#dirt correspondences

[marigoldwitch]

Witchcraft | Dirt

There are tons of different dirt, from different places, that can all hold different energies and properties. Firstly, a lot of these are my own personal correspondences. So, if something doesn't resonate with you, don't worry just try to figure out what does. Hopefully this list will at least give you an idea of where to start or maybe help you think outside the box when it comes to this specific popular tool in witchcraft.

Graveyard or Cemetery Dirt

I feel as if this is probably one of the most popular dirt, that a lot of witches have experience using. This dirt is great for lots of different work like ancestral, spirit, protection, healing, and lucky are some of the most popular uses for this dirt. Some witches believe that graveyard dirt is only useful if it's collected from an actual grave. Personally, I believe any dirt collected from a graveyard (whether it be an actual grave or just somewhere on the property) can be just as powerful. If you're doing ancestral work, it's obviously suggested that you get dirt directly from an ancestor's grave. And it's advised that you don't take dirt from the grave of someone you don't know. And don't forget to always leave an offering, even if you don't take from any specific grave (and just take it from the property) still be sure to leave an offering for the spirits that rest there.

Here's another post I made about graveyard dirt alternatives

Church or Holy Dirt

I don't see this one talked about as often as other dirt, but I think church dirt can be a very powerful tool in spells and rituals related to cleansing, healing and protection. Depending on the type of church the dirt is collected from it can also be used for other purposes too. For example, I consider catholic church dirt to be most useful in workings related to keeping secrets or helping me undercover secrets. Church dirt is powerful because the grounds are believed to be "holy ground." Also, depending on how long the church has been there, the amount of energy that has built up over the years can contribute too. Of course, I would suggest doing your research on whatever church you're thinking about getting dirt from. Just because something is considered "holy" and old, doesn't mean it's good. Plenty of churches hold bad and dark energy too. So be mindful.

An alternative for church dirt could be altar or sacred space dirt. If you practice a lot outside, in a specific spot, the ground beneath you holds that energy too. In my opinion, I'd consider that to be holy or sacred energy.

Crossroads Dirt

A crossroads is an intersection of two or more roads. I kind of bend this definition just a little bit because finding a dirt road isn't always easy. Finding a dirt path however, those are easier to come by. So, I consider cross paths to hold similar energy and properties. This dirt is great for spells and rituals related to travel (specifically astral or spiritual traveling), decision making, and manifesting opportunities. There are a ton of interesting lore around crossroads too. Most popularly known (in western cultures) as a place to summon the devil or demons that one can make a deal with for riches, fame, health etc.

Forest or Woods Dirt

Commonly a place someone might go to escape, and sometimes even get lost, forest dirt (or dirt from the woods, or a heavily wooded area) would be great for spells and rituals associated with lost things, adventurous travel, and astral work.

Dirt From Your Home

This dirt is best used in spells or rituals that directly involve or affect your physical home. Protection and banishing mostly. It's a great way to represent your home and it's energy in spells and rituals too. If you live in an apartment home, or you live in a city, you can use your own house plant's dirt as an alternative. If you're planning on traveling, you can carry a little dirt from your home as a "return home safely" charm as well.

Garden Dirt

Surprisingly this dirt can be one of the hardest to get your hands on because not everyone just has a garden, they can scoop some dirt from. Also, most gardens usually are on private property. But if you can sneak a little bit of dirt from a park garden or community garden, without ruining anything or disturbing any of the plants in the garden, I say go for it. Garden dirt is great for manifesting, growing, fertility, and abundance. Be sure to leave an offering though.

I also consider indoor herb gardens to be garden dirt too, and I believe they hold the same energy. Or even if you just have a small balcony garden at your apartment or townhome, that counts too.

Bank Dirt

Hear me out, this dirt holds lots of energy related to money, luck, and finances. This dirt is powerful in spells related to these things too. A little bank dirt in a spells jar for financial stability is very powerful.

Railroad Dirt

This dirt is perfect for spells and rituals related to traveling, exploration, and new adventures.

Park Dirt

Perfect in spells and rituals associated with community and bounding. Local parks are known for being places that people can spend time together, go to community events, and build new friendships.

Courthouse, Jail, and Prison Dirt

This dirt is great for spells and rituals related to justices and protection. It could also be used in hexes for the same reasons.

Playground Dirt

Associated with innocence and wonder, this dirt would work great in workings related to childhood or your inner child work.

Hospital Dirt

Obviously, this dirt can be powerful in spells related to healing and health. Be really mindful of the type of hospital this dirt is from. The energy at a mental health facility is going to be different than at an ER or a maternity hospital. This could theoretically be used in cursing and hexing too. So keep that in mind as well.

School or Library Dirt

Great for spells and rituals associated with education and learning in general.

Why dirt though?

Dirt is most commonly used to represent the element Earth in witchcraft and magical practices. It's not only believed that dirt holds energy related to the earth element, but that dirt itself can absorb and hold onto the energy around it. It helps plants grow, which is why a lot of witches believe burying manifestation spells will help our spells work better and faster; it'll help our manifestation grow.

Since dirt is believed to absorb and hold onto energy, it makes since that dirt in specific locations would correspond with specific energies. If hundreds and thousands of people have used a specific location for one similar purpose those grounds would be overflowing with that energy. Bank = Money. Courthouse = Justice. Graveyard = Death or Spirits. Crossroads = Travel. Church = Sacred.

How do I collect dirt?

Be very mindful of where you're taking dirt from. Don't go digging through some random person's yard or garden for dirt lol. Don't forget to leave an offering, when necessary, too. I try to be as discreet as possible when I'm collecting dirt from a more crowded public place like a courthouse or bank. Other times it's a little easier to collect dirt without many weird stares, like in the woods, at an empty church, a graveyard, old railroad tracks etc. Make sure you have something to store your dirt in (a small jar or pouch) and be sure to properly label it when you get a chance.

So how do I use it?

There are so many different ways to actually incorporate dirt into your spells and rituals, that there is no possible way I would be able to list them all in one post. But get creative with it and don't be afraid to get your hands dirty. It's not just an ingredient for a spell jar!

I'll try my best to share different ways I've used dirt in my practice in a future post, that way I can hopefully give you some ideas on what you could do in your practice.

#witchcraft #witch #dirt #witchcraft dirt #dirt correspondences #graveyard dirt #crossroads dirt #witchy #witches #witchlife #witchythings

[peachesofteal]

Simon discovers something unexpected:

Light on masterlist

Simon Riley/female reader (single mom)

The first time Simon meets you, it’s on the rooftop of the apartment building in the middle of the morning.

He’s up here for a smoke, his first in hours, his body anxiously craving the nicotine after sitting on a cramped train for too long after the final debrief. His muscles are sore, stitches in his leg bothering him, mind is exhausted, and all he wants to do is smoke a cigarette and then collapse on the bed inside the flat that he hasn’t seen for months.

When he gets to the roof, after climbing four flights of stairs because the bloody elevator is broken, he’s greeted with two surprises. One, there is a garden up here now, multiple raised beds enclosed in sturdy two by sixes, and two… you are kneeling on the brick between them.

You’re on your knees, digging around, dirt smudged on your clothes, purple garden gloves caked with soil. You’re talking aloud too, rooting around in the plants and singing out names of vegetables and their corresponding colors, occasional pulling something green loose and stuffing it in a bag. He glances around the roof, confused, but sees no one but you, your voice carrying on the wind to where he stands by the clunky metal door.

When he gets closer, he realizes you’re not talking to yourself at all, but to a baby. A tiny baby tucked into a carrier, who’s eyes are wide and somewhat tracking your hand movements while you point to things in the garden bed, in the sky, on the ground.

“And this is a parsnip.” You say, brushing some rust-colored earth from the root and turning it in your hand. “They’re not very tasty raw but aren’t terrible cooked.” The baby watches you in awe, little feet and arms kicking and swinging while you smile and nod at them, like you think they understand anything you’ve just said. “Yeah! A parsnip!” You’re smiling, your face is bloody radiant as you nod down to the baby, one of your hands rubbing dirt from your skin onto your pants before you’re reaching out to grab a cloth from the baby’s lap and mopping up something on their chin. The action causes you to shift, your head turning enough to catch him in your peripherals, body tensing like you’ve been frozen, shoulders raising under your ears before you loosen and relax, squinting up at him in the sun. “Hi.” You blink, glancing back down to the carrier. “I uh, didn’t realize anyone else was up here.” He swallows, trying to give you a response, brain fracturing at the seam as it frantically attempts to recall words, civilian words like hello, or hi, or sorry. It’s difficult, because he’s a little distracted by how the light refracting in your eyes, the way it’s shining on your skin and hair, bathing you in the early morning glow like you’re some sort of angel. He’s still a few feet away, but he thinks he can see entire universes in your irises, every color ever imagined shimmering in the rays of the sun.

His brain finally catches up, and his mouth thankfully remembers how to form words.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.” He’s polite and you shrug, nodding to your little companion.

“You’re not disturbing us. We were just harvesting some vegetables.” You smile brightly, casually stripping off the gloves while you rock up from your knees into a standing position. If the mask bothers you, you don’t outwardly show it, and your posture is relaxed when stand in front of him. “Isn’t that right, Emmaline?” You coo down to the baby, who wiggles in her carrier as a response, face lighting up at the sound of your voice, or her name. He’s not sure. Do you live here? Are you… her mum? The babysitter? Who are you?

You give him a once over, briefly, and he watches your smile shift from genuine to forced when your eyes land on his hands. The smokes. He’s holding a pack of cigarettes in one hand, and you clear your throat, brushing some dirt off the front of your clothes. “We were actually just finishing up.” You bend at the waist to pull the carrier into the crook of your elbow, supporting its weight with your hip, and slide the handles of the bag full of green things onto your opposite shoulder. “Roof’s all yours.” He feels a pang of regret, like he doesn’t want you to go, the sentiment unnatural to him, unsettling. You obviously live in the building, he thinks. But where? Do you lug that carrier up and down the steps all the time, just to get up here? He frowns.

“I can wait.” He tries to stop you, guilt running thick in his veins, and you shake your head.

“It’s lunchtime anyway.” You incline your head to little Emmaline, who’s face is growing a little scrunchy, like she’s upset, and he swallows.

“Alright, then.” You give him another nod, and head off towards the door. He grits his teeth, fingers tensing around the thin carboard in his hand, the little box holding his salvation safely in its grasp, but his eyes slide to where you walk away, and he can’t help but notice the way the carrier lightly bumps against your hips as they sway. Bloody hell.

#peaches writes #light on #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #female reader #give this man a baby #please

[ashtavula]

Hihihi! Could I please request a royalty/nobility au with the housewardens? Like them as a dashing Mr. Darcy, if that makes sense.

So, since this is pretty open ended, I'm just going with headcanons on what sort of role they'd have in this au. Though it might be more like an otome au? But if you like it, or want to see more, please don't hesitate to ask!

Royalty AU - The Housewardens

You are the only heir to the throne, and now, you've been given a "simple" task. Find someone to marry before the year is over! Your butler clears his throat, and names some of your potential suitors...

Riddle - The Marquess' Son

-Riddle is the sole child of Marquess and Marchioness Rosehearts. His family is well known for funding medical research, and they're generally well respected. At least, publicly. In private, many nobles whisper about the cruelty of Marchioness Rosehearts, and Riddle's overbearing strictness. Your butler also states that, when your parents announced your eligibility for marriage, she was the very first to put her son's name forward. It makes you think that Riddle had no say in being a candidate.

-Riddle himself is rumored to be at odds with his family, considering his friendship with the local baker, Trey Clover, and other commoners. His mother has publicly denounced the idea that her family mingles with the lower classes, but Riddle continues to be spotted around the bakery regardless. It makes you wonder if he's not quite as strict as the rumors claim...

Leona - The Second Prince

-Leona is the second born prince of a neighboring country. His brother, King Falena, has maintained his country's status quo, but it's becoming rather obvious that Leona doesn't approve of his family's excessive lifestyle while their kingdom's poorest starve. Supposedly, Falena is growing increasingly desperate to marry Leona off to a foreigner so he can be removed from Sunset Savannah's political sphere. Leona's own people talk about him being a lazy, power hungry rebel, and this gives you pause. You haven't heard a single positive thing yet. There must be more to the man than this...

-Your butler goes on to mention that this is merely what your country's spies have found out. According to official correspondence, Leona is a laid back man with a handsome appearance, and a sharp intellect. The sheer difference in those descriptions startles you, and makes you wonder. Who exactly is Prince Leona?

Azul - The Information Broker

-Azul Ashengrotto is the head of the country's biggest information guild. Hiring his Octavinelle Agency is the best way to dig up dirt on anybody, and no one knows just how he acquires that much intelligence. Your parents have listed him as a potential candidate in the hopes that, should you marry him, he would give you access to the wealth of information he has at his fingertips. According to rumors, you must give him something of equal exchange for anything he tells you. You frown as you hear about people selling things like their voices, and their magic to him. He can't be that cruel. Right?

-According to people who have made deals with him, he has a taste for the finer things in life. He'd certainly jump at the opportunity to court you, as you are the heir to the throne. Before your butler can finish, a strange man enters the room. His mismatched eyes gleam as he hands you a letter, stamped with the Octavinelle Agency insignia. The letter is simple, but it sends a chill up your spine. "Your Highness, if you are considering marriage, then please come by my agency. I can tell you anything you wish to know about your suitors, and I'll even waive my usual fees. The only thing I ask in return is for your company. Signed, Azul Ashengrotto." Before you can question the man, he slips out of the parlor. How peculiar...

Kalim - The Merchant Prince

-Your butler clears his throat, and moves on. Next on the list is Kalim Al-Asim, heir to the Al-Asim Trade Company. Merchants under their banner travel far and wide, bringing wondrous things that many people have never seen before. In his country, rich merchants practically become royalty, and Kalim's family is the wealthiest of those families. If you choose him, it will invigorate your country's economy, and your parents approve of this. Also, according to the people who have seen him, he's cheerful and compassionate.

-However, your butler warns that his family has a dark side. In the Scalding Sands, poison is the weapon of choice, and Kalim's life has likely been threatened numerous times. And that his own siblings and cousins are likely his biggest enemies. If you married him, you'd be subjected to the same treatment. You'd constantly have to watch your back, and worry that every sip of wine would be your last. Is that truly a life you wish to lead?

Vil - The Duke

-Vil Schoenheit is the youngest Duke to grace your country's nobility. He's also the fairest. Countless numbers of men and women fawn over his beauty, yet he has rejected every advance that has come his way. This had led to nasty rumors that he has impossible standards, and that his heart must be made of ice. He apparently also has a keen mind, though there are some whispers that he uses that intellect to brew deadly poisons. Who those poisons are meant for, nobody knows.

-His dukedom also contains some of your country's most beautiful locations. Lush forests and thriving apple orchards span his lands, and his people prosper under his rule. However, people do wonder why all of his citizens seem to be good looking, and why nobody seems to oppose him. Is it just a coincidence, or is there a darker reason behind his seemingly perfect dukedom?

Idia - The Inventor

-Idia Shroud is, without a doubt, one of the smartest men in your kingdom. However, his reputation, and several rumors, precede him. He's known for being extremely reclusive, and he's almost never been seen in public. Instead, he trusts an automaton, Ortho, to complete various tasks. And the few times he has been spotted sparked a frenzy of strange rumors. There's talk around the capital that he's been cursed, marked by unholy fire. Your brows furrow. Is he truly one of the candidates for your hand in marriage?

-Aside from the rumors that swirl around him, he's genuinely skilled. Ortho is a completely sentient automaton, and several of his other inventions have changed the average citizen's quality of life for the better. He's the reason your kingdom is more advanced than any other, and that counts for a lot. He's a bit bizarre, but rumors about his supposed "curse" stirs your curiosity.

Malleus - The Briar King

-Your butler shivers, and mentions King Malleus in a hushed tone. He is the King of Briar Valley, a strange land that nobody has ever actually seen. There are old tales about his kingdom. Stories that state that the land is populated by the fae, and that their king is not truly a fae, but a fearsome dragon. These tales claim that any being who opposes the Briar King will be incinerated in a plume of dragon fire, and that he demands complete loyalty from his subjects. As you begin to wonder why your parents would give you such an option, you get your answer. For the first time, Malleus has left his kingdom, and is visiting yours. This might be your kingdom's only chance to forge an alliance with the powerful, mysterious fae.

-There is a bit more information than just wild tales. According to your butler, an odd fae visited the castle yesterday, and told your parents a bit more about Malleus. This fae stated that his king was not quite as intimidating as the stories claim, and that Malleus yearned for companionship more than anything else. Your gaze softened. You, as the heir to a kingdom, knew that a royal life could be a lonely one. If he also felt the ache of solitude, then, he surely couldn't be a monster, like the people say.

Now that you've heard about your potential suitors, only one question remains...

Who will you choose?

#royalty au #riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul x reader #kalim al asim #kalim x reader #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #idia shroud #idia x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #twisted wonderland #twst reader insert #twst x reader

[frannyzooey]

Short Days, Long Nights: 16

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: Mature (some explicit mentions, tense situations, mentions of child starvation)

A/N: this chapter wouldn’t exist without @the-scandalorian and @bageldaddy , period. Literally walking me through it line by line, I could say a lot of really gushy things about them but I’ll refrain…just know, you two, that I could kiss you directly on the mouth. And will, when we meet someday. ❤️

—

A blanket hung to keep her in the shade, the sound of June’s babbling lifts into the air to join the soft give of roots snapping beneath the soil as you pull carrots from the garden. The distant splintering of dried out boards giving way occasionally cracks through the background, Joel grabbing another piece of rotted wood at the base of the shed and tearing it clean off, tossing it over with the rest he’s collected.

Brushing a drip of sweat away from your temple with your dirt-dried hand, you make a face at the gritty path you’ve left behind. 

“You wanna go for a swim?” you coo over at June, her cheeks plumping into a corresponding wet grin when you smile at her. 

Her bottom teeth coming in, drool pools around the carrot she’s gumming and slides down over her chubby grip, the edge of it glistening in her mouth. 

You make faces at her, her dark eyes fixed on your face in bright delight until her attention catches something behind you, and you turn when she starts to crawl towards it. 

“How are my girls doing?”

His shirt ringed with sweat and molded to his body, Joel blocks out the sun when you look up at him. His hand rakes through his dark curls, pushing the wet strands away from his forehead as his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, the pulse in his throat thrumming fast under his flushed skin. Grabbing the hem of his shirt, he lifts it to swipe it over his face and your eyes flash down, where even his torso looks wet: the dark hair that collects in a swirl around his belly button to lead down matted and damp. 

He watches with amusement as June crawls over to his boot with unsteady movements, her face set with determination. 

“Hey, baby girl.” His tiredness transforms into something softer when he greets her, his eyes crinkling deeply around the edges. A dimple catching under his beard, he bends to scoop her up from the ground, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I think I got enough over there to do somethin’ with. Definitely enough to board up that broken window in her room this afternoon.”

The glass broke while you were cleaning it: old age and the elements and a warped frame all contributing, and with the mosquitos being thick at night, she’d been sleeping in your room for the time being. 

“I can fix that shelf in the pantry with one of ‘em,” he continues, “and if anything else, save the rest for burnin’ in the winter.”

A rotted shelf in the pantry breaking in half, the chair in the living room finally losing a leg, an area of the deck now off limits: exposed to the elements and after withstanding years of neglect, the cabin was having trouble standing up to the constant wear of its new inhabitants. Joel had been fixing things as they happened, but with a limited supply of resources, the plan to stay infinitely that you both made months ago was starting to fray. 

The garden was going better than you could have expected, but the rest…the rest worried you. Running out of material to cut up and make do with, June’s clothing situation was beyond scarce. With the repetitive washing that everything had to stand up against, it was always fast to fall apart. Lucky that it was summer and so hot that she didn’t really need much, you had started to piece together things for the winter but there was only so much thread you could pull out of things, only so much you could fix and repurpose. 

Joel felt the pinch too, in his own way. Voicing his frustration, he’d tell you how he would repair things if only he had the right materials, recounting to you the actual issue and the thought process behind fixing it. Even reminiscing about the hardware store days of past, he’d mentioned more than once the one right by his house that he liked to visit, the one with free popcorn for Sarah while he browsed. 

With every item that broke and with every growth milestone that June reached, you could feel the encroaching pressure to make a choice: leave this place for the dangerous unknown, or stay and attempt to survive the dangers of isolation. 

Either was a gamble, and so undecided, you kept fixing what you could, with what you had. 

You eye the shed, your eyebrow lifting as you study the now sizable hole in the side. 

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing. I was just thinking about how we don’t really need the shed for anything, so if we need more wood, we can just chop the whole thing down. Right?”

You stand and he nods, using his forearm to swipe at more sweat that’s gathered along his hairline. Streaks of dirt and dust are smeared along the bare skin, and when June reaches out to grab at his face, he catches her hand and gives it a kiss. 

You admire them for a moment: the taut muscle in his forearm underneath her bottom, the collection of gray hairs gathered at the edge of his jaw that she grabs at, his wayward curls that match her own. They smile at each other, her face diving into his chest just above the collar of his shirt, and he laughs, gently tickling her back. 

When he catches you watching him, you think you’d see a faint blush creep over his cheeks if they weren’t flushed from the heat already. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” you smile, turning to lead them down to the water. 

You’re still smiling as he lays her out on the bank to get her undressed, watching his thick fingers brush against her cheeks just to chuckle at the way she chases them with an open mouth. Standing up with a soft groan, he strips down to his underwear.

Bare chested and tanned in front of you, his body is formidable without his clothing. Marred with the scars of survival and so familiar to you by now, he appears even bigger in comparison when he lifts June up. His large hand completely covers her dimpled bottom as they prepare to wade in, and his back facing you, your eyes run appreciatively down the broad slope. 

Feeling your gaze, he smirks, and a glimmer of the confident, teasing Joel that’s been coaxed out of hiding peeks from beneath the surface. “See somethin’ you like?”

“There is something about when you hold her,” you admit. “You look so…big and strong.”

Rising on your tiptoes, you tuck your face into his neck to hide from the slight embarrassment you feel. Finding his sweat salt skin with your mouth, you give him a kiss and he hums in appreciation, the vibration of it felt against your lips when you give him another one. 

“You really like it, huh.” More a smug statement than a question, his expression matches his tone when you pull back to look at him. 

“I do,” you murmur, nosing along the edge of his jaw. “It makes me wanna have all your babies.”

Drunk on the heat of the afternoon sun and on your affection for him, you smile lazily up at him and he grins right back, winding his arm around your waist to keep you close. 

“S’that right,” he murmurs, low and gravely. His voice slips through you and your pulse picks up, his humid breath ghosting across your lips. “All of ‘em, huh?”

You nod, and with hooded eyes, he grins. 

“Don’t jinx us now, honey. Can’t be sayin’ that kinda stuff.”

His dark eyes make a slow, heated circuit down to your collarbones and back up, and arousal hooks behind your belly button fast and sharp. 

Dragging his gaze from you, he turns his attention to June. “Besides, I think this squirrely girl is all we can handle right now, anyway.”

His shoulders swathed in sunlight, Joel wades in as you strip to join them. The water is crisp and cool against your skin when you slip in, and you submerge yourself for a moment before resurfacing closer to them. 

Joel holds June around her back as he lets her float on the surface, water from her kicking legs flying up to cover his bare chest.

“You gonna be a swimmer? You gonna be a fish, baby?”

It’s easy to forget that the outside world exists when there is nothing but bird song and cicadas and the rippling water around you. No infection, no death, no fight for survival. Just Joel carefully scooping water to pour over June’s head, his soothing voice telling her to hold her breath as he ducks them under the surface, his practiced movements carefully transferring her into a one armed hold when you swim closer.

Tilting your chin up, you offer your wet mouth to him for a kiss. 

His body is firm and warm against yours, your hand reaching to cup the curve of his jaw to deepen the press of your mouths together and the kiss pulls you in just like the current that wraps and molds your body close to his. Slipping your arms around his neck, you savor his taste until June lets out a soft cry. 

Her wet fist rubbing at her eye, you reach to take her in for her afternoon nap.  Emerging from the water, you feel the awakened heat in his gaze trained on your body all the way up to the cabin. 

June is fast asleep in your room when he lays you out on the bed in the room next door, squeezing your bodies together on the twin-sized narrowness. His broad shoulders flex and shift under your knees, his river damp curls sliding through your hold as he licks you open, and when you arch into the wet heat of his mouth with a silent cry, he swallows everything you give him with a rumbled groan. 

His skin is dry and smooth against yours when he fits his solid body between your legs, reaching down to guide himself into a place reserved just for him with slick, filling stretch and he murmurs his secret wants directly into your skin, a push inside you for each one.  

“Wish you could have all my babies. Make you the prettiest momma.” 

He breathes against the valley of your breasts, into the hollow under your ear, and against your mouth, just before he captures it with a kiss. His words dripping with reverence, you keen underneath him, arching your back to force him deeper. 

“I wish I could too,” you softly moan. “I want it.” 

Blatant hunger slips into his movements, harsh, filling punches of his hips bringing you up and over the edge, and your mouths stay together in a humid press until you feel him come, his need spilling thick along the inside of your thigh.

Afterwards, his sated body relaxes on top of yours.

Your fingers collect his curls in a rhythmic, soothing motion, following the timing of your chest rising and falling beneath his cheek. His breath puffs across your skin, and your eyes flutter shut, the heat of the afternoon lulling you to sleep. 

Twitching lightly in his sleep, his hold on you tightens and the corner of your mouth lifts. His weighted body covering yours like a shield, a gentle breeze stirs the stagnant air around you, and a tendril of a thought slips through your sleepy mind.

Heaven. 

–

Your fingers dance along the produce in the pantry, your lips moving silently as you keep count in your head. More food than you could have ever dreamed of when you first broached the plan, the produce now crowds out the canned goods, and shifting in your crouch, you let the sun into the small space, narrowing your eyes in focus.

The back door to the cabin bangs open, startling you, and June launches into a responding cry seconds later, just as Joel rounds the doorway. Before you can stand, he hooks his hand around your elbow, tugging you up. 

“Go to the bedroom. Now.”

“What –”

“Someone’s comin’. I heard 'em’ in the woods. A couple of ‘em at least.”

Stomach bottoming out in immediate panic, you scramble up and head to your bedroom, scooping up June along the way. Bouncing her lightly in your arms to quell her cries, a cold sweat breaks out along your back, and crossing the hallway, you head for the predetermined snug spot in the corner next to the dresser, grabbing your gun from the top drawer. 

“You stay until I tell you it’s safe, okay? Don’t move from this spot. You got your gun? It loaded?”

The serious, frantic edge to his words has you answering him immediately, your back pressing against the wall as you slide down into place. Giving you both one last look to ensure you’re where you need to be, he rounds the corner and disappears from sight, and you have to fight the lurch your body involuntarily makes in an effort to follow him. 

You’ve practiced for this exact scenario multiple times, but it still doesn’t make it any easier. During practice, there is no cold terror at what could happen. During practice, it was easy to go through every movement with calm motions. 

Now,  you try to inhale deep, steady breaths in an attempt to slow down the pounding of your heart, knowing June will sense your unease.

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay. I know, I know. It’s okay.” Your voice comes out low and smooth, your shaking hand betraying your nerves as it rubs circles over her back. 

Straining to hear over her hiccuping whimpers, you try to listen outside the bedroom. 

Nothing, for what seems like ages, and then:

“STOP.” 

Flinching when Joel’s voice breaks through, you shut your eyes tight, reflexively tightening your hold on June’s small body. 

–

“Put your hands up.”

A lone woman emerging from the tree line halts mid step, reluctantly pulling her hand away from the pistol at her hip. 

Weathered and weary looking, she looks almost frail in her slight build and Joel scans her for any more visible weapons. His own gun gripped tight with the butt of it against his shoulder, he slowly advances, his finger resting alongside the trigger.

“What do you want?”

“I was just passing by and I saw your cabin,” she calls out. “Thought I might see if anyone was home.”

“Bullshit. You can’t see this place from the road.”

A beat of weighted silence fills the grassy space between them, and the woman changes her story. 

“Fine. We –”

“We? How many?”

Her eyebrow lifts, along with the corner of her mouth. Avoiding the question, she continues. “We saw your garden. Thought maybe we would help ourselves. Especially now, since it’s just you out here.” Direct and laced with the barest taunt, her tone implies the easy confidence of someone who has the upperhand. 

Reluctantly shifting his gaze from her, he scans the trees, searching. A branch cracks somewhere within the woods, something shifting in the distance, and when he steps in the direction of it, she brings his attention back to her. 

“It looked like you have enough to share.”

“We don’t.”

An instinctual reaction tied to his days as a raider, Joel’s mind digs deep for the old lines he used to say. Lie about your numbers. Lie. 

“Don’t think about tryin’ anything’ either,” he asserts. “Heard you the second you walked onto this land. We got eyes on you from all sides.”

She lets her head fall to the side, frowning in skepticism. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

She takes a step forward, and Joel’s heart pounds in his chest, his face outwardly calm as his finger shifts to rest over the trigger. 

“You got enough ammo to kill us all?” She tests the waters, taking another small step forward, but when Joel trains the barrel of his gun on her and presses forward, she stops. 

“Listen.” Her face steels, hardening. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.  You can let us take what we need and we’ll leave after that, or we can kill you and then take what we need. Your choice.”

His jaw ticks, anger rising in his chest. “You’re not takin’ a goddamn thing. Get the fuck out of here before –”

A faint cry pierces the air, and he freezes, the woman doing the same. Joel’s body goes rigid at the sound of June’s cry, the woman’s eyes widening, and she peers over his shoulder at the cabin. 

June’s cries stutter for a moment before picking up in volume, and he pictures the exact face he knows she’s making. He knows that cry: an upset one that won’t settle any time soon. His heart lurches, an instinctual pull flooding through him to leave and soothe her. 

He pulls up straight instead, adjusting his aim square at the woman’s face.

Her hands quickly raise higher, this time facing outwards in supplication. “Look, I didn’t know.” Gesturing towards the woods, her tone softens. “We have kids too. The food is for them.”

Before Joel can move, a horse emerges from between the trees. And then another, then another. Trying to keep them all in his sight, the group collects in the area in front of him; June’s cries growing louder in their pitch from inside the cabin.

“Please,” one of the riders says. A woman, with a small child seated in front of her in the saddle. “If you have anything –”

“I already said we don’t.”

The coldness in his statement dies as his eyes focus on the kid’s face. While the rest of the group has their eyes on Joel, the child isn’t paying attention to him and his gun. Their eyes are solely fixed around the back of the cabin and have been since they emerged from the woods. On the garden, just beyond. 

“Please,” the rider begs one more time, quieter this time. “Please. We’ll take anything.”

Joel’s eyes linger on the kid’s slight frame, on the sunken rings underneath their eyes. Their face looks haunted, as if resigned to their hunger, and scolding himself for even wavering this long, he’s still thinking when the group's collective gaze shifts to something behind him. 

A door opening, then closing. 

Hearing the crunch of footsteps behind him, he sighs deeply, frustration evident in his disappointed tone.

“Go back inside.”

–

June quieted and left in the cabin, he burns next to you when you come to join him. 

“I heard everything through the window,” you explain. “I figured if you haven’t shot by now, it would be safe to come out.” 

A tension thrumming between your bodies in the air, you ignore the heat of his scolding stare. 

“Kids, Joel.” The word is spoken to him like a plea, and his jaw ticks before you take a look at the group for yourself. 

The first people you’ve seen in over a year. 

Worse for the wear with the sallow features of the starved, they look less…intimidating than you expected them to be. None of them have that shifty, hardened edge that you’d come to recognize in the QZ, nor the menacing, cruel stare of the people you’d met on the road before. They don’t look like how you imagine the other intruder looked either, the one you still see in your nightmares sometimes. 

Instead, they just look…tired. Hungry. The children seem dirty, but cared for. The mothers protect them in their slouched hold, the men remaining frozen under Joel’s command to stay still, his gun trained on the woman closest to him.

You picture the garden you heard them ask for: the basket of carrots still sitting in the sun, the squash vines spilling over the fence. You know they could kill you right here on the spot - but they don’t. They could have come in with guns drawn because you know they have them, but Instead they wait, trying to protect their kids. 

“I’m not gonna say it again, honey,” Joel seethes, measured and low. “Go back inside.”

“We’ll trade you.” 

A voice comes from a woman, clearly the leader of the group with the way they all keep glancing her way in silent deference, waiting. For someone staring down the barrel of a gun, she appears calm, her expression a practiced blank slate. Her age hard to determine due to the dust covering her skin, her voice is clear and measured, like she’s used to negotiating. 

“You don’t look like you have anythin’ to trade,” Joel replies coolly.

Thinking of your dwindling supplies outside of food, you rest your hand on his arm. “What’ve you got?” 

“What do you need?” she replies. 

Joel’s head tilts in warning, his feet shifting to further solidify his stance. “Answer her question.”

Her eyes run down the length of you, taking in your measure for a moment. “Got some liquor if you want it.” She gestures towards a saddle bag with a tilt of her chin, but Joel is already shaking his head. 

“Already got some.”

She quirks her eyebrow up. “Fine. Some medicine?”

“What kind?” you ask. 

“Painkillers. Ibuprofen. Tylenol. Might help with –”

“Already got some of that too,” he cuts her off. 

Sighing, the woman appears to think. Glancing at a man to the left of her, they have a silent conversation for a moment before she looks over at the garden. Staring at it for a moment, she brings her eyes back to you. 

“What about a horse?”

Joel’s jaw tightens in distrust. “Like you’re just gonna give us a horse. How much food do you think you’re gonna get from us?”

She shrugs, ignoring his anger to focus directly on you. “It’s yours, if you give us enough food for all of us. Not just the kids. Respectfully, it looks like you have plenty. Certainly enough for two people and a baby.”

The assumption in her tone and the challenge in mentioning your true numbers makes Joel bristle, but the woman doesn’t back down. If anything, she straightens taller, rising to his unspoken challenge. 

Tough and firm, she waits. 

Leaning towards him, you lower your voice so only he can hear it. “I can give them some of the –” 

He cuts you off with an immediate glare. “We need that food. You know it.”

“Yea, but we don’t need all of it. We have some to spare.”

He stares at you in stern, silent disagreement, and you continue. “I was just in the pantry. We can’t eat it all, Joel. I know what’s in there. Trust me. Those kids need to eat. They can have those carrots that I just picked, and –”

His eyes flit quickly back and forth between the group and your face, not wanting to keep his attention from them for too long. 

“It’s a horse, Joel. A horse.”

He narrows his eyes at you, a war within them. You know he knows the value of what they are offering. Eventually, he relents.

“We ain’t givin’ up our fresh stuff. If we have anything – anything - it’s gonna be the old stuff.”

Thinking of the sallow child in the saddle, you silently challenge him, but he stays resolute in his expression. 

“Fine,” you back down. “The old stuff.”

“Some of the old stuff. Not all of it.”

In agreement, you face the group again. 

“Don’t move,” Joel instructs. Flicking his head in the direction of the cabin, he motions to you. “She can get you some things, and then you need to be on your way.”

“What about the horse?” the woman asks. “One of us has to move if you want it. Where should we tie it up?”

He thinks for a moment, keeping his gun trained on her. Picking a spot a ways away from the cabin, he jerks his chin towards it. 

“Leave ‘em over there.”

–

Two faded floral pillowcases in your grip filled with what you could spare, you approach the group with careful and cautious steps, Joel taking a couple of slow strides to the left to keep you in his sights. 

“Are you okay?” the woman murmurs quietly when you reach her, glancing at Joel. 

Looking at her up close, there is a softness to her that you couldn’t see from far away. Her skin is weathered but still youthful, her long brown hair tied in a loose knot at the nape of her neck and you recognize concern held in her gaze.

You frown, not understanding. 

“That man there,” she tilts her chin at Joel. “He seems like a hard one. Is he keeping you here?”

Right when you’re about to defend him, June cries again, making her displeasure at being left alone again known. 

Leveling you with a look, the woman repeats herself, this time more direct. “I mean it. Are you okay? Do you need us to help you?” 

The implication is all over her face: a hard, threatening man all alone in the woods with a young woman. Holding her captive, forcing himself on her. A grim reality you’d seen plenty of times before, you understand her concern. Still, your response is a cool one, protective in your own right. “I’m fine. He’s just protecting us, like you’re doing with your own people.”

She studies your face for the truth. “He hasn’t hurt you or the baby, has he?”

“Of course not.” You understand her questioning, you do. Softening the edge to your response, you add, “He’s - he’s mine. We’re together. That’s our daughter crying.”

Her body language seems to relax along with her frown and she nods. Taking the sacks from you, she turns to pack them into the saddle bag of the horse next to her. 

“Must have been scary, giving birth out here all alone.”

You huff, a small smile at the edge of your lips to disguise the way the memory makes you swallow hard. “Yea, it wasn’t ideal. We were lucky.”

“I helped her do the same a couple months ago.” The woman tilts her chin at another woman in the back of the group, and for the first time, you notice a small bundle wrapped tight to her chest. Hidden, protected from the elements. “You heal okay?”

“It was…rough, but I’m good now.”

Seeming satisfied in her questioning, she digs around in the pouch for a moment. Fishing out a jar, she hands it to you. 

“I’m not sure how old your daughter is, but…here. Just in case you need it.”

A bottle of infant Tylenol being pressed into your hand, you look up to ask if she’s sure, but she cuts you off. 

“Listen. We’re headed West. Towards Ja –”

“Jackson?” you interrupt, and her eyebrows raise. Joel’s impatience radiating from his position behind you, you ignore it. “Someone came by a couple of months ago and tried to take what we had. Joel took care of it. We found the map in his pocket.”

She smirks. “So he’s real protective of you then.”

“Is it real? Jackson?”

Unsure if you should be prolonging this conversation or even informing them you know the way they’re going, you can’t help the question spilling from your mouth. Curiosity pulled at you for months after you found that map, the destination now even more intriguing after seeing children in the saddle. 

“Far as we know,” she replies, stuffing the bags away. “We heard from someone that it's safe. Safer than a QZ, though that doesn’t say much. They’re trying to keep it quiet, so they aren’t overrun with people, but…” her eyes flick towards the cabin. “It’s supposed to be off the grid. A place for families.”

Joel grits out your name behind you, and keeping the children in the forefront of your mind, you rush to say goodbye, giving her a warning.  

“You can’t stay in the area or he will shoot you. I promise you, he will.” Clear and direct with your words, you think you see something of understanding laced with respect cross her features. Before you can stop yourself, you add in haste, “There is another cabin about two miles from here though. We’ve been in it, and it’s clean and safe for you all to stay the night. You can eat, get some rest.”

Her shrewd gaze takes you in for a moment, and you squeeze the medicine held in your grip, praying you won’t come to regret what you just said. 

The edge of her mouth lifts in a small smile, and you let out a breath just as Joel says your name again, this time in a stern clip.

“Tess,” she says. Acknowledging the way Joel just told her your name, she offers her own. “My name is Tess. And thank you.”

The two of you coming to a silent understanding, you take a step back as she swings up onto the horse next to her, joining a rider already in the saddle. Motioning to the group with her hand, they all start to move. 

“Thanks,” she says to Joel as she passes, but he stays silent.

Leveling her with a frown, he keeps his gun trained on her until they disappear into the trees. 

–

Backing into the cabin to ensure it stays clear,  Joel only lowers his weapon after the door is closed. You follow him cautiously into the bedroom, waiting for him to erupt. 

You can tell he wants to, a tight bundle of anger set between his shoulder blades. His body is stiff as he picks June up to make sure she’s okay, and all the while, he keeps his back to you, as if trying to stay calm in her presence. 

Her safety confirmed, he hands her to you before stalking back out to head straight for the traps and even after checking those, he stays on the front porch with his rifle, waiting. 

Busying yourself with calming June down and eventually feeding her dinner, his anger with you weighs heavily in the space. Peeking every so often at his stern profile through the window, you put June to bed for the night, avoiding him as long as possible. 

Afraid of the disappointment you’ll see on his face, you linger by June’s cradle long after she falls asleep, questioning your decisions over and over again in your mind. 

In the end, you keep coming back to her milk cheeked profile as she sleeps. 

The clothes you piece together for her. The lack of medicine should she get sick. The even worse situation she’d be in if either of you did. The people that came by today, the conflict that was avoided because they were reasonable. 

You were right to give those children food. You know you were. If that had been June in the saddle, you would have done anything to get her food — including making a promise not to come back, especially knowing another child was depending on that source for their survival. 

It required belief in people instead of immediate distrust, and though you couldn’t explain how you knew, you just knew they could be trusted. 

Leaving her to join him on the porch, you’re expecting a calmer discussion with the hours that have passed, but he is still angry. Angrier than you’ve seen him in a long time. 

Part nervous, part sorry, and part wanting to defend yourself, you tuck your arms around your torso and step outside to where his profile greets you. 

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t just let them go, Joel. I couldn’t not give them anything. They were starving.”

He says nothing, keeping his eyes resolutely on the woods in front of him. 

“Please come inside. They aren’t coming back.”

He faces you, his voice cutting. “And how do you know that, huh?” 

You swallow hard, bracing yourself. “I told them about the other cabins. I told them they could stay the night there and get some rest if they needed – “

“What the hell is wrong with you?” His eyes flash in the darkness, his expression twisted with frustration. “We don’ want them to stay close. They need to move on, so we know they aren’t comin’ back for what we have.”

“They aren’t.”

“You think just because they said so, they won’t? You can’t just trust what people tell you. I know it’s been awhile, but I thought you woulda remembered that.”

Hurt cuts through you at his dismissive tone. This version of Joel is one you haven’t seen in a long time, a shadow of the man he was before he met you and it hurts, to be back where you were. To have him look at you the way he is. Blinking back tears, regret starts to seep into your mind, but you fight against it. 

You know he’s just protecting his own, and you are one of those people. His. 

“The woman said they are headed to Jackson.” 

At the mention of the town, he looks back at you. 

“Did you see the kids with them? One of the riders had a baby, around the same size as June. That woman – Tess? She helped deliver it.”

Chastened, he looks down at the ground at your mention of that time. 

“They wouldn’t start trouble with that many kids around. I know it.”

“They gotta feed them kids, don’t they?” He delivers his statement bluntly, looking up to hold eye contact with you. Weariness rings his eyes, his tone no less scolding for it. “You know just as much as I do that you would do anything for June. Anything. Including lyin’ to someone just to turn around and steal what they have.”

The truth in his words hangs heavy in the air between the two of you, and you press on. 

“I gave them ample food. They have no reason to come back. I even put some meat in there –”

At this, he stands, outraged. His jaw ticks as he glares at you for a long moment, eventually letting out a huff of disbelief. 

“Hell, why not some ammo too?”

Shaking his head, he glances away. 

Disappointment pours off his body, his back to you and a tear slips down over your cheek. All the words you practiced saying to him die on your tongue, every good point turning to ash under the heat of his anger. You understand his worry because it’s also your own worry, but…the way the woman looked at you, the way those women held their children, the hope held in the woman’s eyes as she talked about Jackson? 

They weren’t coming back. You knew they weren’t. 

You’d thought he’d at least be happy about the horse, but the thought of another mouth to feed keeps your own closed. 

Sitting back down, he flexes his hold on his rifle, resting it across his lap. His eyes won’t meet yours. 

“I’m gonna stay up and keep watch. Just in case they do decide to come back. You should just…go to bed.”

All of the fight sucked out of you, you nod at his dismissal and turn, going back inside. 

–

His disappointment in you eats at him.

Flares bright as he sits up all night, waiting for their shadowy figures to reappear. Simmers as he hears you soothe June back to sleep after feeding her. Lingers with a fade in his chest as the sun lightens the horizon, inky black turning into pinkish dawn. 

He knows you saw those children and gave without hesitation, thinking of June. He knows that. But he’s also thinking of June. Always. Equal parts impressed and frustrated by the hope that still exists inside you even after you’ve seen what the outside world is still capable of, he doesn’t know how you can still trust. You still give; you’re still kind. 

He appreciates those qualities in you, but to give away your rations and to take a gamble on them not coming back is more than letting your hope win. It’s dangerous, and he wishes you could see that. 

He knows now that this will happen again. Clearly a route marked on that map, it’ll be used in the coming months by other people. The fact that they could see your garden was bad enough, but the fact that it was a group of people was even worse. 

He can defend you against one man, but a group? There are limits to his skills; he knows more than anyone. 

You can’t stay here anymore. 

He fights against the knowledge, the memory of Sarah now woven in with the surroundings. So much more than a place for the three of you to stay hidden from the world, he sees it as a place where the four of you thrived: the ghost of Sarah visiting him freely here, as a welcomed presence. Finally not something he pushed to the darkest, safest corners of his mind as a means to keep her memory away from what the world turned into. 

Even in death, he protected her. 

He knows she’ll follow him wherever he goes, but that doesn’t solve the problem of wanting to be the father he’s got the chance to be with June as he is here — not as who he’d have to be, if you left. 

His palm running along the smooth barrel of the gun, he stares into the dark woods and keeps watch, his weary eyes ringed with the need for sleep. 

Jackson. 

Responsible for your safety and well being, does he take the gamble and bring you there? Does he find another spot hidden deeper in the woods, hoping that one won’t be discovered? One requires faith in the words of other people, the other requires faith only in his own skills. After everything he’s seen and done, he knows which way he wants to lean…but still, he thinks. 

Acknowledging the strength in numbers that you’ve been missing this whole time, a group encountering this place was a liability, but to be part of a group - that was a strength. Resources to help if June should get sick, other people around to take care of her if either of you should. Clothes, shoes, a shelter that isn’t slowing falling apart. 

Those were just the basics of human necessity, but other things worm their way into his mind. The things not needed to live, but needed to thrive. Socialization, a community. An image of  Sarah on the soccer field projects against the dark field in front of him; all grin and bright eyes at sleepovers, running around the park he used to bring her to when she wanted to play with her friends. 

Any QZ that he’s been in was never the suburb full of children that he raised Sarah in, but at least there were other kids. Other people. A means to provide more than what you could, here. And with Jackson being a place being off the grid…there was a possibility it was better than a QZ. The world-worn cynic in him knew it was a long shot, but still.

He pictures your shadowed face in the darkness, as you argued with him. The earnestness in your eyes, the words you used to try to make him understand your reasoning behind trusting them. He was too mad then to listen, but now…he understands why. 

Not only your belief in those people, but your belief in general. Understands that you’ve always needed to believe in something, in order for any of this to work. 

“No matter what, you keep finding something to fight for.” 

He said that to you in bed one night, speaking of you and June, and he thinks about how you’ve always believed it in the same thing your own way: your something to fight for was a future still possible. 

One that you’ve shown him to be true.

Rising stiff limbed from his position on the porch, it’s almost light when he wanders back into the silent cabin. 

He tries to be quiet in the kitchen as he digs through the drawer for the map, and finding it, places it on the counter. 

Making his way to the bedroom, he crawls into the space behind your curved spine and tucks himself around it, holding you close. 

In your sleep, you reach for him and grasping your hand in his, he fits the bridge of his nose into the soft nape of your neck and closes his eyes. 

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

[sculkapologist]

We had a storage warehouse on our realm already, but I really wanted a space for plant-specific storage for the ten million oak leaves I inevitably need to save for custom trees -- so I built us a greenhouse! I think this might be the largest build I've done yet!!

A couple of things have labels, but for the most part storage spaces are delineated by the plants themselves -- barrels for a particular type of leaf have the corresponding sapling sitting on top, flowerboxes show off what kinds of flowers go in the barrels next to them, etc. I really wanted the space to have practical room to store EVERY PLANT, but to also feel like the primary purposes is growing and enjoying them.

And bonus planning sketches:

it took a LOT of planning -- these are just a few of the sketches I did trying to figure out where everything should go. IT WAS HONESTLY QUITE INTIMIDATING TO SORT OUT, I can't believe it's done!!

Also, a couple shots of the little dirt storage room just b/c I think it turned out nice too:

If you wanna watch me walking through the space (these screenshots don't quite show it all), I streamed a little tour recently over here!

#minecraft #block game liveblogging #minecraft screenshots #minecraft build #complementary shaders #rethinking voxels #minecraft aesthetic #mineblr #this one took FOREVER to get a design I liked too #really proud of the finished product tho....

[little-x-foxx]

Cleansing, Charging, Warding & Banishing

Cleansing

How to Cleanse

Find the target of your cleansing

Pick and appropriate method of cleansing

Hold your intention while cleansing. Stay focused and grounded

Follow up by filling the cleansed space with positive energy to avoid negative energies from coming back in

When to Cleanse

When you get a new tool

When a tool/room feels stale or off

When your tools or space come into contact with negative energy

Whenever your intuition tells you its time

Common Methods

Use the Elements Cleanse a room with water, fire, earth, or air. Soak or sprinkle with water, pass through flame or smoke, sprinkle or bury in dirt

Smoke Cleansing Use the smoke of herbs and plants to cleanse a space, item, or person. Pick herbs that correspond to your needs, light a bundle, and lead the smoke

Salt Salt will soak up all negative energies

Sun & Moonlight Let your item cleanse in the sunlight or moonlight, or open your windows to cleanse a space

Crystals Use corresponding crystals to cleanse a space or item. Carry them around to cleanse your spirit

Charging

How to Charge

Pick your target. Anything you want to fill with energy

Choose a method of charging that is appropriate for your item

Hold your intention while charging. Stay focused on transferring energy to the target item

Listen to your intuition. You’ll know when an item has been charged

When to Charge

After you cleanse a tool/item

When an item/tool doesn’t feel as potent or feels weak

When energy becomes stagnant

When you want an item to hold a certain intention/purpose

Charging Methods

Sun & Moonlight Set an object in the sun or moonlight to let it soak up that energy

Crystals Crystals that have been charged and cleansed can be used to charge other items

Elements Use the power of the elements to charge items metaphorically or literally

Visualization Picture your energy and intention flowing into your item and filling it with power

Herbs Charge an item with corresponding herbs by passing them through herb smoke, anointing with herbal oils, etc

Sound Use singing bowls, bells, or corresponding music to fill an item or space with energy

Banishing & Warding

What’s the Difference?

Warding is… a gentler form of defensive magic. It’s used in a general sense. Warding is used to protect and guard from negative energies. It is used to redirect energy away from you or your space.

Banishing is… far more specific and direct. It’s used to get rid of a particular energy, spirit, or person. Banishing is a very strong form of defensive magic.

Warding Methods

Guardians Create a guardian to guard your home or space from negative energies. Use a small object, enchant it with your intention, and keep it in a safe, permanent place.

Crystals Corresponding crystals can be worn as jewelry to protect against negative energy. Placing crystals in a room or around your house will create a protective barrier.

Salt Sprinkle salt around your doors and windows or make protection jars.

Herbs Burn protective herbs and pass the smoke through your space or tools or sprinkle herbal oils and tinctures on yourself and your space for protective barriers.

Visualization Use your intention and energy to visualize a powerful barrier of protecting light around yourself or your space.

Banishing Methods

Use the Elements Burn a slip of paper with your target's name on it. Throw a leaf with your target’s name on it into a running river. Burn corresponding herbs and pass the smoke through your space.

Candles Anoint your candles with corresponding herbs and oils, then burn it. When the candle has burned out, the banishing is complete

Sigils Make your own banishing sigil or find one that resonates with you. Place it in the space or on the item you are banishing energy from.

Herbs & Tinctures Use herbal smoke to force energy out of a space or object. Make a spray or herbal tincture to sprinkle around your home.

#witchcraft basics #magick #cleansing #charging #warding #banishing #paganism #pagan #paganblr #cottage witch #cottage witchcraft #witch #witchcraft #witchblr #book of shadows #book of shadows pages #grimoire #grimoire pages #littlexfoxx #thefoxxburrow

[theeoriginals]

I’d love to see your take on an arranged marriage with klaus (like medieval times or some period like that). maybe he’s marrying her to get something from her/her family but there’s something a little off about the reader (hint: she does what giulia tofana did - google her if you’re not familiar!! her story is so fascinating) and when he pieces it together he’s smitten with her 💗💗

aqua tofana | klaus mikaelson

author's note; this has been in my inbox for over a month because i was so inspired by it that I decided a 14k oneshot was necessary I hope I did it justice

klaus mikaelson x reader (no y/n) use of nickname in place of y/n

warnings; arranged marriage, strangers to lovers, klaus is a little shit but so is reader so it's okay, no Y/N, mentions of domestic abuse but not in regards to reader, mentions of poison, fluff, shy!klaus (he is real to me), these two mfers are in LOVE, mikael (a warning in itself), minor violence and bloodshed but nothing too bad. if I missed anything let me know!! this is heavily inspired by ACOTAR bc I just binged the entire series in less than a week so thank you sarah j. maas for your service

The Mikaelsons were said to be a noble family. One with loyalty and strength. 

They were coming to stay in their small kingdom, in their castle. Three of them. Elijah, Rebekah, and Niklaus. Looking for a safe haven, to avoid growing conflicts in surrounding areas. Looking for someplace to call home for a little while longer– at least, until they could no longer pass as mortals.

Riverend was perfect for them. 

The way the people of Riverend saw it, their problems were their own, and the larger, outlying kingdoms could fight their nonsensical battles without any help from a small, useless kingdom built downstream from them, carved right out of the flowing water that traveled through their town square by the calloused hands of the families that still lived there today.

As far as anyone was concerned, Riverend had no monetary value, no natural resources to capitalize off of, no armies worth rallying, and no animals to trade. The only thing it had was its people, and to most, that meant nothing. It meant they went overlooked, and were never considered in territory battles and similar crises. But to the right person–a dangerous person– such a thing could mean everything. 

That is why she was so wary to accept this supposedly noble family into their walls. She had to be wary, to think of the danger they could bring along with them should they stay. How much danger it could put her kingdom in. 

It’s why she had further qualms about marrying the man the king had been corresponding with all these months. Said qualms, of course, outside of the fact that she had no real desire to marry, let alone to a stranger. All familiarity aside, she had a duty to her people to maintain their livelihoods and not leave them stranded for her own selfish desires. Even if it meant marrying some man. 

With her mother’s voice in her head telling her to keep her chin up and her shoulders back, she was determined to keep her wits about her. She didn’t complain when she was asked to wear one of her nicer gowns to greet the family when they arrived that brisk, cloudy afternoon. She let her ladies dress her in a midnight blue gown that swept along the ground, with sleeves that draped over her hands, leaving no skin visible, spare for her neck and face. 

She was escorted by the king to the throne room, where she stood at his shoulder, resting a hand on the embroidered fabric along the muscle hidden beneath the layers. A silent, supportive daughter. A perfect royal family, to anyone who might linger too long while looking in their direction. 

Two of their sentries escorted their new houseguests into the throne room, and she did nothing but raise a brow at their humble appearance. The girl, Rebekah, was young. She’d seen better days, and she silently wondered where they had traveled from that had them end up before her and her father with dirt scuffs on their cheeks, and scruffy, unkempt facial hair marring their jaws. 

“Welcome, Lords and Lady, to our home,” Her father spoke genially, a content smile on his face as if he was unaware of the judgmental look his daughter was fixing them with. “We’re honored to have you here, honored to build a bridge between our families for years to come.” 

One of the long-haired men spoke, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, making him look like he was some proper gentleman and not a random man who had shown up on her doorstep. 

“The honor is all ours, Your Majesty. The opportunities that your generosity has given my family have not gone unnoticed. We thank you and the Princess for your kindness.” 

The King shifted slightly like he’d forgotten his daughter was there. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, and she met his gaze, peering down at him over the bridge of her nose. “Yes, my daughter. Nyxia. She’s a woman of few words, I must warn you all. And when she chooses to speak, it’d do you well to listen closely.” 

All of their eyes shifted to her, but the set of icy blue ones had never left. Not to meet the king’s eyes, or look around at his new home for the foreseeable future of their impending marriage. 

“Your Highness,” Blue eyes, suddenly alight with fire. Flame that burns her from the tips of her toes to the base of her scalp that her very hair grows out of. Flame that ravages civilizations, and wipes out bloodlines. She can feel the darkness in him from two simple words. It’d take a fool to not see it. “I look forward to getting to know you before our prospective arrangement takes place.”

He wasn’t lying, she could tell. But his words seemed to hold as much weight as hers did. A hidden meaning tucked behind every spoken syllable. Dangerous. So dangerous. The King was a fool to not see it, but that was neither here nor there. 

Licking her lips, she chose her first words carefully. It was always important to make a lasting first impression, but with this man– with her future husband, she wanted to be honest from the start. She wanted, for once, to reveal her hand before the game started. Just to see what he’d do. Just to see what he had planned. 

But she didn’t. She knew it would just be chaos. And even though such things were in her blood, she couldn’t risk anything this far into everything.

“Lord Niklaus,” She didn’t move a muscle besides the ones it took to make words form on her tongue. “My kingdom rejoices with your arrival. They will be overjoyed with the announcement of our nuptials.” 

And the man, encased in his flames that felt as if they could burn the whole world down should he please, tilted his head and smirked at her. Like he’d heard every thought she’d had in the moments between words. 

Nothing else was said between them, not verbally, at least, and the king interrupted the rising tension that was so obvious between the Princess and the Mikaelson siblings, oblivious to the people he’d surrounded himself with. 

“Lady Rebekah, my daughter can show you to your rooms in the east wing. You’ll have ladies of your own to help you bathe and dress,” He gestures to the blonde, who looks childishly excited at the thought. “The both of you will be in the west wing, my men can take you to your rooms. We can reconvene tonight at dinner, yes?” 

The three siblings bowed at their waist, easily deferring the power back to the King. 

“In the meantime, feel free to explore. Our home is yours, now. Make yourselves comfortable.” 

She stayed in the throne room long after even her father had left, watching the doors the siblings had been escorted through. She lingered at her place beside the throne, nearly behind it, where her mother once stood behind a man who looked like he belonged on a throne more than any woman would. She laid a hand around the back of the embossed silver and thought to herself that it would look better in gold. 

────── 

Klaus watched his wife-to-be dig into the dinner presented before them moments ago, her fork the first one to move, even before her father’s. She didn’t sit at the head of the table, but just to the right of her father, and Klaus had taken the seat across from her. He did not doubt that she could feel his eyes on her, but she was pointedly ignoring it in favor of talking to his sister at her side. 

Rebekah, ever the people pleaser. Even in their centuries on this earth, Rebekah could never resist the desire to cling to the nearest female in their proximity. He hadn’t said anything to her about it, yet. He figured there was no harm in letting her delude herself into thinking that Princess Nyxia wanted anything to do with any of them. 

Elijah wasn’t even pretending to be friendly like he tended to be in this position. He’d been silent for a majority of the day, perhaps tired from their travels, though Klaus doubted it was anything so simple. If Klaus were to look at himself as a King, it would be Elijah as his second, watching everything and everyone, dutifully reporting back to him about usurpers and battles to come. It would be Elijah ripping hearts out, and Klaus taking responsibility for the blood on his brother’s hands. 

There was a reason it was only the three of them. His other siblings just didn’t understand that you did everything for family. 

He supposes that’s why he’s so curious about the two royals before him. They were the only family they had left, and yet there was something unspoken there, something withheld between them that left a tenuous truce. There was such anger behind Nyxia’s eyes, and Klaus had the urge to push and push at it until it finally shattered. Elijah often compared him to a child for this inane urge, and Klaus couldn’t deny it. 

“This food is lovely, Your Majesty,”��

Rebekah looked at Nyxia’s father with a sweet little smile, and Klaus wondered how she managed to maintain such a degree of humanity inside of her after everything.

“Oh, it’s all my sweet Nyx,” He turns his pleasant, kingly smile to his daughter. Looks like he owes her the world. She doesn’t return an ounce of the fondness, but she still smiles, like she knows it’s expected of her. “She has specific tastes, so I prefer her to pick the menu. Our cooks in the kitchen work to make it all come to life and it never disappoints.” 

It works in the way that it makes Rebekah turn adoring eyes onto Nyxia once again, but it doesn’t do as such for the two brothers. There’s something about this place that drew them to it in the first place and they wanted to figure it out, neither of them did very well when it came to venturing into the unknown, so they devised the plan. It’s set in motion, it’s happening as they sit at this table and eat this food, and yet he still feels wrongfooted. He’s missing something, he’s missing the thing that brought him to this small kingdom in the first place. 

He doesn’t like living in the dark. 

Elijah cuts a thin bite of the lamb chop on the plate in front of him. “Do you cook, then, Princess?”

“If I am feeling particularly inspired, yes,” She grabs her silver chalice, swirling the dark red wine in it before she takes a drink. “I prefer vinification.” 

The King’s face lights up like he’d been waiting for another opportunity to brag on his daughter. “Yes, Nyxia made the wine we’re drinking tonight. She tries to make a personal barrel at least once a year, and it’s always the most unique flavor. She goes out and picks fruits from our trees up near the bluffs, where–”

“I’m sure they aren’t interested to know what fruits our land produces, Father.”

“On the contrary,” Her eyes shot to Elijah at his words. “I think it’d be quite ignorant of us to turn down any knowledge of the land we’re to call… home. It seems to be a very special place.” 

She watches him for a moment, eyes narrowing at his unsuspecting tone. “Yes,” She muses quietly, looking away from Elijah to meet Klaus’s gaze like she can tell Elijah’s speaking on his behalf. “Perhaps I’ll show you what makes it so special.”

None of them acknowledged the fact that it wasn’t so much of an offering of camaraderie, but rather a threat. 

────── 

Months go by. Time passes peacefully, but Klaus is growing restless. 

With the announcement of their joining sent out to the few people they intended to invite outside of their kingdom, they had begun preparing the castle for the celebration and the princess found herself preoccupied with menial tasks, like picking out what flower arrangements to line the aisle with and what color banners should hang from the ceilings above them. 

Throughout it, she’d done her best to avoid the Mikaelsons but maintained a close enough distance so they couldn’t claim she was giving them the cold shoulder. She’d grown quite good at falsifying closeness throughout her years. She was designed to have a connection with her people that displayed generosity but not bias. A relatability, but not a weakness. 

She was sure that Rebekah would call them best friends by now, but she also knew the girl could not even tell a person what the princess’s favorite color was if someone ever bothered to ask her. 

She has always been able to exist in a way that makes her entirely extraordinary, but forgettable the moment she’s out of sight. 

She’s been able to use the wedding as an excuse to avoid isolated interactions with Klaus, but she knew he’d catch her without an excuse one of these days. She would’ve preferred to avoid it for a bit longer, but she wasn’t unprepared when it finally happened.

Standing in the aisle of the throne room where the banners of white and gold were hanging above the place they were to stand in front of her people and all of the guests they’d sent invitations out to and declare an undying bond that didn’t exist, she felt a rage bubble inside of her that she was quick to smother into nothing but cinders and ash when she heard the doors creak open behind her and footsteps slow as he stopped beside her. 

“You’re a hard woman to track down, Princess,” 

“You could have sent for me at any time. It is my duty to serve my subjects,” 

She glances at Klaus out of the corner of her eye and sees an amused look grow on his face. “Is that what I am? One of your subjects?” 

“Until we are bound by law, yes, Lord Mikaelson. You are one of my subjects and I your Princess. Soon enough you’ll be Prince, and you will also owe loyalty to my subjects because this place does not exist without them.” 

“You take such pride in this kingdom, in these lands, yet you did not win it in a battle, have not even fought in one, as far as I’m aware. You have no value to other kingdoms, and yet your father brags of orchards and vineyards with bountiful fruits. He tells tales of heroic civilians, always offering a helping hand to those in need. Sparing what they can, to maintain their peace here. It’s an odd thing, considering I’d never seen or heard of Riverend before that time all those months ago when I first met your father.” 

“And yet, here you stand, within the walls of my kingdom, amongst my people. In my home.” 

There’s no humor in her voice. There isn’t any hatred in it, either, and he can tell she’s got that impenetrable mask on again. Even her momentary anger or irritation was different from this nothingness. 

He can hear her father’s words from that very first day, telling them all that her words are important. He remembers thinking it was such an odd thing to point out at that time. It almost rings like a warning, now, and not a twisted compliment for the woman. 

“It’s curious, is all. I wonder if I’ll understand what inspires such devotion once I am Prince, or if it is a feeling only you experience.” 

She turns, finally, to look at him. “You are interested in learning what makes me love my people and my home?” 

He ducks his head in a nod. “Guilty, I suppose.”

“Then I will show you,” She nods once, firmly. Like she’s just decided it then and there because of his earnest words, and he thinks it’s a ridiculous, rash thing, but when he looks into her eyes there is no hesitation or wariness. “Tonight, we will have dinner and I will answer all of your questions. I will show you why I would spill endless blood for this kingdom, and never ask any of my people to do the same for me in return.” 

He raises his brows, letting a sliver of his suspiciousness show in his icy, blue-gray eyes. “You’re offering such honesty to my family after weeks of pretending like we don’t exist? Forgive me if I’m skeptical of your generosity.” 

“Not your family. You. You and I will have dinner alone, and I will tell you everything you want to know,” She corrects him, earning a more genuine look of shock from him. “You are to be my husband. One day you will be my King, and I your Queen. Is honesty not the place to start?” 

Klaus falls silent, watching her, waiting for a slip-up. For any sign of hesitation or scheming behind her endless eyes. Finding nothing, he bites out a wry laugh and nods in agreement, finally tearing his eyes away from her to look around at the decorated throne room. 

The betrotheds stand silent together for a few minutes, and she offers no insight into whatever it is she’s thinking as she stares at the throne front and center in the room. 

“Is my help needed for our wedding?” Klaus says suddenly as if there isn’t a mounting tension building in the room like a shadow of the night. 

“Not unless you are offering,” She says simply. “I’ve told them white and gold, for our colors. My dress is to be fashioned similarly, as are your garments. I’m sure you’ll be summoned for fittings, but our seamstresses have plenty of work to do before then.” 

The man hummed agreeingly. “Then I shall leave you to it. And I’ll see you at dinner tonight.” 

“Before you go, Lord Mikaelson,” 

“I am certain you can call me Niklaus. Just Klaus if you’re feeling particularly agreeable that day, Princess,” 

She raised a brow like one might raise their lips in humor. “Niklaus.” 

He looks at her indulgently. 

“Even after we are married, outside of our duties to this kingdom, I will never ask you for anything,” She says, her words striking something like a warning bell inside him. “But right now, I have a question for you.” 

“Ask me anything, Princess,” 

“Do you know who you are?” 

Klaus’s eyebrows flexed on his forehead. “Pardon?” 

She turns to face him head-on, standing before him like she did that first day they arrived, only this time there was barely a foot of distance between them. He could almost see her pulse move in the long lines of her throat. “I ask you, as your future wife, do you know who you are? Do you feel the shadow that shields your soul? Do you feel the fire that consumes you?” 

She tilts her head at his suspended silence. “You hide from the light that is still inside of you. You hide from someone. But you won’t hide from me. You can’t. It is because of that unfair advantage that I am offering you honesty. Know that I do this for you as an act of trust. Do not underestimate the weight of such a thing, or you will see just what I am willing to do for this place.” 

She side-steps him and walks past him, leaving him in a stunned silence that quickly turns into rage that they both know he can’t take out on anything within the walls of this castle, and the borders of this kingdom. 

She’s established the high ground. And she has made it clear that it is not Klaus standing up there, looking down at her, but rather the other way around. 

She’s offered to even the playing field, though. He’s curious to see just how much honesty she’ll be parting with tonight. He’s curious to see how it will end. 

────── 

The table is set for two. 

It’s different from the dining table they’ve been occupying for the past three weeks. This is a table made for two, and only for two. 

Candlelight casts shadows around the room, and Klaus does a slight double take as he walks towards the table, escorted quietly by one of the sentries from his quarters to this room. He’s loath to admit he was distracted by thinking about all of the possibilities of this dinner to pay attention to the fact that he was being led to the east wing and not the usual central hall where meals were had. 

But it’s too late for him to question it, as the sentry is walking out and a door across the room opens, revealing the princess. 

She’s changed again– always in different gowns throughout the day. This one is similar to the one she was wearing when they first met. A blue so dark it looks black, that holds color like the night sky. Sleeves that drape over her shoulders and cinch down to her wrist, leaving only her hands bare. With the dim lighting of this private dining room, shadows dance around her face, and he thinks to himself that the shadows cling to her. 

She gestures for him to take a seat, already doing so, and she immediately grabs a corked bottle from the side of the table, popping it open and pouring their golden chalices halfway full before she sets it back down. 

Klaus takes the first drink and has to bite back the pleased noise he starts to make, if only out of spite. 

“I’ve been fermenting this wine for three years,” She informs him, seemingly hearing the noise anyway, if the gleam in her eye is anything to go by. “It’s from my private reserves.” 

“Aren’t they all from your private reserves?” 

“No, I give barrels to the tavern in town,” She swirls it around in her cup, quirking a brow at him. 

“Give, or sell?” 

“Aren’t you the one who said I have undying generosity for this kingdom for no good reason?” She takes a small sip of the wine, holding it in her mouth for a moment before she sets it down. “It’s too bitter for my liking.” 

Klaus hums, taking another drink. “Perhaps you’re just your own biggest critic,” 

“Mm, perhaps,” She concedes, fluttering her eyes in a slight roll. It’s as casual as he’s ever seen her, and she’s still sitting stock-straight in her chair, shoulders back and chin high. As royal as ever. “Are you going to start asking your questions?” 

He smirks, tilting his head in a slight nod. “Maybe I was waiting for your permission. I wouldn’t want to be a rude dinner guest, after all. Not after you’ve brought this lovely meal into this secluded space,” 

“It’s mine. I don’t always prefer to eat in the company of others,” She says. “My bedroom is through that door.” 

She points to the door she’d come through upon his arrival, and his eyes follow the curve of her arm through the fabric shifting along it. 

“How lucky I am, then, hm?” 

“Oh, most people would not call it luck, Niklaus. In fact, I think I heard your brother say to your sister once that it feels like you’re all just sheep in a wolf’s den.”

Klaus makes a dry noise of acknowledgment, mentally cursing his brother for saying such things within earshot of anyone, let alone his soon-to-be wife. “My brother’s desire to protect this family often leads him to paranoia, I’m afraid.” 

“I never said he was wrong.” 

Klaus’s hands flex in his lap, out of view of the princess. “Oh, is that so? Then maybe I am ready to start asking questions,”

She beckons him on with a wave of her hand. Neither of them has touched their meals. He doesn’t think they’ve broken eye contact, either. Locked in this stalemate, tension rising and rising and rising. 

“I have traveled far and wide in my days on this planet, and I have come across some very strange places, I must say. But never have I come across a place that simply… doesn’t exist,”

If Klaus knew any better, he’d think she looked excited at the words coming out of his mouth.

“That is not a question, my Lord,” 

He smirks at her correction. “What is it? What is it that hides this place from the map? How do you keep travelers passing through, yet no one has ever had so much as a–a tall tale, or some monster story to tell about this place? You fight in no wars but you have sentries stationed throughout this castle, on guard every night and day. You trade no goods, but these lands are bountiful in fruits and vegetables, crops as big as this castle grow in people’s yards. So, tell me, Princess Nyxia, how do you do it?” 

She shifts in her chair, leaning her arm onto the armrest, and for the first time since he met her all those months ago, she smiles. 

She smiles widely, and it’s not something wicked or cold, but instead, it’s amusement, through and through. Every bit of that coldness stays in her eyes, though. Darkness still clinging to her like a child and its mother.

“There are stories about things– creatures so dangerous that you cannot even utter their name, for fear of inviting them into your home, your mind,” She starts, undoubtedly aware of the anticipation thrumming in his veins. He’s had to be so careful about feeding since they came here, compelling people, and never taking too much, because he can’t risk her catching on. He thinks he feels more human than ever within these walls, and it’s such an odd thing. 

“My real name has not been spoken in decades. Most people in this kingdom, in this castle, do not know me as anything other than Nyxia. It is the name that my mother held when people started to refuse to say her name as well, and in honor of her great life, I now bear it as my own.”

Klaus lets out a slow breath, a feeling like adrenaline coursing through him. “What are you, Nyxia?” 

“I am the shadows that follow you along the walls, I am the very stars in the sky. I am the end to every day, and I will be the end to it all when I am finally called back home. I am the thing you see every time you blink your eyes, Klaus Mikaelson. I am darkness.” 

He shuffles, leaning his elbows onto the table to examine her closely, in a way that he hasn’t had the chance to do since their arrival. “You keep this place hidden so that people don’t find you and hunt you.” 

“Why do you think you and your siblings found this place? Why do you think you could see and remember what so many others could not?” She raised a brow, pulling her cloth napkin from her lap and dropping it atop her untouched plate. “I know what you are, Niklaus Mikaelson. The Original Hybrid. The divide in you is shadowed in darkness. I am, and have been a part of your very being from the day you took your first breath and were declared a bastard.” 

He flinches minutely, but she sees it anyway. “Why me? Why lure me and my family here? To kill us? I have no doubt you have every means to kill creatures such as ourselves if your claims of power are to be taken as truth.” 

“I have no intention to kill you, Klaus,” She pushes her chair back from the table, standing up. Silently, she gestures for him to do the same. “I have not yet told you why I do what I do here.” 

“You haven’t even told me what you do here, let alone why,” 

She chuckles freely and he ignores the chill that travels down his spine at the sound. It’s like she’s been waiting on him to break this dam between them, and now that her secret is out, she’s alive. 

She’d told him earlier to realize the weight that is behind her trust, her honesty. He will admit to himself that he had underestimated it, even in the wake of her precautions.

“Your family is not expecting you tonight, right?” 

He raises his brows but shakes his head. “I told them I’d be having dinner with you and that I’d be out for the night. Why do you ask?” 

“We’ll be taking a trip. I have things to do,”

It’s all she says before she leads him into her bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind them. 

────── 

Draped in cloaks that covered their faces in shadows she had promised him would keep them hidden while they made their way through muddy alleys and thick groves of trees, Klaus couldn’t help but wonder just what he’d gotten himself into. 

He didn’t often admit that he was in over his head– was rarely in such a position at all– but this. This was something he was utterly in the dark about. The irony wasn’t lost on him, either. 

“Where are we going, Princess?” 

“You may call me Nyxia, you know. You did earlier,” 

“I am nothing if not a gentleman, Princess Nyxia,” 

She rolls her eyes, but there’s an unfamiliar degree of humor in the action. He’s still discombobulated at her complete flip of a switch, but he’s trying to familiarize himself with it. He selfishly hopes that she doesn’t slide that cold mask back on when they return to the castle. 

“They’ll be just through here,” Nyxia led them through another tightly packed thicket of trees, and just as Klaus was about to complain, they broke through into a clearing that nearly took his breath away. 

Though they were undoubtedly still surrounded by the forest she’d traipsed them through for the past hour, at least, this ovaloid clearing was shrouded in a different kind of darkness than the night that encased the rest of the area. 

Light up by the stars glimmering just out of reach above their heads, women mingled about, stopping to talk to one another. A few children ran by, laughing as they chased one another barefoot through the trees, disappearing out of sight and earshot as soon as they left the area, only to reappear before him like a bursting bubble. 

Klaus turned slightly to look at Nyxia, watching her pull her cloak down off her head and smile kindly, genuinely, to the people who had stopped and gathered around them. Klaus took the cue and pulled his own hood off, and his presence immediately earned wary looks. 

Glancing at Nyxia, he fought the urge to jump when her hand landed on his arm, her face contorting into an understanding but reassuring look. “No, no, look,” 

She pulled Klaus closer to her, keeping her hand wrapped around his arm as he looked warily at the sea of faces watching him. Feeling entirely caught off guard, he stayed silent, happily letting Nyxia take the reins.

“This is my betrothed,” Her words immediately earn a variety of reactions. From the children, their hesitance turns into immediate adoration. From the older women, teasing laughs are shared between them, and Nyxia bats a hand out to silence them, though it’s not done out of real offense. 

Friends, he realizes. These are her friends. She’s brought him to meet her friends that she has hidden in this patch of woods, further secluding a place that already doesn’t exist outside of its own bubble. 

An unavoidable arrow of fondness shoots down his spine, and he bats it away as quickly as he can. 

“So our lovely princess has finally brought a prince to meet us,” One of the older women grins tauntingly, and Klaus eyes the wrinkles around her mouth that only come from smiling too much, and the strands of gray hair falling out of the braids she’s got piled atop her head. 

“Klaus,” He says, somewhat shocked by the emotion in his voice. “You may call me Klaus.” 

“Klaus, then,” The woman nods, conveying something to Nyxia that is seemingly translated between the two of them, though Klaus couldn’t even begin to guess what went unsaid. 

Nyxia finally removes her hand from his arm to reach into her cloak, pulling three small bottles out and passing them off to the older woman, whose face turns somewhat solemn. 

“I know that one is for Merida,” The woman starts, meeting Nyxia’s gaze from beneath her lashes. “But who are the other two?” 

“Reya and Liesl,” 

The woman curses beneath her breath and apologizes when the children nearby gasp. 

“When am I to bring this to them?”

“Within the week. It has only been getting worse lately,” 

As if she were a soldier being told her life was being offered up on the chopping block, the woman nodded and tucked the vials into the deep pockets of the dress she wore. “I will send word once they are here.” 

“Thank you, Theresé,” She grabs Klaus’s arm gently once more, beginning to steer him towards the path they’d taken, but she stops short, looking over her shoulder with a slight smirk. “You are all invited to the wedding, of course. Next month. I will send someone to escort you to the castle.” 

A bout of excited tittering follows them out, and they walk in silence, heading a bit of the way back towards the castle before she leads them off to the left, walking them across one of the runoff creeks that flow with the river through town.

He remains silent until she leaves his side to push open a gate ahead of them, the metal creaking and groaning beneath her force, but giving way eventually. 

This time, when Klaus steps forward, he instantly knows where he is. “The orchard,” 

“Yes,” Nyxia takes a deep breath in, releasing it quietly. “Come, let’s sit.” 

She leads him to a wooden bench down the main aisle in between the trees full of ripe fruit, all looking ready to be harvested and used. 

“That place,” He starts once they’ve been seated for a moment, Klaus watching Nyxia’s profile as she basks beneath shadows and night of her own making. “What is it?” 

“It has no name,” She informs him, her voice unexpectedly soft.

She’s been so different this entire night, he wonders how long she’s been waiting for someone to just ask her these questions. Every person who’s been close enough to do it has been too scared of what wrath they may face if they did ask her about the oddities of her home, but Klaus did it because he can’t help but push people. 

“It has no name, and no one knows of it besides the ones who live there, and myself. Now, you do, too,” 

“What is the purpose of it? Why is it only women and children?” 

She takes a long moment to think about her words, and he can see the way she struggles to verbalize her thoughts because no one had ever thought to ask her before. “Just because I am darkness does not mean that I can control all that exists in this world. I can’t take away what already exists, no matter how much I wish to. That place is what I call a loophole. I have them hidden all around the world. Because I cannot erase what already exists, I must find a way to work around it. To remove the darkness I wish to see gone without violating the laws of my making.” 

“And what exactly have you been working around?” 

“Humanity,” She says simply. “With every passing decade, they tear themselves apart more and more. My loopholes exist to take people out of that chaos, of the darkness. Sometimes it’s a hungry child or a bastard,” 

Klaus glances away for a moment before forcing his gaze back to hers. 

“Sometimes it is a woman that gets sold to the highest bidder. The woman I spoke to, Theresé, was one of the first women I saved from a nearby village. Her husband was an utter brute and had killed his first wife when she had barely seen sixteen name days. Theresé was strong, but there was only so much she could do before the inevitable. So I stepped in and I proposed a hypothetical situation to her, where all she would have to do is make him dinner and serve him wine, and meet me outside of her home later that night.

“I did not think she would do it, but when the moon was high in the sky, I waited outside of her house and barely breathed until she was standing before me in one piece, with tears in her eyes and bruises on her cheek. So I told her who I was and what I wanted to do, and she said she would help me if I continued to save women who had been in her position. So I have. The girls I mentioned, Reya and Liesl. Young girls, friends since childhood. They were married off to the same man, a prince of some second-rate kingdom a few days north that had already gone through 3 wives. They have just found out they’re both pregnant, and fear raising children in the environment they live in.” 

Realization dawns on him. “You give them poison. The wine you make,” 

She hums in assent and silence falls between them once more, the princess dutifully letting Klaus turn the events of the night over and over in his head, finally slotting pieces together where they’d been misaligned for months. 

“Why?” He breathes out, his tone of disbelief earning her attention once more. “Why did you bring me there when you’ve barely spoken to me all these months? When you have known what I am and who my family is, and you knew I was suspicious from the very start, why have you just now shown me the truth?” 

Sighing, Nyxia looks down at her hands folded neatly in her lap. “I fear that my honesty is about to get me in trouble for the first time tonight.” 

“Just tell me,” He shakes his head pleadingly. “Please.” 

“Death consumes your very soul, Klaus,” Her voice takes on a distant tone, one he recognizes more than any fondness or humor she’s shown throughout the night. It’s the way she’d spoken to him since he first arrived, down to that very morning in the throne room, overlooking preparations for their wedding. “It is a fire that burns you from the inside out. And because of that fire, there is a shadow on you. And in that shadow, I exist. I see parts of you that you likely would not share with me, and for good reason.” 

Klaus can’t help the way he flinches, shifting away from her on the bench. She looks unsurprised at this particular reaction, but her fingers twitch like she’s going to reach out for him again. 

She doesn’t. 

“I have known you much longer than you have known me, and for that, I apologize. When you first arrived, I was still hesitant to believe what I had felt, and I– I am much different in the daylight. I am at my weakest when the sun is out, and that has never changed. But– other things have.” 

“Your father–”

“He is not my father,” She cuts him off, voice reverting to that cold indifference for a split second. “Once upon a time, he was a man. A king. But he was not a kind man, let alone a kind king. So I took the darkness in his mind, and I collapsed it from within. I made him hollow with it, and now he is but a puppet. A face to put on our currency, so that I may do as I please without so much attention. My people remember the cruel man, and they remember what I did for them. That is why I have their respect. Their loyalty. Trust breeds trust.” 

Klaus’s jaw clenches. “And when you decide you’re ready to become Queen one day, and I become a King, will you also make me into a puppet? Will I be nothing but a conduit of political jargon made to distract people from your loopholes?” 

Nyxia’s eyes burn, but they are dark. Almost black. 

“I did not bring you here to make you a puppet, Niklaus,” 

“Then why did you bring me here? Tell me, Nyxia. Tell me the truth.” 

“I brought you here because I want to protect you,” 

Klaus’s lip curls in a snarl and he stands up, cloak billowing around him. He turns at the feeling of a slight breeze and finds himself looking at the castle from a high distance, and he wonders if he’d been in such shock that he hadn’t noticed their uphill hike, or if this was another one of her tricks. 

Clenching his jaw, he turns to look down at her. “I do not need protecting, Princess. I have done nothing but protect myself and my family for hundreds of years.” 

“I know that, Klaus,” She spits out, looking as angry as he feels. Both of them are stubborn to a fatal degree. “But I want you to let me do it anyway!” 

Klaus lets out a harsh breath through his nose, turning to look away from her as his chest heaves with frustrated breaths. An overwhelming sense of exhaustion practically slaps him in the face as it settles over him and he finds his racing thoughts finally slowing down, seeming to process in his mind after the eventful night. 

“I understand that this has all been unexpected,” She starts, voice carefully neutral in the wake of both of their tempers. “And I will not blame you for being upset. But trust me when I say that I have your best interests in heart, for you and your family.” 

“I’m to trust you after you’ve shown me only a fraction of the truth?” 

Her soft look has shuttered away when he looks at her again. “I told you,” She whispers, voice quiet but certainly not weak with how thick it was around the emotion clenching around her windpipe. “That I was putting all of my trust into you the moment I told you what I am. The danger that I have thrust upon you and myself just by sharing all of this with you is endless. I have bared my soul to you in a single night, Klaus Mikaelson, and then you spit in my face by asking me if I am trustworthy.” 

“Nyxia,” 

She stands from the bench abruptly, pulling the hood of her cloak back up over her head. “We should go. I don’t want to run into the guards at the shift change.” 

“Nyxia, just–”

“We’re leaving,” She cuts him off, not looking back to see if he’s following after her as she stalks off towards the gates she’d opened for him, just for him, moments ago. “Either join me, or find your own way back.” 

Klaus pulls his own hood up and is quick to fall into step a few paces behind her because he isn’t nearly stupid enough to think that their easygoing atmosphere from earlier is still lingering. All because he couldn’t stop the traitorous beating of his heart and the way his skin crawled at the thought of entrusting the safety of his family to anyone else. 

She is going to be family soon enough, though. If she’ll still have him, that is. 

────── 

The tension in the castle is thick for a few days before it’s suddenly dampened with something painful. 

Rain begins to pour and does not stop for three days straight. Most foot traffic that is in and out of the castle for wedding planning is put on pause at the King’s order. Not worth risking the safety and integrity of any person or thing for one wedding. 

Klaus doesn’t see or hear from Nyxia for those three days, and on the fourth day of heavy downpours, of him being stuck in the library with his brother or listening to his sister drone on about a particularly handsome guard, he breaks. He walks the path the sentry had taken him down into the East Wing of the castle and knocks on the thick wooden door, tilting his head just to hear the heart beating faintly on the other side of it. It’s the only reason he even knows she’s alive, and he can’t stop the relief that soothes his nerves. 

It doesn’t manage to get rid of the cloud of guilt that’s been hanging above his head since that night in the orchard, nor does it make him want to turn around and leave. 

“Princess?” His voice is low, but he knows she’ll hear it if she’s listening. “I was just…” 

He trails off, unsure of what excuse to offer up for his impromptu visit. A lie, a half-truth. The whole truth. 

It’s the least he could do in return, offer her honesty. Since he threw hers right back in her face four nights ago. 

“May I come in, please?” 

Silence follows his question, but when he pushes on the door slightly, it creaks open, and he steps through as quickly as possible, not willing to take the chance that it was a fluke. He’s greeted with darkness broken up by dim firelight, and his eyes take a moment to adjust, that concern inside of him chipping away at his pride. 

“Princess?” He asks again, voice low in the dim room. His brows twitch on his forehead, pulling together. “Nyxia?” 

There’s a shift of fabric from the four-poster bed a few feet in front of him, and he can see the orange glow in the room the moment she turns to face him. 

Even in the poor lighting, he can see the sunken shadows of her face and the way the stars in her eyes have gone dull. 

“Nyxia?” He nearly gasps her name as he rushes to her bedside, dropping to his knees beside it as he takes in her sickly features. “What’s happened to you?” 

She lets out a shaky breath that sounds like it hurts. “Sometimes… sometimes I let them take too much,” 

Confusion passes over him momentarily before a realization hits him. “The loopholes… this place… it drains you, doesn’t it?” 

She nods where her head is pressed into the pillow. 

He lifts a trembling hand to her cheek, brushing invisible dirt off of her cheek. He can feel the clammy sweat tainting her skin, the fever roaring in her veins. How odd it must be to be an immortal creature taken down by something comparable to a cold. 

“Why?” He shakes his head, genuine disbelief coating the word as he watches his betrothed wheeze out a few more breaths. “Why do you let them do this? Why do you do this?” 

She smiles and there's a tired pull to it, and she leans into his touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “People are so scared of me,” Her voice is impossibly soft, so unfamiliar, and yet he feels that ache in his chest, the desire to hear it more. To hear her more. “They are scared of everything. The least I can do is make my darkness feel safer.” 

He thinks it shatters something in him, to hear her grand reasoning behind everything. To hear that underneath that cold exterior, and the soft one, too, the woman before him just wants people to feel safe in her shadows. She wants them to leave behind lives of unhappiness, to not feel fear when the moon rises in the sky and stars hang over their heads. She doesn’t want them to fear the thought of a monster under their bed but rather feel protected by it. By her. 

She wants to do that for him. For his family. And he’d practically laughed in her face. 

A shame buries itself deep in him, and he finds himself lurching forward slightly, face hovering above hers to keep her attention while she loses her lucidity before his eyes. “What can I do? What can I do to make this better?” 

She reaches a hand up from beneath her blankets and rests it atop his. “Stay. Just stay with me, please,” 

He nods and holds back more words he’s simply not ready to say yet. Reluctantly leaves her side for a moment to bring a chair to her bedside, and once again intertwine their hands together. 

He watches her fall asleep and continues watching her well into the night. It doesn’t feel like a chore, or anything of the sort. He thinks he’d be content to spend a few years of his eternity just sitting here with her. 

────── 

It takes another four days for Nyxia to be able to get out of bed without feeling weak. In those days she regains a bit of that life back into her eyes, and Klaus is there to see every speck of it grow. He sees the shadows get darker again, not as faded and murky as they seemed to be when she was in the worst of it. It makes him happy in a way that he wouldn’t have ever expected it to. 

They spend those four days together in a bubble of their own, with small touches shared between each other. Lingering glances and longing looks are shared from across the dining table while they share meals with his family and the king. 

He doesn’t know if all of it means he’s forgiven for his harsh words in the orchard. He doesn’t let himself hope for anything, because he’s not sure if he deserves it after everything. 

It’s a particular train of thought he hasn’t let come to fruition for his own sanity. Instead, he’s relished in the freshly budding relationship between him and his wife-to-be. The partnership that’s being created. The friendship.

He finds himself in the library that remains hidden behind one, nondescript door that opens up to high ceilings, and endless bookshelves. The first time she’d taken him to see it, he’d spent the entire evening looking through the books, getting lost in the history books she had in her collection. 

As the days go by, he finds himself there more and more, and it seems that Nyxia’s in the same boat. 

Hands skimming against the worn spines of the books, Klaus’s mind travels near and far, and he lets his imagination run wild. It’s a rare occurrence, this vulnerability that he’s found within these walls, beneath Nyxia’s care, so he can’t be faulted for being caught off guard when a book slides out from the shelf on the other side and he snaps his gaze up to meet her amused one. 

There’s no doubt she misses the slight intake of breath he does at her sudden presence, but she gives him the grace of not saying anything about it out loud. Her face is framed between the two shelves and she grins widely, unabashedly, in the shadows of the books. “Hiding in the art history books again, Niklaus?” 

He ducks his head, glancing at the lone book he is holding in his hands, a finger shoved between pages to hold his place while he searches through other titles. Lifting his eyes back up to meet hers once more, he shrugs a shoulder, poorly feigning obliviousness. 

“It’s alright, at least I always know where I can find you,” She quickly dismisses his uncharacteristic shyness, and he’s once again grateful for it, even if he’s not sure if she does it for her own sake or his. “I wanted to ask you a question, actually, about the wedding.” 

He raises a brow, not hiding his surprise. She rarely brings the wedding up to him these days, and with the celebration in just five days, the castle staff was bustling about more than ever. Klaus only ever looked at the gold and white decor lining the throne room in passing, usually hurrying through to track Nyxia down somewhere in the castle, or dodging his brother’s increasingly personal questions about the state of his relationship with the Princess.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thinking about the wedding, despite Nyxia rarely saying anything to him about it. He found himself wondering just how the day would transpire as it drew closer, wondered how all of the fittings he did for his garments a while back would look like in the end, and wondered endlessly about just what Nyxia would be walking down the aisle in. 

“It’s about the guest list,”

Her voice pulls him from the frequent thought and he bites the tip of his tongue in silent reprimand. Clearing his throat quietly, he looked at her. “What of it? I thought invitations were sent out months ago,” 

“They were,” She confirms, nodding once. Her voice takes on a hint of that diplomatic lilt she likes to pull out of thin air with him when she feels she’s approaching a difficult subject. It instantly puts his nerves on edge, but he tries not to get defensive. If there’s anything he’s learned with her, it’s that he’ll do nothing but regret his knee-jerk reaction to bare his teeth and snarl at the first feeling of danger coming his way. He knows just as well that Nyxia would never put him in danger on purpose. 

“I was just wondering if there was anyone you wanted to invite,” She continued, glancing away from him. “I know Rebekah and Elijah will be there, of course, but is there anyone else you want to come?” 

He’s quick to respond, barely even thinking about it. “I’ve become familiar enough with your subjects that they’re plenty for me, I think. Especially the women coming from the loophole. I’m looking forward to seeing them,” 

Her face softens with an endless fondness he’s not quite sure what to do with. Any time she offers it up to him, he does his best to just hold it gently in between them, like it was a cloud threatening to seep through his fingers and dissipate into nothingness. 

“I am as well,” She smiles briefly before her face falls back into a placating look. “But you’re sure you don’t have any friends you might not have thought of? Or any more family? I’m sure you’ve… outlived… most of your ancestors, but perhaps there’s a distant cousin that was never turned? Or your… your parents, perhaps?” 

Klaus instantly realizes the true nature of her question, and once again has to fight off the urge to snap at her and make her go away. It’s an easier path to take than explaining just why his parents won’t be in attendance at their wedding or part of their futures at all, and why he wouldn’t want them to in the first place, but he finds himself wanting to try. It’s the least he could do for her.

“No, my– my parents are no longer– an option,” He says carefully, brows furrowing as he revisits centuries-old aches and stabs of pain laced with a childish hurt. “I wouldn’t want them here even if they were.” 

Her face twists with concern before she disappears from the side of the shelf, and Klaus’s eyes widen momentarily before he hears the click of her shoes growing closer. She rounds the corner of the bookshelf swiftly, coming to stand before him with a practiced look of understanding on her face meant to convey her state of heeding. 

“You know by now that I’m a bastard,” She nods. “Even though my father was already unhappy with how I came about, it worsened when he learned my father was the leader of the werewolf pack in our village. I wasn’t just a bastard, but a monster, then, too. I faced abuse from my father my entire life, and my mother always let it happen, or encouraged it, if only to save herself from facing his wrath for her own mistakes.” 

Silently, she reaches out and grabs the book from his hand, setting it flat on the shelf in favor of grabbing his hands in hers. 

“When my youngest brother Henrik was killed by the pack my true father was a part of, my mother was overcome with the grief of losing a child and that’s when she turned us. When she made the spell to make us into these undying creatures who survive off of blood. She and Mikael killed us all and we were forced to transition when we woke.” 

Squeezing his hands, Nyxia shakes her head. “You don’t have to go on, Klaus.” 

He shakes his head, waving off her apology. “It’s alright. I want you to know the truth,” Her already soft face opens more and she takes another minute step towards him, closing the distance between them a bit more. “With everything heightened after my transition, I was so overcome with my anger that I lost control and I– I killed her. I killed my mother.”

“Nik,” 

“I regretted it as soon as I did it. And I buried her body where no one would find it, and I told my family that she was killed by our father. Because in my head, she was. She let him abuse me, she let him turn even a fraction of that hatred onto Rebekah and Elijah, and the rest of them, and I– I truly hated her for it. What good of a mother was she if she could just watch that happen to her children?” 

He clenches his jaw and tilts his head slightly, biting down the bitterness that still swims in his veins all these years later. “Mikael knew what I did, though. I don’t know how, but he always knew. And I– I don’t know what’s happened to him, I don’t know if he’s dead or alive, like us or something else, but I– I do not want him here. I wouldn’t want him here, no matter the situation. I never want someone like Mikael to find this place, because a single touch from him would destroy it all.” 

Nyxia shakes her head immediately, eyes wide and full of something that transcends simple fondness. “He wouldn’t, Niklaus. I wouldn’t let him ruin it. This is my home– this is our home. I won’t let him ruin it for you.” 

Klaus wished he could believe her. And he knows she knows that. And he knows they both know it’s truly got nothing to do with her, and everything to do with the fact that his father has ruined his life at every turn since the day he was born. It’s just what he does. He could so easily take this beautiful thing Klaus has been given and tarnish it with a single touch. 

“I had to inherit these shadows, you know?” She says suddenly, taking him off guard. “I wasn’t born with them, not really. I was born with power, I was made of this power. But in order to have them at the capacity at which they exist now, I had to wait for my mother to die. She was my best friend. But I think that made it all the worse when I had to watch her wither away through each century, until one day, she became nothing more than the night sky we came from. Afterward, I was so overcome with grief that I didn’t even acknowledge the shadows. I wanted no part of it, not without her,” 

She huffs out a small, wry laugh and shakes her head. “But they are very stubborn. They persisted, and one day, they brought me into the shadows and showed me the light that exists within them. And after that day, I started doing things differently. It’s been a long time since then, but I still remember all of those feelings like it was yesterday. And I know that because you have been given the gift and the curse of eternity just as I have, that you understand it like no one else does. So you must believe me when I say this, husband, but it will not be like this forever. And I am making you a promise now that your– that Mikael will not ever make his mark in my kingdom. You and I will live in peace for the rest of our days, with our people and no one can take that from us. Do you hear me? Do you hear me, Niklaus?” 

He nods, clenching his teeth together as he swallows around the concrete lump in his throat. “Of course. Of course I do,” 

“Good,” She nods once. “You can trust me. I swear it on my life.” 

He nods again and she offers him a small smile, like she’s wary to shift the graveness that had settled over them into something else. He jostles their conjoined hands, and her eyebrows tick together, silently coaxing his words out. 

“How did you do it?” He asks quietly. “How did you find the light when you were surrounded by the darkness?” 

Her eyes suddenly burned with ferocity, an ancient thing that had roots buried deep inside of her. A small fraction of her power. “I carved it out of the shadows with my bare hands and I did not stop until my fingers bled. Until my nails were cracked and my body screamed for me to stop. And I would do it again if it meant I kept you and your family safe. Understand that, Klaus. If nothing else, understand that I’ll bleed for you.” 

Klaus isn’t sure what to do in the face of her devotion. He feels as if it should be the other way around– him worshiping her, instead of this blood-promise she’s made to him. He isn’t sure what to do or say, but he is sure of one thing; he loves her. And he would bleed for her just as well. 

────── 

The morning of their wedding, a low hum of activity overtakes the calm of the castle and does not falter, well into the early hours of afternoon. Klaus was summoned from his rooms just minutes after the sun was up and brought to the seamstresses that he’d seen increasingly over the months and put into the intricate suit made specifically for him. 

His trousers were plain, simple, and tucked carefully into shoes that almost felt like armor. His surcoat was donned with intricate, weaving lines of gold that gleamed in the sunlight, woven into the fabric like they were the very veins in his body. Like it was a showcase of the life that flowed through him, scorching like the sun for all eternity. When he was draped with a mantle of white fur and more golden details along the draped fabric, he looked in the lone mirror before him and felt, for the first time, that he was truly a king. And just after that thought, he couldn’t help but wonder what his queen looked like. 

When he is escorted to the throne room, he can hear the dozens of heartbeats waiting on the other side of the doors before him and he only has a moment to breathe before the doors are swung open and the guests are standing, turning to face him. 

His blue eyes immediately shoot to the front of the room, where the king awaits his presence at the end of the aisle, where his brother and sister stand on either side of the large arbor, looking at him with an odd pride gleaming in their eyes. 

Bracing himself, he lifts his chin slightly and walks forward, his hands clasped in front of him as he meets the eyes of strangers, all watching him like they’re waiting for him to show his true colors. When he nears the end of the aisle, he looks over to his left and sees Theresé standing there, with a row of familiar faces lined up beside her, and he can’t stop the small twitch of his lips when she meets his gaze head-on with a smile that radiates pure excitement. 

He tears his gaze away from the women and children of the loophole and meets the king’s eyes, exchanging a nod with the man as he takes his place at the center of the room. He turns his head towards the doors he’d come through moments ago, and finds himself holding his breath as he waits for them to open once more, and reveal his bride. 

He prepares himself for the sight of her, but when the doors swing open, guards standing on either side of her, he thinks himself a fool for ever thinking he’d be prepared for the sight of her dressed in a white gown that trails behind her in a sea of golden embroidery that gleams just as his does. Like the life that burns in him also burns in her, despite the way her shadows carve out the angles of her face, the bridge of her nose. 

He knew her dress would compliment him, of course, but he hadn’t anticipated just how much it would take his breath away, to see himself standing before a kingdom, waiting for her slow, graceful steps to come to a stop as she neared him. 

Her own fur-lined mantle was just as carefully draped over her, and it went down the length of her train, the fabric moving along with her as if it were just water rippling along rocks. Slow, elegant, natural. Like she was born to be this. 

For the first time, her arms are bare before him, and the skin below her jaw is as well. Her unexpected bareness exposes things he hadn’t known were hiding beneath her long sleeves and high collars. The shadows that run in her blood wrap around her arms, weaving like vines up across her chest and down into unknown territory, still hidden from his sight and touch. He swallows roughly at the sight of the image she creates before him, her head tilted back ever so slightly just to maintain his gaze as she steps up before him, her hands immediately reaching to lay in his proffered palms. 

He can’t find his voice in time to tell her that she looks beautiful. To make vows to her before they’ve even started. 

The king clears his throat quietly, raising his hand in a silent gesture that has the guests taking their seats once more. 

“People of Riverend, we gather here to witness the joining of two souls. To celebrate a love that withstands life, death, and everything in between. A love forged in shadows and cradled by the moon, that blossoms beneath the sun. It is my honor to stand before you all and mark the start of our future here in these cherished lands beneath their incoming rule.” 

The king shifts, turning slightly to look at Klaus directly. “Lord Mikaelson, repeat after me: I offer my soul to you in exchange for yours, and vow to love and cherish you long after we return to the stars,” 

Klaus swallows and wets his lips, meeting Nyxia’s gleaming eyes. “I offer my soul to you in exchange for yours,” His voice trembles slightly, and her fingers press into his wrist, squeezing reassuringly. “And vow to love and cherish you long after we return to the stars.” 

Nyxia mirrors his swallow, seemingly biting back her own emotion. “I offer my soul to you in exchange for yours,” Her pulse stutters beneath his fingertips, and his blood burns with it. “And vow to love and cherish you long after we return to the stars.” 

“As witnessed by your people, do you both promise to serve them to the best of your abilities? To bleed with them, or for them, shall it one day be necessary? To feed and clothe them, and wash the dirt off of their feet, should they ever ask you to?” 

They both nod once. “We do,” 

The King mirrors their nod and continues. “May this marriage be protected by the powers that be. May it never bend or break, or waver in even the strongest of storms. May you both know one another’s love like no other. May the darkness protect you as it has protected others since the dawn of time,” 

The king takes in a short breath and shifts, holding his hands up for his palms to face the sunlight gleaming in through the stained glass windows. “By the power entrusted unto me, I bless this marriage for the years to come. I now pronounce you husband and wife. Lord Mikaelson, you may kiss–” 

“Stop this nonsense!” 

Gasps echo throughout the throne room and Klaus’s blood freezes as his head snaps over, his gaze locking onto his father’s immediately. 

The man at the end of the aisle takes a step forward, a mean smirk on his face. “Is it not utter blasphemy to make a king out of a bastard?” 

Klaus breathes out a breath that shudders in his lungs painfully, and he looks past Nyxia to find Rebekah standing frozen in her place, tears bubbling in her eyes at the sight of Mikael. He doesn’t need to look at Elijah to know that the man is likely boiling with barely stifled rage. 

Mikael takes another step forward and Klaus flinches back instinctively, despite the distance that stretches between them. 

The man laughs at the sight, and Klaus finally looks at Nyxia, only to find her glaring at his father like her very gaze could burn him into ash. 

“You have no business being here, Mikael,” Elijah’s voice bites out the words from behind him and he hears his brother take a step down, quick to be a buffer between him and Klaus. “Leave now, and you will not face any consequences.” 

Mikael laughs again. “And from whom would these consequences be dealt? You? Or perhaps Rebekah?” The girl flinches, tears skittering down her flushed cheeks at his ridicule. “Certainly not Klaus. He’s not capable of it.” 

“It will be me,” Nyxia’s voice rings out, firm and cold in a way that Klaus hasn’t heard it before, not even in their worst moments. “You will not speak of my husband in that manner. I’ll have your head for treason if you’re not careful.” 

“You’d take my head for him?” Mikael’s brows raise like he’s actually surprised at the prospect. “I hate to break it to you, girl, but he is nothing. He comes from no high standing, he has no riches and nothing to give you in exchange for all that you give him. Whatever he has told you in those regards is a filthy lie. That’s all he is– a liar.” 

Hot tears burn at the back of Klaus’s eyes and he struggles to find his voice again. 

Nyxia drops his hands and Klaus fronts at the loss of her touch, only to reach for her as she turns and steps towards Mikael, unwavering beneath his hateful glare. “Don’t,” He gets out, pulling her back by her arm. “Do not go near him.” 

She wrenches her arm from his hold, looking at him apologetically before she hardens her gaze once more and faces his father. “You come to my kingdom and interrupt my wedding to spew nonsense. You have the looks of a crazed man, Mikael. I should have my sentries imprison you until I find it worth my time to sentence you.” 

He grins like her words are a challenge. “I’d like to see you try, Princess,” He spits her title out and before anyone can blink, he holds the tip of a dagger beneath her chin. 

Gasps of fear ring out through the room and Klaus stumbles forward, stopped only by Elijah holding him just out of their father’s reach. “Do not touch her!” He growls out the words, black veins crawling beneath his eyes, earning a mocking chuckle from the man. 

“Don’t tell me you actually love her, Niklaus,” 

Klaus says nothing, which is answer enough, and it earns another round of derisive laughter from the man. 

“What a ridiculous thing, love,” He tsks his tongue, shaking his head as if scolding his bastard son. “Nothing but a weakness to someone like you who is already softened by his childish emotions. It’s nice to know that you’re still such a disappointment, Niklaus.” 

Klaus lunges for the man but is once again stopped by his brother. 

“Klaus,” It’s Nyxia who says his name, which calms the racing of his heart in his ears, and he looks at her desperately. “Do you trust me?” 

His brows furrow deeply, lines twisting onto his pale skin. “What?” 

She gives him another look that conveys an apology he doesn’t need, and he feels his stomach swoop with fear. 

“Nyx,” He breathes out, eyes wide as he starts to shake his head. 

She rolls her eyes away from him like it pains her to do so, and looks to his father, uncaring of the tip of the dagger digging into her chin. “I told you I would bleed for you, Klaus. And I shall.” 

She takes one long step forward and latches her hand around the handle of the dagger and digs her nails into Mikael’s skin, earning a grunt of annoyance from the man. In the blink of an eye, a cloud of black consumes them, and the last thing Nyxia hears is Klaus’s yell for her to stop. 

Her hold on Mikael falters and they fall away from each other, thrown into shadows and thrown apart in the same breath. 

It’s been centuries since she’s been here. Encased in nothingness, something that cannot even be considered night because it is so dark it does nothing but swallow the life that enters it. 

She hears Mikael’s breathing through the darkness and hears him struggle to find footing as she does the same. 

“You,” She speaks out, voice echoing into the void. Swarming around them like a crow’s call. “You have tarnished his soul. You are the darkness that exists inside of him, and I am going to rip every inch of life out of you even if it kills me.” 

“Such meaningful threats,” The man speaks back, voice tinged in that smugness that sets her nerves alight with rage. “To think that you have fallen in love with a man like Niklaus. You could have such potential if you weren’t clinging to frivolous emotions.” 

“You underestimate me, Mikael. You mock me, even now, when you are surrounded by something that does not exist without me and my power. It is your arrogance that will kill you, and I will offer your heart on a platter to my husband as a wedding gift.” 

She lunges for the sound of him in the void, grunting as they blindly swing for each other, slamming fists and swinging daggers over and over with no sign of stopping. 

She doesn’t know how long she was in this place the last time. Doesn’t know how long they’ve been here now. It could be mere seconds, it could be years. Nothing exists in this place, especially not time. 

Blood from a cut that is already healed trails down her cheek, she can feel the wetness as she brushes her fingers along her skin. She can hear Mikael’s ragged breaths, her endless onslaught of pain catching up to him. 

“He’s an abomination,” Mikael spits out. “Not just in name, but as a creature. It is not enough that he has no soul as this undead thing, but he has that mutt inside of him, waiting to be unleashed. He doesn’t deserve to live.” 

“You don’t get to decide that,” She bites back, lips curling in a snarl. “But I do. And he will live with me until the Earth takes its last breath. And you will never take anything from him again, so long as I am at his side. You will never hurt your children again. I am taking back the darkness that is inside of you. I am taking the very air from your lungs,”

She tackles him blindly, knees pinning him down as she presses her hands roughly down onto his chest, her fingertips itching with heat as she does exactly that. “You will know pain like you’ve never known before where you are going. And with everything in me, I swear that I will not let there be a day that goes by that you do not suffer.” 

The shadows that warm her skin crawl as she takes his life little by little, and she can feel his breaths begin to shallow with every word she speaks. 

“Let your last thought on this Earth be the knowledge that I love your son, Mikael. And not even you can take that from him.” 

A scream tears from her throat as she lifts her hands off of his chest and slams them back down, his body disappearing beneath her as if it had never existed. A burst of energy explodes from her and she nearly falls onto her face, catching herself on her hands and knees as it blows around her like a gust of wind. 

She grits her teeth, trying to catch her breath as the void grows smaller around her, trying to swallow her whole as it had Mikael. But she had let it have Mikael. She would not let it have her. Not when she had something to go back to. Someone. 

“No,” She bites out, jaw clenched tight enough that her bones creak. “You will let me go back.” 

She digs her nails into the nothingness beneath her hands, skin scraping off at the fight it puts back. She lifts her hands from the void and brings them back down, clawing at it like a rabid animal. 

“Let me out,” She says. Demands. “Let me out!” 

Her voice echoes on a yell and she feels a scream build deep in her chest as she clenches her hands into fists and brings them down onto the ground, and she can feel it begin to crack beneath her force. 

The ache in her hands grows with each hit but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, not even as the first cracks of light bleed through. 

With just that sliver of light, she can see the broken skin of her hands and it’s such a guttural reminder of her past that she raises her hands once more and brings them down onto the shattering void with a strength she did not know she possessed. 

All at once she is thrown out of the darkness and she flinches at the burst of brightness that encases her so suddenly. The sound of startled gasps and fearful noises makes her stumble and she tries and subsequently fails to get to her feet, her bloodied hands smearing along the pristine white aisle she had walked down. 

Arms encase her and she turns her head to meet Klaus’s gaze as he pulls her into his chest, eyes wide in fear at the sight of her blood, no doubt mixed with some of Mikael’s that likely splattered onto her at some point in their tussle. 

“Where did you go? What did you do?” He breathes out, eyes brimming with tears. “Where is Mikael?” 

She lets out a shuddering noise as she clings to him, staining his surcoat with blood. “I took it back,” She grits her teeth, fire burning in her eyes for a split second before her exhaustion wipes it out. “I took my darkness back from him, and I turned him into nothing.” 

Klaus makes a noise of grief that she knows is not for his father, but for the thought of her doing something he knows weakens her. 

“I’m alright,” She assures him, finally looking past him at her kingdom that watches on warily. “I’m alright, I promise.” 

Klaus holds onto her tighter like he’s scared she’ll disappear again, and she lets him as exhaustion weighs her down. 

She smiles suddenly, breathless and hopeful. “We aren’t finished here,” Her eyes shift to the king, who hurries towards them, kneeling slightly. “We were interrupted.” 

Klaus mirrors her smile, much more reserved even as his fear dissolves. “We were, weren’t we?”

“Finish it,” She looks up at the king from her place in Klaus’s lap in the aisle. “Please, finish it.” 

The king barely takes a moment before he lets his voice carry like he had before, unwavering as if nothing had happened at all. “Without further ado, Lord Mikaelson, you may kiss your bride.” 

Klaus barely lets him finish speaking before he kisses her, stealing the breath from her lungs as she gasps into it. Starlight burns in her and she raises her hand to gently cup his cheek, pulling him into her for one hard press of their lips before she pulls away, letting her hand fall from his cheek to rest against his heart. 

She turns her face into his neck and whispers into his skin, her breath making goosebumps grow in its wake. “My name,” She says. “I want you to have it.” 

He echoes it back to her softly, like he’s cradling it in his hands, and she looks up at him with stars in her eyes. 

The king speaks from above them, an excitement laced in his voice as he lifts his hands above his hand. “It is my honor to introduce to you for the first time, the Prince and Princess of Riverend!” 

Cheers burst around them, and Klaus dips his head down to hide his smile in her hair, and she clings to him just a bit tighter, her eyes fluttering. 

“Let us celebrate!” The king exclaims, another round of cheers echoing after his words. 

She pulls back slightly to look at Klaus, smiling. “I love you, Klaus,” 

He lets out a breath like she’s knocked it out of him. “I love you,” He hesitates before saying her name like he’s worried she’ll take it back from him. “I'll love you until the end of time. Never doubt that." 

"I won't." 

#klaus mikaelson #the vampire diaries #elijah mikaelson #the vampire diaries fanfiction #rebekah mikaelson #the originals #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson fanfiction #klaus mikaelson fluff #klaus mikaelson angst #stefan salvatore #damon salvatore #kol mikaelson

[undying-love]

'Well, let's just say there's someone in the music industry--a fairly famous someone--and he's pretty certain it [Starting Over] was written for Paul, and that Paul damn well knew it was...but that in the wake of John's death most everyone thought it would be disrespectful to Yoko and Sean to dispute who John had in mind while writing it. We were talking about it after an email correspondence I started having with a friend here who says she believes it was as well. I agreed with her. So, being my curious self, I just had to ask around, and that's the information I got. Whether it's totally 100% or not, I can't say. But hearing about it from this guy in particular was enough to confirm my belief that it was. It's not only his opinion but something that seems to be pretty well known amongst a lot of industry folks. We talked about it at great length and honestly, I was a bit surprised it was something he feels so strongly about....as well as their relationship, in general. When I told him straight out at first that I thought they were a 'couple', he said, "Well, no shit! Anybody who thinks otherwise has to be a fucking idiot!" I thought that was funny as hell! Not to bash the nay-sayers round these parts, but this guy isn't one to mince words and I'm just repeating what he said so don't go yellin' at me. Couldn't help laughing when he said it. And he knows a LOT of people in the business. Far more than I could ever dream of encountering...'cause he's quite a bit older than me and way more experienced in these circles. He used to be a session player ages ago and branched out on his own a long ways back....so he's definitely been AROUND and knows his shit when it comes to the 'who's who' of the music world and all the dirt that gets turned up at its surface. I trust him totally or else I wouldn't be so certain he's right about the stuff he says. He even said that the 'recording-style' and vocal effects used on that song, in particular, are what John specifically wanted in order to send a certain message to Paul." ------------------------------------------------

This is a comment made by a woman in an old forum, who said she spoke to an industry insider. I have read many similar comments (and I myself have been in contact with someone who claimed to have spoken to a couple of people who were once close to the Beatles) that have said that John and Paul's relationship was an open secret in the music industry. Maybe that's why Howard Stern is often asking Paul a lot of uncomfortable questions about John, and even suggested that "Maybe I'm Amazed" was written for John, lol.

#mclennon #hmmmm #interesting

[just-a-witchy-guy]

Really Simple Ways to Cleanse without Smoke (Cause I Don't Like Smoke)

Very short disclaimer, these are things that I do/have tried that work for me! They will not work for everyone, but I just wanted to share some ways to cleanse without smoke since not everyone can burn incense or a bundle of herbs. This is also going to talk a lot about cleaning because I personally correspond the cleanliness of my spaces with how I'm doing mentally or spiritually!

Sound. This can be anything from playing music that you like while cleaning to banging pots and pans together and yelling at bad vibes to get the fuck outta your house. I like using bells because of their history of being associated with cleansing and also they sound pretty

Opening your windows and letting the air in! Air is an awesome element and brings a bit of freshness to your home. Also, air is apart of nature, meaning by letting it in you are bonding with a bit of the nature around you

Putting an object in moonlight/sunlight. I like to think as the rays of light washing over an object like water

AIR FRESHENERS. I fucking. Love these things. Slap one in whenever you start cleaning, and when you stop take a moment to stand in the middle of your room and appreciate the new smell in the air

Lighting scented candles. This one isn't exactly smoke free, but I find it harder to smell smoke when the scent is in the air

Salt. I use salt for everything, but in cleansing you sprinkle it over what you would like cleansed, then dispose of the salt (Responsibly. Please do not pour it on the ground outside) when you believe it's all good, because the salt has absorbed all the negativity up like a sponge

Just cleaning normally. Whether it be changing sheets on your bed or vacuuming, you are getting rid of old energies and starting anew in a positive way

This is the part where I don't have much experience, but energy! I've only done energy cleansing a few times, but it is a fairly simple form of cleansing yourself and it worked well for me

Showers or baths. You're getting clean! You can imagine all of the previous day's unwanted energies getting scrubbed off as well as dirt

#witchcraft #witch tips #discreet witchcraft #first time ever doing one of these posts. im a little nervous but fuck it we ball

[moonkissedmeli]

🌿Minimizing Waste as a Hearth Witch🌿

Minimizing waste saves money and the environment. With a little creativity, there are many ways you can create opportunities to reduce waste and maximize the supplies you have.

🍄 Keep your jars. If you buy something that comes in a useful container and can be reused - then reuse it. In my experience, the best reuse for plastic containers is to freeze food. Also, small bottles like Advil bottles, are EXCELLENT spell jars. However, for all types, you can use them to store food, organize drawers and closets, store spell ingredients, or even make decorations. The possibilities are nearly endless!

🍄Keep all your fruit, vegetable, and herb scraps. With some scraps and water, you can make a lovely broth. Alternatively, you can use them to make a simmer pot for a spell or simply for the scent.

🍄If you eat meat, keep the bones. Again, a great broth ingredient!

🍄Avoid paper towels whenever possible. These are super wasteful and expensive. Whenever possible, I opt to use a towel or cloth. You can recycle old textiles for rags. However, if you're feeling ambitious you can knit or crochet towels and cloths; this is a great way to use up that scrap yarn you probably have laying around! You may even choose to add a bit of knot magic to these pieces.

🍄Thrift and upcycle. This is a bit of an obvious one; but really. It's a great way to have lovely belongings while reducing waste overall and saving money. With a bit of love, many things can be new.

🍄Almost every dish can be salvaged. It happens. We mess up. But, before you throw it away, do some research on how to salvage it. Odds are, you will be able to do it!

🍄Don't throw away fruits or vegetables that are overripe or wilting. Within reason, of course, many of these fruits and vegetables can be frozen for soups, casseroles, sauces, and smoothies!

🍄Buy a reusable coffee filter and tea basket for loose tea. Really, this is a given if you are a tea or coffee lover. Disposable ones are so wasteful and the reusable ones will pay for themselves in no time.

🍄Compost if you can. Compost dirt is amazing for growing ingredients for dishes and spells. While you're at it, save your eggshells, as well.

🍄Mend your clothes, blankets, and even shoes. A little bit of love can go a long way, including increasing the life of your favorite items. You can also add flair by learning how to darn and apply patches.

🍄Learn how to remove stains from fabric. In the same vein as mending, learning how to remove stains increases the life of your clothes. Different stains require different methods of removal, but usually, it is not impossible. Failing this, learn how to dye your clothes to revamp them.

🍄Use alternative cosmetics. This is a really big topic and I will create a post about this later. But, consider doing research. There are lots of things that can be made or substituted; notably face masks, hair masks, and using coconut oil as a make-up remover.

🍄Localize your practice. Use natural herbs and ingredients found in your local environment. Create your own correspondence if needed.

🍄Collect rainwater. Unfortunately, it is no longer a great idea to drink rainwater - but use it to water plants and clean your floors. Rainwater is also a powerful spell ingredient for spells that don't require drinking or putting on your skin.

🍄Only buy what you need. This time of year more than ever it is VERY tempting to buy up cheap Halloween-themed goods. But, consider an item's long-term usefulness, if it will create clutter and disorder in your home in the future, and if there are alternatives.

🍄Buy a cheap food dehydrator. These are perfect for making tea and drying out herbs, flowers, and other ingredients for spells and cooking.

🍄Consider alternatives in cooking and spells. There is always an alternative, you may not have to buy something new.

🍄Meals and beverages as spells. As a full-blown kitchen, I believe spells eaten and drank are extremely powerful. It also saves on ingredients.

#kitchen witch #hearth witch #sustainable witch #zero waste witch #zero waste witchcraft #DIY witchcraft #spells #witchblr #witch tips #witch tip list #sustainable witchcraft #kitchen witchery #hestia #helpol

[elminx]

Since I have seen a lot of posts about correspondences in witchcraft going around again, I wanted to stop for a minute and talk about how correspondences work and why you might want to make sure that you understand the correspondences you are using in your own craft.

This is likely an oversimplification, but I think that we can break down correspondences into three main categories:

Cultural Correspondences - these are often heavily steeped in the mythology and folklore of a particular region. They are often but not always correspondences of items found in that region. This is where correspondences become the most varied because, despite what you may have read in Those Bad Witchcraft Books, culture is not universal. A great example of this is that most Western cultures associate the color black with Death and Mourning but a lot of non-Western cultures have the same association with the color white. It stands to reason that this type of correspondence will work the best for you if you are sticking as close to the correspondences of the bioregion that you grew up in as possible (1) and that they will be most effective when used magically on somebody else from that bioregion (2).

Material Correspondences - these correspondences are based on the physical properties of the item in question. Some plants are edible, some medicinal, and some poisonous. Things with thorns can hurt you when you touch them. Quartz has high levels of electric conductivity. The idea here is that if Rosemary repels insects, it can be used in a banishment spell to repel that unwanted "insect" from your life. These are, in my opinion, the immutable correspondences - the item you are using will ALWAYS carry its physical characteristics with it into your magic. Spicy peppers will always be Hot and Burning, so-called "Weeds" will always grow tenaciously, and Sugar will always be Sweet. It is worth keeping in mind here that when using plants, the part of the plant may affect whether it carries that correspondence. Sometimes only one part of the plant carries a particular property - consider the difference between the sweet scent of rose petals that we use in love spells versus the sharp thorn that would be better used for protection. 3. Sympathetic Correspondences - The base concept behind sympathy is that two things that are alike in some way share a connection with one another that can be harnessed magically. The more alike that two things are, the deeper the connection. There are many ways that this is used in magic. A lot of herbal correspondences involve sympathy through the Doctrine of Signatures. This is the thought process that anything shaped like an ear can be used to affect ears/hearing magically. The Doctrine of Signatures gets rolled in a little bit with Cultural Correspondences as it is heavily rooted in Western herbalism, but it deserves a mention on its own. Another way that sympathetic magic makes its way into correspondences is the idea that an object from a particular place carries some of the energy of that place which can be harvested for magical intent. You see this in the use of bank dirt in money spells or cemetery dirt in baneful magic. This is also where Holy water, moon water, and stormwater come into play - here we are assuming that something that has been done to the water (being blessed by a priest, charged in the moon, or collected during a storm) carries an inherent energy that can be then transferred to your spell. Depending on your viewpoint, you may or may not agree with the concepts of sympathetic magic.

And that's the whole point of this. Witchcraft, as a whole, isn't the sort of path where you are supposed to proceed based entirely on blind faith. If you're flipping to a certain page in Scott Cunningham's infamous Green Book and finding the first money herb you come across to use in a spell, you are probably doing yourself a disservice. I suggest that you look closer. Not only will the physical correspondence change how your spell manifests (I've written about this before) but you may find that you don't even BELIEVE or AGREE with that correspondence at all. And maybe that's not important to you (but if that's true, why are you even reading this?). But I suggest that it should be. That understanding of a correspondence deepens your connection with the energy of the item you are looking to use. Moreover, exploring it further may give you all sorts of juicy ideas for spellwork to augment that energy.

Do you like my work? You can support me by tipping me on Kofi or purchasing an astrology report written just for you.

#witchblr #words #mine #correspondences #sympathetic magic #folk magic

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Theory: Eldred is not Cardan's father

Listen. I don’t know if anyone has said this before, but I’ve been mulling this over for a while now, so I’m going to throw it to the void before The Stolen Heir comes out, for posterity.

Buckle up, folks and Folk. I’m monologuing.

(PLEASE DO NOT INCLUDE TSH SPOILERS IN THE COMMENTS/REBLOGS/TAGS AS I HAVE NOT READ IT, AND WILL NOT BE ABLE TO READ IT UNTIL 8th JAN 2023!)

A big caveat of this theory is that I have basically no solid evidence for this apart from a few faint dots vaguely connected through a strange fog. But I am nothing if not someone who will scrounge around in the dirt for answers. So let’s get some filth under our fingernails.

(I promise it will maybe make sense. Eventually)

I. EPISTOLARY SEMANTICS

Much of this theory centres around the note Jude steals for Dain from Hollow Hall in The Cruel Prince. It reads:

“I know the provenance of the blusher mushroom that you ask after, but what you do with it must not be tied to me. After this, I consider my debt paid. Let my name be stricken from your lips.” (TCP, p.115)

There are so many layers to this note, but I’ll start on the surface level before digging deeper.

When Jude gives the note to Dain, he reads it, then says, “So he’s blackmailing Queen Orlagh” (TCP, p.123). During a first read, one would think Dain is implying that Balekin is blackmailing Orlagh, since Jude stole the note from Balekin’s study, and that Orlagh is the one who wrote the letter to the eldest Greenbriar child.

And no one questions it, because Jude even makes this supposition herself.

But my question is this: Why would Balekin be blackmailing Orlagh? We learn in The Wicked King that they are very much allies, and as far as I’m aware, blackmailing isn’t something you typically do to your allies.

My other question is: Why do we assume that Orlagh is the one that wrote the letter? Because Dain said so? We know him to be unreliable at best, manipulator at worst.

During a second read, one might realise that Dain is in fact being tricky here. He knows exactly who and what this note is referring to. But he’s deliberately trying to lead the Court of Shadows to the wrong conclusion, because the right one would reveal his guilt, as shown in the latter part of The Cruel Prince when Jude figures out Dain poisoned Liriope with blusher mushroom.

The way Dain is able to lead us off track without lying is through implication alone. This is why he’s not specific about who is blackmailing Orlagh. He just says someone is (a likely statement, considering Orlagh’s title) and that someone might be a man (plausible enough).

Thus, the sentence “He’s blackmailing Orlagh” can still be a perceived truth, and we are only ascribing it to the note because it is the closest context.

But we find out later that Dain’s statement has nothing to do with the note, since the note is about Liriope’s poisoning.

After having read TCP [redacted] times, one might begin to think: Is Orlagh even the sender of this correspondence? And if not, who is? And what does the note mean if we’re giving it a different context/sender?

For this, we have to peruse the parts of the sentences written in the note.

A. “Provenance”

For me, this phrase has always seemed a bit strange when referring to blusher mushrooms.

The word “provenance”, as most people recognise it, is used to describe the place from which a particular thing or subset of things comes from (i.e. the provenance of “Champagne” is Champagne, France, and the provenance of “Iranian rugs” is Iran, etc.).

So when we put it in the context of blusher mushrooms, as the note does, it seems to be saying there is a particular place where one can find blusher mushrooms, and the recipient is trying to acquire them for one reason or another.

But Jude, when first dabbling in mithridatism, describes picking blusher mushroom in the palace gardens (p.148-150, TCP). So if Balekin was planning on acquiring the poison, he needn’t look farther than the palace itself.

Which says, to me, that acquiring blusher mushroom for his own purposes wasn’t the subject of Balekin’s original inquiry, since it is common enough for a seventeen-year-old girl to find on her walk to school.

Additionally, the sender says “the provenance of the blusher mushroom”, when “the provenance of blusher mushroom” would be more grammatically correct if the sender was indeed informing Balekin about where he could get the poison.

Implying that they are referring to a single specific blusher mushroom. Perhaps, the very one which poisoned Liriope.

Which means, “provenance”, as it is used in the note, could be referring to the less common definition: “record of ownership”.

My guess is, Balekin asked the sender of the note if they knew who killed Liriope with blusher mushroom. The sender, wanting to remain cryptic in case the message was intercepted, phrased their confirmation so only the person who knew the full context of the message would be able to understand it.

Leading me to believe the sender may be saying, “I know who owned/used the blusher mushroom that you’re asking about”.

B. “It”

Here’s another tricky thing about English grammar: sometimes the subject that “it” refers to can be a group of things.

We might assume right off the bat that “What you do with it” means “What you do with the blusher mushroom”. But, given the previous specification, our sender might actually just mean “What you do with this information must not be tied back to me.”

Essentially, “Don’t tell anyone I told you this but I know who Liriope’s murderer is.”

C. “Let my name be stricken from your lips.”

To me, this last sentence of the note wreaks of faerie bargain.

The sender mentioned they had a debt to pay Balekin, and after divulging who poisoned Liriope, they would consider that debt paid.

But why not just leave the message at that? They already basically said, “Don’t tell anyone I told you this”, so this sentence seems redundant if not included for an ulterior purpose.

It could be a dramatic sign off. More likely, though, it’s a final clause of some bargain made previous to this message. Such as, “You owe me. Tell me who poisoned Liriope and I’ll never speak your name again.”

Either way, it sounds like the sender does not want to be tied to Balekin in any way (understandable tbh).

***This line is important for later, so remember this.***

~~~

So, after these specifications have been made, the note reads:

“I know who owned/used the blusher mushroom to poison Liriope, but what you do with this information must not be traced back to me. After this, I consider my debt paid. As per our bargain, you’re not to speak of me again.”

II. THE SENDER OF THE LETTER

There are many people who could’ve sent this letter. So let’s narrow it down.

Since the letter is in Balekin’s study, we could surmise that it is something Balekin has written and plans on sending. But Jude describes it as being written in “an elegant, feminine hand” (TCP, p.115).

Which doesn’t necessarily rule Balekin out as the sender, but I’m thinking it is much more likely he is the recipient, and that the sender is a woman.

The sender also knows who killed Liriope, so they probably know why Liriope was poisoned, as well. Meaning, they would have had to have ties to her—whether in proximity or in intimacy.

Oriana mentions in TCP that she and Liriope were close friends. She also tells Jude that she knew about Liriope and Dain’s affair.

However, in this same conversation, Jude asks Oriana if she knew Dain was the one who poisoned Liriope, and this is her response:

“Oriana shakes her head. ‘Not for a long time. It could have been another of Eldred’s lovers. Or Balekin—there were rumours he was the one responsible. I even wondered if it could have been Eldred, if he had poisoned her for dallying with his son. But then Madoc discovered Dain had obtained the blusher mushroom. He insisted I never let Oak be anywhere near the prince.’ ”(TCP, pp. 294-295)

Since faeries cannot lie, the truth must be that Oriana is not the one that knew who poisoned Liriope.

And since the letter is left unsigned, Dain attributes its origins to the Queen of the Undersea.

Here’s why I don’t think Orlagh sent this message:

Orlagh is seen in cahoots with Balekin plenty throughout the series. Yet, the sender of this message implies they want nothing to do with the eldest prince, and furthermore explicitly tells Balekin to never speak their name again. If Orlagh were the sender of this note, we would not have much of the scenes which take place in the Undersea during Jude’s kidnapping in The Wicked King.

Orlagh is the Queen of the Undersea. Why would she know or care about the details of a murder of one of the High King of Elfhame’s lovers?

Orlagh also has no ties to Liriope, or Dain for that matter, so why would Balekin go to Orlagh for information regarding Liriope’s murder?

But do you know who does have ties to Liriope, who might also have reason not to want Balekin to speak their name ever again?

Lady Asha.

So how exactly does Lady Asha have ties to Liriope?

It is common knowledge that they were both lovers of the High King. Asha could’ve known of Liriope’s affair with Dain because of their proximity at court. She was also known for being a lover of gossip and secrets. It’s not too surprising that she might know of Liriope’s secret.

But how does Lady Asha know that Dain specifically poisoned Liriope? And why might she want to sever her ties with Balekin?

Let me back track for a moment.

III. EMERALDS FOR HEIRS?

In the prologue of The Queen of Nothing, Lady Asha receives a heavy necklace of emeralds for her “contribution to the Greenbriar line”.

In The Cruel Prince, when Jude is dressing in Liriope’s clothes for the party at Locke’s estate, Locke offers her his mother’s jewels, specifically a heavy necklace made of emeralds (TCP, p. 168).

At first, when I noticed this connection, I thought emeralds must be Eldred’s standard gift given to any mother who births a Greenbriar heir.

But if you recall, Locke wasn’t born to Eldred, and Liriope would have had to receive the necklace while she was still alive, meaning Oak had not yet been born.

It is significant that both of these women have necklaces of emeralds, for the meaning of emeralds—amongst loyalty, love, and strength—is truth.

“A revealer of truths, emerald reputedly could cut through all illusions and spells, including the truth or falsity of a lover’s oath.” (International Gem Society)

Indeed, it’s curious that the only other person known to possess a string of emeralds similar to the one Lady Asha receives in QON, is Liriope.

Liriope, who, to common knowledge, never had a royal child with the High King. Liriope, who, through the events of TCP, we know to have been having an affair with Dain while still in the High King’s favour.

Liriope, who, like Lady Asha, met an unfortunate fate.

If emeralds represent the falsity of a lover’s oath, and Liriope possessed such a necklace before her passing, it could be that the emeralds Asha received were less a gift as much as they were a warning.

One that Asha was either too arrogant or too oblivious to figure out when she first received them, but that she might've pieces together after Liriope's death.

IV. PUNISHMENT BY PROXY

In the prologue of Queen of Nothing, the narrator informs us that Cardan’s punishment for “killing” a mortal man was that his mother was locked in the Tower of Forgetting.

It’s unsurprising that a mother should shoulder the blame for the crimes of her royal son, but this seems like a steep price to pay for the death of someone only tangentially related to the High King’s concerns.

It wasn’t even a lover of Eldred’s own who was killed. It was the lover of his lover/seneschal.

Incarcerating Asha because her son allegedly killed the lover of the High King’s lover feels like an overreaction. Why not simply cast Asha from the court? Or send her to the mortal lands?

Unless…

The High King suspected (or knew) that Lady Asha had committed some other serious offense against him, but had no sufficient evidence to lock her away. Or perhaps he did not want to risk the humiliation that would ensue if everyone at court found out that Lady Asha had been dallying with his son at the same time as she was his own lover.

And, to give her what he thought she deserved without inciting speculation from the court, used the excuse of Cardan killing the mortal to finally serve justice.

Furthermore, we know Cardan and his mother were not close. We know Asha did not raise Cardan as normal mothers do. Why is sending Cardan’s mother to prison a punishment to him?

Other than a small blot on his reputation (upon which, there are many, much larger blots), Asha’s punishment by proxy largely shouldn’t effect Cardan.

It seems as if Cardan’s true punishment was being virtually disowned by his father, and banished from living in the Palace of Elfhame.

Meaning, Asha’s punishment wasn’t really Cardan’s, but her own.

V. THE DEBT

In the letter Jude stole from Balekin’s desk, a “debt”, which has been paid through the information provided, is mentioned. If Asha sent this letter, what debt could she possibly owe Balekin?

Well, for starters, he did raise her son when no one else would.

Though, it’s unclear to me when in the timeline Asha wrote the letter and when she was imprisoned, if this is the aforementioned debt, Asha would’ve had to have written the letter after she’d been sent to the Tower of Forgetting. Because her being sent to the Tower was the catalyst for Balekin raising Cardan.

This debt also begs the question: Why would Balekin offer to raise Cardan?

Surely having Lady Asha, an incarcerated ex-lover of the High King, in his debt isn’t so valuable as the immense responsibility of raising a child he has no obligation to.

Which points to a motive that indicates perhaps Balekin does have an obligation to this child.

When Madoc kills Eva and Justin in the prologue of TCP, he takes Jude and Taryn in, claiming it as his “duty” after he rendered them parentless. We know the fae value their honour, and so even someone as opprobrius as Balekin might be subject to upholding duty in the face of a faerie child’s mother being sent to prison.

But as we know, he did not cause Lady Asha’s detainment (Dain did). So where is this sudden sense of duty coming from? None of the other Greenbriar siblings seemed to have the same moral inclination.

Balekin taking Cardan in could be purely out of selfish motives. Such as, being able to shape Cardan to his will, which he might then use in a potential coup.

But it could be that, through everything, Balekin has an inkling of an idea that Cardan might not be his brother, but his son.

There is another debt which is possible in relation to the letter if it was sent prior to Lady Asha’s imprisonment. But for this, we must consider why Lady Asha would want her name to be stricken from Balekin’s lips in the first place.

The most obvious answer to this which I could think of is that Lady Asha knows she has committed treason by sleeping with Balekin, the High King’s son, and claiming their child as one of the High King’s own, staking her place at court as higher than is deserved, while also playing the High King for a fool.

So the debt could simply be that Lady Asha, seeing what happened to Liriope and knowing what happens to lovers of the High King after being found adulterous, wanted Balekin to never be able to speak of their affair ever again.

Balekin, not being of the sort to do things for other people without a price, might have said that he’d agree to this if she offered him information that he wanted. After she gave it to him, their bargain would be complete, and Balekin would henceforth never be able to speak Lady Asha’s name.

Regardless of which debt is the truth, indeed, I do believe we do not hear Balekin utter Asha’s name once throughout the course of the series. Despite the fact that it is almost certain they knew each other before.

VI. PRIOR ENTANGLEMENT

How do we know that Asha and Balekin knew each other well enough to be sending letters like this back and forth to each other, if we are not yet certain that they had an affair?

In the prologue of TCP, Madoc states that he didn’t believe it when Balekin told him his wife and child were not dead, but living in the mortal world. This indicates that Balekin had knowledge of how Eva faked her death.

Now, we could owe this to the presence of spies at court. It’s likely that Balekin has his own hoard of spies, as do most of the prominent figures in Eflhame.

Or we could consider that perhaps Lady Asha, who is the other person confirmed to have known that Eva faked her death (TWK, p.129), was Balekin’s informant on this matter.

After receiving this information, he was then able to pass it on to Madoc in order to gain his trust (with the ulterior motive that Madoc might trust him enough to help him with his coup).

But then, we must also consider why Lady Asha would tell the eldest prince of her friend’s plan in the first place.

One thought I had was that perhaps Balekin, having a slew of mortal servants under his roof, was the person who offered Eva the unidentifiable mortals left in Madoc’s house as “proof” of their death.

He’d have to have motive to do this, however. Which indicates he either had some sort of attachment to Asha, who was trying to help her friend escape Faerie, or Balekin valued the knowledge of their plan enough to help them carry it out.

Another less complicated motive for Lady Asha telling Balekin of Eva’s escape would be that Asha and Balekin had a history of being in cahoots with one another, which would point to a connection deeper than a passing acquaintanceship due to proximity at court.

VII. AN UNCANNY LIKENESS

It is a truth in The Folk of the Air series that children look very much like their biological parents.

Oak, biological son of Dain, looks an awful lot like Dain:

Oak is described as having deer legs, little horns on his head, and brown hair with streaks of gold.

Dain, in turn, is described as having deer legs, little horns, and golden curls.

This striking resemblance is what initially got me thinking on Cardan’s parentage. And it is further backed by the many other child-parent resemblances in the series:

Vivi is described as having inherited her father’s golden cat eyes and fur-tipped ears.

Locke has obviously inherited his mother’s “sunrise hair”.

And it could be argued that Oak inherited Liriope’s “starlit eyes”, as his are an amber-gold colour that might resemble an old star.

Lady Asha even states that Jude resembles both Eva and Justin greatly (TCP, p.129).

And in kind, Jude thinks that Lady Asha and Cardan look very alike, though she does not admit to this out loud.

These likenesses do not necessarily indicate anything other than a pattern, which could be total coincidence. But it does mean that we could reasonably conclude that faeries, as with humans, often take on characteristics of their parents.

Balekin is described as having black hair, pale skin, and silver eyes.

Cardan’s description in the series is quite similar:

He is said to have black curls, pale skin, and metallic-rimmed black irises.

When we compare that to Eldred’s description—golden hair and bronze owl-like eyes—it doesn’t seem like Cardan inherited many traits from the High King at all.

Now, this could be because Lady Asha’s characteristics were more dominant in Cardan’s inherited genes.

She is described as being pale, with raven hair, and black eyes. She also clearly passed her tail on to her son.

But the similarities between Cardan and Balekin go beyond the obvious. When Jude is hiding under a chair in Balekin’s study, she notices the following:

“In two strides, Balekin is in front of his brother. They look so alike standing close. Same inky hair, matching sneers, devouring eyes.” (TCP, p.119)

Indeed, this resemblance is echoed across the series. In The Wicked King, when Jude goes to visit Balekin in the Tower of Forgetting, she states:

“As I ascend, I glance back at Balekin’s face, severe in the green torchlight. He resembles Cardan too much for my comfort.” (TWK, p. 26)

And again, in the Undersea, when Balekin comes to interrogate her, Jude thinks:

“They have the same black hair. The same cheekbones.” (TWK, p. 240)

There is also the matter of Cardan’s name, which bears resemblance to Balekin’s physicality.

Balekin is described as having thorns on his forearms. Cardan is a name which is derived from Cardon, which means thistle. Thistles are a prickly flower that grow from stems of thorns.

We know Holly Black is very intentional with her descriptions and words. My question is, why would she go out of her way to draw these physical comparisons, to echo the sentiment that the two are strikingly similar, if Cardan and Balekin were merely brothers?

She could have said that Cardan, being raised in Balekin's household for much of his formative years, was moulded to adopt his brother's mannerisms and propensity for cruelty. She could have said the way that they talk, walk, carry themselves, etc. were extremely reminiscent of one another, and we as readers would've gotten the point: that Jude thinks Cardan and Balekin are alike in many ways.

But this isn't what Holly Black does. Which leads me to believe there is something else to the constant parallels she chooses to include.

VIII. IN CONCLUSION

I’m aware this entire post reads like a conspiracy theory. So to those of you who stuck it out this far, congratulations and welcome to the circus.

I’ll be the first to admit that it is a big reach to say that this is fact rather than the speculation that it is. There are a lot of holes, which I can only hope might be filled in the coming duology.

That being said, this theory brings many questions to light.

How would Balekin know of Eva’s escape without having a more intimate relationship with her friend than previously thought?

Why would Lady Asha want her name stricken from Balekin’s lips so desperately as to make a bargain with him?

How could Lady Asha possibly be indebted to Balekin?

Why would Liriope and Asha be the only two characters with heavy necklaces of emeralds on their person if it didn’t mean they shared a similar history with the High King?

Why would Holly Black continuously compare Balekin and Cardan, indirectly pointing out that neither look much like their father or other siblings, but look undeniably like each other, if not to draw a deeper connection between the two?

And finally, and perhaps most importantly, if Lady Asha’s dalliance with Eldred was so brief—as is confirmed by Oriana in chapter 12 of QON— how did she come to be pregnant by him? We know faerie menstrual cycles don’t happen as often as mortals’.

Is this as simple as good luck, or does it speak to an affair no one knew was happening?

–Em 🖤🗡

more theories & analysis

#this is. complete speculation ngl gvskdjsk #i have a whole conspiracy theory red string board for this one though #tfota #jurdan #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #balekin greenbriar #lady asha #the folk of the air #jurdannet #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #queen of nothing #holly black #judecardan #how the king of elfhame learned to hate stories #tfota meta #tfota analysis #my analysis

[a-book-of-creatures]

Oh please (genuine), make your own post on "worm" for "dragon"; because that sounds FASCINATING. I'm going to assume the shift away from it, corresponded with the use of "worm" for the boneless critter in the dirt, and Tolkien's use is a historical outlier because that's the kind of guy he was; I don't know if that's true or not, but it's the first thought an comes to mind.

I don't know how much of an outlier he was, I can think of at least one relatively high-profile use of worm as dragon at around that time (The Worm Ouroboros, 1922).

Now I'm not a linguist, but I according to the OED, worm is "a serpent, snake, dragon. Now only arch[aic]". It is notably wyrm in the ca. 700-1000 CE Beowulf (þa se wyrm onwoc), but it is wirme in 1250's The Story of Genesis and Exodus (wente in to a wirme, and tolde eue a tale) and by 1290 at most it is already worm. In Anthony and Cleopatra the asp is "the pretty worme of Nylus", and Pope makes mention of "That ancient Worm, the Devil".

On the other hand, worm as "any animal that creeps or crawls" dates to at most 893 CE, and worm as "earthworm" to at most 1398 (some ben water wormes). Wright and Wülcker give wyrm as Anglo-Saxon for earthworm (vermis), so it's been there all along apparently.

Either way, I am still firmly in the "reclaim worm for dragons" camp. It was good enough for Tolkien! Just remember: it's worm in English, wyrm in Anglo-Saxon, and wurm in German. And also ormr in Norse, vermis in Latin, ver in French, etc etc.

And somewhere along my research for this, I found in Whitman (1907), The Old English Animal Names, this valuable piece of information.

#worms #dragons #reclaiming worm #fagwyrm #reblog if you too are a fagwyrm #tolkien #j r r tolkien #basilisk

[indigo-constellation]

the Pathologic essay I wrote last year about why I think the Haruspex route Utopian ending is the overall best ending, I still stand by what I said however this somewhat structured essay holds less than half about how much I care about this ending.

In the game Pathologic there are three different routes, each corresponding to each healer. The story also has several endings, one for each of the bound (characters which as the name implies, are bound to their individual healer) as well as a bad ending if the player fails to find any sort of viable solution for the plague. This ability to choose the ending belonging to another healer is an incredibly telling one on the part of the characters, especially when it comes to the Haruspex, and his ability to choose the Utopian, and the Bachelor’s ending. This ending also works quite well when considering the wider narratives of the Haruspex’s route, including the future of the town, his role and sacrifice, and the metanarrative of the story.

In all three routes there lays quite a large weight on the future of the town, as of course it is the battle of the ending, of which vision of the town would become reality. The Haruspex’s bound is known as the Termites, a collection of children who learned from Isidor Burakh, Artemy Burakh’s father. Their ending is the one in which the Polyhedron is destroyed and the town stands, ready to be developed by a future generation. However, it is discovered in one of the other routes of the story, the Bachelor’s route (we will get to��him later) that the source of the infection lies underneath the town, in the pockets of blood which have collected beneath. This means that the plague can never be fully defeated unless the town itself is destroyed, as the Polyhedron has already pierced the ground, meaning that there is no returning the plague to its dormant state, trapped underneath the earth. On the other hand, the other side of the river is entirely uninhibited, clean of the plague. This complete lack of prior development also means an ability to create a new town.

The new town built after the Utopian ending is one made, as the name implies, by the Utopians, however, the asymmetrical narrative changes depending on which healer is the one being currently played by the player, so following that logic, the endings would be influenced as well. This would hypothetically mean that the vision Capella has for the future of the town, one in which the Haruspex is a leader of the kin, and the town would be led by the children, could still find its place within the new town. There are also direct connections between the Utopians and Termites as well, such as Casper Kain, also known as Khan, of the termites, being a termite while also being part of the Kain family, which means that despite the rocky relationship amongst the family, he is still a heir to that power. Capella as well, is the sister of Vlad the younger, who at that point is the eldest Olgymsky remaining, and the projected leader of the town’s industry in the new town, she has also planned her engagement to Khan, meaning that she would then have a connection to Kain family as well. Apart from these direct connections, the entirety of the bound is important, each member, independent of faction, still able to impact the future of the town, and in order to achieve the Utopian ending in the Haruspex route both the Termites and Utopians must be fully healed. However these are the more hypothetical results of the ending, in the game itself the cutscene remains the same for whichever healer chooses the ending, which can imply the uniformness of the ending. However even though the Utopian ending described in differing routes can still serve the Haruspex well, the utopia described in the Bachelor route is explicitly stated to need the Earth, “…it's all about what's down below. It requires dirt. A ruby firmament needs something to sit atop-otherwise it'd topple.” This coincides well with the future Capella predicts, with the Haruspex taking his place as the foreman of the Abattoir, showing that there is, in fact, a place for the “earthly and the humane” in the new town. The connections described within the route, the needs of the utopia, and especially the influence of the Haruspex himself, would allow the Utopian ending to be a fitting future in the Haruspex route.

Another very present aspect of the Haurpsex’s route is that of his sacrifice, the idea that he must destroy, kill, something or someone in order for his ending to occur. This concept is mentioned a few times, however it is only fully explained by Katerina Saburova, “You will make a sacrifice. There will be rivers of blood, and that will be your doing.” While I can go into a whole other essay about the ideas of the sacrifice (and I do), we will for this essay’s sake, take the sacrifice as it’s surface level in pathologic classic, and how it’s implications mean that choosing the Utopian ending would have better long-term effects and also complete the Haruspex’s journey.

The Haruspex’s story follows a more classical hero’s journey rather than the Bachelor’s tragedy, with the abattoir symbolising the other world, and Oyun assigning the quite literal trials the Haruspex must go through. Once the Haruspex defeats the Foreman and becomes the new Foreman of the abattoir, however, he is still not respected by the butchers, who require a sacrifice from him. This duality of both the mistress’ prophecy and the requirement of the butchers also shines a light on the Haruspex in Pathologic Classic, someone who knows that he is of two worlds, however also a person who takes pride in both of them, and brings them together.

In the Termite ending the sacrifice is not fulfilled, the Haruspex is not allowed access to the blood, the plague looms as a remaining threat, and the Polyhedron still falls, for nothing.

Unlike in Pathologic 2, where the Polyhedron is quite literally piercing through the heart of the Earth, slowly killing her, in classic it is nowhere near that fatal, still harmful, but not fatal..  This important distinction is also important to make with the fact that while the blood would still seep out from the open wound if the tower were to fall, it would be limited, and would dry out at some point, while on the other hand, completing the sacrifice would allow the Haruspex access to the blood in the Earth, as the butchers would allow him to find the hidden reserves.

The sacrifice herself, Aglaya Lilich is someone already doomed by the powers that be, a doll loved by their mother and so hated by them, she dies in every ending but the Termites’. There is, of course, a point to be made about the theme of a woman having to die for a man’s journey is not a good one, and choosing this ending would feed into a harmful cliche, however, her death is something she herself understands, and although she urges the Haruspex not to make it, she acknowledges that she is meant to be the sacrifice, that choosing this choice will be enough, “If you lead him to victory, you may consider your sacrifice made. You return to the exultant butchers, triumphant.” Her death is not regarded as a simple shock factor to the end of the story, it is the pivotal choice the Haruspex must make. This is also shown in the Changeling route, where saving Aglaya is seen as an act of deceit, as even Clara’s ending, which saves the town, requires Aglaya to die, as Aglaya is a ‘queen’ an important piece on the board at the end of the game, her life only allows for the Termite ending, only allows for the Haruspex to lose his standing within the kin, and only allows for the sacrifice of the Polyhedron.

The Polyhedron is viewed as the sacrifice in the case that the Haruspex seeks to save Aglaya, however would it even work as one? The sacrifice needed is one of equal value to the Udurgh, the body that contains the world, and if the Utopian route is the one followed, the Udurgh is Simon Kain, and so the sacrifice must be someone who is more than human, and yet human. The Polyhedron, on the other hand, contains no human element, yet, it is the container for a human soul, a chimaera of living and nonliving, however in the Termite ending it is empty, and therefore cannot serve as sacrifice. Both Katerina and Capella’s opinions support the Bachelor’s argument in favour of the Polyhedron standing as well, Katerina outright claiming that “ I know for sure that you are to destroy a woman…” However, seeing that Katerina’s prophecies are often wrong, this statement must be taken with a pinch of salt. On the other hand, Capella clarifies that while Simon is merely a man in the current time, however, “Had Simon been reborn though, had he transferred his spirit to a new vessel-a body huge, perfect, and able to let others in... then he could have been called that.” Well, that rebirth, that new vessel she describes just so happens to match up incredibly well to the Polyhedron, this means that for the Udurgh to exist, for the Haruspex to fulfil his purpose, he must let the Polyhedron stand, must let Simon become the Udurgh. These ideas of sacrifice, of fate, and most importantly, of duty and purpose, greatly define the Haruspex’s story, and the Utopian ending is the only ending which gives it the needed satisfaction by its end.

All of the prior points about the town and the sacrifice have been made with the greatest levels of constraint I was able to amount, this paragraph, admittedly, will be much more personal, as the reasoning it presents was the initial reason for my appreciation of this ending. Simply saying, this paragraph will discuss this ending and the Haruspex’s connections, specifically the connection to the Bachelor. This entire essay could have been written only about this, specific subject, however, there was much more to be said about this ending, and the exercise in restraint was appreciated,  despite the, challenges (No Zero I cannot give into the g urges early, fruit.) This paragraph will discuss the relationship between the Bachelor and the Haruspex (of course) as well as the metanarrative of Pathologic classic, especially when it comes to the ends and in considering the Bachelor route in comparison to the Haruspex one.

During the Bachelor run, there is not a single chance to access the abandoned workshop the Haruspex works in, even trying to teleport into the workshop will fail, This comes with the precedent that as the Bachelor, you will not meet the Haruspex until the fifth day, from which point on he is only truly present for days 5,8,9, and of course, day 12. This is of course, a great disservice and the Pathologic 2 route should really have more Haruspex in it, however on a less tangential point, it a great difference from the haruspex route, in which the Bachelor appears for almost every single day of the playthrough, The Bachelor is likely to be the character the player interacts with the most, and over the game the connection between the two characters grows over time, with the Bachelor switching to use Artemy Burakh’s first name. However this closeness between the two is present throughout the entirety of the route, from the very first line the Bachelor speaks to the Haruspex (We will get to that later) to even the descriptions of quests and locations which the Haruspex takes note of, even I was surprised at just how much there was between these two in my first playthrough. All that builds to the point in which these two characters, at the very least, care for one another, deeply enough that the Haruspex has multiple dialogue options which are explicitly supportive of the Utopian ending within his Cathedral discussion with the Bachelor, with all but two of the dialogue branches allowing him to ask the Bachelor for his advice, and only one serving as a direct rejection. And that is what choosing the Termites ending in the Haruspex route is, a rejection, all throughout the route the Bachelor will attempt to convince the Haruspex of the validity of his ending, and in the Haruspex route, the Utopian ending is incredibly tied to the Bachelor, to Daniil Dankovsy, with the implication that if tower, if the last remainder of his research will not survive, that neither will he. Much like Aglaya, his fate is tied to the aspect of the town he is bound to protect. The Bachelor, who, while still placed as more antagonistic, still has his choice, his option for the ending still weighed as equally as the Inquisitor’s, the story places them as equals, “Two diverging pairs of decisions. Both pre-determined…” Which also clarifies that the Utopian ending was never less free than the Termite one, as they are both pre-written, scripted.

This leads into another extremely important aspect of Pathologic Classic HD, the meta, not only can you be reminded twice per round that the story is not real, but multiple characters and scenarios note that this is still a game, still a story the player is playing a part of. A big part of the meta story is the fact that the town is in fact, a sandbox, and the characters are merely dolls. The Polyhedron is a water container which was stuck into the sand, and the water within it had caused a mold, causing the sand pest within the reality of the characters. Removing the tower would help nothing; the mold has already spread, the only option forward is to remove the sand, or play somewhere else, which is what the destruction of the town means, the Utopian ending is the only one which actually, truly addresses this.

Another very meta aspect of the story is the relationship between the Haruspex and Bachelor, which is seen in the very first line spoken from the Bachelor to the Haruspex. The order the game suggests the routes is to begin with Bachelor, continue to Haruspex, and end with Changeling, and viewing the story as one continuous thing in that order adds a lot of depth to the story, with, “ Yes... Far be it from me to call myself a person of mystical inclinations. However, when I look at you, I get the feeling that nature is playing jokes on us. It's as if both the left and the right hand have clutched the head to realise for the first time that they are two parts of a single whole.” The Bachelor quickly disarms the player, not only is this statement a clear representation of the fact that they are two parts of a single whole, they are all healers, all part of the role the player plays, but this line is just plain out not something to say to someone you just met. Dankovsky continues his, less than normal interactions towards the Haruspex throughout the route, to the point that two of them have the closest connection here than almost any other two characters in any route, to the point even the developers themselves reflect upon it in that same dialogue I mentioned before, “Two diverging pairs of decisions… And then, you see, there were also feelings involved... Love.” While this can be applied to Aglaya instead, in the context of the conversation, which is Clara asking the developers about the two other healers specifically, that simply would not make sense. There is a lot more textual and meta evidence about these two, but I am straying off course too much already and this paragraph is already very very long, so we will just move swiftly back to the actual point of the essay :) (BUT YES I COULD WRITE A WHOLE ENTIRE THING ABOUT HOW DANIIL IS WRITTEN AS A LOVE INTEREST IN THIS ROUTE)

Let us not forget, however, a reason as to why the Bachelor wishes to destroy the town, and that is that Daniil is incredibly petty and jealous of Aglaya, from the initial curiosity at their initial meeting, “...She was so impressed by your dignified demeanour … What did you tell her that touched her so much?” To the outright spiteful, “My dear Burakh, she is your sacrifice! I don't think it is at all necessary to slit her throat with your own knife … if the town is destroyed, the head of Aglaya Lilich will be separated from her shoulders in less than a day.” He also partially agrees with Artemy that he seeks to keep the Polyhedron out of spite. However one must take into consideration the Bachelor’s route, in which he is consistently used and betrayed, the biggest offender being the Inquisitor herself. The only person who does not do so is the Haruspex, so it makes sense he would do quite literally anything to keep that being the case.

The fact is, Daniil Dankovsky suffers, in almost every single ending he is not at a good place, all of the endings from his own route for one, as that route is quite literally a tragedy, as well as the fact that Eva is dead in it, that also goes for Changeling route endings, as well as the fact that in that route he is in general incapable of a happy ending, which only leaves the Haruspex’s route for him to have any possibility of contentment (sorry g boy) Immediately we can also rule out the Termite ending in the Haruspex route, and in the Humbles ending he is the only one without a place, the Haruspex, as the Foreman, would still have a role to play, but Daniil would not, her victory is also the least rational one, and therefore, the hardest one for him to agree with. That leaves, of course, one ending, the Haruspex route Utopian ending, in which the Bachelor is not left in misery.

Other than that, this ending, just like all endings in which the player picks the ending of the bound other than their healers’ is a direct victory over fate, over the ‘set’ ending for the route. The executor, the stand-in for the developers in the ending of the game says as much, “The only enemy, the only evil in this story, you see, is called Inevitability…” This also lends itself to the idea that the belief that there is only one ‘right’ ending for each healer, that they should only be considered by their bound’s choice, is a wrong one. This refusal of fate, refusal of the ending implied to be the ‘correct’ choice of the Haruspex since the very beginning of the game, is the ultimate victory of the player, and of the characters with them.

In almost all discussion of the Pathologic endings, the only possibilities considered are the ones given, each healer choosing their own bound’s end, but Pathologic is far more dynamic than that. The story is asymmetrical, and so are its endings, which is why Bachelor’s route Utopian ending is quite possibly the most tragic, hopeless one, and the Haruspex route one is the complete opposite. There is no ‘good’ ending, of course, no, that would be too simple, however, there are some which are clearly better than others, and due to the future of the town, the impact this has on the Haruspex’s story, and arguably most importantly, the meta and interconnected aspects of this ending, it can be considered as a good ending. It is a belief that the Utopian ending in any context, is a bad one, however, in the words of the Haruspex himself, “Any choice is right as long as it’s willed.”

#pathologic #daniil dankovsky #artemy burakh #pathologic classic hd #burakhovsky #implied #a lot of the rest of my thoughts can be boiled down to “i kinned danko too hard oops”/hj #but there is so much to be said about this one particular ending and the way it does have the longest term good impact on the world #unlike most other patho endings which when considered outside of a vacuum would be really bad as things to happen to the real world #don't want to get into how the termite and humble endings are kinda conservative but utopian is the only one driving the world forwards #under artemy's influence it's even better

[sluttylittlewaste]

I really need to stop talking about Kristen Chilis Applebees but I feel so strongly about my feral bb girl.

One thing I haven't seen anymore mention yet is the way Kristen became a cleric of Cassandra. This child was freshly dead AGAIN, alone and newly spell-less in the Nightmare King's Forrest. For the first time since Helio had chosen her she stopped being protected and empowered by someone larger than herself. And even with that protection she'd died! TWICE!!!

So, what did she do? She laid on the ground, face in the dirt, and bound herself to the unknown. Drew a blood portrait of a faceless goddess in askance of salvation. In any other situation it would be a terrible decision.

On a more meta level, think about what Beardsley said in the pre-interview. They had Kristen make A LOT of big choices just for the sake of it, making concrete decisions while just going with the flow. Think, just for a moment, about Beardsley knowing that they were building towards the BBEG fight for the season and THEY.HAVE. NO.SPELLS. The rest of the party are preparing to do intensive combat, several of them injured or exhausted and ALLY. BEARDSLEY.HAD.NO.SPELLS.

THE CLERIC HAD NO SPELLS.

So, what do they do? They lay Kristen Applebees on the ground, bleeding and terrified, and beg for a way to help their friends.Big, significant, inpowerful choice.

I think there's a lot of really good space in the story for Kristen to learn the dangers of throwing herself from belief to belief out of fear. The current conversation around the character is very focused on the "ADHD is beating her ass" angle (which is definitely a big part), but I think that's undercutting the amount of religious trauma and correspondent identity issues brewing underneath. As I've said before: It would be so satisfying for Kristen to switch classes. I'd love to see her use all this new muscle for a martial character, pulling strength from within herself rather than some "God".

#okay I think I can stop talking about it #for this week at least #kristen applebees #rant #d20 fhjy #fhjy #if i die #let me die #dimension 20 #cassandra

[baby-jaguar]

Meeting Kyle

Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope

WC: 3,120 CW: None

AN: GAZZA BAYBEE! This is my first time writing for Gaz and I know it's not much, but I hope to portray him as something we can all enjoy. Would love to hear your thoughts and comments, as well as any questions, my asks are open. I hope ye enjoy <3

Please see the Introduction for the explanation and precursors to the scene.

Introduction, Biography

--------

The quiet of the night emanates with the crickets chirping, small scuffles of feet around the block, and a handful of buildings creaking in the late-night wind. You can barely see the outline of words using the dim street lights to help you read over the candidates.

No… No… Yes. 

Your eyes, and faint tug of your heart, settle on Kyle’s advert. In a hopeless romantic fashion, you could feel the daydreams begin. 

Folding the paper and stuffing it in your shirt, then glancing around before heading off to your home, you walk with a rushed sense of urgency. Everything good, bad, and ugly, flys into your mind. This could be a trap, what if he isn’t who he says he is, what if hundreds of others have already written to him? 

Well, it's better than this. It's a quick scan of the hazardous and dirty mess that rages inside your house walls. Passing quickly to your bathroom, you take out the paper again before looking in the mirror. 

Can you see yourself in the low lights of a saloon? Helping old bastards get drunk after a day of hard work, smiling sweetly, or raising a fist when needed? Can you hold appearance to being a town favorite so he would get good business? 

Your mind steals your active attention while bathing, letting the lukewarm water wash the day’s dirt away from you. No criminal record? Check, and with no debt. No early mornings but now late nights? That's a life you could get used to. Attractive? Well shit, if the politician sought you out, then yes. You’re quite the diamond in the rough.

As if you were in a spell, you blink and break the dissociation you entered to realize yes, you could see that for yourself. You can. Could. Would.

Now in your bedroom after the bath, you quietly maneuver the floorboards to cut any chance of waking up your parents or any sudden appearance that would erase this mission of yours.

Now being able to read, Kyle was one of the younger candidates in the newspaper and even from his short paragraph and singular photo, he seemed like a man who was down to earth. Maybe someone who knows how to have fun, but has enough structure and discipline for himself to become so successful at such a young age. In your writing, you tried your best to express your goals, how you could help his own, and how you could blossom together in his new beginning.

The next few days were filled with constant anxiety and metaphorically looking over your shoulder. Acting like a nervous dog as your parents began to crowd you with an overbearing sense of control. A child with a leash on, constantly trying to pull away.

The 5th day after sending your correspondence leaves you will a dejected heart. Now on the farm working, you heard the bell attached to the mailer wagon approach the gate. Common for you to take the mail for the Laswells, you head to take the mail but give a confused glance as the mailman hands you a letter while reading out your name. “This one here ‘s for ya.” Is all he supplies before heading back down the road to continue his route.

A neat and small scrawl is seen across the front and is enough to make your heart race. 

Kyle expressed himself very well; his boyish charm and a hint of his flirty attitude already coming across. Describing himself as friendly, outgoing, and respectful. He confided in how he feels most alone when the customers leave, when he gets into bed in the cold chill of the night, alone. 

Even in his writing, his charming and playful lines were able to make you smile, having to bite your lip to keep your bubbling excitement inside. The words he uses, and the sweet-toothed candor in his writing show a difference from your upbringing; daddy and mommy issues on your end, if you will, while the feeling of his young soul shines through with assuredness. You and Kyle wrote of both wanting someone to make life feel easy. Kyle wants to find his muse; the inspiration to his business and light up his world on the cloudiest of days.

In the dark of the late evening after leaving work late, you head to the post office to collect an expected letter. A common habit now so you could dream of him and any fantasies your mind could create. Now just entering the 6th week of exchanging letters, you stand shocked as you re-read the page.

“... I hope to see you soon, enclosed is the means to make it my way. Cheers to you honey, I’ll be waiting for you…” 

In your hands lays your one-way ticket to get out of your contained life. In his letter and now in your hands are directions, a map, and a one-way train ticket for you to leave home. 

The thrum of your blood is loud in your ears, louder than your footsteps running across the ground. Making your way back home, you begin packing what you’ll need for the barren desert climate. 

Fully awake and adrenaline pumping, you slink into your house with practiced ease and silence to determine what you’ve walked into tonight. From the hallway, you can see your parents strewn across their bed with measured breathing; It's safe to move around and get yourself together.

It's an hour later when you make your way to leave, yet when passing through the living room for one last look, you decide to get a small keepsake to celebrate your new beginning while simultaneously giving a big fuck you to your parents. 

Plucking a set of fine glassware of your father's, the ones that he valued more than keepsakes from your parent's wedding, the soft clink of the glass buried in your bag brings a sweet grin to your lips. 

You’d scold yourself later for not taking a bottle of whatever liquor was there but wouldn’t want to test your luck by getting drunk when it was your first time on a train. 

The trip was only four days long, not leaving you with much time to prepare to meet Kyle. Instead, you begged your mind to create a true representation of him, re-reading his letters often as you imagined him. The times that you were able to sleep with the soft lull of the train were filled with possibilities of what your life in a budding environment, alongside a man who had built his life up from scratch and stayed so charming through it all. 

On the train into Northern Arizona, the red rock was enchanting, to say the least. Arriving late into the morning on Saturday, you take a mildly comfortable pace after stepping off the train station to make your way to the center of town with wide eyes as the glimmer of the early morning sky creates a calm blue haze.

It takes a bit of time before you walk far enough to come across the sign painted atop a brick building in the the upper edge of Main Street. You could laugh about how lost you knew you looked, but before stopping to ask someone, the creme-colored letters Free Falling Saloon appear before you.

Taking a moment to commend yourself for making it this far, a steady breath draws in and out of your lungs. With a small flutter in your stomach, you push open the saloon doors and are greeted with the sight of the bar; stained oak and birch woods, various colored glass bottles lining the back wall, dried animal skulls hung up, cowboy hats, sombreros, and a large mirror that has a ledge full of lit candles. 

The loud sound of a crate being put on the bar makes you startle, hand jumping up to your chest before your eyes find the source of the noise.

“Sorry, pardner, we ain't open till-” The smooth voice rings out with a dreary tone- making him seem tired of probably having to repeat this line over and over again. After a moment, his warm deep eyes move up to find yours but his jolt of surprise doesn't escape you.

His eyes, body, and soul, seemingly freeze as he sets his eyes on you and stares. Granted, you're staring right back while the pull of a growing smile begins to pull at the edge of your lips.

His facial hair isn’t much, but it's enough to shape his face and make him seem like he’s a bit older than the photo he sent. His hair somewhat short and in tight curls on his head, making him have a unique style he could probably attest to developing from home. 

Your stomach does flips at how stunning he is, but when he smiles- All gods be damned. He’s the finest man you’ve seen and you wonder if you’re going to chase off harlots from stealing him every night.

“Hi, Kyle.” Is all that leaves you, and it's monumentally soft in how it leaves your lips, making you swear you could see him melt a bit.

The movement of his mouth catches your eyes but the lack of sound coming out draws a soft peal of laughter from you. Taking a step forward, he matches you while bumping into a few glass bottles along the way. 

Your bags make soft thuds against the floor, both sets of footsteps soft with trepidation yet building excitement. Each set of eyes scans the other, with sincere and almost unapologetic disbelief as you come face to face.

He whispers your name out in amazement, raising his hands to cup your face. “You’re real… You’re really real.” He breathes, voice soft. His inviting eyes drink in your appearance while his smile grows, and then feel yourself pulled into a tight hug in his strong arms.

A soft noise of surprise leaves you, arms trapped within his hold making you laugh in response. Settling to wrap your arms around his waist, you squeeze right back. He smells like citrus and hints of cinnamon amongst it. 

When thinking of the Arizona Territory, you thought it would be the rumored dry barren desert that holds tales of ghost stories; Unbearable heat that beats down and leaves many delusional for an oasis. But him. Kyle. He’s the damned warmest thing you've wrapped your arms around.

But hey, you’ll probably become delusional for this man too.

“You’re real.” You copy back with a muffled voice. Basking against his muscled chest, which you will return to later, you peak up. “Thought this was some dream like I was going crazy coming here.” The addition is a soft and unconfident reply, possibly gaslighting yourself into still believing so.

The rumble of his soft laugh brings a sweet vibration to your chest, "I know, Honey. You're safe now, you're home." He assures while moving his head back slightly so his face is now a few inches from yours, smiling softly. “I wrote you way too much to let you get stuck in some sort of dream world without me. Hardest parts’ over.” 

Affirming his response, a grin plants itself on your lips as you hum lowly. “Hardest parts over.” You parrot back with relaxed accomplishment. 

The arms around you give a tight squeeze, and the warmth of his lips presses against your forehead. “You’re gonna make me crazy. Can already tell.” He murmurs, the easy smile held against your skin, and you already want to curse yourself for letting him make it seem so easy. Why not let him?

Before you can respond, he takes a step back to look at you, his brown eyes sparkling in the flickering light of the room."You wanna see our place?" He asks curiously, stepping forward to take your hand and guide you to a door behind the bar, a tucked-away staircase hiding beside a wall of crates. "You're not gonna wanna leave once you see where you'll be stayin'. Let's set your bags down first, though." He laughs, confidently leading you while intertwining your hands.

You’re greeted with an apartment-style home; An eclectic mix of furnishings, all the way down to the pictures and artwork on the walls. It's a mix of Western and Southern charm, with just a hint of New Orleans to signify where he’s from.

A couch sits against one wall near a bay window, the curtains drawn back to let in the sunlight. A kitchenette rests in the corner of the room, and you see a separate room that appears to be a bedroom. There is a large bay window at the end of the room, facing the view of the Jerome hills. Kyle motions for you to follow him to the bedroom.

“It ain't much, just a cozy place for two,” he says softly, moving close to you again as he steals your bags and gently rests them atop a dresser.

In truth, he’s right. It’s not much, but it's a beginning for both of you that he has just a bit of a head start on. Yet, it's so much more than you’ve hoped, dreamed, prayed, screamed, and cried for. Just a little piece of heaven to have and to hold.

“It’s us. That's all that matters.” You say, now walking slowly towards him to scan over the view that the bedroom window offers.

You can feel him staring, see him doing it too from the corner of your eye. “What?” The question tumbles from your mouth, turning to him with an eyebrow raised.

He smiles for a moment, chuckling before shaking his head. Slow steps, 1… 2… 3… bring him close enough to pull your hips and bring you towards him. “You’re right,” He whispers, pausing to smile and look at your lips. “Just us.” He answers in a hoarse murmur, leaning in closer and you can feel his breath across your lips.

“Is this where I say thank you for letting me be here?” You ask, eyes falling to his lips in response. There's a sweetness to this moment, that makes your head feel so light and clear while you can barely feel your heartbeat. It's something you’ve never felt before- because you haven't. Not this, not anyone like him. His hands reach forward to find their place on your jaw, the warmth of his palm grounding. 

A huff of air leaves him, making your eyes flutter. “No, this is where I thank, you, Honeybee.” 

His kiss is gentle and sweet, the gentle drag of his thumb across your hip bones adds to the warmth that floods your chest while his light stubble rubs against your face. Your arms travel up to wrap around his neck, adding to the invitation to make him stay, keeping him so close.

A groan leaves him, his hands squeezing the flesh on your hips before moving to wrap around your back. “You’re gonna be trouble, baby. Here you already makin' me wanna do nothin’ n’ lay in bed.” He grumbles lowly, nestling into your neck with a warm laugh.

You can feel the chemistry building, the close contact, and hold on each other making the scene grow more intimate. He draws a breath in, stealing another kiss from your lips before moving back and directing you to the dresser. “Here's where to put your things, le’s get you unpacked and comfortable. How's that sound?” 

Nodding in response, you work on organizing your belongings while he makes room in a few drawers and half of the closet to accommodate you. “Woulda thought you’d have more than this sweetheart. Not keen on carrying much?” He asks, tone curious but a bit playful with the lazy grin on his face.

A small scoff leaves you, not in disdain of him. “Nah, wanted to get to you quick. But didn’t have much that was worth bringin.” You shrug in reply. “Honestly didn’t know what kinda weather was out here, thought I would be melting already.” 

Kyle leans against the wall where the window is, watching you cross back and forth between the dresser and closet while deciding where to hang or fold your clothes. “I could get behind that.” He hums for a moment before looking into the distance. “I’ll have to tell you how I traveled all ‘e way out here. Had a few trunks to my name and got a whole wagon to get me out here.” He laughs, a sigh of a breath releasing from him as he recounts whatever memory plays in his head.

“What, you didn’t wanna make it in halfa one?” You respond quickly, almost like it's your second nature to be a little shit, now having the freedom to have some fun and relaxation of your personality.

He thinks, stares, and tilts his head. “You think you’s funny, yeah?” He asks, arms crossing over his chest with a Cheshire grin growing over his lips. 

At this point, you think that maybe you should be giving this man more respect, maybe you should already be kissing his feet and thanking him for allowing you here. Eyes widening, your hands fly up in surrender. “I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t- I don’t mean any-” 

He cuts you off with a shake of his head, bringing his hands out to catch yours when he steps to you. “Hey, hey. No, you’re okay. I know you were havin’ fun.” He comforts soothingly as his eyes scan yours. 

Your eyebrows de-furrow, your mouth closing, but there's still a bit of alarmed widness in your eyes as you make sure he isn’t mad. “Thought I overstepped. ‘M sorry.” You whisper as your eyes dart over his face for any hint of emotion.

Something in Kyle shifts, a small and almost remorseful smile rests on his face. Are you that obvious? No, per se, since your situation is pretty damn unique.

“Hey.” He starts, “I want you to be comfortable here. You’re not gonna overstep. And if there ever was a situation where you did, I’ll let you know.” His hands bring yours up to his lips, laying soft kisses on your knuckles. “But please, please, tell me if I’m outta line with you. I know we ain't got much space but if you’d like me to sleep on the couch for a bit while we get to know each other, I will, Honeybee.”  

In all honesty, you could cry. You didn’t believe in men like this being real, not after the shit you’ve seen. Could this be your lottery ticket after the amount of pain life has put you through?

Fuck, maybe. As long as you get to keep him, you’re in.

#cod mw2 #task force 141 #call of duty #tf141 #call of duty modern warfare #kyle garrick #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod #gaz mw2 #gaz garrick #sergeant garrick #gaz x reader #gaz mw3 #kyle gaz x reader #modern warfare 3 #sergeant kyle gaz garrick #WAUMOST #cod x reader #reader insert