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#olive wreath
curiousbristories · 1 year
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Olive is a pretty easy name to source. It refers literally to the Olive Tree and the olive fruit. And because of the symbolisms many mediterranean cultures attributed to the olive tree, Olive as a name has come to be mean peace, victory, and fruitfulness. 
I usually choose names after I understand who a character is for a while. But this time, I found the name and built from there. At the time, Olive felt sweet and strong, kind and independent, a good listener with hilarious come backs. 
AND you can meet Olive right now on my blog! 🌿
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tendercherie · 26 days
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he refused to look at the camera
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skin-slave · 6 months
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youjustwaitsunshine · 7 months
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bread (before & during baking)
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night-the-beloved · 1 year
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The team in both Scarlet and Violet
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Featuring Mr. Hands
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echonidae · 2 years
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this one is a year old already. what anyway, oliver goes for a swim, but i don’t know how to draw water really well
unfortunately sai refuses to open the original file for this one (RAM issues according to error log) so can’t upload any better close-ups ;n; like one without the copious amounts of paper/watercolor texture overlay orz
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thecharmjewelry · 1 year
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iajicollection · 2 years
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Checkout our latest collection. This Sets consist of 22 Great Gold Laurel Invitation https://iaji.net/collection/423
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upsidedownwithsteve · 24 days
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A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [5.9K]
THE TIMELINE
"Oh no, you know you know I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dying, For someone I could die for, someone I could try for Fall apart and cry for, go 'head, risk my life for."
-Someone I Could Die For by Lewis Capaldi
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II. ROME, ITALY: 49 BC
The roar that came from the bowels of the Colosseum never became easier to hear. 
The noise seemed to make the city shake, the streets empty, the market stalls abandoned in favour of bloodshed. The games took place in the summer, when the skies were an endless blue and there were no clouds to tamper down the climbing heat. The sun bore down on the sandy pit of the enormous Amphitheatre and the seats were filled, the doors that had already been closed still surrounded by regretful stragglers who were forced to listen to the chaos from outside of the walls. 
Fourteen men had died already, three from the jaws of the lions, two from the bears and eleven from the swords of other imprisoned slaves. The cheering from the crowd made your stomach curl. The floor of the stage was covered in red, the sand streaked with spilled blood and the animals that were bullied back into their cages had their jaws tinted pink. 
It wasn’t a joyous occasion, no matter how many people celebrated in the name of their emperor. The leader of Rome was sitting mere seats away from you, dressed in ruby robes that were slung like a cloak over his white toga and his laurel crown glinted with golden beads that sat tucked into the olive wreaths. He was drunk on wine and violence, and your father sat next to him in the royal box, ever eager to please as he clinked his chalice against his kings. 
Being the daughter of Rome’s most beloved senator certainly had its positives. You were dressed just as finely as the royalty around you, the fabric that was made to fit your frame swept to the floor and only yesterday, the emperor’s cousin had gifted you a necklace made of the finest gold, inset with glittering emeralds, pretty enough for a princess. 
The same cousin smiled at you from across the row, each seat in the royal box made from plush velvet, the high backs ornate and cushioned, unlike the stone carved benches the rest of the civilians were sitting on. You smile back, uneasy but polite, and your father nodded approvingly. 
You were expected to marry, you knew that much. You were already considered too old to be unwed and you knew the rest of the court whispered about how you would now struggle to bear a child. But the man that was expected to be your husband wasn’t who you loved. He wasn’t unkind, he wasn’t cruel - not like you’d heard men could be. The girls in the kitchen would tell you stories of how their husband made demands. Shouting each night for their meals, their baths, how their shirts weren’t stitched right, how their beds would lay cold because their wives were too tired. 
Some men visited the bath houses, you knew that much. Seeking out a lupa for the night, the ladies that were called she-wolves, with their painted lips and robes that showed so much skin. Some men decided that they didn’t need to listen to their wives at all, you were once told, horror etched on your face. Some men took what they thought they owned. 
So no, the emperor’s cousin seemed kind enough. But you weren’t in love with him. You weren’t sure who you were in love with. A dream, perhaps. One that kept returning to you from a young, young age. A dream about a different town, one you’d never been to before. But in your sleep, it felt like home. White buildings and green gardens with tall, tall trees and pretty, ornate gazebos made of stone on the edges of shallow ponds. You were by the sea there, a blue-green ocean that seemed so calm. 
Sometimes monsters came, the marble statues that guarded the city came to life and turned your dream into a nightmare. There was always fire and fury, storm clouds and too big waves and a man with skin the colour of death would try and take your hand. But even when the dream turned bad, there was  always someone else.  
A man, with a blurry face and a mess of almost too long hair. It hid his eyes from you and you could never make out too many details but you burned when you looked at him, you could weep when he touched you. Sometimes he led you through the burning town, his hand clasping your own as you both tried to run and run and run. 
Other times, you lay in a bed with him, skin bare and your head on his chest as he murmured the sweetest poetry to you, words that made your heart race. Your dream was encased in white linen sheets, a hazy, soft light that always made it look like early morning and when the man’s lips met yours, you always woke up. 
Him. You loved him. 
You hadn’t been in love before, but whenever you dreamed of the stranger, you were sure that must have been what love felt like. 
“Have some grapes, darling,” your thoughts were interrupted by your father as he thrust a plate of fruit and cheese under your nose. 
But the fifteenth gladiator was being dragged through the gates by the armpits, a clawed hammer still sticking out from his chest and your insides turned over at the idea of eating such sweet treats as blood poured from the men in front of you. The emperor’s box was almost nauseatingly close to the fights. 
You shook your head before you remembered your manners, smiling politely and murmuring, “I’m quite alright, thank you.” You blew out a breath, shaky and faint. 
From your other side, one of the young girls who had been gifted to you on your sixteenth birthday waved a giant fan. A large peacock feather, a huge plume of colours that merely wafted the too warm air back and forth but you smiled your thanks at your lady in waiting, a pretty girl who’d turned into a prettier young woman. She was small and lithe, angular in the face with curls that came to her sharp jawbone and she smiled back. 
Nancy, as she’d introduced herself to you a week after she’d arrived at your fathers house, from the Wheeler family of Liguria. She didn’t like the gladiator fights anymore than you did, always murmuring about the rights of the animals and how inhumane it was later in the night as she drew you your bath. 
“—from Verona,” your father was saying with a mouth full of provolone. “One of their best, so they say, His Majesty simply had to have him.”
You blinked, frowning in confusion at your fathers words. You hadn’t been paying attention in the slightest and nothing you’d caught made any sense. “Sorry?” You grimaced apologetically and took a few pomegranate seeds from the plate of food in apology for your rudeness. “Who is from Verona?”
Your father rolled his eyes, a sure sign that you’d be lectured in his study later for your lack of respect. “The next gladiator, child.” He gestured to the stage where the soldiers were locking the gates to the tigers, each big cat growling with menace when the men came too close to the bars. “They say he’s unbeatable. Our Highness offered a more than generous helping of coin for his papers but Verona’s general didn’t seem to want to part with him.”    
You frowned again. The crowd seemed to be aware of this man and his presence, murmuring and shifting in their seats in anticipation. “If that is the case,” you prodded. “Then how is he here? If the gladiators… owner—” the word left a terribly bitter taste in your mouth and you felt heavy with guilt when Nancy’s fan brushed your shoulder. “If his owner didn’t want to sell him?”
Your father snorted, an unattractive sound that made Nancy wince beside you. “No one tells the emperor of Rome ‘no’, dearest.” Your father shrugged. “The gladiator cannot be owned, if his owner is dead.”
Bloodshed. Always bloodshed. 
A man came from the east side gates with chains around his ankles and wrists. You couldn’t quite see him for your seat, not yet, but the crowd above and around you roared, eager for the final fight to begin. The man already looked beaten and tired as soldiers stepped forward to unlock his manacles and you sat forward in your seat for the first time since you entered the Colosseum that day. 
He had messy hair, dark brown and hanging just past his chin. It was already damp looking, matted and dirty from being kept god knows where as the emperor's new toy. He was shirtless, his body lean but corded with muscle. He had wide shoulders and a lithe waist, powerful thighs and skin that was tanned from the sun, a sure sign he spent too much time outside, training hard in the Italian heat. 
As he moved closer to the middle of the stage, you saw the marks on his body, leftover scars and new slices in his flesh that still looked viciously red. The crowd got louder as a sword was thrown at his feet, a large, heavy looking thing with a bronze handle. Some cheered for the new warrior, hoping for some excitement, while others jeered and booed, already too attached to their darling reigning champion. 
The gladiator picked up his sword and the crowd became wilder still, but he gave them no mind. He didn’t put on a show like some of the others, he didn’t flex his muscles or raise his weapon like it was already a prize. His leather loincloth was a deep wine colour, the tan leather pleats looking far from newly made and the material was already streaked with blood and dirt before his first opponent arrived. 
Your heart felt heavy for him, as it did for all the others who were forced into the Colosseum - prisoners, slaves and animals alike. You watched the gladiator flex his wrist, testing the weight of his weapon just as the gates in the west cranked open. 
Rome’s current champion strode out from the shadows and into the bright sun, his bare chest glinting with sweat and Hargrove held his hands aloft, grinning as the crowds went insane. He beat his chest, his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and when he was handed his own sword, he wasted no time in running towards the new fighter, the steel blade glinting. 
You gasped, moving closer still to the edge of your seat and you couldn’t find it in you to bear much mind to the looks your father and Nancy shot you. It wasn’t like you to take such an interest in the sport, never mind be so heavily invested. You didn’t like to watch the wounded, preferring to close your eyes when the screams began, hiding cowardly behind Nancy’s fan when the blood turned the sandy stage pink and red. 
But this new gladiator, he was fast. 
He dove at the last second, dodging the tip of Hargrove’s blade and he rolled towards the section where you sat. Dust kicked up from the move, his sword tearing into the wreaths and sashes that hung from the Emperor’s box. You grasped the edge of the wooden frame, peering over the side and down to the stage, hoping to not see blood already. 
Instead you found the gladiator looking back up at you, his sword still in his grasp and when his eyes met yours, they widened. Something like recognition hurtled through you, a feeling that sucked the breath from your lungs and you felt dizzy, like lightning itself had struck you from the sky. You thought the man perhaps felt the same, a frown on his face telling you that he felt just as confused as you did. 
But before you could consider where on earth you could have possibly seen his face before, Hargrove attacked again, bringing his blade down to where the gladiator's shoulder should have been, if he hadn’t rolled once again. 
You were on your feet now, the stares of your father be damned. Your eyes were wide, your heart beating far too fast, like you yourself were on the stage, being hunted for sport. Wood splintered into the space under your nails as you watched the man run, his muscles pumping, his eyes narrowed. 
“Darling, are you quite alright?” Your father placed a hand on your arm, more confused than concerned. 
“Yes, I just— yes.” You cleared your throat and sat down again, albeit back to the edge of your chair. You could feel the rest of the royal party staring at you. “Where did you say the man was brought from? The new gladiator?”
“Harrington?” One of the Emperor’s councilmen interjected. He pointed a pudgy finger at the brown haired gladiator, who was now swinging his sword with as much power as Hargrove. “Steven Harrington of Verona, best of his breed I heard. His general didn’t take too kindly to the King’s offering and well— you know what happens when his Highness is made to feel upset.”
The metallic clink of the swords filled the arena as everyone held their breaths. Not many had lasted this long against Hargrove before. 
“Rumour has it that he didn’t take too kindly to his general being beheaded. Took six men to get him into the back of the cart, even more to make him train. He’s been refusing food all week.”
The idea of it made you feel unwell, a sickly, creeping kind of pain curling around each of your ribs and suddenly you were starving, just as much as you were sure the man would be. But still, I didn’t seem to make him move any slower, it didn’t hinder him in bringing his sword down any harder. 
But strangely, every time the new gladiator was struck, every time his knees hit the raw sand, every time he got close enough for you to see him suck in a gasping breath— you felt it too. 
It was a battle like you’d never seen before, more vicious than the others from that day, a showdown under the blazing heat of the high sun. No tiger seemed as powerful as Steven Harrington of Verona did. There was something animalistic in the way he moved, all power and lean muscle, a steely glint in his brown eyes that you didn’t dare look away from. He moved too quickly for Hargrove’s blade, dodging and diving as he flung up sand, blinding his opponent and slicing at his legs. Each move was a blur, the stage bleeding with fresh red, the blonde gladiator on his knees. 
But Hargrove was ruthless, grappling with the newcomer until they were both wrestling in the dust cloud and the crowd went insane, people chanted and stomped their feet, the amphitheatre shaking down to its very bones. The imperial box quaked with the energy, but truly, you weren’t present enough to feel it. 
Your eyes never left Steven’s fighting figure. 
The swords seemed to be forgotten, the steel blades rusted with blood, both fresh and new, and they lay in the sand. Fists flew, knees pressed to chests to keep the other down and it was brutal, it was harsh, it was deadly. 
You wanted to vomit. You feared you might. 
You wondered what would happen if you leapt from your chair, if you let your skirts get torn and bloodied in the mess of the stage, if you threw yourself down onto the sand and begged for Hargrove to take his hands away from the new gladiator's throat. 
Would you be punished? Beaten? Locked away? Killed?
You weren’t sure but somehow, all the options felt worth it. You couldn’t watch this man die before you. Not when it felt like you’d already witnessed his death before. 
But Steven wrestled himself out of Hargrove’s hold, twisting and tumbling whilst he gasped, one hand clutching at his reddened neck and the other grappling for his blade. He swung it through the air, arching wide, his wounded shoulder ripping with effort it took but the sword landed where the warrior intended it to. 
Silence settled over the colosseum, the air still enough for you to hear the surviving champion heave out gasping, heavy breaths. There was blood on his hands, his chest, his face. 
His right eye was already bruising, red and lilac coming to the surface of his skin like fresh blooms in spring. His shoulder was a mess, his right leg causing him to buckle slightly as he rose to his feet.  
The man turned, jaw slack, his sword falling limply to the ground once more, his opponent still and at his feet. His eyes found yours and time stilled, at least, to you. The crowd erupted, an explosion in its own right, the entirety of Rome cheering for their new champion. 
A man you were sure you already loved. 
By the time the fight had ended, you felt beaten and bruised. There were no marks on your skin, no blood seeping through your gown, but something inside of you hurt all the same. It felt like something was clawing at your heart, a memory that was banging on the front of your skull, screaming at you to remember. 
When the guards dragged the gladiator from Hargrove’s limp figure, he dropped his sword to the sand and spat a mouthful of blood towards the ground at the royal pit. The Emperor merely chuckled as others around you gasped and before you could even hear your fathers protests, you were on your feet. 
Steven Harrington was shackled once more, the metal chains clinking around his hands and feet. And as he was led away back into the arches, the gears of gates making an awful protesting noise, his eyes found yours once more. 
A burning gaze, too intense to look away from and you could’ve sworn on the gods, on the stars above, that something inside of you tugged sharply. Like the pull of a string, tied in a bow between your ribcage, urging you forward. 
Telling you to go. 
So you did. 
You gathered your skirts in your hands and made your way to the exit of the box, too focused to hear your fathers objections until the guards at the doorway halted you with their spears. The wooden stalks crossed themselves over your chest and you froze, the string tied to your heart pulling tighter and tighter and tighter— 
The Emperor was staring at you, with cold eyes and a smile that wasn’t really a smile. He spoke to your father, not you. “Where, my dear senator, is your lovely daughter running off to?” The king turned back to you, brows raised. “Doesn’t she know that more wine will be served soon? My cousin is looking forward to her company.”
Your father stared at you, a stricken expression on his aged face because everyone in the royal box could read between the lines of the Emperor. 
You cleared your throat, eyes still trained on the sharp metal points of the spears that were very much in your face. “Forgive me, father - your highness - I was merely hoping to get some fresh air.”
“The sight of all that blood makes her rather delicate,” your father agreed and the crowd of councilmen, generals and their wives tittered in their jewels. “She isn’t one for conflict.”
The Emperor stared at the side of your face, something you could feel despite bowing your head in his presence. You stared at the floor and waited, heart racing. 
The royal tsked. “What a pity,” he declared but he waved a hand, each finger heavy with golden rings, and his soldiers stepped aside. “Be back in time for the parade, child, you have company to entertain.”
The Emperor’s cousin leered at you, his wine glass empty, his lips stained ruby but none of it mattered right now, not when you were taking off once more, skirts dragging across the dust and sand, your chest heaving as you tried to navigate your way through the crowd that was already dispersing. 
More guards, heavily armoured and with their swords drawn, were too preoccupied with a fight that had broken out between the arches, two lower class men arguing over a coin they found on the ground. Taking your chance, you moved with your head down, your face hidden as you slipped through a door that was normally carefully watched. 
The heavy wood slammed shut behind you, the sunlight swallowed whole. Burning torches lit the narrow corridor, a maze of them leading you underneath the Colosseum. The hypogeum was almost damp as you tried to navigate its many walkways, a gasp leaving your throat as you took a wrong turn and ended up face to face with the iron bars that separated you from the animals. 
A huge tiger growled at you, bloodied teeth bared in a snarl, the stench of raw meat and faeces hanging in the cool air. You backed away, eyes flickering from cage to cage, each one filled with another poor creature. Lions, bears, a rhinoceros and its offspring, and beyond them, an even larger cell holding prisoners. They all stared at you, men and animals alike, but nothing was spoken. 
You backed away, unable to breath, turning on your heel and walking quickly enough to spot the familiar grey robes of the healers used after the battles. You followed, your steps light, and watched him enter a small room. Between the door opening and closing, you spotted the gladiator perched on a wooden table, his head bent low and his face hidden behind his damp hair. 
You weren’t sure what possessed you, but before you barged into the room too, both men staring at you from the table where the healer held a ragged cloth to the gladiator’s shoulder. 
“Miss, you have no need here,” the healer announced, his voice strict and cold. He narrowed his eyes as he gestured to the door. “This is no place for—”
“My father sent me.” It was a lie, of course. A bold and bare faced one at that. But you stood a little taller and lifted your chin, the emerald necklace at your throat shining in the low light that came from the small fireplace in the corner. “The senate has questions I’ve been asked to deliver. I shall not leave without the appropriate answers.”
On the mantle, beside bottles of acids and other medicinal vials, sat a small statue of the goddess Veratis. Her marble eyes seemed to judge you and your lies and you swallowed down the bitter taste it left on your tongue. But looking at the man - this stranger from Verona - the need to speak to him, to be alone with him, was overwhelming you to the point of senselessness.  
The trouble you could be in if you were to be caught in your lie… or worse, down in the hypogeum. This was no place for a woman of your standing, never mind to be alone with a gladiator, both of you unspoken for. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat. 
“If we may have some time alone?” You added with more authority than you should have held. “Unless you’d prefer that my father leave the Emperor’s side to ensure his orders are fulfilled?”
The healer sighed but placed down his tools. He flashed you a smile that was all crooked teeth, more bite than kindness, but he made his way to the door. “That won’t be necessary, My Lady,” he told you and he left, closing the wooden door behind him. 
The silence was a deafening thing. The crackle of the fire was still there, the distant roar of some poor, wounded animal, but whatever was held between the two of you took on a life of its own. It seemed to suck the rest of the world into it until there was nothing left but you and this man. He was staring at you still, brown eyes wide and so familiar, looking as confused as you felt as you stared right back. 
It felt too easy to take a step forward, but the warrior flinched. Your next was slower, softer, more cautious. Your hand found the rag that the healer had once held, what little water it had been soaked in was cold, the material harsh. It didn’t take you long to find a new cloth in one of the drawers of the apothecary table and you took your time to warm some fresh water over the hearth. 
Honestly, you didn’t know too much about medicine, only the basics that your father’s head servant had taught you as a young child. You found the small bottle of alcohol with ease, plucking it from the shelf and adding it to the warm water before soaking the new rag. 
You held it up in offering to the man, still far enough from you that his dirty hair hid most of his face. His tanned chest was streaked with sweat and dust, marred with old cuts and fresher wounds from Hargrove’s weapon, but for the most part, he seemed okay. 
“Can I?”
The gladiator lifted his head then, his hair falling away from his cheeks and you took in a sharp breath at the sight of his face. He was handsome, painstakingly so, but over and above all else, he was someone you were sure you knew. 
The man nodded, just once, lips pressed together and as you came closer, his nostrils flared and his large hands gripped the edge of the table. His eyes raced across your features, recognition coming to the surface and before he could ask the questions that were clawing at his throat, you lifted the cloth and pressed it to the cut on his shoulder. 
He hissed, teeth bared and you frowned, hushing him softly, apologies murmured just as quiet. “I’m sorry,” you told him and gods, he knew you meant it. “I need the alcohol to soak the wound.”
Your heart stuttered when he let you, shoulders tight and back ramrod straight, but his eyes were on your face the entire time you worked. “You’re not a healer,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 
His voice rung through you, a deep timber that was hoarse and scratchy, no doubt from refusing to speak since his capture. You hoped he’d been drinking enough water. 
You shook your head as you pulled away, dipping the bloodied cloth back into the bucket. “No, I’m not,” you confirmed. 
Another swipe at his skin had him jerking in response but the blood and dirt was finally clear of the cut. It would need stitches, you were almost sure of it, but your skills started and finished at the basics. 
“Then why are you here?” The gladiator’s eyes were trained on your necklace, a sure fire way to recognise nobility and you were overcome with the urge to rip it from your throat. “Why did you follow me?” He spoke like he already knew the answer. 
You were hesitant about it, but you couldn’t stop your hand from lifting to his neck, fingertips brushing two beauty marks on his skin. They felt electric under your touch and you were impossibly warmer now, despite the old cell lacking the heat from the summer above. 
“I feel like I know you,” you whispered. Your voice cracked with an emotion you didn’t quite know the name of. “I feel like I’ve mourned you.”  
The gladiator looked back at you from behind his damp hair, the long strands matted with his and his enemies blood. He didn’t look as concerned as he should have been at your strange words. In fact, he leaned into your touch, lashes fluttering at the sensation. 
“What an odd thing to say to someone who hasn’t died,” he answered quietly. But his gaze roamed over your features and something about being so close to him felt cosmic, it felt like a catastrophe waiting to happen. “I think I’ve met you before,” the gladiator whispered. He sounded reverent now, his own hand shaking as he brought it to your face. 
He cupped your jaw, your chin, his rough fingertips trailing over your soft skin and when his thumb dragged across your bottom lip, you gasped and pressed closer. 
“I think I meet you when I sleep,” he said and he frowned at his own words, at how confusing he must’ve sounded. “Every night, when I close my eyes. You’re in a garden and then you’re in my arms.”
Flashes of a bed came to mind, white linen sheets and too much bare skin. A man’s chest, tanned and muscled from hard labour, your hands that roamed the expanse of his back. You remembered how he kissed you in your dreams, with a longing so intense it could waken the gods. 
Like he had enough love for you that he could end the world. 
You could only nod. His thumb was still pushed to your bottom lip, your mouth parted as if you were waiting and his stare was so intense you felt warmer than you had in the stadium above. 
Who was this stranger?
And why did it feel like something inside of you was being stitched back together by the sheer sight of him? His touch felt healing, it felt like home. Like it was only made for you to feel. Like he was made only for you. 
Above, something boomed. Loud enough to be heard underneath the hypogeum, over the roars of the unsettled animals. If you had been outside, you would’ve witnessed the blue sky turning grey, shades of moody lavender and navy, storm clouds rolling across Rome from seemingly nowhere. 
Thunder rumbled,  threatening noise, something that made you and the man move closer to each other, like you both knew you were in danger. 
That you knew something bad was coming. 
“I don’t understand,” you said, eyes blurring. You weren’t sure why you were crying but Steve didn’t seem to question it. He merely swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. “You’re a stranger— we’ve never— we’ve never met.”
Despite your words, the gladiator moved closer, standing from his seat on the wooden table to lean his forehead against your own. Your eyes slipped closed, nose bumping his. He smelled like metal, like blood and dirt and sweat but underneath there was something like fire there, like molten iron, like lavender fields and fresh cotton. Like a daydream, like something you weren’t sure was real. 
His bottom lip touched your top one, only just, only barely. A whisper of a kiss, a small insight of something that could’ve been, of something that maybe once was. 
Thunder rolled again, louder than before, as if it was right above you both. Even over the din of the crowds above, you could hear the heavy patter of rain that was now flooding the colosseum, the stage soaked. Another warning, something you’d seen before in a dream just before it turned to a nightmare. 
“I was meant to find you,” Steve murmured. He had your face cradled in his hands, an overwhelmingly gentle touch despite the dried blood under his fingernails. His voice grew in urgency then, like he knew something was coming. Someone. “I was meant to come here. I can feel it. I understand now.”
“Someone once told me you’d come back,” you suddenly remembered, your voice eager, your eyes wide at the memory. “I don’t know— was it you? From before? From—”
From another life, you wanted to say. 
How ridiculous those words were, how silly, how stupid. But there wasn’t any other way to explain. Logic didn’t seem to exist when everything you felt from this touch of this stranger led you to believe that somehow, someway, you’d spend a lifetime together. 
Like you were supposed to spend this one with him too. And it didn’t seem long enough, decades wouldn’t make up for the time you’d lost searching for him, for this stranger who only came to you in your sleep. But he was very real now, solid flesh and bone underneath your own hands, brown eyes that seemed warmer than the Italian summer. 
You didn’t want to let him go. 
“In here, my King,” a voice interrupted. The door was open and the healer had returned, a cold look on his already stern face. The Emperor was behind him, ruby robes collecting dirt from the old floor. Four soldiers flanked him. “I have every reason to believe the Lady sold me lies, Your Highness.”  
It happened too quick. Too fast. 
The Emperor studied you, Steve’s hands still on your face as you stood too close, ready to kiss, ready to fulfil something neither of you were sure of. It felt catalytic. 
“Seize him,” was all the Emperor said, one lazy flick of his wrist sending all four guards at you both. 
There was too much movement in the tiny room, bottles of medicinal wares clattering to the ground and smashing at your feet. The table groaned as Steve was shoved into it, his own reactions too slow from his injuries. He grunted and reached for you too late, his hand slipping from your own, fingers barely touching, as he was shoved at from either side. 
One soldier shoved the butt of his sword into Steve’s wounded soldier, the other bringing his armoured knee into his bare stomach. The gladiator doubled over, a gasp leaving his chest before he fell to his knees on the stone floor. 
“Stop this!” You yelled, urging forward, trying your best to throw yourself into the mix of it all but someone’s arms - another soldier - caught your round the middle. “Unhand him! Your Highness - please - he hasn’t done any wrong, please—”
The Emperor just looked at you blankly before he picked at the jewels around your neck. He tutted, as if it were a shame, a waste. You could hear the shackles being placed back on the man, the low groan he gave as the metal was tightened around his sore wrists. 
“He won,” you whispered, your voice low and choked. You were ready to beg. “Please, he won. He doesn’t deserve this—”
“I don’t like anyone else playing with my toys,” the Emperor interrupted. He said it like he was discussing what to have for lunch. “And my dear cousin doesn’t like anyone playing with his.” He motioned to the guards once more. “Take her back to her seat, where you make sure she stays. This isn’t any place for a Lady,” he told you mournfully.
You didn’t get to see what happened to the gladiator as you were escorted out of the room. But you did hear his yells when the door slammed shut, the dull thuds of impact that you were sure were on his already bruised and broken body. You hadn’t even told him your name, or that you dreamt of him too. That during your worst night terrors, he was the one that saved you. 
When you reached the imperial box once more, your skirts dirtied from the sand, your face tear stricken, you felt broken. Like you’d been snapped in half, like someone had found that wound Steve had stitched up and pulled it apart again the seams. Like someone had ripped something important from you, half of your heart, perhaps. 
You didn’t even notice that it had stopped raining. The skies were blue once more, the sun shining, the only evidence of the sudden storm were the drops of rain that had soaked into the pillow on your chair. 
Steve was gone and the thunder was too. 
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bettyfrommars · 3 months
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Santa Comes Once a Year
biker!eddie x fem!reader
I had a request from the amazing @idkidknemore for "biker Eddie dressed up as Santa, railing reader on his motorcycle sleigh" and I also wanted some Eddie as Santa action for the Holiday Prompt Party I am doing with @allthingsjoeq he is not a mall Santa in this, but still.
wc: 2.7k
18+ONLY, smut, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, talk of cheating (on Mrs. Claus), roleplay, creampie, fingering, bit of spanking, ton of cliche phrases, sexualizing Santa, secret sex I guess? but it's just pretend, semi-public sex if you squint.
summary: you go to the Lighted Farm Implement show for the first time with Robin and Oliver to see what Eddie and Steve have cooked up for the parade. Afterwards, Santa takes you back to his place in his towtruck sleigh and wants to give you some cream with your cookies.
author's note: This can absolutely be enjoyed as a smutty standalone, but some elements of I'm on Fire are mentioned, including Robin raising Steve's son Oliver with him since he was a baby, and the fact that biker Eddie runs his own towing/mechanic business.
This was your first time attending the nighttime Lighted Farm Implement parade in Hawkins, and you weren’t sure what that even meant until Robin explained it to you.
“You know, Farm Implements. They decorate them with Christmas lights and throw candy for the kids.”
For some reason, all you could picture were shovels and snippers dancing through the street like some magical Beauty and the Beast scene.
Robin’s cheeks were rosy and she had Oliver in her arms, a navy Columbia fleece zipped up to her chin.  Mother and son each had matching, fuzzy blue ear muffs on.  She noticed your confused expression as the three of you walked up the street from where you parked. 
“Tractors, backhoes, dumptrucks, cement mixers,” she gave a few examples and your face lit up in recognition.  “There will also be buses, a few 18-wheelers, and a tractor bed with the Mayor on it.”
The big, shiny black tow truck from Munson’s Garage was in the parade too, and you were curious to see what Eddie and the guys had done to it.  Your boyfriend had been asked to dress as one of the Santa’s that year, and you’d switched evenings at the Velvet Hammer with Jackie just so you could witness this miracle of the season, being that Eddie wasn’t a huge fan of Christmas. 
He mostly did it for Oliver, to see the wonder on his face when Santa knew his name, and that year specifically, he was doing it for you.  He wanted to impress you by being the star of the show.  
Everyone from town lined the streets and cheered as the Hawkins high school band trumpeted down the lane to officially begin the parade with cheerleaders punching pompoms in the air at the front. Robin put Oliver down and you all moved through the crowd to get closer to the action. .
 Behind the band was a green John Deere bulldozer all decked out in colorful bulbs and an arc of gingerbread people up the back.  The owner of the local grocer drove a 1945 Chevy truck with Christmas trees in the back and a person dressed like an elf in the passenger seat tossing out chocolate bars.  A few skidded close to Oliver and he lurched to grab them with an excited scream. 
Each vehicle had its own music playing, and the next yellow backhoe with a santa in the bucket and adorned with snowflake lights was blaring Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree by Brenda Lee.  They threw some lollipops out, and this time you rushed to snatch a few for Ollie so that he wouldn’t have to go too far out into the street.
You were distracted watching the mammoth equipment vehicle pass when you heard Oliver screech and point, “Daddy!”
Your head snapped and there was Eddie’s tow truck, blinking with what seemed like a billion white twinkle lights with a pine wreath on the grill, and a person hanging off the side of the truck dressed as…a goat? Or was it Father Time?
Oliver recognized Steve immediately, and when he spotted his son, he jumped down from the step up to the cab with a sack of candy in his hand and came jogging over.  As he got closer, you tried to make out his costume, but came up with nothing.  He was wearing his typical biker attire with his Coffin Kings leather cut on over a hooded sweatshirt and black jeans, but the faux beard he had on was long and thin down to his belly button, and it was gray, not white.  He wore sunglasses and a black fedora.
He ran to give Ollie the bag of candy while the tow truck rolled by at a snail pace.  
“Are you Biker Santa?” You asked, sneaking a look at the sexy Santa in a red hat behind the steering wheel of the tow who was waving to get your attention.  You blew Eddie a kiss and he made the gesture of catching it in the air.  
Steve held his arms out as he trotted backwards to get back on his ride.  “I’m one of the guys from ZZ Top!” He shouted, as if it should’ve been obvious.
You shared a look with Robin.  “Don’t ask,” she mumbled.  
They were towing a wrecked car behind them with what appeared to be four reindeer holding cans of beer, each hanging out a window.  The song Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer played cheekily from speakers that were mounted on the lift.  
All three of you cheered and screamed for the rest of the show, and by the time two clowns in tiny toy trucks brought up the rear, you felt a warm body press up against your backside and you tilted your head back into the squish of a white, fluffy beard.
“Ho ho ho,” Eddie whispered against the shell of your ear making your body tingle from the warmth of his breath.  “I hear you’re the naughtiest girl in town.”
He stepped away and tapped Ollie on the shoulder, taking on a deep, jolly voice.  “And who is this good little boy?”
Oliver had the white stem of a sucker sticking out of his mouth when he turned.  “Oh hi Uncle Eddie,” he managed, sucking back purple saliva.
Eddie straightened to full height, his eyes falling on Robin with a blink of sadness, but she only shrugged.  “He’s getting wise to the world, what can I say?”
You turned to melt into your boyfriend’s chest, feeling the bit of padding he had on his belly under the soft faux fur accents of his red velvet coat.  There was a little jingle bell on the end of his Santa hat, and you flicked it with your finger.  You pushed him back through the crowd, off to the sidewalk and into the shadows, making him back up as you went.
“So,” you made sure no one was around before you slid your hand between his legs.  “Is this the official Yule Log, or are you just happy to see me?”
You could barely find his mouth under the synthetic mustache, and then you giggled and sputtered on a stiff Santa hair.  
He yanked the beard down with a tug of his fist, stretching the elastic band that held it in place,  so that it was under his chin and pulled you in again, returning your kiss so deep that a small groan escaped you.  
“You wanna get out of here?” he said in a rush, and then he nudged your nose with his.  “Come sit in my sleigh with me?”
Steve was reunited with his family by then, with Oliver up on his shoulders, and you checked to see the three of them head off in the opposite direction, possibly to Robin’s car.  You were all planning to meet back up at their place to make cookies in an hour, so you had a window of time.
Back in the cab of the  tow truck that was parked down the street, Eddie pulled the pillow stuffing out from under his coat and flipped the heat on high, but it almost wasn’t needed because the makeout session that ensued made the windows fog up.  You took his hat and beard off and tossed them on the dash so that you could finally have your hands around that face that you loved so much, squirming to get closer to him.  He had his hair tied up in the back and you released the band so that his locks fell around his shoulders.  
“If I’d known this would get you going baby, I would’ve put the beard on earlier,” he huffed.
You flicked your tongue out to tease him a few times.  “I need you inside of me, Santa.  No one will know, it will be our secret,” and you were just about to kick your leg over to straddle his lap when you both realized that there were people walking right next to the vehicle on the sidewalk.  
“Let’s get out of here, Mistress,” Eddie kissed your cheek.  “Take this back to the garage, finish what we started.”
You sat back, giving him a raised brow as he shifted the monster vehicle into gear.  “Oh, you think I’m just going to give it up when and wherever you want?”
“I think you’ll do whatever I tell you to do,” he said over his shoulder, watching for traffic before pulling into the street.  “I’m Santa.”
—-----
You sat right next to him the whole way there, like lovers do, with his hand on your thigh.  He still had the wrecked car with the beer-guzzling reindeer statues inside, so he was careful on the turns, while festive bystanders honked and waved.
At the Munson Garage compound, Eddie thought he would unhook the wrecked car from the crane, but there wasn’t time for that—he could feel your arousal dampening your jeans.  Parking in the furthest garage would have to do.  
“Get over here, naughty girl,” he licked his lips and opened his Santa jacket to reveal two black suspenders over a white t-shirt, and then he undid the suspenders to move his hand down to fist himself.
Your boots were off and your jeans at your knees when the sight of the tip of his glistening pink tip freed from his wholesome attire made you pause to touch yourself, putting your back against the opposite door with your legs spread so he could watch.
It was dim in the roomy cab of the truck, but Eddie could still see the wet spot on your red underwear where you worked your fingers and he bit out a curse.
“You heard me,” his tone was stern.  “I said get that beautiful ass over here and sit on Santa’s cock.”  
You didn’t bother taking your underwear off as you kicked your jeans away and scrambled over, giggling when he pushed his red pants down a bit more to show the mistletoe print on his boxers.  Your head hit the roof of the cab, but then you were finally squatting in his lap, teeth hitting as you fumbled into position.
He was quick to reach down between the two of you and move your panties to the side so that he could rub his knuckle up and down your slippery clit.
He puffed out a chest full of air.  “Goddamn was it the beard or the whole thing?”
“Just you,” you lifted up, pushing his hair back to cup your hands on either side of his throat.  “I’ve been aching for you all night, Santa. Waiting for you to come down my chimney.”
Eddie shivered, reaching to line his tip up with you. “Why is this so hot, holy shit,” he chuckled softly.
But then he was inside of you, and you sank down an inch with a cry, arousal dripping down his length.
His mouth pressed into the side of yours. “Did you miss me all year? You want to be a bad girl for me now?”
“That’s why you come to my house, isn’t it Santa?” You gasped.  “Because you want to fuck me? I’m your favorite.”
Eddie hissed and threw his head back as you bottomed out.  You could feel the faux fur from the top of his pants ticking your taint.  “You know I always come back for you, because you take me so good, fuck—-” 
You rocked your hips, squeezing that important muscle as you went.  “Better than Mrs. Claus?”
Eddie gripped your ass and pulled your cheeks apart with his strong, calloused fingers, thrusting up to meet  you, smacking against your wetness.  “Better than anyone, fuck.  I dream about this all year.  Landing my sleigh in Hawkins so I can bury myself in your tight, wet cunt.”
You were both breathing heavy, sweat trickling down your necks, while a few snow flurries danced into the garage. 
You reached a hand down to work two fingers at your clit.  Every word you said was against his lips:  “I want some cream with my cookies, please Santa.”
“Yeah?” Eddie huffed, rolling his hips in his seat so that you could feel every inch of his cock, making you whine a string of obscenities.  “What else do you want, huh? You want me to fill you up all night, so my cream drips out of you on Christmas day?”
He spanked your asscheek with a thwack and you arched back.  “Yes Santa, please, ruin me so I only fuck myself to thoughts of you.”
“I’m about to cum,” Eddie breathed, and your mouths met in a frenzy of tongues and moans. He could feel you throb around him.  
“So soon, Santa?” You teased.
“Shhhhh,” he took hold of your throat and planted his booted feet to thrust up into, taking you for a ride.  
You put your forehead to his and bounced a few more times, and then you froze, mouth open in a silent scream as the wave began to crash.
“That’s my baby,” he held you in that position and continued to buck up to bury himself inside over and over.  “Cum for Santa, let me feel it.”
Your eyes rolled back in your head as you exploded around him, whimpering and twitching. 
The back of your heel kicked up and accidentally flipped a switch on the dash, making all of the Christmas lights on the truck blaze on, and Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer blared from the speakers.  
You clung to Eddie while he came, shuddering at how good it felt but also
In a few seconds, you were both grinning, shoulders bobbing with laughter as the song seemed to herald in your mutual releases.
The windows of the cab were completely fogged up, and between that and the music, neither of you heard anyone enter the garage until there was a bang on the driver’s side door.  
“What the—?” Eddie scowled, and you were already scampering off of him, snatching clothing from the floorboard to cover yourself.
Eddie tucked himself back into the huge wet spot on his pants and wiped condensation off of the glass so that he could see who it was.  He was about to be angry, thinking it was one of the other mechanics about to give him shit or try to get a peek at you
but it was Steve.
The truck was lifted and the windows up too high for him to see in, but still Eddie checked to make sure you were decent before he rolled the window down.  He leaned over to switch off the lights and the music.  You gave a nod as you wrapped your coat around your waist.  
“Hey,” Eddie wiped some hair out of his face, trying to act casual.  “What up? Everything okay?”
Steve had his long beard in his hand, hugging himself, shivering against the cold, with the fedora pulled snug to his ears.  “Did you forget you were going to give me a ride?  I just walked halfway across town. Slipped and fell on the fucking ice twice.”
Eddie dropped his forehead to his fist.  “Shit sorry man I—-why didn’t you go with Robin?”
“Because I told her I was riding back with you to unhook the rig,” Steve sounded annoyed, teeth chattering, and you didn’t blame him, but still you stifled a giggle into your arm. 
“Tried to call Astrid from a payphone, and she’s not answering, so now I’ve got blisters from these stupid elf boots that Robbie made me buy.”
Eddie pulled his lips in over his teeth to contain his amusement.
“It’s not funny, dude,” Steve said, but then he caught a glimpse of you in the cab and you gave an apologetic grimace.  “Oh okay, I get it. Forgiven. But can we get this shit over with so we can get out of here? Robin doesn’t know how to work an oven and she’ll probably burn the place down before we get there.”
Eddie stretched across the cab to kiss you.  “Stay in here, keep warm.  I’ll put the Chevelle around when we’re done.”
“Go help your ZZ Top elf, Kris Kringle,” you shoved him playfully, but then he held his face there and hummed until you kissed him again.
You pulled your jeans up, eager to keep Santa’s gift from spilling out.  
---------
I'm on Fire taglist:
@notsobubblybaby @unfocused81 @aysheashea @etherealglimmer@manicmagicmayhem @dream-a-little-nightmare@chaoticgood-munson @emxcast @rhirojo @bexreadstoomuch @micheledawn1975 @falling-solar-system@secretdryrose
@whatwedontdointheshadows @miarosso @seventhlevelofhell @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @goldyghoul @chloe-6123 @kelsiegrin @chelebelletx @stylesxmunson @kurdtbean@dandelionnfluff @clincallyonline17 @tlclick73 @eddiemunson95 @sidthedollface2 @hideoutside @truffleshuffle12 @tenthmoon @texasblues@emilyslutface@mmunson86@onegirlmanytales@laylaloves-ed@dashingdeb16@eddiiiieeee @ick90 @dashingdeb16 @polyestermonster @trixyvixx @atomickaratel8dy @kiyastrf94 @allthingsjoeq @eddiesxangel @razzieth @corrodeddeadlydoll @erinekc @angietherose @sllooney @writinginthetwilight @moonbeamsandmayhem @brianamunson92 @joannamuns9n @bellalillyrose @alba8688 @chevelle724 @chaoticgood-munson
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simmyfrobby · 2 days
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The Pugilist
Joe Nelson, Fan films unreal view of Vancouvers Kyle Burroughs hammering Wilds Brandon Duhaime | Ariel Glucklich, Sacred Pain: Hurting the Body for the Sake of the Soul | Canucks Army, Analyzing what the Canucks might like about Wild forward Brandon Duhaime | Mikki Tuohy, NHL Trade Rumours: Will the MN Wild Trade Brandon Duhaime? | René Girard, Violence and the Sacred | Kayla Hynnek, Brandon Duhaime Brings It Every Night For The Wild | Max Bultman and Dan Robson, The mental toll of hockey fighting goes beyond getting ‘punched in the face’ | Joel Auerbach via Getty Images | Anne Sexton | Kayla Hynnek | 1 Corinthians 4:9 | Bultman and Robson | Catherine of Siena, The Prayers of Catherine of Siena (trans. Noffke) | Tyson Cole, Analyzing what the Canucks might like about Wild forward Brandon Duhaime | Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew (c. 1599-1600) | Bultman and Robson | Joe Smith, ‘Vintage Flower’: Behind the scenes of Marc-Andre Fleury’s emotional night in Wild’s win | George Bataille, Guilty (trans. Bruce Boone) | Toni Calasanti, Feminist Gerontology and Old Men | Becoming Wild: Brandon Duhaime via YouTube | Cole | Eimear McBride, The Lesser Bohemians | Cole | Vitor Munhoz, NHLI via Getty Images | Elly McCausland, 'Mervayle what hit mente': Interpreting Pained Bodies in Malory's "Morte D’Arthur" | Capfriendly: Brandon Duhaime Injury Updates | Calasanti | McCausland| Kenneth Hodges, Wounded Masculinity: Injury and Gender in Sir Thomas Malory’s Le Morte DArthur | Becoming Wild: Brandon Duhaime | Dieric Bouts, Christ Crowned With Thorns | David Berding via Getty Images | Bataille | Brandon Duhaime vs Will Borgen Feb 24, 2024 | Michael Russo and Joe Smith, Brandon Duhaime traded by the Wild: Why they moved him, and what he adds to the Avalanche | The Winter House (2022) dir. Keith Boynton | Joe Smith, Wild’s special teams deliver, Fleury exits early on ‘Fight Night’: Key takeaways vs. Panthers | Vibeke Olson, Penetrating the Void: Picturing the wound in Christ’s side as a performative space | Joe Smith, What Brandon Duhaime’s deal means for Wild salary-cap situation and Filip Gustavsson talks | Girard | Ocean Vuong, Devotion | Caravaggio, Sacrifice of Isaac (1598) | Bultman and Robson | Bultman and Robson | Bultman and Robson | Amelia Arenas, Sex, Violence and Faith: The Art of Caravaggio | Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov | Girard | Michael Russo and Joe Smith, Wild GM Bill Guerin working phones ahead of trade deadline, no regrets over training-camp extensions | Concannon, “Not for an Olive Wreath, but Our Lives”: Gladiators, Athletes, and Early Christian Bodies | Matt Blewett - USA Sports | Michael Russo and Joe Smith, Wild trade tiers: Who is on the block? Who could be dangled? Who is untouchable? | Thornton Wilder, Our Town
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honorthegods · 3 months
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Happy Saturnalia! Drink and live many years!
Saturnalia is an ancient Roman religious festival honoring Saturn, who was pardoned after his expulsion from Olympus by Jupiter and subsequently regarded as a benevolent god of agricultural abundance.
The first documented Saturnalia was held in 497 BCE for the dedication of the Temple of Saturn in Rome. An annual festival commemorating the dies natalis (anniversary) of this event was held thereafter on December 17. The celebration proved so popular that it was extended to three days, then to an entire week - from December 17 to 23. There was a 24 hour break to take care of home and business - and then everyone went back to celebrating with the dies natalis (anniversary) of the dedication of the temple of Sol Invictus on December 25!
The religious observation of Saturnalia occurred on the first day of the festival. The monumental cult statue of Saturn was acrolithic, a composite of carved ivory over a wooden scaffold, saturated with olive oil to help prevent the ivory from cracking, and "garments" of gilded wood and/or fabric - air currents stirring the fabric would have created the illusion of the statue moving. The legs of the statue were bound with woolen bands for most of the year - again, it is speculated, to help prevent the ivory from cracking, but perhaps there was also a religious meaning - were unbound for the duration of the Saturnalia. After a religious procession to the Temple of Saturn and the proper rituals were performed, a lectisternium was held, a ceremony in which a smaller statue of the god was placed upon a dining couch and offered food and drink as part of a banquet attended by Roman elites. The general Saturnalia festival followed these solemnities.
The Saturnalia recalled the mythical Age of Saturn, when crops grew without human toil and humanity lived in harmony with nature and each other. Elements of the festival included days off from work, gatherings of family and friends, wearing brightly-colored garments, preparing and indulging in copious amounts of food and drink, playing games, attending theatrical and musical performances, giving gifts, decorating homes and businesses with garlands and wreaths of evergreens gleaming with sparkly ornaments, light from candles, lamps, torches, and bonfires - all of which probably sound at least a little familiar! 
The reversal of normal societal roles was emblematic of Saturnalia: the emperor bestowed largess upon soldiers and the populace, employers gave bonuses to workers, families with the means to do so gave food and clothing the poor, owners served their slaves and the wealthy waited on their servants, children were allowed to attend theatrical performances and to gamble.
If you’re able to do so, I hope you will continue the Saturnalia tradition of gifts and role-reversals by supporting your local food bank, shelter, or the charity of your choice.
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Featured image info:
Description: A photograph of a very damaged and weathered fresco from Pompeii depicting a group of at least six people gathered in what is presumably a triclinium (Roman dining room). The diners sit and recline on three couches which are too faded for description around a small, gold-colored round table. A person in the center of the group leans forward to reach for something - presumably a cup or portion of food. To their right, a man with a bare torso and wearing a reddish colored lower garment has both hands raised to chest level with their hands together, perhaps applauding or holding a small object. To that person's left is a smaller figure, perhaps a woman, facing to their right, possibly in conversation with another person (that area is person-shaped but heavily damaged) , and holding a cup in their left hand. To the central figure's left is a figure too faded to describe.. To that figure's left is a woman wearing a white sleeveless garment, likely a stola, with what seems to be a pale blue palla (shawl) which has dropped down to her lower back and wraps around her waist. To her left is another heavily faded area which may be another banqueter. To the left of that spot is a woman gazing to her right; the shoulders and upper body may be wrapped in a palla but the image too damaged to be sure.
The caption I added above the banquet scene reads "Io Saturnalia" (Io is pronounced ”ee-o” or “yo”); this is the traditional greeting during this festival. The caption below the banquet scene reads "Bibe vivas multis annis" ("Drink and live many years"); it was a popular toast, especially in late antiquity.
Info on the toast:
Bond, Sarah. Roman Gold Glass and the Epigraphy of Toasting in Antiquity:
⊱•✹¸.•´*¨°`*• ༻*°🏛°*༺•*`°¨*`•.¸✹•⊰
Featured image: Wall painting (fresco) of a banquet scene.
Photo: ArchaiOptix
Image source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Wall_painting_-banquet_scene-Pompeii(V_2_4)_-_Napoli_MAN_120030.jpg
Image license: Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International
Remix: I removed some partially visible images from the lower half of the painting, applied additional color to the blue border on the right side of the painting, and added the Saturnalia messages.
Io Saturnalia banner:
Background:
Gold glitter texture by Katie Harp: https://unsplash.com/photos/background-pattern-k4e9DFVQXvY
Free to use under the Unsplash License
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straywords · 1 year
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Happy sleepover!! 🥳🎄
I pick Miss Belova + reunion, you’re out doing some Christmas shopping when an old flame crosses your path doing the job that broke you apart in the first place… (you can choose light or dark since my suggestion is already a lil specific 😭)
Bad Decisions
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♡ Dark! Yelena Belova x Reader ♡
Old feelings are stirred up when you run into your ex at a Christmas store.
CW: Dub-C0n/Non-C0n, s3x in a public space, p0ssessive behavior, t0xic dynamic, d0m! Yelena
Words: 1.2k
5k Winter Sleepover
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Of all your bad decisions, Yelena Belova was by far the worst one you ever made. Dating her was a rollercoaster…one you could never get off of. She was hell and heaven all at once. But mostly…hell.
It’s why the sudden sight of her sweeps you in a whirlwind of unsettling emotions.
You frown and duck your head. The telltale prowl and sharp gaze are a dead giveaway. She’s on a mission.
It breaks your heart into a million pieces, the thought of her still doing that after everything. It’s the reason you broke up. Yelena was supposed to change; she didn’t. 
You dive into an aisle with shelves brimming with Christmas decorations. You toss a forlorn glance at the wreaths, garlands and tinsels. It was supposed to be a cheerful morning. It started that way. You had plans of decorating your house, finding the perfect tree. 
As you heave a deep sigh, you rush past a row of artificial white trees. Your pace slows as you approach the fitting rooms at the other end of the gigantic store. You’re almost there. You can wait for it to pass, for her to leave. 
But you’ve barely made it to the curtain before you’re pushed into one of the fitting rooms by a slender, tragically familiar body. 
"Hey, gorgeous," Yelena greets, her accent lilting melodically. You swallow thickly as you writhe in her strong grip. She has your wrists pinned on each side of your head, a typical move for her. Although you’re usually a more willing participant in her twisted games. Her olive gaze slowly travels along your heaving frame. She then smirks. "It’s been so long."
"It’s been three months," you reply as your brows knit. 
"I really missed you," she whispers seductively, releasing one of your hands to seize your chin, drawing you to the longing etched in her eyes. 
You take a deep breath. You promised yourself you wouldn’t fall for her schemes again, her silky lies. Too often you got lost in the dark forests of her orbs and let her get away with everything…including literal murder.
You clench your jaw. 
"We’re broken up."
"Not because of me."
You glare at her accusingly.
"Actually, I’d say you killing people is a pretty big reason."
Sadness crosses her features as she exhales a long breath. She strokes the side of your face, her gaze diving in yours. 
"You know what kind of jobs I take. Trust me, the world’s better off without those scumbags in it."
"Killing is killing, Lena."
This time she rolls her eyes. You’re taken aback as she uses her strength to flip your body, slamming you against the tiny room’s mirror as you gasp.
"Always so judgemental. It’s just a job, gorgeous," she whispers dismissively, her body pressing against yours as her soft lips skim over your earshell. Your pulse escalates. You squirm, attempting to get free but Yelena keeps you trapped against her. "And don’t tell me you didn’t like the little gifts…" She lifts your arm to flick at the silver item adorning your wrist. "I see you still have my bracelet."
"I can’t do this again, Yelena," you quaver.
For a minute, she goes quiet, the air in the room growing thick with tension. She then hums and bends her head over your shoulder, silky strands of her blonde mane tickling your neck. 
Her voice lowers to a lewd rasp. 
"Are you sure?" Your heart skips a beat as nimble fingers intrude beneath your sweater dress, sneaking inside your tights to find your center. You gasp as Yelena pinches your folds through the thin cotton of your panties. "But you make such pretty sounds when you come around my fingers, gorgeous." Delectable tingles spark across your skin as she begins to tease your clit with her thumb while sinking one finger inside your treacherously wet entrance.
Your teeth tear into your lip as she pumps your hole, her slow strokes deliberate and torturous. Heated breaths leave a trail of fog on the mirror. You keen as she takes her time driving you to the edge, her cool, beringed digit lingering on your weakest, most sensitive spots. Your hips curve on their own as heat builds in your core.
An embarrassing pool of need surges, coating her finger with your juices. Your breathless pants fill the small space. She uses her other hand to circle your navel. Her hand lingers over your belly before she pulls down your tights and panties, giving her better access to your drenched core. 
"Yelena," you croak pleadingly. "Not here."
"Hm, if I remember correctly, the place never used to matter," she jeers. Her taunt sets your face ablaze. 
"You know I got a new toy just for you. I was so excited to see how it fit around your pretty pussy..." The lewd promise makes you clench around her finger. Cold laughter drips from her tongue. "...But then you sent me that horrible text."
As she dips a second finger inside, you choke on your own air. Your thoughts grow murkier, your breaths more scarce.
"You swore you’d stop..." you breathlessly mumble. 
"Hm sure you want to stop," she taunts. Your chest heaves as she thrusts inside your walls more rapidly, spreading the slickness from your cunt over your pulsing clit. The pressure becomes unbearable. Your legs quake as your head spins. "Cause it's very hard when you’re so tight around me, gorgeous."
Yelena drapes her hand over your mouth as moans unfurl from your throat, desperation radiating from the airless sounds. Each of your cries withers against her palm. "Come for me," she orders, massaging your tender cluster of nerves.
Tense knots come loose all at once. You come apart around her hand.
A high-pitched wail rattles through your throat, dwindling to a muffled groan as Yelena’s fingers squeeze around your mouth more firmly. 
You shiver and your knees quake. As Yelena releases you, you collapse into a pathetic, panting heap on the floor.
Humiliation carves a sizzling pit in your gut. A smirk tilts her pink lips as she peers down at you, sluggishly licking your arousal from her fingers.
She purrs at the taste and your cheeks burn. 
She hunkers down in front of you, the same wicked fingers she used to shatter you latching around your jaw. Her thumb caresses your quivering bottom lip as she says,
"The thing is, gorgeous, you’re mine, and you will always be mine." She plants a soft kiss on your forehead. She pauses, admiring your expression as her smug smile grows. As she rises to her feet, her tone is perkier than ever as she announces, "I’m moving back on Monday. Just need to wrap up a few loose ends."
Dread tightens in your chest. You’re not sure why you thought you’d ever get away from her and the sick hold she has on you.
Yelena opens the fitting room curtain, almost leaving but then whirls again, as if a thought just occurred to her.
"Oh and I expect you to wear that white little number I like," she adds huskily, her green gaze lighting in fond remembrance. She unleashes a girly laugh and smiles. "The one that’s see-through. We should celebrate…our reunion."
She then leaves, snapping the curtain shut and leaving you to bask in the respite, however painfully short-lived it will surely be.
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stalkerofthegods · 4 months
Text
Apollo Cheat sheet
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God of - prophecy and oracles, Music, song and poetry, archery, healing, plague and disease, and the protection of the young, divine distance, fertility, knowledge, dancing, wolves, locust, doorways, mice, entrances, foreigners, happy travels, light, omens, averting evil and harm, boundaries, and borders, laurels, mildews, the god who punishes and destroys, he helps and wards off evil, he protects the flocks and cattle, the foundation of towns and the establishment of civil constitutions, protection of young boys, god of purification, he’s also a Psychopomp.
Symbols- The lyre, Silver bow & arrows, Dolphins, Swans, Crows, Ravens, Lions, Wolves, Wolves, Mice, Griffins, Hawks, Snakes, Laurel wreath, Fire/flame, The sun/sunlight, Tripod, Apples 
Incense/scents - Bay, Frankincense, Cypress, Clove, Cinnamon, Mugwort, Myrrh, hythincath, Rays of light radiating from his head, Branch of laurel, Wreath, amber, myrrh, lily of the valley, frankinscences, orange, lemongrass, marjoram
Colors • orange and yellow, red, gold and pure white blue, pink (means healing) purple and green (associated with the Oracle)
Herbs• Palm Tree, Apple Tree, Poplar Tree, Mistletoe, cinnamon, myrrh, bay leafs, sunflowers and red roses, oak wood, cypress (his veey dear friend ((not a lover or crush))), mint, heliotrope, Goldenseal, Date Palm, orange, lemongrass, marjoram
elements • his element is light
Day, month and festivals• Yule, Midsummer, May, sunday, his festivals are Noumenia, Delphinia, Thargelia, Apatouria, Pyanepsia, Asklepia (maybe), Pandia (maybe)
Patron of - medicine, mental health, physical health, therapy, the alphabet/words, defender of herds and flocks, justice, prophecy, and mental and moral purity, herdsmen and shepherds, anything in the medical field.
What I resonate with him • resseces pieces (I forgot why),  Raven, lyre, lemonade, yellow, sun, bob Ross, painting, singing, humming, melody, Oracle’s, prophecies, knowledge, Purification, suns/ stars  
Crystals•Sunstone, Citrine, Carnelian, Clear Quartz, Pyrite, Selenite, Lapis Lazuli
His sacred items - Bow and arrows; lyre; the wreath of laurel leaves (he wears that which is to be understood as Daphne’s hair.) 
Planet - The sun 
Tarot card- the sun, the chariot
Number - 7 
Animals - Wolf, griffin, dolphins, Swans, foxes, roe deer, swans, cicadas, hawks, ravens, crows, foxes, mice, and snakes
Signs he's reaching out• Significant Dream Encounters of him, Frequent Solar Imagery, Increased Interest in the Arts, Strong Connection to Healing, seeing his Symbols and Animals, having  Prophetic Experiences, finding yourself seeking the truth all of the sudden, Attraction to Light and Warmth
What u could put on his alter • Sun water, Wine (diluted with pure water), Milk, Olive oil, Herbal teas, Honey, honey cakes, Orange and lemon pastries, Lamb meat,  goat meat, Fruits, Cheeses, Wheat, Breads, Golden objects (ex- such as gold bowls, gold wine cups, flakes of gold), Bows and arrows (real or fake), art, Images of the sun, All musical instruments, (especially stringed instruments), Wolf imagery, dolphin imagery, Any images of birds (especially crows and swans), Yellow, gold, and white candles, Incense he likes. He likes his alters Neat, clean, not cluttered, orderly, surround him with who he loves (ex- past lovers, Leto, artemis) , add images of wolves, mice, and ravens, Wine, incense, gifts of solar imagery, oranges 
Other titles of apollon• ABAEUS/ Abaios (derived from the town of Abae in Phocis),
ACERSE′COMES/Akersekomês (Apollo expressive of his beautiful hair which was never cut or shorn.) ACE′SIUS/ Akesios (surname of Apollo, under which he was worshipped in Elis, This surname, which has the same meaning as akestôr and alexikakos as the god of averter of evil), ACESTOR/Akestôr (A surname of Apollo which characterises him as the god of the healing art, or in general as the averter of evil, like akesios), ACTIACUS (a surname of Apollo, derived from Actium, AEGLE′TES/Aiglêtês (that is, the radiant god), AGE′TOR/Agêtôr (a surname given to several gods, example is Zeus at Lacedaemon) AGO′NIUS/Agônios (a surname or epithet of several gods, like Zeus), AGRAEUS/Agraios (the hunter a surname of Apollo After he had killed the lion of Cithaeron), AGYIEUS/Aguieus (a a title describing him as the protector of the streets and public places), ALEXI′CACUS/ Alexikakos (the averter of evil, is a surname given by the Greeks to several deities like Zeus.), AMAZO′NIUS/ Amazonios, AMYCLAEUS/Amuklaios, ARCHE′GETES/Archêgetês (A surname of Apollo, under which he was worshipped in several places, as at Naxos in Sicily), Megara (The name has reference either to Apollo as the leader and protector of colonies, or as the founder of towns in general, in which case the import of the name is the same as theos patroôs.),  BOEDRO′MIUS/ Boêdromios (the helper in distress), CARNEIUS/ Karneiosx, CATAE′BATES/Kataibatês (invoked by this name to grant a happy return home, katabasis (to those who were travelling abroad), CHRYSAOR/Chrusaôr) (The god with the golden sword or arms), CLA′RIUS/ Klarios (derived from his celebrated temple at Claros in Asia Minor), CO′RYDUS/Korudos (from the temple eighty stadia from Corone, on the sea-coast),  CY′NTHIUS and CY′NTHIA/Kunthia and Kunthios (surnames of Artemis and Apollo from island of Delos, which is their birthplace), DAPHNAEUS and DAPHNAEA/Daphnaia and Daphnaios (surnames of Artemis and Apollo), DECATE′PHORUS/ Dekatêphoros (that is, the god to whom the tenth part of the booty is dedicated), DE′LIUS and DE′LIA/ Dêlios and Dêlia or Dêlias (surnames of Apollo and Artemis respectively), DELPHINIUS and DELPHI′NIA/ Delphinia (a surname of Artemis at Athens & The masculine form Delphinius is used as a surname of Apollo), EPACTAEUS or EPA′CTIUS/ Epaktaios or Epaktios (the god worshipped on the coast, was also used as a surname of Poseidon in Samos) EPIBATE′RIUS/ Epibatêrios (the god who conducts men on board a ship), EPICU′RIUS/ Epikourios (the helper),
EUTRESITES/Eutrêsitês (derived from Eutresis, where he had a ancient Oracle), GALA′XIUS/Galaxios a (from Boeotia, derived from the stream Galaxius),
HEBDOMA′GETES/Hebdomagetês (was derived from the fact of sacrifices being offered to him on the seventh of every month, the seventh of some month which became the god's birthday), HECAERGUS/Hekaergos (same meaning as Hecaerge in the case of Artemis),HY′LATUS/Hulatos (derived from the town of Hyle in Crete, which was sacred to him), INTONSUS/unshorn, (surname of Apollo and Bacchus showing the eternal youth of these gods, beacuse the Greek youths allowed their hair to grow until they attained the age of manhood), ISME′NIUS/Ismenios (A surname of Apollo at Thebes), ISO′DETES/Isodetêg (the god who binds all equally, is also used as a surname of Pluto),I′XIUS/Ixios (derived from a district of the island of Rhodes which was called Ixiae or Ixia.), LAPHRAEUS/Laphraios (a surname of Apollo at Calydon), LEUCA′DIUS/ Leukasios (a son of Icarius and Polycaste, and a brother of Penelope and Alyzeus. Leucas was believed to have derived its name from him), LIBYSTI′NUS, LOE′MIUS/Loimios (the deliverer from plague),
LO′XIAS/Loxias (derived by some from his intricate and ambiguous oracles), LYCE′GENES/Lukêgenês (describing him either as the god born in Lycia, or as the god born of light), LYCEIUS/Lukeios (the meaning is not quite certain, some derive it from lukos, a wolf, so that it would mean "the wolf-slayer;" others from lukê, light, according to which it would mean "the giver of light;"), LY′CIUS/Lukios (the Lycian, a surname of Apollo, who was worshipped in several places of Lycia),
LYCO′REUS/Lukôreus (A surname of Apollo perhaps in the same sense as Lyceius), MALEATES/Maleatês  (surname of Apollo, derived from cape Malea, in the south of Laconia),MARMARINUS/Marmarinos (the god of marble), MALLOEIS and MELUS/Mêlos (A son of Manto, from which the sanctuary of Apollo Malloeis in Lesbos was believed to have derived its name), MOIRA′GETES/Moiragetês (the guide or leader of fate, occurs as a surname of Zeus and Apollo at Delphi) MUSA′GETES/MUSAE (?), NO′MIUS/Noumios (surname of divinities protecting the pastures and shepherds sheared with Apollo, Pan. Hermes, and Aristaeus) ONCAEUS/Onkaios (a surname of Apollo derived from Oncesium on the river Ladon in Arcadia), PAEAN/Paian, Paiêôn or Paiôn (meaning "the healing," however, used also in the more general sense of deliverer from any evil or calamity, PAGASAEUS/ Pagasaios/the Pagasaean, from Pegasus, or Pegasae, (town in Thessaly, uses the surname of Apollo there.), PALATI′NUS, (surname of Apollo at Rome), PARNO′PIUS/Paruopios (the expeller of locusts) paruôps (a surname of Apollo, under which he had a statue on the acropolis at Athen), PARRHA′SIUS/Parrastos (A surname of Apollo, who had a sanctuary on Mount Lyceius, meaning “the helper”, PATAREUS/Patareus (derived from the Lycian town of Patara, where the god used to spend the six winter months in every year), PHILE′SIUS/Philêsios (surname of Apollo at Didyma, where Branchus was said to have founded a sanctuary of the god, and to have introduced his worship) PHOEBUS/ Phoibos (the shining, pure or bright, occurs both as an epithet and a name of Apollo), PHY′XIUS/Phuzios (the god who protects fugitives, also occurs as a surname of Zeus in Thessaly), PY′THIUS/Puthios the Pythian, from Pytho (the ancient name of Delphi, often occurs as a surname of Apollo), SALGANEUS/Salganeus (a surname of Apollo, derived from the town of Salganeus in Boeotia), SARPEDONIUS and SARPEDO′NIA/Sarpêdonia (a surname of Artemis, derived from cape Sarpedon in Cilicia, where she had a temple with an oracle, The masculine Sarpedonius occurs as a surname of Apollo in Cilicia.) SMINTHEUS/Smintheus (a surname of Apollo, which is derived by some from sminthos, a mouse, and from the town of Sminthe in Troas), SPO′DIUS/Spodios (a surname of Apollo at Thebes, derived from spodos, ashes, because his altar consisted of the ashes of the victims which had been sacrificed to him.), TEGYRE′IUS/Tegurêios (a surname of Apollo, derived from the town of Tegyra in Boeotia. where, according to some traditions, the god had been born), TELMI′SSIUS/Telmissios (a surname of Apollo derived from the Lycian town of Telnissus or Telmessus),TEMENITES/Temenitês (a surname of Apollo, derived from his sacred temenus in the neighbourhood of Syracuse), THEOXE′NIUS/Theoxenios (a surname of Apollo and Hermes), THYMBRAEUS/Thumbraios (A surname of Apollo, derived from a place in Troas called Thymbra, where he had a temple in which Achilles was wounded, or from a neighboring hill of the same name), ZOSTERIUS and ZOSTE′RIA/Zôstêria (a surname of Athena among the Epicnemidian Locrians, The masculine form Zosterius occurs as a surname of Apollo in Attica, on the slip of land stretching into the sea between Phaleron and Sunium)
Epithets•Abaeus, Apollo Acesius, Acestor, Acraephiaeus Apollo, Acraephius Apollo, Actiacus Apollo, Apollo Actiacus, Apollo Aegletes, Agetor, Agonius, Agraeus, Agyieus, Alexicacus,Amazonius, Anextiomarus, Aphetor Apollo, Aphetorius Apollo, Apollo Musagetes, Apollo Soranus, Apollo Apotropaeus, Apulu, Archegetes, Argyrotoxus Apollo, Apollo Articenens, Apollo Averruncus, Apollo Clarius, Apollo Coelispex, Apollo Culicarius, Apollo Cynthius, Apollo Cynthogenes, Delius Apollo, Apollo Delius, Apollo Delphinius, Apollo Didymaeus, Apollo Epicurius  Apollo Galaxius, Apollo Genetor, Hecaërgus Apollo, Apollo Hecebolus, Hekatos, Helius Apollo, Apollo Helius, Apollo Iatromantis, Apollo Iatrus, Apollo Ismenius, Kourotrophos, Apollo Leschenorius, Leucadius, Apollo Loxias, Apollo Lycegenes, Lyceus, Apollo Lycoctonus, Manticus Apollo, Apollo Medicus, Apollo Nomius, Apollo Nymphegetes, Paean (god), Apollo Paean, Apollo Parnopius, Apollo Patroüs, Apollo Phanaeus, Ptoion, Ptous, Pythius Apollo, Apollo Pythius, Apollo Smintheus, Apollo Sosianus, Thyraeus, Virotutis. (I’m not gonna put who, why or what the epithets are, cut me some slack 😔)
Equivalents• Abru (Berber), Horus & Ra (Egyptian), Aplu (Etruscan), Helios (Greek), Apollo & Janus (Roman), Nergal (Aplu Enlil) (Semitic)
Offerings•  Candles (he’s the god of light), Paint brushes/paints, Canvases, Colored pencils, markers, crayons, Collages, Journals, Art books, Art prints, Anything you mad, Sculptures, Zines, Stickers, Any art supplies, Music boxes, Records, CDs,Cassettes, Record players,radios, MP3, Headphones, Music posters, Band merch, Instruments (especially String instruments), Dance shoes, Concert tickets, CD book holders, Sun and Light imagery, Sunscreen, Aloe for sunburns, Golden objects, Matches, Candles, Sunflowers/sunflower seeds, First aid kits, Medicine, Pain relievers, Band - aids, Ice/heat packs, Rice socks, face Masks, Aloe, Ambulance toy cars,Adaptive aids, Darts, Bow and arrows, Arrow quiver, Dart board, Targets used in archery, Bullseye used in archery, Snake skins, Snake imagery (ex - Python), Laurels, Bay leaves (because of Daphne), Palm trees (based on his birth myth), Ravens/Crows related things,  Crow feathers, Cattle/turtles (related to Hermes birth myth), Swans (the animals Pull His chariot), Hyacinths (Hyacinthus is his past lover), Locks of hair, Vanilla flavored/scented things , Honey, Sunny D drink, Lemons/lemon juice, Oranges/orange juice, Citrus, Water, chocolate milk (UPG),  molten orange-scented wax cube used on an oil burner, The first bite of every meal (keep a tea plate close by at mealtimes), Pot Pourri, visit a clairvoyant, Welcome foreigners, teach others your own culture/language, make sure foreigners are able to find helpful resources and social life in your community, Make sure the street outside your house is clean and secure, Resin, Sun-shaped cookies or cakes, Wine, Golden cakes, Golden raisins.
Devonatal- Donate to medical charities, Support beginner indie artists and musicians, Sing to Him, Play musical instruments for Him, Hold dance parties in his honor, Make a playlist for Him and listen to it, Read poetry to Him, Take care of your mental health in his honor, take your medicine in his honor, Try/do archery in his honor, Try/do different types of divination (ex- Tarot/Oracle decks, Pendulums, Rune stones, Charm casting supplies, Crystal balls, Scrying bowls, Cookie fortunes, Tea leaves), Try and wake up early and watch the sun rise, Go for a walk and feel the warmth from the sun, Let more sunlight into your home/room, Learn a musical instrument, learn how to sing, Learn simple medical care (ex- CPR), research his family in his honor,  research Apollon, Attend pride, advocate for  LGBT+ rights, Wear yellow clothing in his honor, wear orange clothing in his honor, Honor Leto and Artemis in his honor, Pray to Him/ speak to Him often (ex- for guidance, healing/good health, and new inspiration, protection, improvement in your mental health, fertility, ecstasy, for everything going well in the health aspect),  Dance and sing to your favorite songs or songs you’d think He would like,  Throw a feast in His honor, Support/donate to your local Hospital in his honor, Exercise in his honor, Get vaccinated in his honor, Get STI tested in his honor, practice Self care in his honor, Keep a first aid kit at home/in your car in his honor, Learn about alternative medicine in his honor, Advocate for accessible in his honor, Advocate for disability rights in his honor, Volunteer at a hospital in his honor, Give blood/plasma in his honor; Volunteer at a retirement home in his honor, Learn about anatomy/biology/nutrition in his honor, Learn about health conditions/rare disorders in his honor, Eat healthy for your body in his honor, Help fund surgeries if you can in his honor, Trip sit for someone in his honor, Listen to your body when it needs something in his honor , Sunbathe in his honor, Wear sunscreen in his honor,  Start a garden in his honor, Make sun water in his honor, Music Go to a concert/show, Listen to music in his honor, Make a playlist for someone you love in his honor, dance in general in his honor, Sing in general in his honor, Support local bands in his honor, Explore new music in his honor, Daily tarot card/rune stones sessions in his honor, Make an oracle deck in his honor, Give divination readings in his honor, do Shadow work in his honor , do Colormancy in his honor, Make something in his honor, Draw in his honor, paint in his honor, craft in his honor, Color something for him, Make a zine in his honor, Go see a play in his honor, Get a tattoo in his honor, Throw darts in his honor, Use a slingshot in his honor, Go to a shooting range in his honor, follow and support artist/poet YouTubers and their social media, Check in with your neighbors, do Photography (painting with light), light a candle in his honor because he’s the of…light!
Crystal•Sunstone, Citrine, Carnelian, Clear Quartz, Pyrite, Selenite, Lapis Lazuli, amber, calcite (only the color honey/yellow), quartz (rutilated or clear), rose quartz.
Parentage• Zues and Leto 
Siblings• his full sibling was his twin Artemis, His half siblings were Athena, Hermes, Dionysus, Aphrodite, Ares, Hephaestus and Persephone, Heracles, Ares, Perseus, Hebe, Aphrodite, Athena, Some Muses, Eileithyia.
Works well with• people who are respectful, and are honest, and not boastful. 
Jewelry • friendship bracelets
Hates• saying that your better than him, (too boastful), being to stubborn to learn (he is the god of knowledge.), and anything contradicting his godlyness 
Mortal or immortal • immortal.
Zodiac • Leo. 
Curses• Sickness, and often seeing yourself lying, and in trouble.
Blessings• your healthy and protection and purification. 
Vows/omans• he swears he will be Hermes best friend, and that he will never marry (he still has godpouses, pretty frequently, just as a boyfriend) because he swore he would never because he couldn't choose between all the Muses.
Morals• Morally grey.
Courting• he is unmarried. 
Past lovers & crushes• Admetus (a crush), Daphne (rejected him and he fell so in love she had to run away and turn into a tree..), all the nine muses (couldn’t choose so decided to never unwed), Cyrene (a crush), Evadne (a lover who bore him a child.), Rhoeo (bore him a child and made him raise it..) Ourea (had a crush on Apollo and they hooked up on his exile and bore him a kid), Thero, Hyrie or Thyrie (said they were lovers but he made them suicidal so..idk..). Hecuba (bore the child who made Apollo kill Achilles.), Coronis (bore him  Asclepius), Creusa (bore him a child and left him to die and then to be raised by a priestess of Apollo.), Hyacinthus (his most dear male lover.),  Cyparissus (a dear friend but still a honorable mention.), Admetus (a crush), Branchus, Adonis (poly with apollon and Aphrodite), Helenus, Hippolytus of Sicyon,Hymenaios, god of marriage hymns, Iapis, Phorbas, minthe (who he turned into mint) 
Personality• He has a quick temper, He’s very energetic, cheerful, wise, honest and kind, but sometimes he could be jealous (from what I've heard.)
Fact• He was the god of so many things that even the Ancient Greeks got confused, Apollo was temporarily stripped of his immortal power by Zeus – twice (maybe y’all might have a little more in common with being atleast human once!), he tried to over throw his father Zeus once! (He failed.)
Roots• Greek mythology, born at Delos in Cyclades archipelago.
Appearance in astral or gen• depicted as a handsome, beardless youth with long hair and wears a wreath and branch of laurel, bow and quiver of arrows, usually accompanied with a raven, and holding a lyre.
Children• Acraepheus, Aeneus, Agamedes, Agreus, Amphiaraus, Amphissus, Amphithemis, Anius, Apis, Apollonis, Arabius, Aristaeus, Asclepius, Borysthenis, Cephisso, Chariclo, Cinyras, Coronus, Cycnus, Delphus, Dius, Dorus, Dryops of Oeta, Eleuther, Epidaurus, Eriopis, Erymanthus, Eumolpus, Eurydice, Eurynome, Hilaeira, Hymen (god), Ialemus, Iamus, Idmon (Argonaut), Ion, Ismenus, Korybantes, Laodocus, Lapithes (hero), Linus (Argive), Linus, Linus of Thrace, Lycomedes, Lycorus, Melaneus of Oechalia, Melite, Miletus, Mopsus, Naxos, Oaxes, Oncius, Orpheus, Phemonoe, Philammon, Philander, Phoebe, Phylacides, Polypoetes, Scylla, Syrus, Tenerus, Tenes, Troilus, Trophonius, Zeuxippus of Sicyon.
Pet• the swans pulling his chariot called the “singers of Apollo” or just “birds of Apollo”
Status• Greek mythology god, in the big theoi, not a Demi god. 
Prayers•
Prayer to Lord Apollon for Help with Divination
Hear me, Foreseeing Apollon, Son of Indomitable Zeus and Gentle Leto, Brother to Far-Shooting Artemis. He who speaks of truth, If I have ever revelled in your sunlight, accept this prayer, Apollon Leader of Fate, I ask you to be with me during this divination and to guide my cards with your knowledge, I ask for your favour with a token of my praise, I offer to you (offering)- @praise-to-the-theoi
To Lord Apollon when taking medication 
Hear me, healing Apollon, Father to Soothing Asklepios. He who controls both plague and healing, If I have ever honoured you, please accept this prayer, Shining Apollon, Please allow me to be safe when taking this medication, to aid it in its effectiveness, and to reduce the likelihood of negative side effects. I ask for your favour with a token of my praise, and I take this medication in your honour. -https://www.tumblr.com/praise-to-the-theoi
Prayer to Artemis and Apollon 
Praise today, O Lord Apollo and Lady Artemis, rulers upon the Sun and Moon. The Celestial Twins, on this date, join each other in the sky, shining upon us their divine light and presence. Praise the children of Great Zeus and Leto; Hail Lady Artemis, the oldest daughter, who helped her mother at birth. Godess of the hunt, divine virgin, patroness of girls, their childhood and innocence.  Hail Apollon, youngest son, born by his sister's hand. God of the plages and sickness. Patron of the arts, music and poetry. May they raise their bows and guide us towards their light. - serotoninbetweenpages
Prayer with his epithets in it-
Let us hymn Paean the great god, Apollo; Immortal, gloriously formed, unshorn, soft-haired, Stern-hearted, king, delighting in arrows, giver of life, Joyous, laughing, slayer of giants, sweet-hearted, Son of Zeus, slayer of dragons, lover of the laurel, Sweet of speech, of ample might, far-shooter, giver of hope, Creator of animals, divine, Jove-minded, giver of zeal, Mild, sweet-spoken, sweet-hearted, gentle-handed, Slayer of beasts, blooming, charmer of the spirit, soft-speaking, Shooter of arrows, desirable, healer, charioteer, Weaver of the world, Clarian, strong-hearted, father of fruits, Son of Leto, pleasant, delighting in the lyre, resplendent, Lord of the mysteries, prophet, magnanimous, thousand-shaped, Lover of the bow-string, wise, stiller of grief, sober,Lover of community, common to all, taking thought for all, benefactor of all, Blessed, making blessed, Olympian, dweller on the hills, Gentle, all-seeing, sorrowless, giver of wealth, Saviour from trouble, rose-coloured, man-breaker, path-opener, Glittering, wise, father of light, saviour, Delighting in the dance, Titan, initiator, revered, Chanter of hymns, highest, stately, of the height, Phoebus, purifier, lover of garlands, cheerer of the spirit, Utterer of oracles, golden, golden-complexioned, golden-arrowed, Lover of the lyre, harper, hater of lies, giver of the soul, Swift-footed, swift-voiced, swift of vision, giver of seasons. Let us hymn Paean the great god, Apollo.   
- Epigram from Book 9 of the Greek Anthology, translated by W.R. Paton (1916-18)
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Links/websites/sources •
@praise-to-the-theoi
ofbloodandfaith
Reddit · r/Hellenism5 comments  ·  1 year agosimple offerings for apollo? : r/Hellenism
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apollo#Children https://www.thoughtco.com/roman-equivalents-of-greek-gods-4067799https://www.reddit.com/r/Hellenism/comments/d20s5v/would_amber_be_an_appropriate_incense_for_apollo/https://www.reddit.com/r/GreekMythology/comments/du0z4k/did_the_olympian_gods_have_particular_color/https://www.tumblr.com/eldritchhorror06https://www.tumblr.com/themodernwitchsguidehttps://web.pdx.edu/~scarmody/art342/exercise2/index.html#:~:text=Animals%20sacred%20to%20Apollo%20include,foxes%2C%20mice%2C%20and%20snakes.
let the light in and let your truth of loving Apollo shine aswell
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khaire-traveler · 2 months
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Offering Ideas for the Muses
~ Since I don't see many posts on this topic, I've also included common "general" traditional offerings to the Greek pantheon. I did my best to come up with unique but simple ideas; I wanted to include things that most people could likely offer or do. I hope this list is helpful to someone. ~
Kalliope - Your favorite poetry, poetry books, poetry you wrote, musical instruments, writings you're proud of, devotional writing to her, a handmade scroll with your writing, your favorite pen/pencil, a quill, clay objects (especially tablets), gifts from your siblings (if applicable), imagery of Orpheus, lyre imagery, golden crown imagery. General: Imagery of here, incense (frankincense, patchouli, citrus, etc.), olive oil, olive branch, honey, water, baked goods, wine, rosemary, Orphic Hymn 0 or 75 (can be given to any Muse, but I'll only list it here since Kalliope is thought to be the mother of Orpheus).
Kleio - Any historical or historical fiction books you enjoy, your favorite books (any genre), school notes about history (if applicable), a list of lessons you've learned from the past, a letter of how the past has helped you grow, setting time aside to learn history (anything that interests you), learning about ancient Greece, your favorite bookmark (especially one you frequently use), your favorite quotes. General: Imagery of her, incense (frankincense, patchouli, lavender, etc.), olive oil, olive branch, honey, water, wine, baked goods, rosemary.
Ourania - Star maps, globes, maps of Earth, compasses, dream journals, telescopes, glow-in-the-dark stars, your favorite books about the universe, sci-fi books/shows, seeking knowledge about the unknown, your own art of the stars or space, your own sci-fi writings, solar system imagery, space/star imagery, imagery of your favorite constellation, General: Imagery of her, incense (patchouli, lavender, rosemary, etc.), olive oil, olive branch, honey, water, wine, baked goods, rosemary.
Thaleia - A list of your favorite jokes, a joke book, ivy leaves, an ivy wreath, funny stories/memories from your life, jokes you've written, your favorite comical musical/play/movie/etc., confetti, streamers, a shepherd's (or wooden) staff, comical masks, smiley faces, blooming flowers, sheep imagery, comedy mask imagery. General: Imagery of her, incense (patchouli, rosemary, strawberry, etc.), olive oil, olive branch, honey, water, wine, baked goods, rosemary.
Melpomene - Ivy leaves, an ivy wreath, serious/somber poetry, "vent" art, your favorite tragic musicals/plays/movies/etc., tragic stories you've written, symbols of inner strength/perseverance (whatever that looks like to you), stories about overcoming/growth, therapeutic journaling (I recommend doing this with professional assistance), tragic/sad masks, siren imagery, sword imagery, boot imagery, tragedy mask imagery. General: Imagery of her, incense (frankincense, lavender, cedar, etc.), olive oil, olive branch, honey, water, wine, baked goods, rosemary.
Polymnia - Meditation (if applicable), devotional writings you've written, your favorite hymns/devotional poems, laurel leaves, lustral water, self-made hymns, devotional writings about her, burning non-toxic offerings, fire, prayer journal, imagery of Mount Olympus, imagery of animals you associate with "divine connection" (maybe doves, stags, owls, etc.), imagery of anything you associate with "divine connection" (hands in a praying position, the stars or sky, nature, etc.). General: Imagery of her, incense (rosemary, myrrh, patchouli, etc.), olive oil, olive branch, honey, water, wine, baked goods, rosemary.
Erato - Smut fanfic (that's right, I'll say it), written erotica, your own erotic writing, love letters you've written or received, erotic poetry, setting aside time to explore your, er, "interests", red or pink flowers, jewelry/perfume that makes you feel attractive, sex-positive journaling, basil, myrtle, lyre imagery, sexual imagery, anything you associate with passion/erotica. General: Imagery of her, incense (rosemary, rose, amber, etc.), olive oil, olive branch, honey, water, wine, baked goods, rosemary.
Euterpe - Your favorite poetry, your own poetry, poetry books, sharing your poetry with others, relaxing/calming tea, media that brings you comfort (watching a movie with her, giving her a DVD of your comfort movie, your favorite book, etc.), the lyrics to your favorite songs, imagery of animals/objects that have symbolic meaning to you, imagery of double flutes. General: Imagery of her, incense (patchouli, lavender, myrrh, etc.), olive oil, olive branch, honey, water, wine, baked goods, rosemary.
Terpsikhore - Musical instruments, dancing in honor of her, songs you've written, a devotional playlist, your favorite song lyrics, setting aside time to simply listen to music, your favorite musicals, expressing yourself through song/dance, picks for instruments (guitar picks, lyre plectrums, etc.), sheet music, supporting local/small musicians, learning to play an instrument, lyre imagery, songbird imagery (or any animal you associate with music). General: Imagery of her, incense (patchouli, citrus, strawberry, etc.), olive oil, olive branch, honey, water, wine, baked goods, rosemary.
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manicpixiefelix · 30 days
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Thinking of our fae AU and okay, I know it's assumed Reader is also Summer Court like the Cattons
But! What if they're actually Autumn Court?
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Thankfully, the Cattons still basically adopt them and they and Nate are inseparable.
The Castle of Reader's family is similar yet so different from the Cattons, suspended in perpetual autumn bathed in that warm golden glow of the setting sun giving it a dreamy quality. Leaves a fiery tapestry making the trees seem to be ablaze in shades of red, orange and yellow.
Sometimes, when they pass by greenery on the Catton estate, it will briefly change. Demifey!Oliver is fascinated by it and the way shadows shift in their presence.
Obsessed Obsessed OBSESSED!!
Autumn Fae!Reader is absolutely a spectacular concept, I love all of this.
Also I think that the changes that happen on the Cattons land because of/around them are pretty cosmetic because it's not Their Land. Which means instead, the grass turns pale and gold beneath their feet but it's still just as lush as the grass around it. Leaves on trees they touch briefly become a rush of red and orange and gold, but they'll never fall in the summer court. Some smaller plants will seem to bow to them in the way they shrivel and shrink, but give it time and they'll bounce right back to their full glory.
The opposite can be said for the one time Felix visited the autumn court to support the reader. He grabbed one of the many falling leaves from right out of the air and it turned green between his fingers. The grass crunches beneath him, no matter how lush and lovely it may look when he steps on it. Because he's Summer Court & because he's Felix, I fully believe he has this weird affinity with plants, like a lot of royal fae I want to believe have certain powers or effects on the world that they don't fully understand or realise. Felix discovered his when he touched a flower and it began to immediately move to turn to him more directly in the moment of contact. What Felix and everyone else has failed to realise is that every single flower on the Saltburn Estate is growing in the direction of his bedroom (because of sleep it's where he statistically spends the most time on the property). The flowers of Saltburn don't grow to the sun they grow to Felix.
Anyways so I love this and I think Autumn!Reader & Summer!Felixs magic has bled into each other over the years, and that's most noticeable when they're doting on Oliver.
Wreathed in vines and laurels whose greenery is gold and almost brittle, with leaves in red,yellow,orange so vibrant they're like gems, but they flutter, healthy and strong, and never seem at risk of falling.
Chainmail carefully created with so much love by the reader and Felix together, the plants woven and grafted together with such great pains taken to make sure Oliver could wear it without himself getting pricked by thorns inside the garment. The garment itself has your trademark colouring, as if it had spent a long time cut from the roof, almost as pale as Oliver's skin, drawing little attention to itself when something is worn over it, even a plain t-shirt. Still, it's very much alive, cool, comfortable and flexible to wear and fight in. The thorns grow back on their own, but you have a hand in those too, as they grow in at the point of death; dehydrated and sharp as a tack. When he wins, and he always does, the whole crowd will see small roses bloom in triumph across whatever is left over and visible of the tunic, up his arms, across his back and chest, always just where the thorns are. It was Oliver's request specifically, to soften the spikes since he didn't want to hurt either of you in the excitement of his celebrating.
Other things Oliver has noted about the ways your two courts have effected you and Felix that neither of you seem to think about but that he finds endearing;
Sometimes he'll be stroking Felix's hair and he'll find a little autumn leaf in there. Not even because they'd been around Autumn leaves or rolled in any, being so close to you manifests leaves in Felix's hair. Oliver wonders with hope about when there will be leaves found in his hair.
Oliver has helped you garden before. You can only ever garden at Saltburn because you know that even if the plants look half dead when you place them, they'll be fine the next day on the grounds of the estate. Sometimes, however, you're surprised that a few of them look healthy and green and strong, even compared to the ones you did a few minutes before that. Oliver wonders how long it will take you to figure out that plants literally bloom in your hands when you talk so lovingly and fondly about Felix.
Anyways, enough rambling from me for this ask. Yes to Autumn Court Fae Reader is the point. 💖💖💖
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