#also when the magic is seen in nature. peak

[avifaunaa]

stars blind [ they fall and leave the sky ] [ f.a.+ r ] [ pt.4 ]

Authors Note: Hello readers both returning and new! I’m so entirely happy you guys enjoy this work so far — whether through notes / reblogs or comments. It makes my day and I cannot stress enough what those little things mean. Thank you.

• Also: if I have left anyone new out of the updated tag list, please let me know. I’m trying to keep up with it.

• I also went back and made some additions to previous chapters and changed Windweaver's public name to 'Avian' -- only the Inner Circle will call her Windweaver in private.

Please read the Content Warnings before proceeding further. Thank you!

Masterlist

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FIVE

Pairing: Feyre Archeron x fem!reader x Rhysand / Platonic!Inner Circle x fem!reader

Summary: Slow. That is what you all three agreed to and neither of you appear to be in any rush at this point. You grow to understand who Feyre and Rhysand are in ways that not the entirety of the world, save their Inner Circle, is allowed to. But in the process you forget what creatures all of you are in the end — terrible beasts that sometimes can only react as sanely as your brain can which means not sanely at all.

Content Warnings: Canon in nature but MAJOR MAGICAL liberties taken! Such as the primal fae thing I mentioned, Mating Bonds, discussions of bondings, magic, all the works; Court Politics, Windweaver backstory and a flashback, a slow formation of connections, attempted sexual assault but the attack is intercepted, descriptions torture [ Feyre and Rhysand giving ], angst / wump with a side of hurt / comfort.

Word Count: ~6.3k

It was busy tonight. Busier than you expected for this shift and it had you pausing to think over whether or not you’d missed an important Velaris holiday.

Between the boisterous laughter of your patrons you caught Malora by her arm and pled with her to tell you if you had, in fact, forgotten something important.

Her dimpled cheeks taunted you as she smirked, eyebrow notched.

But still the female smoothly assured you that, no, you had not missed any sort of holiday and there was no special occasion — it was just unusually busy this night despite it being out of the normal for the middle of the week.

You had released her back into the crowd and returned to your own storm to conquer, feeling like a sailor that had not boarded the proper ship for the conditions of the sea.

Tables were filled almost before you could entirely finish cleaning them from the Fae that had taken them up beforehand, the new customers allowing you to only wipe around them before setting their menus down before spiriting off to get drinks for other tables.

The tips were coming in pleasantly even if the unexpected rush had thrown you off and you had so far managed not to spill any drinks and had not messed up food orders; a win in this industry during such a chaotic night.

Between ducking under tight fits to slink through the tavern, when you had even a small moment to take a breathe and gather your thoughts between orders and music and the noise, your eyes would wander to outside the doors and windows.

Velaris was beautiful at all times and the weather changed with the seasons, unlike the “special” seasonal Courts. Even as spring threatened to creep into the starlit Court, snow still dusted the cobblestones and rooftops of buildings.

Your eyes wandered further toward where just the peaks of the House of Wind was visible through the nightlife and clouds and snow. You wondered if Feyre and Rhysand lived there -- when Amren and Mor had taken you there upon being brought into the city, you'd not seen or heard a lick of either Fae.

You hadn't been brave enough to ask about them, either.

You were more curious about them . . . about your mates . . . than you felt you could afford.

It felt surreal if you thought too deeply into that new aspect of your life. Mates — the High Lord and Lady.

Your heart leapt just at the images conjured in your head of them.

“Avian!” the barking shout of Rita ripped you from breeze-like drifting, standing behind the crowded bar with rowdy patrons chattering. “Did you get table fifteen their drinks?”

The notepad wherein your current unmade orders lay forgotten on the end of the bar right next to two chilled glasses, a reminder and a demand for your attentions. “Sorry, Rita,” you called back as you slid down to the glasses and read through the order once more to recall what you were making. “On it.”

The older Fae cocked an eyebrow at you, her unyielding features beautiful and cool but failing to reveal whether she felt angered or put off — and you took that as the blessing it was to zap through making the drinks and delivering them to their owners.

The rest of the night was a struggle within itself; you were in two places mentally and both of them were pulling your mind into a divide that kept you into two different thought processes.

No matter how you tried to make your patrons your foremost focus, Feyre and Rhysand kept returning to you. The agreement of slow and the way your stomach felt an uneasy tug when you tried to return to work at full force was a stark reminder of your life’s inability to settle and become stagnant.

Their grins and hopeful gazes.

Thirty minutes before Rita would be locking the doors, your final customer slinked into the tavern. A male with long hair pulled up away from his face and an expression as though he were a wildcat seeking out a fawn for dinner.

He eventually decided on one of your tables after he stood idly for a few moments and studied you and Malora both; the other female's sudden release of tension was not lost on you as she sent you a concerned glance.

She tilted her chin from her spot next to you at the bar where she was finishing off a Summer Court Shores for her final table, silently asking, You got him? Do you need me to handle it?

You barely allowed your gaze to scour the male who waited like a statue for you to approach, gave him no reason to lock gazes with you. To beckon you over before you were ready.

Malora and you knew what kind of male this was immediately; and neither liked him — the way he moved, the way he looked, the way he simply is. But even so you nodded once, short and sure. I got this.

You greeted him politely, spuing out the specials as you dropped a menu and a napkin in front of him while maintaining the persona that you normally only reserved for patrons that you knew weren’t going to be worth the energy you used — detached yet polite with a welcoming smile, but no offering of further conversation. Notepad out, obvious in what you wanted from him.

His whiskey eyes — you hated whiskey, whiskey was your father's drink, your father's smell, your father's gamble — was comparable to the talons he had sharpened on his fingers. He smelled like a wealthy male, covered in sickeningly sweet roll on oils and roses and you wanted to runrunrun.

You bounced off the casual greetings and attempts at further discussions, and he finally provided you with an order. Three drinks. When one was empty, bring the next. No meal despite your best efforts to sell one.

He nursed his drinks for the final thirty minutes with precise calculation, nails tapping the glass anytime you crossed his way to say your pleasantries to exiting customers or to help Malora with closing duties.

He would brush his hand along yours when he wanted a replacement rather than call your name.

"You will produce an heir to the Windweaver line. Our sorry excuse for a High Lord is running the Court to the ashen ground," your father said, tone final as his hand grasped your wrist. "Once you succeed, then perhaps we will be secure enough to return to our lands and regain our regiments."

Your father was — the look in his eye. "Father," you whispered, "Hybern is allowing Amarantha to wipe out entire Houses. We are on her direct line of sight if we show ourselves."

Nothing in your father's gaze flickered in understanding or acknowledgement. All that remained of the once noble man was a broken, lost male who only wished to keep the House and name?

You tried again.

"I do not want to take a mate. Why must I produce an heir when we are running from mass extinction?" you dared ask, lump rising in your throat as you withheld the contents of your stomach. Vomiting on your father would end poorly. "We are not safe, she will kill me. Any heir I produce."

Your father curled his lip as he stalked toward you until you were forced backward. You tried to get your mother's attention but she dipped her head downward and away from your begging gaze.

"Whatever male you take to bed matters little to me at this point," he snarled as he tightened his grip. "But you will produce results or I will deliver you to Hybern myself."

Even to this day, even after you followed his order, you never came to understand what the reasoning of a broken and crazed male could have been. He never got to meet your daughter, and after his death your family still kept running until capture.

Your mother never deigned to reveal his reasonings either. You chalked it up to instinct at its' very primal core; wherein nothing rational of your father was left behind. Nothing but the beast that everyone was, deep down.

The ending of bloodlines is a nightmare for Fae like your father — and you had wondered if he knew even before he went mad that his death was going to happen with no other way. You wondered: did he do whatever he thought he had to for his family?

In the last year your conclusion settled in your chest like a heavy set of bricks. You did not think your father thought of your future, but of that of the liquid in your veins and the power you host.

The final drink for the male was deposited and you turned on your heel, rushing to the kitchen so you could hide from him until you could bring him his bill and he would leave.

Rita was arm-deep in a sink of dishes with one of the kitchen workers and sent you a sidelong glance. "You alright?"

“Just tired,” you murmured, pressing fingertips into the junction between your nose and eye. There was a sure as Hell ache beginning to form right there — an indicator of a long night and nervous energy.

Rita pulled herself away from the sink, water dripping onto the floor as she sought a towel out. Her gaze was steady but the darkening of concern was starting to cloud. "Do you want me to hurry your last one?"

The offer was tempting, but you did not want to draw anymore attention from the male or draw ire from him. You simply shook your head. "He's on his last drink. I just needed a second before I brought him his bill."

Rita studied you but nodded once.

You had the bill ready as you returned to the floor, heading straight toward the male and grabbing his empty glass and replacing it with the sheet of paper instead.

He had the money out already — indicating he held no tab at the tavern — so you went to reach for it as you asked, "Did you enjoy the drinks?"

Only for sharp talons to lunge out to snatch your hand as it curled over the payment. You jerked in place but forced the fight or flight deep into your stomach, far away, somewhere he would never be able to find it —

“They were lovely. Almost as much as their server. Do tell me — when do you end your night?” he crooned, nails resting just above digging into your skin but putting pressure that forced you to still.

Your throat constricted as you made an attempt to gently gesture behind you. “I’m afraid I’ll be here long after we close. Sir.”

His dark eyes regard you with a look that you refuse to read. Instead you smile — the same smile you offer all overly drunk patrons who try to hit on you — and continue, “Let me get your check taken care of, alright? The last thing you want is Rita storming out of the kitchen and banning you from her tavern for loitering after closeup. I’ll bring back whatever’s leftover.”

He blinked at you as his hand released yours, nails tapping into the tabletop instead as he waved you off. “Keep it. You earned the tip, sweetheart.”

It would seem the threat of the owner was enough to have him send you away and you kept him placated with a demure smile before ushering to the bar to shakily get the payment completed so Rita could close out later.

Malora became purposefully noisy, meanwhile, slamming chairs as she put them upside down on clean tables and clanking dirty dishes as she gathered them onto a tray.

It would appear that the male got the hint and would not be welcomed to wait for the staff to leave to depart as well. He left as he came — stalking out and shifting eerie glances your way until the door closed behind him.

Malora blinked as she watched your shoulders sag considerably once he was out of sight. “He was a piece of work,” she noted, azure eyes glancing sidelong at you. “He do anything weird?”

“He’s a drunk male. Nothing that’s unusual or unmanageable,” you dismissed with as much ease as you could muster as you slapped the rag down onto the tabletop and started to clean it.

Malora made a noise of discontent but she did not push the subject matter with you.

Malora and Rita shared a drink with you as you recalled the details of your last patron. Rita’s tipped ears twitched in irritation as her lips thinned out. “If he was making you uncomfortable, Ava . . .”

“He was,” you admitted, bringing the sweet alcoholic beverage back to your lips, the cool drink having soothed your nerves a great deal, “but I handled it. I threatened him with your name.”

Rita huffed, but she loosened up and finished her drink. Malora tilted her chin at you with a grin. “Certified classic. Keeps everyone — even our non-regulars — in line. Getting banned from Rita’s is considered a taboo.”

The older Fae’s hip notched against the freshly cleaned and waxed bar. “Damn right.” She eyed you. “We all leave together, tonight. I don’t like hearing that he asked when you get off and tried to remain.”

Your relief was severe but you smiled weakly at both females. “Thanks, Rita. I know you wanted to get out of here a little early tonight . . .”

She finished her drink and shook her head, a strand of short silver hair falling over her eyes. “It’s okay. I already warned Nedryian in advance that I may be unable to make it out of here that early.”

“Tell her hi, and that I’m sorry, anyway.”

When the drinks were finished and glasses cleaned and returned under the bar, you went to take out the trash. Malora did it last night, thus it was your turn. The garbage bags were already piled next to the back door that lead out to the mysterious magical dumpster that was more alive than you liked to think about.

You hauled two bags out the door after kicking the door open and moved toward the dumpster. As if sensing the presence of trash — it’s one true beloved — the large object hummed to life as you got a few feet away.

These dumpsters were an aspect of Velaris you found to be fascinating and you’d pestered Rita about them for days. She had told you that nobody really knew when they appeared or who had given them their magic — just that they were inherently harmless and they inhaled the city’s trash like it was candy and nobody knew exactly where it went once it was consumed.

You threw the two bags into the open void of the dumpster and the shuddering of the object revealed its’ enjoyment of the night’s trash haul.

You did this three more times and once the task was completed, you took a moment to rest against the wall just outside the tavern to catch your breath and gather your wits.

Your eyes drifted out from the dark shadows of the tavern’s alley where a soft light from the city’s nighttime glow peeked through, how even as it was so late that it was early people still filtered through the streets with laughter.

You’d explored parts of Velaris with Astra: the parts that Amren and Mor had encouraged you to seek out in order to make yourself at home. And so far . . . so far not one single aspect of this place had managed to disappoint you, underwhelm you.

It was not the Spring Court, where it was always pleasantly warm and gentle or harsh in weather. It was not the Spring Court, where pastels seemed to dominate the entire Court and the overgrowth outweighed the villages.

It was not the Spring Court and that was perhaps the reason you found yourself falling deeper in love with Velaris by the day.

The starlight here outshone the stars in every other Court, though, and that was your favorite part. Each one distinctive and different from the next, twinkling against the black sky.

They looked like the freckles that dusted Feyre’s skin — you remembered how they scrunched up together like a constellation when Feyre’s facial expression warped into amusement or laughter during your first meeting.

A breath escaped your lungs. You close your eyes, locking the stars out of any visible part of you — preventing them from seeing into the depths of your soul.

You let your head drop back to the brick wall of Rita’s and you groan aloud. You’ve met them once, Windweaver, you scold yourself. And you’re already comparing the High Lady’s freckles to the stars. How typical.

A mating bond of this degree . . . it was already having your nervous system ignited in ways that you’ve long thought forever unsparked. You weren’t ready to reach into it, to tug on those threads and see if they felt you, but you knew internally:

They were yours. As much was you were theirs.

You pushed yourself off the wall and slid on your heal, beginning to grasp at the handle to the door to renter the building when the back of your neck was suddenly ripped backward and your body was jerked sideways until it slammed into the brick wall.

A pained yelp rose up in your throat but like a whip, your mouth was quickly covered and the sound was muffled as it escaped from your mouth. Sharp points of pain dug into your jaw and the shock gave way to panic as you began to realize you were being trapped between the wall and a taller, heavier form.

“Shh,” the low male voice crooned from behind you as the nails in your jawline dug in deeper. “Quiet now. I don’t want to nick an artery — that’d be a damn shame for a pretty thing such as you.”

You released a muffled noise of panic, struggling against him as his knee shoved your legs apart and his other hand pierced long nails into the middle of your back to keep you still.

It was the male you had served only an hour or two previously — it had to be — the nails, the voice. You couldn’t move your head to get a look at his face but you inhaled a gasping breath — and —

Roses and rolling oils.

The drink you had shared with Malora and Rita turned to acid in your stomach at the same time as your struggle started to grow violent. The clawed hand now felt like an execution weapon as it slid from your back and dipped lower.

A soft laugh followed his movements, mocked your attempts at wrenching free from his attack. “Fight all you want. You waste your energy and will get nowhere from it.”

Curled talons slit open the button of your pants in your thrashing, his movements calm and his hold on your face tightening as his hand sliced your pants open down the middle.

You closed your eyes and dipped down into the hibernating part of you that you’ve been trying to keep at bay. The powers that were never impressive enough to earn your father’s pride and respect, but enough to earn his demand to breed further in his line.

The air around both you and the male went still, at first.

It caused a pause from him as he pushed you further into the wall and pulled his body away from your back, offering your burning skin a reprieve.

You tried to keep your demeanor more or less the same, struggling.

Growing still would draw his attention back to you; he would come to realize you weren’t defenseless.

His breath inhaled as the flow of air started to drift around you — a soft breeze at first. It mixed both of your scents — his arousal and alcohol soaked malice and your fear and sweat drenched desperation — then turned violent.

His nails dug in tighter as the heavy, sudden winds picked up snow and paper and whatever trash littered the alleyway floor. His attention was now partially torn between keeping you pinned like a helpless mouse and to a larger predator that alerted his senses to danger.

You did not know how much force you could continue putting into an offensive ability without setting him off; to revealing yourself.

Still, with what remaining movement you had left you splayed your fingers against your thigh and waited as the circling winds exploded in front of the male. Not your most powerful build up, but enough to knock him to his ass.

His nails left long, stinging lines as they ripped from your jaw with the impact against his body. He slid only inches away and recovered quickly as you turned around, trembling and already forming another vortex of wind to fight him off with.

He curled his lip in sneering amusement as he crept forward, but he only stopped when the swirling winds sent a stray brick his way and crashed into the wall behind him.

“You have pretty little powers, girl, but it won’t protect you from me. It only extends the hunt.”

Blood splattered on the concrete beneath you from the opened wounds as you stared him down, the only thing between you and him being the small accumulation of wind buildup. Any stronger and you would cause damage to Rita’s or the city . . . And to the people who lived there.

You had to use what was available.

Just as he stalked forward to enter the heart of your vortex, shadows erupted from the corners of the alleyways.

They were fast and unforgiving as they locked the male in a small space that quickly grew smaller before he could understand.

His eyes flickered with something — shock, perhaps — before a cold panic seemed to reek from him in waves.

You could do nothing more than tremble in place and watch as what looked like an eternal night overtook him and snarls and enraged yelps from within had you slowly releasing the winds that angrily circled around you.

Papers and trash drifted down lazily as the air grew still, snow that was disturbed glittering as it leisurely floated about in the air around you to be carried off by the natural breeze and not by the one of your making.

A step behind you —

“It’s me. It’s us,” was announced as soon as you turned, the air already unsettled with your jumpy response.

Rhysand and Feyre stood before you, twin outfits of black dressing their forms as Rhysand’s normally bright gaze remained stony behind the dark cloud behind you.

Feyre’s silk dress swayed as she moved slowly toward you and she reached out an inked hand. “Windweaver,” she tried, voice firm and loud to try and override the now screaming male behind you. “Hey.”

You loosened yourself as soon as her greeting curled around you like a blanket. Her eyes weren’t soft and for that you were grateful — instead there was a fire within them that your frostbitten soul called for.

Your trembling fingers reached back out and curled around steady, sure ones. And then you were in her arms as the impact of what just happened and also what could have happened if you’d not pulled out your abilities and defended yourself hit you like a thousand sword pummels to the head.

She lowered herself and you into the ground. Rhysand glanced sideways and watched as the silk dress flared and danced around you like a protective shadow as his wife cradled their mate as the chemicals and emotions began to realign within your brain.

His wings itched as he forced himself to walk toward the bundle of night he had created around his prey despite the primal urge to return to both females and comfort you as well.

A male had done this to you and Feyre was the best person for your initial comedown of the shock. He would offer his comfort when you had time to settle.

Until then he reached into the darkness until he found the male’s figure. The stink of fading arousal and growing fear cocooned him as Rhysand cupped his chin and leaned close to him, knowing he had nowhere to rear back from.

“Let’s go have a chat, just you and I,” he purred, then winnowed away leaving behind only stardust.

The townhouse was located in a beautiful spot near the Sidra. Feyre told you about it in a quiet, easy tone of voice as she kept a firm but comforting grip on you and winnowed you both into the grand antechamber of the home.

She waited a few heartbeats, her eyes watchful and protective, before releasing you and pulling her grounding hand away from you. Without warning your body locked up and a painful flush raced up your spine — an unexpected rise in fear encasing you as you took on a frozen state.

Feyre’s head tilted back and met your gaze. You found concern lingering, a question waiting. Her light brown hair drifted around her shoulders as she moved with silence to peer at you. She did not touch you again yet, but an offering hand reached back out should you need it.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” the High Lady finally said, adding noise to the unsteady and heavy breaths that escaped your lungs, “because that would be opening you up to answering a question that is entirely too obvious and I —“ she tore her gaze away, “— I understand what that’s like. The pressure that three simple words can place on someone.”

Your throat tightened at the ghostly drift in her eyes; but it was gone as quick as it was there.

And then you took her hand, accepting what it meant and what it could provide for you and locking away the whispers about consequences. Your fingertips trembled against the High Lady’s palm that exposed your fear and unsure nature, but she only clasped her hand around them and turned to pull you forward.

Feyre crept toward beautiful double doors and, with her free hand, wrapped her fingers around the handle. A pause.

Her eyes drifted toward you again, and now there was kindness within them, a kindness that went beyond the sort you knew Fae nobility usually offered. It was a different breed that you didn’t want touching you — not because you didn’t want to see or feel it but because of what it meant.

A squeeze. You locked eyes with your mate.

“This is a very secure place, Windweaver,” she said, pushing the handle down until one of the doors clicked and started opening with a whisper, “Only three people can winnow here and it’s one of the safest places in Velaris.”

She released the handle and gave the door a slight push to further it open before letting her arm drop to her side. “You are safe.”

A shudder rippled through at the words in a way that you could only excuse as primal reaction. Your muscles started loosening before your brain could catch up, and you wanted to sink into the nearest piece soft furniture and sleep for hours. She has protected you, something buried deep, quiet and curious, whispered, and proven her ability to provide a safe home. Safe safe safe—

“Windweaver?”

Feyre’s call was not rushed or sharp; rather it was delicate and low. When you move your gaze to her face once more you are taken aback by what you find: something shadowing her features, a look in her normally softened eyes that was a little wilder.

Did she feel what you felt just now — except on the other end of the spectrum? Did her primal instinct urge her to protect and provide a safety net in the way yours desired it? Had your positions been switched, you wondered, would you two be facing different internal pressures?

Your gaze flickered down when her throat bobbed. She was holding back — but you weren’t entirely sure what. You could feel it though. Through your Bond.

The Bond itself was fresh and still so vulnerable — the way she ran her thumb along your knuckles with tenderness made you think that she was experiencing this very differently than her Bond with Rhysand.

A flash of guilt struck you as you realize this. Feyre was human before she was ever Fae — whenever something about her Fae body comes to light that’s new . . . Does it confuse her just as deeply as it’s confusing you, who’s been nothing but Fae your whole life, now?

“Hey.” A hand cupped your cheek but the touch was entirely too tender and with too little contact. “Are you with me?”

You sought out the words you wished to speak — how do you thank her for what she’s done? How do you express any of your emotions without breaking apart and showing her the damage to your soul?

“Yeah,” you say instead, a shaky hand you really aren’t controlling reaching up and grasping hers on your cheek. “I’m with you.”

The spike of energy that had kept you alert during your attempt at survival was wearing off, and along with it came the throbbing in your temples.

You had not used your powers in such capacity in months — mostly to keep a low profile that your bloodline hails from the Spring Court. You relied on your perfumes to keep your scent confusing enough to not draw questions.

An urge you couldn’t decipher pushed you to rest your forehead against hers, furthering the contact with Feyre. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice low and gravelly. “Thank you for being there, for bringing me here.”

The artist that was this beautiful female gave you a small smile; but it was a smile that soothed so many of your aches. “Always.”

Always.

As you both pulled back, reluctantly, from one another you finally got a chance to take in the home that she had brought you into. The doors drifted shut at some point without either of you having moved to do it, likely meaning that they close through some form of magic.

It was a beautiful place — but you supposed you shouldn’t expect anything less from Feyre and Rhysand. You wanted to focus on the interior design, but the warmth the home exuded only added to your increasing exhaustion.

Feyre didn’t drag you down deeper into the halls to explore. She instead stopped just below a staircase that led to a second floor and tilted her chin. “Would you like to get cleaned up?” she asked. “You can take a bath if you’d like.”

Gods that sounded fantastic. Your pants were in shreds and unsalvageable the wound on your face — while already starting to clot — was throbbing, and the general layer of disgust had settled over you like a second skin.

You almost said yes — but then your confirmation died in your throat. Your faculties had started returning to you and the image of Astra flashed through your mind. Panic welled up as you started,

“I—my daughter—“

“Mor got her,” Feyre responded quietly, turning back midstep down the hallway and placed a soothing hand on your shoulder. “Her and Nyx are having a sleepover. I hope that’s okay.”

The fresh wave of panic ebbed, leaving behind the notable and increasing ache your body was hosting.

“That’s fine — I — thank you,” you murmured after a moment. Anything to keep her away from seeing you — seeing you in this state of helplessness, of distress.

Feyre’s jaw tightened and for a moment you thought you saw a flash of familiarity within them. But she only nodded once. Then said, softer than her expression, “You never have to thank me for that.”

You wanted to ask if she knew what you were thanking her for — for catching you before the breakdown came, for thinking of Astra and ensuring she was fine for the night, for taking you away somewhere safe — but she simply entwined your fingers with hers again when your gaze had gone blank against her skin.

“There’s a master suite with an attached bathroom that’s all yours,” the female said, tugging you until you were at the bottom of the staircase. “You’re free to use whatever you want. What’s ours is yours, okay?”

You blinked as she dropped your fingers and watched you, expecting but kind. Your throat closed around any sort of verbal response and you nodded a bit. “Okay. I — okay.”

“Good.” Her lips twitched; just a bit. “Feel free to come down to the kitchens for food or sleep if you’d like. I need to handle some things with Rhysand, but we won’t leave you for long. Amren will be here.”

You didn’t want her to leave, but you held your tongue and gave her a quiet nod before turning your back and taking the stairs upward so she couldn’t see the expression you were unable to hide.

The stench of blood washed away the stink and filth of Hewn City’s usual rot, but as Feyre slinks through the dungeons’ entrance and stepped over a puddle of sewer water she feared it may not last.

Heavy breathing and her husbands’ soft voice greeted her as she stalked into the room where Rhysand had dragged whatever remained of the male. She had changed into her leathers once she was sure Windweaver had started a bath and had left silently.

Her rage had been well-contained and used into something protective when she drew Windweaver away from the scene that she and Rhysand had come upon.

They had panned to walk you to Iris’ together to pick their children up and then walk you and Astra home. It had meant to be sweet, a way for the three of you to bond under the guise of your children loving one another so much.

“There’s my lovely wife,” Rhysand crooned without turning away from where he was crouched down in front of the male. Said male wasn’t even tied up, just limp in a chair and breathing wetly. Blood bubbled from his nostrils.

Feyre’s nails slid through the sleek strands of Rhysand’s hair as she approached him from behind and peered down at the male, who had opened his eyes but didn’t seem to be completely present.

She felt Rhysand subtly lean into her touch as she scratched lightly. In this moment — right now — it was Feyre who stood above both males. Feyre, a female with enormous power, who leaked superiority.

She curled her blood-red lips until the tips of her fangs peeked out. “Is he giving out already? I was hoping to play.”

Rhysand moved under her nails and snagged the long, greasy strands of hair. The yelp and sharp jerk from him was satisfying for Feyre — but still not enough in terms of reparations.

He was going to destroy her in the most unforgivable way, her hindbrain nagged, angry and feral. Kill him, rip out his organs and feed them to him raw.

Feyre’s jaw clenched, unclenched. This was new, and so fucking raw. She didn’t know what to do with it other than glance down at Rhysand.

But her Illyrian mate leaned closer to the male, flattening his wings close to his back to keep them from touching any part of him.

“Look at your High Lady when she approaches you. I’m sure you’ve heard what happens to those who don’t give her the proper respects.”

His purr was deep and falsely alluring, a threat cushioned with enchantment.

His sweat was leaking from every pore in his body and his sour stench was quickly becoming fearful. It was delightfully disgusting on Feyre’s tongue, who’d never truly found enjoyment in the suffering of others.

These circumstances were different; that’s what she told herself.

She smiled sweetly as his glassy eyes eventually dragged toward where she stood above them both, casual and lazy in posture.

“I didn’t know,” he slurred without prompting, thick dark fluid dribbling from between his lips between words. “Wouldn’t . . . Wouldn’t have . . .” He gasped for air.

Feyre stepped forward, past Rhysand who silently stood and backed away so she could take his place, and caressed his chin. The blood was thick and warm as it soaked into her hand. It reminded her of her finest paints.

“Wouldn’t have what?” she urged, smiling wider at him, “Wouldn’t have tried to rape and beat the High Lord and Lady’s mate? But only if you’d known?”

His silence — the way he seemed to understand what trap he’d set up for himself and then proceeded to walk into — was telling.

Prey caught — now the hunter was ready to skin.

“You shouldn’t be touching anyone without their fucking consent no matter who they’re connected to,” the brown-haired female murmured, still holding his chin and collecting the blood in her palm like a sacrificial bowl.

A heavy inhale and wet cough. Blood went spraying across her extended arm like paint splatter on a canvas and still Feyre did not retreat.

Her eyes glittered despite the darkness of the dungeon as her nails began to make sharp indents into his skin. “We’ve done some research on you, Jarth Fermönd.”

A huff was his only reply. The only one he could provide with the blood filling his lungs faster than he could expel it.

She would paint this scene one day — if only because her rage seemed as endless as the darkness in the night.

“We’re going to play — because I want to and I always get what I want.”

Rhysand ensured his shadows silenced the screams from echoing into the city’s sewer system.

Dark Feyre I’m on my knees and I’m not ashamed.

PART FIVE

TAG LIST:

@motorsp0rt , @lifetobeareader , @hjgdhghoe , @mystirica-blog , @skyler129 , @kooterz , @we-were-beautiful , @manicmanuscription , @sweetorangeblossom , @kissesfromnovalie , @lovely-susie , @beeop223 , @lindsayjoy44 , @celestialzdiviner , @fandom-7 , @shylahstarzz , @minbeatriz16 -- IF I HAVE FORGOTTEN ANYONE LET ME KNOW!

[deadhands69]

Bra Shopping with fem!Shigaraki

half head canon // half x reader type story not really sexual but it does contain photos of bras + the whole thing is about boobs so might not be sfw or appropriate for everyone; not setting an age limit to read it since we all know what bodies are just use your own discretion

While I absolutely love the head canon she'd have cute little A cups, I think that would only be true for blue-haired-staying-in-playing -video-games-and-plotting-instead-of-consistently-eating-anything-with-nutritional-value Tomura.

As soon as she starts training and eating consistently, genetics would kick in and I mean:

While I don't think anyone would have stopped her from buying bras, I also don't see Kurogiri having the best advice on how to look for anything of that nature. Especially if she hasn't shown a need for it.

And, sure, you absolutely noticed that she filled out, but you weren't about to tell your girlfriend what she should be wearing. That is, until the complaints rolled in:

"Why do they bounce so much? Are they supposed to be like this?" Tomura grumbles after a mission.

"Like what?" you ask.

Tomura stares down at herself, concerned, while wiggling back and forth. You almost laugh.

"Yeah, that–that's normal."

"Oh," she mumbles. "Well, how do I make them stop hurting when I jump?"

That's when you decide it's time to go bra shopping. You pick a place with a lot of options. Conveniently, they also do fittings. Tomura is nervous through the process. You ask if she assumed bra-fitting would be some sort of laser scanner that creates a 3d model of you that spits all of your sizes out; she doesn't answer. Instead of expensive technology, the grey haired woman with a length of tape works her magic and it's over before Tomura can even complain about having to stay still for so long.

"32D. Look for the blue tags," the woman says before walking away.

Tomura looks down at herself wide eyed and cheeks flushing before glancing back at you for validation.

"Yeah, that sounds right," you reassure her. "You did have a pretty big growth spurt. Come on, let's look around."

Initially, you thought she would pick the first simple black thing she found and go with that. That's how she usually shops. However, Tomura has seen cute bras before and wants to feel pretty. She's not explicitly saying that, but her selections reflect it, in their own way. They also let you know: she has no idea what she's looking for. So, she ends up with a completely random assortment of things on her first trip into the fitting room.

"Do you need any help?" you ask from outside the curtain. There's a long pause before she answers. "Uh, I don't think this fits right."

"Can I see?" you ask.

Tentatively, she pulls the curtain back, giving you a peak at what she tried on. Well, tried to try on.

"Uhm," you say politely while trying to find the right words, "I think your arms go through this strap?"

"Oh," she mumbles, "uh, I don't think this one is going to work for me. Or this one," she hands you another strappy black bra, "I liked it on the mannequin but now it's kind of scary."

"That's reasonable," you say. She hands you another.

"And this one. I don't like the," she gestures under her boobs, "the hard part?"

"Underwire?" you ask.

"Yeah, that part. I don't like it."

"Okay." You hang them both on the rack behind you, "fortunately it sounds like you're just looking for a little support most of the time?"

"Most of the time. Maybe more on missions. And," her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink as she nervously scratches her neck. "And it might be fun to look cute sometimes?"

"You're always cute."

"You know what I mean, y/n."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Why don't you try on that last one while I find you a few more?"

Knowing vaguely what she's looking for, you grab a few more. A sports bra for her missions, two more comfortable options, and another that looks comfy but cute.

When you come back, Tomura has unsuccessfully crammed herself into the last of her selections. It was her size, however, the fit isn't quite right for her anatomy. The result of that is the majority of her spilling out over the top of the cup.

"I don't think this is doing much," she says while poking at the sides of her boobs.

"I don't think that's what it was designed for. Try these."

She does.

Fortunately, all of your selections fit her well. With a little reassuring that you do, in fact, find her cute in them even if they aren't covered in too many straps and other things that scare her, she decides to buy them all.

Now, Japan gets to see her as the symbol of fear – but only you know she's wearing a lacy red bralette under her villain clothes.

[shigaraki masterlist] [bnha masterlist]

taglist: @kitkat13001 @kennys-partner @amira-44820 @its-evee16 @thesecond2demonking

@shigarakislaughter @dance-with-me-in-hell @minniessskii @vaval3ntin @ykyouluvme 

@dummi666 @lotus-flower420 @nonominchan @softnfuzzy @mysticalhills 

@reireitaka @crwavee @baby-pink-flowers @drlucichen @frieren-imposter

 @lou-the-naga-queen @multifandomidk @love-for-yoosung-kim @xytraxpy @venom-barf 

@shiiigaraki @thetinas21 @spam-1

[andy-wm]

The Tarot of VMINKOOK

Their dynamic as I see it, and the absolute validation that Jimin and JK are together.

I really enjoyed the 3rd episode of Are You Sure, partly because I love the VMin dynamic, and partly becuse I was relieved to see that JK and Tae got along.

I also enjoyed watching just the three of them together without the rest of the members because I could really focus on the way they interacted.

This post is entirely my own opinion, and based on my observations. Feel free to politely disagree.

What we had was:

The Siblings - JK & KTH

The Cousins - JM & KTH

The Lovers - JM &JK

The Siblings

JK and Tae have peak adolescent sibling energy Pre-adolescent maybe....

It's typical of the petty rivalry of siblings close in age where the younger is the dominant personality and the older is slightly mistified by the audacity of their little brother.

Tae's eye-roll here 🤣

They will argue over nothing, but they will also readily unite when they have a common goal or foe. In this episode, they ganged up on Jimin for the sake of amusing the viewers (I get that they had a mandate to be entertaining but seriously, poor Jimin 🤣.)

At least it gave JK and Tae a reason to cooperate, because we know JK wasn't thrilled about him joining them. And who can blame him... how often do the two of them get away together?

Tae and JK probably have that "I can talk shit about my brother but nobody else can" thing going on, and I am 100% sure either of them would jump to defend the other if someone outside Bangtan gave them reason to.

I'm sure JK sees Tae as a genuine brother, but that doesn't mean Tae doesn't irritate the hell out of him sometimes. We've seen Tae take liberties, and we've seen JK snipe at him.

What is clear to me, seeing the three of them together, is that competitive-natured JK has to curb his desire to compete with Tae for Jimin's attention - to steal Jimin from Tae - and we've seen him do it, so it's not unheard of. The bottom line is, JK doesn't love sharing Jimin. And that being true, having to totally relinquish Jimin must have been... challenging let's say.

Even giving him a Harley to ride wasn't enough compensation for JK's FOMO when VMin were having fun in the car without him. And that grimace he wore when he was enjoying his solo gokart ride was absolutely hilarious too.

The other thing that comes between them, based on what I've seen, is JK's impatience with Tae's quirkiness. JK does not seem to have the gentle fondness or the endless patience Jimin does with Tae, which brings me to...

The Cousins

Tae and Jimin are like those cousins. You know the ones I mean? The cousins who have that magical bond. They connect on some ultraviolet wavelength nobody else can see, and it's both delightful and annoying for everyone around them (especially for the ultra-competitive boyfriend of one of the cousins, who feels like he's the third wheel when the those two get together).

Jimin and Tae are 친구 - same age friends - and this automatically puts them together - they are peers. It creates an instant friendship bond. But their connection seems like more than that, because Jimin and Tae seem to be so at ease together that neither of them has to mask, and that means they trust one another. That type of deep connection between two people can only come from unconditional acceptance.

Tae doesnt know how to use a drive-thru, and Jimin patiently helps him.

I believe that even if they grow apart, their unique connection will always remain... Because you never forget your first, right?

I'm talking about the first person who really sees you.

Maybe they're the first person you come out to and who comforts you when you're afraid of what that might mean for you. Maybe they're the person who never teases you when you miss social cues, and who will quietly explain the joke you didn't get. Whatever your situation, that person is the one who you trust with your real self. You know you're safe with them.

Both Tae and Jimin have characteristics that set them apart. I'm not in the habit of diagnosing people but Tae does make me wonder, the way he lacks social awareness and sometimes goes off on bizzare tangents, and his very individual fashion sense... not to mention his hatred of shoes. Jimin's gender and sexual identity would have been equally challenging for him, trying as he was to fit in and be a strong man.

They would both have felt like outsiders and struggled with connection and belonging, and I think their genuine support of each other is what makes their friendship so special.

I think that's what the soulmates thing is all about.

And who could possibly compete with a soulmate? Only one person...

In this social game of cards, JK holds the trump.

The Lovers

There's only one reason JK would rank higher in Jimin's books than Tae, when Tae automatically has higher standing on both a personal level with Jimin, and a broader social level.

Jimin and Tae are 친구 - they have a bond unique to people born in their year. That bond means younger or older friends are always going to be more distant, because even with close friendships across age groups, honorifics will still apply. Only with chingus can the honorifics completely fall away.

In addition, Tae is older than JK, so automatically holds a higher social standing. Even though Tae and JK are friends, JK should still defer to him, especially where his chingu is concerned. But JK does not.

This can only mean one thing:

Jimin and JK are in a relationship.

JK's status as Jimin's partner outweighs any other relationships Jimin has. Therefore JK stands as an equal next to Jimin, and that shuffles everyone else down a notch.

That's why we see JK squeezing in next to Jimin (sometimes pushing the older members out) so he can get where he needs wants to be.

That's also why, in episode 3, JK could take the bed next to Jimin and leave Tae to sleep on the floor.

Aside from JK's position as Jimin's equal, we can clearly see that he takes care of Jimin in ways he wouldn't if they were not together. He may not defer to Jimin, but he is visibly devoted to him.

I have never had any doubt that Jimin and JK were lovers, and I never for a moment thought they broke up. It's no surprise to me that this is confirned when we see them on this trip.

But I'm still dying to see the next episode with Tae.

Bring on Thursday!!

[flowersdiceandlove]

I’m a subscriber of the Luo Binghe has curly/wavy hair and Bingge straitens it bc it’s not the cultural beauty standard and it makes him feel inadequate whereas Bingmei keeps it curly/wavy bc when he was a teen, Shen Qingqiu-Yuan expressed a like for it so he’s comfortable with it even if it’s not the societal standard. In this vein I want to see a Binggeyuan fic where Shen Yuan gets transmigrated as just Some Guy and catches the attention of Bingge (because of course he does. It’s Shen Yuan) and in one of their encounters where Shen Yuan is driving Bingge just a bit insane with his brand of both obliviousness and all-knowingness, Bingge’s hair gets wet due to something Shen Yuan did. Luo Bingge is pissed at getting soaked and glares at Shen Yuan while simultaneously pushing his hair out of his face and drying it with cultivation magic gearing up to bite into Shen Yuan about getting him wet when Shen Yuan gasps and stares at him in awe. Bingge was so caught up in his anger that when he was drying his hair, he forgot to also redo the spell that keeps his hair straight so it’s reverted to it’s natural curly/wavy state. Just as the self-consciousness that he hasn’t felt since he was a teen and being bullied for his hair Qing Jing Peak is setting in, Shen Yuan surprises Bingge once again by making an aborted movement forward and muttering a “beautiful” under his breath. Bingge, with his enhanced hearing, hears it and pauses in his hastily conjured hair straightening spell, stunned. Never in all his many, many years has anyone called his natural hair “beautiful.” (Not that he really lets people even see it like this. Only a very few have seen his hair in it’s natural state.) And Shen Yuan looks so sincere too.

A deep blush starts to rise on Bingge’s cheeks. It is (unfortunately in Bingge’s opinion) something Bingge is getting very acquainted with in Shen Yuan’s presence. It is something that has only happens when Shen Yuan says something absolutely absurd and what should only be said in a groveling type of flattery as if it is just a truth of the universe and completely true. He has not blushed this much since he was a virgin over 200 years ago!! And even then it wasn’t this bad!

Bingge then stutters (actually stutters because by this point, Shen Yuan has already gotten to him even if he’s still in denial) a reply feeling far more flustered than he thinks he has any right to be.

Then Shen Yuan has the gall to say “Ah! Sorry! I forgot. You’re self-conscious about your hair. Do you want me to turn around while you straighten it again?” with wide, caring, and achingly sincere eyes and his face completely open, only wanting Bingge to feel comfortable after suddenly having an insecurity (which he really shouldn’t know about but somehow does, and Bingge will later add it to the list he’s keeping of such instances when he can think properly again) exposed.

Bingge is so stunned by this that he’s unable to respond and so Shen Yuan continues, “…Actually…It’s really nice like this. I mean, of course, it is. It’s you after all. You’d look good with anything. But like this it looks even more lustrous than usual. Like your hair always is so nice, but like this it catches the light more which adds to its dimension… it’s like something out of a shampoo commercial… I wish I had hair this nice. Mine is so flat and dull looking. Just leave it to you to have the best hair ever. It’s so fluffy… like a sheep… Oh! And it’s so soft too! Like a cloud!” Yes he drifted forward and started petting Bingge’s hair without thinking, too caught up in his admiration of it. Bingge is still too stunned to react and is just watching as one of his biggest insecurities is being dismantled by this random guy he found one day who knows far too much and might actually be a god or something considering the extent of his knowledge, how flippant he is about it, and the weird things he says sometimes (what even is a “shampoo commercial?”).

Bingge eventually gets enough thought back in his pretty, flustered, gay head and flees. Very gracefully he would like to be known. Very befitting of Emperor of the Three Realms.

Very.

Very.

Shen Yuan is left to just stand there and wonder if he finally pissed Bingge off so bad that he’s going to get killed soon. Bingge’s face was very red and he seemed so mad that he couldn’t even speak properly in Shen Yuan’s opinion. After thinking it over for a minute he shrugs and thinks it’s fine. At this point, Shen Yuan is pretty sure that Bingge won’t kill him unless he does something truly outrageous and unforgivable. And while petting the (very soft and fluffy) hair of The Luo Bingge, Emperor of the Three Realms, without permission could be considered highly outrageous, it is not actually the most outrageous thing Shen Yuan has done to the man and lived to tell the tale. Not that he’s going to actually tell people about it. He’s not trying to push Bingge’s buttons and get himself killed.

Shen Yuan just shrugs the encounter off as he does so many others, but does file away the memory of how soft, fluffy, beautiful, and just incredible Bingge’s natural hair is.

Bingge is unable to sleep that night, his mind constantly replaying Shen Yuan’s awe and sincerity over one of his greatest insecurities. Not for the first time since meeting Shen Yuan does he feel cracked open and exposed, yet also somehow safe and warm and like he might cry his eyes out but in a good way.

[breelandwalker]

Hunter's Moon - October 17 2024

Grab your masks and candy buckets and trim the twigs on your best besom, witches! It’s time for the Hunter’s Moon!

Hunter’s Moon

The Hunter’s Moon is the name usually given to the full moon which appears in October, provided that the Harvest Moon has occurred in September. (Remember - the Harvest Moon is the full moon closest to the autumnal equinox and that can mean September OR October!) The Hunter’s Moon is next full moon to follow it, so it may occur in October OR November. The Harvest and Hunter’s moons are the only two moons in the calendar which are tied to a specific event in this way, while the others reflect signs of seasonal growth or animal behavior.

Like the Harvest Moon, the Hunter’s Moon rises big, bright, and early, and it may appear to be full for two or three nights in a row. The celestial peak of illumination is at 7:26am EST on October 17th, but the moon may also appear full or nearly-full on the 16th and 18th. This is also the second of this season's series of supermoons!

The name Hunter’s Moon is taken from the traditional timing for the fall hunting season, as the name implies. The fields cleared in previous months and the gradually cooling weather meant that animals fattened up from summer foraging would be roaming in open ground, making prime targets for anyone looking to put some meat in the pantry for winter. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, this may also be the origin of the other common October moniker, the Blood Moon, which has been in use in the British Isles since at least the Middle Ages.

North American indigenous names for the October moon include Falling Leaves Moon (Anishinaabe), Freezing Moon (Ojibwe), Migrating Moon (Cree), and Big Wind Moon (Zuni). In several modern pagan traditions, the October moon is called the Sanguine or Blood Moon due to its’ with the association with the hunt and with alleged sacrifices made ahead of the coming winter. (Keep in mind that any claims about What The Druids Did should be taken with a grain of salt, as they did not keep written records of their ceremonies.)

As you may know, we're also welcoming an additional natural satellite at the moment - a tiny asteroid designated 2024 PT5. This visitor comes from the Arjuna asteroid belt, which is made up of near-Earth objects that orbit the sun at a similar distance to our own cozy little planet. This temporary "mini moon" will be vacationing in and around Earth's orbit until sometime in November, at which point it will continue on its' way through our solar system. Unfortunately, it's too small and too far away to be seen with the naked eye or even with most telescopes, but you may be able to see the peak of the Orionids meteor shower between October 20th and 22nd, depending on where you live. (Check the DarkSky Placefinder to see what will be visible in your area!)

What Does It Mean For Witches?

October is a time to finish our harvests. We gather in the last of what we sowed earlier in the year and reflect on what our work has wrought and what our labor has produced. It is also a time of transition as the weather begins to shift more noticeably toward the chill of winter. Shore up whatever provisions you need for the immediate future and complete whatever preparations you’ve been making for the cold season, both magical and practical. A little weatherproofing goes a long way!

This is also the month when numerous Western cultures remember their honored dead and a time when some believe that contact with various unseen realms is more easily accomplished. If you’re seeking advice or reassurance from the greater beyond, or looking to do some planning or forecasting for the coming year, now might be the optimal time to do it.

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

Celebrate the end of the harvest season with your favorite recipes! Bust out that hearty stew or delicious pie you’ve been dying to make but kept putting off during the hot months. Use local produce to make something special and gather in the last fruits of your garden.

Get your divination game on! Many October party games include fortune-telling aspects for love or marriage or professional prospects. Choose your favorite method and see what it has to tell you about the coming year and where your current path may lead. Remember that the choices we make change the path and therefore the outcome, so try to regard the results as written in sand rather than stone.

Participate in the hunt yourself! Whether it’s an actual seasonal hunt for game (safely and responsibly done, of course) or a bit of foraging or a personal search for something you’ve been needing, this is the perfect time to connect with that drive to seek and gather. Make one more trip for wildcrafted plants before everything turns brown and brittle. Stalk the aisles of your favorite local shops for craft supplies, new decorations, or perhaps that fancy hat you’ve been dreaming of for the upcoming holiday.

Prepare for the cold months! Switch out your wardrobe, heap those blankets on the bed, change the decor to something autumnal, and make sure your home and vehicle are ready for winter. If you do any seasonal crafts or fibre arts, start pulling out your accoutrements.

Shed your metaphorical skin one more time. Examine what you carry in your heart and where your priorities lie. If there is anything left that weighs you down or no longer serves you or disrupts your life unnecessarily, prune it away and let it go. This process is not always comfortable and may leave you feeling raw, but sometimes hard decisions must be made. You are not meant to be in perpetual motion or constant production. Give yourself permission to rest.

Consider also the parts of yourself that you don’t always like. Is there value in the struggle to deny them and push them away? Is there anything that might serve you better if it was embraced rather than denied? So often we speak of letting things go and laying down burdens in order to progress. But there is also power in remembrance, in anger, in spite, in grief, in ambition. Remember that while you should forgive yourself for past mistakes and learn from them, you are not required to do the same for others. Remember also that setting boundaries is healthy and that if they are not respected, you are within your rights to remind others than actions have consequences. Protecting yourself is not always pretty and it is not always polite. And it doesn’t have to be.

Happy Hunter’s Moon, witches! 🌕🏹

Further Reading:

Additional Lunar Calendar posts

Secular Celebrations - Samhain

Hunter’s Moon: Full Supermoon in October, The Old Farmer's Almanac.

Hunters Moon 2024: The Spiritual Meaning of the October Full Moon, The Peculiar Brunette.

Orionid meteor shower 2024: All you need to know, EarthSky, Oct 18 2024.

"Earth will get another moon this month  — but not for long!," Space.com, Sept 17 2024.

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison, Llewellyn Publications, 2004.

Image Credit - Darkfoxelixir on Shutterstock.

(If you’re enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

[forsaken-headcanons]

okay hear me out. i was looking at the milestone skins and i thought of this so i hope you people see my vision too

so i hc that c00lkidd is a drakobloxxer. and since those are probably very unusual/endangered/simply hard to find in Roblox, it would be really hard to properly raise one. I think 007n7 genuinely tried to raise the kidd and did manage to succeed to an extent, it’s just that drakobloxxers have different social behaviors and instincts than Robloxians do.

examples may include:

- maybe drakobloxxers are less social and don’t handle large gatherings of people well because it triggers a hunting/defensive response.

- since drakobloxxers are significantly larger than Robloxians, c00lkidd could have easily been as tall as 007n7 at age 10. Who knows if they age differently - if we take the T. Rex itself as an example, the oldest one we know of is barely pushing 30 and would have likely been near adult size by age 15.

- I hc that drakobloxxers are partially burrowing animals [explaining their massive claws] and that’s why c00lkidd loved to eat dirt - it’s natural for them to snack on that, especially as nutrient-hungry children.

>- i also hc another use of the claws is display, as drakobloxxers will spread their arms and flex their claws as a form of anger/showing off in a fight-or-flight situation, usually with another drakobloxxer.

- facial expressions might be different. A great example of this irl is how humans use smiling and eye contact as a form of friendliness/expected behaviors when interacting with someone, but gorillas [and many, many other primates] would rip you to shreds if you did either.

I might add onto this later because I have Many Thoughts on drakobloxxers [I’ve been hyperfixated on dinosaurs for like a decade now and this is the bridge between that and roblox] but yeah. I think c00lkidd’s fate was out of n7’s control to some extent. Both in Roblox and reality, you can’t force something to act ‘human’ or practice your beliefs suddenly when they were doing something else for centuries and have it magically work out.

and as a final thing, I want to circle back to the ‘Drakobloxxers are hard to come by’ thing. That could potentially be why he disappeared, if we wanna chuck some more angst in here.

alr bye *skedaddles away into my abode .i won’t return for another century*

gasp. drakobloxxer hcs?? oh heck yes these are so peak omg. skedaddling with you as we await more food /j

WAITT THE SMILING THING!! dude wait. what if, because he was raised by 007n7, c00lkidd does smile in the ordinary robloxian way– it's just that a drakobloxxian smile is already seen as threatening to robloxian standards, and thus not many survivors can tell that he really IS happy and completely naive. gods. imagine 7n7 being the only one to know this... these drakobloxxer hcs are so good!! get yoinked /silly

[cenarion-archive]

Apple Trees

Properties: Healing, rebirth, divination, magic, love, Otherworlds (the Dream, Ardenweald, etc), and G’hanir Deities: Mother Moon, Eonar, Aviana, Aessina, Ursol, Aliothe, Q’onzu Elements: Spirit, Decay Guardians: Moonkin, hippogryphs, harpies, owls, ravens, wisps

As many are told in their earliest druidic lessons the blossoms and fruit of the apple tree are also tied to some of the most powerful times of the Druidic and Elunarian year - Byltan and Samha, when dawn and twilight are at their most equal in spring and fall and veil between planes becomes thin. Because the apple blossoms bloom as Byltan approaches and produce their fruit in preparation of Samha, these trees hold great significance to the cycle itself and are often seen as representations of the cycle of generosity.

The apple tree serves as a Shan’do to us all, naturally teaching us lessons in the cycle of seasons and the balance between Spirit and Decay.  After the rest of winter Spirit and Life blooms and in time creates fruit. In turn if not consumed or pruned that fruit will fall to decay and rot. However, for those that do not see the world in cycles and balance they see the beautiful fruit becoming putrid and falling to the earth as a tragedy and waste of potential. As Doril we know that when the apple falls to decay it begins a new phase of life. One where it feeds the soil and insects below giving life to new trees or the apple tree itself. And so after the rest of winter does the cycle begin again. The apple tree is a reminder of this balance and cycle. Because of these lessons the Apple tree is closely associated with the cycle on a grander scale between the Dream and Ardenweald, a cycle that repeats in measurements of moments and eras. Interest and study in the realm of Ardenweald has only grown since the shattering of the veil and the blooming of Amirdrassil. During many moots and discussions of the cycle in Moonglade has the apple tree become a symbol for the lifecycle of Wild Gods, Loa, and nature spirits - each like an apple in the greater cycle and cosmic tree. When one falls it transitions to another phase of being in the long slumber either being reborn or sustaining others just like the humble apple.

A Gift of Elune While some tie the tree to G’hanir there are Druids of the Moon who believe that the apples are a gift from the Goddess Elune herself and her gardens. They say that the blossoms are a manifestation of her tranquility and each apple is blessed with a star inside to show her love. Some Druids of the Moon believe the Tear of Elune and the Sister’s Tear which seeded Amirdrassil are cosmic apple seeds from Elune herself.

Druidic Uses Some Druids of the Branch plant an Apple tree in their grove as a promise to stay. This is for two symbolic reasons, one for its symbol as a tree of community and the other for its protection. During the corruption of Val'sharah by the Nightmare, apple trees were some of the last to fall to corruption leading some to believe the tree held some natural resistance to the corruption if even for a short period. It's also believed that lightning will not strike an apple tree so it may serve as a ward from natural disasters as well. As such many druids will make wards of protection from apple branches or its blossoms, fruit , and/or wood as reagents for protective spells.

Some teaching methods use these properties of transition to aid Thero’shan in their first attempts to transition their consciousness to the Dream. A Shan’do will have their Thero’shan sleep beneath an Apple tree at the peak of a Full Moon. The theory being that the tree may serve as a guide for the mind. We find a similar lesson in The Legend of Applebeard. For as he slumbers  he dreams of forests far and unknown to him. If no apple tree is near, a Shan’do may take a fallen branch of an apple tree and tie silver bells to it. As the wind passes through the chimes it is said the mystical singing of Elune may be heard and lull Thero’shan into a trance and transition with greater ease. With the blooming of Amirdrassil some have begun to apply this method to the great tree and sleep under its boughs or fashion similar chimes with fallen branches of Amirdrassil in hopes of visiting Ardenweald. Though I have yet to hear if any have been successful.

Should you wish to fashion a chime like this for your own use or use the wood of apple trees in a staff or wand I offer a word of caution, never cut down a branch of an apple tree. Only take that which has naturally fallen and thereby freely given. To do so otherwise is said to bring bad luck and twist spells.

Rituals of the Apple Tree - If you wish to use Apples as regents in your spells it is commonly believed that if you pick apples between the new moon waxing to the full moon you will receive the abundance of the goddess either in consumption of the apple or any spells pertaining to it. An apple picked in the waning moon is said to also bring bad luck or is used in more baneful practices to curse another. - Apple trees may serve as wishing trees for Byltan or other occasions. Write your wish for the coming season on these thin strips of beech wood. Next, take a silver bell, ribbon, and some cider and approach the tree. Knock three times to awaken the spirit inside, pour some cider as an offering, and whisper your secret to the tree. Last, tie the ribbon to the tree’s branches and when the ribbon weathers away your wish will be granted. - Spells practiced underneath an apple tree may bring love and health. As will apple blossoms and the oil made from those blossoms. - Sleeping beneath an apple tree may grant someone visions of the Dream or Ardenweald. - Food made with apples may also bring any of its properties to the consumer.

[sunflowerspirals]

Everyone's headcanons about the nature of magic in the Spiral have me Thunking some Thoughts™️ about Marleybone....

In the pre-2020 version of the game (the superior version), Arthur Wethersfield tells the player character that he was "always interested in magic as a lad," but that "they don't study magic in Marleybone." Of course, when we get to Marleybone, it's all very industrial, steampunk, inner-city type of vibes—not whimsical and magical like Wizard City, or mystical and mysterious like Krokotopia. But if the Spiral is a universe built upon the very foundations of magic, a universe in which everything and everyone is magical, then how can it be that Marleybonians don't make a habit of studying it?

Simple: because Marleybonians are the masters of self-denial.

I'm referencing this post, which I recently reblogged, to help illustrate my point:

Not only is this Fucking Rad, but it also gives us a very interesting glimpse into the Marleybonian social psyche—namely, that they think of themselves as enlighteners rather than conquerors, people who bring progress and civilization rather than death and damage. But if you wheedle them hard enough, long enough, eventually they have no choice but to admit what they truly are: not heralds of modernity and society, but destruction in the flesh, colonizers, killers.

What if Marleybonians, in their need to present themselves as the peak of "advancement" and "civilized society" (which, of course, includes being the Spiral's greatest scientists (science often being seen as diametrically opposed to magic)), they deny their own innate, inherent magic in the same way they deny their true influence on the Spiral's indigenous populations?

[designing-witch-forms-4-ur-faves]

Wishcraft is in the air? WRONG! CONTRACTS!!

Hi hello you like randomly appeared and you do cool witch designs :3c

Could you do The King from In Stars and Time? I think he'd be a interesting witch, mainly because I'd like to think he'd be able to be seen by people unlike most witches, and he causes a very specific curse that is not a natural-happening tragedy. Plus bro had reason to become a magical.. guy AND reason to break down and become a witch!!!

Also. Obligatory play In Stars and Time recommendation if you haven't played it already, please it's peak :3ccccc

Uuuu was gonna yap about the king but I don't want to spoil you on isat so TLDR of what I'd think happens to The King: Really gets to like vanguard, becomes a magical.guy to protect it. Find a couple things and... remembers. Gets extremely paranoid that something bad will happen to vanguard and goes insane, causing him to become a witch....

might be getting too obsessed about this idea highkey

HHHHAYHAHAYYAYYA FINNALKY I GET TO SEND THIS WOOOO

Hi! Welcome to the blog. I spawned with the sole purpose of making witches. (Kyubey moment)

I’ve heard of in stars and time before, I plan on playing it (or watching someone play it either one works) someday. I have heard nothing but positive things about it and it makes me a bit excited for when I finally get around to experiencing it.

I had a friend suggest a blind reaction let’s play video to in stars and time but with other video ideas that I’m way behind on? I couldn’t. Not now at least.

Or maybe I will if I can get everything done in time but I’m trying to take things slow. I barely recovered from burnout a few weeks? Months? Ago. I don’t know, time is weird. Point being, I don’t want a repeat of that.

Anywho, enough rambling. Here’s the witch!

Alfons : the crenellation witch

[manias-wordcount]

View of Paradise (Satoru Gojo x Reader) PART SEVENTEEN

[𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙀 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘾𝙃𝙊𝘾𝙊𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀 𝙁𝘼𝘾𝙏𝙊𝙍𝙔 𝘼𝙐]

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗵𝗶 𝗵𝗶. 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗜'𝗺 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲. 𝗶 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝘆𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝘀𝗼 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗵 𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗵. 𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗰��𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗟𝗢𝗟 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆 :] 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 (𝗼𝗻𝗲-𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗹𝘆) 𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲𝗵

<< 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘃 || 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 || 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 >>

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁: @ky0mybeloved

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

It’s magical.

It’s the first couple of words that come to mind as the door swings open and you’re all invited to step inside. What you’re seeing is magical. But it’s also a little something else too.

At first glance, there is a certain specialness to it. You didn’t expect such a little door to open up to such a large room. It’s bigger than your old school’s gymnasium. Probably bigger than the old warehouse your mother once worked at when you were really, really young. Bigger than any room you have ever seen. It makes sense, given the sheer size of the Gojo Candy Factory. But this room is only a small subset of the entire factory. And yet you still have trouble conceptualizing it and its massive size. The walls seem so far away from each other. The ceiling looks so high. The room is massive. It just is. But that’s not all there is to it.

Naturally, you saw the greenery and thought that you had stepped into a garden. And you honestly wouldn’t have minded it. You had never been inside an indoor garden such as this one. And you can only imagine a man as rich as Mr. Gojo would be able to afford all those tools and fertilizers and temperature controls and…other plant-helping stuff that would make it possible for such a room like this to exist inside his factory without anyone ever knowing about it.

As your eyes scanned the room, you fell in love with what you saw. Although the walls and ceilings of the room were sparsely decorated with windows and skylights, there was much to enjoy about your current setting. The lighting was a bit dim and a bit eerie. Peaks of sunlight from the outside seemed to be the main source of light in the room. Though, despite the fact that you know such a pretty place would greatly benefit from all the natural sunlight it possibly gets, the lighting did serve to give the place a bit of mysticism that you couldn’t help but appreciate. 

In addition to that, the temperature inside this room wasn’t too hot like the walkway was, nor was it too chilly like what you felt while waiting outside the factory. The vibrant green of the grass below your feet told you that the room regularly received water. The same likely could be said for all the bright, rich, and vibrant colors of all the other plants you saw too.

Bright red mushrooms with white spots and multicolored flowers with long stems and perfect petals had sprouted up from the ground near your feet. Gourds big and small tucked themselves randomly around the rises and falls of the landscape- spanning over what must have been man-made caves and bridges and burrows as the ground took to the sky in funny little patterns and formations. Twisted trees of green and purple and yellow and red grew high in the sky. Their leaves and vines and limbs looked nothing like the trees you’ve ever seen before. And a bunch of the flowers looked unfamiliar too.

It was odd to see, but not completely surprising. In your few years of schooling, you did your best to explore the world of pictures from the storybooks and science textbooks you would have to pull out during class. And when those were over, you ate up what you could see from the various TV screens at the diner (and the very grainy TV you had at home). Though you were always painfully aware of the fact that you were left with little knowledge of all the flora that existed outside of your hometown growing’s condition. 

Still, it was odd. But you suppose things that one might find magical can be seen as odd to others. Because you had never heard of trees or flowers or other types of plants looking the way that these things do in front of you. You had never heard of a healthy-looking tree being colored chartreuse from its thick and twisty stump all the way down to its long, nimble, and flexible-looking limps. Limps that cascade down like rain droplets on a slow, foggy morning. You had never heard of trees that were pale purple in color with branches that stood stiff and tall and leaves that were golden in shade and round in shape. Nor have you heard of light green, cacti-like plants growing this tall and with perfectly plump fruit spanning across a rainbow of colors and flowers with petals that look like teacups and gumdrops and many more odd shapes. 

But as you stand around with the crowd, you find that no one else seems to notice or mind. No one else has bothered to pick their slackened jaw off from the ground or hold in their gasps. Certainly not the children. And surprisingly, not even the adults either. Even Ms. Mei Mei had an impressed look on her face- something you can imagine being extremely difficult for the average person to accomplish. Though, you did notice that her eyes seemed to be trained on the waterfall on the other side of the building. And you don’t blame her.

The waterfall sits proudly on the other side of the room, gushing from a large, open hole that sits high up in one of the walls. It flows big and strong, and it feeds into the river that wraps all around the room. You can hear it from here- the strength and power of it as the rich, brown water roars and roars with every second it pours itself from the hole in the wall and lands in the river below. Although the sound is faint, it’s very present. And it’s very grand. In fact, the whole thing is. Not just the waterfall, but the greenery and the landscape and-

Wait…? Brown….waterfall…?

“Oh! And I should mention~!”

Mr. Gojo’s interjection through your thoughts is well-timed. Well-timed enough, you realize, as you turn to look at him. Because almost everyone seemed to have the stark look of realization and confusion as they took in the state of the waterfall. But Mr. Gojo doesn’t seem concerned. In fact, he looks prideful from his spot in front of the group. He looks ecstatic, even, as he spreads his arms out nice and wide to gesture to the room with a smile you have grown very familiar with in the short time you’ve spent with him as your escort. Very, very familiar even. 

“Every single thing in this room is edible. And feel free to help yourself to anything you’d like. For you see…” Mr. Gojo announces as his mischievous eyes peak over the tips of his sunglasses. Every word that passes through his lips, he pronounces slowly in an attempt to ensure that everyone present can understand the gravity of his words as he speaks them just once. And even then… “...it’s all made of candy.”

…you would argue that it was definitely not enough. Not for you, at least.

“What?” The word leaves your mouth in a sound that hobbles just barely above an alarmed whisper. And while it’s easily drowned out by the gasps and giggles and shouts of surprise by the children as they realize that according to the man who owns this “garden,” everything they see before them is edible, you find that the ever-observant Mr. Gojo had his eyes on your reaction this entire time. And the more you looked confused, the more he looked proud. “H-how…?”

A second later, you see the kids shoot off in different directions, their chaperones following closely after. Momo and Yuki run the fastest, and it almost looks like a bit of a competition between Mr. Kusakabe and Mr. Todo for who’s the best at keeping up with their girl. Ui Ui also managed to be quite quick on his feet as he ran off to immediately go attack a tree- not needing to be told twice. Ms. Mei Mei does end up trailing him, though at a much leisurely paste compared to the two girl dads of the group. 

At the same time, you see your little brother pushing ahead in his own direction. Unsurprisingly though, he stops long enough to invite Junpei to come follow him, with the kind smile you’ve always come to expect from your brother. The other boy’s face twists up in a small frown for a moment, but he does cave in easily and quietly as he goes to follow your brother down a small hill. Right behind the two of them is Ms. Nagi, as she gives the boys a fond smile and spares you a knowing, almost smug look as she leaves to go after them.

And suddenly, it’s you. Alone. With Mr. Gojo.

And so many questions.

“Everything?” You ask him as he begins to creep forward, his cane hanging idly by as he hooks it on his arm. A light little laugh pours from his lips at your expense, but you don’t pay it any mind. Instead, you’re too busy darting your eyes around and looking all over the room- seeing this so-called garden with new eyes and a new understanding. A type of understanding that suddenly makes you feel very, very, very overwhelmed. “The grass? The trees? The flowers? The ground?”

You start to press him, pointing at random plants and greenery all over the room. While the child inside of you is smiling and laughing and shouting with glee at being able to witness something so magical and so special, the rational part of you is struggling to wrap your head around what you’re seeing. Sure, all the purple and yellow trees are starting to make more sense now. But the grass beneath your feet? And the dirt beneath that? And all the flowers and the leaves? It’s all edible? It’s all candy? How could one man accomplish such a thing? Sure, he owned a large factory and clearly had the space for it. And sure he must have plenty of money being the top candy producer in all of the world. But no one has seen a worker come in or outside of these walls since…since forever last you heard. And yet the landscape is complex. The trees are tall. And the scenery looks almost unnaturally natural. As it was only cared for by human hands- not created by it.

It’s magical, alright. It’s also…also…you’re not sure how you feel about it. Every couple of seconds, you find yourself instinctively and cautiously pressing down on different parts of your feet. Hoping to see that if you put enough weight on it, you’ll be able to tell the difference. That things will start to make sense. But it doesn’t. The grass beneath your feet right now feels no different than a walk in the woods. It’s magical. But it’s overwhelming and it’s confusing. And above all? It proves once again that there’s always more to be Mr. Gojo than what meets the eye. Still, being promised to see so many wondrous things on this tour did little to prepare you for this. 

“Yes, yes, yes, and yes.” He confirms for you, regarding each and everything you point at in your momentary frenzy. His voice and his gaze are gentle as he speaks to you- and it inspires feelings not unlike what you experienced just out of the factory when he offered up his arm to escort you to the door. He’s being patient with you, and you can’t help but be grateful. But all his confirmations don’t exactly make you less overwhelmed at the moment. “Different recipes but, all of it candy.”

“And…the waterfall? That too?” You try your last question carefully, your eyes flickering between the brown-colored waterfall that’s starting to look and seems suspiciously like chocolate and its owner. This is far from the first time you’ve been able to hold his undivided attention- something only you seem to be doing lately, oddly enough. But the intensity of his gaze as he peers over his glasses and down at you starts to make you feel small- and not just because of his ridiculously long legs. 

For a moment, you spare a look at your brother, who is very kindly holding out a piece of bright red vine to Junpei and his mother at the moment, and tense up. You feel like you’re supposed to be at your brother’s side right now. You feel like you’re supposed to be playing the role that you’ve always seen parents always take on. Watching him grow up in the world and indulge in his curiosity. Even though you aren’t Yuuta’s mom, Mr. Gojo clearly thought that you were old enough to be here earlier. And you know being by Yuuta’s side would help with the feelings of being adequate enough to play chaperone since it seems like every other chaperone in the building actually feels like an adult with their life together compared to you. But here you are. Standing in front of Mr. Gojo with wide eyes and a stammer as you point and ask questions, too…too overwhelmed with what you see to even feel comfortable running off on your own. 

And here he is. Looking all too happy as he indulges your questions and attempts to be of some comfort to you.

“Yes, the waterfall too.” He affirms with another light laugh. Once again, he seems proud of himself. And you suppose you would be too if you successfully managed to stupefy your guest within a minute of taking them to the first stop of the tour. But there’s something undeniably charming about this of his laugh. Something that has your cheeks heating up with embarrassment as you advert your eyes to the life-size candy garden you’re in, trying to take in the view. Unfortunately for you, Mr. Gojo wasn’t exactly keen on letting you go from this conversation just yet. “You know…the secret to creating the finest chocolates in the world is to mix it by waterfall. It really makes all the difference, you see.”

The words only take a second to register in your mind. But the second it does, a shiver overtakes you. Currently, you find yourself thinking about every single piece of chocolate you’ve ever eaten and just how it pales in comparison to anything this man has made. You thought about your first chocolate bar. You thought about how every bite seemed just perfect. How you never thought something could taste this good. Never in a million years would have you thought that the secret to that wonderful taste would involve a chocolate waterfall in a room full of plants and shrubs and hills and trees all made out of candy. But then again, never in a million years would you have ever thought you would have found your way here too.

“All of this…” You gesture vaguely to the river a good couple of yards away from the two of you. “It’s…it’s all going to be made into chocolate? It’s all going to be sold?”

Mr. Gojo’s eyes intently follow the movement of your hands for a moment. Though he momentarily takes his attention off of you to narrow his eyes and frown in the direction of two other members of your party: Ms. Mei Mei and Ui Ui. You’ve noticed in the back of your mind that they have been wandering rather close to the river, and you could only imagine Mr. Gojo's fears of someone falling in and not being able to swim since the area wasn’t fenced in.

But they seem to be keeping a safe enough distance. In fact, you think you could even see Ms. Mei Mei advising Ui Ui where to step as the boy continues to explore the scenery. Though “explore the scenery” might not be the best way of putting it. Because it’s clear to see based on the pile of various pieces of half-eaten leaves and flower petals and vines and a tree branches tucked into Ui Ui’s arms that the boy has already acquainted himself well with his surroundings.

Eventually, Mr. Gojo decides that the two of them are behaving well enough not to need his surveillance.  Because soon enough, the man is back to turning his bright blue and intense eyes onto you, a big smile across his lips.

“Only the best.” Comes his promise to you after the prolonged moment of silence- his promise to a customer. Although it’s undeniable at this point. It’s undeniable that you’re more than just a customer based on all of this special attention and the lingering gazes he seems to have no problem bestowing onto you. And it all just makes it even more impossible to ignore what he’s doing right now. Reaching out slowly. Taking your hand in his. And bringing it up to his lips so he could kiss the back of it gently. Once. Twice. Three times. All while his eyes never once leave yours. “I live to please.”

Never.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ear, it’s racing so fast. And you can’t help your nervous swallow. He’s flirting with you. He’s been flirting with you. There’s no denying or lying to yourself any longer. But you don’t know how to handle it. It’s unfortunate that he’s very handsome.  It’s even more unfortunate that you like this attention. You like the way he seems to be going out of his way to make you feel special and attended to. 

But he’s shameless. And he’s forward. And likely a good bit older than you (though who isn’t immune to the charms of a good silver fox).  And most of all, you’re really only used to receiving attention from boys around your age at the diner. Boys who you serve too- never really anyone on the staff and permanent. Boys who don’t really mean anything serious. Boys who do nothing more than write their number on the customer's copy of the receipt or call you practically every single dessert on the menu as you pass by their table. You’re not used to this. You’re not used to butterflies.

“So…everything thing in here really is edible, huh?” You respond weakly, struggling to find your words. Mr. Gojo seemed all too pleased at your reaction and the obviousness of how his affection has thrown you for a loop. Part of you wonders if he gets a kick out of doing this to everyone. He has been the slightest bit overbearing and intense since the moment he first appeared. But then again, you suppose you should have tapered your expectations a little more to better prepare to meet the eccentric, recluse, filthy stinking rich candy maker behind your favorite chocolate bar.

“I promise you, everything.” Mr. Gojo once again confirms for you with a slight nod in your direction. If he was tired of answering all the questions you kept repeating to him, he didn’t show. In fact, the gleam in his eye only seemed to shine a little brighter as he bent a little close to your level and pulled his glasses down his nose. He’s close again. It seems he’s forever forgetting the concept of personal space when it comes to you. And as you peer back into his pretty blue eyes and read his intentions written all across his face, you find that you’re starting to forget that you once liked personal space. Because with him? Closer is starting to feel better and better. Not that you would admit it, though. “Even the people.”

Instantly, his little quip causes you to turn your head away in an attempt to stifle your laugh. 

“The people, huh?” You shoot back when you’re finally calm enough to speak between your laughter. Mr. Gojo is letting out a few chuckles of his own, seeming pleased that you’ve been around him for long enough to pick up on the fact that he wasn’t referring to something morbid like cannibalism. But, now that you think about it…the only thing that he could mean right now is…

“There are many ways to enjoy all the sweetness a person has to offer,” Mr. Gojo utters, almost the moment after the realization comes to you. His voice is so quiet and calm and heavy you swear it gives you goosebumps. And whether his words were implying something more innocent or scandalous, you don’t know. But what you do know is that those pretty blue eyes of him look darker than what you’re used to. And he’s been eyeing you very, very carefully in these past few moments. Like a predator drinking in the sight of his next prey. “I’m sure a pretty girl such as yourself would know all about that.”

Your breath catches in your throat. 

For a moment, you’re scared you’ve forgotten how to breathe. Because there it is- that shamelessness and forwardness that you find so troublesome. He doesn’t seem sorry for it. In fact, he only seems to be drinking in the way your bottom lip starts to tremble. You…you…you just don’t know. You’re not used to brazen. You’re not used to handsome, powerful men. You’re not used to this. And Mr. Gojo seems happy to take advantage of that little fact. You don’t like the fact that he’s reading you right now. But he’s right. About one thing, at least. You have a feeling that whatever he’s actually referring to, you do know about it. Just a little, at least. But you can’t let him know that. You can’t let him win. 

Especially since he’s being incredibly unfair right now.

“I’ve…kept you here for long enough.” You begin slowly, being careful not to give him an answer or a comment that he could further tease you will. Your face is feeling far too warm. And your heart is beating far too loud and fast for you. It’s wholly unfair how powerful this man is. Both in life and in simple conversation. It’s intimidating. “Could I go explore now…?”

So intimidating that you find yourself ultimately asking for permission to put this conversation on pause like he’s your boss. Or like you’re a kid, asking their teacher to go to the bathroom. Though luckily for you, he doesn’t seem to mind you trying to run. In fact, Mr. Gojo was kind enough to take a step back from you and let his smirk morph back into a cheery smile without so much as a word and- 

“Only if you take me with you.”

There it is. Oh well. You suppose that letting you off easy would be the boring thing to do. And you know far too well at this point that Mr. Gojo is anything but boring. But you suppose that’s alright. For now, at least. Because boring doesn’t give you anything to look forward to. Boring doesn’t give you butterflies.

And you’re starting to like butterflies.

[brakingpoint]

ask game: maxiel

ship it... with caveats 😳

1. What made you ship it? it was absolutely one of the various red bull PR videos from the maxiel era - impossible to recall which one, it may even have been a compilation. i'm pretty sure maxiel was my first ever f1 ship and also the first one i read (and attempted to write - it remains unfinished and unpublished and this is probably for the best) fic for. it's even more of an F1 Shipping 101 experience for me than brocedes was because i don't even remember encountering the lore. i feel like i just spawned into existence as an f1 fan shipping maxiel. it just came naturally to me

2. What are your favorite things about the ship? i think they really strike the perfect balance of fun and angst. on the one hand i love that they clearly cracked each other up in a way that i don't think i've seen for any other teammate combo - they're like those kids you absolutely cannot pair together for a group activity at school because NOTHING will get done and the noise level in the room will increase 15000 decibels. and i think this was especially sweet with max really having that aggressive reputation at the time and then you see him just unwinding and being a fucking idiot whenever he's around daniel. BUT!!!!!!! you also have absolutely delectable moments like hungary 2017 and baku 2018 to give you your angst/3rd act breakup fodder PLUS, of course, daniel eventually being motivated to leave red bull (and thus setting into motion the slow downward spiral of his entire f1 career) because he knows he can never compete with max. like god that really is The thing with f1 ships. you can love each other so much but at the end of the day as long as you're both on the grid one of you is always going to be The Winner. and that goes double when you're teammates

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? for me maxiel is the perfect example of like, it's okay to let a good thing die. i think maxiel when they were TEAMMATES was just one of the all time great f1 rpf dynamics, and i think people are very keen to keep that alive but at a certain point when they're not in the same team anymore (and daniel isn't even in the SPORT now) i can't help but feel like people are increasingly reaching. it's kind of the opposite of how i feel about brocedes - while i feel like post-nico retirement content and interactions only help make that ship even crazier time after time, i feel like a lot of more recent maxiel tinhatting has just felt like the poor unnecessary sequel to the actual rpf gold we had during the peak era. it's trying to recreate a magic that was really quite situational and it just feels like beating a dead horse

honestly to me it's almost SCARY how daniel's fastest lap in singapore was the perfect conclusion to maxiel as an arc. like if i read that plotline in a fic i would think the author was a genius. after everything that's happened, final lap of his final race in formula one and he sacrifices his own finishing position* to steal one (1) championship point from max's rival. you couldn't script it. it's a flawless bittersweet ending. i don't think there's anything more that you can or should add to their story.

all this to say my real unpopular opinion is i did not give even the slightest shit about that fucking frank hermann instagram post 😭

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Another lizardperson question: Assuming that they're cold-blooded, how might they survive if they have to go through a cold environment?

My world as at a medieval tech level, and I'm open to the possibility that the answer is just "magic," but I'm curious if there are any other explanations.

I've also seen claims elsewhere that just wearing thick clothes wouldn't stop them from losing heat. Not sure if that's true or not.

Clothing that heats up from natural sunlight could certainly help. Dark colors absorb heat very well, which is one reason polar bears have dark skin under their fur.

If a lizard person wore a thick coat of the right material when they're at a peak body temperature, I feel like it could insulate them well enough to keep them warm. Something like a nice thick wool or fur outfit, with as little exposed skin as possible. It wouldn't be a great long term solution, maybe, but it would slow the heat loss significantly.

As for magic solutions, that's as simple as being able to add heat charms to clothing and various objects. Could be very useful, since they lack electricity.

There's also that neat chemical trick. Lemme go find a tutorial on it. Those old fashioned reusable hand warmers with the hot crystals. Their heat doesn't last forever, but it's a good place to start if you want to describe an interesting fantasy object that produces heat. Fast growing crystals that feel as warm as a stone in the desert sun? That's kind of awesome, right?

It's basically just an extremely saturated solution of baking soda that crystallizes when exposed to some sort of catalyst, creating heat while the crystals expand. My parents used to have a few handwarmers made with it, like rubber pouches with this little clicky disc inside the liquid. When you click it, the crystals form. You reset it by letting it sit in simmering water for a while.

I think you could make a fantasy object that works in a similar way, but maybe holds its heat longer. Line a good thick wool/fur coat with them and you'll be toasty for hours.

And if the lizard people have to sleep in the cold area while they're passing through, they should have some sort of insulated shelter and a heat source that can keep it warm. Some sort of well insulated tent, or the tools and skills to make a small burrow in dirt or ice and block off the entrance to keep the heat inside (with a vent for air)

Try researching the sorts of tents and shelters people use in Alaska, Mongolia, and other cold areas, especially where nomadic groups have had to adapt to the cold. That will give you an idea of how people usually keep warm in similar situations.

[pagan-stitches]

Pálení Čarodějnic “Burning of the Witches”

(Walpurgisnacht, Hexennacht, May Eve) and May Day in Zjnomo (South Moravia)

Josef Lada

In Bohemia, on the eve of May Day, young people light fires on hills and peaks, at crossroads and in pastures, and dance around them. They jump over the glowing embers or even jump over the flames. The ceremony is called 'burning witches'. In some places it is customary to burn a puppet representing a witch at the stake. We must remember that May Day is the famous Walpurgis Night, and the air is full of invisible witches on their hellish errands.

—James Frazer

May Eve stands at the very threshold of the summer half-year, which begins with the holiday of May 1st. The customs of this magical night, especially the building of maypoles and the decoration of houses with green branches, are directly related to the welcoming of spring and are repeated throughout the entire Pentecostal ceremonial cycle.

It is a night of magic and love. Since it is a turning point in the year, various unclean forces also have a say, penetrating the world of people for a time. Evil powers can understandably cause harm, so people focused on protecting themselves and their farms from witches on this day. Cattle, which were driven out to pasture for the first time during this period, were particularly at risk. The villagers therefore focused primarily on protecting livestock and barns, and less on protecting homes and fields.

Various magical rituals were practiced before and after sunset. During the day, a thorough spring cleaning took place throughout the farm, especially the cleaning of the yard and stables, in which the cattle were locked up before dark. The swept-up dirt was ceremonially destroyed, usually burned in the flames of high fires. Before dusk, people also decorated their homes and farm buildings with various protective devices, symbolic barriers that were supposed to delay or injure witches.

These were usually prickly green twigs, rowan, elderberry, and birch branches that were stuck into the roofs or around doors and windows. Great attention was paid especially to the thresholds of the stables. After sunset, a commotion echoed through the village, which was supposed to scare away the witches, and all night long, people burned the aforementioned high cleansing and protective fires, in whose flames everything old and unnecessary was destroyed. During the symbolic "witch burning", props of various nature were used, especially burning brooms, which were thrown high into the air. Whoever threw their broom the highest was recognized by all those present. When the bonfires burned down, the youth without hesitation set about building a maypole and preparing for the May festival the next day.

In the Podhoráčko region and in the central and southern parts of the Horáčko region, large maypoles were erected at the beginning of May. The groups built them on various dates, e.g. on the first of May, on the first Sunday of May, sometimes before the Ascension of the Lord or before the Whitsun holidays. On other dates, the maypoles were of course also cut down. However, they always stood in the village square near the pubs. Usually one, sometimes two, more were rarely seen. It was mainly a tall spruce, of which the young men left only the top. Sometimes the conifer was also set off with a green birch.

Maypoles were decorated with scarves, sometimes with ribbons, and boys sometimes tied a bottle of brandy to the top, for which some daredevils then tried to climb. As can be seen, the chase was fun already when erecting the maypoles, but even more so when guarding them. The cross-country skiers often tried to cut them down at night. Under the maypoles, which were lit before being erected, people danced, similar to a festival.

The high maypole was sometimes erected on May 1st in Moravsko Krumlov, where it stood in front of the pub for the entire month of May and was only cut down on the last Sunday with music. The boys from Moravsko Krumlov on stuck the maypoles into the chimneys of the houses of their chosen ones. They were beautiful young birches decorated with ribbons. Which girl found the tallest maypole in the morning, was proud of it and was duly proud of it all year round.

Before sunrise, young men erected maypoles in front of the houses of their chosen ones and throughout the Třebíč region. They had hearts engraved with the initials of the girl they loved, and so the girls removed and hid them. In the vicinity of Jaroměřice, young men would stick girls' "maykes" into the dormers of their cottages.

Religious citizens would use them to decorate the Passion, chapels, crosses and statues of saints. Decorated maykes were also built in Czech villages in the Vranov region.

Lovers' paths were also paved with feathers, i.e. frayed goose feathers with a feather tip on top, or they were poured with lime milk so that everyone would know which girl this or that boy was secretly following. Therefore, young men would work hard in the morning to cover such "paths of love" before they were seen by unauthorized eyes, especially those chosen by their parents. In the Náměšť region, such paths between houses were sprinkled with chopped straw and chaff, but they were also painted with lime, across gardens and yards to doors or windows. Rejected suitors or envious or jealous girls often took revenge in this way. We have documented "paths of love" from practically the entire Třebíč region.

However, the farmers did not escape either. By morning, they could find their wagons dismantled or the Maypole tucked on the roof of the house or in the chimney. Young men also liked to plant fences, take the "kadibudky" out of the garden and line them up in the village square, throw milking stools in the middle of the pond, etc.

In the Jemnicko region, shepherds drove their cattle out for the first time, which was not without protective practices. The cows were poured with decoctions of various spices, which, for example, had to be stolen in the Velkomezíč region to be effective.

In the Podhorácko region, during the ceremonial induction into office, before the first cattle drive, they poured water on the shepherd so that he would never fall asleep while grazing. The cows were then ceremoniously driven out to pasture.

In Trstěnice, the shepherd drove the cattle out to pasture on May 1 and made a line across the road with a whip. The first farmer to cross it had healthy and beautiful horses all year round.

In the Moravian Krumlov region, black elder branches were stuck into the windows of houses and stables before dark, which were said to protect people and livestock from the rampage of witches. In the Jemnice region, they sprinkled buildings with holy water.

It was also a witch's night in the Třebíč region. Local farmers tied doorknobs with bast so that witches could not harm them. If they touched the bast, they would lose their power. Fires burned on the hills, large pyres, where everything unnecessary and old was burned, especially old brooms. With burning brooms, they walked in processions around the fire on the hill and threw them into the air as the cattle roared. However, people also danced around the fires in the Vranov region, for example in Bítov.

Belief in the power of witches on St. Philip's Night, accompanied by numerous protective measures, was also widespread among local Germans. Branches of black elderberry were nailed to the gates and doors of buildings, which were also tucked behind window frames. The construction of maypoles was widespread in the German Znojmo region until the 1930s.

Young men would erect birch, sycamore and spruce maypoles on the eve of May 1 in front of the house of a village dignitary, mayor, teacher or priest, thereby actually expressing their respect. It was a trunk stripped of bark, on whose branches were tied colorful ribbons and flags. In return, the honored ones showed their appreciation with money or a keg of beer.

In front of the pub, the group also erected a large maypole, which resembled a dancing tree or "Tanzbaum" for the celebration of the festival. They danced under it during the May Day festivities on the first Sunday in May.

At night, young men would place maypoles decorated with paper flowers and ribbons on the roofs and in front of their girlfriends' houses. They were a symbol of affection and love. However, the maypoles that had been erected had to be looked after so that they would not be stolen by one of their rivals or that another boy would not take them away and place them in front of his chosen one's house. Girls who saw a maypole in front of their house on the first morning of May were understandably very happy.

However, a rejected suitor could also take revenge on that night and place a dry branch decorated with tin cans with tinsel in front of the girl's window. The girl, about whom It was known that she had lost her honor, but in the morning she found a figure made of old rags, known for example in Horní Břečkov as "Todamonn", hanging from a tree in front of her house.

In German villages, too, paths made of lime milk or feathers connected the lovers' homes. However, St. Philip's Night was also a night of noisy fun and pranks. The young men carried gates and carts onto the roof, pulled entire carts out of the yard and blocked chimneys. However, the villagers silently tolerated these mischiefs.

Source:

[jollyinmadness]

Of Canopies and Twines: Chapter 2, Amygdalus communis | Azriel x OFC

Pairing: Azriel x Original Female Character

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Animals dying (not in detail).

Summary:

When an unknown curse starts spreading through the Night Court's lands, the Inner Circle is forced to seek help in the wisdom of Day's vast libraries. Among the dusty tomes, they are met with a mysterious female who wields magic that may yet be the key to their problem.

Kira, one of the few surviving Purifiers, will have to leave her reclusiveness on the shores of the Continent and learn what her ancestor's vow really means.

Azriel will be forced to reconcile his follies, step out from his shadows and push against his shortcoming with nothing but the scarred skin of his hands.

After years of lucky breaks, will the Inner Circle succeed one last time? Or will their fate rest in the hands of an outsider who has more to lose than gain in helping them?

Then again, the Cauldron is forever being stirred by the Mother and no one escapes the yarn on the embroidery of their lives.

Previous chapter |✶| Masterlist |✶| Next chapter

There was some peace to it, she had to admit. Being so far away from anyone and everyone but still within the bounds of the Day Court. The capital city, Trinthi, was just a few days’ trek away and the forest grew thick among these parts. 

So many animals passed by her little tent, some species she had never encountered before. A rabbit seemingly mixed with a fox, elks with a blue patch of fur on their back and tails long like a cat’s, bears, as black as the night but as calm as the air before a storm. 

The flora here was also a sight to behold. 

Gods, she had traveled the eastern continent three dozen times now, experienced the droughts of the Tijuan desert and the suffocating humidity of the Galbraithe rainforest. She had seen the highest mountain peaks and deepest valleys, lived in villages cut off from the rest of the world, yet she had never experienced something like this. She was beginning to think she could never be surprised—but here she was, proven wrong. 

Even if she had had another five hundred years she doubted she could find out all the medicinal properties the plants of Day had to offer and the habits of all the fauna here. The High Lord had long ago chastised her for this, saying there are many scholars who have already done what she has, there was no need to sit around doing this. That the libraries of Zinnia are always going to be open to her. He always pressed her, “Why do you waste time like this?”

But that was the thing for her. All she seemed to have was time. Despite his lack of understanding, he never did stop her from leaving the Palace and taking refuge among the wilderness. 

The little compendium she carried on her person had started to peter out of pages as she sat on a branch, her back against the thick trunk. Her hands were dirty from charcoal as she rushed to jot down the details of a mother bird feeding her hatchlings. How she kept an eye out at the predator lurking a few trees away, a red tailed hawk. How the little birds stretched out their necks, waiting for food their mother was chewing up for them.

She wrote down most of what she saw, added little drawings in a style she had mastered over time. They weren’t perfect by any means but when she sat down to watch the nature unfold on its own, capturing it seemed like the only right thing to do. Mainly, it was then her mind quietened enough that she could see the world for what it was. Void of magic, void of power hungry Fae rulers battling it out and leaving a trail of blood in their wake, void of suffering brought on by that greed. 

This forest was the one thing left behind. 

Self sufficient in its way, brutal in others. A never ending cycle of being on a hunt and being hunted. For her, it felt familiar yet distant. She could simply watch without being an unwilling participant. 

And so only a nest remained in this perfect little bubble. There was the robin and its hatchlings and the hawk perched far away, scouting his prey. 

And in just a few moments, a chain of events unfolded as the female kept her eyes peeled and head turned in the nest’s direction. 

The hawk flapped its wings, massive and powerful in its stature. It rose into the air. The mother bird startled, reeled back her body and turned her head from one side to another but she did not catch sight of the hawk, for it had disappeared above the canopy of the forest. As she stepped from one clawed leg to another, a panic of sorts consumed her. Her little hatchlings had their mouth wide open, still waiting for the worms hanging out of her beak. They were squeaking, trying to garner their mother’s attention though it lay elsewhere. It was apparent that she wished to fly away, save her own feathers but the instinct to protect the little creatures had taken over. How peculiar, unusual even.

The worms dropped from her beak and the little robin prepared for a fight she was bound to lose. And as those maggots fell through the air, the canopy overhead opened and down came the hawk, its wings opened, angling him in a fast arch with his claws pointed at her.

There was no outcry from the hawk nor the robin. As he snatched the mother away from its babies, few feathers were left in her awake. The only sounds were the hatchling’s little squeaks as their mother was torn away from them, unaware of what had just transpired. Their eyes were stuck closed as the hawk came after the little nest a second time. He took three, then two birds and then he deemed his take enough for the day, because he had not returned for the very last one. Perhaps he thought it was dead, as it lay at the center of the nest, unmoving. It had not been crying, not the way its siblings were just a few seconds ago. 

The female on the tree sighed, putting down her charcoal and paper. She supposed that was the way of life. A little bird is torn away from its source of nutrition and is left to fend for itself. A claim to a life is denied without it ever having started. 

She stretched her feet, climbed down the tree she was resting on, only to climb up another. She carefully took the nest into her hands, making sure the fragile structure wouldn't fall apart as she went down. 

When she peered in, the small robin seemed to stir and pop open an eye. She doubted the bird could see her, it had little feathers and seemed weak as it was. It was a hatchling, barely on the brink of becoming a nestling. She tucked the nest to her chest, making a tutting sound and catching its attention. It lifted its swaying head and opened its beak, awaiting some sliver of food, as if eating was a chore it didn’t get to do often. There was no sound coming out of its small throat but she could see the chasm it led to. It was starving, losing a fight that hadn’t even properly begun. 

Her finger gently reached in, rubbing against the little bird with utmost gentleness. It snuggled closer to the warmth and before she could even reach her tent, she began thinking of the way she was going to feed it. 

The satchel on her hip carried cheese and some bread—food certainly not suitable for a baby bird. She would need to go back to the forest and find insects, or some berries if need be. She worried the little thing was going to crumble beneath her hand with the way it shivered.

As she broke the tree line into a small clearing, she eyed her tent hidden under the lip of a rock. She picked this spot as a cover for rain but there was not a cloud in sight for days now. She couldn’t help but think the weather had been quite befitting of the Day Court. 

The nest was delicately placed on her bedroll, a rugged thing sufficing for a week’s worth of nights she planned on. Looking at the barely feathered creature, she worried her lip while wondering what exactly she was bound to do with it. She could take it to Trinthi and to the botanic gardens full of little birds like these. Perhaps other robins there would adopt it, take care of it. It could thrive there under the care of local keepers. She would need to ask around, that was for sure. 

But for now, it needed sustenance. She entered the forest once again, watching the ground with sharp focus and using what little magic she had to scout out tendrils of life. In a way, she felt like the hawk that killed the little bird’s family but she shook off the thought once she found what she was looking for. At once, she returned with a handful of berries and worms wrapped in a cloth. 

She lay down on her back, gently taking the bird and placing it on her chest, right above her heart. For a moment, she took a pause and just watched it. The way it breathed right with her, harmonious with the rise of her chest and the beating of her heart. It ruffled its featherless wings and lifted its beak, probably smelling the crushed worms she had chewed up for it. 

“You’re hungry, aren’t you, little one?” she muttered under her breath and the bird let out the tiniest squeak in response. It made her smile. The little bird swallowed the dripping mixture from her finger, swallowing and swallowing, filling up its empty stomach. 

“Taking to strays, are we?” 

The sound of another's voice startled her as much as it did the little bird. She lifted her wide eyes, meeting the gaze of a male from where he was standing in the far treeline.  A breath of relief escaped her. 

“Helion,” she greeted, not moving from where her fingers were dropping food into the bird's beak. 

“Is that a… robin?” Helion stepped forward and questioned, voice pitched with slight disbelief. 

“A hawk took its mother and siblings. It was the only one left,” she explained, feeling as though she was caught doing something wrong.

Helion only hummed, standing motionless in front of her campsite. She could invite him to sit down but there was nowhere to take perch beside a muddy log and he was wearing a white chiton. The fabric seemed light as it blew in the wind. Golden clasps adorned it but there was no crown of spikes on his head, only a snake-like armband wrapped around his bicep. Helion hadn’t come to her as the High Lord of the Day Court, he had come as a friend of many years. Or whatever their past transgression made them into, perhaps an acquaintance. 

“Has it already been a week?” she asked, referring to her planned stay in these lands. 

Helion shook his head, a stream of straight dark hair swaying with the movement. “Yes, two days ago actually.”

“Oh…” she sputtered out, breaking eye contact with Helion and looking down at the bird. 

Helion had been a High Lord for almost half a century now and as much as he didn’t wish to admit it, it was beating down on him. She watched her friend change with the centuries they knew one another and she couldn’t help but notice the biggest one happened in the last fifty years. Even if she wasn’t present for them.  

She had grown up alongside him, being a little younger than Helion. She had known him like the back of her hand despite the fact that she only came to visit every few years and stayed weeks at most—perhaps not counting one of her very prolonged stay but she wished not to think about that. 

Helion had been brilliant and it came to her as no surprise when she had learned he, a son of the previous High Lord, was chosen to be the next by their land’s magic. She only mourned the circumstances and wished the title wouldn’t carry its burden.

“Right, sorry.” At his lack of an answer, she forced one corner of her mouth to lift and said, “You’re a long way from Trinthi. Have I been summoned?”

Helion shrugged. “I simply wanted to see what all that fuss was about. You always disappear on me like this.”

“And I always invite you to come along and you always refuse. I might need to cut this excursion short,” she stated, transfering the little bird whose digestive system would start up any second to its tent. 

From where he stood, Helion tilted his head at her. “Because of a bird?”

“Have you ever taken care of a hatchling before?”

“I am a High Lord and spell-cleaver,” he said, matter of fact. “Of course not.”

She nodded her head, letting out a small genuine laugh. She looked at the High Lord and spell-cleaver from the corner of her eye. ”Did they teach the High Lord how to help a lady with packing?”

“I never knew you were a lady!” 

Despite the comment, Helion dropped down to his knees and helped her take the camp apart. He pulled off the fabric on the tent, the tarp, instantly dirtying his hands and clothes though he didn’t seem to mind. Folding the fabric in silence, she stuffed all her utensils inside a sack. He handed her other things laying around, like a flint and a lantern that she hooked to her pack’s clasp. She also made sure that her compendium was wrapped carefully in leather along with her assortment of charcoal. It had happened a few times too many when a storm caught her and ruined all her hard work.

Once that was done, she attached the small, folded tarp to the bottom and swung the sack over her shoulders. The only thing that remained was an extinguished fire, the log she used to sit on and a dirt patch where her tent had been. 

She picked up the nest, holding it close to her chest. “Do you think it’ll be all right if we winnow?” she asked under her breath, making sure the napping bird was still breathing. 

“I’m not too sure,” he admitted, resting a palm on her shoulder as they both leaned in their heads. “I can cast a protective spell, if you wish.”

“Thank you, Helion.”

“It is no problem, Kira.”

Kira smiled at him, knowing he was teasing her for the continuous use of his name. She couldn’t help it. The habit had been etched into her blood and bones long ago. 

Not only do you make sure the right person reacts, it also shows that you care enough to remember their name, came the prickle at the back of her mind and her smile sputtered out slightly.

She let Helion take the nest and watched as golden light filled in the flesh of his fingertips, much like frostbite would turn them purple. Helion muttered something under his breath, an incantation she didn’t recognize and then smiled at Kira. The bird still appeared to be sleeping but if Kira looked close enough, she could see the binding and protecting spell all around its body.

“She should be all right now.”

“It’s a she?” asked Kira. 

“I believe so, though it is still too early to tell.” He kept holding the little bird to his side, offering an elbow to Kira. “Care to give her name?”

She placed her arm in his, only giving the campsite behind her one single look before shrugging her shoulders. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, prompting him to walk forward to the forest. “Do you have any ideas?”

“What do you think of Nastya?”

She hummed, the birdsong of the forest filling in the gaps in their conversation. “Meaning resurrection,” she quipped. “How subtle, Helion.”

He huffed out a small chuckle beside her. “I was never one for subtlety. Shall we?”

A nod from Kira was all the confirmation Helion needed as he took a step forward and a gate of golden light washed over them. 

Kira could never fully grasp winnowing with the High Lord of the Day Court. When she was younger, the only times she winnowed was with her sister and even then, it felt nothing like this. There was no wind tearing at her linen tunic and it never seemed as though she was stepping into sun itself. The glow was so bright she had to squeeze her eyes closed, and even then, the backs of her eyelids lit up. One second she was in the forest not far from the north border and the next, she was floating through space and time and standing in Helion’s home. 

Kira stepped away from Helion, putting a hand at her stomach and taking in a deep breath. 

“You all right there?” she heard Helion ask from her side. 

It didn’t matter how many times she winnowed with him, her body never took it lightly. Surrounded by magic of this sort—one that belonged to a High Lord nonetheless—she felt like a lump was about to escape from her throat and onto the polished marble floor. Something inside her always wished to answer that mighty magic and usually, it was her stomach. 

“Just trying not to throw up,” she hissed out. Despite the churning in her belly, she wobbled to Helion’s other side to inspect Nastya. She was still sleeping soundly, the spell working as intended. “Could have casted that spell on me too,” she muttered and let out a sigh. There was an answering chuckle from her side.

Once the nausea passed, she took the nest from Helion and looked around to ground herself. 

They had landed in the foyer of the palace, its creamy walls flanked with windows and covered by gauzy blinds that billowed in the afternoon’s wind.

“Do you care to take dinner with me?” asked Helion and Kira slowly turned her eyes to meet his. 

Within this grand palace, his eyes appeared like molten honey once the sun’s beams hit his face. She was always jealous of the way he appeared to be cut by a god’s hand—it should be sinful to be this handsome and this powerful at the same time, so unabashed and confident in one’s abilities. Instead here she stood in front him, a polar opposite with her bright white hair, as if spun from clouds in the sky. She wasn’t all hard muscles like Helion, though she reached higher than any other female in his close circle. Still, she was not comparable to this heartthrob of a High Lord. 

“Who would say no to you?” she jested with a mirth. 

Helion sent her a beaming smile. “In the gardens, then?” 

Kira paused, making sure that her smile mirrored his. “As is our tradition,” she said awkwardly, glancing towards the winding staircases. “You couldn’t have winnowed me to the front of my room?” 

At this, he laughed but refused to answer. “I have some things to attend to but Meallan has been rather snippy since you left. Make sure to go and see him sometime?”

At the mention of his beloved pegasus, Kira eagerly nodded. 

For a few years now, Meallan's left shoulder had been bothering him due to his age and most likely breeding history. Despite being of legendary ancestry, even these animals seemed to be sensitive to the product of a millenia’s worth of genetic mingling. 

But for all it was worth, Kira worked with the team of healers and had offered her own input when prescribing a healing salve. A pinch of garlic, flurry gillyflowers and a spike of her own spell was what she usually used on horses in the human lands. She figured the magical kind couldn’t be too different in that sense.

Despite the injury, the pegasus seemed to like her and allowed her among the few people who could wash his wings, hand feed him or braid his mane. She always considered herself lucky when animals as rare as him would let her close, allowing her to put charcoal to paper and immortalize their likeness. She swore that when she showed him one of her sketches, the pegasus seemed to snort and puff out his feathers in pride. That animal must have been more brilliant than he had let on, Kira was sure. 

“Is he still ignoring Mageara?” she wondered, referring to the female pegasus stationed only one pen over. 

Helion rolled his eyes, joining his arms behind his back. “You know as well as I do that she will come nowhere near him when he is crabby.”

“Acting like a true mated couple, then.”

Before Helion could force a laugh, a door opened to their left and in came a female with a stature so demanding of attention they couldn’t help but turn to her. 

“Astria!” called Helion as her cane echoed around the foyer. 

A modest but flowing dress billowed behind her lightly and as she shook her head, braids of obsidian jingled with all of the golden detailing carefully woven into them. While she usually wore them in a bun at the nape of her neck, this time they flew around her in a beautiful frenzy that entranced all inhabitants of the palace. Astria, the right hand of Helion and his father before him, smiled wide when she noticed Kira standing there with him. 

“My! You finally went to fetch my great-niece?” she called out, her voice raspy and rough with time. 

Without waiting for Helion’s answer, she came to Kira who was wearing a timid smile. She kissed her left cheek and then the right, leaning far enough to trace a hand down the side of her face. 

“You have leaves in your hair, child,” she said, her skin likened to the terracotta of Day’s architecture wrinkled around her eyes. 

Nobody knew just how old Astria was, and to whoever asked she simply responded with a shrug, saying she stopped counting at twenty two hundred—how long ago has that been? That nobody knew either. With her age and wisdom, every moment spent in Astria’s company felt like a blanket of peace settling over a weary traveler. And despite that comfort, she could still instill a sense of respect like no one else while brushing off lint from Kira’s tunic.

“I’ll get cleaned up,” she promised to the female, eyes following her movement while Astria tended to her. 

Helion cleared his throat. “I've delivered the precious goods, am I free to go, mistress?” 

At that, Astria’s critical eyes moved from Kira’s person and to Helion, who was still standing there, hands empty and resting on his hips. The lines of Astria’s face hardened, as she noted the sack slung over Kira’s shoulder, the little bird at her side and the stained chiton on Helion’s body. One end of her lip curled but she didn’t say whatever she wished to. Helion tensed, wondering if his jab was poorly timed—which it surely was. 

“No, I came to remind you that the Grand Scribe is waiting for you in your study,” she chirped, her voice void of that caring warmth she held with Kira but it rather resembled a stern hand Helion needed as a young High Lord. When Helion moved, Astria’s voice stopped him almost instantly, “Do you plan on seeing him as disheveled as you are?”

Being the only person Helion would ever show respect to at his station, he bowed his head and scuttered out of the foyer. It would have been scary if it weren't hilarious to Kira, considering the centuries she's been acquainted with both. 

“That boy…” mumbled Astria under her breath, watching after his disappearing figure. Once he left their line of vision on the winding staircase, Astria turned to the nest Kira was holding. “Is this your new friend?”

For some unknown reason, Kira’s cheeks turned red at the ridiculing tone Astria always seems to take with her. As if she were talking to a child. Kira thought that compared to the elder female everyone had to be. 

“She was the only one left in the nest,” she explained. 

“I’m glad to know you don’t steal birds and their homes on a whim. Come, I think the Head Botanist would love to take this bird in.”

And as Astria intertwined her arm with hers, Kira couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging spread over her. Being tugged to the stairs that Helion disappeared through, Astria spoke to her of all the happenings in the palace. She caught her up with the mundane, the important and the ridiculous. She spared no details as they walked through hallways, heads leaned in to one another as two trusted females would. After all, they had almost a week’s worth of events to catch up on. Astria wasn’t about to let any one of them slip. 

Who knew what would have come of this court hadn’t Astria stayed behind the last fifty years? She has been the one supporting pillar in the age of quicksand, standing strong and determined to not let that general from Hybern break down what her and Helion’s predecessors worked so hard to build. The damage, though, was considerable and Kira knew that both Astria and the High Lord mourned what they could have saved. 

Even now, as they spoke, that weight Helion had on his shoulders carried to his most trusted advisor. Despite having over two millennia of experience, she could not hide the cracks in her facade as well as she thought. But then again, neither could Kira. 

So instead of speaking useless and comfortless words, she supported Astria’s weight a little more, taking on this one burden if only to help her. 

— ✾ —

Tonight, Kira was going to find solace in the gardens of the Palace. 

They were plush and regal in their own right, with palms and citrus trees flanking the winding gravel walkways. There were new rosemary and lavender bushes, Kira noted when she first stepped through the glass double doors with Astria on her one side and small Nastya on the other. Even certain other plants she hadn't seen here before and she would need to investigate once she had settled. 

The older female had swayed her to the left and in the direction of the greenhouse, though her mind remained on the private gardens that no one but the High Lord and his closest had access to. Nestled between the Palace and the sea, not even the never-ceasing murmur of citizens could reach it. If she ever dared to look away from the magnificent horizon, she would have to crane her neck to see the gold-plated conical roofs of the many towers. In truth, it was ostentatious but absolutely deserving of every crystal chandelier and delicately carved arch between pillars to bring it together.

You could take an evening swim in one of the many hidden pools of the garden and choose your poison of beauty. Either the blues of the sky battling with its reflection in the water or the blinding display of richness—in knowledge and treasury alike. 

They stopped in front of the regal greenhouse, where the Head Botanist was cultivating new sets of plants, either at the request of healers or just for the curiosity of his colleagues. The greenhouse itself sprawled far and wide, allowing the team of three dozen people to work in their own sections without any disturbances most times. And sometimes, Kira would help out here and there, if she was allowed. 

The Head Botanist seemed rejoiced at the sight of the small animal, quickly sweeping it up from Kira's arm, starting one of his many rants. Robins do this and their feathers are like this, his incessant talking could bore even the most patient of people. Both Kira and Astria were glad when something stole the Head Botanist's attention away from them and they shared a knowing look while slipping away. 

On the outskirts of the garden, Astria held out a hand and for a moment Kira wanted to frown, before realizing that her great-great-and-then-some-great-aunt's eyes were on the heavy bag weighing down her shoulder. 

She handed it over and with one swift move, Astria has not only magicked the pack away but also managed to rid her body and clothes of the dirt staining them. 

“You needn’t have done that,” she muttered to the female, meeting her dark gaze with its twin. Truly, it was perhaps the only resemblance they shared and the only piece of Astria’s twin sister trickling down through generations and generations into Kira’s face. Mayhaps it was the reason Astria oh-so liked maintaining eye-contact, if only to catch a glimpse of her long gone twin. 

“Of course I did,” she said back, intertwining their arms again and setting a comfortable pace, cane burrowing into the gravel. “I’ve told you about my side of things in this Palace, now tell me how you fared in the wilderness and why you lost the track of days.”

She always felt like a child, explaining her endeavors to anyone but the pages in her compendium. Everyone who had heard she traveled urged her to sit down with them and retell her most exciting stories. More often than not, she did not have the heart to say that she wasn’t that kind of traveler and that she spent her days in the woods with nothing but some handmade traps and a charcoal. She wasn’t like those travelers who went wherever they yearned because they could and they wanted to. Kira often felt that if she stayed around one place for too long, her time would run out and the thing chasing her would catch up—whatever the thing was. 

So she would always settle for honeyed truth. Sit around a fire and gesture wildly about peculiar twins living in the middle of nowhere, aura of witchcraft about them. Spin tales of cultures she had stumbled upon and remain true while still entertaining. Answer questions with sarcasm and retain an air of mystique. All of it a pretense, of course. 

But with Astria, she could never gather the courage to lie. 

Kira blew out a breath. “I hunted, sat in trees and then slept.”

Her great-aunt chuckled lowly, the sound scratching against her throat as it escaped. “So same like always. Besides the bird.”

“Besides the bird,” she echoed with a small smile. 

“Perhaps it’s good that you lost count of your nights there, otherwise you wouldn’t have been there to bring it here.” She patted Kira’s hand. “Until we wait for the High Lord, care to share a teapot with this old crone?” Her chin flicked towards the faraway deck made of white stone. Kira could hardly see it between the palm trees but she knew it was there. 

She cocked her brow at the title Astria gave herself, letting out a tired chuckle. “Of course.”

Once they finally reached it, the canopy of the palms gave way to blue sky and the lack of their trunks finally showed the reason why this particular sitting deck was so coveted by Helion’s most trusted advisor. 

The Sophia’s Bay was littered with petite boats and giant ships alike. They stood in neat rows, their white sailcloths throwing shades against the docks and even from a distance so great, you could see the many sailors unloading their cargo.

If it were any other season, the sun would have been higher in the sky, turning the air stale and humid. The chill right now was almost biting and even Astria shivered slightly. This evening, it seemed dusk would come sooner than expected.

“What’s the date today?” Kira asked as they walked to the three chairs and a table. Astria took the one in the middle, immediately grabbing the blanket strewn across the back of it for her lap. 

“Why, it’s the Winter Solstice.”

Kira hummed in acknowledgement, eyes still on the Bay and the numerous ships. She felt Astria’s gaze on the back of her head and so she forced her body to move. It followed after her even as she grabbed the blanket and haphazardly threw it on her legs too. Although her linen tunic was clean, she could still feel the essence of the dirt all over her. 

“Have you bought any presents?” she asked Astria, avoiding those all-seeing eyes and fumbling with the blanket. 

Astria wouldn’t answer, still pinning Kira down with that gaze of hers. It wasn’t rude and it certainly wasn’t meant to be demeaning. Whenever Astria pointed her eyes to Helion she would laugh, knowing that whatever she gleaned with just one sweep was enough to beat any truth-binding spell in existence. 

Perhaps that was Astria’s gift: longevity and omniscience. She didn’t particularly enjoy the latter being used on her, though. Let alone in this circumstance. 

“Is there a spot you missed with your cleaning?” she said with a bit more bite than intended and it soured Astria’s expression. 

She had half a mind to apologize before the older female huffed, summoning a pot of tea. The cups accompanying it tinkled as they dropped, their pink glass almost girly in design and reminiscent of the garden behind them. When the light hit them at an angle, they cast shadows of tea leaves and petals sunk into the glass itself. 

“Black tea, your favorite.” Astria picked up the scathing pot, filling the cups almost to the brim. Kira leaned to grasp the one offered to her, muttering a quick thank-you. 

Over the rim of her own cup, Astria spoke, "You've stayed here a long time, child. Helion won’t say it but it worries him too."

Her fingers tightened on the cup’s ear, watching the few leaves swirl around the bottom. Kira kept scanning the Bay and the horizon, though not looking at anything in particular but thought about Astria's words. “He wants me to leave?”

“No.” Astria scoffed. “We think it is unlike you to stay around so long.”

“Well,” she started but the possibilities of her answers ran away from her before she could grasp onto them. 

The short time between the end of Amarantha’s reign of terror and Hybern’s invasion of Prythian was spent out in the Continent—by Helion’s orders. He had forbidden her from stepping a foot on this Mother-forsaken island, telling her to travel, to go anywhere but here while they dealt with the threat. But ever since a new peace treaty had been signed, she hadn’t really dared to travel past the Day’s borders. 

For over a year, she had been an esteemed guest and strayed only to the northern forests, for excursions such as this last one. She couldn’t find it in herself to leave, to cross the borders of Day. Did she perhaps worry that yet another catastrophe would strike while she was not around? Who knew! She certainly did not. 

“After the War with Hybern, I thought I would stay around longer,” she admitted lamely, leaving behind all the other explanations hanging in the air between here and the eastern Continent. 

“Have you talked to Helion?”

“About the War?”

“No.” Astria’s mouth was set in a line that told Kira she wasn’t going to elaborate. Fine then, she thought to herself.

“There wasn’t any time,” she trailed off. Though there was no other person Kira felt as comfortable around, this was a topic that has been scratching under her skin for fifty years now, still yet to be breached. Astria set her cup down with more force than necessary, sending scorching tea onto the saucer and the thumb holding it. She didn’t even flinch against it as she leveled Kira with a look.

“There won’t ever be as good a time as now. We’re rebuilding, thriving! Dealing with trifle matters like Dawn students not understanding our sorting systems and arguing to us that it’s illogical!” she exclaimed, her lilting voice gaining in volume. But then, she lowered her tone and leveled Kira with her glare. “The trench between you is far too obvious, despite you two loving to ignore it. All I am saying is you need to find that bridge between you again.”

Kira sucked on the inside of her cheek. “Astria, there’s is no trench–” Astria pointed an accusing finger her way, shutting her up quickly.

“Do not lie to me, child, you know how much it irks me when you do,” she said. “You have been like two peas in a pod for centuries and whatever disagreement you had before the War, you always talked it out. Just do so again. Friendships like yours are far too rare to give up over something as trivial as an argument. If he had slept with your lover or you with his, I would not say the same.”

The small jest at the end was not nearly enough to bring Kira out of the tangent of her thoughts—and mainly her memories. She absent mindedly reached up to her necklace, toying with the snake pendant worn down from the habit. 

She wondered just how exactly Astria found out about this quarrel between them, if Helion had talked to her about it afterwards or whether it was from her own observation. No one but them was present for it. Kira had silently hoped that once reunited, they could work through it without ever mentioning it again. When the details came to her, she was as ashamed and hurt as the day she had left. More so now that Astria knew of the wedge. 

“It wasn’t just some disagreement, Astria. I said some terrible things. Things I do not wish to repeat.”

Astria lifted her perfectly plucked brow. “Have you apologized?”

This renowned interest in their relationship almost bothered Kira, but she dared not to question the timing of this interrogation. Perhaps her aunt had hoped they'd step into this next year with a renewed sense of friendship, moving past a chasm so deep that one fall could be fatal. But some disagreements, arguments can be out of the reach of forgiveness. Kira would know, for she hadn't fully forgiven Helion either. 

Growing red in the face, Kira blew out a breath. “After he returned… We hugged, cried. We said our apologies but it was vague at best, rushed at worst. I told you, there was no time before he had ushered me out, quoting Hybern and a looming war.”

Astria sighed, likely knowing Kira wouldn’t budge an inch she wasn’t willing to give to begin with. “Quite frankly,” she steered the topic, “I wouldn’t have wanted you here during all of that either. It was good he sent you away. I couldn’t even stomach losing my last living blood to a second-class act like that Hadrius male.”

Hadrius—the true name of King Hybern that no one ever spoke out loud anymore. If Kira remembered her history lessons correctly, he had changed his name to match his kingdom out of pure arrogance. He was Hybern and without him there was nothing and without his kingdom he was nothing too. She couldn’t help but find it ironic that only one of those things had lived on. In what state, she couldn’t testify.

Astria must have been around when he ascended his throne because she spat out his name with a scoff. “Stealing the Cauldron, thinking the Mother wouldn’t send someone to protect her world. Fool, fool. He got what was coming for him and I hope that Archeron girl gave him her piece of mind after what he had put us through.”

Kira frowned to herself, partially grateful at the topic shift and racking her memories for the name Archeron. Since her return, the topic of the War and everything surrounding it had been almost taboo, verging on being forbidden. Something must have happened within the Court’s inner working for Astria to become so riled up over it. She decided to revisit this bit of untold information at a later time, the name Archeron ringing around her head like a church bell. 

When her boat had docked on the eastern coast of Day, the name was spreading around like a wildfire. The people’s faces looked positively elated, there was wine being shared among sailors and then a sound Prythian was void of for far too long—laughter, uninhibited and free. 

It could have been mere two weeks since the battles were over when Kira had boarded the first ship headed to Day. She was sure some of the passengers were traveling to Prythian for the same reason as she. 

She turned to her great-aunt. “Feyre is her name?”

“Aye,” nodded Astria, her low-born accent slipping through even after all those years— millennia at court. “Cursebreaker and Cauldron-blessed.”

“Was she the one to kill that Hybern general, too?”

“No, it was the Spring lordling who got the honors.”

She couldn’t even remember the male’s name so he must have been either her age, if not a little younger. The rulers of the Courts had changed much since the last time she peered into a history book. Flora and fauna, medicine even, were more to her taste. The circumstance of this High Lord’s rule were a mystery to Kira beside what Astria just said. 

So she told her, “I haven’t heard much about what happened Under the Mountain. Helion doesn’t wish to speak of it and for good reasons I think.”

Astria took in Kira’s folded hands and the tension she felt must have shown because she said, “You two truly haven’t talked then.”

Thinning her lips, she gave her a sideways look. “Has he talked to you?”

“No, he returned to his gallivanting as soon as he sent you away. I don’t think he had time to fully grasp all that had happened. He’s been solely surviving for the last fifty years, I think it will be soon that he returns to living…

“He might need a nudge,” mused Astria, turning pensive.

“Like what?”

Astria shrugged, the movement so unceremonious against her rod-straight back. “A purpose besides rebuilding. A new pegasus, or loving someone.”

Kira clicked her tongue. “He loves plenty.”

“Too much and the wrong kinds but I have lost the battle with him on that front long ago,” she spoke silently, as if afraid of someone hearing. No one was allowed to enter these gardens without Helion’s spoken agreement but Astria warned her that even the wind in these parts carried hushed whispers too far and too easily. 

“I worry for him too,” Kira said with gentleness befit of a child. In many ways, she would always return to the age she was when she had met Helion for the first time. He had been grown then, around thirty years old when they had met and grown alongside each other. 

They didn’t speak in earnest anymore, not like they used to. Then a question appeared in her mind, one she didn't dare ask this past year. 

“How did he take his father’s death?” she asked at last, turning to face Astria with her whole body for the first time since they sat down. 

She had known his father, Damian, only in a formal setting and met him a handful of times. There was this one memory of him in her head that solidified the late High Lord as someone to not fear but rather revere. 

She had dragged Helion into the Zinnia Libraries, going into great detail about the intricacies of a Cherubian Rose that he could not care less for. After she was too exasperated with explaining the difference between a lethal and non-lethal formula, she had looked up to the mezzanines above them. And there he stood—the source of Helion’s good looks was leaning against the barrister with a Scribe talking his ear off. The late High Lord was staring at them, soft smile playing along his lips. 

Kira dipped her chin, her upbringing kicking in as she lowered her eyes. He said something to them, his voice traveling across the silent libraries and eliciting a few hushes. To this day, she can’t exactly recall what it was but Helion had looked up and called him an old man. Damian had responded with nothing but a good-hearted laugh. 

He was a kind man. Too kind to deserve the death he got at the hands of Amarantha. And for trying to free his people of all things.

Astria’s expression turned acrid and her eyes at last strayed to the horizon, where the bottom edge of the sun finally licked the endless sea, shooting hues of peach and red along the few clouds. “I wasn’t there but I could feel the shift as it happened. We held the rituals, sans the body but I don’t think Helion had ever gone to the stone.”

A hush settled over them and even the tea had not felt warm enough amid the nearing dusk. The longest night of the year awaited them with nothing but a biting chill. Kira’s eyes again drifted to the ships in the harbor, gilded in gold with the last of sun’s rays. 

Kira wondered how long she could stay—and whether she should leave. 

With the trench as Astria called it, her presence began feeling like a nuisance. To her dearest friend, to her aunt, to the servants and to the air that these trees around them breathed. A reminder of bygone times.

The sight of the distant horizon still called her name. The places she could go to and the corners she could hide in. She could spend her days in the pools here and she could traverse the plains of Xian for the rest of her life. But Astria and Helion, them could never leave behind, despite her gut telling her to move. 

Like those boats moored to the docks, she would float on the surface. She would sway from one side of her confines to another and keep her sailcloth up and stretched. But this city, this court would be the rope that kept her tethered.

Even if her home had long been gone, the Day Court would always resemble it the most. 

— ✾ —

Once Helion had finally joined them, the merry mood had returned and with it came the Solstice dinner. This year, they decided for a small feast for just the three of them. In this palace and on the Winter Solstice, the staff was given a day off, free to spend the day with their families. Only those who wished had stayed behind. 

And the chef who had lived in the palace for as long as Helion had been alive had prepared a feast for them. Plates with potatoes, roasted chicken chops, rice, hummus and one could not forget about the wide variety of pastries, both sweet and savory. Kira couldn’t help but eat a plateful of stuffed dates, complimenting the male as he winnowed in with more and more plates. 

They spent the rest of the evening conversing about all things inconsequential, skillfully maneuvering around any topic that could tip the careful balance of the tranquility between them. The words exchanged with Helion were polite, careful even. Astria gave an odd look here and there, not hiding the annoyance she held for her two companions. And when the awkward silence stretched on for too long and the tea and cakes finally ran out, that’s when she decided to retire to bed. 

Astria folded her blanket back where it belonged, threads of sage green and pale gray decorating the warm fabric, and left the private sitting deck with a good night and a dip of her chin—Astria’s version of a curtsy. Her back retreated between the palms and the lights coming from the Palace. 

From her seat, Kira watched the High Lord fumble with the blanket, appearing for the first time in a long time… well, careful, she supposed. Hesitant, and almost tired. He pulled on a loose thread, breaking it and then throwing it on the ground. When he finally set the messily folded blanket down on Astria’s chair, he looked to Kira and gave her a small smile. She watched him right back, curled up in her chair with a blanket.

They hadn’t exchanged gifts yet and no one even spoke of it, but she was sure that if she were to peer into a historian’s annals, she would find it to be the odd year. 

What a little tradition they have kept despite it all, honoring both the customs of Prythian and her own. When the question was first poised all those centuries ago and before the War, she was surprised to even find that other cultures opened their presents the morning after the Winter Solstice and not immediately after dinner. 

This year had to mean they shared their presents in the morning then.

Kira brought her blanket under her chin, looking up at Helion while his body was torn between staying here with his friend and leaving for the bed, most likely already being warmed by someone. 

“The meeting with the Grand Scribe went well?” she decided to ask him, since they hadn’t talked of it during the dinner. 

He seemed surprised at her question, but recovered swiftly. “Yes, there was a problem in the Zinnia Libraries but I have settled the matter.”

Kira’s brow furrowed. “Zinnia Libraries? Is everything well there?”

As one of the major libraries in the Mouseion, this library held all the knowledge pertaining to the flora and the fauna of the world. It worked closely with other nearby athenaeums, which concerned themselves with either medicine or cuisine and they were amongst the most frequented ones by the Scholars. Well, the historical athenaeum was the most famous one for obvious reasons, but its architecture and design was nothing compared to Zinnia. 

“Some new imports from Xian were supposed to come in with the shipments but they’re nowhere to be seen. The captain knows nothing about this so we’re trying to get in contact with the libraries in Guizhou. But we’ll have to wait for their explanation.”

“Oh,” she said, not knowing what to say anymore. “Do let me know how that goes.”

Helion’s lips thinned with his smile and at a particularly brisk gust of wind, he straightened and locked his hands behind his back. The gold snake wrapped around his bicep glistened in the faelight coming from the Palace. It must have been nearing midnight, judging by the stars’ position in the sky. 

“Are you going to retire as well?” came Helion’s voice but Kira shook her head. 

“I’ll stay here a while longer, if that’s all right by you.”

“Of course. Stay here as long as you wish, Kira.” And with a dip of his chin, he turned on his heel and made his way to the Palace, taking the warming charm with him. 

She sighed and waited at least ten minutes before getting up and chasing after the warmth as well. Only thoughts of a good warm bath floated around in her head, because knowing her habits, sleep would find her only after the dawn was well on its way. And even then, she would be quick to rise with the rest of the Court.

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@tele86

A/N:

hello, peoples!!! ( ˶o˶˶o˶) !!

i'm so sorry this update took so long (a year...), i know everyone (like two people) who wanted this update had forgotten about it, but i haven't !!!

i had the busiest last year – i was in the process of getting a new job, i was writing my bachelor thesis and finishing my degree along with two state exams and a thesis defense. but at last! i am free. and so is my capacity to write something else besides academical slop.

so! to motivate myself, i have decided to post this second chapter where you get to meet Kira. she is someone i'm still getting to know, there is much to her character and reasons as to why she acts the way that she acts. if she seems dry and flat to you now, believe it was intentional (or was it now?????). anyways! enjoy.

i am always open to notes, comments and critique.

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[ilguna]

☼ more than you know (Cashmere Ritchson) ☼

summary; there’s nothing you can do to save cashmere from the capitol. it’s too late, they’ve already figured out that she’s a rebel and you care about her. all you can do now is comfort her in the aftermath.

warnings; swearing, prostitution, death, drug mention, torture, scar mention.

wc; 5.8k

--

The day you met Cashmere was a warm, summer day in the Capitol with the nicest weather you’d seen in your life. At the time it was trendy to wear pastel colors, to keep your natural hair while also participating in hobbies that would make others’ jaw drop—usually it was something you’d find district people doing. 

It was your first year mentoring, you were freshly eighteen years-old, and Finnick wanted you to be thrown in the ring to see what magic you could create. You were excited to be there, convinced by the other victors that you could make a difference if you put your heart into it.

You were prepared to. You wanted to pave a new path for District Four, and that year, it seemed like it would be possible. You had a smart pair of tributes with confident personalities, who seemed genuinely ready to fight in the Games. They had their eyes on the title. 

You were at the peak of your game, but you made it all of ten hours before your spirit was crushed. A perfect day had turned into your worst nightmare, when you’d been escorted to the President’s Mansion. The only information you were given by the Peacekeepers was that it was an important conversation that couldn’t be had in the open.

It reminded you a lot of Finnick and what he had been saying lately. He was being cryptic when talking about the Capitol and President Snow. Like he was trying to hint at something, but when you’d ask questions, he’d be evasive. He did this for weeks, and by the time you were on the train with your tributes, you were sick of it.

What’s the point in talking to him when he refused to say what he had to say outright. He kept saying something about plans. A change of plans or your future was already planned out for you—you weren't entirely sure what he was trying to get at. 

That is until you stepped foot into the office, where Snow was with a younger version of Cashmere, not that you knew that yet. Her long blonde hair was in loose curls, pinned out of her face. She was wearing a modern pink tank top that had been tucked into a long grey skirt. 

When she glanced in your direction, there was no smile on her face. If it weren’t for the bags beneath her eyes, you would’ve taken her as a citizen of the Capitol, due to her style. She looked exhausted and disinterested, her attention turned back to Snow on the other side of the desk.

You were confused, and just slightly terrified of what you’d been invited into. Snow started by praising your excellence during the Games. He said you’d displayed a new way to handle the arena with grace and manners. It was an odd compliment, you didn’t know what to say, other than thank him for his attention to detail.

Although, you’d never intended to be graceful. You were just surviving in the only way you knew how. Which was by hanging onto scraps and bartering with people that had what you needed. You’d come across several tributes you could’ve killed, but opted for getting what you needed through convincing them.

Snow then went on to tell you that your reward was the Capitol people, or rather, you were their reward because of how well they took care of you. Since you were so civilized, you deserved to be treated as if you were. If that’s the case, though, wouldn’t all victors strive to win that way?

Finnick’s words began to make sense the more Snow spoke. He was trying to warn you of what was to come. Your future was planned out for you, because it had been planned the same way for the dozens of victors that came before you. You weren’t the first, and you wouldn’t be the last.

Snow put it as simply as he could, not wanting to give you the wrong impression of what he had in mind. You’d be bought and passed around to the elite class in the Capitol. The work would be done at night, and there would be no way to get out of it. You’d have to do this while balancing the mentorship.

He waved his hand to dismiss you, telling you that Cashmere would get you up to speed. The both of you were promptly escorted back to the Tribute Center, where Cashmere tried to split and run without speaking to you. You chased after her, pleading for her to stop because you were so confused.

She didn’t, she had no intention to, so you grabbed her. 

She yanked her arm from you, eyes wild with underlying anger. She made it very clear in that moment she didn’t want to help you. She said she had to figure it out on her own, therefore you would have to do the same. She wished you luck and stepped into the elevator. 

When you made it back to the apartments, Finnick was there. Just by the look on your face, he could tell he was right. He didn’t want to be, but with the way the people had been talking about you during your Games, he knew it was inevitable. Snow would have you the next year.

Finnick was able to give you a better explanation on what you would have to do, and advice on how to get through it. It wasn't going to be easy, there would be moments where you knew being dead would’ve been a better fate, but you could live with it if you found a way to detach yourself from the situation. 

He said you shouldn’t take Cashmere’s reaction personally, because everyone deals with it in a different way. Finnick found a way to make it palatable, and if you tried, you could too. 

From then on, every time you did see Cashmere, it was in passing. You’d see her in a hallway, in the betting room, in a restaurant. It was like you couldn’t escape her, as if she was meant to be your friend. When your tributes eventually became allies, she was there to negotiate terms with you.

Even with what Finnick had said, it was hard not to hold what she’d done against her, especially since she was supposed to guide you during something so… Well, you weren’t the only one. Finnick held that grudge harder than you could, because he felt like she had a responsibility to help, just like he did.

He had a few words with her, which you came to learn in time that it was because you were in the same position they were once in. He could understand she didn’t want to help because it might’ve felt as if she was aiding snow, but it wouldn’t help you at the end of the day. They both know how different the boy and girl victors were treated. 

One with dignity and respect and the other like a toy they could lay their hands on.

Cashmere apologized on her own time, and you slowly became friends the longer you worked alongside each other. She was dealing with her own troubles at the time, and she couldn’t handle someone else’s problems, not when she was drowning on her own.

You forgave her, and she turned out to be really kind. She genuinely wanted to get to know you as a person. The two of you would go to places for hours on end just to discuss what home is like. You exchanged a lot of details, leading you to discover what she really thought of other districts.

Honestly, you thought it was a myth that the more favored districts believed they were better than the others. It makes no sense, you’re on the same side. Whether they want to see it or not, you’re all getting reaped to play a game that results in your children dying. They aren’t excluded from this, as much as they wish they were.

Unfortunately, that’s the way Cashmere thought for the longest time, just a more tolerable version of it. Over time, you’ve worn on her, and she’s more neutral about the topic now. She doesn’t see one side better than the other, but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?

Despite your different background and perspectives, the two of you had hidden feelings for each other. You were convinced Cashmere didn’t swing your way, and then one day you were taken by surprise when she asked you on a date. You didn’t think she meant it the way she said it, until she asked you to be her girlfriend at the end of it.

The two of you wanted to keep it quiet and private, but Snow was keeping tabs. It wasn’t long before you two were being called back into his office. He wasted no time telling you how much he disapproved. You were being marketed as different personalities, and once the Capitol realized you were together, popularity dropped off. 

It was good news for your relationship.

When Katniss and Peeta won the Seventy-fourth Games, you knew the end of the beginning was coming. Oh, you were so excited. You couldn’t contain it when you saw Finnick, because this is the moment all of you had been waiting for. An outlier from District Twelve had come to save you, and she had no idea of it.

Right before you were shipped home for the year, you were able to say goodbye to Cashmere. She was in a conflicted state, not knowing if she should celebrate or not because rules were broken and surely people would die because of it. Or get the wrong idea about the situation.

You told her there would be a lot of changes in the coming months, most of which you’d probably support. No matter what would happen, you loved her and you’d find your way back to her.

Sure enough, everything got worse on their Victory Tour. You were able to have just a word with Haymitch before you were sent home with a slap on your wrist. He told you they were trying to lay low, but the situation was getting bad due to their missteps on the tour.

When the reading of the card came, you were blindsided. You never thought Snow would pull a move like that. It was bold of him to think he’d be able to swipe you all into his hand at once and crush you. You have no idea what he was thinking when you saw the tribute line up.

Your heart sank when you saw that both Cashmere and Gloss had been picked to represent District One. You knew the Games were going to be difficult, but this amplified it. Besides, you and Gloss have never exactly seen eye-to-eye. He was never supportive of your relationship, he was convinced she could do better. Not to mention, he hated the way you put ideas into his sister's head, claiming they could get her killed.

When you were able to see her during the Tribute Parade, you managed to convince her to trust you. You wouldn’t volunteer into the Games like this if you were going to get killed. You told her that you’d get more information soon, and she’d be one of the first people to know.

Sure enough, Cashmere was quickly recruited into the alliance, with the instructions to keep with the Careers to ensure they don’t go near Katniss and Peeta. The invite had been extended to Gloss, but he wouldn’t budge. He didn’t want anything to do with what you were doing.

Once the plan was solidified in the Capitol, the arena seemed relatively easy. All you had to do was survive and wait for the signal. The worst part was knowing Cashmere was in the jungle somewhere, and you weren’t with her. The thought of her brother being there was comforting, so you were able to relax a little bit. 

It got incredibly complicated when the Careers attacked the Cornucopia. Gloss killed Wiress, and before you could stop Katniss, she shot him with an arrow. He died, Cashmere flattened against the rock, hands in the air to surrender. She wasn’t a concern, though, it was Enobaria and Brutus that you had to worry about.

Once Katniss went to chase them, they left, knowing full well that all it would take is an arrow each and they’d be dead. Cashmere joined the main alliance after that, since she wouldn’t be able to go back to the others. It was smooth sailing from there, except for the fact Gloss was dead, because everyone had agreed to try to keep him alive for his sake. 

Cashmere was a wreck.

The rescue was to take place at the end of the third day. The girls split from the boys, resulting in chaos when the Two tributes came back for revenge. While you were able to make it back to the tree in time, Cashmere couldn’t, she got stuck in a fight with Brutus while trying to keep Peeta alive.

Your biggest regret is not staying with her, because even if you were in the Capitol, you’d be in the Capitol together. 

“Oh, Katniss, don’t wake him.” You tell her, holding her back from shaking Finnick.

He’s taken the situation in Thirteen as badly as you have. Annie got captured in Four so Snow could use her as leverage. The rebels went to get her as soon as they could during the chaos, but she was already gone. There’s no telling what he’s doing to her, you can only imagine after you’ve all seen the damage done to Peeta.

“Maybe he can help.” She says, holding onto your sleeves.

“How?” You ask her.

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know, but maybe he can.”

How can he help the rebels that have gone to retrieve your loved ones? The hovercraft with the volunteers is already gone. The only thing you can do now is wait to receive the news on whether or not they’ve made it through the Capitol’s defense. And that’s just the first step of many.

You let go of her. Finnick’s wiser than you are, you think Mags taught him to be that way on purpose so you’d always look up to him. He’s like an older brother to you, and Mags was like your tender grandmother. She was yours and Finnick’s mentor during the Quell, and Haymitch had to break the news to you that she died in what was called the victor’s purge. 

President Snow ordered all victors to be killed post-Quarter Quell. The only ones that are still alive is because he allowed them to be or he couldn’t get a hold of them. He took dozens of lives without taking a moment to consider they deserved to live.

Finnick is sprawled out on his stomach in the hospital’s bed. There’s a tube connected to one of his arms, a sedative being pumped into his system. His hands are clutching the pillow beneath his head as if he’s trying to strangle someone. 

Katniss gently rocks him awake, and at the sight of your faces, he’s incredibly agitated you took away his peace. It isn’t until Katniss has explained the situation, does he begin to light up.

“Don’t you see, this will decide things. One way or the other. By the end of the day, they’ll either be dead or with us. It’s… it’s more than we could hope for!” Finnick seems strangely elated by this.

You open your mouth to speak, but you’re silenced when the curtain is whipped open, revealing Haymitch. “I have a job for you three, if you can pull it together. Cressida still needs post-bombing footage of Thirteen. If we can get it in the next few hours, Beetee can air it leading up to the rescue, and maybe keep the Capitol’s attention elsewhere.”

“Yes, a distraction.” Finnick is sitting up on the bed. “A decoy of sorts.”

“What we really need is something so riveting that even President Snow won’t be able to tear himself away. Got anything like that?” Haymitch asks.

The three of you head to get breakfast before splitting off. Katniss goes to get prepped for the camera, while you head to Control with Finnick. There, they’re getting the cameras ready for filming. When Katniss is ready, all of you head aboveground to see the damaged concrete from the bombing, which is shockingly not as bad as you thought it would be.

Katniss tells the story on the first day she met Peeta, which was a dark day in District Twelve. Katniss was starving and barely scraping by at eleven years-old. She was just weeks out from being able to sign herself up for tessera, and she’d been trying to sell her sister’s clothes.

It began to rain, she accidentally dropped the clothes in a puddle out in front of the Mellark’s bakery, so she stopped to search through their trash while she was there. She was told off by Peeta’s mother, and she decided that it wasn’t worth the energy to continue anymore. While she was sitting in the mud, Peeta burned two loaves of bread. One of which he threw to one of his pigs, the other to Katniss.

If he hadn’t done that, she surely would’ve died, and so would’ve her sister. 

While this story seems to dazzle everyone, it’s not what Plutarch wants. You know this as soon as he huddles together with you, Finnick and Haymitch. 

“We need something that’ll capture the Capitol.” Plutarch says.

“We know this already.” You tell him. “Katniss has plenty of stories.”

“Not with as much meat as you or Finnick will have.” Plutarch is tilting his head.

“No.” Haymitch interrupts, he’s shaking his head. “No, Plutarch, you will not force them to tell those types of stories.”

“What type?” You ask, looking at Finnick.

He’s confused, too. “What kind of meat?”

Plutarch raises his eyebrows. “You know—what Coriolanus commanded you to do every time you came to the Capitol.”

You straighten up, eyes wide as you stare at Plutarch. Finnick’s tanned skin seems to have paled immensely, realizing what he’s asking of both of you.

“See?” Haymitch motions. “It’s too vulnerable.”

Plutarch looks at him. “I don’t suppose you’d like to take one for the team, then? You have some stories of your own.” Haymitch doesn’t respond to him, only shakes his head. “This will help get Annie and Cashmere back.”

“You’re sure?” You ask, swallowing thickly. “If I go on camera and tell them what I did, it’ll be safer?”

“They’ll be too focused on trying to shut off the propo that they’ll ignore the defense takedown.”

Finnick begins to nod. “Okay, how do we do this?”

“Both of you will take Katniss’s spot. You can take turns.” Plutarch motions before heading off to talk to Cressida.

You follow behind Finnick quietly, eyes on the ground. He stands just in front of the cement block, while you take a seat on it.

“You don’t have to do this.” Haymitch tells you.

“Yes, I do. If it will help her.” Finnick balls up his rope in his hand. He turns to look at you. “I can do it for the both of us.”

“I can’t ask you to sit here by yourself.” You tell him. “So, at the very least, I will sit here with you.”

Finnick gives you a smile, one that reminds you of Mags, before he turns to look at the camera crew. “I’m ready.”

Cressida counts him down.

Finnick lets out a shaky breath. “This is Finnick Odair, winner of the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games. I’m coming to you from District Thirteen, alive and well. We survived an assault from the Capitol, but I’m not here to give you recent news. Instead, I’m here to tell you about the endless nights in the Capitol.”

There’s a pause, and then he continues. “President Snow used to… sell me… my body, that is.” He begins in a detached tone. “I wasn’t the only one.” He nods in your direction. “If a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. If you refuse, he kills someone you love. So you do it.”

Your eyes find Katniss, whose lips have parted. She had no clue, not that you think she would’ve, anyway. Her and Peeta were still new to the Capitol, they never had a chance to mentor or even come close to this threat. They had other things to worry about.

“I wasn’t the only one, but I was the most popular. And perhaps the most defenseless, because the people I loved were so defenseless. To make themselves feel better, my patrons would make presents of money or jewelry, but I found a much more valuable form of payment.”

He presses his lips together, closing his eyes. “Secrets. And this is where you’re going to want to stay tuned, President Snow, because so very many of them were about you. But let’s begin with some of the others.”

You don’t need to speak, because Finnick has this on lock. All you can do is nod along as he tells the camera about strange sexual appetites, betrayals of the heart, endless greed and killer power plays. Secret after secret that had been uttered in the dead of the night.

When he starts listing names, you know it’s over for most of the people in the Capitol, and it gets worse when you finally pitch in with a handful of names of your own. And more, for Cashmere, because she can’t speak them herself. 

“And now, on to our good President Coriolanus Snow.” Finnick says, gaining confidence. “Such a young man when he rose to power. Such a clever one to keep it. How, you must ask yourself, did he do it? One word. That’s all you really need to know. Poison.”

It’s extremely satisfying to hear him begin to tear Snow down. He starts in the past and works his way to the present by talking about all the mysterious deaths that seem to surround Snow. The adversaries and allies that died suddenly or over a period of time. The many excuses that had been repeated. 

Snow tried to drink from the same poisoned cup to seem inconspicuous, but all it takes is a few curious minds to find out why his breath smells like blood. There are sores in his mouth that will never heal because not all antidotes work. Which is why he wears those roses, to cover up the smell of death.

They say Snow has a list and no one knows who will be next. All they can do is hope they get out of the way fast enough before he decides they’re a threat, too.

When Finnick stops speaking, the attention is turned on you. Cressida asks if you have anything to add, but all you do is shake your head. Finnick took all the words right out of your mouth, including the strange parties that were conducted. Where you weren’t the star of the show, just there to enhance it.

The camera crew runs off to edit the material, Finnick is swept away by Plutarch, and you don’t move from where you sit on the concrete, staring down at the rubble. Haymitch and Katniss come down to stand next to you.

“I’m sorry.” Katniss says.

“We do what we have to in order to survive, right?” You say, looking up to her. “Finnick warned me that I would eventually regret winning the Games because of what Snow would have planned for me, and he was right. The only aspect that made it bearable was Cashmere.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Katniss asks Haymitch.

“No. My mother and younger brother. My girl. They were all dead two weeks after I was crowned victor. Because of that stunt I pulled with the force field.” Haymitch says. “Snow had no one to use against me.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t just kill you.”

“Oh, no. I was the example. The person to hold up to the young Finnicks and Johanna’s and (Y/n)s. Of what could happen to a victor who caused problems. But he knew he had no leverage against me.”

“Until Peeta and I came along.” Katniss murmurs softly.

After this, you’re taken to Special Defense with Katniss and Finnick to wait. Finnick ties his knots, Katniss paces, and you recite songs from District Four. You’re too anxious to eat lunch. You blow things up in the shooting range with Katniss. You’re told you won’t get any news until the job is done due to communication being down.

Late afternoon, you’re pulled into a room full of screens where Beetee is trying to take over the airwaves. He plays some of Katniss’s footage, but a majority of it belongs to Finnick, with you occasionally cutting in when you had something to say. For the next hour, Beetee barely has any pushback from the Capitol, as if they, too, are riveted by what’s being said.

At the end of the hour, Beetee throws his hands up, sweat running down his face. “Let it go! If they’re not out of there by now, they’re all dead.” He turns his chair around to face the three of you. “It was a good plan, though. Did Plutarch show it to you?”

No, he didn’t, because he’s pretty useless. Beetee takes you to the next room where he shows the system that was set in place to help the volunteers get the victors out from the prison. There’s knockout gas via the ventilation system, a power failure, a bomb detonated in a government building, and the broadcast. Beetee’s pretty happy to hear you don’t really understand what’s going on, because it means the Capitol doesn’t, either.

“Like your electricity trap in the arena?” Katniss asks.

“Exactly. And see how well that worked out?”

Yes, it confused everyone and managed to destroy the dome. Nothing went to plan, the rebels in Thirteen only had so much time to rescue the victors. Half of you were left behind.

You station yourselves in Command for as long as you can, but you’re quickly pushed out when war business starts to be discussed. You wind back up in Special Defense, only this time in the hummingbird room, where you won’t be disturbed.

It’s the most agonizing hours of your life, knowing Cashmere is being rescued but not knowing if she’s safe. You spend a lot of time with your arms wrapped around your upper body, rocking back and forth, staring at the floor.

Finnick continues to tie his knots, Katniss paces back and forth. Haymitch comes in to tell you there’s no word yet. Finnick changes what knots he’s tying, Katniss finally sits down. You stop rocking for a small amount of time to cover your face to hide the tears that threaten to slaughter you. Haymitch comes back to offer dinner, which all three of you decline.

Finnick abandons his rope on the seat to sit on the ground, hunched over with his hands over his ears, like he’d done in the arena with the jabberjays. Katniss holds up a miniature noose she’d made out of her own rope. You play with your hands, keeping an eye on Finnick in case he falls off the deep end.

His hands loosen before he has the chance to.

“Did you love Annie right away, Finnick?” Katniss asks.

“No.” He says, and there’s a long couple of minutes before he adds. “She crept up on me.”

Katniss stares at the ground, mulling this over. 

It’s late when Haymitch comes back to check in on you three. “They’re back. We’re wanted in the hospital.” You get to your feet, lips parted. “That’s all I know.”

Finnick doesn’t move, frozen on the ground. You grab his rope, pulling him to his feet to get him moving. Haymitch leads the way, back through Special Defense, into the elevator, straight to the hospital wing. 

As soon as you step into the hospital, you almost regret being so eager to get here. It’s absolute chaos. There’s shouting between doctors and nurses and volunteers. There's gurneys being pushed from one end of the room to the other. 

You come to a sharp stop when a bed almost runs straight into you, a determined man pushing the woman toward a private room. Her head is shaved, skin sunken in, covered in bruises and scabs. Your eyes glance over her, not really paying attention, until it registers that it’s Johanna.

You take a step toward her, but Katniss cuts you off, heading to a room with an open door. You’re only able to get a glimpse of a man with dark hair, stripped to the waist, before a door is slammed in Katniss’s face, shutting her out. 

“Finnick!” A voice shouts, you turn to see Annie, running at Finnick. She’s clutching the sheet to her chest, eyes wild with excitement. “Finnick!” She jumps, he catches her, stumbles a step and then his back slams into the wall, where he holds onto her.

You look at Haymitch, shaking your head. “Where’s Cashmere?”

“Maybe Boggs will know.” Haymitch nods behind you.

You turn to see him coming your way, looking fairly exhausted but seemingly uninjured. “We got them all out. Except Enobaria. But since she’s from Two, we doubt she’s being held anyway. Peeta’s at the end of the hall. The effects of the gas are just wearing off. You should be there when he wakes.”

Katniss nods, Haymitch grins at her. “Come on, then.” He says, guiding her off.

You look back at Boggs. “Where’s Cashmere?”

“She’s just down this hall.” He tells you, beginning to start that way. “So far, testing says she’s good. There’s just been a change with her physical appearance.”

Your eyes widen. “What have they done to my girlfriend?”

“It’s not to the extent of the others.” Bogg tells you. He stops in front of a room with the blinds drawn tightly shut. He places his hand on the doorknob. He knocks twice before opening the door.

From just the crack in the door, you can see Cashmere hide her face, giving you an eyeful of her pretty blonde hair. You pass Boggs, heading straight for her. You’ve missed her so much.

“Babe.” You breathe, the door clicks shut behind you. “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

Cashmere turns, letting you see her. For half a second, you’re taken aback by the sheer amount of scars on her face. And then you don’t care, rushing across the room to have her in your arms sooner. 

Her lips are trembling. “Don’t look.” She tells you, but makes no move to look away.

You pull her into a tight hug, face buried in her hair. “I’ve missed you so much. I was so worried when they told me the Capitol got you. I thought the rebels would’ve been able to get all of us.”

“I should’ve just stayed with you in the alliance.” She cries, body shaking, fingers digging into your skin. As if she’s afraid you’ll disappear before her eyes. “We could’ve been together. And now—now everything’s changed. Gloss is dead. And they did this to me.”

You pull back from the hug to get a better look at her face, finding grotesque scars that have healed. The big ones are the eye catches from across the room, they’re the ones you noticed first. It isn’t until you get up close do you see the small ones scattered across her face, her neck, her arms…

“You’re still beautiful regardless.”

“You don’t understand, (Y/n), they’re all over my body.”

You gently caress her face. “So who’s going to see besides me?” You give her a small smile. “It doesn’t take anything away from your natural beauty, Cash.”

Her fingers trail the prominent scar on her cheekbone. “It’s ugly.”

“It’s strength.” You tell her.

“It’s permanent.”

“It’s a symbol.” 

“Of what?” Cashmere is laughing, but you know it’s simply because she thinks you’re being ridiculous for insisting.

“You rebelled.” You raise your eyebrows. “And you won.”

“I hardly call this a win.”

“Oh, my dear, but you did.” You take a seat on the bed. “You’re still beautiful, scars or not.”

“No one else thinks that.”

“Do I really need to find someone to tell you otherwise?” You ask her. “Have you seen Finnick’s face?”

She laughs. “No.”

“He’s got scars too, and looks just the same as he did.” You smile. “And I have good news.”

“Like what?” She asks.

“Gloss isn’t dead.”

Her face twists, mouth opening to ask what you mean. But as if you’ve planned it, there’s a knock at the door, and then it swings open. You raise off the bed as a puffy-eyed Gloss enters the room. He hadn’t been told about the news of her being rescued because everyone knew he would’ve flipped his shit since he wasn’t given the opportunity to volunteer.

He’s had a hard time adjusting to life in District Thirteen, it’s nothing like home for him. There, everything’s a competition, you have to work hard to earn what you want. Here, it’s different. You’re given everything you need to survive with no strings attached. No man left behind.

“Gloss.” Cashmere sits up on her bed. “Gloss!”

He barrels toward her, hugging her, rocking from side to side. Both of them are crying, relieved to see each other. It wasn’t easy to revive Gloss, but Plutarch somehow managed to do it. As soon as he was pulled out of the arena after the Cornucopia, he was racing against the clock.

You’re grateful Plutarch was able to fulfill one of your requests. 

Gloss suddenly reaches back, grabbing your arm, yanking you into their hug. You let out a laugh, holding onto both of them. Laughter quickly dissolves into tears as the seconds tick on.

“I’m so glad you two are alive.” You sniff, holding onto them tightly. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Thank you, (Y/n).” Gloss says, pulling away. “I know we’ve never seen eye to eye, but if it weren’t for you, I’d be dead.”

You wipe the tears from your eyes, shaking your head. “It’s really no problem.” When you look at Cashmere, she’s got her bottom lip jut out. “Don’t cry, please.”

“I love you.” She says, reaching for you. 

You go to her, pressing a long kiss against her lips. “I love you.”

[tinycheesecakedetective]

The Tribes of Madras Gorge

Since the establishment of Madras Gorge, many of the spices have founded their own clans and tribes. Each tribe has a role they play to help support the growing nation. This post will be a helpful guide to understand who does what and how they contribute to the "kingdom."

The Nutmeg Tigers: The Offensive Front

The Nutmeg Tigers are known for their ferocity and power, so naturally they act as the tribe's main force of attack. They help keep the tribe safe from hostile forces like predators or unwanted visitors. Their leader, Nutmeg Tiger Cookie, takes pride in ensuring the other tigers are at peak form.

Many of the tigers must prove their worth before being recruited, however, and go through many grueling exercises and training regiments in order to be considered. Duels in the tribe is not only traditional, it's a great way of training new recruits and helps form bonds with other members. Tigers that aren't able to fight aid the tribe in other ways, such as acting as referees for duels or care-taking the cubs while the others are away.

The Pepper Pangolins: The Defensive Front/Escorts

They may be small, but they are mighty. With their mighty scales, the Pepper Pangolins are the perfect tribe to help defend their home. The pangolins work in tandem with the Nutmeg Tigers, defending them from vicious attacks. When they aren't in the heat of battle, these spices will often be recruited to protect important members of the tribe as bodyguards. This tribe is led by Pepper Pangolin Cookie.

Pepper Pangolins pride themselves on their impenetrable scales. As such, they are sure to pay extra attention to it, and often set aside days to deep clean and treat them. The more affluent members of the tribe will often decorate their scales with gold or silver dust, however other colors such as red and green are often used as well.

The Cilantro Cobras: Stealth and Espionage

One of the Cilantro Cobra's greatest strengths is their adaptability and efficiency. Naturally, many of the cobras use their skills for special missions both in and out of the battlefield. Because of this, the Cilantro Cobras aren't seen working with the other tribes as much. However, their absence doesn't equate to inactivity. Cilantro Cobra Cookie will be happy to respond to any requests, after all.

Like real life snakes, cobras will often shed their skin every few months. Another interesting fact about cilantro cobras is that around 10% of the population can produce a venom potent enough to paralyze a healthy adult cookie. Fittingly enough, the cobras are also the only ones to have access to an antivenom. Perfect for ambush missions.

The Turmeric Pigs: The Priests

There are many rituals and practices upheld by the many spices in the gorge, and the Turmeric Pigs help upkeep the many traditions of old. Though their numbers seem to be dwindling, the Elder Turmeric Pig Priest takes pride in their position to usher in the next generation of priests and priestesses.

Much of the turmeric pigs have a knack for sniffing out important roots and plant life. Many of the resources used in their rituals have been found using their noses, and have incredibly high value both within and outside the gorge. Perhaps that's why so many pigs were unable to escape Great Battenia...

The Saffron Buffaloes: The Mages

While many residents of the gorge aren't unfamiliar with magic, the Saffron Buffaloes seem to have a natural affinity for it. From transportation circles to amplification spells, the mages provide a key resource in battle. But the battlefield isn't the only place magic used. Alongside the Kulfi, the buffaloes often use their magic to help with up-keeping and defense; repairing the damages caused by fights or natural disasters. Saffron Buffalo Cookie is the leader of this tribe.

Many of the buffaloes are in-tune with magic, but for those that aren't, they make incredible fighters. Their bodies are 100% muscle, and with the right training, a buffalo mage can also be a tank. the saffron buffaloes also have a tendency to suffer from poorer eyesight, so many of the population wear glasses or have walking canes to help move around.

The Kulfi Monkeys: The Healers

Last but not least, the peaceful Kulfi specialize in studying and practicing healing magic. They're led by the wise Elder Kulfi, and despite their lack of spice, play a vital role in treating and helping the others recover from injury and disease. In addition to assisting the buffaloes, they can also act as advisors, and are often sought out by others for their insight.

The kulfi are also well known for their Lassi Springs, a safe haven for many spices to be able to unwind and let loose after battles. Because the environment doesn't produce the drink naturally, the lassi is often made by hand every morning, and is said to have cooling and healing properties. The perfect way to relax after a long day of patrolling.

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Culture and Practices

The Spice Festival Every year, the gorge celebrates its anniversary. Spices from all across the gorge, and even some outsider tribes would come to eat, drink, and battle to their hearts content. The main event would be a tournament style free-for-all, where tribes would send out their strongest warriors to fight for a chance to beat Ghost Spice Cookie in a match. Before every battle, the other members of the tribe would try and hype up their respective fighters with dancing and music, drenching the field in their tribe's respective colors before rounds.

The Hunt Each spice tribe goes outside of the gorge to find and catch the biggest meal they can muster. Using nothing but the clothes on their backs, the tribes rely on their talents and skills to get the biggest meal out of all the tribes. The most successful tribe then receives bragging rights and first dibs on their catch as the other tribes praise them for their success.

Day of Remembrance Once every month, the spices take the day off to remember and honor their ancestors. Many fast for the day while delivering offerings to the temple, in hopes that they may reach the fallen. At the end of the day, all the offerings are burnt as ash covers the night sky.