#Mens Stone Bead Bracelets

[inoxjewelry]

If there is one piece of jewelry every man would like to have, it’s a stone bracelet. Most men wear this not just as a fashion accessory but because they believe it has healing power and attracts positive vibes.

[jaipurbeadsseo]

Bracelets - Buy Natural Gemstone Beads Bracelets Online

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[shyambaba7773]

[justwowfactory1]

Root Chakra Hematite Agate Flat bead Bracelet

Ground yourself in strength and stability with our handcrafted Root Chakra bracelet, featuring Hematite and Agate flat beads. This beautiful piece balances your energy while enhancing inner peace and self-confidence. Perfect for everyday wear or meditation!

Key Features:

✅Handmade with natural Hematite and Agate beads ✅Balances the Root Chakra for grounding and stability

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For More Information! ➡ https://justwowfactory.com/products/hematite-agate-bracelet

[gemsshine]

Triple Protection Stone Beaded Stretch Bracelet, Natural Tiger Eye/Black Onyx/Hematite Stone Beads, 8 inches Stretch bracelet, Friendship

[blueiscoool]

Skeletons With Rings Around Their Necks Uncovered at Ancient Cemetery In Ukraine

The discovery of a cemetery in Ukraine from a millennium ago has revealed axes, swords, jewelry and, unexpectedly, buckets around the feet of some of the dead.

Archaeologists in Ukraine have discovered a 1,000-year-old cemetery whose dead were buried with weapons, jewelry and, curiously, buckets around some of their feet.

The 11th-century cemetery is located about 50 miles (80 kilometers) south of Kyiv. Of its 107 graves, "most of the identified burials were deposed in wooden coffins," Vsevolod Ivakin and Vyacheslav Baranov, both archaeologists at the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine, wrote in a paper they presented at the annual meeting of the Archaeological Institute of America, which was held Jan. 4-7 in Chicago.

The cemetery's dead include both men and women. Some of the men were buried with weapons, such as axes, spearheads and swords, Ivakin and Baranov wrote. A few of the women were buried with elaborate neck rings, which "are found only on necks in female burials and were apparently a kind of social marker," in this region at the time, Baranov said in an email. Some of the people were buried with wooden buckets at their feet, which may have been part of funerary rituals. Other sites that have buckets within burials have been found in the region.

The archaeologists also found a stone altar, as well as bracelets, beads and the remains of food offerings, such as chicken bones and eggshells, among other artifacts. The altar could have been used for Christian or pagan rituals, or possibly both.

Some of the artifacts are similar to those found in the Baltic, hinting that some of the people buried in the cemetery might have come from that region to serve in the militaries of the rulers of Kyiv, such as Volodymyr the Great (who reigned from 980 to 1015) and Yaroslav the Wise (who reigned from 1019 to 1054), the archaeologists noted. The territories that Volodymyr the Great ruled stretched to the Baltic region.

At the time the cemetery was in use, people in Ukraine were converting to Christianity, the researchers said. This included Volodymyr the Great, who left behind his pagan roots and was baptized around 987 before his marriage to Anna, the sister of the Byzantine emperor Basil II.

The researchers excavated the cemetery between 2017 and 2022. The ongoing Russian invasion of Ukraine, however, has paused many excavations in Ukraine, including this one, the archaeologists said.

By Owen Jarus,

[swxrxgini]

Can you please write headcanons for Bhallaladeva when instead of devsena, he became obsessed with reader after seeing her portrait. And requests his mother to arrange their marriage. Can you also please write how will he court her and act around her before and after marriage? Thank you ❤️

|: The apsara in the portrait...

Receiver....Author: "Hello? Yes, okay. Thank you for the request!! This psycho is definitely a fan favourite and I love him so much!"

Receiver....Synopsis: "The beauty of Heranshi was it's princess and upon seeing a portrait of her painted by a villager from Heranshi, the elder prince of Maheshmati falls for her after seeing her portrait.."

Receiver....warnings: "Hello? Okay, not many warnings, but Bhallaldeva is probably a bit tamer here since he's not so much behind Devsena so he doesn't feel like he's losing another thing to Bahubali, so he's a bit tamer and not so much after the throne now| Reader mentioned to have siblings and mentions of pregnancy| He's a bit OOC|| Part 2: Nsfw"

✤ Bhalleldeva is a man of refined taste as one would say, he's a royal and the elder son of Rajamatha Shivgami Devi and a crown prince. Of-curse he's known for his lavish tastes. He wanted the throne, but couldn't get it. So when Shivgami Devi sent him away for, he got delighted as it gave him a chance to earn the throne back.

✤ While Bahubali was away, Bhalladeva indulged himself in different things, drinks, games, fights and especially women..when one day, as he was having fun with drinks, he overheard a few of the noble men's servants talking about an apsara from Heranshi, "Have you seen her hair??", "So black and so long, perfect for a lady of her title" compliments after compliments poured from their mouths for the so called princess.

✤ And one thing led to another and he got the foreign nobleman to pain a picture of the so called apsara, he was curious, he couldn't lie..and he could see why people of your empire loved you so much, you were so gorgeous with your long hair, gorgeous eyes, and stories of your kindness and more only encourage his sudden infatuation with you.

✤ He told his mum on accident how much he had begun liking you, and she excitedly call for a meeting after Bahubali returned for a while and they visited Heranshi for a while and met with the king and queen, both of them glad to meet the great Shivgami Devi, and her sons, Bhallalldeva and Bahubali.

✤ They were invited by the king and queen for a festival and you held a dance performance as the princess of your empire and he was star struck, Bahubali would smirk and nudge Bhallaldeva's shoulders and tease him about being obsessed with you before even knowing your name, as Bhalladeva would push him away as he giggled softly.

✤ You and your siblings were introduced to Bahubali and Bhallaldeva and he got to know your name, Y/N, and he was swooning, you were even prettier up close..he could barely hold himself up and he swear to god he felt his knees buckle underneath his weight as you smiled at him.

✤ After a lot of talk, you and Bhalladeva were to be put into an arranged marriage and so he started courting you, he would bring your extremely gorgeous pendents and jewellery; anklets, armbands, earrings, necklaces, nose rings, bracelets, dress belts, expensive clothing, some even bejewelled with gold and stuff.

✤ Flowers, gifts, statues, portraits, expensive clothing, spoiling you with food you liked, jewellery you enjoyed beaded with your birth stones or gemstones, diamonds, gold, silver, platinum and so much more. He would gift them to you and though you found it a bit too extravagant, your parents were happy you had gotten such a wealthy and rich fiancee for yourself.

✤ He knows he's conceited, a bit cruel, a bit of a sadist and if we're being honest, not a fit person for someone as kind and gorgeous as you. So he had to suck up SO MUCH pride and go to Bahubali for advice or Kattappa if hes EXTREMELY desperate and ask them for advice and actually takes some things into consideration even if he thinks Bahubali just talks his brain and word vomits whenever he speaks.

✤ Bahubali actually thinks this engagement between you two is pretty beneficial, not only for the alliance of empires, but also to build his relationship with Bhallaldeva. And he is pretty happy to do so with his brother, even if he doesn't like his brother a lot.

✤ Bhalladeva and you would be sitting like eating lunch or dinner and he would listen to whatever it is you have to say if you're more talktative and if he's the more talkative one, he'd be trying to tell you as much as he can about the books he read, stories of his childhood, about himself, about his empire, Maheshmati, to you while you listen with interest. If you're both a bit closer at this point, you both might even feed each other.

✤ Eventually he did have to go back, but you got your parents to send you with him to Maheshmati for a while to see how living there would be like while Bahubali headed back to see Devsena with Kattapa.

✤ You and Bhalladeva got certainly a lot of time together, you did not like his father Bijjaladeva a lot who sneered at you, but you didn't say anything to Bhalladeva because you did not want to be disrespectful to him and his family, especially not his mum, who come to like you a lot...But after a while, Bhalladeva did catch the uncomfortability you got around his dad and asked you once while you both laid in his bed.

✤ You did eventually speak your mind out a bit, trying to be as respectful as possible, ready to be kicked out or whatever..but he sighed, internally he knew you'd be creeped out by his dad's weird, not because of his weird body stature, but rather by his scheming, sort of evil intended nature..He calmed you down, promise to protect you...and talked to his dad about it as well.

✤ Simply to say, his dad was not happy and did try to scheme your death, but he shut it down and gave a stern talking to his dad. While you and him slowly got closer and closer, until Bahubali came back with more news that he liked Devsena and the two fell in love and stuff, it was pretty rushed, but him and Devsena seemed closer than anything.

✤ You and Bhalladeva's marriage was first and since you were quite beloved for your kind, generous and wealthy reign in your family's empire, people welcomed you with open arms. As you and him got married in a lavish wedding, your mother cried.

✤ During your marriage, let's say they still had the shoe stealing tradition, and so your sisters stole Bhalladeva's shoes which were so huge compared to them, and they had to be extra tricky, they stole the shoes when he removed them and he couldn't even feel bad cause you were laughing softly, looking so pretty.

✤ It was a good bonding moments and he did give your sisters huge sum of money to get his shoes back as your sisters, you, Bahubali, your close families laughed gently, and you were accepted into the family by Shivgami Devi immediately.

✤ Bhalladeva did complain to you about how he wanted the throne and stuff, but trying to a form a relationship with you, advice on relationships and stuff all came from Bahubali and so the two formed a bond, he became more interested in spending time with you rather than running an empire and besides, his mum's judgement never went wrong.

✤ You thought he showered you with gifts before, he showered you with gifts and affection even more after marriage, constant kisses, constant spending time together with him reading you old stories of Mahesmati or Heranshi..whatever he can get.

✤ Both getting palmistry to see your future in marriage and he did not wish to tell you anything, no matter how much you demanded it. He definitely became more mellowed out and calmer after your marriage, constant affection in private, though in public, his hand is always around yours. People of Maheshmati think it's rather adorable and servants even more so.

✤ He sometimes has you watch his fights with Bijjaladeva, him sometimes making back-handed compliments which you threw back with equally sassy yet respectable comments which made Bhalladeva laughed, though he tried not to show it.

✤ You know in the first week of marriage, Bahubali was sitting on the floor with kid's toys and you bent down and held his chin and kissed his forehead like a mum and you both go so confused cause he called you mum on accident after that and Bhalladeva instantly though you both were drunk...

✤ Apparently Bahubali is your babyboy brother too. And you were so incredibly happy for him as his marriage was done to such a gorgeous girl which you definitely teased him about as he giggled like a babygirl, while Bhalladeva glared at Bahubali.

✤ He has portraits painted of you and he gets pissed off if they don't portray your beauty exactly as he sees it, whenever after a puja he gets prashad, he feeds it to you first before eating it himself, same of taking the puja from the diya, he does it to you first before himself.

✤ Very protective and possessive, his murderous tendencies do jump back in when some man or lady tries to disrespect you, he has threatened and maybe killed hurt some people, not that he will tell you.

✤ Always decorating you with stuff you have in your closet after a day because it's a way he relaxes, seeing you dolled up and pretty, as it's tiring for you, since you have to take off so many heavy gold, diamond, gemstone and silver and other jewellery.

✤ It won't be too long before you do get pregnant, if you want NSFW headcanons...that's another thing, request it and maybe I'll do it. Maybe add in some scenarios for this too, fluffy ones though.

✤ But seriously, you do get pregnant pretty quickly, cause man he's a..how to say, he desperately insatiable guy and he thinks you'd look gorgeous while pregnant, and have children with your looks who he thinks will be absolute beauties on earth.

✤ During his and Bahubali's coronation, you calmed his nerves and told him it's fine to be a commander of arms right beside the emperor too and Bahubali thanked you immensely for it that his relationship with Bhalladeva was healed and not torn apart for the throne. He took the oath as Devsena made you sit with her, since she was cooing to your pregnant belly the entire time and congratulating you

✤ Speaking of Devsena, you and her literally become best-friends, especially after her and Bahubali's marriage and she gets pregnant not too long after you, brothers are not so different after all.

✤ But before she was pregnant, she gifted you so many things and you gifted her so many things from your empire, Heranshi as well. You and her took so much time with each other that after a while the brother's got jealous of each other's wife for having so much attention of their wife on the other's wife...yeah..

✤ Overall, pretty cute marriage, he's head over heels, loves you, obsessed with you, kills for you, dies for you, decorates you and loves your kids a lot.

© This writing work belongs to me, swxrxgini, Aurelia, Rosilabeth, Cerine, kiara. Reblogging is appreciated, but plagiarizing or copying my works is forbidden, thank you for reading this and if you like this check out my blog!

[honey-minded-hivemind]

To give a small update, I've been making jewelry the past few days with pearls and necklaces with repurposed charms/earrings. It's pretty fun, to be honest. Has anyone here ever made jewelry before? A few relatives of mine used to make jewelery and sell it/gift it to people as a side job/hobby. It might just run in the family😅 This being said:

Imagine a Reader who makes jewelry...

Necklaces, chokers, bracelets, earrings, rings, anklets, you name it, they can and will make it.

Picky about your beads? Never fear! They have TONS of them! Bags and boxes and crates full, some repurposed from old pieces, some brand new, some from thrift stores or craft sections, it's all there! You like a certain color but want a gem for it? Reader has you covered! Amethyst, crystal, pearl, amber, fluorite, tiger's eye, garnet, pyrite, obsidian, etc. ! You want something more down-to-earth? Reader can do that, too! Wooden beads in all shapes and sizes and shades, crafted glass beads in different flora and fauna or abstract forms, even charms of metal and plastic and ceramic, if that's your style!

The platonic yamderes would definitely ADORE whatever Reader themed after them! A pair of earrings with lighting bolt charms and cloud puffs after Storm, complete with a weather-inspired necklace full of little cloud puffs and sun beads and rain crystals? She'd model it for you if you wanted! You want to make an entire cottage-core themed bracelet set with frogs and toads and mushrooms? Toad would love to be your muse, so you can capture their essence! You used animal bones and rough stones based on how Wolverine and Sabretooth are? Ohhhhh honey, they'd be supplying you with any bones you want, all while seeing how it looks on them. Point is, if you have ANYTHING that is based on or themed after any of the mutants, they are so going to be taking a look and talking about it!You want to sell your jewelry? They're your hype men. You need to find customers or a crowd who enjoys your craft? Surprise, the entire superhero, supervillain, and mutant communities are informed about it, and suddenly you have a steady stream of buyers. Oh, someone wants to show them in a gallery or show? They'll be pushing people towards your masterpieces, all while talking about the artist, who they know personally (you). You can bet the mutants who have some money tucked away buy the entire collections that are based on/themed around them (and they are NOT cheap when it comes to buying every last piece centered on them).

You can bet yourself that the platonic yans would be all for you and your craft, no matter the cost or trials it brings. H*ck, they're probably funding/donating to your art at this point, making sure you're never out of jewels, beads, threads, wires, metals, or jewelry pliers. If you need an extra hand with something, you have several willing volunteers. You need a new muse? Sign them up, they'll do all sorts of stuff with you to give you that inspiration you crave. You need a break from working too hard? Sit down, have some tea or coffee or orange juice, and let them help you wind down. They love you, and they love what you do, but they won't have you stretching yourself thin just to make ends meet. If you need anything, say the word and they'll be there. You've always been a pal, a friend, a sibling, or kid to them; let them repay the favor. You're their jewel, their gem, their lucky charm, and they wouldn't ever want to let you down.

(Should I make a post about the type of jewelry/sets/collections each X-Men Evolution character would have made by Reader based on them and their theme/colors/powers?)

[rainisawriter]

I saw your requests are open and I have a request for murayama🐥 If Murayama's girlfriend prefers her love language to him by writing poetry for him and giving small gifts (like a simple drawing,painted stone,necklace and etc.) A girlfriend who is a little afraid of contact in a relationship What would he be like in this relationship? What would he think of this love language Headcanon or oneshot is not important to me, can you write something about it＼ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ／

Genre: Fluff, slice of life

Word Count: 2,461

A/N: Let me just say that this is the best banner I’ve made in a while lol I really like it. Also, I realized halfway through this request that you wanted them to be dating already but I was in too deep to fix it T_T)/ I hope you don’t mind and I hope you still enjoy this~

━━━━━━༻☔༺━━━━━

The first time you met Murayama Yoshiki, you knew that he would become an important person in your life. Maybe you didn’t realize that he would become the love of your life, but you knew he would be important. There was just something about him that drew you in, like a fish unable to escape a whirlpool. Though, part of you wasn’t so sure you wanted to escape.

In the beginning, you weren’t sure how to get his attention but you knew you wanted it. You couldn’t just come out and say that you thought he was cute, so you did what you do best – you wrote him a poem and made him a bracelet to go along with it. Neither were anything fancy, but they had come from your heart and you hoped he would be able to sense that.

You couldn’t just waltz up to him and give it to him, though. He was the leader of Oya Koukou, always surrounded by guys who would lay their lives down for him. You didn’t feel quite so comfortable stepping into Oya, either, so you took a less direct route.

“Can you please give this to Murayama-san?” you smiled brightly, holding out the small box containing the two items, along with some cookies you had bought from the store. It was secured with a blue ribbon so the contents wouldn’t spill out.

Furuya and Seki exchanged a look, clearly unsure of how to feel about this situation. No one had ever been brave enough to come up to them unless they were looking for a fight and you were looking at them without fear. Rather, you were looking at them with kindness which caught them off guard. Oya students were never looked upon with kindness.

“Um…” Furuya cleared his throat, glancing at his friend before slowly taking the box from your hand. “Sure…”

“Thank you very much!” You smiled brightly, bowing to them before turning and rushing away.

The two men watched you blankly until you turned the corner.

“What if it’s a bomb?” questioned Seki, taking a step back.

Furuya scoffed, smacking him atop his bald head. “Don’t be an idiot.”

When Furuya finally presented the box to Murayama, the younger male wasn’t entirely sure how to feel. He assumed it was just a challenge letter or another glitter bomb. The latter made him pause in opening it, dark eyes shifting to the couch he sat upon. He was still finding glitter stuck to the fabric after the last one he had received and that was over two months ago.

With a scowl, he decided to head outside in order to open it, not wanting to have to clean up the mess again if it really was a glitter bomb. Not that he had actually put in any work the last time – it was mostly Furuya and the lower ranking among the part-timers.

Safely outside, he tugged the ribbon, letting it fall to the ground. When he lifted the lid, he could only blink at the contents, clearly confused. He reached for the neatly folded paper first, convinced that it just had to be a challenge letter, but it wasn’t. 

He certainly wasn’t the brightest kid at Oya, so the poem left him scratching his head, though he’d be lying if he said it didn’t elicit a warm reaction from within him. The bracelet was made of brown rope with a baseball charm in the center, surrounded by two blue beads on either side of it. 

The bag of cookies was snatched from the box by a grinning Seki but they were quickly taken back by the younger male, a scowl on his lips. His dark eyes fell on Furuya. “Oi, where did you get this?”

The tall man shrugged a shoulder. “Someone asked me to give it to you.”

“Who?”

“I didn’t get their name…”

Murayama exhaled in annoyance, his eyes returning to the poem. He wasn’t sure why, but every time his gaze slid across the words, it awoke a fluttering feeling in his chest. Though the full meaning was lost on him, he could understand a part of it. Whoever had written this clearly felt strongly about him, he could feel it in every stroke of the pen.

“Find them,” muttered Murayama, making the two older men exchange a look of surprise.

━━━━━━༻☔༺━━━━━━

“There, it’s done!” you grinned brightly, setting the paint brush down onto the table. Your hands and apron were covered in various colored paints but you didn’t mind – it was part of the creative process, after all! Sitting before you was the completed canvas, the colors vibrant and warm.

“Woah, that looks amazing,” commented your best friend. “Who is he?”

“Murayama Yoshiki.” The name felt nice on your tongue and you smiled warmly, admiring his silhouette in front of the school he adored so much. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“He better,” she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest. “Any guy would be lucky to receive this as a gift.”

“Thank you,” you nodded proudly. “I think it’s my best work!”

“When are you going to -”

The doors of the art room were thrown open, causing both of you to whip around in surprise. Your friend looked terrified, her body tensing up as she slowly backed away.

You slowly stood up from the stool, blinking at Furuya and Seki. “What are you two doing here? How did you even find me?”

Your friend looked at you in shock, leaning toward you and hissing, “You know these two?!”

“Not personally, no,” you replied nonchalantly, shifting to the side so they wouldn’t see the painting.

Furuya stepped farther into the room, glancing around and wrinkling his nose. When was the last time he had been inside a classroom that wasn’t destroyed? Elementary school, perhaps? It felt strange to him.

“Murayama sent us to get you.”

Your eyes widened, heart skipping a beat. “W-What for?”

Your friend’s voice shook as she stepped toward you, fingers curling around your arm. “Y-You can’t just… just walk in here and kidnap people!”

“Hah?” His eyes narrowed at her, his tone enough to make her flinch.

“It’s okay,” you told her softly, offering her a reassuring smile and a pat on the hand. “They won’t hurt me.” ‘I hope,’ you found yourself thinking.

“Are you sure…?”

“Yes.”

“Come on, we don’t have all day,” scowled Furuya, though his voice lacked its usual bite. “We’ve been looking for you for hours and we’re hungry.”

“Sorry for the trouble,” you apologized. “Just one moment, okay?”

He watched you closely as you gathered your things and he didn’t miss how you hid the canvas from him, carefully wrapping it up with brown paper. You felt nervous as you followed the two large men from the school, hyper aware of the strange and terrified looks of your classmates. 

The worst your school ever saw was someone kicking the vending machine because their snack got stuck, so seeing these two obvious delinquents had everyone on edge, especially since you were following them. You kept your head high, though, smiling brightly to let everyone know you were okay. You hoped they wouldn’t sense your nervousness.

Arriving at Oya put you even more on edge because everyone was watching you, sizing you up to see if you were a fit challenge for them. You had no doubt in your mind that if Furuya and Seki hadn’t been with you, they wouldn’t have hesitated to attack you. As someone who couldn’t fight to save your life, you found yourself walking closer to Furuya for comfort.

The boys led you into the gym where Murayama was waiting, lying across the couch and tossing a ball into the air before catching it. Several groups of guys were scattered throughout the gym, all of whom looked at you with suspicion and confusion as you were led to the stage.

“We’re back!” announced Seki with a grin.

Murayama caught the ball, moving his head to the side. His eyes locked with yours and you felt your breath catch in your throat. You had seen him so many times before this, but it was always from a distance and never up close. Had he always been this pretty?

He slowly sat up, his feet pressing against the floor as he watched you. He lifted his hand, motioning for you to come closer but you were rooted to the spot, unable to tear your gaze away from those dark pools.

Furuya gave your shoulder a gentle shove, knocking you from your daze.

You clutched the painting to your chest as you slowly stepped closer, gaze on the ground in front of you.

“Oi,” called Murayama, his tone softer than you had expected. “Why did you give me these?”

Glancing up, you saw him holding the poem you had written. The bracelet was secured around his wrist, bringing a bright grin to your lips. “You’re wearing it!”

He tilted his head to the side. “That’s usually what people do with bracelets, yeah?”

“Yes, I just… I thought you might have thrown it away,” you admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. “I’m really happy you kept it.”

Why was his heart picking up speed? He wasn’t sure, but it made him feel vulnerable and he didn’t like feeling that way. His eyes flickered to the brown package held protectively against your chest. “What’s that?”

You felt warmth flood your cheeks, grip tightening around the painting. Yes, you were quite proud of what you had created but… were you read to show it to him? Giving him the poem was easy because you weren’t there to see his reaction. If you showed him the painting now, you wouldn’t be able to avoid it if he didn’t like it. 

“It’s, um… it’s nothing! Just a school project,” you lied, laughing nervously.

Furuya scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. “It’s a painting.”

“You saw it?!” Your wide eyes snapped to him and he smirked.

Murayama’s eyes narrowed at the two of you, feeling jealous that Furuya knew what it was when you refused to show it to him. Clicking his tongue, he stood up and jumped down from the stage, closing the distance in just a few strides. He reached toward you without thinking and you winced, taking a step back.

His brow furrowed, hand falling back to his side. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No!” You replied quickly, shaking your head. “Sorry, I’m just not very good with being touched.”

“Oh.”

You nodded, biting your lower lip in thought. After a moment of silence, you slowly held out the painting. “I made this for you, Murayama-san. I hope you like it.”

His heart skipped a beat at how cute you are and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to be receiving a gift from you. He took the package, careful not to touch your fingers as he did so. He tugged away the brown paper, dark eyes scanning the canvas.

You watched his expression carefully, but he remained stoic, causing you to bite your lip again. “You probably don’t like paintings, huh? I didn’t really think about it, I’m sorry.”

Though his face remained blank, there was a war zone going on inside of him. He was absolutely touched by the painting you had done of him. He was touched by the bracelet and the poem. He couldn’t remember a time he had felt happier, though he knew taking over Oya was a close second.

“I love it,” he breathed out, eyes shimmering with sincerity as he stepped closer to you.

A bright smile came to your lips and he was sure it had just brightened the room. “I’m so glad!”

“Why are you giving me these things?” Murayama was dumb, but he wasn’t that dumb. He had a good idea of the answer, but he wanted to hear you say it. He wanted to be sure.

“Ah, well…” you rubbed the back of your head, cheeks warming. “I really like you, Murayama-san.”

“Yoshiki. Call me Yoshiki.”

You felt like you were going to burst with happiness. “Yoshiki-san, then.”

He adored the way his name sounded coming from you and he wanted to hear it again. His mind was racing as he tried to grasp onto the words he wanted to say. He just wanted to ask you out on a date, it couldn’t be that hard! Yet the words continued to escape him, much to his frustration.

“Yoshiki-san?”

“What?”

You hesitated for a moment. “Will you…”

His heart skipped a beat. Were you about to ask him out?

“…look at the painting tonight? In the dark, I mean.”

His heart dropped, a frown tugging at his lips. “Why?”

“Please?” You pressed your hands together, giving him a pleading look that he couldn’t being himself to say no to.

“Fine.”

“Thank you!” You glanced at your watch and clicked your tongue. “I have to go, but don’t forget, okay?”

Before he could utter a word, you turned on your heel and rushed away. Murayama’s frown deepened as he looked at the painting. What was so special about looking at it at night? It made no sense.

Then again, nothing about this situation made any sense to him.

That night, he waited for the sky to darken before he slipped away from the gym, painting in hand. He headed into an empty classroom, not turning on the light and nearly tripping over a desk lying on the floor. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, kicking it out of the way.

It was then that something caught his eye. Something was glowing a faint green in the darkness. He slowly lifted the painting, squinting at the words. Painted in the bottom corner with glow in the dark paint were the words, will you go out with me?

He scoffed in disbelief, the corners of his lips sliding upward. What a cheeky little thing you were! 

To him, you were strange. He didn’t understand poetry or painting or making bracelets. He didn’t understand why you liked him or how you had come to do so, but he admired the fact that you had approached Furuya and Seki without fear. 

You didn’t look at any of them with disgust or fear, just kindness. People were always quick to judge those at Oya, and rightfully so, but they were rarely ever given a chance. You were willing to give them one.

Murayama smiled as he leaned against the window sill, the cool night air ruffling his hair. He could definitely picture you as the queen of Oya, as his queen. 

“I hope you’re ready,” he hummed softly. “Tomorrow, I make you mine~”

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[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Begged & Borrowed Time (xxii, ao3)

Chapter twenty-two: Hybern attacks Velaris, and Cassian is caught unawares. (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

All he could think of was that bracelet.

It had been two days - two achingly long, indeterminable days - and still all Cassian could think of was that simple piece of string threaded with glass beads, bought for a single coin from a Starfall market stall. The bracelet he had bought her had still been tied about Nesta’s wrist as she had stood there in that sitting room below the wall, the sleeves of her dress not quite long enough to hide it as it contended with that dull silver wedding ring on her third finger. 

He’d traced that bracelet with his thumb as the words he so longed to say got stuck in his throat— and they were still there now, trapped, like a splinter he couldn’t pull loose. 

I love you.

More than anything— I love you.

For two days, they’d been burning a hole in his chest.

He’d hardly been idle in the time spent since the meeting with the human queens, but still. Time had slowed to an almost unbearable pace, and the days had stretched endless even as the entirety of the Night Court shifted to a war footing. Illyrian forces were mobilised, camped throughout the mountains and waiting for the order to move, and Rhys had already departed for the Court of Nightmares a day and a half ago with Mor, to return the Veritas Orb and rally Keir’s Darkbringers for battle. 

And maybe Cassian imagined it, but it felt like all of Velaris was holding its breath. 

Waiting.

He sighed now, and as the moonlight drifted idle over the jasmine planted in the garden outside, a late-night silence crept through the hallways of the townhouse, where he and Azriel kept watch. Upstairs, Feyre Cursebreaker slept undisturbed.

Like a knife through the dark now, Azriel smirked.

“How’d Devlon take it, anyway?” he asked dryly. “The order to send men below the wall?”

His voice was a smooth rumble through the sitting room, breaking the silence as his head tipped back against the velvet headrest of his armchair. In his hand he swirled a short glass of whiskey, the bottle one of Rhys’ finest, raided from his cellar.

Cassian snorted in answer, the siphon on his hand flaring a little in the grey light. “About as well as you’d expect.”

Understatement.

Devlon’s exact words had been that the order was a ‘waste of time’, and that if war was coming, his men were needed in the camps instead of ‘going below the wall for the sake of two humans’. He’d sneered as he said the word human, like the taste of it on his tongue was an affront somehow.

‘They’re warriors, not bodyguards,’ he’d hissed. 

AndCassian had looked at the man who’d taught him to wield a sword and seen only Nesta’s face, heard her heart beating as the wind tore through the mountains. For her, he kept his temper in check. For her, he let only his face darken. 

‘Eight men,’ he’d ordered flatly, flexing his fingers before curling his hand into a fist. As if Devlon needed the reminder, Cassian kept his voice that of a general, stone-cold and darkly authoritative. ‘Four at each estate’.

To his credit, Rhys had merely nodded and said, ‘You heard him. Eight men, Devlon.’

His way of apologising, Cassian supposed.

When they’d returned to Velaris after the meeting with the queens, they had all of them been subdued. But Rhys had kept a hand on Feyre’s thigh beneath the table, as if afraid to let her go, and when Cassian had looked away - unable to bear the sight of it - he thought for a moment that genuine remorse flashed across his brother’s face.

Oh, how desperately he wished Nesta had agreed to come with them.

She could be here, right now. Sitting beside him in the armchair by the fire, Elain with her, all three Archerons safe and sound and warm. But he knew better than to hope, to dream. Elain would not abandon her engagement, and Nesta would not abandon Elain. Not yet. Not until she was settled— and how could he blame her?

It was one of the things he loved about her— the way she’d throw herself on the fire to save her sister.

The thought had an ache blooming behind his ribs, and gods, he wished he’d had the chance to tell her.

Because in that moment - when he’d watched her tears fall - he’d known it with such absolute, bone-deep certainty that his chest hadn’t felt able to contain it. She wasn’t just his mate. No, she was his everything, and he loved her, so completely that it stole his breath. And he’d been so close to telling her— the words had been just there, waiting to trip off his tongue, but Rhys had been hurrying him along and Elain had been standing by the window and no matter how much Cassian yearned, he hadn’t wanted it to be spoken like that— desperate and rushed.

No, he wanted to savour the moment he told Nesta Archeron he loved her.

Next time.

He’d tell her next time he saw her.

“Have you had contact with them?” Azriel asked, his voice pulling Cassian away from thoughts of silver-blue eyes and golden-brown hair and a scowl that could set hearts racing.

He blinked. “Who?”

Az rolled his eyes, a small smile pulling almost unseen at the corner of his lips. “The men you sent below the wall.”

Cassian cleared his throat. “We can’t all be daemati, Az,” he said airily, waving a hand to mask the fact that he’d been so consumed by Nesta - as per fucking usual - that he’d forgotten he’d been in the middle of a conversation. “But they know not to take any risks. To stay hidden. To send a report if so much as a branch breaks in the vicinity of either estate.”

The shadowsinger hummed. “Or face the Lord of Bloodshed’s wrath?”

A dark smile spread, menacing, across Cassian’s face. “Exactly.”

Az shook his head lightly, curious eyes cutting through the gathering dark and gleaming in the firelight. He canted his face to the side, the shadows at his shoulders skirting away from the glow of the flames as they alighted on his jaw. For a moment there was silence, a quiet hush where neither of them spoke.

But Cassian knew better than to think his brother had run out of things to say. No, when Azriel had that look in his eyes, Cassian knew he was merely searching for the best line of questioning.

Spymaster, through and through.

At last Azriel set down his whiskey, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. 

“So,” he offered slowly, his tone idle, casual, “Nesta calculated the number of ships they’d need.”

Cassian only looked at his brother mildly. “You’re surprised?”

Az quirked an eyebrow. “You’re not?”

“No.”

It was as simple as that. He hadn’t been surprised at all, and as he looked to the flames burning in the hearth, Azriel leaned back in his armchair, a rueful smile playing at the corners of his lips as he tipped his head back, dark hair stark against the velvet headrest.

“Rhys was. Did you see his face?”

Cassian shook his head. 

No, he hadn’t been looking at anybody else. Hadn’t been able to. Nesta had stepped forward and all he’d been able to see was her, like the rest of the world had been rendered insignificant the moment she opened her mouth. Az let out a soft breath of a laugh now, one of pleasant surprise, before his face turned somber.

“You love her.”

Cassian lifted his eyes. “Is it that obvious?”

Az smiled. “Yes.”

For the first time, Cassian let a smile of his own grace his face. It was wry and soft, like the most tentative and fragile kind of hope, and it was fuelled entirely by the thought of her— the woman he loved so utterly it might well prove to be his undoing. His eyes eyes flicked up to the ceiling, as if he could see to the floor above, where Feyre slept.

“I thought Rhys was going to kill me,” he said softly, the barest breath of a laugh slipping through his lips.

Az raised an eyebrow. “What, for threatening the queens?”

Cassian nodded as Azriel snorted. “He wasn’t exactly thrilled. Way to burn our bridges, Cass.”

You’ll speak to her with the respect she deserves, or you won’t speak at all.

If anybody touches you, I’ll be the one to start this fucking war.

With a roll of his eyes, Cassian could think only of how he’d take a match to those bridges all over again if it would erase that look of despair from his mate’s eyes. He’d burn the world to the ground and dance in the ashes if it meant that Nesta never had reason to shed another tear.

Idly he rubbed his jaw, thinking of how she’d pulled away from him in that sitting room, when the orb had finished showing the queens the city. He’d felt Nesta’s fingers slip free of his, like she couldn’t bear any of them to notice— to scrutinise the way she held his hand the same way they’d scrutinised Elain’s engagement ring.

Rhys was lucky that Cassian had only threatened the queens.

He curled his hand into a fist now, resting on the curved wooden armrest of the townhouse armchair. His heart ached behind his ribs, and as Az blinked warily, the light of the fire turning the glow of his siphon from the brightest sapphire to a darkened purple, Cassian didn’t know what else to say.

She had wrecked him. Laid waste to him entirely, and now all he was left with was the longing that weighed down his chest— made so much worse by the fact that she could have been here, sitting under the same roof, watching the same silver light gild the windowpanes.

But she wasn’t.

And he didn’t know when he’d see her again, when he’d finally get the chance to say those three little words that were still lodged in his throat. 

Weary, he shook his head.

“I’m going to bed,” he said with a sigh, rising from his chair. He stretched his wings, rolled his shoulders, and gave the windows one last glance to be sure they were all secure. Stifling a yawn, he clapped Azriel on the shoulder. His brother nodded, but made no attempt to move. 

Cassian didn’t push.

Az had never slept well, even when they were boys and shared a room together, and he’d learned long ago that sometimes the shadowsinger needed the silence and the darkness. They had all of them witnessed horrors over the centuries, but it had been Azriel who had visited the temples this past winter, saw firsthand the wreckage Hybern had left behind at Sangravah. 

So Cassian simply tossed a soft “good night, Az,” behind him as he reached for the door.

And with blue siphons glowing in the dark, Azriel nodded again and said, “Good night, Cass.”

***

As the afternoon stretched before them the next day, Cassian found himself walking the streets of Velaris with the new Lady of the Night Court.

He’d taken one look at Feyre earlier and known she needed a break. With Rhys and Mor away and Amren still sequestered with the Book of Breathings and no closer to a breakthrough in translation, their days had been spent doing nothing but training and preparing for war. They pored over maps of Hybern, ran through the numbers and checked all their supply lines were ready to be used, spent hours in the ring at the top of the House of Wind, and fell exhausted into bed each night. And as Azriel left to scout the coast that morning, Cassian had glanced up over the spread of tea and toast and known that Feyre needed something different today. Something lighter.

She was missing Rhys.

He could tell— just by the way she kept looking to the empty seat at the breakfast table, as if hoping he might surprise her and come home early. Empathy swelled in his chest because Cassian felt her pain, knew what it was to feel the absence of another so keenly it was like the sharp end of a blade, and when he’d thought of another day consumed by strategy… even he shuddered. So after their training he’d suggested an outing, asked Feyre what she’d always wanted to do in Velaris but hadn’t yet had chance. She’d mentioned the theatre, said it had been one of the first things Rhys had pointed out to her, and Cassian’s only question had been whether she wanted to walk or fly across town.

So they had just emerged from some old fae symphony and were headed towards the Palace of Thread and Jewels when Cassian found himself breathing it all in, savouring the wonder of Velaris before the threat of war could bring it all to a halt. The streets were busy, bustling, and music hung in the air from the buskers performing in the squares. A smooth, lyrical melody from a violin drifted towards him now, and beneath his feet the cobbles were smooth and polished. Above, the sky was a cloudless, unbroken blue.

They passed flower stalls and food carts as they wended their way towards the river, and the people smiled at him as they passed. They smiled at Feyre too, like they accepted her already, loved her already, and as Feyre smiled back, he could have sworn there was a soft, faint glow radiating from her as she walked those ancient streets. The breeze tousled her hair, the sun was reflected in her eyes, and when Cassian looked at her, he found it hard to believe that Velaris had ever existed without her.

When she noticed him looking, she nudged him with her shoulder.

“What?” she asked.

Cassian shook his head. “Nothing.”

“You were staring,” she countered with a raised eyebrow. 

He smiled softly. “Just wondering if you were supposed to be here all along, that’s all.”

Feyre shrugged, and gods— she looked so much like Nesta. That irreverent lift of her shoulders, the way her spine was straight and her shoulders held back. Velaris suited Feyre, but as the sun played on her hair, that perfect shade of golden-brown, all Cassian could think was… fuck, she reminds me of Nesta. It was a pang in his chest, a sharp and sudden pain, and Feyre’s face softened, as if she could tell where his thoughts had gone. 

Maybe she could.

Maybe he’d been too busy thinking about her sister to make sure his mental shields were up. If anything was certain, it was that he’d always be defenceless where Nesta Archeron was concerned.

Feyre cleared her throat now.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she began, her steps slowing. “About the promise you made my sister.”

Cassian kept his eyes straight ahead as they climbed the steps to the bridge spanning the Sidra. Feyre drifted to the side and came to a halt, her forearms resting on the carved stone wall as she turned to face the water. Looking out towards the sea, her eyes turned pensive. 

“It meant a great deal to me,” she said gently. “And it will have meant a lot to her, too.”

In another world, another life, he might have said, oh, I know.

But in this world, in this life, where he wasn’t sure whether Rhys had told Feyre that he and Nesta were mates, Cassian only shrugged and didn’t say a word as he joined her at the bridge’s edge. He certainly didn’t say that it was a promise he’d made her sister before, one he’d followed with kisses and touches that were less than proper. No, instead he remained silent and cast his eyes out to where the river met the sea.

Oh, Cassian had known Feyre had been surprised by the declaration he’d made in that sitting room below the wall. She hadn’t stopped stealing glances at him since they’d returned to Velaris, like she had a hundred questions to ask and just didn’t know which one to start with.

“She cares more than she lets on,” Feyre continued, and Cassian couldn’t tell where this was going, what point Feyre was steering for. He might have asked, but instead he simply let out a breath and mirrored her, resting his forearms on the stone wall. 

“I know,” he said softly.

Feyre blinked. “It’s just not— I mean, it’s something she hides. It surprised me, at the meeting. She comes across as vicious, but I think its a shield.” Slowly, she turned her face to him, the afternoon sun glancing off her jaw as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “She’s not… like Mor.”

Cassian frowned. He didn’t want Nesta to be like Mor. He wanted Nesta to be Nesta— all sharp edges, teeth cut on grief and anger. Because after all, wasn’t Cassian the same? At his most fundamental level, hadn’t loss shaped him as much as it had shaped her? Deep down, beneath it all, weren’t they the same— two sides of one golden coin? It was why he didn’t wish her to be anyone else, to be dulled or dampened or muted. Her vicious tongue excited him just as much now as it always had, setting his blood racing just like it did at that very first dinner, that first night, where she’d blinked in the face of his anger.

She was his, and he didn’t want her any other way.

“She will never love freely and gift it to everyone who crosses her path,” Feyre continued, a note of caution in her voice that made her words slow, considered. “But those she does care for… Nesta would shred the world apart for them. Shred herself apart for them.”

And fucking hell, wasn’t that the truth?

Feyre didn’t know how right she was, how true her words were. Nesta had condemned herself to a life of poverty and a loveless marriage, bound herself to a man who could any moment turn violent like his father, and all because she thought it might ease the burden Feyre had shouldered. 

Tension crept into his jaw now, the way it did every time Cassian thought of Nesta’s husband. Usually he tried hard not to think of the bastard at all, because it was difficult to fight the sudden urge to break something whenever he was reminded that his mate was married to another. It made him want to spill a ludicrous amount of blood, but since Nesta insisted that he had never raised a hand to her, and since she still planned on remaining his wife until Elain’s wedding… well. Cassian had to deal with it. But he thought of the fucker now, thought of what Nesta had given up for no reward, what she had resigned herself to when that wedding band had been slipped over her knuckle, and he felt resentment curl his stomach.

She’d done it in silence.

And Feyre still had no idea. 

So perhaps that was why he said it, why suddenly felt the need to speak it out loud. He thought of how Azriel had been surprised that Nesta had calculated the number of ships they’d need, and how she’d taken Rhys by surprise too, and— gods, had anybody ever noticed, before that meeting? How much she cared? Right from the start he had, but… had anybody else ever really, truly realised?

“I know,” he said again, sighing gently as he turned his eyes on his new Lady. “I knew the day the Attor attacked you in the woods. Even then I could see it— how much she cares, how much she feels behind those high walls of hers.”

He raised an eyebrow that seemed to ask, did you? And when Feyre avoided his eyes, he thought her answer might just have been, no.

For a moment there was silence, and then Feyre bit her lip. “Rhys… told me some things.”

Cassian stilled. “Oh?”

She hummed, lifting a hand to her chest, right to where Cassian knew she felt a bond woven tight. He knew because he felt the same, felt something taking up space and twining around his ribs, anticipating the beat of another heart, and as Feyre looked down at the water below, for a second he searched her face. 

And then movement on the horizon snared his attention. A dark shape against the cloudless sky, moving fast, indeterminable and indistinguishable. 

“About your bond,” Feyre continued, even as his eyes remained fixed on the dark blur in the distance. Birds— probably just birds. “At the cabin. I wouldn’t say anything of course, not before you tell her, but… I’m happy for you Cassian. For both of you.”

Cassian turned his head, found her smiling gently up at him, and with one tattooed hand she tucked a piece of hair back behind one elegantly pointed ear. He didn’t know what to say— thank you, perhaps? Or I love her, maybe? Anything he could come up with would fall short, and when he opened his mouth Feyre shook her head, patting him once on the chest. 

“Nesta is…”

But Cassian didn’t let her finish.

Because those birds were still on the horizon. Closer now. And suddenly he was leaning forwards and gripping the stone wall of the bridge so tightly his knuckles barked in protest. With one raised hand he silenced the new Lady of the Night Court, because—

Those weren’t birds. 

Not birds at all.

“Those aren’t birds,” he said aloud, deadpan, voice like gravel.

The water beneath them rippled, the surface shattered by a distant, dull boom that echoed through the marble streets. The very air seemed to tremble, to shake, a rumbling stirring the earth as Feyre looked towards the sea with wide eyes. Something was wrong. Cassian could taste it, feel it in his marrow, racing through him as he tapped the siphon on his chest firmly to bring out his armour. He didn’t take his eyes off the horizon as the leather spread across his skin, as six more siphons materialised.

And as the figures he’d thought were birds split apart, Feyre gasped, the sound one of shock and horror. Because oh, they were so much bigger than birds. 

A legion was headed their way, hundreds of winged creatures each the size of a fully grown man spearing through the sky. On the ground the people of Velaris had begun to notice, voices raised and hands pointing upwards as the winged force grew nearer—

Horror sluiced through Cassian’s veins.

Shit, shit, shit.

By his side, Feyre was gripping the railing with whitened knuckles. “You have to sound an alarm—”

Wordless, Cassian only pulled first one blade free, then a second.

“Get back to the town house,” he said firmly, holding both out for her to take. 

She shook her head.

“I can help,” she began, but Cassian glanced sharply at the army in the sky and pressed one of those blades into her hand, curling her fingers about its hilt. He wasn’t about to let her go defenceless. 

“Go. Please.”

Because Rhys would fucking kill him.

Slaughter him and make it slow.

If Cassian dragged Feyre into battle… fuck, Rhys would be furious. Not because he didn’t think she could hold her own, but because the sheer terror at the thought of her being harmed would have him throwing all caution and good sense to the wind. After all, Cassian knew he would raze everything to the ground if he thought of Nesta being caught up in it, and more than anything that was why he searched Feyre’s face and said, once more,

“Please.”

Because, fuck— he needed Azriel. He needed Amren. He needed somebody to get a message to Rhys, and— shields. They needed shields. Cassian looked at the people on the banks of the river, the citizens of Velaris. The vulnerable. Feyre gripped his arm, but before he could urge her to leave again, to tell her to send for Rhys—

The attackers unleashed their first volley of arrows.

A brutal arc of them whistled through the air, ash tipped and lethal. Where they met their mark, screams sounded. 

It was all Cassian needed to cast out a shield, throwing it as far as it would go. In a heartbeat Velaris was covered by a translucent ruby haze, a solid wall of power he held in place around the city. The winged attackers hurtled against it, slamming into it, and fucking hell, the strain. His power was not made for this— not meant to be cast so wide, to cover something as large as a city. But there was no other choice, and Cassian felt the impact of every single one of those creatures as they barrelled into his shield. They were close enough now that he could see them properly at least, make out the details he hadn’t been able to see before. He caught sight of grey limbs, of sharp teeth, and—

“The Attor,” Feyre breathed, gripping tight the blade he had given her. “They’re all like the Attor.”

Cassian swore.

The last time he’d seen the Attor had been in a dungeon beneath the Hewn City, the darkness pressing in as Azriel drew blood from strategic veins. Rhys hadn’t wanted it dead, and so as the beasts howled below, the Night Court’s spymaster had spilled only enough of the creature’s silver blood to leave it clinging to life— but it had muttered Nesta’s name, and Cassian had almost killed the damn thing.

He should’ve slaughtered it whilst he’d had the chance.

Should’ve known, too, in that moment, that Nesta was more to him than Feyre’s sister.

“The stone,” Feyre said now, her voice straining in her throat. She pointed up, at the arms of the creatures that now battered against his shield like a relentless rain, a siege hammer at a wooden gate. Their wrists were encased in stone, dull grey-blue gauntlets that had the Cursebreaker’s face turning ashen. “They used it on Rhys, it repels magic. It can—“

Again, she didn’t get chance to finish.

The creatures wielding stone punched through his shield, and Cassian felt the reverberation in his bones, felt it shake the earth beneath his feet. 

He swore again, more forceful this time, and threw another wave of power into that shield, redoubling it, strengthening it, expending every fractured piece of power his siphons could channel. The holes in the shield knitted back together, but it was weaker than before, and so many of those beasts had already made it onto the streets…

He gritted his teeth. “Get Azriel and Amren—”

Screaming tore the air, ripped right through the city, and Feyre, blade in hand, turned towards the sounds of terror and despair and—

Hesitated.

Fuck.

He needed to keep that shield up, needed it intact. But his breathing turned laboured as the assault continued, the creatures above trying to tear fresh holes in the shield he was so desperately trying to maintain. Every single blow was one he felt deep, and it was chipping away at his strength, at the power he could summon. Feyre looked like she was moments away from launching herself into battle, to find the source of those screams and save them from Hybern’s beasts, but Cassian didn’t know how much longer he could protect this city on his own.

“Go,” he ordered, and maybe she could hear the strain that was burrowing its way into Cassian’s chest, because this time… this time Feyre nodded. If it were any other time, any other moment, Cassian might have marvelled at the fact that he’d finally gotten an Archeron to listen to a fucking word he’d said, but—

He needed to focus.

Feyre turned and made to run in the direction of the Rainbow—

But before she could take so much as a single step, three of those creatures slammed into his shield right above them, clawing at it, and with those fucking stone gauntlets around their wrists— they ripped right through it, peeled it back like it was nothing but a gossamer veil. 

In an instant, Cassian had Feyre on the floor, her back against the stone wall of the bridge. Standing above her, he spread his wings. If he couldn’t shield her with his magic, then he’d shield her with himself, and those gauntlets couldn’t do shit against him. 

And then—

Screams, more screams rent the air as the creatures above began to cackle, a sound so horrifying it had Cassian’s blood growing cold. And even though he’d noticed that one of those creatures had been carrying something in its arms, he hadn’t known what it was, couldn’t tell beyond it being a shapeless, lifeless mass. But when it fell with a sickening thud, a hollow crack—

“Shit,” Cassian breathed. “Shit.”

Blood spilled over marble, threaded over pale stone, and impaled on one of the elaborate iron lampposts that lined the bridge… 

The queen with the golden hair lay lifeless, gore spilling over iron filigree. Cassian swallowed. They’d taken her eyes - her eyes - and though he was no stranger to bloodshed, this was something else, something far more brutal. 

With a chill, he realised that perhaps they had underestimated Hybern.

Feyre pushed out from behind his wings, and Cassian didn’t stop her. He was too focused on the creature that now perched on that blood-soaked lamppost. He recognised it— recognised the scars that crawled up its spindly arms, the remnants of wounds he’d watched be inflicted. The Attor stood above them, hands curling around the wrought iron of the lamppost, teeth bared and fingers slipping in the queen’s spilled blood.

“Regards of the mortal queens,” it hissed.

And then it lurched skywards, heading right to the theatre district they’d just left. Cassian snarled, funnelling extra power into that shield, stitching it back together wherever it had broken. It took everything he had, leaving his insides feeling raw and hollow, but there wasn’t time to rest, to recoup. He made to follow the creature, sword already swinging as he pushed away from the bridge.

But, fuck—

Feyre.

He half turned his head, but she shook hers.

“Go,” she insisted.

Cassian nodded sharply. “Go. Home.”

He didn’t look back as the Attor shot upwards, and he didn’t wait to see if Feyre listened to him this time. He only followed, glancing briefly down at the streets below. Beneath the screams, blood stained the marble and pooled between cobble stones. Somewhere across the city, something was burning. Smoke drifted up towards the sky, thick black plumes that blotted out the sun and gods— how had it come to this?

The court of dreams, the city of starlight, was mired in blood and darkness. 

The wards had been shattered, obliterated, and fucking hell, they should have known the queens would sell them out. He thought of the golden-haired queen, lying bent on the bridge, and fucking hell—

He climbed higher, keeping the Attor in his sights. Above them his shield still held, but for how much longer? It trembled with every impact, and as the Attor fled, the others in the skies swarmed, its ilk converging. Soon enough Cassian was surrounded.

He cut down the creatures in his path, slicing through wing and flesh and bone, sending silver blood raining down on the city below. The guttural cries of those he slaughtered echoed in his ears as he ended life after pitiful life, and though, swift, he cut them down…

When he looked across the city, the Attor was nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

“Cass.” 

Suddenly, Azriel was there, thunder in his eyes and blood on his armour. His sword was already slicked with silver blood, and as the spymaster raced across the distance between them, Casssian’s blade cut the throat of another three of those creatures.

“The shield,” Cassian roared.

Az nodded.

A blue shield materialised, identical to Cassian’s red. It spread out across the skies, and where it met Cassian’s, suddenly the two were meeting and melding and merging. Where the Attor-like creatures got caught in the middle… the shields tore them apart, cut through them as easily as the stone gauntlets had cut through Cassian’s solitary shield.

Lifeless bodies fell to the streets below, stone gauntlets rendered useless on severed arms.

And for a moment Cassian took a breath. 

Just one.

Because though the creatures in the sky were held back by the two shields, too many had already made it to the ground, were already running through the streets.

A boom sounded on the other side of the river, and Cassian knew it was Amren. He didn’t know whether Feyre had found her or if the chaos that had erupted on the streets had alerted her, but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. As long as Amren could hold the other side of the river, he and Azriel would hold this one.

With the shields in place and secure, Cassian turned his attention to the ground below. To the legion of creatures that were setting his city on fire. He landed back on the bridge, one knee colliding hard with solid stone. His blade was already out, waiting to spill the blood of the soldiers he found waiting on the bridge. There was too much red blood coating the marble, he thought grimly as he took in his surroundings. Too much, far too much, and it set fire to his own blood as he lifted his head, slow and purposeful and filled with the deadliest kind of anger. All at once the Hybernian soldiers on the bridge realised who was in their midst, and the fear that shuddered through them was palpable, rippling through them like the currents of the river below. With shrieking breaths and drawn out screams they turned to flee, to run for the other end of that bridge. 

But Azriel stood there now, his face cold.

And with the shields overhead preventing flight, and Cassian and Azriel blockading both ends of that bridge…

There was no escape.

He rose to his feet, silver blood pooling beneath his boots.

And, grimly, Cassian smiled.

The siphon at his chest, even drained as it was, still pulsed. That killing power in his veins still flowed, begged him to take life. He felt death standing beside him, waiting in his shadow, and as he drew his blade across the neck of the first of Hybern’s monsters, he felt a grim kind of vindication, a brutal and bloodthirsty satisfaction. 

At the other end of the bridge, Az was battling three at once with ease, and Cassian put down two, three, four—

The air was filled with smoke, with blood, with the distant screams of fae and the howling wails of enemy soldiers as they were killed.

Cassian spun on his heel, searching for his next mark. He was aware of Az and what he was doing, just as he was aware of each of the creatures in his vicinity. His senses were alight, alive, and the song of battle raced through his veins with every swing of his sword, every pulse of that ruby-red power that kept the shield above from breaking. 

And soon enough, the army on the bridge began to thin.

Hybern’s advantage had lain not in skill but in numbers, and those numbers were dwindling fast now. They were not bred for battle like Cassian and Azriel, not so used to the way it moved. No— they cut them down easily, swiftly, and with each resounding boom on the other side of the river, Cassian knew that Amren was doing the same. Hybern was losing this battle, and now Cassian wanted only to clear the bridge so he could get to the rest of the city— to the Rainbow, where even now he could hear the sound of screams and shattering glass.

Gods, he hoped Feyre had made it back to the town house. It was warded to hell and back, and there was nothing and nobody that could make it through the doors. He hoped, he prayed, that the Cursebreaker hadn’t found herself caught in the crossfire.

And then—

With an almighty crack and a slash of darkness wielded like a blade, Rhys arrived.

Frantic.

“Where is she?” he demanded, eyes wild. “Where is Feyre?”

Cassian spared a moment - just one - to thank the Mother that he didn’t know Rhys’ fear. He never thought he’d be grateful that Nesta hadn’t accepted the invitation to come to Velaris, but he saw Rhys’ anguish, the kind of paralysing, all-consuming terror that was almost painful to witness, and he almost fell to his knees in relief. 

Nesta was safe, below the wall, with four of his men watching over her.

For a moment Cassian was wordless, plunging a knife through the neck of one of those grey-skinned monsters as his sword cleaved apart the breastbone of another. He could feel Rhys’ fury. It was visceral, his terror so potent it was as thick as the blood that slicked Cassian’s hands. Violet eyes scanned their surroundings, searching only for Feyre.

“I sent her back to the townhouse,” Cassian managed at last.

But Rhys’ eyes were glazed, and Cassian knew he was desperately trying to reach his mate, speaking - or shouting - along the bond between them, searching for her mind through the tangled mess of chaos that Velaris had become.

And then Rhys was gone, hurtling along that bridge and down to the riverbank, his own sword swinging as he raced across the city to find the woman he loved.

The creatures were thinning, the mass of them beginning to slow. But gods, Cassian was tired. His shields were beginning to strain again, and it was too much trying to keep the entire city wrapped in his magic, even with Azriel taking half the weight. The blue light of his shield faltered too, and Cassian knew that at the other end of the bridge, Az was beginning to feel the bite of it just as much as he was. Yet Cassian continued to cut down their attackers, even as his muscles began to ache, as a headache started to throb behind his eyes.

And he kept that shield up.

Kept it going even as it flickered and trembled at the edges.

Until every creature that had tried to break it down was dead, until the streets ran with silver blood and corpses littered the marble pathways.

When all those around him were dead, when the bridge was clear and the streets around them were empty too, Cassian raced to Azriel. 

He had barely taken a breath into his aching lungs before—

“Holy fucking hell,” Azriel breathed.

His face was tilted to the sky, and when Cassian followed his gaze…

Feyre was up there, falling through the air with the Attor beneath her. With her bare hands she plunged arrows into its wings. Cassian almost winced. The creature’s wings seeped that silver blood, thick ribbons of it spilling out as the membrane tore and tore and tore, ripped apart as Feyre pierced its hide with those arrows. She was blood-splattered and hurtling towards the ground, and fuck— it was clear she hadn’t been back to the town house at all.

No, wherever she’d been, she’d been in the thick of the fighting, just like the rest of them. Some kind of wonder swelled in Cassian’s chest at that, a kind of pride. That was the woman his High Lord had mated, the new Lady of Night. 

And it was more than that, too.

She was Nesta’s sister.

He could see it in the way Feyre screamed in fury as she took the Attor to its death, her grim determination sealing the creature’s fate as they barrelled towards the ground. Cassian just hoped Feyre remembered to jump before she fell.

“Feyre.”

Rhys’ voice was a roar from the other side of the river. Cassian could see him now, running as fast as he could towards his mate, falling from the sky. Azriel was already airborne, ready to pluck Feyre from the air before she could come crashing down, but—

Right before the pavement claimed her, Feyre winnowed.

The Attor was smashed against the stone, but Feyre…

She materialised a handful of feet away, and seconds before a wave of Rhys’ darkness consumed the entire street, Cassian saw her sink to her knees, her back against the wall.

Like the Cursebreaker had no strength left.

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[watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees]

Burial Rite

Disclaimer: minoans didn't do human sacrifices as far as we know, otherwise this is mostly historically accurate (there's very little information available on minoans, since their writing hadn't been deciphered yet), all my info is from the archaeological museum of Heraklion and the tour guide that led us through the remains of the palace of Knossos

masterlist

word count: 3,3K

TW: human sacrifice, death, religious whump, historical setting and historical inaccuracies, waterboarding, restraints, stabbing, nudity (non sexual) bleeding out

The wind was strong, as it always had been near the seashore. The sun shone bright, not a cloud in sight, but the air was the perfect temperature.

Nashuja would have given everything to enjoy it. He had been locked inside a small room, with cool walls, and just enough space through the bars on the door to let the fresh air through and keep the temperature even.

A true architectural wonder, he had not been willing to believe in before he arrived. In the village he grew up, farther from the sea, up in the mountains, there were no buildings with double walls that reigned in the wind for the people to utilise and cool their homes with. The open spaces and windows sufficed, but not like this. They could never live up to the standards of the palace, the wonderful breeze that gave some reprieve from the scorching heat.

Nashuja had seen the palace from the outside, only once or twice in his lifetime. He was a poor goat shepherd, providing for his mother and sisters, entering the palace of Knossos had been an untouchable dream, before servants of the royal priestess came to collect.

He saw the men from afar, dressed in skirts adorned with blue and golden beads, with necklaces and bracelets clinking as loud and clear as they moved. Their hair was long, beautifully kept and oiled up curls that Nashuja could barely believe were real.

They told him to herd his goats back for the afternoon, and say his goodbyes. He was eager to obey the messengers of the palace. Of course he was, they chose him of all people to invite with them.

It was only when they arrived, after a long way of walking, when he realised something was wrong. The servants led him to the workshops and shut the door on him. He caught a glimpse of others facing the same fate.

The workshops were a complicated array of rooms and hallways, under the court and the throne room, away from the royal quarters. The size of the rooms could be extended by the removal of some wooden planks and doors, to accommodate multiple craftsmen working, but they could be cut off, into nooks like the one Nashuja was pushed in, to make them feel like a prison cell.

He didn't know what he did wrong, if he did anything at all. He had no choice but to wait it out.

He had no way of knowing how much time had passed, the sunlight didn't reach his cell so deep in the heart of the palace.

The servants came back for him later, they were silent, unwilling to provide any answers to his questions. They led him upstairs and out in the open, to the courtyard. The main building of the palace had five floors at it's highest point. There was an impressive set of alabaster stairs leading down on the other side of the yard, beautifully decorated, both servants and people of high importance - Nashuja judged, by their heavily decorated clothing - were rushing around. As the servants led him towards a gate, he overheard that it was the king and the queen's quarters at the bottom of the alabaster stairs.

He was led past the throne room, a surprisingly simple hall, with red walls and a stone chair in the middle, now empty.

Only upstairs did he notice the strange build of the palace, thick wooden beams, that spanned the entire width of walls gave support to the large stone bricks it was built with. Nashuja had to wonder how the stone didn't crush the wood, but the building stood sturdy, and it survived hundreds of earthquakes sent by the gods to test its strength.

They led him into a large dining hall. There were heaps of the most delectable foods the poor young shepherd could imagine.

"Eat!" the servants instructed coldly and left him there. He wasted no time rushing to the table and started eating whatever he could grab. He found fresh bread and baked lamb, there were all kinds of fruits and vegetables, some of which Nashuja had never seen before. He'd left those alone.

He jumped and whipped around with a shriek when his back was touched. A woman stood behind him, who he was too preoccupied with the food to notice entering. She wore the same decorative clothing as the other servants, but more elegant, with more jewelry. She must've stood above them in status.

"Stop that, boy, you'll be of no use, if you get sick" Her words were harsh, her soothing deep honey tone did nothing to soften them. She was right. He didn't think he ever ate this much in his life. But he looked back at the piles upon piles of delicacies longingly, easily losing his focus on the newcomer.

"Alright, just eat slower, then" she sighed "You still have plenty of time"

"What am I here for?" Nashuja asked between two careful bites of the lamb.

"I can't answer that, the priest will tell you what you need to know" she answered flatly.

"I thought" Nashuja gulped down a chalice of wine he poured himself to wash the first overly excited bites down "It was the high priestess, I would be here for?"

"A misunderstanding" she waved a hand dismissively.

She let him finish his meal, and led him out of the room, to a lower level, behind the throne room, there was a pool.

"Cleanse yourself well, I'll be back for you" With that she left.

Nashuja dipped a hand in the pool before he undressed and submerged himself fully. It was the perfect temperature, he didn't feel as cold as he did in the cell and he soothed the scorching heat of the sun that was a constant in these warm summer days.

He didn't know what was expected of him, still, the rich meal and bath led him to believe everything was going just fine.

The woman came back and took the pile of clothes he folded neatly in her hand.

"Get out! The priest is ready for you" she announced. Nashuja climbed out of the pool reluctantly, and stood in front of her covering his privates with both hands.

"My clothes-?" he asked cautiously. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself everything was alright, ever since she told him it wasn't the high priestess they were taking him to he had an odd, worrisome feeling.

"You don't need them" His stomach dropped. "You will get your ritual garments. Follow me"

He became painfully aware just how much he ate beforehand, though he was sure the nausea he felt wasn't entirely the result of that.

The servant led him to a door, through dark and complicated halls, off towards the side of the palace, where the labyrinth of workshops were, but a floor higher. She knocked three times, and told Nashuja to wait.

The heavy wooden opened up with a loud screech, and Nashuja found himself staring at a man, in white and blue embroidered garments. He was slightly taller than the shepherd boy, though not as tall as a greek. He wore his hair in long waves adorned with gold beads and a myriad of colourful semiprecious stones.

"Don't be scared lamb, come on in" he stepped away from the doorway and let Nashuja step in. The door closed from the outside with a loud bang that made him flinch. He was still naked, a large contrast with the noble he stood in front of. Heat rose to his cheeks as he tried to make himself as small as possible under his searching gaze. The way the priest watched him shook him to his core and he had no idea why. He just stood there with a warm smile, covered in all sorts of symbols of the goddess.

Nashuja finally managed to rip his gaze away from the man and looked around. The room was spacious, but not as big as the dining hall had been, off to the side he saw a large bathing tub filled almost to the brim with some liquid, that looked a lot like oil, infused with herbs and flowers. In the middle of the room, another clay larnake with it's lid on the ground next to it. Across from the tub there was a table, with burning incense, and an array of flasks and jugs.

Nashuja swallowed eyeing, what seemed to be the centerpiece. He had never seen a casket such as this one. It was ornately decorated with a painted ship on the side, to wish the deceased a safe journey to the other side. Only those in the highest ranks had the privilige to be buried in one of these.

He peered over the side and was glad to realise the larnake was empty.

"Don't be so scared, lamb" the priest repeated and placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him towards a chair he had not noticed before by the tables. It was the darkest corner of the otherwise well lit room, but there were no windows and torches could only do so much.

"Sit" he pushed him down by the shoulder, and grabbed a pile of shiny golden chains from the table before he knelt down in front of Nashuja, and grabbed his hand. The young shepherd noticed in time what was about to happen and he bolted past the priest, almost knocking him over to try and open the heavy wooden door. It wouldn't budge. He hit and scratched at the sides trying to find a lock or an opening mechanism.

He didn't need to look back, to know the other man had stood up, fixed his garments and jewelry. It was defending in the horrible silence. He couldn't get out.

He felt the priest's commanding hand at the back of his neck, he was pulled away from the door and had to face him.

"I know you're scared, lamb, just sit for a moment, and we can talk" he explained with the endless patience only those of high ordnance could talk with "That door won't open until the ritual is finished. Don't bother with it!" he suggested sternly.

"What do you need me for?" he asked with a lump in his throat. He knew his lips started to wobble as he tried to keep the sobs, he felt coming at bay. "Who are you? Why am I here?"

"One question at a time, lamb, one question at a time" he waved a finger in Nashuja's face as if he were a child "I need a little help for a ritual, I needed a strong young man like you" he smiled, again warm, again accompanied by a bone chilling glint in his eye. He lifted the golden chains again. "This is for your safety, will you let me put it on?"

Nashuja shook his head. "Tell me who you are first, please your Highness"

"Good instincts, lamb, but there's no need for such formalities. Those should be reserved for the Priestess and the royals. It doesn't concern you, but my name is Jadikira. Will you let me chain you, now?" Jadikira asked with a soft sigh.

"No, sir" Nashuja shook his head again. He scanned the room for another way out, but he didn't see as much as a crevice between the pristine white stones of the wall.

Jadikira frowned, and reached for one of the clay flasks, next to the heap of chains and lifted it to Nashuja's chin.

"Drink this then!" His patience didn't seem to fade. The liquid inside smelled sweet, like honey. He had no way of knowing what it actually was, but the priest didn't relent, tilting the flask until the liquid touched his lips, and he couldn't help but taste it.

It was thick and heavy on his tongue, it slid down his throat without him meaning it to. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Jadikira placed the flask back on the table and grabbed the chains again.

Nashuja tried to wipe the remainder of the liquid off his mouth, and to his horror, he couldn't lift his hand. He tried looking up at the priest, but his neck was just as locked in place as his arms. A week whimper left his mouth, involuntarily, it was meant to be a scream.

"It works so quick right? I'm sorry, lamb, but I have to get these on somehow" he sounded genuine in his apology, but his excitement over the paralytic liquid didn't go without notice. He wrapped the chains around his wrists and ankles, tying them together. He still had no clothes on, and now he couldn't cover himself, when Jadikira pulled him up by the chains to stand.

Before the priest made him take the first step he regained control in his hand and just as fast as it took over his body, it disappeared.

He made a run for it again, but only got a step towards the door, before the chain connecting his ankles pulled taut and made him fall over with a shriek knocking into the heavy larnake in the middle of the room.

He swore he heard Jadikira laugh before he threw himself on his back trying his best to scramble back. The priest's expression was soft, with a tinge of disappointment. He didn't seem bothered by his attempt to free himself.

"It's a pity it doesn't last longer" he said and grabbed him by the chains again, and dragged him to the tub.

He easily lifted the young shepherd and lowered him into the tub. He stared at the priest with terror, not daring to move anymore.

"Don't look at me like that, lamb, you don't even know what's in store for you yet" he soothed and grabbed a sponge.

Jadikira started drawing circles on his back with the light liquid that filled the tub. Nashuja's best guess was that it really was oil. The priest washed him with it with careful motions, almost reverently while muttering a prayer, he couldn't understand.

With a sudden movement the sponge was lifted to his face and he flinched away. The priest just sighed.

"I need you to be pure, lamb, I have to wash your face" He shook his head even though he knew his wishes didn't really matter to Jadikira.

The priest grabbed a piece of cloth from the bucket where he kept the sponge and wet it in the purifying liquid. He lifted it out, with the other hand grabbed the chains connecting Nashuja's wrists and pushed them underwater so he couldn't buck away and put the cloth on his face.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't scream, his mouth gaped like a fish on land. He was sure he splashed out so much of the sacred liquid from the tub, but that was the least of his worries.

He felt Jadikira pour more of the liquid over the cloth. It stung in his eyes and burnt his nose from the inside.

"You brought this on yourself, lamb, stop fighting me and I don't need to do this" He had no choice. He reluctantly stopped kicking and yanking on his hands and the priest did let up. The cloth was removed from his face.

"What are you doing to me?" he asked, unable to hold his sobs. Jadikira just shushed him and wiped the oil off his face so he could see again. He refused to answer.

The priest brought the same flask to the tub and lifted it to his mouth again. Nashuja didn't fight the paralytic. He knew it would be over in no time.

The priest lifted him out of the tub and undid the chains as he lay uselessly on the ground. He seemed to whistle a tune that reminded Nashuja of a lullaby his mother used to sing to him as a child. He couldn't help the streams of tears that left a shiny streak on his cheeks.

When he could move again Jadikira stood him up and grabbed a pile of garments from next to the tub. It was slightly damp with the liquid all splashed on it. Nashuja cringed as he put it on.

It was a hateful feeling as the canvas stuck to his sticky skin. At least he had clothes on.

"I'll need you to say this prayer with me" Jadikira grabbed his hands and pulled him closer to the larnake in the middle. It was the brightest spot of the room. Nashuja didn't know the prayer but held onto the priest's hand as if his life depended on it and repeated word for word.

"Thank you, lamb" he let go finally, the shepherd boy's hands dropped to his side uselessly. Was this what he was brought here for? It made no sense.

He locked his eyes on Jadikira's face, scanned it for anything that would give away what was about to happen.

Nashuja didn't notice when the priest unclipped a bejewelled dagger from his belt. He moved too quickly for the boy to notice and buried it in his stomach to the hilt.

The young shepherd's hands flew to the handle of the dagger, he tried, powerless to pry Jadikira's fingers off it. His mouth fell open in a scream, but there was no sound coming out.

The priest relished in the betrayal on the boys face then gently pushed him back to sit in the coffin. He ripped the blade out, drawing a spraying splash of blood dirtying the side of the larnake and the floor. He frowned, it wasn't supposed to look violent. The boy was only supposed to rest.

Nashuja managed to lift his head enough, without moving and of his limbs entangled in a foetal position in the small space in the larnake.

"A-am I the- the ritual?" he asked weekly. Jadikira leaned down and smoothed out the locks that stuck to his face. The boy would slowly lose consciousness, he didn't have to answer. It was a dumb question anyway, something only a poor shepherd boy, who knows nothing of the goddess' ways would ask.

"No, lamb, the sacrifice I needed, is your pain. This is my mercy" The boy barely noticed as he got up and returned with another flask. It was smaller than the other one with the paralytic. He poured the contents of it down Nashuja's throat, who sputtered and coughed but didn't manage to get it out of his throat. This liquid tasted like nothing, it was light, almost as if he drank air. Only the forceful coughs and a slight sourness stayed where it hit his tongue.

"Shh, it's alright" he petted the boy's head gently, as his coughs started again, though for an entirely different reason. There was some blood dripping down his chin now.

"The goddess will take you with grace on the other side" He saw the blood starting too pool around his body, filling up the bottom of the coffin. The second liquid made his body helpless to close the wound, Nashuja will bleed out quickly.

Jadikira grabbed the first flask and made the boy drink some more. It was mostly out of habit, Nashuja didn't need the paralytic anymore.

He arranged the boy's limbs in the proper position for burial. His cries softened to pitiful whines and whimpers.

Jadikira muttered one last prayer and reached down to close his eyes, with a slow reverent stroke.

He put the lid on the larnake and knocked on the door five times. The servants opened it from the outside and four of them grabbed the clay box, heavy with the boys body.

The sobs and whimpers from the casket only died down when they placed it down in the tomb in the side of the palace.

Jadikira looked around for a moment, all over the food and drinks, all the gold and precious stones decorating the room.

The little lamb is the luckiest of shepherds. Noone in his village would ever pass to the other side as rich as he did.

[titan-god-helios]

pt1 of oddly specific things that give me gender affirmation/euphoria (that may not be that odd but i didn’t expect them so shut up <3 /lh):

wallets !!!! a good stereotypically masculine wallet that’s small and leather and still has lots and lots of usability and looks like something a dad would use makes me feel so masculine !! love it

any type of trouser or bottoms with more than two pockets

windbreaker jackets - they make me go “FUCK YEEAAHH im such a boy a man a male tm yessir” and idk why they just do tho, even the fem ones to an extent

plantssss i love plants and they make me feel like a little gardner boy just yessss

energy drinks for some reason ???? they make the internal man dialogue of “IM A MANNN” go haywire so much

hairbands on my wrist and an excess of those wooden beaded bracelets or even stone beaded jewellery

cross earrings but just bc they look cool (i’m an atheist so yuh, i still love people who have religion too, y’all are awesome <3)

doing the thing with your hair where you take hair from one side and flip it on the other with one hand and its kind of like running your hand through your hair but with long hair…. esp of my other hand is on my hip and i scrunch my face ?!?!?!??!? so boyish i feel so good

dancing like an absolute idiot. i dont know why but every time i just do a little jig for myself by myself my gender is just like “yessssss you’re a boy frfr slay king”

watches !! big chunky analogue watches

following on from the last point, clocks too

mushroomsssss they make the more nonbinary side of me jump for joy cause like “yes ofc im a fucking forest goblin dude i love mushrooms im just a goblin guy leave me alone and let me love the shrooms”

sketching in public. it just doessss

camoflague clothing !! i mean this was probably obvious but when i came out to myself and i wore camo cargo pants (with loads of pockets mind you) i just freaked out in joy i felt so manly that day it was glorious

singing !! singing my favourite songs as low as i can go with it still sounding good

just being as stubborn as possible but in a non problematic (for the most part) way. like if you give me the option to make things easier and more convenient or not i’ll choose the harder option. idk it just makes me feel manly (is this toxic masculinity ?? i dont know but i try to remind myself that this only applies to non mental stuff so i don’t end up self-harming againnnn)

being unnecessarily overdressed

not brushing my hair till its perfectly untangled and just letting it be a bit wild - this came with me figuring out that my hair type is waywayway wavier/curlier than i thought my whole life and learning to take care of it the best i can whilst i have like zero products for waves/curls on hand and as a bonus i felt more masc !!

looking at the stretch marks underneath my boobs in the mirror. i have a large-ish chest i think (DD cup), plus i’m a lil chubby, so i have loads of stretch marks around my chest, and the ones underneath look like top surgery scars, so if i’m having a particularly rough day with my chest dysphoria i’ll look at em and feel a bit better

using my stim toys and accommodations with friends and by myself for my autism and adhd - being capable of taking care of myself finally makes me feel really confident and as a result quite masc as well

stimming by flipping my beaded bracelets between my fingers - this is specific to greek and possibly other cultures similar to greece but it’s typical for a lot of greek men to flip long-ish beaded loops (?? they’re not jewellery and specifically made for this but idk what they’re called so) between their fingers in a similar fashion, and it’s a thing that my dad does a lot when bored. whether neurodivergent or neurotypical it’s a very common thing for men and so doing it makes me not only feel good stimming but also feel manly as fuck ! it feels even better now that my mum saw me doing it once and said “what are you a man ??” and being closeted i had to say “idc im just flipping a bracelet why does it have to be gendered” BUT INSIDE I WAS SO HAPPY

playing card games - when i was younger and even now my dad and grandpa would let me sit in on their card games late at night when we visited them in greece and now when i play card games i always feel so calm and comforted and quietly masculine

drinkingggg now hear me out yes im a minor but i’m also half greek so as a result whenever my parents drink im allowed a bit too (under supervision ofc). anyway that out the way, i have a pretty fucking high alcohol tolerance and considering the fact that it comes from my dad (being asian, my mum’s tolerance is dogshit) plus the stereotypical “men can drink more” stuff i feel SO MANLYYYY when i can quite literally drink more than my dad and feel okay whilst he’s starting to be tipsy (just to clarify though, the stereotype is bullshit and should NOT be perpetuated as much as it is, at least with intent. you guys with low alcohol tolerances are just as manly !! maybe you’re even more manly than those with high tolerance !! and women with high tolerances, you’re still very fem and very cool and valid as a woman and those who aren’t binary or aligning you are valid as your gender or as no gender no matter what tolerance you have <33)

caring about myself more. and i don’t mean in a “i’m gonna have a nice fucking bath and be happy about it” way i mean in a “i’m going to feed myself well, drink lots of water, get good exercise and be respectful to myself at the very least” way. and also in the bath way. baths are nice

collecting shit !! idk dude but having a collection of dumb shit just makes me feel so masc and good cause i swear to the stars nearly every dude i’ve met and stepped into the house of has a collection of SOMETHING whether it’s games, books, rocks, crystals, cookbooks and recipies or art supplies or whatever makes them happy. like legit fucking anything and i like collecting stuff too so its a bonus !!

just being nice. just being a nice dude makes me feel so manly

being silly and myself and doing dumb shit and being unapologetic about it (im still working on being able to do this since i struggle a lot but when i can it feels so good !!)

being stupidly loyal to something equally stupid /pos. like yes i have had this stuffed animal since the dawn of time no i will never get rid of her. she’s a genderfuck lesbian rainbow tiger from buildabear workshop who goes by the name of Roxy i will never get rid of her >:(. and so what my ring is so rusty it makes my skin green every three days ?? i clean it and take it off when it gets out of control back off bitch its mine. why are you so concerned about my shoes ????? fuck you i like them how they are (falling apart and dishevelled, the sole is halfway off already and it hasn’t been even remotely okay since three years ago) and they still fit and work so i’ll wear them until i literally cannot anymore. its so fun and it’s such a “just some guy” activity AND it makes my autism goblin feel safe and good too so its great would reccommend

just talking about stuff i like and that makes me feel good but not to anybody in particular. maybe in my notes, maybe on tumblr (like right now !! i’m doing this one right now !!) maybe on my personal dm to myself. it just makes me feel like a boy i love it PLUS i dont actually have to stress about humans on the other end of it so i feel way more confident and comfortable and as a result even MORE manly !!

ice cream on cones. i will not elaborate

travelling and exploring !! like legit anywhere. as long as i’m moving from one place to another and exploring the world i feel so happy and right and also masculine it’s great i love travelling so much. on holidays i enjoy the act of travelling even more than the holiday itself tbh

(to clarify i identify as male but a bit fucked in the gender - if you want a label i still identify as nonbinary but male aligningg <3)

[catt-nuevenor]

hi, sorry if this have been asked before, but do you have any refs/inspos of clothes that the characters use/is time/region appropriated for myrk mire?

(also, sorry if this question is confusing - english is not my first language :") )

Hi,

Your English is very good!

Clothing, this has proven a topic of flux in the development of the story. I'll include the original answers I gave concerning clothing style below, but I think it's about time I updated this for you all, as things have changed...

Original answers and historical resources concerning clothing:

Historical costume

Source Material 1

Where the world is currently:

I use a little source document to keep track of clothing, so for the most part I'll be copy pasting the text from that into the post. It's quite cliff notes style, but it gets the important information across and the reasons for various stylistic choices.

Quick terms breakdown for those not 100% up to date with the wider lore around the story.

The Four Shores is a collection of four realms containing Diota, Eard, Jǫkull, and Þinda, located on a collection of islands widely considered north of pretty much everything else. Eard is the realm in which the story of Myrk Mire and TBT takes place.

A Wealdend is a leader within the rulership structures used in the Four Shores, a male wealdend is called a Cyning, a female a Cwén, and nonbinary individuals use the Wealdend title itself.

The Riverlands is a separate region on the Southern Continent, with little to no political, social, or cultural ties to the Four Shores.

Falatu is another island in the north, but not a member of the Four Shores. They have sympathetic political and cultural systems, but maintain their own very separate identity in comparison to their unified neighbours.

The Eahtung is a ruling collective of skilled individuals who work alongside the Wealdend. More information than this would open up a deep rabbit hole...

"Warmth is everything to the Four Shores, so layers are favoured.

Rather than high necklines, shawls are favoured, these decorated with swirling patterns.

Lacking a clearly defined nobility, showing evidence of one’s craft or skill is favoured higher than material expense. A metal smith would display their skill by wearing more metal upon their outfit, a weaver a more elaborate hemming, a woodworker finely carved beads.

Amber is the sole reserve of the Wealdend, and should not be worn by anyone else.

All have their ears pierced, women both ears, men just one, others may choose. Rings are worn here, usually made of silver or gold, often times studded with gems.

Everyone wears stringed beads about their necks. These beads can be ceramic, wooden, bone, metal, or stone.

There is no shame in underdresses or tunics being shown.

Women wear linen underdresses, typically white, with woollen overdresses secured at the shoulders with preónas or brooches and lacing at the sides. The lacing only extends as far at the hips, and the overdress is either slit long these lines without further lacing, or it is one unified flair of fabric.

Men wear mid-thigh length linen undershirts with woollen overshirts that are slightly shorter. In colder months this is supplemented by a wraparound jacket secured by belts or ties. Men also wear trousers of ankle length similar to the Riverlands, but these are secured by fur, or cloth wraps up to the mid-calf.

Everyone wears calf height boots. In the winter months these are fur lined.

 Everyone wears belts.

Hair is traditionally worn long by all genders, and is braided back from the face and tied in horse tails or buns at the back of the head.

Hoods and hats are used out of doors in colder seasons, but it is seen as rude to continue to wear these coverings indoors as it implies that the host does not keep their home warm enough to be comfortable.

The finest of outfits are hemmed with embroidered banding, these vary from simplistic geometric patterns, to full scenes of foliage or animals.

Bracelets are seldom worn, favoured more by the peoples from Falatu, and rings are only really worn as a symbol of office, guild status, or position as Wealdend. The Tug Stone rings are the sole use of the Wealdend, Eahtung and the respective heads of each province.

The ruling families align themselves to animals incorporating them into their surnames, once picked, they cannot wear anything taken from that animal. Otherwise furs are used to line apparel for warmth.

Cloaks are not worn indoors for similar reasons to hats, but out of doors are acceptable, they range from calf-length to lower-hip length."

As for visual aids, I'm a bit lacking in those right now.

Basic rules:

Warmth and practicality are key.

Linen underclothes, woollen overclothes.

Head coverings for outdoor use.

Ear piercings for everyone.

Belts are the toolkit for all and hold pouches and exterior pockets.

I can do a bit of visualisation for weapons, though (surprising no one). The Four Shores use two main forms of bladed arms, the sæx, and the méce.

A sæx in this context is a short, single edged blade with a tapered point.

Image of the Seax of Beagnoth currently held at the British Museum. Image attributed to Wikipedia contributor BabelStone.

A Méce is a long single edged blade with a slightly curving profile. Wielded one-handed or two-handed, it favours a cutting sweep rather than a thrust approach. If you fancy seeing two chaps demonstrate the historical weapon that inspired this, the messer, I highly recommend this video:

The first section though, they later switch to different weapons.

Most important features to look at are the pin crossguard that sits at angle to the blade, how the single edge is used to advantage in the application of force, and the length of the hilt to suit the single versus two-handed approach to wielding it.

Anyway, that's enough to be chewing over, I think.

I'll keep an eye out for visual sources on dress and clothing, so folks have a clearer idea on all that.