courtship of the sun and moon

I knew him first but I knew her always

Throughout the years he serenaded me in a courtship of strings and woodwinds
He sang to me the story of a naive girl and guided me with melody
–She offered me her hand in synchronous dance

She makes the words on a page come to life in origami figures,
She wrote our love story as a book of watercolor fairytales
And our world as a place of endless magic
–He offered me a ride upon a gallant motorcycle

He is the fire in my veins and the air in my lungs
He is Apollon with his golden light and laughter

She is the stars in my eyes and wonder of the world
She is Selene with her silver softness and beauty

And we loved with a love that was more than love
We loved as the earth loves the sun and the moon

—  A polyamorous witch
Dinner - Phillip x reader

Originally posted by barrykaras

Silence. Complete and utter silence.

Tonight was the night where Philip and you were having dinner with our dads….all together. It had been going great…..if by great you mean both of them staring each other down and sulking in their chairs. 

You had enough of this awkward silence. You gave Philip a look and he spoke up,

“Father, Mr. Burr, how are you tonight?” He gave a polite smile, gripping your hand under the table. Mr. Hamilton had mumbled something quietly, but your father had raised his eyes to you, staring into your soul.

“Y/N, how long has this been going on? Why am I only finding this out now?”

You hesitated, before just deciding to tell them both. You had no idea what Phillip had said, but he better brace himself for a big storm if he hasn’t.

“Father, I love Philip. I can’t imagine living without him by my side. I couldn’t tell you because I knew you would be mad. That is the same reason Philip had.”  You tried explaining, Mr. Hamilton sat up a bit, dropping his eyes on Philip.

“How long?” He had repeated through gritted teeth. Philip tensed up and you ran circles with your thumb over his hand in an attempt to calm him down. Poor Phillip, he never wanted his father to get mad. Mr. Hamilton took a sip of his drink, still eyeing his son.

“Three months” Philip spoke, his voice breaking slightly. Father stared at you in shock while Mr. Hamilton choked on his drink, slamming his fist on the table.

“THREE MONTHS?!?” They both asked in unison. You nodded. There was another long pause of silence until Mr. Hamilton spoke up,

“And you feel the same, son?” Philip didn’t have to look at you to nod.

“I love her more than the moon and the sun. I need her, she is beautiful, she is everything I want in life. She is talented, kind, funny, so considerate and amazing and I am so sorry I did not get your consent for courtship, but I love her, sir.” He took your hand and kissed it. You smiled at him and gave him a quick hug. You heard your father sigh and Mr. Hamilton speaks up,

“Philip, As much as I would rather you have someone different, I can see how much you both care about each other. You have my blessing, son. “

You smiled and mouthed a thank you to him, he nodded. You turned to your father.

“Y/N, I only want you to be safe and happy. I am ok with it as long as you are, and Philip?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t fuck this up.”

“I would never dream of it, sir.”

A bedtime cheer-up treat for workingsofaloom

Hope this helps you find sweet soothing sleep tonight, dear one. <3 (The rest of you can read it too, if you want, and hopefully get some nice dreams into the bargain. :D)</p>

This is from early in Ch 14 and features WtM!Everlark cuddled in the snow and discussing their relationship in animal terms. :)


“It’s a good day’s hunt when straight out of the den you bag a plump, unwitting gander.”

Peeta makes a small disgruntled sound; the audible equivalent of a scowl. “Did you just call me ‘fat,’ Katniss?” he wonders, and I giggle against his throat.

“Well, it sounds ridiculous to describe a gander as ‘strong and stocky,’ ” I reply, leaning up to meet his eyes with a grin. “Did you just admit to being captured unawares by a hungry little vixen?”

“Captured, always,” he murmurs, snugging his arms across my back so the bearskin won’t fall open behind me, “but unawares, only once. And anyway, I thought you weren’t hungry,” he says softly.

“Not for breakfast,” I tell him, glinting down mischief, and lick my lips. “But foxes love geese, and lonely ganders best of all.”

Peeta catches his breath, a quick jerk of his chest against mine. “Do they, now?” he whispers.

“It’s a well-known fact,” I reply merrily, and dip my face in a playful mock-nip at his throat, making him gasp. “We vixens are small but mighty and our appetites are legendary. You’re a goner, lonely gander,” I inform him, brushing the tip of my nose against his in a gentle sort of sniff-nuzzle.

Keep reading

Writing Check-In: When the Moon, Ch 12

Because people always like teasers, I can’t get enough Asa/Ashpet, and there isn’t a whole lot else I can share from this chapter. (Too much stuff I can’t spoil interwoven throughout, though that’s a good problem, I suppose?)


Grandpa Asa was hardly a fine prospect, let alone for my striking, self-sufficient grandmother. Born the third of six children, by the time Granny Ashpet knew him he had become the eldest, with three small sisters to take care of. He was a gentle, soft-spoken boy with no love for hunting and butchering, and Dad was fond of saying that if Granny Ashpet hadn’t shot the cougar that was stalking him that fateful day in the woods, Grandpa Asa would have tried with his last breath to befriend it.

My grandfather’s first ventures into the woods were not in search of game or edible plants but materials for making toys. His family was as desperately poor as any in the Seam, and as a child he was always seeking ways of cheering up his beloved sisters; of distracting them from their ragged clothes and hollow bellies. He quickly mastered the art of scavenging Merchant bins for old, worn, or broken things – and food, of course – and brought no end of smiles to his sisters’ lean faces with bobbin-headed dollies and rag-puppets. He knew dozens of songs and tales – not the least, the one whose heroine Granny Ashpet was named for – and playacted them for his little sisters, amidst much laughter, with a cast of handmade puppets and dollies.

When the bin-pickings grew too thin, Grandpa Asa turned to the woods for new materials from which to make toys for his sisters, for branches and acorns and pinecones, and the woods embraced him like a long-lost child and showered him with its bounty. He had that sort of patient diligence which is every bit as valuable as a craft or skill, and he made increasingly finer toys from those foraged things – fine enough to sell at the Hob and sometimes even at the mercantile – while filling his pockets with fat roots and dandelion greens, wild apples and berries and plums for his family’s table.

But of course, little bodies need meat to grow and thrive and even the cheapest butcher cuts cost more than my young grandfather could afford. So he turned his gentle foraging hands to fishing, then to snares – and of course, it was on one such outing that Granny Ashpet found him, on the brink of becoming a cougar’s breakfast, and with one keen shot saved his life and won his heart.

To him, she was a fairy tale come to life: the cinder-lass of her namesake, a cougar-eyed huntress, a stubborn, sharp-tongued beauty that wanted wooing and winning – but to her he was silly, helpless, and thoroughly unexceptional. A small, slight young man who crossed the fence and braved the woods in order to make toys; if he’d been handsome, the oldest Seam folk might have suspected a fairy heritage, but with his hooked beak of a nose, unruly shock of hair and all-over plainness – to say nothing of being shorter and weaker than many of his fellows, owing to malnutrition in his early years – Grandpa Asa passed through life unremarked and overlooked by most.

But he had the gentlest touch, my father always said. Careful, patient hands that could soothe any hurt and craft wonders from the humblest materials: bark, bones, an apple peel, a dried leaf found on the stoop. Dad inherited that aptitude and enthusiasm for crafting, and his father’s gentleness too – and of course, Prim inherited it from Dad, but I’m nothing like my grandfather in those respects. As far as I can tell, the only heritage he passed on to me was a small, slight frame and a plain face; in all other ways I’m like Granny Ashpet. I’m impatient and practical and prefer hunting to handcrafts – though I suppose, like my grandmother, my hands can be tamed to quiet, homely tasks when my heart is concerned.

A huntress needs a gentle mate, Dad explained once, a boy she can protect, and such a boy is drawn to her in turn. He loves her strength, her fierce heart and her wild beauty, and she needs his gentleness and warmth and patience, just like the sun and moon in their courtship. The huntress embodies beauty in the manner of a wild thing – a dove or a doe or even a cougar, all dusk and sinew and bright eyes – and her mate creates beauty with his hands.

But you’re the gentle one, I puzzled, for even as a small child I understood my parents’ dispositions well. Does that make Mom a huntress?

My father laughed richly at that. No, catkin, he replied. Your mother is a witch, and I have my suspicions about your sister. They’re a bit trickier to love than huntresses, and they require a very different sort of mate, but that’s another story altogether.

kkmcguire  asked:

Hi yes, just a quick thing. So When the Moon is my favorite fan fiction ever, okay so it's my favorite book ever (if I could buy it and put it in my library I would). But but but... I am just dying to know if Peeta and Katniss are ever going to be together? I am so emotionally invested in them in this story that I just want them to be happy!!!! *cries because anticipation*

Oh heavens, little sweetheart, thank you so much! A couple of folks have mentioned the idea of wanting WtM printed and bound like a real book (which would probably take 14 volumes!) and I’m growing increasingly fond of the idea myself. Not sure how I could ever make it happen, but the wheels are turning! (Ooh - maybe it could even include the beautiful fan art that readers have created as illustrations!! :D)

As to your question: Of course they’re going to be together, my dear little goose! My fics almost universally follow a progression from hesitant (even spiky, on Katniss’s part) beginnings to sweet and gentle courtship to sensuous and love-soaked consummation, and these things are definitely on the slate for WtM! (Well, to be fair, WtM!Everlark is already in the thick of the sweet and gentle courtship, so that means the - eventual - next stage is…………… ;D) There will be a few hiccups in the road, of course, a la “East of the Sun and West of the Moon,” and you are so sweet to be so invested in them and their journey! I have an ultimate happily-ever-after planned for Peeta and Katniss (and just about everyone else too, honestly) that I think/hope will satisfy everyone without being too fluffy, corny, etc., but that’s still quite a ways in the future. In the meantime you can take comfort in the fact that WtM!Everlark have been preempting all of the milestones I had planned for them (their first hug, the New Year’s kiss, Katniss realizing that she loves Peeta and now Peeta accidentally blurting an “I love” to her - none of that was supposed to happen for months still!), so getting together may be another. No promises, mind, but you know how authors talk about characters doing things of their own accord? It’s true and terrifying and wonderful all at once. :) 

So stay tuned, sweet reader! And never fear: a happy ending is absolutely assured for these two. ABSOLUTELY.