisting around in his lap, she wraps her arms around his shoulders, burrowing her face into his neck. He reciprocates the hug, wrapping his arms around her waist as he lays soft kisses on the side of her head.

“‘S perfect, you’re perfect.”

“Oh shut it, Lovie. Jus’ can’t believe I’m now contributing to your trinket collection.”

[mioritic]

Alms purse depicting a woman with a falconry glove holding two mounted falcons and a dismembered raptor’s leg (top), and a falconer embracing and crowning his lover (bottom). In the lower panel, a mended patch obscures where a raptor once perched on the falconer’s glove.

France, ca. 1340

Lyon, Musée des Tissus (photos: Sylvain Pretto)

[rosewaterandivy]

symptoms of the culture

Summary: Last call at the bar and you’re still here? Jesus Christ girl, get yourself together!

Pairing: e.m. x f!reader

W.C.: 1.9k

A/N: a continuation of our meet cute with eddie ☺️

Meeting Eddie at the bar was like something from a romantic comedy, and unlike everything you’d experienced before.

He did end up letting you buy that drink after all, which turned in to him buying you a drink because “it’s the polite thing to do.”

Your friend checked in maybe once or twice before deciding you could handle yourself, if it came to that (she didn’t seem to think that would be the case though). The crowd had dwindled down to mostly the regulars and friends of the bartenders, and you didn’t realize how late it had gotten until someone bellowed, “Last call!”

Eddie’s deft fingers traced the rings of condensation on the wooden table, dragging droplets of water into various shapes. Enthralled, you quickly realized that you could watch him do something like that all day, if you weren't careful.

“Shit,” You say, downing the last of your beer, “I didn’t mean to hold you up for so long.”

His lips kick up to one side, dimples prominent despite the low light. There’s a glint in his eye as he looks you up and down, a slow assessment that has you shifting in your seat.

“Riddle me this, sugar,” He says drumming his fingers on the table, “You really think there’s any place I’d rather be?”

And with that, he leaves to pay the tab, leaving his question hanging in the air.

Not that you could have formulated a semblance of a response anyway. Grabbing your jacket from the back of the chair, you shove your free hand into your purse to scrounge up your card to cover the tab as you sidle up beside him at the bar top.

Eddie’s got two bills in front of him, one large hand over each so you can’t figure out which is yours. Going to pluck either one from his grasp is useless, and after the second attempt, he simply holds it above your head and out of your reach.

“Try me, short stuff,” He taunts with a huff of a laugh. “Besides, your money’s no good here.”

Thinking twice before you could potentially demean yourself by actually jumping up to steal the bill from him, you turn to the bartender with a smile instead to ask:

“Can you print another bill please?”

And once you’ve supplied your last name, it should be a done deal. You expect him to reply with a nod and a ‘you got it’, accompanied by the familiar sound of a receipt being printed.

Instead, it goes a little something like this:

The bartender turns to glance at Eddie, and he gives the bartender some sort of look— which, what would the bartender need approval from a patron? Then, he shoves both receipts into the jar by the register and leans against the bar top and props an elbow on it as he faces you, like he’s waiting for something.

“Can’t do it.” The bartender sighs, “The bossman says you’re money’s no good here, them’s the rules.”

You try, and fail, to keep your jaw from dropping.

“Y-you own this bar? You’re that Eddie?”

“In the flesh and at your service.”

A beat of silence passes between you as the bartender clears his throat and begins closing preparations.

“Well, technically,” Eddie allows, with a twist of his lips, “I co-own it with a buddy of mine. This and couple of other places around town.”

And, well. For someone who dresses like they should be in a biker gang or fronting a prog-metal band, Eddie sure didn’t strike you as a real estate mogul.

“That’s cool,” You say with a nod, hand shoved into your purse once more. Rifling around a bit, you come back with a glorious fist of cash and shove it into the kitty near the register that simply reads, Alms for the pour.

“Soooo,” He drawls, the awkward end of the night coming upon you rapidly. “You good to drive or…?”

“Oh, no worries,” You say flippantly, quickly debating whether your should call an Uber at the hour of just suck it up and walk home. You could cut through campus and maybe shave five minutes off of the journey, anyway.

“I can get you an Uber—”

“No, it’s fine, really.” You adjust the shoulder strap of your bag and grab your keys, “I live just off the campus, it’s walkable from here.”

Eddie’s fingers loop around your wrist before you can say your goodbyes and high-tail it out of there. The silver of his rings glints in the light and the cool metal contrasts with the warmth of his hand as it engulfs yours.

“Nuh uh, not happening.” His tone leaves no room for discussion. “I’m not gonna let you walk—”

“It’s not even a mile!” You interject, “I cut through campus and skirt the park and I’m golden.”

“The park? At three in the morning?” He shakes his head, fingers forming a bracelet around your wrist, “Not even sorry to say, that is unequivocally not happening.”

Eddie tugs you with him as he passes behind the bar and down a small corridor to the back office.

“You good closing on your own Matty?”

The bartender, Matty, you assume, nods with an easy smile.

“Sure, Ed.”

Eddie releases your hand to grab a backpack and a helmet. He tosses the bag to you saying, “Throw your purse in there, you don’t mind wearing that on the bike, right?”

“I really am fine walking home, I haven’t fallen or stumbled in years,” You say as he turns back around, “That’s how good I am.”

“It’s not your walking capabilities I’m worried about here, sugar.” He holds the black helmet in his hands, fingers drumming on the closed visor. “It’s the creeps.”

“This from you, the man that very nearly creeped me out earlier tonight?”

Matty fails to stifle his laugh from the desk.

Eddie rolls his eyes in exasperation, “Yeah, laugh it up newbie.” Taking you by the shoulder, he steers you toward the service entrance and you find yourself not even trying to come up with excuses anymore.

Well, except for:

“Oh, you meant bike as in motorcycle.”

He snorts from behind you, finishing the job of zipping the backpack, now containing your purse, and looping the straps around your shoulders.

“Well it’s certainly not a pennyfarthing, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“I’ve never been on one before.”

“No time like the present.”

Clapping you on the shoulder, he turns you around to face him and pries a hair tie from his wrist. You take it from his outstretched hand, your fingertips brushing for a fleeting moment. Without much fuss, you throw your hair into a loose bun at the nape of your neck.

“May I?” Eddie asks, presenting you with the helmet.

After you nod, he deftly flips the helmet around and takes a step closer to place it on your head. It’s not a perfect fit, but it’ll have to do. He has you shake your head left and right, then up and down before he’s satisfied you won’t crack your skull on the pavement.

In a few strides he’s near the bike, and mounting it in one fluid motion. His legs are long and pretty fucking perfect for, oh you don’t know, maybe straddling later yourself.

But now you’re just getting ahead of things.

You follow his lead and step toward the bike; taking his offered hand as you find your seat behind him.

“So,” Eddie says leaning to start up the bike, once he’s satisfied that your feet are on the foot rest. “All you really gotta do is hold on.”

Your hands go to his shoulders and you can feel them rise with his soft chuckle.

“That’s cute,” He says, taking both your hands in his and moving them to his waist, which causes you to bridge the few inches of space between your bodies to accomodate the movement.

I mean, there are worse things than having your tits smooshed up against some guy’s back on a motorcycle, right?

“You good?”

And you can barely hear him over the rev of the engine, so you nod and raise your voice to rattle out your address. He half-turns toward you, eyes finding yours through the visor of the helmet and giving you a wink.

He grips the handles, pulls the clutch, and kicks off.

“Alright, sugar, let’s get you home.”

Holding on for dear life, you quickly learn that as he leans, you lean. There’s a lot of movement on a bike that you hadn’t anticipated, so much so that Eddie’s shirt, at some point, rides up his abdomen. Too busy gawking at the sights and sounds of your first motorcycle ride, you don’t notice the subtle warming of your fingertips against his bare skin until it’s too late.

You were confident that the sound of the engine would drown out the unfortunate squeak that escaped your mouth, but at the feeling of Eddie’s stomach muscles contracting in what could only be laughter, and the shaking of his shoulders, now has you second guessing yourself.

Oh, well.

Rolling to a smooth stop in front of your apartment, he kills the engine and helps you off the bike.

Back on solid ground, you slough off the backpack and unzip it to grab your purse and keys. You pass it back to him and remove the helmet, mourning briefly the soft scent of tobacco and clary sage— his cologne, maybe?

Hooking a finger through the hair tie at the back of your neck, you pull it out, and shake your hair from its confines before offering it back to him.

Eddie just smiles with a shake of his head, “Nah, keep it— I gotta million of ‘em.”

He stays seated on the bike, eyes whiskey-warm and crinkling at the edges. With a shrug, you push the elastic up and around your hand to settle on your wrist.

It’s relatively quiet for a winter’s night around the campus, all the undergrads gone home for the holidays and not expected back until mid-January. A brisk wind blows and a shiver runs through you, one hand rubbing furiously along your arm, while the other grips the helmet resting against your hip.

All the while, Eddie simply sits there to drink you in. Eyes roving across the full of your cheeks, the elegant slope of your neck and the necklaces strung there. Your hair wild and waving in the breeze. And even if it’s cold outside, he can’t bring himself to notice— not with you looking like that standing there before him.

“Hey, Eddie,” You say, stepping toward him. Taking the helmet in both hands, you put it on for him and have half a mind to make him go through the head shaking nonsense he was adamant over back at the bar. But it fits him perfectly, just your luck.

Before stepping back and retreating into your apartment, he takes your hand in his and gives it a slight squeeze. You can feel the heat skittering under your skin, terribly welcome in the cold morning air.

Squeezing his fingers back in return, you part with a soft, “Happy New Year.”

He watches as you open the front door of your ground floor apartment, giving him a shy wave as a dog barks from somewhere behind you. He can see your lips moving as you turn back to say something to the dog, smiling as you bend to greet them.

Kicking off as the door closes and the lights flick on in your home, Eddie cruises down the deserted street with a smile on his face.

And maybe, this could turn out to be his year after all.

[kuroneko1815]

Imperial Domesticity: New Year’s Festivities

Penelope’s first new year’s celebration as the Empress meant that everyone would have their eyes on her. But she also wanted her New Year’s Kiss. Thankfully, her husband was willing to figure out a way to do it.

There was much to be done for the New Years ball, this was Penelope’s first new years as the empress, before that, she’d helped with the preparations as the Emperor’s paramour and fiancée, as well as the highest ranking woman in the empire. Now though, all eyes would be on her and they would be picking through the entire event, eyeing each detail to see what could be criticized and what parts of the traditions and rituals had she messed up.

Callisto tried to get Penelope to rest, trying to reassure her that he could take care of everything. Whenever such a thing would be brought up, Penelope would turn to him with a fierce look on her face.

“No! I’ve always handled this, even before we were married and now that we are, I am not going to give it up!” She said furiously.

Callisto tried to calm her down, subtly moving to soothe her by catching her hand and rubbing the back of her hand. He entwined their fingers together and kissed the back of her hand. The effects were instantaneous. Penelope’s shoulders relaxed, her breathing calmed.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re worried but it’s just…” so much of the tradition had been cut away by the late and unlamented former Queen that when Penelope had begun reinstating them, there were some push backs. The woman had been truly vain and lazy, discarding some of the more solemn traditions that had been the empresses and queens traditional roles, things of solemnity, and turned it into a mockery, a spectacle, of excessive extravagances, indulgences, and vice.

Part of the tradition had been to honour the fallen soldiers and others who had sacrificed for the good of the Empire, instead they toasted the fat purses of those which had managed to ingratiate themselves with her and her son, she had also done away with the new years alms and winter charities where the poorest within the city, the orphanages, and those who were the sickest were able to receive a meal.

The Queen’s excuse? There wasn’t any budget or funding for it. But of course there wouldn’t be, not when she and her son threw balls every other day, served only the finest wines and purchased gowns with money they’d taken from the coffers and funds set aside for such charity works. The empires worst state of finances was recorded during her tenure as the reigning lady of the empire.

And Penelope had no wish to leave the empire in such a state for her child. So she worked hard to set an example, to make sure that her babe and all other children they would have in the future would be beloved by the masses and would have their support. Because she knew one thing, there were far more commoners than there were nobles, and far more commoner knights than landed and enobled ones, and among them, quite a bit of the titled knights had relations still among the commoners.

And so, Callisto knew Penelope was trying her hardest to set things to right. He kissed her forehead and drew her close. “I know, love. But you don’t have to work so hard, let me share your burden.” He said. “Let me carry this weight for you so that you don’t have to be alone.”

“Alright.” She said as she hugged him back.

-

-

Callisto could see Penelope with her eyes out on the time. As they danced around the room, their eyes on one another, she would frequently call out the time under her breath.

“Is there something special that’s going to happen at midnight?” He asked.

“Oh, it’s just that I wanted to make sure I got the midnight kiss right for our first new year as a married couple.” She said.

“Hmm? A midnight kiss? Come to think of it, you did always pull me away in to the balcony just before midnight.” Callisto said, recalling the last few years.

“It’s meant to be good luck. If mistletoe kisses meant you’d stay with that person, then midnight kisses means a deepened bond and good luck, especially in our relationship.”

“Is that so?” Callisto said thoughtfully, an idea beginning to form in his mind.

-

-

After his speech honouring the soldiers, the scholars, mages, and the artists, and every other person who had worked hard to ensure the continued prosperity of the empire, it became increasingly clear that they wouldn’t be able to sneak away for their midnight kiss.

Callisto didn’t mind. He pulled Penelope up, a glass of wine in his hand. Everybody stared at him in confusion, the first half of the rituals had been performed to close out the old year, the speeches were done, so why were they suddenly to raise their glasses in a toast? He could see their looks.

But he took a sip and swallowed before he pulled Penelope into his arms, dipped her, and then kissed her full on the lips as the clock struck midnight marking a new year and then fireworks lit up the skies simultaneously in their first public kiss since their wedding.

Throughout the empire, the people celebrated the new year, magic used to broadcast to the people throughout the empire showed the observation of the rituals, a broadcast that allowed the people to familiarize themselves with their rulers, also showed the kiss.

In the aftermath of what would become a tradition of its own to see the Emperor and Empress mark the turn of the year with a kiss before they returned to the rituals of peace and prosperity for a new year and then to the festivities of the day, many couples would begin their own tradition of a midnight kiss, though none would get it quite as right in timing as the Emperor.

My idea is that the traditions would herald back to the time of the golden dragon and the old religion, i.e. the ancient mages, and despite the people not remembering the ancient mages for a long time, they still kept those traditions and held them sacred. The fact that some of the nobles and the Queen in particular, moved away from them left a bitter taste in their mouth. Especially when the war began shortly after the Queen began to do away with it. While it was never mentioned what had begun the war, the people still saw it as a bad omen and thought that the fact that they had taken away those rituals, many of which had to be done by the Queen or Empress, had a part to play in it, and let’s not forget the fact that a lot of the funding for the charities were cut by the Queen while she threw large celebrations and feasts, it was like a slap in the face to the people who had laboured hard but had no food to eat, and their husbands, brothers, and sons were dying on the battlefield.

So when Penelope brought back those traditions, gradually at first, until that year when she became the empress, they saw it as a good sign. And then Penelope gave birth to what people saw as the golden dragon’s second coming and they were convinced. Also, Penelope was the one who came up with the idea of broadcasting the wedding, well, technically, Callisto did, she just mentioned watching the royal weddings back when she was in Korea and he was so enthralled with the idea of showing his new wife off that he made the mages figure out how to do it. And when they had succeeded in that, Penelope thought about broadcasting just the ritual parts. And it did work and it became a tradition as ingrained as the midnight kiss.

Anyway, that’s it for now. Happy New Year! Stay healthy and safe!

[writtenbyjanee]

‘ ‘ be my baby ! ’ ’ [ chapter one ]

E . M . & F!CHEERLEADER!READER

‘‘ the night we met i , knew i needed you so! “

[ chapter 1 : » first meeting 🩵 ]

🩵

the phone on your bedside table rang , the sound shocked you awake. closing your book you picked up the phone.

“ hello ? y/n ? are you there ? “

it was your best friend , diana

“ di ? hey, what’s up ? “

“ could you uhh.. do me a huge favour and come out with me ? “

“ like right now ? i mean sure but , why ?? “

you sighed , knowing you could never say no to her. she was just too sweet , so happy all the time.

you met di during your first english class in freshman year. she was your first friend at school , you’d been to catholic school almost your whole life , but after almost an entire year of begging your parents finally agreed to send you to a ‘ normal ‘ school. you couldn’t stand all the stuck up girls at the catholic school , all so mean, turning up their noses to anyone slightly different.

which was the complete opposite of diana , maybe that was why you loved her so much.

“ yes.. right now! stacy’s band is playing tonight! remember ? ,.. uhm. i just wanted to be there for her! you know? “

stacy was another friend of yours , an aspiring starlet , she hated the restrains of small town america and would basically die to get out. you couldn’t miss her first real performance infront of people that weren’t your friends if your life depended on it!

“ oh! right , i totally forgot , that’s tonight , hang on . let me just get ready! “

“ i knew you’d come! “

she giggled a little.

“ so?? i’ll come pick you up at 8 ? park halfway down the street so your parents don’t see the car or whatever . “

“ sounds good to me , see you di ! “

“ later y/n ! “

you crept around your bedroom , careful to not make too much noise , your parents were probably still awake. you grabbed your makeup bag and began applying it in your vanity mirror , not forgetting to fix your hair.

you put on some sparkly white eyeshadow and mascara to finish off before picking out an outfit.

you settled on a little baby blue dress and a white cardigan , modest in a way but still appropriate for the occasion. you shimmied into the dress , adjusting yourself a little.

you grabbed some little white frilly socks and slid them on. rushing to pick out a purse to fill with all your belongings , deciding on a small white bag that could fit all your needed. finally stepping into your baby blue sneakers , worn out from how much you wore them.

this was the hardest part , actually leaving the house. you opened up your bedroom door , tiptoeing down the hallway all the way to the back door . you slipped out of the side gate , leaving it unlocked for when you returned later.

🩵

you basically skipped down the street to diana’s car , excited to finally get out after a long week at school.

“ y/n ! hi ! “

diana ran over to hug you.

“ hey ! “

after a small embrace the two of you got into the car and headed for the hideout. basically the only bar in hawkins , you listened to your favourite music on the way , chatting about school and gossip.

after about 15 minutes the car came to a stop and the two of you got out of her car.

“ i’m like so excited! “

diana squealed , everyone knew how much this meant to stacy , the bar was having some kind of open mic night where all the bands could play.

the two of you strolled into the bar , finding your place among the crowd of high school students and middle aged alcoholics all patiently waiting for the music to start.

after a few minutes a group of boys came out onto the stage , clad in black and a few of them holding their own instruments.

“ uh , hi , we’re corroded coffin “

a few young girls jokingly cheered and whistled for the group of boys ,

after a few short moments the band began to play , the music was loud and heavy , this wasn’t really your scene but you couldn’t just leave. you distracted yourself with admiring one of the boys , his hair was long and almost curly ,

the two of you almost made eye contact, but you instinctively looked away before he could look at you.

“ they’re really good ! “

diana yelled over the music,

“ i mean , i totally dig them ! “

you looked over at her , giggling a little , you could tell how much she enjoyed this music. diana was spontaneous, she loved new things , all things. she was like a ray of sunshine.

“ you know , they aren’t half bad? “

🩵

finally after a half hour , they finished , stacy was finally coming on .

you and diana were basically screaming for her , her curly red hair bounced as she walked , she grinned when she saw us and a few other of her friends amongst the crowd.

most people from school had come to see her if you were being honest , she was pretty popular.

she wore a light pink lipstick that shimmered in the spotlight , something out of the 1970s , you thought.

another girl from her band began to play , starting out the song , stacy began to sway to the music. her voice was angelic , soft , she was like a movie star.

“ i’m like totally in love with her . “

you said , half joking , half serious.

“ i know .. she’s magnetic ! “

di replied.

🩵

the night came to a close , you were waiting outback with diana for stacy ,

“one second , i need to get her flowers from the car ! “

diana rushed over to her car to grab the bunch of flowers she’d picked for stacy.

you hugged yourself in the cold , wishing you’d bought more than just your cardigan.

‘ fuck it ‘

you thought ,

‘ i’ll just go find her myself , and id only be five minutes , diana wouldn’t worry . ‘

you pushed open the back door searching for stacy , you were determined to find her and get home as soon as humanly possible.

in the dark of the hallway , you bumped someone’s arm , you turned around to the person.

“ ah ! i’m so sorry ! “

you looked up at the boy , the one from earlier with long hair. you’d totally die for hair like that , even if you wouldn’t openly admit it.

“ oh , you’re that guy .. from the band ,? corroded coffin ? “

he looked at you and you saw him smile,

“uh yeah , that’s me! and sorry , by the way . “

you smiled back at him.

“ that’s alright , my friend and i thought you totally rocked. “

he giggled a little at your tone of voice , why was a girl like you , so sweet , speaking to someone like him .

“ thanks. i’m eddie , by the way . “

“ that’s it ! i knew i recognised you ! and im y/n , by the way . “

“y/n , i’ve seen you around , you’re on the cheer team aren’t you ? “

you nodded at the boy ,

suddenly , you felt a manicured hand grasp your arm , you’d recognise that purple nail polish anywhere ,

“i was totally sweet out there! wasn’t i ? “

“ yeah ! you’re like .. the next stevie nicks or something! “

she grinned at you .

“ now come on , diana’s probably waiting on us! “

you turned to eddie who had already began to walk away

“ see you around ! “

you smiled gleefully at him and waved , he waved back.

you grabbed her hand and you walked out of the door,

“ did i just see you wave to eddie and then GIGGLE TO YOURSELF AFTER? ? “

stacy was wide eyed at what you just did , she never could have predicted that .

“ diana , hi! “

diana ran up to you and stacy , hugging you both.

“ i’m so proud of you stace!!! we both are ! “

diana basically yelled as she squished the two of you .

🩵

the car door slammed shut and you pressed play on the radio , letting the tape play ,

“ y/n , you never answered my question!, “

stacy glanced at you when she said this .

“ sooo, do you find eddie cute or something? “

diana turned to the two of you in shock

“ HOW AM I JUST HEARING ABOUT THIS?!! “

“ eyes on the road di ! “

you looked down in embarrassment.

“ and yes , i very well may find him ‘ cute ‘ stacy. what about it. “

you were holding back laughter, not that you weren’t serious , you just laughed in situations like this. you basically never liked anyone at school.

when the girls heard this , they basically celebrated,

“ y/n this is serious! you like , never like any guy , E-V-E-R “

diana was being dramatic , laying it on . how could she not. her best friend was finally getting a life outside of her countless romance novels.

🩵

you waved goodbye to the two girls in the car , walking down the road and into your back garden , through the gate , then to door , finally creeping up the stairs.

you quickly wiped your face in the bathroom sink and stumbled into your bedroom , sliding out of your outfit and back into your pyjamas.

you were honestly surprised how easy that was , usually there are atleast a few obstacles.

when you closed your eyes after turning out the lamp on your cluttered bedside table , you thought about eddie , maybe you DID like him .. you probably liked him .

you argued back and forth with yourself in your head , i mean , you’d only ever spoken to him once just about an hour or more ago.

but there was just something about him , something different to any other boy you’d met , his eyes were soft and kind , not like anyone else you knew.

you rolled over a little more before finally falling asleep ,

🩵 [ chapter 1 » end ]

[wishesofeternity]

"The queen’s (Elizabeth of York's) greatest generosity went to her family and those connected even peripherally with family—expenditures revealing the importance of personal ties to this queen who had lost so many loved ones to wars, executions, and natural death. One poignant expense in her Privy Purse is tiny: 3½ yards of cloth to “a woman that was nurse to the Prince, brother to the Queen’s grace.” Nineteen years after the young prince disappeared, his older sister remembered the nurse who took care of him. Similarly, she regularly sent alms to “a poor man” who was a former servant of Edward IV. ... Perhaps Queen Elizabeth was a soft touch. On December 9, 1502, she gave 12d to a “man of Pontefract” who claimed that he had lodged in his home the queen’s uncle Anthony Wydeville, earl Rivers, during the year of his execution—19 years earlier in 1483!"

Arlene Okerlund, "Elizabeth of York: Queenship and Power" / Joanna Laynesmith, "The Last Medieval Queens: English Queenship 1445-1503"

"Elizabeth Darcy, the lady mistress of the nursery for Elizabeth Woodville's children, was appointed to the same post for Elizabeth of York's children, probably as a result of the younger queen's childhood affection for Darcy."

[four-loose-screws]

FE2 Novelization Translation - Chapter 2 Part 1

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!

———————————

Chapter 2 - Mila’s Restoration Army

Part 1 - Celica Embarks on Her Journey

Black rain. Few people knew what it meant - just a fraction of clergy units - who learned of it in their studies and through their heightened spiritual senses.

The sky and earth are not filled with only good substances, such as the nourishment that fosters life. For whatever amount of good exists, so does an equal amount of bad. The black rain was the result of those bad substances gathering in such a great amount that they boiled over.

It was also proof that Earth Mother Mila was abandoning her very duties as the Earth Mother. That was the true meaning behind the black rain.

And why was Mila abandoning her duty? Had a god appeared that commanded greater control than she did? Or could it be that she was dead? So long as the black rain fell, ascertaining its cause was the sole duty of all clergy units in Zofia.

…About as far south as Ram Village, but off the southeast coast instead, was Novis, an island that took roughly three days to reach by boat from the Zofia Castle town harbor. If the Mila Shrine on the northernmost tip of Zofia was the Mila Faithful's mecca, then Novis was the central location for their clergy units to train and study.

The very same black rain that dirtied Sister Silque's cheek was also streaking down the windows of Novis' priory. A black thrush, resting its wings by the window to escape the rain, looked inside a room in the priory, and saw the bright lights of a lively banquet currently ongoing.

On this very day, a holy woman of the highest rank had been named, a Priestess unit who appeared only once every one hundred years, and excelled in both magic and sword. Because one of the core teachings of the priory was a life of modesty and simplicity, its members only drank herbal wine together. It was not a luxurious beverage, but it possessed a very deep meaning.

"May Mila bestow her divine protection upon Celica, of which she is more than worthy! May she guide this priory as Priestess to further deepen our faith."

This new Priestess' name was Celica. She was a young woman with thick hair as red as a strawberry. It had never been cut once in her entire life, and curled around her waist like a lion's mane. Transcendence need not happen at a specific age, but it was considered exceptional that she had transcended to Priestess at age eighteen. If Alm was a prodigy of swordsmanship, then Celica was a prodigy of spiritual wisdom.

After all of the various ceremonies were over, only the units closest to Celica gathered to celebrate, so the number of people at the banquet table was small. After the priory's highest ranked male clergy unit, the Sage Nomah, proposed the toast, Celica did not even drink a single drop in her glass, pursing her rose-colored lips. 

Celica was still just a baby when she was brought to the priory. To Nomah, that was as unusual as her transcending to Priestess so young. He'd watched her grow her entire life.

Nomah said, "Celica, tell me what is weighing on your heart." He saw straight through her, taking her by surprise. "I will support your decision. Though I am three times your age, you are a Priestess, and I am a Sage. We are equals. I cannot stand in the way of your path."

Celica had been impatiently awaiting this day for a long time. Now that she was a Priestess, her mind was finally made up. She said, "I've decided to go to Mila's Shrine. I want to find out where she is, and learn why the black rain is falling."

Nomah was ready to hear those words. When he became a sage, he decided to devote his abilities to teaching the students who all loved the priory dearly. But Celica was different. She was choosing to go out into the world.

"The shrine is located on the northern tip of Zofia. You will need to travel across the entire continent. But Zofia is currently being ravaged by the civil war caused by Chancellor Desaix's coup-d’etat, and groups of Brigands are taking advantage of the chaos. I have even heard that evil spirits are being set free by selfish and heartless Mage units. The roads you travel will be a far cry from what they normally are.'

"I know the violence in Zofia is because of the strange things happening to Mila."

It was also unusual for a person of the highest clergy unit rank to thrust themself into the secular world. Priestess and Sage units were a symbol of every unit's soul, and their purpose was to serve as leader of a priory or shrine, and be a sacred figure who could not be swayed from their faith. But if one looked from Celica's perspective, they would know immediately why she was so determined.

And beyond all of those details, the black rain was currently a very real reality dirtying the roof of the priory. Nomah did not even attempt to stop Celica because he felt his aging body might prevent him from taking the long journey to the shrine; and as a holy man, he should devote himself to his sole duty.

"You should take as many people as you need with you." Nomah said.

In response, out of the numerous people sitting around the banquet table, three young units all stood up at the same time and walked behind Celica. Among them were two Mage units, a young man named Boey and a young woman named Mae. The final member was a cleric named Genny, who shared the exact same ideals with Celica. They all still had youth in their facial features, but Nomah knew they were the three top students at the priory who would go with Celica. She did not even have to ask.

-

"Sage Nomah is so formal it's a huge pain! He was like that the other day, too! He already knew that Lady Celica had decided to travel, and when he ordered me to travel with her, he also told me which chair to sit in, and exactly what to do, step-by-step!" Boey said from the back of the group.

Celica was the lead, the middle was Sister Genny, and Mae was in the back with Boey. They traveled in that formation down the road at night, the priory lights already far off in the distance.

Mae answered, "It's all because he loves her so much! You may not have noticed because you're a boy, but he had tears in his eyes. He really did! He even remembers changing her diapers! …Oh, that was rude of me to say out loud."

Celica looked back with a smile on her face. Mae bowed in response, but did not look too sorry about her own mistake, as she also quickly stuck her tongue out.

Boey snorted, folded his arms underneath his mage's cloak, and said, "Nomah is old. He's just gotten soft."

"Don't try to tell me you're some kind of big manly man!" Mae retorted to Boy's rude words without skipping a beat.

"You're such a child! I'm gonna call you babbling baby Boey!"

"I'll never forgive you for talking to me like that, Mae!"

"I'm just saying that a baby like you, who can only cast Thunder, can't understand how deep his feelings are."

"Is that a threat?!"

"You are so rude to women! How are you going to fight me when you slack off in your wind magic training every chance you get?! You know I'm better than you in every way. After I wipe the floor with you, you'll be begging me to forgive you! You're such a baby you can't even drink herbal wine without adding sugar to it. Babbling baby Boey!" Mae shouted.

Genny finally couldn't take it any more, and angrily stepped between them.

Ever since they came to the priory as children, as they both concentrated on their studies, they had developed a relationship like that of siblings. To outside observers, they sounded as if they were having an intense argument, but their fights were actually a sign of how close they were.

However, there was no time for them to have such fun right now.

There was a reason why they had decided to set out not in the morning, but at night. The base of Grieth's Pirates was located in the deserts of central Zofia, and they had for some time been sending ships out into the strait between Novis and the Zofian mainland. However, they were now finally beginning to act like Novis itself was their land to do as they pleased with. Though at first they acted as thieves stealing in the night, being little more than an annoyance to the people; recently, they had begun to show themselves during the day. Now, the greatest danger at night was simply the darkness, making it once again the safer time of day to be outside.

So long as nothing got in their way, they would make it to Port Novis by daybreak to secure a ship and travel to Zofia. However, that would not end up being the case, as Celica realized when she sensed a presence nearby, and stopped moving.

"Someone's coming! Stay in formation!" She said, and drew the sword at her belt.

"Is it Brigands?!" Boey whispered.

"No, not Brigands!" Mae answered. "I don't feel any warmth from their bodies in the night air. They aren't human!"

"Ghosts!" Genny shouted in response to the figure that appeared from the darkness. 

Ghosts are the spirits of the dead, both those that no longer have a corpse; and those whose corpses had long ago been buried beneath the ground, then come out from the ground to gather together and take new form. One of Earth Mother Mila's duties was to keep the souls of all dead life within the ground so that they could not escape. Their appearance made Celica feel that something very, very wrong must be happening.

They had no idea how many ghosts there were. The ghosts wore withered plant matter, innards and bones of beasts attacked by wolves, and rotting flesh on their bodies to give them human-like form. Thinking that killing a human would mean they could obtain a new body that perfectly matched their desired form, the entire group inched closer and closer, their intent to kill very clear to sense in the air.

"Boey, Mae, protect Genny!" Celica said, and raised her sword. "This is a new type of Terror I have never seen before. Don't cast any spells until I give the order!" She jumped like a deer crossing between two rocks, and swung her sword at the head of a ghost. 

Having taken a direct hit from the Priestess' sword, the ghost vanished, leaving behind its small pile of rotting matter.

"These guys are total wimps!" Boey breathed in surprise at the sight of how easily the ghost went down. "I'll show you what my wind magic can do, and you'll never say I slack off ever again!!" He said to Mae, underestimating the ghosts.

"Don't do it! What did Lady Celica just say?!" Genny shouted, but it was already too late. She tried to grab the hem of his mage's cloak to stop him, but it slipped through her fingers, and Boey ran off towards a group of ghosts still far off from them.

"Wind! Cut through my enemies!" He chanted a wind spell. For a moment, his body was enveloped by it, then the gust shot out and shook the ghosts' flesh and leaves. However, that was all it did before the wind petered out.

Without mastering a spell first, there was no chance that it could have an effect on any foe. The ghosts immediately circled Boey.

"You're such an idiot!" Mae shouted, and started running. As the ghosts wriggled their way closer and closer to Boey like maggots, she chanted a Thunder spell. "Thunder! Slay my enemies!"

A bolt of lightning appeared in the sky and pierced the darkness, falling amongst the group of ghosts, smashing them to pieces. After they all disappeared and returned to piles of rotting matter, Boey stood up from the middle of it all, covered in viscera and clumps of putrid stems and leaves. 

Contrary to her ashamed expression, Mae was actually furious, but it was only a moment later that something made her freeze where she stood, and forget all about Boey's rash move.. 

She whirled around to see that Genny had been captured by a ghost. It was dragging her into the even deeper darkness of a cluster of trees. 

When Genny looked at Celica, she saw her slashing away with her sword, surrounded by a group of seemingly never ending ghosts.

Mae ran after Genny, with Boey following after her. 'The ghost that took Genny must have disappeared around here!' She guessed, and walked into the trees, but their thick branches blocked the sun, and the area was truly pitch black. Then, a small ball of fire appeared from within the darkness when her torch went out.

The fire slowly got bigger and bigger, proving that it was coming closer and closer.

Was the fire the faint light that a ghost emitted? Or perhaps another new enemy? Mae froze once again, this new development making her nervous once more. She instinctively reached out to grab Boey's hand, who was standing next to her, proving that no matter what she said out loud, she still depended on him. Boey spread his cape open to hide her in its shadow and protect her.

The fire was now close enough that they could clearly see what it was - the light of another torch. A unit, holding a torch in their mouth, was always coming their way through the trees. Because of where they held the torch, Mae and Boey could clearly make out their facial features, and see that he was a young male unit with unkempt hair.

He had his torch in his mouth because something - or rather someone - was in his arms. It was none other than Genny, unconscious but safe.

An eye patch made from wolf hide covered his right eye, and judging by the light armor he wore, he was a Mercenary, a unit with their own freedom that worked under contract. A Mercenary's core principles were centered around their own personal profits. The benefits they could reap from their contract was their absolute. And so, when they met a Mercenary they did not know, it was common sense for all units to first judge whether or not they were an enemy. And on top of that, while Brigands ignored all rules, no units were truly allowed on the holy island of Nova aside from clergy, meaning his presence here was very suspicious. Boey did what was only natural, and shifted into a fighting stance.

"Thank you for your assistance. I have no intention of fighting you." The unit spit out his torch atop the grass and said. He paid no mind to Boey and his threat of a fight, instead gently laying Genny down beside the grass now brightly lit by his torch. "This cleric's quite a beauty. I assume she's with you religious sheep, and got snatched away by that lump of garbage."

Boey's face turned red with rage upon hearing words that belittled his sacred duties. "A hired thug like you has no right to speak to me like that!" Boey shouted, and drew the mark of a fire spell into the air.

"You may be overreacting, but seeing as how you couldn't protect a lone cleric, you don't seem to know much about magic!"

“Fire!” …Boey chanted and tried to attack, but the mercenary was too fast. 

He must have been experienced in battle, as he danced expertly through the shadows of the complex and twisted trees. Whether wielding a physical weapon like swords or magic, terrain has huge influence over the effectiveness of an attack. That was why he put his back against the trees, and would never reveal himself on open ground like Boey and Mae were on. All Boey's fire magic did was turn three trees to ash.

"I'm not sticking around to be cooked and served for dinner! I'm not a sheep!" The mercenary shouted from the darkness before all signs of his presence finally disappeared.

[snowberry-crostata]

Holidays of Skyrim, Part II

Still riding that headcanon train to get back in the habit of writing! Here’s some more Skyrim holidays reimagined:

Warriors Festival

While the Warriors Festival is little more than an excuse to buy a half-priced blade in other parts of the Empire, the Nords of Skyrim see the event as a rite of passage. Warriors of all stripes, from the freshly-blooded to grizzled veterans, travel to Skyrim’s city to test their mettle in tournaments of strength and skill. While there’s a heavy purse of gold for the winners, the bragging rights and the ability to claim the title of strongest warrior in the hold are the true prize.

Though a wide variety of events are on display for spectators— wrestling, ax-throwing, bare-knuckle boxing, and one-on-one dueling being particular favorites— none is more popular than the melee, a mock battle where teams of two to five warriors fight for dominance. While blood, bruises, and broken limbs are a common occurrence, modern tournament matches are rarely fatal. This was accomplished by means of a steep weregild for fighters who kill their competitors, first introduced by High Queen Jolethe in 3E 152.

The glittering spectacle of the Warriors Festival extends well beyond the ring. Warpaint, in a dazzling array of colors and designs, is used to display the affiliations and aesthetics of the warriors. Fighters of all sexes commonly go shirtless to better display their designs. Blacksmiths and arms merchants travel from far and wide to display their best wares, sometimes gifting weapons and armor to particularly prominent warriors in an attempt to raise their own status. Street food vendors are out in force to sate the appetites of the ravenous, bloodthirsty crowds. The mead flows freely at these events, sometimes leading to brawls among the spectators (a practice that is highly discouraged, and often ends with a night in jail).

North Wind’s Prayer

By the ides of Evening Star, winter has blanketed the land of Skyrim. In this landscape of frigid stillness the North Wind’s Prayer is a traditional day for visiting one’s local temple to give offerings and prayers, both for the boons or woes already encountered and for those still to come. Prayers for the winter are common on this day. Interestingly, while some Nords pray for a gentle winter and early spring, others request the kind of bitter cold that allows them to test their worth against their harsh homeland (one wonders, then, if the two prayers cancel each other out).

Knowing that many who come are suffering the hardships of the long, dark winter, temple priests often provide food or alms and offer healing and blessings at reduced prices. The followers of Tsun, god of trials against adversity, are an exception to this, and pilgrims to his shrines often choose to suffer ascetic— and occasionally fatal— trials in their pursuit of worthiness.

Old Life Festival

The Old Life Festival, coinciding with the winter solstice, is a somber and holy day that takes place deep in the darkness of winter. It is associated with the dead god Shor, ruler of Sovngarde, and his widow Kyne. Many Nords visit shrines to leave offerings and messages of remembrance for loved ones. This is a time for reflection on one’s past deeds and reminiscing on companions who have since passed.

The Old Life Festival is one of the only Nord holidays where asceticism is regularly practiced. Fasting during the solstice is common and drinking, especially to excess, is deeply frowned upon. Some claim that this is done to mark the solemnity and sobriety of the occasion; cynics counter that it is done to leave room for the excesses of the New Life Festival’s feasts. As with most things, the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

New Life Festival

Having made it through the long, dark night of the winter solstice, the Nords of Skyrim make merry and celebrate the dawning of the new year with raucous joy. In some parts of southern Skyrim this festival also celebrates the return of the sun following the polar night.

Massive midwinter feasts, hosted at long communal tables in the town squares, are the centerpiece of the occasion. A wide variety of local delicacies are shared; in The Pale, honey-glazed horker seasoned with juniper is particularly popular. Snowberries, ubiquitous and available year-round, feature heavily in dishes ranging from succulent pies to snowberry and sage-stuffed grouse to snowberry wine.

Dancing, singing, and comedic performances by local bards are popular events, as are a wide variety of games. These games vary by region: sled races are popular in Winterhold (particularly among the College apprentices; rules have had to be established about magical interference), while a popular game in Haafingar involves blindfolded players trying to track down an “it” who wears a ring of jingling bells.

Brave souls living around the River Yorgrim in Eastmarch have a long tradition of jumping naked into the icy river to prove their courage and receive good fortune for the new year. In southern Skyrim, especially Whiterun, there is a long-standing tradition of gift-giving between the Jarls and their subjects. Citizens provide a gift to the Jarl— often a livestock animal, bushel of grain, or artisan craft— and are given a gift in return, usually in the form of valuable spices, ceremonial weapons, or even (for those particularly in the Jarl’s favor) lands or a title.

[albertfinch]

LIVING LIKE JESUS

All the prophets of old prophetic utterances came to a fullness of time juncture when the young virgin agreed with Heaven and answered, "Let it be according to your Word" (Luke 1:38). And the Word became flesh and dwelt among men and brought with Him the fullness of the Father's prosperity.

FRUIT OF THE SPIRIT

True prosperity is not the accumulation of wealth -- it is health, joy, peace and all nine fruit of the spirit. Peace is a victory that overcomes the world (Galatians 5:22-23).

The woman at the well-received spiritual prosperity. She became the first evangelist in the world. She came to the well for a drink of water but what she received was far greater; she received the gift of everlasting life. Through her prosperity she caused all of Samaria to prosper as well. The whole village got saved because she spread the good news of her Messiah.

In Acts 3 we read the account of the man lame from birth that lay at the gate of the temple called Beautiful. When Peter and John approached the temple, the lame man asked them for alms. Instead of money the lame man received the greatest prosperity of his life when Peter told him to pick up his bed and walk.

The woman with the issue of blood received her physical prosperity when she touched the hem of Jesus' garment. She touched the anointing and that is our greatest prosperity.

The Gadarene maniac not only experienced mental prosperity but spiritual, physical, and emotional as well when Jesus cast a legion of demons from him.

"And they came to Jesus and looked intently and searchingly at the man who had been a demoniac, sitting there, clothed and in his right mind, [the same man] who had had the legion [of demons]; and they were seized with alarm and struck with fear." -. Mark 5:15

SENT TO ADVANCE THE KINGDOM OF GOD

God is trying to bring His people to a place where they learn how to live from heaven towards earth.  The reason is that His heart is for heaven to exist on earth, thereby advancing His Kingdom. The desire to go to heaven can never cancel out His command to us to bring heaven to earth.

When Jesus sent the disciples out He said, "Freely (without pay) you have received, freely (without charge) give" (Matthew 10:8b). He did not send them out to get but to GIVE. Near the end of Jesus' ministry He checked with the disciples about their experience when He sent them out.

"And He said to them, When I sent you out with no purse or [provision] bag or sandals, did you lack anything? They answered, Nothing!" -  Luke 22:35

They did not travel with luggage or money, yet they lacked nothing. They GAVE freely out what Jesus had imparted to them.

It's important to see that we can live in that same place of abundant prosperity.

ALBERT FINCH MINISTRY

[edmundhoward]

“… she handed the headsman a purse containing some coins: his fee and alms for the poor. Her ladies then removed her hood, gloves and mantle and caught her auburn hair into a white linen coif. Next, they bound her eyes with bandages so that she would not see the ground rising to meet her in those final few seconds before the darkness came. They then withdrew to the back of the scaffold. They still had one more duty to perform for their mistress. Katherine knelt and said her prayers; then she positioned herself on the block just as she had rehearsed during the last short night of her life. Mercifully, the headsman removed her head with a single stroke of the axe. Katherine’s ladies stepped forward now and covered her body with a black cloak before laying it to one side.”

— Josephine Wilkinson, Katherine Howard

[jezabelofthenorth]

After the ceremony, one of the ‘poor women’ returned to the queen’s almoner, presumably John Skipp, to ask whether the purse she received was indeed meant for her, as she had never received such a generous sum before. The incident is used to highlight Anne’s largesse and Katherine’s miserliness, since Latymer states that the woman had received royal alms before and was ‘well acquainted therewith’. While it’s obvious that Latymer was attempting to paint Katherine in an unfavourable light, it does appear that Anne spent significantly more on her Maundy ceremony than her predecessor. In 1536, the Queen’s Maundy cost £31. 3s. 9½d, equivalent to around £14,000 in today’s money. This sum would have included the gifts of money and clothing for the poor women, as well as other goods needed for the Royal Maundy, including aprons, towels, tubs, bowls and transport costs for ferrying the goods from place to place. That Anne felt a responsibility to the poor is undeniable, but Katherine also took her role of almsgiver very seriously, so much so that she was unwilling to give it up, even when commanded to.

The Final Year of Anne Boleyn, Natalie Grueninger

[lya-dustin]

Someone will remember us

Chapter 24

Cw: some ableism

Taglist:@arrthurpendragon @fyeahhotdocs @stargaryenx @ocappreciationtag

Gif by:@alicentloyalist

Jaehaerys and Alysanne, they call them.

She wears a white riding coat over her blue dress and her hair is bound in a thick braid with a white and blue ribbon.

Aemee is a social creature, she enjoyed these sorts of outings.

Aemond loathes them with a passion.

He hates being put on display like that as he accompanied Aemma to give alms, visit shopkeepers and check on her charities, but he does it because he would never forgive himself if she had a fit and died like Princess Viserra did.

Gerardys had missed that in his studies, Viserra had only lost control of her horse because of a sudden loss of movement in her hands.

It had been removed from public knowledge, but his father had grown up with his aunt as children and remembered his aunt’s fits.

Aemma has fits, he had told Viserys in secret when he knew there was no one hearing them.

“Stop fretting, Aemond, you are starting to remind me of mama.” Aemma hates having people hover over her. Makes her nervous, always has. “I am starting to think I should have never told you about it.”

I have dreams, Aemma had amended when her grandfather looked at her with pity, war is coming, the dragons will die if your succession is not clear.

“I only seek to protect you from yourself, Aemee.” He forced a smile and waved at the people who cheered for them.

They only cheer for him when he is with her or Helaena. Never when he is out with Aegon or his mother, two people who do not seem to share their moment in the sun with others.

“I am fine, Aemond. I have had these since I was ten, you need to trust me on this.”  She shook his worries off. “Didn’t you hate it when everyone hovered and tried to keep you from living your life when you lost your eye?”

She shouldn’t compare their situations, but she does because she can’t even think straight when people think she is a damsel in need of a knight to protect her from everything.

His right eye narrowed in agitation, he had beautiful eyes, closer to blue than purple, but that wasn’t about that.

“That isn’t the same.” He argued.

“Oh, really, the both of us are hampered by something that is completely out of our control and people expect us to just roll over and die instead of fighting to not only to live, but thrive despite it?” she points out and he pursed his lips in annoyance.

She was right, sure their disabilities were vastly different and Aemond’s is far worse by a long shot, but people treated them the same way for it.

They treat Aemma like she’s made of glass and as an invalid despite being perfectly fine, and people treat Aemond like his life and dreams of proving his mettle should be over because he has no left eye.

“I am not saying that my thing is just as terrible as yours, but you of all people should know better than to tell me what I can or can’t do, Aemond.” She whispered furiously.

“Aemee—” he begins but can’t form an argument against hers. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

I love you and don’t want you to die, that is his argument.

“I know, and I love for it, Aemond, but I need you to trust me and remember I know my own limitations.”

Just like she trusts him not to push his own limits and doesn’t run interference on his life.

“Gods, I had this exact conversation with mother after I told her I was resuming my training with Cole.” I’m sorry that is what he means to say. Will he ever say the words? Who knows.

“I am not going to die, Aemond. Best be assured of that.” Aemma assured him that.

-----

“If I had been given your Pearl of Dragonstone, I don’t think I would have left her a maid the second I was left alone with her.” Aegon comments loudly and he thanks the Seven Aemee did not come to dine with them. “Tyrell sends his congratulations, Laenor wasn’t lucky enough to have a maid on his wedding night, you know.”

“What are you on about, Aegon?” He asks in confusion.

He hadn’t dishonored Aemee, and he has no idea why her honor would be called into question when he was sure no one saw him. Besides, Teora would have skinned him with her needle if he had tried anything but a chaste kiss after he properly asked her for her hand.

“Didn’t Cole tell you what business mother dearest and the Maester had in your sweet Aemee's rooms this morning?”

Aemond looked at his mother hoping his drunken brother was wrong.

“It had to be done.” His mother answered his unspoken question. “Your visit to her rooms two nights ago was seen and I had the small council asking what should be done about your trysts with Rhaenyra’s daughter.”

“So instead of asking your own son about it you choose to publicly humiliate the heir of the Princess of Dragonstone, mama?” he asks her wondering what was going on through her head.

To have her examined without the consent of her mother or Vaemond’s meant that the queen assumed she was a whore and had no trust in her own son to behave honorably.

A bad play, one that will anger the blacks and one that hurts him deeply.

She didn’t trust him.

She had made him swear to never betray them, and yet his mother believed him to have fucked his intended and judged him guilty the second she heard of it.

“Do not judge me, Aemond.” She defended her actions.

“What did mother do, why is Aemond wroth with her?” Helaena asks naively when she comes in late.

“Our lady mother had Aemma’s virtue inspected instead of asking me if I had dishonored her.” He answered not hiding his anger at her lack of trust.

His own mother, his mother who always fought his corner, does not trust him.

“Mama, how could you?” Helaena asks their mother in disbelief.

“It had to be done.” She repeats herself, but only looks at him. “You hate me now, but you will thank me when no one questions the paternity of your children when they are born.”

“If anyone would have even insinuated such a thing, they would be making their arguments to Vhagar, but it isn’t about that, you showed the entire realm you do not trust me, mother.” The wine isn’t strong enough to make the bad taste leave his mouth.

He loves his mother, and he knows she loves him, but not once has she ever been distrustful of him.

-----

“She did what?” Rhaenyra raged in her council chamber.

“Princess Aemma’s virtue was called into question when a rat catcher saw Prince Aemond leave her room in the hour of the wolf. The rat catcher said he had seen the princess kiss the prince who called her his betrothed.” Daemon read the report his spies had sent. “Queen Alicent believed her son to have deflowered the princess and had her examined by Maester Orwyle. The girl flailing and kicking the entire time, broke the nose of a handmaiden, bit another and told the Queen she would die alone and forgotten.”

“It is one thing for her to slander me, but it is another thing to go after my daughter. Gods, I cannot believe she would call my daughter a whore when it is her fucking son who’s seducing my little girl.” Rhaenyra paced in fury.

Ungrateful child her Aemma turned out to be, she refused a perfectly good man and now gives into the machinations of that one-eyed prick.

He will turn her against them, she knows it in her bones.

Love makes you stupid.

Stupid enough to stop taking moon tea and conceive knowing how difficult Viserys’ birth had been.

Stupid enough to think a baby would be enough to stop Daemon from fucking the Lyseni banker the moment her back was turned.

“That isn’t all, Nyra. Mysaria says your girl plans to elope with the sapphire-eyed fuck on her name day banquet with the blessing of your father. Something about ensuring the matter of your succession being secured with it.” He handed her the coded letters for her to read with her own eyes.

“I dislike this, Daemon. He will claim her unfit because of her condition, they will steal her throne the moment I am dead. I just know it.”

How could Aemma be so stupid? How could Rhaenyra let Aemma be raised to think she could trust young men with enough ambition to fill the sea.

“I need to stop this.” She concludes. She will fly to Kingslanding, force her to marry Stark and save her sweet girl from a life of misery.

“You will do no such thing, wife,” the Rogue Prince crossed his arms. “You could send her to the end of the world, and she will just take Silverwing and fly back to his arms, the only thing you will have succeeded in doing will have been in making it easier for the Green Witch to poison her against you.”

“How can you say that? This is my child, Laenor’s only child we are speaking of!” she shouts at him in disbelief. “Marriage is a life long commitment, the moment she weds Aemond he will ---"

“The moment he hurts her he will be answering to Dark Sister and Seasmoke will have the privilege of finishing the job, my love.” Daemon assured her with a wicked smile.

Rhaenyra won’t need her husband to kill Aemond One-Eye should he ever hurt her precious daughter, no, Rhaenyra Targaryen will kill him with her bare hands if he ever hurts Aemma.

[sweetearthandnorthernsky]

morinel's ridiculous time travel au -- the fic

Part Two; in which introductions are made. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

Morinel blinks. 

Several times in a row, actually. She must look like there is something in her eyes.

Around her, the two others are also blinking. 

“I would ask where we are,” says the one with shaggy hair and bruises – and she would say that she’s 60% sure she knows who this is but she would really rather not make assumptions – “But I think that’s fairly obvious.”

Aman, of course, in the Years of the Trees. 

(Hundreds – or potentially thousands – of years before Morinel is born.)

Great. Fantastic, actually.

“So… Ought we introduce ourselves to each other?” In… not Quenya now, Sindarin, but flavored with an accent Morinel doesn’t quite know.

Morinel considers. “I think that might be a good idea.”

They all stare at each other. 

Eventually, the one who proposed the idea rolls her eyes. “I’ll go first then?” She takes a breath. “Finduilas Faelivrin.”

The one with shaggy hair goes next, inclining his head gravely as if it were a matter of life and death. “Maeglin”

“Morinel,” she purses her lips. There is no sign of recognition and then she adds: “Daughter of Caranthir.”

She should not be upset -- she'd been young when Maeglin died and that was in Gondolin, which recieved little news, and younger still when Finduilas died, but still.

It rankles, having to introduce herself and having to add her father's name for context (again).

But, Maeglin and Finduilas take her being Feanorian remarkably well -- she knows that some of her other cousins would not have -- and she is grateful for that.

A long moment of silence.

“So, why are we here?” Finduilas asks, frowning at the sky. 

Maeglin is preoccupied with studying his hands.

“What do the three of us have in common?” Morinel says.

The other two frown and Morinel turns away from Laurelin – it is too bright for her and the others do the same. 

“I think the most obvious is that we are descendants of Finwe, no?” Finduilas muses, and she is very, very calm for someone with her own blood still drying on her dress.

“And we were all born in Beleriand.”  Morinel glances down at Tirion. 

There is an addition to the bell-tower that she remembers her parents saying was added after a mishap that somehow involved her father and his cousins. 

She doesn’t remember what the mishap was, or if it was before or after Morgoth was unchained, but it at least gives her a pretty good guess at when they are.

Maeglin looks up then, playing with the chain on his necklace. “That means that if we are in the past, and not dreaming, we cannot run into ourselves.” 

“And there are three of us.” Morinel knows Three is an important number to the Eldar – maybe even Eru and the Valar.

Three sets of Luminaries (Lamps, Trees, Sun and Moon), Three groups of Eldar (Noldor, Vanyar, Teleri), Three Rings, Three Silmarils, Three stages of Arda (Unmarred, Marred, Healed), Three sons of Finwe…

“That seems relevant.” Finduilas says finally. “And each of us is from a different House.”

“We are all grandchildren of the leader of our house too.” Maeglin theorizes. “Not great-grandchildren.”

Three.

“That means we are the third generation. From Finwe.” Morinel says, running her hands through the grass.

(The grass here is incredibly soft and green.)

Finduilas asks what the last thing they remember was, before waking up… she makes a vague gesture… here.

Morinel tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“I was reaching for something I shouldn’t have, upon reflection–” She realizes how this sounds. “Not a Silmaril. A small mechanical bird. I touched it – but I think I touched something else in the process, something bad, and blacked out. Woke up here.”

Maeglin shrugs. 

“Falling.” 

He says it so simply.

Finduilas gestures to the stain on her dress. “My death.”

The three of them sit in a long silence before Maeglin breaks it. “So, again, I ask why we’re here.”

Morinel has no answer.

Finduilas shrugs. “Could we ask the Valar?”

Almost at once–

“Do you think that they’ll help?” – “Are we sure they can help us?” 

Finduilas tilts her head. 

“That is why we ask, is it not?”

[silver-blooded-synthetics]

Continued from here with @interestellar-butterfly

She knew that Alma could be a prude most of the time and she liked to provoke him, as it was funny that her boyfriend was such a good boy, she was so sure of it as she had never seen him under any other light so Gia was convinced that she would always be the one to bring passion into the relationship. “Oh nothing, okay, sorry, damn…” the girl rolled her eyes as she settled back into her seat, she couldn’t help but take a deep breath as she looked out the window at the road. She hated that sometimes Alma put so many limits on her when it came to showing her desire for him. He was the first boyfriend she’d had with this problem and even though Alma was adorable and the best boyfriend she could have sometimes it frustrated her. “Let’s go to one of the clubs my father owns…” Gia finally muttered as she looked at the hand mirror she had in her purse. The club wasn’t that far from Takeshi’s house and upon arrival all the security there recognized the car and of course Gia, who got out of the car as one of them opened the car door for her and her boyfriend and called the valet to park the car. “Hi George, how are you today?” the girl greeted one of the more serious looking security men “I don’t think we can accept a valet, uh… you see, we don’t have the key to the car, so here it will stay.” she said with a giggle as she grabbed her boyfriend’s hand “Keep the secret!” The man nodded once and opened the doors to the place passing them first, just ahead of the line of people waiting to get in, that were looking at Gia and Alma stunned and quite annoyed. Another security led them up to the second floor of the club where the club’s VIP area was, full of high-level but shady and questionable business people, some of them suit wearing men greeted Gia, as she knew them. She then sat down at the table reserved for her and her boyfriend, and a bottle of “Yamazaki” whiskey was placed in front of them with two glasses. “This is the only one I can drink, sorry. The others are too strong…” she said as she took a sip of the whiskey. “Tonight is for us and I promise to take care of you if you get drunk, don’t worry, surely my father’s driver will come to pick us up and send for the car later, so relax and enjoy with your girlfriend, ok? do we have a deal?” Gia moved closer to her boyfriend and wanted to kiss him but she would let him make that decision, she didn’t want to put more pressure on him than she had that night.

Alma had to try very hard to keep himself under control when she touched him, but she seemed disappointed in him for it. "Look, it's not that I don't enjoy you touching me... there's just a time and a place... okay?" He said softly to her, hoping she would understand. She just muttered about going to one of the clubs her father owned, seemingly ignoring him. Alma sighed, but drove to the destination without any further comments.

When they arrived, Alme stepped out of the car, allowing the Valet to open the door for him. Gia seemed familiar with the men and told them the situation, telling them to keep it a secret. Alma couldn't help but blush in shame for stealing the car, looking to the side nervously. But the men seemed to take it in stride.

Apparently this wasn't new behavior for Gia.

She led Alma by the hand past the crowds, cutting the line and taking him straight to the VIP area. It seemed Gia was familiar with a lot of the people here. He noticed her saying hello to some rather intimidating men as if they were completely harmless. Something felt off about it to Alma though. But he kept his mouth shut.

Instead, he took to sitting quietly as Gia ordered them a bottle of Japanese alcohol. As she apologized to him, saying it was the only kind she could drink because others were too strong, Alma shook his head. "I don't mind that..." He hoped it would mean he could drink with her without getting too intoxicated. He didn't like the idea of losing control of himself.

However, Gia's reassurances helped him calm down a bit. Maybe he was being too uptight... Her reaction earlier that night made him feel guilty. "Do you... do you think I'm boring?" he asked her quietly. As she scooted closer to him, he looked at her with a melancholy look in his eyes. He didn't want her to get bored of him and leave him because he was no fun...

Leaning in, he gave her a long, sensual kiss, trying to communicate through it just how much he loved her, and how desperate he was to stay with her. Even if it meant changing and going against everything he'd ever been taught, Alma would leave behind those rules and restraints for her. He wanted Gia to love him too...

"We have a deal," he agreed after breaking the kiss off. He then reached for the Yamazaki whiskey and poured them each a glass before taking a sip of his. The taste of the alcohol burned the back of his throat, but he ignored it. It wasn't something he usually enjoyed, but tonight he promised Gia he would let loose. He was determined to follow through with that promise. He didn't want her to think of him as a killjoy.