#he sheds in autumn and december

[gl0wy-gh0st]

Owo, what's this (help me)

This little parasite has been invading my brain for ages so I had to draw him

I should probably start adding watermarks to my art 😭

[elspethdixon]

A reminder: when the radio is playing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” for the three zillionth time and it’s driving you crazy, take a deep breath and remember that reindeer/caribou are the only deer species where both sexes grow antlers, and that the male reindeer shed theirs in the autumn, while females keep their antlers the entire winter.

Which means… that Santa’s reindeer would have to be female in order to still have antlers on midwinter as usually depicted (which explains the use of dainty feminine names like Dancer and Vixen):

And, most importantly, means that this guy with he/him pronouns sporting a full rack on December 24th is a transmasc holiday icon:

[steam-beasts]

Oh Sheep!

December had rolled around on Sodor, and the snow was at its strongest. On the Arlesdale Railway, Diesel Junior – or "DJ" as he liked to be called – was resting in the diesel sheds at Arlesburgh West. It was early morning, but the schedules were a lot more relaxed than how they were during the autumn rush.

DJ was sitting at the very back of the shed, fast asleep and trying to keep his radiator warm. Just then, the doors slowly swung open, the chilly air sweeping in. DJ's face at the cold and opened his eyes to see Mr Fergus Duncan walking towards him.

"Good morning, DJ. Apologies for waking you" He said. DJ yawned "It's alright, Mr Duncan. Do...Do you need me to do something?" He asked tiredly. Mr Duncan hummed softly in agreement "Yes, I need you to go to Arlesdale Green to collect a left behind ballast cart. Rex forgot to bring it before going to sleep" the Small Controller explained.

DJ raised an eyebrow "Not that I'm refusing to do it, Mr Duncan. But can't one of the Blister twins do that? Or...Frank?"

Mr Duncan sighed "The Blister twins are off doing a passenger run, and Frank is away taking wool bales to market" he replied with a shrug.

"Oh, well...ok. I'll go"

Mr Duncan gently smiled, giving DJ's roof a pat "Atta boy. Off you go!" DJ lightly smiled back and watched as the Small Controller turned heel and left the shed.

Eventually, the little diesel soon set off out of the sheds and into the cold himself, wincing at the bright light after being shrouded in the dark shed.

Snow had begun to fall by the time DJ reached the Arlesburgh bridge street. He glanced at the upcoming platform to see a couple of workers shoveling away snow, and a middle aged lady. This was the Stationmaster, seemingly wanting to talk to him as she waited on the platform. DJ frowned.

"Oh no, not her!" The little diesel groaned quietly "She's always pestering me about something small and unimportant..."

He was proved to be correct as the Stationmaster took out a red flag waved him down. DJ knew he shouldn't be disrespectful despite his annoyance from her, so he slowed to a stop with a fake grin on his face, plus, she had a red flag so it was probably important... this time "Is something the matter, Mrs Stationmaster?" He asked sweetly ."Yes, you don't happen to be going towards the Marthwaite Woodland area, do you?"

"Yeah, I'm collecting a stray ballast truck down at the green. Is something wrong?" He replied nonchalantly. The Stationmaster scratched her head "Well, due to a shortage of sand, the tracks beyond the Ffarqhuarr road don't have any grit, so best be careful" she warned. DJ honked his horn in acknowledgement and continued on down the line. Once she couldn't see his face, DJ rolled his eyes "Pah, 'be careful' she said. Nonsense, the rails can't be slippy! I haven't slipped on them, neither of the twins have slipped, and neither has Frank. All that comes out of her mouth is a bunch of malarkey!" He scoffed. As he said this, a few cars on the road nearby were slipping and swerving, not dangerously of course.

By the time DJ reached the Ffarqhuarr road, the snow fall was getting heavier, and more like a blizzard. DJ had to squint a little as Farmer Willie came dawdling by with a cart packed with sheep. Willie noticed DJ and came to a brief stop "Hullo' there, DJ! You alright?"

DJ gazed up at Willie and smiled "I'm F-Fine, Farmer Willie. I'm just going up to collect a ballast truck!"

Willie hummed and nodded "Ah, ok..." he said before glancing over at his sheep. Some were asleep, some were not and simply sat in the cart...not all of them were accounted for. He then heard DJ gasp "Are those sheep?!"

Willie shook out of his small daydream "Oh, uh– yes! My boss wants me to take these little guys to the barn for winter!"

A sheep then looked over at DJ and bleated, making the diesel "Aww! Hi there!" He cooed. Farmer Willie just stared at the sheep for a solid minute before realising something "Oh yeah, uh...DJ? If you see a sheep on it's own somewhere, let me know please. It, uh... got out. It has a little bell around its neck and... it's not here..." He trailed off, staring into space.

DJ wasn't listening, he was more focused on the sheep "Look at your little faces...what were you saying, Farmer Willie?"

Farmer Willie shook his head again and scratched his head, haven partially forgotten about what he was talking about "Huh? O-Oh, erm...look out for sheep! Oh crumbs, I better get going" He muttered before driving off. DJ honked goodbye to the farmer and set off once more once the gates reopened.

DJ chuckled to himself "Hehe, sheep..."

____________________________________________

The Marthwaite Woods were littered with trees and bushes. The bare tree branches had icicles dangling off of them. The bushes were piled on with snow and the rails were all icy and slippery, but DJ didn't know this yet.

DJ honked his horn and took his time to look at his surroundings "Wow, the forest looks so mysterious during winter..." he commented to himself.

He then looked forward and remembered that Arlesdale Green was a few miles ahead. He smirked confidently and went faster up the steep track "Nearly there, nearly there" He panted eagerly.

However, the little baby diesel had to come to a stop as up ahead, a lone sheep stood on the line, using its nose and hoof to dig at the snow – presumably in search for grass. DJ skidded to a halt, clenching his teeth as his wheels slipped on the rails. He was still moving (at a more slower pace now), and was getting much closer to the sheep.

DJ frantically tried calling out to the sheep and honking "Out of the way! Out of the way!". The sheep just looked up and glanced at him with vacant eyes. DJ shut his eyes tight as he couldn't stop.

Why oh why didn't he listen to the Stationmaster?!

The sheep was unfazed as the engine ahead was skidding on icy rails towards it's direction.

Just then....

BUMP!

"Baa!"

DJ gasped from feeling the bump and whimpered, fearing what he may have very likely done. Cautiously, he opened one eye to survey the damage he had done, only to see a white furry face in his vision, lazily munching on a mouthful of grass. He then opened both eyes and sure enough, he wasn't dreaming – the sheep was okay. Thank goodness.

"Dizzy diesels...that was close" He sighed with relief. He kinda forgot he's not a big monsterous engine like his big brother, or else the sheep would most certainly become wooly paste.

The sheep bleated and sniffed at DJ, its ear twitching. DJ felt his (currently) non-existent heart melt as the sheep sniffed at him.

"Ooh, sorry about that, sheep. The rails are all icy! What are you doing out here anyway? Shouldn't you be..." he then gasped, thinking back to what Farmer Willie said.

"Oh! You're the sheep that got away!" He exclaimed. The sheep bleated and went back to chewing the little patch of grass it dug up. DJ paid no mind.

"Well, come on! We gotta get you home, and collect the ballast!"

The sheep didn't move, it paid no attention to DJ whatsoever.

A few minutes went by, and DJ huffed "Come on! Get going!"

The sheep remained on the line. DJ loved the sheep, don't get him wrong – but it won't MOVE for him! DJ thought decisively, then honked at the sheep. The sheep looked over at him, but went back to eating soon after.

DJ groaned "Oh I don't have all day!"

The sheep bleated and turned to face him, its ears flicking. This sheep was stubborn, stubborn like a troublesome truck. Maybe that's why they both look alike?

A good 20 minutes passed by, you'd think that the sheep would've moved off the line by now, NOPE! It was still there, but sitting down now.

"Pleeeaaase! Move...please, sheep?: DJ begged, but no avail.

Suddenly, an ear-piercing shriek ripped through the air, alerting both DJ and the sheep. The sheep bleated fearfully and looked around frantically. DJ gulped, doing the same thing.

"Hehe...i-its alright, sheep. I'm sure it's just a..."

An echoey roar was then heard somewhere in the distance as well as crunching snow, increasing DJ's worries "B-BEAR!" He yelled fearfully. He shut his eyes tightly like he did when slipping on the rails.

The sounds of crunching snow got closer and more clearer. DJ only feared the worst...until he heard the voice of a very tired Rex.

"Are you alright there, DJ?"

DJ's eyes shot open and he looked to the side to see Rex in his beast form, gazing at him softly with very tired eyes. The baby diesel's jaw dropped upon seeing him "R-Rex?! But... you're supposed to be hibernating!"

Rex chuckled "Well, I can't hibernate if I keep hearing you honk to your heart's delight. Remember, my hearing's a LOT more sensitive and sharper than it used to be..."

"Oh..." DJ blushed in embarrassment "...sorry. I didn't mean to"

"It's ok, kiddo. No hard feelings..." Rex assured him "...now that we have that cleared up, you appear to be in one baa-ad situation" the miniature engine teased, pointing at the sheep.

DJ sighed "Yep...I think its one of Farmer Willie's. He said something about one of them escaping"

"Escaping, eh? Lots of livestock escape here all the time. They should really improve the fences but then again...me, Bert and Mike can just ram through them" He chuckled. Rex then turned to face the sheep.

He made a little chittering noise at the sheep, leaning forward. The sheep turned to Rex with interest and bleated, walking off the track at last. DJ watched in amazement as Rex continued the chittering sound, leading the sheep into the foliage. It kinda reminded him of that evil snake from The Jungle Book, except Rex isn't evil of course!

"Wow..." he whispered. DJ soon resumed to his task; collect the ballast.

He oiled through the forest, much more carefully that time.

____________________________________________

DJ had managed to make it to the Green and was making his way back to Arlesburgh West. Along the way, he saw Rex trotting along the tracks, still looking rather sleepy. He honked "hello" to the older engine, who whistled back "Did you get the sheep home, Rex?"

"Of course! It's not like I ate it, hehe!" Rex chuffed cheekily.

"Yeah, anyway...how did you hear me all the way from the sheds in the first place?" The miniature 08 diesel asked, feeling rather curious.

"I wasn't sleepin' at the sheds, I was sleepin' in a nearby cave around here! That's how I heard you!" He laughed tiredly. DJ giggled as well, then looked over at the ballast truck "Hey, Rex? Did you know you forgot to bring a ballast truck back to the station?"

Rex frowned and raised an eyebrow. He then glanced at the truck behind the small diesel and gasped with understanding "Oh! Fire and smoke, I forgot about that one!" He groaned.

"It's alright, Rex. It's easy to forget things" DJ assured him. The small green engine smiled warmly, then walked in front of the diesel, blocking his way.

"Rex?"

Rex said nothing and gave DJ's forehead a lick, probably his own way of 'kissing' him goodnight. DJ's eyes went wide, but he grinned nonetheless as Rex chirped happily before setting off into the woods "Have a good hibernation, Rex!" He called out.

As soon as Rex left, DJ oiled away with the ballast truck. Back to Arlesburgh West he goes.

Until Spring...

[der-karibisch-heyder]

Christmas Seasons During the Voyage Canon (as of draft 0.4)

I thought I did a proper post on Christmas during the time of Devil's Eye but apparently I have not. I'll get to work on that later. I also may revise my other historical context posts with some actual citations so they aren't just aimless ramblings without any evidence. But that's for later.

In the canon story of Devil's Eye, the adventure lasts about 7 years. That's 7 Christmases to celebrate in different parts of the world each time! So where do they align? As of our current draft they're thus:

December 1721 takes place in France, specifically in Paris. The focus is exclusively on the Barracuda's crew, who just weeks earlier lost their titular ship to an attack by La Demonia in the port of Le Havre, and forced them to escape inland by the Seine River. Losing the trail of the Sins, they realize they're without shelter or money in the city of Paris, and the story arc focuses on their collaborative efforts to stay alive during the particularly harsh winter of northern France during the Little Ice Age. This is the point where the story sheds its pretenses of being just a seafaring adventure, as the survival of the characters depends greatly on their ability to adapt to circumstances going beyond their control.

December 1722 takes place across Northern Italy, most likely between Turin and Milan. Having spent the previous spring traveling across southern France, the summer across Spain, and the autumn across central Italy, the Barracuda crew have located and been pursuing the Spanish branch of the Montego family, distant descendants of Saint Emilio, for one of the Keys to the Eye is in their possession. Finally they confront the family in the winter, but they are seen only as stalking thieves and are not given the key. In response, Ravyn commands her crew to take it by force, which is done begrudgingly. It's a sour note that welcomes the new year, and shows our heroes aren't necessarily just.

December 1723 takes place in the Ottoman Levant, between the cities of Antioch and Damascus. Unlike the previous two winters, this time Christmas happens to land upon incidental stops along the way to a more important destination: Jerusalem. There is little time for merriment or mirth among any of the practicing members of the Barracuda crew, as the journey between Antioch and Damascus takes almost the whole month, and then the journey from Damascus to Jerusalem takes nearly another, and the time spent in between is dedicated entirely to resting and resupplying. All the while, their continued persistence at this venture has finally caught the attention of the Master, who now plans to play his hand directly against them.

December 1724 takes place in the Barbary Coast in the cities of Tripoli and Alexandria. Having been driven into the Sahara and hidden among the trade caravans over the past year, the Barracuda crew slowly rebuild their assets to try and resume the voyage again. Meanwhile, the oldest Heyder child, Helen, was taken captive by the Sins and made their hostage. In the city of Tripoli, the crew hijacks a new ship, the Arabian Xebec known as the Zumurruda. They then turn towards Alexandria to rescue Helen, and encounter La Demonia there. A battle breaks out, and the two forces welcome the new year with renewed conflict.

December 1725 brings the adventure to Ottoman Arabia and the city of Jeddah, the home of Amir. By this point a lot has changed in the past year: two more ships have joined the cause, the navy frigate HMS Cavalier and the Dutch smuggling fluyt Diantha. As well, the Sins of La Demonia have entered an uneasy alliance with the heroes, deciding to seek the Keys to the Eye together so that the Master can be stopped from obtaining his prize, even at the cost of their own souls. As for Jeddah itself, Amir is forced to reconcile with the choices he made decades ago to abandon his family in search for adventure, something that some crewmates are supportive of and others find a distraction from the greater objective.

December 1726 brings the voyage to the place that holds painful memories for almost everyone involved: the port of Guangzhou in China. Having raided it 15 years prior, the Sins are still wracked with guilt over what they had done, and among the heroes, Ravyn's foster father, Mortimer Hurley, died protecting his crew from the Master. The uneasy alliance nearly breaks apart as the tensions between past and present begin to boil over before plans can even be made to search for the final key of Saint Emilio, especially when the local Black Dog Bandits learn of the arrival of the Black Ship with Red Sails, and seek to avenge those who died as well.

December 1727 is the last winter of the voyage, and is when the crews year-long efforts in China finally result in them finding the final key of Saint Emilio, which has been guarded on Mount Song in the central China plain. With all seven keys in tow, the collective crews share a brief respite of relaxation before they make preparations to claim the Eye and defeat the Master forever.

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for december 6 of 2023 with Proverbs 6 and Psalm 6, accompanied by Psalm 75 for the 75th day of Astronomical Autumn, and Psalm 40 for day 340 of the year (with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 3rd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 6]

My son, if you will risk your family’s future to put up collateral for the debts of an acquaintance,

if you seal a commitment with a handshake to someone without first knowing the value of his word,

Then your words may well be the trap that snares you,

and your promise may seal your fate.

You can’t be sure to whom you hitched your future.

So, my son—save yourself! Here’s what you need to do:

go to that person who became your master with a handshake,

humble yourself, and plead your case.

Do not sleep;

don’t even rest your eyes until you deal with this.

Get out as quickly as possible,

as a gazelle runs from the hand of the hunter,

as a bird takes off from the grip of the fowler.

Take a lesson from the ant, you who love leisure and ease.

Observe how it works, and dare to be just as wise.

It has no boss,

no one laying down the law or telling it what to do,

Yet it gathers its food through summer

and takes what it needs from the harvest.

How long do you plan to lounge your life away, you lazy fool?

Will you ever get out of bed?

You say, “A little sleep, a little rest,

a few more minutes, a nice little nap.”

But soon poverty will be on top of you like a robber;

need will assault you like a well-armed warrior.

Someone who struts around taking advantage of unsuspecting souls

and deceiving others is to be avoided.

With a wink of his eye, a quick shuffle of his feet,

and a slight gesture with his hand, he signals his roguish treachery.

With a warped mind and twisted heart, he constantly looks for his own gain at others’ expense,

causing friction everywhere he goes.

But you watch: his actions will bring sudden disaster!

In an instant, his life will be shattered,

and there will be nothing to save him.

Take note, there are six things the Eternal hates;

no, make it seven He abhors:

Eyes that look down on others, a tongue that can’t be trusted,

hands that shed innocent blood,

A heart that conceives evil plans,

feet that sprint toward evil,

A false witness who breathes out lies,

and anyone who stirs up trouble among the faithful.

So, my son, follow your father’s direction,

and don’t forget what your mother taught you—

Keep their teachings close to your heart;

engrave them on a pendant, and hang it around your neck.

Their instruction will guide you along your journey,

guard you when you sleep,

and address you when you wake in the morning.

For their direction is a lamp; their instruction will light your path,

and their discipline will correct your missteps,

sending you down the right path of life.

They will keep you far from the corrupted woman,

away from the smooth talk of a seductive woman.

Do not lose yourself in desire for her beauty

or let her win you over with her painted eyes,

For you can buy a harlot with a loaf of bread,

but sex with another man’s wife will cost you your life.

Can you carry fire right next to your body

and keep your clothes from burning?

Can you walk over fiery coals

and keep your feet from blistering?

Take another man’s wife, and you will find out—

whoever touches her will be found guilty.

People don’t despise a thief

who only steals to fill his hunger;

Still if they catch him, he must repay seven times over—

he could end up losing everything he owns!

By contrast only a fool would commit adultery

since by his action he loses not only his possessions but also his own life.

He will suffer injury and be disgraced;

dishonor will leave a permanent mark on his life.

For jealousy sparks a husband’s rage—

when he gets his revenge, he’ll show no mercy.

He will not be paid off or appeased;

no bribe or gift will set things right.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 6 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice translation:

Laziness is not just a bad habit; it’s a threat—a clear and present danger. Since the beginning, God has made us in His image to create and tend His good creation. In other words, God has made us to work. It is in our spiritual DNA. We must do it in order to be who God made us and to fight off the threats of poverty and want. God has also created the Sabbath as a space for us to rest, of course, just as He rested on the seventh day.

[Psalm 6]

For the worship leader. A song of David accompanied by the lyre.

O Eternal One, don’t punish me in Your anger

or harshly correct me.

Show me grace, Eternal God. I am completely undone.

Bring me back together, Eternal One. Mend my shattered bones.

My soul is drowning in darkness.

How long can You, the Eternal, let things go on like this?

Come back, Eternal One, and lead me to Your saving light.

Rescue me because I know You are truly compassionate.

I’m alive for a reason—I can’t worship You if I’m dead.

If I’m six feet under, how can I thank You?

I’m exhausted. I cannot even speak, my voice fading as sighs.

Every day ends in the same place—lying in bed, covered in tears,

my pillow wet with sorrow.

My eyes burn, devoured with grief;

they grow weak as I constantly watch for my enemies.

All who are evil, stay away from me

because the Eternal hears my voice, listens as I cry.

The Eternal God hears my simple prayers;

He receives my request.

All who seek to destroy me will be humiliated;

they will turn away and suddenly crumble in shame.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 6 (The Voice)

[Psalm 75]

For the worship leader. A song of Asaph to the tune “Do Not Destroy.”

We thank You, O True God.

Our souls are overflowing with thanks! Your name is near;

Your people remember and tell of Your marvelous works and wonders.

You say, “At the time that I choose,

I will judge and do so fairly.

When the earth and everyone living upon it spin into chaos,

I am the One who stabilizes and supports it.”

[pause]

“I discipline the arrogant by telling them, ‘No more bragging.’

I discipline the wicked by saying, ‘Do not raise your horn to demonstrate your power.

Do not thrust your horn into the air, issuing a challenge,

and never speak with insolence when you address Me.’”

There is no one on earth who can raise up another to grant honor,

not from the east or the west, not from the desert.

There is no one. God is the only One.

God is the only Judge.

He is the only One who can ruin or redeem a man.

For the Eternal holds a full cup of wine in His hand—

a chalice well stirred and foaming full of wrath.

He pours the cup out,

and all wicked people of the earth drink it up—every drop of it!

But I will tell of His great deeds forever.

I will sing praises to Jacob’s True God.

I will cut off the horns of strength raised by the wicked,

but I will lift up the horns of strength of the righteous.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 75 (The Voice)

[Psalm 40]

For the worship leader. A song of David.

I waited a long time for the Eternal;

He finally knelt down to hear me.

He listened to my weak and whispered cry.

He reached down and drew me

from the deep, dark hole where I was stranded, mired in the muck and clay.

With a gentle hand, He pulled me out

To set me down safely on a warm rock;

He held me until I was steady enough to continue the journey again.

As if that were not enough,

because of Him my mind is clearing up.

Now I have a new song to sing—

a song of praise to the One who saved me.

Because of what He’s done, many people will see

and come to trust in the Eternal.

Surely those who trust the Eternal—

who don’t trust in proud, powerful people

Or in people who care little for reality, chasing false gods—

surely they are happy, as I have become.

You have done so many wonderful things,

had so many tender thoughts toward us, Eternal my God,

that go on and on, ever increasing.

Who can compare with You?

Sacrifices and offerings are not what You want,

but You’ve opened my ears, and now I understand.

Burnt offerings and sin offerings

are not what please You.

So I said, “See, I have come to do Your will,

as it is inscribed of me in the scroll.

I am pleased to live how You want, my God.

Your law is etched into my heart and my soul.”

I have encouraged Your people with the message of righteousness,

in Your great assembly (look and see),

I haven’t kept quiet about these things;

You know this, Eternal One.

I have not kept Your righteousness to myself, sealed up in the secret places of my heart;

instead, I boldly tell others how You save and how loyal You are.

I haven’t been shy to talk about Your love, nor have I been afraid to tell Your truth

before the great assembly of Your people.

Please, Eternal One, don’t hold back

Your kind ways from me.

I need Your strong love and truth

to stand watch over me and keep me from harm.

Right now I can’t see because I am surrounded by troubles;

my sins and shortcomings have caught up to me,

so I am swimming in darkness.

Like the hairs on my head, there are too many to count,

so my heart deserts me.

O Eternal One, please rescue me.

O Eternal One, hurry; I need Your help.

May those who are trying to destroy me

be humiliated and ashamed instead;

May those who want to ruin my reputation

be cut off and embarrassed.

May those who try to catch me off guard,

those who look at me and say, “Aha, we’ve trapped you,”

be caught in their own shame instead.

But may all who look for You

discover true joy and happiness in You;

May those who cherish how You save them

always say, “O Eternal One, You are great and are first in our hearts.”

Meanwhile, I am empty and need so much,

but I know the Lord is thinking of me.

You are my help; only You can save me, my True God.

Please hurry.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 40 (The Voice)

[flighttrust]

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[mhysa-leesi]

𝐿𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒲𝒽𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝑅𝒾𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐻𝑜𝑜𝒹

Pairing: Dark Alpha!Bucky Barnes 𝒳 (femme) Omega!Reader 🐺. 

Summary: “To keep your small village protected from would-be attackers, presented Omegas must be sacrificed to the mysterious Alpha in the woods.” 

Word Count: 3,514

TW‼: Non-Con, Dub-Con, Smut, Hunting/Stalking, A/B/O Themes, Forced Bonding, Loss of Virginity, Strong Language, and Mentions of Blood and Human Sacrifice. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼ 

AN: This story contains adult and dark themes, please do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! I am not responsible for your media consumption--you and only you are. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

AN Cont.: If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help. I do not condone ANY of the actions described in this story, this is merely a work of FICTION. 

A cold wind blew in from the north, making the trees rustle like living things. It was growing colder with every passing day as winter began its arrival. Yule had transformed the fiery hues of autumn twilight to sparkled, frosted mornings and bitter winds. You went to the window. A fine glimmer of glossy frost formed intricate swirls on the glass, as sparkling snow softened the outside world into one flurry. 

You looked on as the pale, cold light of winter moonrise illuminated your village as the townsfolk worked under the stars to prepare for the Winter Solstice. You couldn’t help but frown as you watched them place green garland on the fringes of rooftops, and light candles that led into the dark forest, in the shape of carved wolves. This time last winter, you were home with your family; sitting fireside as you and your younger siblings drank sweetened milk and almond honeyed toast. Life had been colorful, full of vibrant greens, warm reds, and soft dusky blues. Now, it was nothing but a black and white night of frost that crawled along the dark outline of barren trees and twig branches. Snowflakes swirled down gently in the ghostly moonlight, and iced shadows crept along the December ground. 

“(Y/N)?” a small voice called out from behind. 

You turned as Gervaise came to stand next to you, peering out at the snowfall that drifted against the window. Gervaise had been your closest friend since childhood, she had been a plump girl in her youth, but now she was the most beautiful woman in your village. She had long legs that complemented her slender figure, golden hair that shone under sunlight, and azure eyes as blue and clear as the sky itself. 

She shivered against the winter-cold that seeped into your bones as she neared the frosted windowpane, “Aren’t you cold?” she asked. 

You scoffed, “Warmer than I would be out there.” 

Truth be told, you were burning from the inside out. A sheen sweat had started to form between your breasts and all of your folds and creases. Gervaise scooted closer and you unthinkingly flinched away, her heat was rolling off of her in waves and the strong scent of her made you lightheaded as tangs of jasmine, rose, and orange blossom overwhelmed your senses. 

You moved away as you looked into the room you were being kept in. Women close in age all slept soundly with soft snores, their heated scents interlacing with one another to form a jumbled mess of musk, amber, bergamot, and warm sugar. It was a synchronous heat amongst the presented Omegas in preparations for the village’s annual sacrificial solstice to the White Wolf. 

Gervaise nudged your shoulder teasingly, “It won’t be so bad tomorrow, (Y/N),” she tried. 

You rolled your eyes, “We’re being sacrificed, Gervaise! How can it not be so bad?”

Her small smile fell as the weighted truth of your words settled on her shoulders, “I’m sorry… I was just trying to make light of it all.” 

“I know,” you sighed, “You can’t make light of this, there’s too much darkness.” 

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You awoke hours later to the soft murmurs of falling tears as mothers dressed their daughters in traditional white hoods. White, the color of purity, innocence. You scoffed--the virgin’s color. Your own mother came to your bedside, a hood in hand and an expectant look in her eyes. You rubbed your cold feet together and reluctantly dressed. 

“It’s not as bad as it seems, my love,” she spoke as she combed your hair. 

You looked at the other Omegas in the room, most of whom you’ve grown up with. Idony, Meliora, and Sabine. You teared. You and your siblings used to play with Sabine as children. Idony taught you to weave dolls out of straw and vines. And you and Meliora would harvest wild strawberries together in early summer after long hours at the lake. The thought of never seeing either of them after today was heart-wrenching. 

Your mother placed the hood over your head and tucked away stray hairs behind your ears as she took one last, tearful, look at you. She placed a gentle kiss on your forehead and took your hands in hers, pressing a small vial against your palms. 

“Put this on once you’re away from the others,” she whispered against your hair, “It’ll hide your scent for a short time, then make your way across the stream, you’ll be safe there until the ceremony is over.” 

Before you could ask more, the village mayor entered and ordered you and the other Omegas out into the square. The ceremony had officially begun. 

Gervaise squeezed your hand as the mayor lit the great Yule log, the candles sculpted as white wolves. You looked around; Idony was pale in the face, Meliora shed silent tears as she held her hands in prayer, and Sabine’s chest rose and fell in shallow, frightened breaths. You held the vial tight in your hand as you stood stoic; though your pounding heart told another story. 

The bells of the church began to toll as midnight quickly approached. The first toll the mayor led you all down the candlelit path that led into the mouth of the forest, the second toll you and the other Omegas were left alone as the full moon shone down on you from above, the third toll was followed by an echoed howl and the beats of your feet as you all ran through the thicket. 

You ran and ran until it was only you, the full moon, and the trees. You stopped to rest against a frosted tree, your lungs burned with biting ice as you panted; your breaths coming out as vapored clouds that wisped around your head. You quickly took the vial and rubbed the liquid over your scent glands. The synthetic scent of cracked pepper, spiced ginger, decayed pear, and rotting leaves all toiled together to mask your natural, sweet and warm odor. You took a moment to calm your beating heart and collect your thoughts before bolting through the treeline. You needed to find Gervaise before the perfume wore off. 

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Bucky watched from the shadows as he tracked a pretty, golden-haired Omega. Her scent wasn’t unpleasant, but it didn’t ignite a fire deep within his groin, either. He followed the floral scent trail of this next best woman as she wandered aimlessly through the dense grove of pine. The woman’s face was rosy and tear-stained as the cold bit her cheeks and nose. It was pathetic, really. How she sniffled and hiccupped as she held herself against the winter winds or when she tripped and slipped over iced snowdrifts. Bucky was about to make his move when a sweet scent, carried on an icy breeze, caught his attention. The blood in his veins burst into flames as a deep desire awoke in him. Primal lust took over as he abandoned his former prey to hunt for the next. He bounded through the woods, ducking under long branches, and leaping across overgrown oak roots. It was the wildness of it that sent Bucky into a feral frenzy, in all of his years protecting this paltry village, he’d never scented anything as sweet and enthralling as this. Spun sugar, vanilla bean, patchouli, and white pumpkin with caramel glaze. His teeth ached as he took in the sweetness of your scent. 

When Bucky finally found you, you were breathless and flushed with heat. Your hand on your stomach as a wave of tightness in your belly coiled and coiled. He scented the air, then. Groaning as he caught wind of your musky-sweet tang. The front of his buckskin breeches tightened uncomfortably as his rut took hold of his body. He wanted you, so he’d have you. 

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You whimpered as your cramps inflamed your insides. You were on fire, despite the bitter winter cold. You shed your wolf pelt that hung over your shoulders and loosened the front laces of your bodice, as you slumped against the nearest tree and focused on slowing your racing heart. The faster you calmed down, the faster you’d be able to find Gervaise and get across that damned stream to safety. 

Just as your heart began to slow, a heady scent brought on iced winds set it back into panicked motion. An amber woody fragrance, with nutmeg, vanilla, and sandalwood ensnared your forebrain. You were frozen, scared like a hunted doe as you took in the masculine scent that seemed to scream “Alpha”. 

Bucky watched as you looked around, trying to pinpoint his hiding spot. His heart skipped a beat in excitement as you took off into the thicket, leaving your pelt behind on the snowy ground. He chased you, then. Too focused on the hunt to worry about cornering you, too focused on you. He’d chase you down until you fainted from exhaustion if he had to. 

You were faster than he expected, more agile and hellbent on escaping him than you had appeared to be. He felt an odd sense of pride as he watched you nimbly dodge and duck under and over every branch and uprooted oak that came into your way. But Bucky had the advantage, this was his territory, not yours. He knew his hunting grounds, not you. So when you came to a skidded stop at a broken bridge, he wasn’t the least bit surprised. But what did surprise him was the little snarl that left you before you broke away from him once more. 

You ran and ran until your feet were numb with cold and your lungs frosted over with every breath you took. He was close, too close, and you were forced to abandon the plan on crossing the stream to safety. Gods--you didn’t even know where you were anymore. You could be going in circles and you’d be none the wiser, everything looked the same in this untouched part of the wood. You berated yourself for straying from the path, now you were lost, alone, and being hunted. You began to cry as you thought of your fate, you didn’t want to be sacrificed, you just wanted to go home back to your family. Back to your life. 

You were ready to give up, your feet were tired, legs weakened, and your chest burned from the cold. You fell to your knees and looked up to the full moon, exhaustion taking over your thoughts. You were desperate and didn’t have the energy to be surprised at yourself when you began to pray to the moon above. 

“Gods above… Please, please, let me live and I’ll devote myself to you. My heart, mind, soul, and body, please,” you prayed. 

Just as you were about to laugh at yourself for your foolishness, a flickering candlelight in the nearby distance caught your eye. You mindlessly followed the light that pierced through the dense darkness of night, like a moth to a flame. As you got closer, you saw the lantern-light belonged to a small cottage fringed with winterberries and garland. You were uplifted as you believed the gods had answered your prayer. Without a second thought, your feet began to move on their own through the snow as you raced toward the home. You knocked once, then twice, then thrice. When there was no answer, you apologized to whatever being had heard you pray, before turning the brass doorknob and welcoming yourself inside. 

The warmth of a crackling fire embraced you posthaste as you closed the door behind you. You made your way to the fireplace, rubbing your hands over the flame as you warmed yourself. The house was eerily silent as you looked around. You saw the carved candles from your village on the mantelpiece, vases of starry blue, pale pink, and white glory of the snow, and bright yellow winter jasmine were placed on the tabletops, and garland with holly flowers was wrapped around the railing of a small staircase that led upstairs. You made your way up the stairs as curiosity led you on. You called out for the owner of the home once again as you reached the top, but to no avail; the house was empty. 

You crept along the creaking floorboards into a small room, illuminated by a single lantern with frosted glass windows. You explored the room. There was a bed, with an oak headboard, and thick, grey, and brown wolf and bear pelts. You sat down on the edge of the bed with a soft bounce as you rested your tired feet. Ahead of you was a wooden chest with intricate images of Yule logs, goats, and boars. Something deep within your gut urges you to go to it, to open it, and look upon its secrets; but the feeling made you uneasy, it made you afraid of what you'd find. 

But you knew better than to ignore your gut, so you went to it, opened it, and looked upon its secrets. You nearly screamed as you pulled forth white hood, after white hood, after white hood. Your hands shook as you emptied the chest, white hoods covered the ground like the snow outside. There were more hoods than you could count, most of them much older than you. You sobbed as you slammed the chest shut, too focused on the white hoods before you to notice the slithering notes of amber, nutmeg, vanilla, and sandalwood that now threatened to constrict, and swallow you whole. 

Your body sensed him before your mind did, your hairs stood on end, and your core tightened with primal, animalistic want. You only recognized his imposing presence after it was too late. Your throat dried as you slowly turned around to face the Alpha from the woods. He stood in the doorway, shirtless and steaming, as his heat fought against the cold of winter. To say he was big, would be an understatement. He was wordless as he strode toward you with an urgency driven by desire. You shuffled away, sobbing as he quickly crawled atop of you, trapping you beneath him. You fought against him, slapping and scratching his chest and face as he buried his face in your neck. Deeply inhaling your sickly sweet scent. 

“I wonder if you taste as sweet as you smell, ‘Mega,” he said as he nipped the lobe of your ear. 

Your heart dropped as he ripped at your bodice like an animal, tossing the ruined fabric aside as he bared your breasts to the air. The Alpha brushed his lips against your neck, your jaw, and mouth as he tasted you. You had never been kissed before, the feeling of it all was foreign as you felt his tongue explore your mouth. You squirmed as he palmed your breast, his thumb flicking and pinching over your sensitive nipple. Bucky let out a low snarl of disapproval as you tried to wriggle away from him, and when you ignored his warning, he bit down on your nipple. You yelped and beat against his back, clawing and punching as you flailed and thrashed. In your struggle you managed to slip out from underneath his body. Then, it was a desperate fight of him dragging you by your ankles, and you kicking wildly and blindly. With luck you landed a strong kick to his face that bloodied his nose. You ran, then. Practically flying down the flight of stairs as you made a beeline for the front door--to your freedom. You felt the cold snow on your toes as one foot met the icy ground, but the other foot was caught. 

You fell on your face as Bucky dragged you back into his house. Blood stained his face and a dangerous fire was reflected in his blue eyes. He took you by your neck and forced you down onto the staircase, entrapping you under his weight. Your legs kicked out as he forced himself between your thighs, he snarled again, keeping a tight grip on the back of your neck. He ripped away the remaining pieces of your clothes, ridding you of the white garments, of your innocence, your purity.

He lifted your hips and placed a strong hand on your back, forcing you into an arch. You yipped as you felt a wet warmth lick up your sex. You tried to curl away, but his grip on you was strong and firm. A heat bloomed within your gut as Bucky dipped his tongue between your wet folds, fucking you with his hot tongue. Your brain hazed over as he stroked and rubbed your sweet spot of concentrated pleasure with his thumb. He was devouring you, and you felt your resolve melt away with every delicious flick and swipe of his tongue. You moaned and allowed yourself to arch into his mouth, desperately seeking more pleasure. You ground your cunt on his face and moaned at the feeling of him tightly gripping your hips as he gave you what you wanted--needed. 

You clawed at the stairs beneath you as your voice grew shrill, the coil in your belly was beginning to unravel with every lick. Bucky felt you stiffen as he brought you to the edge of your pleasure, he sank his tongue deep inside you until he finally felt you shudder hard against him. You cried out as you came on his tongue, pure white fire ignited in your veins, consuming your thoughts, and burning away any fight you had left. The aftershocks of your pleasure left you shaking and wanting. 

Without warning, Bucky buried his thick length in you with one hard stroke; mercilessly tearing through your untouched barrier. For a moment there was only a burning pain as he forced himself deeper. He pulled out a few inches, and then slammed back into you. Again and again. The Alpha above you howled with pleasure as he rutted into you hard and fast. You looked over your shoulder and moaned as you watched his narrow hips thrust against you. His eyes met yours and he bared his teeth as he indulged in his animalistic pleasure. With your mouth agape you felt another spark of pleasure ignite within you, you cried out for him, then, begging him to stoke the fire that threatened to burn, to consume you. 

Your scents bled together, creating the beginning knot of your bond; his sandalwood and vanilla notes, duetting your patchouli and caramel glaze in perfect harmony. You whined as he pulled out of you, leaving you empty and clenching. He flipped you onto your back, spreading your weak legs wide as he entered you once more. He reached places that had you blaspheming as you chanted his title like a prayer. 

Alpha, Alpha, Alpha… 

He added fuel to your evergrowing fire as he reached down to your bundle of nerves, rubbing firm circles as he fucked into your wet cunt. He kissed you again, your lips following his lead as he claimed your mouth with his tongue. You moaned as you tasted yourself on him. His lips trailed down your jaw, peppering wet kisses down your body until he reached the scent gland on your neck. He scented you, then. A low growl left his chest as the base of his cock swelled, your pussy constricting in turn. Your howling moans clashed in dissonance as he pushed you over the edge into white-hot pleasure. Bucky thrusted into you, harder, faster, as his pleasure grew and grew until it finally exploded. As his warmth flooded you another sensation sent your senses into hyperdrive--his teeth sinking into your neck. Your arms and legs instinctively wrapped around him as he bonded you, marking you as his. 

You murmured incoherently as your bodies locked together, you were so full of him that you could focus on nothing, but the feel of him locked inside you. Your head lolled to the side as your exhaustion set in, your bones felt heavy as sleep lulled you. You were vaguely aware of the man atop of you, too drunk on mated pleasure to fully acknowledge how his eyes began to once again devour your body. 

He kissed your wound, breathing you in as he did, “What’s your name, Omega?”

“(Y/N),” you rasped. 

“Bucky,” 

As you sobered, the weight of your situation became clearer. All of those white hoods, all of those Omegas that never returned home… Your breathing picked up as panic sparked like lightning in your veins. You shoved on Bucky’s chest as you started to wiggle out from him, tugging on his knot. He snarled and snapped at you and you flinched as unshed tears glossed your eyes. 

“Don’t hurt me, please,” you whimpered, “Please, I–I don’t want to die.” 

“I’m not going to kill you, I’m going to keep you,” 

Keep you? You trembled, “What about all of the other Omegas? What happened to them?” 

He cupped your face and traced the bridge of your nose, then the cupid’s bow of your lips, “Them I killed,” he whispered with a ghost of a smile. 

[mymarifae]

12 with noelle!

Noelle lights the last candle. Black, for protection.

Beside her, Catti asks, “You sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” Noelle says, blowing out the match. “I’m sure.” No turning back, she tells herself, not this time.

Everything has been arranged on the dusty floor of Catti’s backyard shed. The stench of frankincense hangs heavy in the air. It’s just past midnight, and outside, the almost-full moon shines bright through the dark clouds. A sharp breeze comes and goes, carrying with it the threat of the year’s first autumn freeze.

It’s the perfect night. For a séance, anyway.

Catti sits down, crossing her legs, and gingerly sets her handmade spirit board down. The unsteady candlelight dances across its wooden surface, and Noelle can just barely read the letters carefully burned into the grooves―yes, no, hello, good bye. “Do you have the picture?” Catti whispers.

“And the bat,” Noelle says, dropping down to one knee and shrugging her backpack from her shoulders. She pulls out the wiffle bat first; it’s been years since anyone has touched it, and she almost feels guilty for disturbing its peace. She lays it next to Catti’s board. Next is the picture, which has been carefully wrapped in layers of Noelle’s softest clothes, for fear of the glass breaking.

Dess was never good at smiling for pictures. Most of the Holidays’ family photos are ruined by the way she would awkwardly snarl at the camera. This was the only picture Noelle could find that captured any semblance of Dess’s real smile. Their father had taken it, and right before the camera went off, he had told a joke that annoyed their mother, and she had shoved his shoulder roughly. In the photo, Dess is bent over in the middle of a loud guffaw, her eyes squeezed shut.

Noelle’s fingertips linger on the glass. Despite the motion blur, Dess’s vibrant beauty shines through.

With a shaky sigh, she hands the frame to Catti, who holds it in silence for a long moment. “It might not work the way you’re thinking,” she says at last.

“I know.” Noelle sits down, folding her legs beneath herself.

“We can try, but anyone could answer the call.” Catti lifts her head. The tip of her tail twitches uneasily. “Anyone could say they’re December Holiday.”

Noelle swallows. “I know,” she says again.

“And… Noelle.” Catti sets the photograph down, propping it up in its place in front of the spirit board. She leans forward and grabs one of Noelle’s hands. “Noelle. Not getting an answer doesn’t… necessarily mean anything either.”

Noelle tries to look Catti in the eye, but the candlelight only serves to intensify the seriousness of her features. Her gaze slides away to focus on the smoldering incense. “I-I know. I know, that none of this will be any real confirmation. I just… need something, anything, to hold onto. Even if it’s not real, even if it’s something I don’t like.” Unconsciously, she squeezes Catti’s hand. “Having no idea… being clueless like this? It’s killing me.”

Catti exhales and pulls her hand out of Noelle’s grip. “I just don’t… want to give you false hope.”

“What else would you have me do, Catti?”

“… I don’t know,” Catti admits. She reaches up and unclasps her necklace, freeing the board’s planchette.

Noelle digs her fingers into the fabric of her skirt. “Catti, before we start, can I ask…?”

Catti makes a sound of acknowledgement, but nothing more.

“Do you think Dess is still alive?”

Catti freezes. She doesn’t say anything for a long time. “I don’t think you want me to answer that question,” she says softly, turning her head away.

Fair enough. Noelle nods and closes her eyes. “Alright. Go ahead,” she whispers.

[tortoisesshells]

Customs and Duties, Ch. 21: Spoiling for a Fight

In which winter passes in Boston, while Elinor Treat's family and friends wait for her to return. Norrington begins to count himself as the latter, which causes him not insignificant grief when her ship is found overdue - and requires an answer, when the Constance finally reappears,

or,

Snow at sea was one thing, James Norrington was accustomed to thinking, but snow ashore was another thing entirely – it was still a heavy, chilling inconvenience, but he’d – started to marvel at it, he supposed. Part of that, no doubt, was the relative safety of a broad, safe harbor, now frozen over and precluding all chance of having to dare the weather at sea – another part of that safety was the plentiful fires staving off the winter cold all across the city of Boston. Cold was worse when it was inescapable. In front of the Bendish fire-place, in a room that had scarcely a draft to speak of, he had space enough to find a kind of beauty in it.

The whole of this winter had been –

What had it been?

It had come in all at once, it had seemed – the long autumn had held onto its sun and cool breezes long after all but the pines had shed their leaves, and then in the space of a few days, at the beginning of December, in had rushed the snow and north winds and chilling fogs. Lieutenant Nibley had disappeared into one such mist, and Norrington, beyond what his station demanded of him, did not miss the arrogant Lieutenant – all the efforts he had made to discover what had become of the man had been just that: what his station demanded of him. He’d stared at his official correspondence, of course – there would be the Devil to pay with Nibley’s uncle at the Admiralty, but with so little news coming or going, James Norrington found him regarding those cares as though they, like the frost, were held outside the walls and windows of his life.

Read the Rest on AO3!

[vladdocs]

Dracula and the Boyar Mane Udrische Original in Russian: http://samlib.ru/.../dracula_ziznvzrosl_1448_1456_boyarin... Annotation: Of all of Dracula's associates, it is Mane Udrische who is the most interesting figure. The fate of this boyar deserves to be told separately, and the reason is not only that it was Mane who helped Dracula to become prince for the second time. Before us is a very unusual person - the traitor, who suddenly came to his senses and corrected the consequences of his betrayal. It's not every day, you have to admit... To begin with, it is necessary to clarify how to call this boyar correctly, because in some books, they try to hide the unsoundness of his nickname and write "Udrische". All this is ridiculous because in the original Romanian letters of the 15th century, drawn in the Slavonic language, this boyar is listed as Udrische - without any "t" - so most likely, the nickname is based on the ancient Slavic verb "drill". (note: this google translated, so don't worry about his name, it will keep changing) There is no need to be surprised, because in the Middle Ages unsound names were quite common. Suffice it to recall one of the close associates of Ivan the Terrible, a high-ranking oprichnik, called Vasily Dirty. In the Service of Father Dracula The first information about the boyar with the nickname Udrishche is found in the charter, issued no later than 1445, so we can say with certainty - this man made a career thanks to Dracula's father. Mane Udrische is mentioned in the charter together with his brother Stoyan (aka Stoyka). Both brothers are named as participants in the princely council. Sometimes this charter is dated 1439-1440, which means that Mane Udrisce could have begun service not in the 1440s, but earlier - soon after Dracula's father became prince - or even earlier, that is, at a time when Dracula's father was living with his family in Sighisoara and was only a candidate for the throne. In the Middle Ages in Romania, it was customary for any candidate for prince to gather around him a handful of trusted men from the boyar milieu to help him conduct affairs concerning politics. These people had no money or connections, but they had useful talents, such as the ability to speak well, strategic thinking, the ability to write things down on paper, etc. If the candidate became prince, all his assistants, who until then had served for free, received positions at the court, land, and other favors. Among the confidants of Dracula's father who gathered in Sighisoara may have been Mane Udrisce, but even if he came to the service several years later, it can still be said that Dracula himself remembered "Uncle Mane" from his childhood. There is also no doubt that in the 1440s Mane Udrisce with his younger brother Stoyan though established in the princely council, but did not play a serious role there. The position of the two boyars can be shown by recalling the rules, according to which the medieval Romanian charters and edicts were composed. Not only that the text had to list all the boyars, who were present at the princely council on the day of the publication of the charter, but it was also required to keep the order of listing - the more noble person, the closer to the beginning of the list. That's why the fact that Mane Udrisce and his brother in the charter of Dracula's father are mentioned at the very end of the list says a lot. Betrayal Of course, Mane Udrische considered himself destitute, and he was not willing to accept that. He wanted to continue his career, and brother Stoyan probably held the same opinion, but both brothers understood that it was unlikely to expect new favors from Father Dracula. Then came the memorable events of December 1446, when the Hungarian Janos Hunyadi came to Romania with an army, had Dracula's father beheaded, and installed Vladislav on the vacant throne. Mane Udrische supported the Hungarian protégé, and did him some very valuable service, because Mane's influence in the princely council increased dramatically. In all Vladislav's letters

where Mane Udrische is mentioned, this boyar is always the first in the list of council participants. He was the last, and now he is the first! Such changes do not just happen! As for Stoyan, he became the head of the cavalry along with another boyar - Dimitar. Awakening of Conscience With the change of prince, Mane's career ambitions were satisfied. Manet became the most influential boyar in the council, and a higher position simply did not exist. This man's thoughts were no longer preoccupied with material concerns and, quite naturally, switched to the spiritual. In the letter of January 2, 1450 it says that Mane Udrische gives a watermill to the monastery called Kozya. What caused such generosity is not specified, and this is quite strange, because the same letter tells in great detail the story of how the boyar Kazan and his brother Radu decided to make a gift to the monastery. Kazan and Radu wanted abbot Joseph to include their entire family, namely their father Radul, their mother Stana, Kazan and Radu themselves, and their late brother Sahak, in the "monastery memorial". Kazan and Radu asked for "eternal remembrance" for themselves and their kin, and in return they gave a watermill and "a place under the cell" so that one of the monks could live near the mill and watch over it. In the charter it is reported that Kazan and Radu have asked sovereign Vladislav to certify this agreement between them and the monastery, so that the next abbot will remember who should be remembered - in general, a lot of details, and in this heap somehow strange looks a single phrase that another watermill donates boyar Mane Udrische. One gets the impression that the idea of the donation occurred to Mane suddenly when, while attending the council, he heard Kazan and Radu's request. "Well, and from me, add the mill," probably said Mane, who suddenly wanted to do a good deed, but what sins he sought to atone for with this beneficence, he did not say. To Dracula for forgiveness Apparently, the gift of the mill did not help much, and his conscience continued to plague Manet, so that no later than 1455 he began negotiations with Dracula. That the initiative in these negotiations came from Manet and not from Dracula is almost certain, for we know how Dracula felt about Janos Hunyadi, the murderer of his father - a reconciliation never took place. So why would Dracula seek reconciliation with any of the traitor boyars? Dracula had no reason to negotiate with Mane Udrische, but Mane had a reason - an unsettled conscience. I want to remind that this boyar got into the princely council thanks to Dracula's father, and although after that Mane's career growth slowed down, it was not a sufficient reason for the careerist to condemn Dracula's father to death. Probably in 1446 Manet Udrisce thought otherwise, but after 8 or 9 years, having received all the material benefits he wanted, he changed his mind and decided to rectify the consequences of his long-time betrayal - to return the Romanian throne to the rightful heir, i.e. Dracula. From a purely practical point of view, it was more advantageous for Mane not to do anything, because the risk was serious: 1) Who knows how Dracula would behave at the first meeting - maybe just seeing a traitor, would cut him down and would not listen to anything; 2) Vladislav could have found out about the negotiations with Dracula, and then Mane would have been executed; 3) The coup d'état could have failed, in which case Mane would also have paid with his head. And yet this boyar decided to act - he sought out Dracula, who was at that time in Moldavia or Transylvania, repentantly bowed his head to him and offered help. In the service of Dracula. The fact that negotiations really took place is not doubtful, because of all the boyars who betrayed father Dracula, Mane Udrisce and his brother Stoyan were the only ones mentioned in the letters of Dracula himself. The other traitors (12 people) are not mentioned by Dracula even once. They are not mentioned in the letters of subsequent sovereigns. These

boyars simply disappeared, and what happened to them is clear - they were put on a stake. So why did Mane Udrishe and Stoyan escape this fate? There is only one answer - they helped Dracula to regain power and told about the details of the boyar conspiracy, which could not be found out by studying the archives. It is also important that Mane Udrisce with his brother Stoyan repented in time, because it is obvious that in the autumn of 1456, when Dracula had already overthrown Vladislav, the remaining boyar traitors also tried to beg for forgiveness. The 12 previously unrepentant conspirators were shedding tears and saying they were sorry, but it was too late. Mane Udrische and Stoian repented beforehand - no later than 1455 - and therefore survived. Secret agent for the recruitment of the boyars It is not known how Mane's conversation with Dracula took place when the boyar came to the son of his former sovereign for the first time, but the outcome is known. Dracula agreed to accept help from Mane, but set a condition: "I will no longer forgive any of my father's traitors - I forgive only you and your brother - so if you pull any of Vladislav's boyars to my side, pull only those who have recently entered his service and have not stained themselves with betrayal. Manet returned to the Romanian court and began to conduct "subversive activities" there - he spoke with several boyars from the princely council, offering to go into the service of Dracula. As Mane had promised his new lord, he spoke only to the new boyars, and eventually recruited several. These boyars are mentioned in Dracula's letters of commendation: 1) Kazan Sahak, the same one who in 1450 gave a watermill to the Kozia monastery, and he got his nickname from the name of his deceased brother. Some researchers write that Kazan served as head of the Chancellery of Prince Alexander Aldea in 1431-1436, as well as his father Dracula in 1445, but in the charters of those times Kazan is mentioned without a nickname, so it is likely that the head of the Chancellery was another boyar with the same name, and Kazan Sahakov to Vladislav did not serve anyone. 2) Stan Naegrev - the son of boyar Naegrev, who served as head of the cavalry of prince Dan. Stan Naegrev served no one before Vladislav. 3) Duka - he descended from a Greek family. He served no one before Vladislav. The subversive activities of Mane continued until the spring of 1456, and then the preparation for a coup d'état began. In a letter dated April 15, 1456, drawn up shortly before Vladislav was overthrown by Dracula, there remains evidence that Mane Udrische was not present at the council that day. Instead of Mane, his son Dragomir Udrisce sat there, and the boyar himself apparently went to Dracula in Transylvania to give an account of the work done and to discuss all the details of the impending seizure of power one last time. Further Fate Dracula came to power in August 1456, and the boyar Mane Udrische is mentioned for the last time in a charter dated April 16, 1457. His younger brother Stoyan is mentioned for the last time on September 20, 1459. Researcher M.Cazacu in his book "Dracula" hints that these boyars disappeared from the charters because they were executed, but it is unlikely that Cazacu is right. One must not forget that Mane Udrische and his brother in the second half of the 1450s were already in a respectable age. Both were under 60 years old, and Dracula was a vigorous ruler, constantly going on campaigns, so it is likely that the elderly boyars simply could not cope with the pace and decided to retire. Another argument for a peaceful departure has to do with the fate of Mane's estates. If Dracula had executed this boyar, he would have confiscated his land, but this did not happen. It is known that Mane's son Dragomir inherited the estates. Dragomir is not mentioned in Dracula's charters, but is mentioned by Radu the Beautiful, as well as by subsequent sovereigns.

[itssuppertim3]

Teldryn's thoughts on each season head-canons?

Teldryn's Opinion on Skyrim Seasons:

This was so creativeeee

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Morning Star (January): He enjoys the New Life Festival, though he's not a fan of the weather. He probably spends the entire month fixated on fulfilling his resolutions.

Sun's Dawn (February): Heart's Day, folks! Definitely something that fuels his excitement. Starting from the very first of the month, he'll make sure to remind his sweetheart, "you know what the 16th is~?"

First Seed (March): Gives him that Spring Fever type of sensation. Finally! He'll get to suffer Skyrim's forsaken chill no more!

Rain's Hand (April): I personally headcanon his birthday to be on the 13th, sooo, birthday boy😳. He loves how nature is blooming to life at long last. The birds are singing, the trees are flourishing, pollen--... pollen... Oh, dear. His sinuses are going to be battling a full-on war.

Second Seed (May): Starts to feel that summer breeze finally stirring in and he's ecstatic. Can't have a pyromaniac who doesn't like the summer. I'm unsure if the Fire Festival is celebrated anywhere other than High Rock, but he'd definitely attend.

Mid Year (June): Time to shed that stuffy chitin armor and into an undershirt! Like I said, you can't have a pyromaniac who doesn't like the summer.

Sun's Height (July): It's hot out, and this mer is loving it. He'll particularly like to snack on chilled fruits as a refreshing way of cooling off. He also loves to go swimming.

Last Seed (August): Teldryn's a bit disheartened that the summer season is finally coming to a close. Autumn is fairly nice, though. He's also looking forward to Harvest's End, which is when the taverns are selling free drinks all day.

Hearth Fire (September): He likes the cool air that it brings. The leaves are transitioning to beautiful hues of red, yellow, and orange; colors that are rarely seen on Solstheim. And don't forget about Tales and Tallows!!

Frost Fall (October): Doesn't have much to say about it; just another month closer to winter :/

Sun's Dusk (November): Eh, cold. The beautiful leaves are fleeing from the tree branches and they crunch beneath his boots, which makes detection easy. However, he does like the opportunity that the Warrior's Festival provides. Maybe he'll buy smithing materials or a new set of armor?

Evening Star (December): Oh, great. There's nothing but sharp winds and snow whipping his face. As a Dunmer, he has a natural disliking to anything cold. Time to heat up the mead with a flame spell...

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I really hope I got all the months correct lmao.

[twopoppies]

hey idk if you've recced something like this before if you have id be okay with the link but do you have fics where one of them gets hurt or injured -not by something simple as a cold but a bit more serious- an accident an attack idk? preferably it happens when they are already together like in an established relationship. thank you :)

Hi sugar. Some of these are established relationships, but not all. They are, however, all wonderful fics.

Danger I Can’t Hide by CelticSky (E, 227K) This one’s got all the tension and drama of a World War II story—life and death high stakes, friends and lovers unexpectedly torn apart, battles and heroism, plus the added stakes of classism and homophobia—then add a slow burn, high risk, scorching love affair spanning years. If you want a story that’s complex and fantastically researched, plus lovers to root for, read it. It’s long. But I couldn’t put it down.

no one does it better by nodibs (E, 50K) Oh lord. Get your tissues and hang on tight. Such well-written heartbreak. Happy ending, but you have to suffer first.

210 Days by cherrystreet (E, 16K) This author is a favorite, they’ve written so many good ones. This one is both really lovely (I especially love the letter writing back and forth), and really painful. Happy ending, but there were some tears shed before I got there. 

my heart is breathing for this moment in time by usedtothebeach (E, 160K) Probably my absolute favorite time travel fic. I’ve read it more times than I’d like to admit, and every time I love it more. One of the things I like most is how organically the author weaves in canon events…every little moment is an easter egg without it being so obvious that it pulls you out of the fic. Anyway, this one is so moving and so absorbing, I hope you like it if you give it a try! There’s an 18K companion piece to it as well which is wonderful. 

You Are The Blood by sarcasticfluentry (E, 176K) If you’re a Harry Potter fan, you’ve probably read this one. But if you haven’t, what are you waiting for? I don’t even like HP and I LOVED this fic. It’s a thrilling story and it’s full of ridiculously hot smut.

for as long as I can remember (it’s always been december) by green_feelings / @greenfeelings (E, 128K) This author always delivers on the angst, so yes…I cried. I loved the sense of the inevitable with these two characters — as in real life, they’re just meant to be. But first they’ll go through hell.

take my hand (and my heart and soul) by bananasandboots (M, 46K) This author has written a few fics I really like and Harry is just heartbreaking in this one so, yeah…I cried. Shocker, I know.

These Constant Stars by stylinsoncity (M, 31K) This author has written so many great fics and this one is really lovely. I also always like when one of the boys is not what he seems to be on first glance. This one has the hurt/injury, but they meet because of it.

The Dead of July by whimsicule  (M, 117K) Even if you know nothing about MCU, this fic is a must read. Lots of angst, great writing, and what feels like very well-handled depiction of PTSD and everything else that comes along with kidnapping, torture, and amnesia. Good times. But there’s a happy ending and a 110K second part (with more angst and mental health struggles) that I haven’t read yet, but I’ve heard good reviews of!

Who Painted The Moon Black by throughthedark (E, 96K) This is the Hunger Games AU. It’s super intense, there’s a lot of dark themes (the E is not for smut, let’s put it that way), but there’s a happy ending. SO well written. 

Black With Autumn Rain by Whimsicule (T, 93K) This writer is a favorite. If you like intense, creative stories, with complex characters and tight dialogue, you should read all of their fics. This one has the flavor of a Daphne du Maurier novel – dark, creepy, and moodily romantic. Plus a supernatural edge. It’s so good.

[liladiurne]

Brighter Than Bright - extract from chapter 14

Look at me, with chapter 14 already underway barely a week or so after posting 13. Isn’t that a good omen?

Once more, here is the beginning bit, because I don’t have anything at this point that wouldn’t spoil too much for you. I thought this would be perfect, because it announces a little what’s coming in the chapter without actually introducing the new characters. There is so much good stuff coming this chapter! I may share another extract before it’s finished, but we’ll see, because this is a bit longer than what I normally share, I think. Either way, I think this is going to be a long chapter!

This extract may change and differ a little in the finished chapter, as I tend to move things around when I edit. I have proofread this a bit quickly, so there may be some typos, which you can disregard because they will surely be fixed at some point. I hope you enjoy!

EXTRACT FROM CHAPTER 14

While Harry’s second heat does not last quite as long as the first one did, a few more days must pass before he feels strong enough to leave his bed. Charlie remains by his side throughout, drawing while Harry reads or sleeps. From the way he dutifully attends to Harry’s every need, constantly asking if he is hungry or thirsty or tired, it is evident that he still feels guilty at having left his little brother to such torment, regardless of how many times Harry has told him that it was probably for the best.

When Harry thinks back to those dreadful few days, he is filled with a combination of fury and shame. Perhaps worse than the memory of his suffering is the knowledge that, although he does not remember it, he seemingly called out for Mr Snape. Fanny said that the heat is meant to coerce him into mating, and he tries to console himself with these words. He suspects that this irrepressible, forceful longing does not discriminate between one Alpha and the other, and for this reason, he is nearly grateful that Charlie was absent. As he is so often reminded, he is not truly related to Charlie after all. If his reason can be so addled, if this strange instinct inside his chest, this part of him that does nothing but crave and crave, can resort to yearning for a despicable Alpha such as Mr Snape, Harry dares not imagine what could have happened if his brother’s scent had been nearby when he was in the throes of the heat. The oestrus has a mind of its own. If it can turn abhorrence into attraction, who knows what it can make of brotherly love.

Most of what occurs during the heats does not stay with him for long. He cannot recall much apart from the pain and some vague, feverish recollections of waking up and then sleeping again. He knows that he dreams, sometimes vividly, sometimes rather hazily, in wisps of thoughts and images, but all remembrance of what those dreams contain leave him swiftly as the fever fades. He is unsure whether these lapses in memory are caused by the fever itself or simply by the laudanum. Perhaps it is a combination of the two. But it is just as well that he cannot remember. Harry has no desire to know what feverish delusions might have resulted in him saying Mr Snape’s name.

At least he did not ask for Mr Malfoy. He does not think that he could live with such ghastly knowledge.

When Harry finally leaves his room for good, he finds that a thick blanket of snow has covered the world, thus putting an end to horseback ventures with his brother until spring. He is somewhat disappointed at having missed the last days of autumn, but as soon as he is well enough to leave the house, he heads outside with Charlie and the two of them engage in a great snow battle, to which even their father participates. Later in the afternoon, as the sun sets, they construct a great snowman in front of the house and dress him in a scruffy hat and scarf before retreating inside for some mulled wine.

Harry usually finds winter most inconvenient. As beautiful as snow can be at the beginning, it never takes long for him to miss the smell of the warm summer air, the loud humming of the cicadas, the wide, green expanse of his field. Unable to retreat to his habitual refuge under the shadow of the beechwood tree or to go on long walks by the river, Harry must spend most of winter confined to the house, forced to read every book he can find, often ones that he has already read countless times before. When he is truly unable to find entertainment, he sometimes sits at his desk and writes short little stories for his own amusement, or he plays with Hedwig, sprawled on the floor and throwing a ball of twine around for her to catch.

This year, of course, with Charlie present, there is no such lack of distraction.

On the first week of December, after a particularly heavy snowfall, Charlie spends at least an hour rummaging through the shed behind the barn until he finally unearths the old sleigh that Hagrid made for them years ago. It needs a little fixing, having been buried under some tools and refuse for nearly a decade, but as soon as it is good to use, it is attached to one of the draft horses’ harness. Once they are dressed thickly and warmly enough, Harry and Charlie settle on the sleigh, which is barely big enough to hold them both now that they are grown, and spend the afternoon being dragged around speedily through the snow, laughing and yelling and causing quite a raucous through the village, for which they are promptly scolded at supper. Their mother is not shy in expressing her disappointment at finding out that she has not, as she believed she had, raised respectable young men, but rather careless little ruffians.

As much as he loves the warmer weather, Harry is rather looking forward to the colder days, hoping that the river might freeze, because Charlie has also found their old ice skates hanging in the back of the shed. At present, however, the water still flows merrily, with no sign of stopping.

“It is so unfortunate that you were not here last winter. It was frozen for months,” Harry says regretfully one morning as they stare at the river, having taken advantage of the sunny day and the melting snow to walk alongside it.

“It is not cold enough yet. Perhaps in January.”

Harry shrugs. “It may not even harden enough for skating.”

“Do you remember that big pond in Hampstead, behind the marketplace?” Charlie muses, nudging Harry with his elbow to try and shake him out of his sombre mood. “It was always fit for skating. Do you remember? Grandfather would take us there when we visited in the winter.”

“I remember,” Harry says distractedly.

His mother never wanted him to go. She would insist that his brothers and cousins were too rough and that he would get hurt and that it would be better if he remained at the house with the girls. But Grandfather would not hear it. He had never once left Harry behind, even if it meant arguing ceaselessly with his daughter. It is true that the boys were terribly rough, however. Harry remembers how they darted around dangerously on their skates, crashing into one another at terrible speeds, and Grandfather was aware of the danger their carelessness posed for Harry, who was much smaller than they were. He would pretend that he was afraid to fall and hurt his old bones, and he would ask Harry to remain nearby and please not let go of his arm while they skated around the edges of the pond safely. Harry should perhaps have been upset at being subjected to this protective treatment while his brothers were free to play however they wanted, but he took a sort of pride at being kept close as the favourite. He still remembers how Grandfather’s steady hand would hold him up whenever he lost his balance or whenever the blade of his skate would catch into the ice and threaten to trip him. All of his brothers and cousins would get regularly hurt whenever they went out skating, but even if Harry had never been a good skater, he had never fallen once with Grandfather by his side.

“It must be nearly ten years since I last saw him,” Charlie adds disbelievingly. “Eight years, I believe.  Yes, since I joined the military. It will be good to see him again.”

Harry turns to his brother in confusion. “Again? Are you going to Hampstead?”

“Yes. All of us shall be visiting for Christmas,” Charlie reveals with a grin.

Harry grips his arm suddenly, a bit roughly perhaps, but Charlie only laughs. “What? When was this decided?”

“I told Father that I would need to leave for a few days next week,” Charlie says in a more serious tone. “I was going to perhaps find a room in Hatfield, but he suggested I go to Hampstead. I have done so in the past, after I came of age, if you recall.”

Harry nods, looking away in embarrassment. When they were younger, Bill and Charlie both would visit their grandfather whenever the time for their rut was near. Harry has always felt a certain guilt over this, especially now that he knows how much easier it is to be at home during such a trying time. But they would both rather leave The Burrow than have Harry being sent away, even for a few days. Besides, Grandfather Prewett is himself an Alpha, and he was always in the best position to provide a comfortable environment for them.

“And so, I wrote to Grandfather, and he was the one who suggested everyone should follow suit after me. I shall be leaving on Monday, and Mother, Father and you should join us the week after. Everyone will come for Christmas as well. Uncle Fabian and Aunt Mable, with Catherine and Caroline. And Ron and Ginny. And Percy, Fred and George will certainly come as well. I believe even Robert will come with his wife and the children. Are you happy?” Charlie asks, quite unnecessarily, because surely it is obvious from Harry’s wide eyes and grin that he is ecstatic. “We shall have a big family Christmas, just like when we were little.”

“I am happy,” Harry can only mumble, holding Charlie’s arm tightly still and pressing his cheek against his brother’s shoulder. “It will be just like before. As if nothing had changed.”

Harry is nearly certain that his brother smiles sadly at this, but Charlie does not reply as they continue walking, the soggy ground squelching under their feet.

[angrylittlepoet]

autumn fell in love so hard

that it shed all its leaves

and made space for

for winter

winter loved autumn too

but his nature

was cold

too cold

he made love to autumn

and showered her leaves

with white snow

unaware of his coldness that crept

into the bark of her trees

in the middle of the night

the fireplace grew dim

and then

there was love

but no comfort at all

unable to bear the frost

autumn parted her way

but before she did

she promised

winter that she would come back

again

next year

around December 21st

on Solstice

when the sun is farthest south

and winter reaches earth

and when it's time for

fall to leave

again

the nights would be long

and the streets would light up

again.

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for december 6 of 2022 with Proverbs 6 and Psalm 6, accompanied by Psalm 76 for the 76th day of Astronomical Autumn, and Psalm 40 for day 340 of the year (with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 3rd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 6]

My son, if you will risk your family’s future to put up collateral for the debts of an acquaintance,

if you seal a commitment with a handshake to someone without first knowing the value of his word,

Then your words may well be the trap that snares you,

and your promise may seal your fate.

You can’t be sure to whom you hitched your future.

So, my son—save yourself! Here’s what you need to do:

go to that person who became your master with a handshake,

humble yourself, and plead your case.

Do not sleep;

don’t even rest your eyes until you deal with this.

Get out as quickly as possible,

as a gazelle runs from the hand of the hunter,

as a bird takes off from the grip of the fowler.

Take a lesson from the ant, you who love leisure and ease.

Observe how it works, and dare to be just as wise.

It has no boss,

no one laying down the law or telling it what to do,

Yet it gathers its food through summer

and takes what it needs from the harvest.

How long do you plan to lounge your life away, you lazy fool?

Will you ever get out of bed?

You say, “A little sleep, a little rest,

a few more minutes, a nice little nap.”

But soon poverty will be on top of you like a robber;

need will assault you like a well-armed warrior.

Someone who struts around taking advantage of unsuspecting souls

and deceiving others is to be avoided.

With a wink of his eye, a quick shuffle of his feet,

and a slight gesture with his hand, he signals his roguish treachery.

With a warped mind and twisted heart, he constantly looks for his own gain at others’ expense,

causing friction everywhere he goes.

But you watch: his actions will bring sudden disaster!

In an instant, his life will be shattered,

and there will be nothing to save him.

Take note, there are six things the Eternal hates;

no, make it seven He abhors:

Eyes that look down on others, a tongue that can’t be trusted,

hands that shed innocent blood,

A heart that conceives evil plans,

feet that sprint toward evil,

A false witness who breathes out lies,

and anyone who stirs up trouble among the faithful.

So, my son, follow your father’s direction,

and don’t forget what your mother taught you—

Keep their teachings close to your heart;

engrave them on a pendant, and hang it around your neck.

Their instruction will guide you along your journey,

guard you when you sleep,

and address you when you wake in the morning.

For their direction is a lamp; their instruction will light your path,

and their discipline will correct your missteps,

sending you down the right path of life.

They will keep you far from the corrupted woman,

away from the smooth talk of a seductive woman.

Do not lose yourself in desire for her beauty

or let her win you over with her painted eyes,

For you can buy a harlot with a loaf of bread,

but sex with another man’s wife will cost you your life.

Can you carry fire right next to your body

and keep your clothes from burning?

Can you walk over fiery coals

and keep your feet from blistering?

Take another man’s wife, and you will find out—

whoever touches her will be found guilty.

People don’t despise a thief

who only steals to fill his hunger;

Still if they catch him, he must repay seven times over—

he could end up losing everything he owns!

By contrast only a fool would commit adultery

since by his action he loses not only his possessions but also his own life.

He will suffer injury and be disgraced;

dishonor will leave a permanent mark on his life.

For jealousy sparks a husband’s rage—

when he gets his revenge, he’ll show no mercy.

He will not be paid off or appeased;

no bribe or gift will set things right.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 6 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice:

Laziness is not just a bad habit; it’s a threat—a clear and present danger. Since the beginning, God has made us in His image to create and tend His good creation. In other words, God has made us to work. It is in our spiritual DNA. We must do it in order to be who God made us and to fight off the threats of poverty and want. God has also created the Sabbath as a space for us to rest, of course, just as He rested on the seventh day.

[Psalm 6]

For the worship leader. A song of David accompanied by the lyre.

O Eternal One, don’t punish me in Your anger

or harshly correct me.

Show me grace, Eternal God. I am completely undone.

Bring me back together, Eternal One. Mend my shattered bones.

My soul is drowning in darkness.

How long can You, the Eternal, let things go on like this?

Come back, Eternal One, and lead me to Your saving light.

Rescue me because I know You are truly compassionate.

I’m alive for a reason—I can’t worship You if I’m dead.

If I’m six feet under, how can I thank You?

I’m exhausted. I cannot even speak, my voice fading as sighs.

Every day ends in the same place—lying in bed, covered in tears,

my pillow wet with sorrow.

My eyes burn, devoured with grief;

they grow weak as I constantly watch for my enemies.

All who are evil, stay away from me

because the Eternal hears my voice, listens as I cry.

The Eternal God hears my simple prayers;

He receives my request.

All who seek to destroy me will be humiliated;

they will turn away and suddenly crumble in shame.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 6 (The Voice)

[Psalm 76]

For the worship leader. A song of Asaph accompanied by strings.

The One known in Judah is the True God;

in Israel, His name is great.

He has made Salem His home;

indeed, He rests in Zion.

There He destroyed the instruments of war:

flaming arrows, shields, and swords.

[pause]

You rise and shine like the dawn.

You are more majestic than the mountains where game runs wild.

The strong-hearted enemies were plundered;

they were buried in slumber.

Even the noble warriors

could not raise a hand to stop You.

O True God of Jacob, with just Your rebuke

both horse and rider fell into a deep sleep.

You are feared; yes, You.

And who can stand before You when Your anger flares?

You decreed judgment from the heavens.

The earth heard it and was petrified with fear, completely still,

When the True God arose for judgment

to deliver all the meek of the earth.

[pause]

For the wrath of man will end in praise of You,

and whatever wrath is left You will wrap around Yourself like a belt.

Make vows to the Eternal your God,

and do all you promised;

Let all the nations around you bring gifts

to the God who arouses fear and awe.

He squashes the arrogant spirit of the rulers

and inspires fear in the hearts of the kings of the earth.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 76 (The Voice)

A note from The Voice:

This song of Asaph praises Jerusalem as God’s earthly home and celebrates His victory there over enemies, where in the end “He squashes the arrogant spirit of the rulers.”

[Psalm 40]

For the worship leader. A song of David.

I waited a long time for the Eternal;

He finally knelt down to hear me.

He listened to my weak and whispered cry.

He reached down and drew me

from the deep, dark hole where I was stranded, mired in the muck and clay.

With a gentle hand, He pulled me out

To set me down safely on a warm rock;

He held me until I was steady enough to continue the journey again.

As if that were not enough,

because of Him my mind is clearing up.

Now I have a new song to sing—

a song of praise to the One who saved me.

Because of what He’s done, many people will see

and come to trust in the Eternal.

Surely those who trust the Eternal—

who don’t trust in proud, powerful people

Or in people who care little for reality, chasing false gods—

surely they are happy, as I have become.

You have done so many wonderful things,

had so many tender thoughts toward us, Eternal my God,

that go on and on, ever increasing.

Who can compare with You?

Sacrifices and offerings are not what You want,

but You’ve opened my ears, and now I understand.

Burnt offerings and sin offerings

are not what please You.

So I said, “See, I have come to do Your will,

as it is inscribed of me in the scroll.

I am pleased to live how You want, my God.

Your law is etched into my heart and my soul.”

I have encouraged Your people with the message of righteousness,

in Your great assembly (look and see),

I haven’t kept quiet about these things;

You know this, Eternal One.

I have not kept Your righteousness to myself, sealed up in the secret places of my heart;

instead, I boldly tell others how You save and how loyal You are.

I haven’t been shy to talk about Your love, nor have I been afraid to tell Your truth

before the great assembly of Your people.

Please, Eternal One, don’t hold back

Your kind ways from me.

I need Your strong love and truth

to stand watch over me and keep me from harm.

Right now I can’t see because I am surrounded by troubles;

my sins and shortcomings have caught up to me,

so I am swimming in darkness.

Like the hairs on my head, there are too many to count,

so my heart deserts me.

O Eternal One, please rescue me.

O Eternal One, hurry; I need Your help.

May those who are trying to destroy me

be humiliated and ashamed instead;

May those who want to ruin my reputation

be cut off and embarrassed.

May those who try to catch me off guard,

those who look at me and say, “Aha, we’ve trapped you,”

be caught in their own shame instead.

But may all who look for You

discover true joy and happiness in You;

May those who cherish how You save them

always say, “O Eternal One, You are great and are first in our hearts.”

Meanwhile, I am empty and need so much,

but I know the Lord is thinking of me.

You are my help; only You can save me, my True God.

Please hurry.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 40 (The Voice)

the alphabetic number of the word “coffee” is 40

[tokkias]

running from the cold Fandom: Danganronpa Ship: Kaito Momota/Maki Harukawa Summary:  But winter came and went. And came again. And then came spring. Then summer, then autumn, then winter again. And every year she remained standing, agonising, through the cold and dark months.  (alternatively. kaito and maki have a snowball fight) ao3

Maki didn’t like the snow. Snow signified the beginning of winter, and winter was nothing but a time of suffering and hardship. The cold was never welcome when you lived with very little in the way of heating or warm clothing. More often than not Maki found herself giving away her coat or blankets to the younger children at the orphanage. She claimed it was to quell their whining, but deep down she knew it was because she cared; because she was used to the cold, because they deserved it more than she did. She never expected to make it out of that orphanage alive. Every winter she thought it to be her very last.

But winter came and went. And came again. And then came spring. Then summer, then autumn, then winter again. And every year she remained standing, agonising, through the cold and dark months.

Though, apparently not everyone shared her disdain for the season, hence where she stood, ankles deep in the snow in the backyard of Kaito’s grandparents home at his insistence. Not only did Kaito tolerate the colder months, he seemed rather fond of them. To him, the drop in temperature was just a sign of the start of the holiday season.

Holidays were not celebrated in the orphanage Maki grew up in; any type of celebration was much too expensive, especially when they were struggling to provide basic necessities. There were no decorations, no big family meal, and no gifts from Santa under the tree. To Maki, December 25th was nothing more than another day on the calendar, but this year, at Kaito’s insistence she was spending it with him, experiencing all the things that she had missed out on growing up.

The snow had been falling all day and now rested in a thick coat concealing the grass beneath it. Her jacket and gloves kept her warm, but she still shivered as the cold air hit her face and her breath created a misty cloud in front of her.

It wasn’t until she felt a soft impact on her upper back that she planted herself back in reality. Reaching over her shoulder, her gloved hands came into contact with someone cold and damp before whipping herself around to see Kaito standing before her, a mischievous grin on his lips, and it wasn’t until he spoke up that she finally processed what had happened.

“Aw, c’mon Maki roll! You’re not gonna throw one back?” He already had a second snowball in hand, clearly prepared to ensure a fight would she choose to retaliate, but he stood fixated in his position to give her an easy shot if she did fight back.

Without thinking, Maki bent down and gathered a lump of snow in her gloved hands, squishing it together into something that resembled a sphere, before pulling her arm back and throwing it at Kaito, where it hit his shoulder with a soft thud as the snowball disintegrated on impact.

As soon as the snow hit, Kaito’s face lit up and he threw back the snowball he had already in his hand. Prepared for it this time, Maki dodged the incoming projectile and grabbed a fistful of snow to throw back.

With nothing to send back at her, Kaito instead resorted to running away as she pelted him with snowballs, hitting him with precision that he probably should have anticipated before he challenged her.

She couldn’t contain the laughter that escaped her lips, watching Kaito stumble through the snow, desperately trying to dodge her shots while also trying his best to throw some back at her. She didn’t even mind when one hit the side of her head and the snow slid down the side of her face and seeped into her jacket. The feeling of the cold against her skin was not uncomfortable, but rather enthralling, filling her with a sense of childlike wonder that she never got to experience after all her years spent running from the cold.

With an uncharacteristic grin painted across her face, Maki leaned back down to gather some more snow before Kaito could get another hit in, forming it into a large, compact ball, and throwing it at him with as much force as she could muster.

The snowball hit him square in the chest with such force that knocked him over, falling backwards into the snow with a thud. Maki stood for a moment, waiting for him to get back up, only to be filled with worry when he didn’t pull himself off the ground.

“K-Kaito!”

Her heart dropped for a moment as she ran over to his side, dropping to her knees to make sure she hadn’t hurt him, only to have him pull her down onto the snow with him.

“Idiot…” she murmured, “Don’t worry me like that.”

He placed a kiss on her forehead, pulling her closer before chuckling softly, “Heh, sorry ‘bout that,”

Maki hadn’t realised just how late it had gotten in the midst of their tussle, with the stars already littering the sky. They both settled into the comfortable silence as they lay together watching the stars as they did almost every other night.

“You feeling cold?”

Having gotten caught up in the joy of their snowball fight, followed by the quiet serenity of stargazing next to Kaito, she had barely registered the cold air hitting her face until he pointed it out to her. She nodded, burying her face in his chest, taking advantage of the warmth his body radiated until he pulled himself off the ground, offering a gloved hand to her, which she took, pulling herself out of the snow and stumbling back into his arms.

Detaching herself from Kaito, Maki looked over at the indent in the snow from where that had been laying, surrounded by messy shoe prints that documented where they had ran and stumbled across the yard.

What had once been a pristine and untouched blanket of snow was now a landscape telling the story of two young lovers fooling around in the cold.

“You comin’?” Kaito was already standing in the doorway, waiting for Maki to join him inside whilst she stood out in the cold that she claimed to hate.

With a small nod, she rushed back inside, shedding her boots and jacket before planting herself down in front of the fireplace, adorned with its stockings and tinsel, welcoming the warmth it brought her. Although she was perfectly content holding her hands out to the heat of the fire, she appreciated the plush blanket Kaito had wrapped around her and the warm mug of cocoa Granny Momota had prepared for her. It was cozy. An unfamiliar sensation, but certainly not one that was unwelcome.

As Maki sat cross legged on the carpeted floor, Kaito took the opportunity to rest his head in her lap, closing his eyes as she awkwardly tried to drape some of the blanket over him. Both of them sat there, fully content in that moment with nothing more than the crackle of the fire and the faint sound of Christmas songs playing from in the kitchen to fill the silence.

Kaito’s eyes fluttered back open after a few moments, flashing her a grin, to which she smiled back down at him before he broke their silence.

“Did ya have fun?”

“Yeah, I did,” she admitted.

His face seemed to light up at her response, “So does that mean ya don’t hate the cold anymore?”

“It’s going to take more than me absolutely destroying you in a snowball fight for me to start tolerating this weather,” there was a joking tone in her voice, but he still pouted at her comment which elicited a soft laugh from her, and he couldn’t help but laugh along too.

Maki wouldn't mind spending more time in the cold, but only if it was time spent with him.