#TAROT?? TAROT FOR KESTREL?

[soulmateprinciple]

answer some questions and i'll assign you a tarot card

BLAISE HARMAN.

RESULT: the tower.

where is the line between awakening and self destruction? is it thin? are you walking toward it? on it? already too far gone? there is nothing more disheartening than trying to find yourself, only to learn that you detest the person you've been looking for. can i tell you a secret? you are allowed to love yourself. required to, even. how can you go forward without it? make no mistake– it is not easy. but it is essential. you will get there, and it will be warm. / NUMBER: 16 /

UPRIGHT: sudden change, upheaval, chaos, revelation, awakening / REVERSED: personal transformation, fear of change, averting disaster.

tagged by: stolen. tagging: @cfaugust ( kestrel! ), @acourtcfmuses ( ash or james! ), @cosmicjest ( allison or zoe! ), @mult1aes ( katherine or faye! ), @bloodcrave, and you!

[practically-an-x-man]

What embarrassing things were your OCs into in middle school?

Ooh alright, that'll be fun!

Rae: Really enjoyed learning various languages, of course, and always has. But at that age, that translated to trying to "impress" her friends by randomly slipping into another language and laughing it off like she didn't do it on purpose. I mean... look, she was a seventh-grade girl in a town predominantly made up of mutants with interesting powers, she absolutely had her own little "quirky" stage to try and feel as unique as them.

Robin: I mean, she was a theatre/opera kid all her life. It's not so embarrassing as an adult, but as a kid it earned her more than a few odd looks.

Madison: I don't know that she really had anything super embarrassing? Maybe once her mutation came in, she ended up coping with it by doing a lot of research into tropical fish - never owned any, but she could rattle off their Latin names and fun facts like it was nothing.

Quinn: I think this was right when she was first realizing she was trans and didn't quite process it at first, so in an attempt to bury it she rebounded so hard in the other direction. She got obsessed with the fake WWE shows (it was the first "manly" thing she could latch on to) and knew all the wrestlers names, all their moves, etc.. She can still name them all to this day - and she's made a bit of money placing bets in pubs with that

Ophelia: Was always a bit of a resident weird kid for being so absorbed in engineering and robotics, but in middle school she went through a specific phase about robotic pets/animals. Not like a normal kid, though... she read Fahrenheit 451 and wanted to build the Hound.

Katherine: She was a hardcore comics kid, and had a whole self-drawn comic book of herself as a superhero. She made several full issues of it, with her bullies as supervillains that she would vanquish. Those same bullies eventually found it, so that one didn't really end will for her.

Jasper: Emo phase! Just... that's all I need to say about that one.

Nikoletta: Got deep into voodoo, but specifically the fake touristy voodoo (this later led to her running her scam in high school/adulthood). She also got a pack of tarot cards and would claim to do readings on her classmates, but she made it all up to "take revenge" on the kids she disliked by giving them "bad fates". She was... not popular in school, lol

(no answers for Kestrel, Indigo, Prometheus, and Eris since none of them really attended middle school)

[pacifymebby]

Something I love about Ben Howards music is that with every new album we hear another little story, a kind of diary entry updating us on the life of a mystery woman who lingers in his life like a shadow (but a good warm kind of shadow)

Like she's vague on Every Kingdom but shes there "with me always around me," shes ever present through the very fact that she appears to have been and gone, to be missing and lost somehow always just out of reach but never given up on completely, all the songs kind of hint to her lack, "Gracious goes the ghost of you..." "a ghost, a shadow at the most" "I'll grow weary, happy still with just the memory of your face"

And then on I Forget Where We Were shes so clear and its almost like he's given me a memory because I can see her there when he says "And as per usual, you were skipping and laughing, eyes at the bedroom door "Don't take it so seriously, no, only time is ours, the rest we'll just wait and see!" like he says he can't remember where they were, can't remember what they were talking about but I can, I can picture it all so vividly and shes so clear, this faceless girl laughing at the news, when he says, "Oh hey, I wasn't listening, I was watching Syria, Blinded by the sunshine strip. You, you were in the kitchen, Oh, your mariner's mouth, The wounded with the wounder's whip, And that's how summer passed away, The great dividing range, the green, green grass"

Shes so clear!!!

And then she just keeps getting clearer, always faceless but so real, dancing like a shadow through his memory

"Door is locked, My gums are bleeding, Outside she reads, Outside she's reading, The evacuation procedure out loud"

Theyre not particularly detailed lyrics but I think its the details he chooses to include, theyre so specific, so vivid you can't help but see the whole picture despite the lack?

"Should have known better, you were talking to the spirit kingdom, Fox, Hare, Kestrel skull, The movement large, the weather dull, Pick again until the cards can form our meaning..."

Like, with every album we see her in the middle of a mundane scene, shes giggling at the news, shes reading an evacuation procedure, shes reading tarot cards shes going "Down to the courtyard slinging, Last year's Sundays in the river of time..." "Down to the citadel Sunday, Red church bells and the moon on the rise"

"Out of town for the afternoon, highline flier blue air, you climb down to my station, "you should see the view up there." I'm trying."

Idk theyre all like little watercolour paintings, little impressionist flahses and flickers. None of them are full images but theyre so vibrant and intimate and I feel like I know that woman so well but really all I know is that she laughs at the news.

[bandofchimeras]

ayo its a me a kestrel, new url, come on in! tapes in the cassette player, waters on for tea, and the CRT is loaded with ur favorite GameCube games. also here's some grapes and cucumbers and electrolyte water. do you want a comic book? tarot reading? I'll be in the laundry room doing paper maiche make yourself comfy

[criticalrolo]

The Magician is the representation of pure willpower. With the power of the elements and the suits, he takes the potential innate in the fool and molds it into being with the power of desire. He is the connecting force between heaven and earth, for he understands the meaning behind the words "as above so below" - that mind and world are only reflections of one another.

[comparativetarot]

Nine of Coins. Art by Meredith Dillman, from the Woven Path Tarot.

[karasu8]

LOOK at this!  Isn’t it gorgeous??  This is a beautiful tarot card commission from @flavoredmagpie of my Inquisitor Kestrel and his love, Dorian.  The colors, the detail (see the peacock and kestrel feathers???), the EMOTION.  It’s beautiful and wonderful and I’m so impressed.

I picked the Three of Swords for the heartbreak and abandonment they both feel post-Trespasser in my fic on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11423880 

The two of them go through so much T_T  But it does have a HEA (at least it will once it’s finished - still a WIP)!

ANYway, @flavoredmagpie has been so pleasant to work with!  I would definitely recommend commissioning them <3

[triscribe]

Legacy, Prologue

“You must be joking.”

Tarot blinked. “Uh, no. What makes you say that?”

Despite wearing a helmet without moving parts, the white lenses that protected Goshawk’s eyes seemed to sharpen their glare.  Or maybe it was the dry tone of the deep voice that came out through a hidden speaker that conveyed the air of growing annoyance. “Isn’t your little heroic country club meant for super-humans only?”

*Ouch,* Golem muttered in her earpiece. Tarot resisted the urge to wince.

“Well, it’s true that we’re a bit lacking in the Basic human department - but that’s part of why we want to invite you and your partner to join!” She shifted to better angle herself to address both crimefighters, Kestrel crouched on the edge of the rooftop whereas Goshawk stood with hands on hips in the very center. “The fact that you two have kept up your work for six years now, caused visible signs of improvement in your city, and haven’t suffered any major losses or defeats makes you more impressive than half the heroes I know. The Collab could really use expertise like yours, and you both being Basic is just the icing on top.”

Kestrel’s helmet tilted slightly to one side, and after a moment Goshawk’s did the same. Tarot glanced between them, but couldn’t get anything from metal plates or white lenses. Her fingers twitched, and a second later the woman flicked her hands, going through the motions of shuffling a deck, which summoned her cards from the astral pocket where they usually rested. After a further few moments of silence, Tarot plucked a random card, glanced at the design, and then tucked it back into the deck. Five of Swords, mind games, hostility.

Goshawk’s hands moved from his hips to fold in front of his chest.

Another card, and Tarot glanced towards Kestrel as he hopped off the roof’s guardrail to lean against it nonchalantly. Page of Wands, newly inspired, excited about life and work.

As the two crimefighters properly faced each other, clearly sharing a private conversation through some sort of connection between their helmets, Tarot checked one last card. The Hanged Man, surrender, new perspective, enlightenment.

Two helmets straightened upright. “We, might, be interested,” Goshawk stated, in a manner that sounded more defeated than anything else.

“Would it be possible to get a little better idea of what we’re signing on with, thought?” Kestrel asked, bouncing on his feet. “Take a tour, read the pamphlets, meet some faces?”

Tarot grinned, dropping her cards back into their astral pocket. “Sure thing. Would now suit?”

“No,” Goshawk said immediately. “We have work to do right now. Tomorrow.”

“Morning, afternoon or evening?”

“Mid-morning. We’ll meet here again by ten.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Folding one arm behind her back, opposite going over her heart with a flourish, Tarot dropped into a neat bow. “Goshawk, Kestrel, a pleasure to meet you both. Good night and good hunting!” With that, the hand behind her back twisted and pulled, activating a card she always kept up her sleeve: Four of Wands, celebration, safety, home.

Blazing light obscured the world, and when Tarot next blinked, she was standing in the workroom of her house. “Did you get that, Golem?”

*Loud and clear, we’ll have a Skip waiting for the three of you at oh ten hundred tomorrow.*

“Excellent. And, make sure none of the louder idiots are around HQ, will you? Rumor has it the Legend City Birds don’t much like brash arrogance. Or Goshawk doesn’t, at least.”

*Uhh, that might be a bit trickier - Duke is scheduled for AM monitor duty.*

Tarot groaned. “Just what we need. If he tries to pick a fight with either of them, I’m tossing that moron straight into the Trench.”

*Preeetty sure Musketeer would have a problem with that...*

“Too bad. The worst she can do is stick me on detainment duty for a year, and I’ll take that over losing these two potential recruits because of Duke’s stupidity anytime.”

As she went to change out of her uniform, Golem voiced a perplexed question. *Why are you so hung up on bringing these guys into the Collaboration anyway?*

“Have you seen their stats? A twenty year low for their city’s crime rate, eight major supervillains captured and turned over to Con-Tain, three bio-terrorist plots interrupted and four major corruption cases cracked wide open? And that’s just the headline items - Goshawk and Kestrel could be giving lessons on investigation and ambush tactics to half our ranks for crying out loud, they’re that good!”

*Yeah... but aren’t they also responsible for a bunch of cop injuries and medical retirements?*

Tarot snorted. “In a city with a ninety percent caucasian police force known for discrimination and racial profiling when they first started. I don’t know if it holds true across the board, but at least a dozen of those cases of police injury were from the Birds intervening in what would’ve been lethal force used on unarmed suspects.”

*Oh.*

“Mm-hm. I guarantee any cop they hurt was in self-defense or to prevent a death. And! One of their corruption cases a couple years ago involved the LPD Commissioner himself, which led to a lot of turnover in the precincts, bringing in a record high of minority and women officers. Reported injuries from Goshawk or Kestrel have gone into decline ever since.”

*Well, that’s good.* Golem paused. *So, can I join your tour tomorrow?*

“Sure thing.”

-Legacy-

“This is a bad idea.”

“This is a great idea! The Global Collaboration of Crimefighting and Anti-Terrorism, June! The biggest name in international superhero cooperation wants to recruit us!”

Setting down her Goshawk helmet, June leveled a glare at her sister. “They want to recruit our diversity points. There hasn’t been a Basic human member of the Collab in three decades, Janae. They’re full of Morphs, Magi, and Mythics with a few Cosmics thrown in - people who think having powers is an excuse to play dress up and pretend to be world saviors.”

Janae sighed dramatically, flopping dramatically onto their couch with one hand holding up her Kestrel helmet as if it were the skull in Hamlet’s soliloquy. “And as ev-rybody knows, you hate being invited to anything purely so people can gain ‘diversity points’.”

“Hmph.”

“But June, just think how much good we could do! The Collab hosts all kinds of seminars to make their members better, we could talk about all sorts of things! Investigating, documenting evidence, determining the best people to work with from inside the district attorney’s office-”

“Not every crimefighter has to deal with the same issues we did,” June cut in, removing her cape and folding it neatly.

“But a lot of them could benefit from our experience! Think of how many more crooks in uniform we could help put away just by sharing our tactics, now and in future!” Sitting upright, Janae leveled a finger at her big sister. “And just think of what we could get out of it, too.”

June arched an eyebrow, undoing the clasps of her padded chest armor. “A whole bunch more noses getting stuck into our business?”

“No, you paranoid loser. Resources, databases, heck, even back-up from time to time. Having even just one extra set of hands to go up against Razore would’ve been nice, y’know.” 

Both women frowned at that particular set of memories, June’s hand unconsciously skimming over her side, where a set of four scars sliced their way across her ribcage beneath layers of reinforced armor. “We do fine as it is.”

“We really do not,” Janae huffed, settling back again. “You and me in the field with only four people to support us? And only three adults, at that. The Collab has entire sub-divisions of engineers, scientists, medics, you name it. Reinforcements like that would do us a lot of good.”

Tugging off her gloves, June frowned - a more thoughtful expression than grumpy, which Janae took to be a good sign. “...I’ll think about that. But tomorrow’s ‘tour’ will be the deciding factor - I don’t want us to join an organization that needs to be cleaned up worse than the LPD did.”

Her sister grimaced. “Yeah, alright, I can go along with that. Although-”

“We would not be in a position to clean house from the inside, Janae, not as the newbies being watched from all corners. And I wouldn’t want to risk them finding out our identities to hold over our heads as blackmail, not with Tasha and Aunt Jasmine on the line.”

“Fine.” A pause. “Where are those two, anyway?”

“Auntie left today for her old squad’s reunion, remember? And Tasha needed to head to bed early tonight for her class field trip tomorrow morning.”

“Ahh, that’s right,” Janae snickered. “And she begged us to not be at Lunar R&D at the same time.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Kyron’s working tomorrow though, isn’t he?”

“He is. And he’s promised to hold off on any embarrassing acts until the class is just about ready to leave.” A slight smirk tugged at the corners of June’s mouth.

“Oh good. I’ll have to borrow the security tapes to see what he comes up with.”

“You do that.”

[tarottournament]

An old sketch of Kestrel from over a year ago, on brown paper. Funny how the way I draw him has changed so much since then (and will continue to in the future)!

[witchywings]

less emphasis on 10s in tarot as single experiences, and more on integration. the ten of cups isn't necessarily just a community or "happy ending," as people often say, but bringing together all aspects of the suit: inner life, outer emotions, and so on. the ten of swords isn't about hitting a single breaking point, but all the types of struggle you've sustained catching up with you. and so on.

[nmsketches-blog]

The Swords Suit 1-10 Kicktarter relaunch this weekend!! I'll be posting the court cards for the swords and cups together tommorrow then the other suits later this week. The swords are birds of prey and the corvid/jay families #art #illustration #digital #autodesksketchbook #sketchbookpro #birds #tarot #swords #birdsofprey #stellersseaeagle #kestrel #hawk #falcon

[practically-an-x-man]

assign your OCs a tarot card? (just based on vibes if you don't know tarot? <3333 lol)

Oooh okay! Thank you for the ask!

(I pulled up a list with general meanings since I didn't just want to go in blind, apologies if any of these are incorrect)

Rae: Strength ("inner strength, bravery, compassion, focus")

Robin: Temperance ("middle path, patience, finding peace")

Madison: The Chariot ("direction, control, willpower")

Ophelia: The Hanged Man ("sacrifice, release, martyrdom")

Jasper: Judgement ("reflection, reckoning, awakening")

Quinn: The Wheel of Fortune, reversed ("no control, clinging to control, bad luck")

Katherine: The World ("fulfillment, harmony, completion")

Kestrel: The Hermit ("contemplation, search for truth, inner guidance")

Eris: The Hierophant, reversed ("rebellion, subversiveness, new approaches")

Nikoletta: The Emperor, sometimes reversed ("tyranny, rigidity, coldness") and sometimes upright ("authority, structure, control") (she actually practiced tarot and always pulled this as one of her cards, but it was inconsistent whether it was reversed or upright)

[doubleboyfriend]

Temperance, The Emperor, The World? (for the tarot asks?)

temperance: can you describe a strange dream you’ve had?

i don’t really remember my dreams that often, except for nightmares which i don’t want to talk about tbh. sorry! :(

the emperor: what are some names that you like?

bird names (quelle surprise!) robin, sparrow, raven, lark, kestrel, wren. shit like that. i’m nothing if not predictable, haha.

the world: do you like waking up early?

god no, if i had my way i’d never have to wake up before noon

[theaurorfileshq]

C R O W   F A L C O N E R - Q U I N N  /  A U R O R   R E C R U I T

AGE: Twenty

BADGE NUMBER: U99F87

BLOODSTATUS: Halfblood

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Trans Man, He/Him

IDENTIFYING FEATURES: magical warding tattoos, tattoo of a Kestrel over his heart, tattoo of a cypress tree on his right side, tattoo of a door surrounded by ancient ruins on the left forearm, Two tarot cards on his right forearm (The devil and the tower reversed). Red sunglasses, so much fucking neon everywhere, a pink acid wash denim jacket covered in patches.

STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

(+):  Spiritual Medium, Divination, Winning Personality.

(-):   Combat Magic, Overly Emotional, Flawed Decision Making Skills.

BACKGROUND:

Crow comes into the world first. It speaks to his natural inclination to rush into things head first, damn the consequences. He’s followed closely by Kestrel. Cooler, calmer and collected. She sticks the landing a hell of a lot better than he does. They’re inseparable from their first moments alive, because of course they are. They’re like their father and Aunt Athena, attached at the hip, two parts of the same whole. Crow is pretty sure that they never would have survived without each other, but that’s just because they’ve always been together. Objectively, either of them would have been fine as individual entities. Cypress Crow and Hades Falconer-Quinn were good parents, after all. Loving, kind, patient. So damn protective that it hurt.

They had good reason to be protective of their children, their twins, their bundles of joy. Maybe it had been foolish of them, but they never expected their own gifts to be passed down to the next generation. Their talents descended on them in subtle ways. Kestrel always knew what her brother was thinking. Crow was seemingly normal until he woke up screaming about the ghost who lived in his bedroom. He feels bad for screaming, later. She was a nice ghost, after all. She just surprised him.

The worry on his father’s face is clear, when the ghosts begin playing up. As far as Crow can remember, he always had a careful childhood. Slightly more careful than Kestrel, who took that little thing called Legilimency in hand with an endless kind of grace. Crow had always been the more delicate of the two, the one who was coddled and minded and fretted over. Even Kes took a turn in it, mimicking the fretful behaviour of their fathers as children do. Crow has to be sheltered, taught how to cope with the very scary things that linger in the world, the voices and the specters that might make themselves known to him. Aunt Athena and Uncle Sol crafted wards for him, delicate spellwork that would keep the ghosts away, as much as they could. It dulled them to the quietest litany of lullaby whispers, voices drifting by on the wind that could be easily ignored. He overheard Cypress, one night, talking about how he didn’t want Crow to suffer through the same things he had in his life, haunted and sleepless and fraught.

The thing is, Crow was always kind of a wildcard. He wanted to run fast and take risks. He wanted to be the center of attention. He wanted to take risks. More often than not, he got himself and Kestrel into trouble. Crow spends far too much time focusing on the things he isn’t allowed to do, finding ways to bend the rules as far as they’ll go, figuring out how to break them as best he can. He has a wild heart, he can’t be penned up, he chafes under the weight of worry. The ghosts are so carefully kept away from him that he doesn’t even realise how bad things can be.

He plays around with rebellion, in his teenage years. He smokes a cigarette, and coughs his lungs out, and makes himself keep going because Alexander Hernandez  is there to slap him on the back and give him a warm smile. He does things at school that he knows he probably shouldn’t, pulls harmless pranks and spends way too much time on his phone. Aster and Kestrel share long suffering looks about him, but Becca thinks that he’s funny. Lots of people think he’s funny. And isn’t that the most important thing? People like him, they smile at him and they share in his jokes, even though sometimes he talks too loud or laughs for too long, even if sometimes they might be laughing at him more than laughing with him.

He becomes something like a nightmare of a child, melodramatic and moody and unlikely to listen to anything that his dad’s say. During the summer before school, he really does fall hopelessly in love with Alexander Hernandez –– he’s seventeen already, and he lives in the old house by the graveyard, which is problematic for reasons that Crow doesn’t even consider. He laughs when Crow tells him that he thinks his house might be haunted, and kisses him until he doesn’t care enough to listen to any restless spirits with their whisper quiet voices. Looking back on it later, Crow will know that Alexander wasn’t a very good boyfriend. That he was thoughtless, and pushed too hard, and in the end left Crow feeling empty inside. At the time, it seemed like the end of the world when Alexander broke up with him the night before they went back to school. It left him heartbroken, tender around the edges, and he’d run away to Marleigh’s house to cry about it.

Sixth year feels like the time when a lot of things fall apart. Something about him feels caged and caught and stifled, when he gets to school that year. It makes him want to run too fast and take too many risks, it makes him want to push the boundaries and break the rules. His dads put up careful wards around him all the time, but Crow is foolish, and he’s pretty sure that they’re useless. It’s his own responsibility to keep them up as best he can, while he’s at school. He really doesn’t think anything bad will happen if he lets them drop. Of course, nothing but bad things can happen. Ilvermorny is full of ghosts, he realises. More than he knew. Not the blatant one’s, but the kind that linger in dark corners. The ghosts from the Hernandez house follow Alexander and his brothers around the school. Their mother and eldest sister. It seems like there are more ghosts than real people, sometimes, and it leaves him raw and scared and strained, stretched too thin about everything he has to know now.

His mind is an open door, and the bad things have a way in now. He’s too scared to tell anyone that he messed up. That he can’t build the wards back up from scratch. That he underestimated what Cypress meant, when he said these things could break you. He almost tells Becca, but she’s got her own issues. Her and Aster explode in some kind of drama, and it rips their little group asunder, leaving him feeling stranded without a raft for a moment. He almost tells Kestrel, but she’d tell their dads, and Crow feels stupid enough already for getting himself in this mess. He pulls away instead, retreats a little, and goes back to talking too loud and laughing too hard. His grades plummet, and he doesn’t sleep, but he tries to keep up the act as best he can.

Crow forces himself through packs of cigarettes, and finds that they really do help with the nerves. He goes to a secret party, held by one of the seventh year students, and takes an offered drink, and finds that that helps even more. Kissing boys quiets him down, inside, makes it quiet for just a moment. It’s a vicious cycle that he lets himself get lost in, a mask he slips on even when the hopelessness throbs up inside of his chest. He smiles his smile and most people don’t notice when it’s strained. It falls to Kestrel to worry, in the absence of everyone else. That look on her face like she wants to make him behave himself, like she knows he’s falling apart, like she wants to worry at his edges until they grow less sharp and he can stop cutting himself on them.

He isn’t proud of the way he pushes her away. Of the way he runs from the problem. It’s easier to get lost. Easier to make himself something else. Easier to feel like things will never get better. Crow knows that honesty would have ended it sooner, knows that Kes can feel every hopeless spark of fear and panic and pain inside his chest. In the end, enough is enough for her, and she does tell their parents what’s going on.

They pull him out of school, and he spends days curled up with his head on Hades’ lap, avoiding Cypress eyes. He feels like a failure, like he’s thrown all of their protection back in their faces. As much as he’s chafed under their care, his parents have always been his heroes. He lets Cypress hold him close and shoo away the ghosts, and takes comfort in the warm embrace he always loved as a child. It’s slow work, rebuilding the walls that had taken years before, tidying everything away as best they can. Cypress kisses him on the forehead, and helps him get back on his feet, and takes him to get the same magical warding tattooed on his skin as he has himself. He laughs, when Crow asks him if he can get a normal tattoo as well, and it’s a thrilling return to form for both of them.

He goes back to school, gets back on his feet, and carries on with his life. He learns to control everything as best he can, with his new wards and his new understanding of how dangerous things can be. He learns the art of things, dedicates himself to understanding the universe, and thinks a lot about his dads. They’re still his heroes. They’re a lot of people’s heroes, when he looks at it closer. Neither of them are active aurors anymore, out in the field. But Hades teaches at the Salem academy, and he’s old enough now that he can get Cypress to tell him stories. He’s seventeen when he decides he wants to be an auror, a little bit because of them, a little bit because that’s what Becca is doing, and he doesn’t know how to exist on his own. Mostly, he wants to help people. He doesn’t have any delusions of grandeur, doesn’t think he’ll be the smartest or the best. But he knows that someone like him can change the world, if they do it right.

He follows Becca to New Orleans, like a shadow she can’t shake off. He parties too hard, and works harder at the academy. Sometimes, he introduces himself, and people talk about his dads. Falconer-Quinn? Like the one that solved the Pelican Island Killer case? He always has to laugh that off, but sometimes it feels like a legacy that’s too heavy on his shoulders. This career runs in his blood. He knows that Becca must feel the same. That Aster must, off at Salem, sporadically replying to the letters he tries to write to her. The Crow Falconer-Quinn brand solidifies more as he moves through the academy, and he gets better at being something bright and beautiful, eye catching and far too often glitter stained. Embarrassingly, he sleeps with too many of his classmates, and gets his heart broken a few times more. He still drinks too much, but that doesn’t matter, because for the moment it feels like him and Becca against the world.

He must do something right at the Academy, because just a couple of weeks after graduation he gets the offer from MACUSA. Central Squad. Just like his dad’s. He’s proud, and a little scared, and devastated for the time that he’ll be apart from Becca after all these years. He wants to do a good job, but he feels high strung and strange when he starts in June. Crow imagined that working under Aunt Cassie would be fun, but it leaves him feeling stifled and fifteen again, and she clearly worries too much about him to put him in harm’s way. She throws him lowball cases, and freaks the fuck out when one ends up being more intense than anybody could have realised. It’s your run of the mill cursed object case, telekit covers that someone fucked with for the hell of it. Officer Micheals is a pro when it comes to curses, an up and comer on the squad. It’s not his fault that he ends up at Calderon Memorial Hospital, minutes after he manages to bring their bad guy in. Not his fault that Micheals practically got blown up in front of him, leaves him wide eyed and shaking and scared.

Aunt Cassie, of course, has to find something to do with him. She tells him that he’s good, of course he is, but she can’t stomach making him do anything like that again. The transfer to Pacific Squad comes a couple of weeks later, and they make it clear that it isn’t a punishment. So he does what Crow Falconer-Quinn does best, and tucks all the damage away. He covers it up with the glitter, and the bright colours of his clothes, the smiling and the jokes. He drinks himself into oblivion a little more, and tells all his friends on Pacific Squad that they’ll have to get used to the idea of coping with his presence when he starts there.

[kestrellavellan]

Time Past - Chapter 49

Rating: Explicit

Warning: This chapter contains a fake suicide attempt. Please, don't read if suicide is a trigger for you.

This update may be short, but honestly, it's one of the most emotional ones for me. I cried while writing this chapter. Kes and Dorian are so precious to me, it hurts me to see them in such pain. Depression is also something that I struggle with, so that made writing this even more emotionally taxing for me.

The beautiful image at the beginning is from the wonderful @flavoredmagpie​ on Tumblr. It's the Three of Swords tarot card which stands for heartache, grief, and sadness. Dorian's trying to protect Kestrel from the swords' damage, while Kestrel is poised to kiss Dorian goodbye. The hand around Kestrel's neck is meant to trap. Dorian is desperate not to let him go. It's a tragic card, and @flavoredmagpie​ did it justice. They were even able to add in the kestrel and peacock feather details. Please commission them if you're able to! <3

If you haven't had a chance, please check out the other artwork I've added to Chapter 1 & Chapter 37 of this fic, and the ones I've added to "Cicada's Chorus" and "Everything You Want." (I'm going crazy since I figured out how to add images to AO3 updates XD)

Weekly updates going forward until the story is finished.  Find this fic in its entirety on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11423880/chapters/25595154

Kestrel stared at the small glass bottle in his palm, dancing light from the candelabra dancing through the green-tinted surface onto his bed.  Soon, he thought, I’ll be free of here.  Or dead. It doesn’t matter so long as Dorian is free again.  Free of him.  Free of the tethers of their relationship, of his race, of his former status.  Green licked at the golden band around his finger. He thought about removing it, leaving it on the nightstand, but quickly discarded that thought.  He’d have to give up on being with Dorian again, without even the slimmest of hopes of being reunited, but that didn’t mean he had to give up what they had, what they shared in time past.  However short their reunion was, it was incredibly sweet. Even if his plan to fake his death failed tomorrow, and he ended up truly dying, he had those memories to hold on to as he slipped into the Void.   Still, he owed it to Dalish not to give in to his buried, dark wish for the poison to be too strong.  He needed to get the boy out of this torture house.

He flopped back onto his pillow and held the bottle aloft, liquid undulating with the sudden shift.  Odd that such a small thing would determine the next stage of his existence. Kestrel lost himself in the green glass and the endless escapes reflected on its translucent surface.   He knew sleep would elude him like every other night in this prison since his torture. At least the fantasies kept the hallucinations in the peripheral.

The night passed slowly, and even when morning finally came about, it was a gray and sullen thing.  No sun breached the overcast skies from what Kestrel could tell through his opaque windows.

He eyed the food tray someone had deposited in his room in the early morning once he finally dozed, but left its contents untouched, too nervous about the day’s events.  Next to the tray sat the poison and a noose crafted from his woven sheet. The noose was crude but would do the trick.

In the middle of the night, Kestrel thought about penning a letter to Dorian, except he had neither utensil nor paper.  He then had the wonderful idea of carving his feelings into the table’s surface, but any words of comfort he’d thought of fell flat.   All that hinted at his idea were a few shallow scratches along the dark wood.

He paced back and forth to ease his nerves, waiting for the light knock on his door from Dalish that would signal to drink the near-deadly draught.  Time crawled, and just as Kestrel began to worry the knock would never come, a faint rapping sounded on his door. Three taps, a pause, and two more - their signal.

Taking a deep breath, Kestrel uncorked the bottle and swallowed its contents in one gulp without hesitation.  There was no turning back now. The poison tasted bitter, but not unpleasant, like the wild greens his Clan used to collect in a nearby field.

Recalling the next step of his plan, he walked into the bathroom, stood on the bench over his chamber pot, and dropped the vial out the small window.  He didn’t even hear it hit the ground below. Next, he tied the end of his makeshift noose to the top of his bedpost, securing it with a sturdy knot. Last, he slung the fabric over his head and around his neck.  It hung loose for a moment before he worked the knot down. With a tug, he found the noose snug and secure and the bed frame sturdy.

Kestrel knew the next part would be the most difficult of his plan.  While he wasn’t actually going to hang himself, he needed to make sure he looked like he had.  That meant the appropriate bruising around his throat. And he needed to accomplish this before the poison took full effect.  Already he noticed his vision blurring with too sudden a movement.

Another deep inhale and Kestrel threw himself opposite the bed.  He heard the wooden frame groan in protest as the noose pulled taunt and yanked him backwards.  Sputtering and grabbing his neck against the pain, he took only a moment to collect himself before flinging outward again.  This time he stumbled and fell to the ground, nearly strangling himself in earnest. The noose was tied too high on the post to allow him close enough to the floor.

Panting with the effort and feeling like every muscle fought him, Kestrel pulled himself up so he could readjust the knot.  It took several attempts as his fingers refused to cooperate, turning numb and gray from the poison. Strained breathing echoed in his pounding head, and he swallowed against a suddenly parched throat.  With the poison running swiftly through his veins now, Kestrel carefully lowered himself down to the floor at the foot of the bed, granted just enough length of his tether to be allowed to sit. Then the world went black.

***

“Kestrel?” questioned a soft voice, forcing him to open his eyes.  The sight before him was almost too much for him to wrap his mind around.

He sat on the floor, naked as usual these days, at the foot of the bed, noose around his pale, deathly gray face.  Body listing to the side, his features were slack, eyes staring without seeing. So then how was he seeing everything before him now?

“Kestrel,” the voice said, more insistent this time.

He turned to the source, finding Cole standing next to him with a troubled expression.

“You’re close to the Veil.  Your pain called me to you. I want to fix this, but I can’t,” he said, sounding sad.  “You know this will hurt him. It will cause a hurt so deep-”

“Kes?” called Dorian, door opening.

Kestrel watched Dorian’s tentative smile fall as his eyes landed on his slumped over form.

“Kes!” he yelled, bolting over to Kestrel’s lifeless body.

Atronis trailed behind him, hands clasped tight.

Dorian made quick work of the noose, gentle even in his haste to remove the fabric from around Kestrel’s neck.  Freed, Dorian cradled Kestrel to his chest, muttering through an already tear-stained face, “No, Kes. No, you can’t leave me like this.  Anything but this.”

“He believes you’re dead, but you’re not.  Almost not. Why do you lie to him? Why do you cause him pain if you love him?”

Kestrel ignored Cole’s questions, cupping his hand over his mouth as he watched Dorian kiss him, lips pressed firmly against his own.  He felt nothing in this spirit form.

Dorian held the kiss even as his tears dropped from his cheeks onto Kestrel’s, as if he believed his will alone would be enough to bring Kestrel back to life, like a childhood fairytale where wishes and belief were enough to cause miracles.  Such miracles remained a thing of myth as Kestrel failed to stir.

Kestrel watched with a breaking heart as Dorian held him close with one arm and slid Kestrel’s blank gaze closed with the other hand.

“I can’t even blame you, amatus .  I put you in this situation, and you saw no other option out.  I’m so sorry I failed you,” Dorian whispered, though his voice creaked and threatened to stop.  He trailed his hand lightly over the bruising around Kestrel’s throat before drifting over his heart.  “ Vishante kaffas !” he suddenly shouted, slamming his fist down hard on Kestrel’s chest, only to fall into a well of tears and cradle Kestrel close once more.

“Dorian,” Atronis said softly.  “We should go. Your mother-”

Shaking his head, Dorian mumbled, “No, not without…”  He trailed off, focusing on pulling the ring from Kestrel’s finger.  Except it didn’t budge. He tried again, and again, and again. Finally, attempt abandoned, Dorian slumped against the bed.  “Nothing? You leave me nothing to remember you by, amatus ?”

Kestrel fought back his own ghostly tears, struggling to keep himself rooted by Cole.  Would Dorian feel his ghostly presence if he reached out? Then a thought came to him, spurred on by that one word.  Nothing .  Turning to his spirit friend, he pleaded, “Make him forget me, please.  Without his memories of me, he won’t be sad. Leave him nothing to remember me by.”

Cole looked between the two of them.  “Memories as big as those will leave a void too large to fill.”

“He doesn’t need it filled, just to forget, Cole.  I’m begging you.”

“Would you forget him?”

Knowing where this was going, Kestrel sighed.  “No. My memories are the only thing I have left of him now.  I can’t give those up.”

Cole nodded his head in agreement.  “I imagine Dorian will feel the same, once the blinding agony dies to a dull pain.”

Before Kestrel could argue with Cole further, Dalish rushed into the room, blue bottle in hand.  Eyes wide, he was clearly surprised to find Dorian and Atronis still there. He quickly hid the bottle behind his back.  “Oh no! What’s happened to Master Kestrel?” he asked, the question stilted with his play acting.

Dorian didn’t notice, murmuring, “He killed himself.”  He ran his fingers through Kestrel’s hair in a loving caress.

Kestrel’s eyes followed Dorian’s hand, longing for his touch one final time.

“Dorian, we need to leave.  You’ll be the first person to blame for his death.”

“But I can’t...I can’t leave him like this.”

Atronis sighed, growing frustrated.  “Well, you can’t take him with you!” he snapped.

Dorian jolted as if physically slapped, but didn’t look away from Kestrel.  “I should have. After Solas turned against us, after the Inquisition disbanded, if I’d just let him come with me from the start, we wouldn’t be here.”  His voice hardened with each word, anger turned inward.

The scene before Kestrel blurred for a moment before refocusing.

“An antidote is needed soon,” Cole said from his side.  “Otherwise his pain will be for nothing.”

Dalish shifted on his feet, eyes darting nervously around.  He too realized time was running out to have the antidote administered.

“Come on, Pavus, your time is up.  Mistress said only a few moments, but I knew you’d push-”  Morven’s complaining stopped suddenly as he entered upon the scene from the hallway.  “What the fuck…?”

“We found him like this, I swear!” Atronis spoke up.

Morven sneered.  “Oh, I’m sure you did!  Wait until Mistress sees what her precious son has done to her prized pet.  Guard!” He stormed out of the room.

“Fuck,” Atronis and Kestrel said at the same time.  This was exactly what they didn’t want to happen.

As they panicked, Dalish knelt before Dorian and asked, “May I see him?  I promise I’ll give him right back.” He spoke softly, like speaking to a traumatized child.

Kestrel held his breath, or maybe that was the poison taking its toll on his lungs.  The scene faded again, returning with a clear picture of Kestrel’s body in Dalish’s arms.

Dorian remained close, a near corpse himself at his lack of acknowledgement of anything but Kestrel.  One of his hands still lingered on Kestrel’s chest, unwilling to separate.

“Dorian,” Atronis said, kneeling by his side and pulling on his shoulders.  It was enough to drag Dorian’s attention to him, if only for a moment.

Still, it was long enough for Dalish to uncork the blue bottom and pour its contents into Kestrel’s mouth.

“We need to-”

“What are you doing to him?” Dorian said, snatching Kestrel’s body away from Dalish in the next heartbeat.  He looked Kestrel over, but finding nothing amiss, he simply frowned at the boy.

“I’m sorry, Master Pavus.  I was confirming his death.”  Dalish rose to his feet and bowed before moving off to the side, toying with the hem of his shirt.

Now they had a different issue.  The antidote took longer than the poison to work, but a lot needed to happen before Kestrel could come back to life, leaving them little time to accomplish everything with.

Cole asked, “Why do you torment each other? I don’t understand.”

Watching Dorian whisper against his cheek, Kestrel couldn’t look away when he responded.  “This way he’ll be free of me, Cole. He’ll be able to live his life without me holding him back.”

“I thought you bright, but you are blind.  He’ll never be free of you, because he doesn’t want to be,” Cole stated, disappointed.  He shook his head, the wide brim of his hat flopping.

“All the more reason to make him forget, Cole!”

“Now you’re the one who does not understand.  If I force his memories away, he’ll be left with nothing.  You’ve filled him to the brim with hope, love, sadness, and despair.  So many emotions tangled around you. If I pull you out, like a stopper in a basin, everything will rush out, leaving him empty.  No, your ask creates more harm, more pain. I will not do it.”

Realizing Cole’s increasing distress, Kestrel quickly said, “Okay, it’s okay, Cole.  I’m sorry.”

Cole glanced at him, tension easing.  “I hope one day you realize that you cause each other more happiness than pain,” he muttered.

Kestrel was left no time to rebut.  Morven had returned with Aquinea, standing over Dorian as his judge and jury, yet Dorian didn’t even acknowledge them, still murmuring against Kestrel’s cheek.  “We have to bury you, amatus .  I remember the Dalish customs, I promise.”

“Morven, you really believe my son is to blame?” Aquinea asked, voice cold as her glare on him.

“I...I mean, who else could’ve caused this?” Morven stammered, flushing red under her studious stare.

“Do you not see the noose next to the slave’s body?  Turns out you did break his mind, after all. No one has recovered from the red lyrium, it was a miss to think this elf could have beaten the odds.  Now you’ve distressed my son.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth, admonishing Morven, even as she knelt besides Dorian.

Aquinea curled an arm around Dorian’s shoulder.  “Come now, son. It is time you leave this body behind.  His soul has moved on as should you.”

“Mother?” Dorian acknowledged through tear-stained cheeks, looking up at her.

“Yes, my boy.  Let’s get you some food and brandy.  It’ll soothe your heartache.” She looked over at Morven, saying, “You will see to the disposal of his body.  This is, afterall, your fault.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Morven said with a bow, although Kestrel could see the irritation etched into his features, hidden from everyone else.

“Now, let go of him, Dorian,” Aquinea said with an air of command.

Dorian did as told, reacting more than thinking, as he latched on to what little motherly comfort Aquinea extended to him.  He lowered Kestrel’s body to the floor and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and into Aquinea’s waiting arms. “There, there.  This is just like when you were a boy and that carriage ran over your cat. You recovered well enough from that, you’ll be fine here too.”

Dorian numbly nodded, not hearing her words, but soaking in her soothing tone.

He broke through her spell once, latching on to Dalish’s shoulder.  “Bury him with a staff and a cedar branch. And plant a tree over his body.  Please.”

Dalish nodded quickly.

“Come now, son,” Aquinea said, pulling them apart.  Arm still over Dorian’s shoulder, Aquinea escorted Dorian from the room.

Definitely not what they wanted.

Atronis glanced at Kestrel and then at Dalish.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Morven sneered.  “Maybe you’ll actually stand a chance of getting into Pavus’ pants now that his pet elf is dead.  There’s no one left to cockblock you.”

Atronis turned a furious red, and Kestrel thought he might actually punch Morven.  Instead, his clenched fists stayed at his sides as he snarled, “Fuck off,” and stormed from the room.

Room cleared, Morven walked over to Kestrel’s body and landed a solid kick to his ribs.  “That’s for leaving me with another mess of yours to clean up!” He kicked him again, and Dalish took a step forward, but stopped before he Morven noticed him.  “That’s because your death should’ve been mine.” Morven spit on Kestrel. “And that’s because I’m glad you’re dead,” he whispered.  

Stepping back, he turned his attention to Dalish.  Nose wrinkled in disgust, Morven said, “Grab his body, boy.  Be quick about it. I’d like to get him in the pit before he shits himself.”

[comparativetarot]

King of Zephyrs. Art by Monica L. Knighton, from The Stolen Child Tarot.

High atop a mesa, the King of Zephyrs’ head is literally within his core element, the air, and he is surrounded by signs of attainment and station. Still thunderheads fill the right-hand sky behind him while clear blue fills the left, showing the potential of power in the conscious mind and the openness and peaceful free flow in the intuitive mind. The flanking falcons who invoke Horus and the crown of butterflies whose name means royalty mark his sovereignty and mastery of his realm of the mind. Stable Understanding, Truth, Balanced Calm Intellect, Protector vs. Power-Hungry Individual, Persuasive Manipulator, Abuse of Authority

Natural features/Artist’s notes: American kestrel, monarch butterfly, thistle