#lunarruled

The events of their last hangout session repeated in his mind daily. He could remember the way they fell asleep against one another, to his almost confession of his feelings the following morning. How he managed to hold out this long was a complete mystery to him. To him Kyleigh was as close to perfect as any woman could get. She was beautiful, had a personality to match. Not to mention the fact she kept him on his toes with her witty comebacks. Everything with her felt pressure free, almost as if the two had known one another their whole lives. Normally Stephon wasn’t the type of guy to let his nerves get the better of him, but that whole morning his nerves were shot. All he could think about was the possibility of something going wrong, better yet. Kyleigh not being into him as much as he was into her. Would they be able to stay friends if that was the case? Or would he have just ruined the best thing that happened to him in a while. He felt more pressure about this evening going well, then any match he had participated in during the Ow.en Hart Tournament. 

@lunarruled

Location: Outskirts of Boston, Massachusetts

The Boston asphalt was a harsh contrast to the moss-covered earth of Wilderness Ireland, but the ache in Niccola’s muscles felt exactly the same. Behind her, the dense treeline hummed with the fading, static residue of the spiritual threat she’d just laid to rest. Ahead, the highway stretched out under the encroaching twilight, headlights from passing cars occasionally cutting through the gloom and casting long shadows across her path.

She adjusted her grip on her weapon of choice: the ornate, carved Elder staff. At its peak, the Moon-blessed Opal throbbed with a faint, iridescent violet light, slowly settling down after channeling the pure elemental forces required to banish the entity. She let out a heavy breath, her light Irish lilt softening the sigh as she muttered to herself, "Right then. That's sorted." She worked hard to tame her thick accent over the years, ensuring the American locals could actually understand her, but exhaustion always brought the rolling hills of her childhood right back to her tongue.

Pulling her blue, tweed-woven Belstaff coat tighter around her curvy, plus-size full figure, she tucked her chin into her black knitted scarf to shield against the biting New England wind. Beneath the heavy coat, her form-fitting tunic of bone and satin was smudged with supernatural ash, and the leather pants hugging her legs were splattered with mud. By sheer habit, her hand drifted down to check the set of throwing daggers strapped snugly to her left thigh. Intact. Ready. She was proficient in close combat, but it never hurt to have options.

As another car sped past, kicking up a gust of grit, she adjusted her leather gloves. Even through the material, the world felt distant. The Asgardian curse was a constant anchor; a foolish love promise made in her youth that stripped away the simple joy of physical touch, leaving her entirely numb to anything unless it came from true love.

Still, she was Winter Moon, Mani’s daughter, the Protector of the Isle. Her amethyst eyes scanned the dark roadside. Standing at just five feet, with a mane of wavy raven black hair escaping her scarf and cascading over her caramel complexion, she knew she looked striking and out of place walking the highway shoulder. But a High Moon Priestess didn't wait for a ride. With the moon rising to feed her strength, Niccola kept walking.

So I'm bringing back the appreciation post. Fuck it.

@savagecuhnt , @reevezs , @emmaxmeyer , @abysmxls , @lunarruled , @twdgdeadmanwalking , @lostxones , @thatwritingjuju , @renegadetulis , @ruinedsoulsrp , @waveofstars , @huntrcssqueen , @cupxofxstars , @townshaped , @lithiumwolff

@lunarruled sent: "And they tried to warn me about you." (for Jonathan Byers)

Jonathan's gaze flicking to her with a mix of caution and curiosity. He shrugged as if to say he didn’t care, but as he looked away, his eyes told a different story. ❝Yeah, well, people say a lot of things.❞ He murmured, his voice low. ❝Most of it’s probably wrong.❞

There was a mix of hurt, mistrust, but yet there was a stubborn spark that refused to disappear. ❝But … ❞ His voice dropped, a little quieter now, almost a confession. ❝I like being on my own. Not everyone’s cut out for the circus out there.❞