#herb fledglings

[meirimerens]

ANON WHO DIDN’T REALIZE THEIR FUCK UP WHOOPS MY APOLOGIES ON THAT ONE! But also young kin experimenting with their herb bride dances is so cute. Getting scolded by their elders for doing non traditional or overly dangerous tricks to try and show off. Boddho doesn’t want you to break your collar bone stop trying to do a backflip!!! Artemy having to give like little talks to new dancers about how to avoid or treat injuries. Having to scold the teens for trying to “dance off” sprains and other injuries because they’re embarrassed of having to stop dancing early. Mothers holding their babies/toddlers as they sway or gently spin in the grass. Secret midnight extreme dance off do NOT let Oyun or Artemy know. Suspicious influx in teens with injuries the next morning at Artemy’s.

YOU'RE FINE BESTIE slip-ups that happens. but watch out!

Anyways my humble belief everyone dances because that's a human thing to do... leave a human to their devices they will dance sing draw or start hitting things with a stick. such is life! i think many members of the kin especially the girls & the women gravitate towards dancing even just for fun... because they have a daughter who is or who will be a Herb Bride a sister (younger or older) a niece a granddaughter... they're just like Well I couldn't do it like [daughter/sister/niece/...] does it but it's fun :) i think some herb brides also started gravitating towards that craft because they danced a lot as kids and then from that dancing got The Calling... that's how it gets you... [among other ways]... living surrounded by Weird [affectionate] Women Dancing just pits in your mind that dance is good... because it is... initiated Herb Brides in their 20s walking back home to mom for half an hour dancing up and down the stairs catching the youngest sister barely a year old barely on her legs trying to imitate... real and trye...

love to think about some of the kids trying to out-crazy the Herb Brides' crazy dances but they have neither the stamina nor the Divine Lightning Imbuing Their Every Move so. the Number of mfers with a sprained ankles burakh has to see. come on now

[afledglings-guideto-witchcraft]

Does sage only work for those who are Native american? If no, why is it considered close?

Sage works for every one if the intention is there, sage is a good herb for cleansing your home of negative energy. However, WHITE sage is an endangered plant that is used in the Native American rituals called "smudging". Smudging, can only be performed by a Native American Shaman (or, medicine man/woman). Anyone else can use white sage, however it must be bought by a Native person, so long as you aren't claiming to "smudge" with it, the appropriate term for non Natives is "smoke cleansing" (which that can be found in practically every other open culture out there).

There are many other herbs that are great (and in my opinion, better, to use than sage).

Angelica, Basil, Birch, Cedar, Cinnamon, Clove, Eucalyptus, Juniper, Lavender, Mint, Parsley, Pine, and Popular are all excellent and not endangered herbs that can be used to cleanse negative energy.

Other ways to cleanse the home of negativity include: Cleansing sprays (water, salt and lemon with any of the herbs listed above) make an excellent way to cleanse without causing an asthma reaction to transpire.

Music cleansing (or bells) is also a good way to cleanse. Simply play any music that makes you feel energetic and happy throughout your home.

Opening up all of your doors and windows is also a good way to cleanse the home. This form allows the outside air to filter inside your home and push out the negativity.

The best way to cleanse a home is by literally cleaning it. Throw out clutter and cleanse your walls, windows and every surface of your home. You can use the spray method on your walls and surfaces and even sprinkle salt into your carpets, use the spray method on your hard floors.

There are so many creative ways to cleanse a home and yourself that do not appropriate and kill an already endangered herb, they'll also leave you feeling refreshed and assured that your home is now cleansed.

[milkbobatyun]

anyone but you

pairing: wanderer/scaramouche x gn!reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: everyone else had abandoned him, but you always stuck true to him.

word count: 1k

a/n: proud to be a scaramouche simp AND wanderer haver !! dont question the lore aspect of this fic, idk myself asw LMAO

the two of you were but mere pipsqueaks when you met. 

your older brother, morax, had just ascended to godhood and was too busy with the affairs of his new nation to be able to carefully look after his baby sister. likewise, ei was too caught up in her pursuit for eternity to care for her newly made puppet. 

so, what better option was there for them than to let the two of you fend for yourselves together? being lumped together from a young age, and being innocent and naive meant that the two of you relied on each other, the two of you against the world.

you were there when his mother, no, creator, had discarded him. he had no strength, only a pure soul, one that had not yet been tainted by the cruelty of the world. his tender heart had been broken.

like a pet thrown out onto the street, kunikuzushi found himself always making his way back home, tracing the familiar steps to the shrine, sitting outside, pitifully waiting in the rain.

beside him, you sat quietly, offering him silent company. despite the bone-chilling cold, you offered him a hug, the warmth of your love engulfing him, a shield against the uncaring world.

as the both of you awaited for some sliver of hope to shine in the dark clouds of despair, you would pet his head and sing quiet lullabies as it lay on your lap, salty tears leaking from his eyes. he didn’t know puppets could cry. 

hope never came. the almighty shogun had abandoned her creation forever, condemning him to live among mortals, whose short lives meant death, a premature one when compared to his immortal lifespan. 

the bitterness of betrayal consumed a portion of his heart.

kunikuzushi had trusted him. his friend, katsuragi. 

they had promised to be family, a happy little family. tiny kuni, katsuragi and small [name].

so why? why did he tremble in fear now, when he saw kunikuzushi approach him?

it used to be cheers of happiness.

“little kuni!” he would greet, waving his arm in greeting, looking like a comical sight. a wide grin would mirror onto kunikuzushi’s face. someone had finally accepted him and [name] for who they were, looking past the non-human features and seeing their fragile hearts and souls.

katsuragi didn’t hate him for his porcelain skin and ball joints. he didn’t hate [name] for her strange, draconic horns. they were loved, remembered, as the blacksmith and his friends presented them with a beautifully decorated cake.

“to commemorate our year of memories together.” he had declared.

how cruel. how heartless of him, to take the hearts they had trustingly bestowed upon him, crushing it in his grip.

the crystalline pieces fractured, shards of a puzzle that could never be pieced together again.

his betrayal had taken a toll on kunikuzushi’s soul. tears rained down onto the ground as he clutched at your clothing with tight fists.

with warm words and soothing lullabies, your gentle touch and the feeling of home lulled the worn out puppet into sleep.

kunikuzushi was heartbroken. he was scared of this ugly nature of humans. no. he wasn’t scared. he was angry. angry at this cruel world.

he was falling into a dark abyss. curse this wretched world, for carelessly throwing his heart around.

the little boy. oh how naive and innocent he was, a fledgling chick, learning to fly.

kunikuzushi and [name] had found the sickly boy sheltering in your small, rundown, forgotten house on one of the many islands of inazuma. he was plagued with illness, not even your knowledge of medicine could cure him.

yet, you still pressed on, nourishing the little boy with lavender melons and a banquet of dishes. kuni often volunteered to go forage for different fruits, proudly bringing back the herbs he had picked in the wilderness.

once, you were even lucky enough to buy a small doll that resembled kuni.

that day had been the little boy’s birthday. you were on your daily trip to the local market when you caught sight of it. with care, you nestled the doll between the ingredients you had bought for the cake.

as the little boy blew out the candles on the sad, slightly lopsided birthday cake, he wished that he could stay with the two of you.

“we’re family now.” he had grinned at you, his two missing front teeth all the more prominent. “we’re going to be together forever and ever.”

how naive and innocent you were.

in the night, you tried to ignore the bone-chilling, hacking coughs that resonated in the empty manor. the worsening coughs that raked through his body, leaving him pale and shaking.

every night, you questioned the gods. if they were so benevolent and kind, why? why rip this young fledgling from his nest and toss him into the harsh world? what twisted sense of joy did it bring?

once again, the two of you foolishly bared your newly-mended hearts to humans, only for it to be crushed underfoot.

humans can’t be trusted. it took three betrayals before you finally understood.

a soft, porcelain heart, in this unjust world would only lead to pain and suffering. only by hardening his heart into stone, could the puppet withstand the test of human nature.

“you can’t leave me like him, [name],” kuni’s hoarse voice pleaded, gripping you as though you would disappear. “promise me.”

a link of your pinkies and you promised him, but a flicker of hesitation flitted through your eyes.

from that day on, scaramouche clung tight to you, you were his lifeline in this ugly world. the only thing pure and deserving of his love. he cast away his vulnerable and foolish younger self, burying his heart with his own two hands.

good riddance to the rest of the world, the world that he would curse at and denounce. but you, you would always have to stay by his side, in life and in death.

he would do anything to keep you near him. chain you, shackle you beside him, go to hell and back, anything so you wouldn’t abandon him, like all the others did.

his heart was cold and black, impenetrable like rock. but even a stone could retire under the erosion of time, becoming pure like the most exquisite of gems.

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡

[seongwars]

away with the wind | xiii

Pairing: dragonrider!Seonghwa x ex-dragonrider!Reader AU: dragon rider au | strangers -> lovers Summary: A spinal injury forces you to retire from dragon racing, and with it, the end of your engagement to Song Mingi. Park Seonghwa, a rising star in the world of dragon racing and heir to the prestigious House Park, seeks a new dragon after an unfortunate accident on the skyway. As the saying goes, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Word Count: 7K Warnings: violence, kidnapping, swearing, mentions of child kidnapping, descriptions of dragon body parts and anatomy

Fic Masterlist

a/n: it's back baybeeee! blame my other wips and forget me not

Kang Yeosang was born as the illegitimate son of Lord Jung Dae Han, a secret hidden beneath the grandeur of the Jung estate. From the day of his birth, Yeosang’s existence was a stain on Lord Jung's otherwise pristine reputation, a reminder of a moment of weakness. He was never publicly acknowledged, but his presence couldn’t be entirely erased either. Instead, he was raised in the shadows of the estate, caught between two worlds—neither fully accepted as a highborn, nor allowed to escape the clutches of his father's influence.

From a young age, Yeosang lived in the shadow of his half-brother, a legitimate son born from Lord Jung’s marriage to Lady Eunji. His half-brother thrived under the family’s spotlight, basking in the praise and admiration that came with his status. 

Yeosang spent most of his days confined to his small, drafty quarters in the servant’s wing of the estate, the only window to the outside world being the one overlooking the grand training grounds. He would often press his forehead against the cold glass, staring longingly at the sight of his half-brother, Wooyoung, and his dragon. 

To Yeosang, they represented everything he could never have: freedom, power, and control. But despite these differences, Wooyoung saw Yeosang as his brother, regardless of the circumstances of his birth. 

He had always had a love for dragons–the beasts were integral to Auroran culture and everyday life. Yet he was never allowed one of his own as Lord Jung’s bastard son. It wasn’t until he was out exploring the woods that he stumbled upon a wounded fledgling. The sight of the small, vulnerable creature awakened something within him—a deep instinct to help, to heal. 

Over the following weeks, he nursed it back to health, using whatever resources he could gather. With no formal training, Yeosang relied on his curiosity and keen observation, learning about the dragon’s biology and how it responded to different herbs and remedies.

He spent countless hours watching over the dragon, his mind racing with questions that no one around him could answer. Why did certain wounds heal faster with specific treatments? How did the dragon's body recover so quickly compared to other creatures? It was as if its very biology defied the natural order, and the more Yeosang observed, the more obsessed he became.

He became relentless, studying deep into the night, sketching diagrams of the dragon’s structure, its wings, the intricate patterns of its scales. He recorded every healing factor, every reaction to different stimuli. His experiments became more ambitious, as he searched for any way to unlock the secrets of the creature's rapid regeneration.

But his secret couldn’t last forever.

One evening, while he was tending to the creature in the hidden alcove where he had kept it safe, disaster struck. One of Lady Eunji’s maids stumbled upon the dragon, her scream echoing through the hallways as she fled to alert her mistress. Yeosang’s heart sank when he heard the commotion. By the time he reached the creature again, it was too late.

Lady Eunji, in her cold, calculating manner, ordered the dragon’s immediate disposal. She considered it a threat—dangerous, uncontrollable, and far too valuable to leave in the hands of someone as inexperienced as Yeosang. Her maids and guards moved quickly, hauling the weakened creature from its hiding place. Yeosang’s protests were drowned out by the commands of the estate, his words falling on deaf ears as they dragged the dragon away.

Desperate and grief-stricken, Yeosang chased after them, pleading, but Lady Eunji’s decision was final. In a last-ditch effort, he gathered what he could of the dying creature, using everything he had learned to try and resuscitate it.

But his attempts were futile.

The dragon’s breaths grew shallower, the light in its eyes fading. Yeosang could feel its life slipping away with every agonizing second. His heart broke as he knelt beside it, tears streaming down his face as he realized he was losing it. Despite all his knowledge, all his efforts, he was powerless to save the creature that had been his world for such a short period of time.

When the dragon finally stilled beneath his hands, Yeosang was left with an unbearable silence. He had failed. The weight of that failure crushed him, and something in him shifted. No longer was it mere fascination driving him—it was an insatiable hunger for control, for the kind of power that could defy death itself. In that moment of grief, Yeosang made a vow. He would never let this happen again.

And if that meant crossing boundaries others feared to cross—if that meant venturing into dark, so be it.

˖

Your limbs felt impossibly heavy, like they were shackled by invisible chains, and your vision wavered, fading in and out of focus. The sharp sting at the base of your neck pulsed in rhythm with the buzzing implant, all thanks to Yeosang’s doing. It hummed beneath your skin, sending erratic shocks through your nervous system, muddling your thoughts and sapping your strength.

A shadow moved over you, and before you could react, a strong arm slid around your waist, hoisting you up. Instinctively, you attempted to fight back, but your movements were slow, sluggish, as if your body was no longer your own. Forcing yourself to focus, you recognized the face in your haze—Mingi. 

“Stop resisting,” Mingi hissed, his grip tightening as you struggled against him. 

“Put me down, you motherfucker,” you slurred, the words barely coherent as you tried to wriggle free, your body useless and uncooperative. Every movement felt like it was happening in slow motion, your muscles heavy with the weight of the sedative still pumping through your veins.

Before you could get another word out, Mingi made a sharp turn, yanking you both into the shadows of a narrow side hallway. His hand clamped over your mouth as the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the stone corridor. Cromer’s guards rushed past, their boots a steady thud that reverberated in your ears.

“We need to get you out of here,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm, like he was trying to comfort you. All you could manage was a faint, frustrated sigh as you sagged in his arms, no longer able to fight him. 

Another set of footsteps echoed from around the corner, breaking through the fog in your mind. Mingi stiffened, then ducked into a nearby room, quickly closing the door behind you both. 

"Why are you helping me?" you whispered, pulling yourself away from Mingi. Your voice trembled, exhaustion weighing you down, but you still managed to create some distance between you. Suspicion clawed at your mind. Why him? Why now?

You watched his lips part, the hesitation so thick you could feel it, as if he were weighing every word before it left his mouth. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and strained, like each word pained him to admit.

"Because Yeosang is going to blow this place up."

The revelation hit you, leaving you momentarily breathless. "Blow this place up?" you repeated, your disbelief breaking through your exhaustion. "With that thing he created?"

“He didn’t create that thing from nothing.” He paused, his gaze hardening as memories you couldn't see flitted across his face.

“He harvested it—piece by piece.”

A dragon, pieced together like a grotesque puzzle, created for destruction. Every part of it, from the scales to the bones, had once belonged to a living, breathing creature. Now, those pieces had been fused together into something far more terrifying, twisted into Yeosang’s vision of power.

“How…why would he do that?” you whispered, a sickening feeling rising in your chest. 

Mingi sighed, his shoulders sagging. “Everything he’s done—the experiments, trafficking, using a lab as a front for recruiting riders—it’s all tied to his twisted vision. And now, with the military closing in, he’s wiping everything clean.”

The breath left your lungs in a sharp gasp. "So, then what makes me any different from the kids?" The thought sent a wave of revulsion through you. "Why me? What does he need me for?"

Mingi’s expression darkened, his tone heavy with regret. He hesitated, as if the words physically pained him. 

“He needed someone who was grounded, someone who couldn’t fly anymore.”

Your chest tightened as the implications sank in. “Because of my accident,” you whispered, bile rising in your throat.

“He believes that if he can show anyone—regardless of background or limitations—can control dragons, it’ll spark a war for control over dragonkind.”

“That’s what the neural link system is for,” he continued. “It allows pilots to communicate directly with dragons without needing to mount them. Yeosang’s figured out how to create a direct connection between two entirely different nervous systems.”

A shiver ran down your spine as you processed his words. The idea that you had been that close to losing control, that close to becoming one of Yeosang’s puppets, sent a wave of nausea rolling through you. Your hand trembled as you touched the back of your neck again, fingers brushing over the skin where the implant lay beneath.

“If you knew about this, why didn’t you say anything?” Your voice rose, trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. 

Mingi’s face twisted with frustration, his voice rising defensively. “Do you think I wanted any of this to happen? I was scared, okay? Of what Yeosang could do to everyone! He’s not just one man—he’s a system. I didn’t know how to fight that!”

“Don’t you dare,” you shot back, venomously. “You weren’t scared. You could have stopped this. You could have warned everyone. But instead, you sat there and reaped the benefits while Yeosang pulled the strings. You’re not just complicit—you’re part of the problem.”

“Y/N—”

“Save it,” you spat, cutting him off. “You’re no better than he is. You let people suffer because you could care less about anyone other than yourself.”

Mingi’s face paled, his eyes wide with guilt as the weight of your words crashed over him. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words died on his lips. He knew you were right—there was no defense, no justification for the choices he had made. 

But then, after a long, painful silence, Mingi’s voice broke through, quieter than before.

“You’re right.” His head hung low, the fight gone from him. 

“I wanted so badly to be at the top, to be someone—someone important—that I didn’t see how far I’d fallen. I know I can’t undo what’s been done, but I can try to make it right. Please, let me help now, let me get you out. I’m not asking for forgiveness—I know I don’t deserve that. But we can stop him and put an end to this.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of his admission. He was a man who had failed, who had let his own selfish ambitions cloud his judgment. But now, he was standing before you, stripped of his pride, begging for a chance to make amends.

Whether or not you could trust him again, you weren’t sure. But the thought of taking down Yeosang without Mingi’s knowledge and help seemed impossible.

“How did you find me?” you finally asked. 

Mingi paused for a moment, his expression softening as if he knew how fragile you felt. “Cirrus was all over the news,” he explained, his hands going up in a slight defensive gesture, as if to calm any panic you might feel from the mention of the dragon’s name. 

“She was out of control. I’ve never seen her like that before. That’s when I knew…something had to have happened to you. I knew I had to hurry, so I got here as fast as I could.” 

“Hey, bastard,” Mingi growled from the shadows, his voice low and dangerous.

“You better get out before the authorities shut down your little operation. Her dragon’s about to bring the whole place down.”

Yeosang froze mid-motion, irritation flickering across his face as he turned toward the voice. He wasn’t easily rattled, though. After a moment, he narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms with deliberate calm. 

“Come to play the hero?” he sneered, mocking disdain dripping from every word. 

Mingi stepped forward, unbothered by the taunt, his voice cold and steady. “No. But I’ll need a dragon after this suspension, and you can’t afford to lose everything you’ve worked for.”

The room seemed to close in around them, tension thickening in the air. Yeosang’s sharp gaze calculated every angle, aware of how precarious his position was. Outside, the walls trembled under the pressure of Cirrus’ fury, the dragon’s roars reverberating through the lab. Time was running out.

“Where’s Wooyoung?” Yeosang asked, his voice sharp, as if he could regain control by asking the right question.

“Up top, containing the chaos,” Mingi replied with a lazy yawn, feigning disinterest.

“Look, since I’m already here, I’ll move her to where the kids are,” he offered casually, though his tone was measured and deliberate. 

“You get your dragon out. It’s a win for you.”

“I'm not negotiating with you,” Yeosang snapped, but there was a faint tremor in his voice—a hint of uncertainty that hadn’t been there before.

Mingi’s calm demeanor disappeared in an instant, replaced by a menacing intensity. He stepped closer, towering over the doctor, his eyes cold as steel. 

“I put my neck on the line by piloting one of your experiments, testifying before the Council, and even sold a dream to those kids you wanted to recruit,” he growled, each word laced with barely restrained anger.

“It cost me everything. So either you let me get her out of here, or you lose everything.”

Yeosang’s composure cracked, hesitation flashing across his features as he glanced around the lab. The walls continued to shake, cracks forming in the concrete as Cirrus grew more intense by the second. He could feel the weight of Mingi’s words, the truth that he had no time, no room for error.

Finally, with a reluctant nod, Yeosang backed down, knowing there was no other choice. “I’ll send you the coordinates,” he muttered, his voice stripped of its earlier defiance.

Mingi gave a curt nod, his victory sealed, but there was no satisfaction in it—just the bitter truth that they were both in too deep.

“Yeosang cares about that dragon more than anything,” Mingi muttered, his jaw clenched. “The other hybrid dragons, the kids—they're just a means to an end.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the realization hitting you like a punch to the gut. The children weren’t just pawns in Yeosang’s sick experiment—they were victims. And now, you knew, you were meant to be next. The neural dock you’d been strapped into wasn’t just some twisted trap—it was a gateway into the experiment’s mind, a bridge Yeosang intended for you to cross, whether you survived or not.

“We have to find them.”

“We will,” Mingi replied, his voice firm. “But first, we need to get you out of here.”

Without wasting another moment, you and Mingi bolted down the narrow, dimly lit corridors of the lab. Your footsteps echoed through the metallic halls, the blare of alarms and flashing emergency lights heightening the sense of danger. Every second felt like it was borrowed, the urgency of escape hanging over you both like a noose tightening with each step.

Mingi was in front, his broad frame cutting through the smoke and chaos, but suddenly he skidded to a halt, throwing his arm out to shield you. You stumbled, barely catching yourself as the corridor plunged into a chilling silence. Your heart pounded in your ears as you followed his gaze, your pulse spiking when you saw what had stopped him.

Wooyoung. 

The night thrummed with tension as the rhythmic beat of dragon wings cut through the cool air. A low rumble from the soldiers’ dragons reverberated through the ground, matching the palpable anticipation. The military had sealed off the lab, blocking every known exit, but it wasn’t enough—not for Seonghwa. His chest tightened with each passing second, knowing you were still trapped inside. Time was slipping away, and every second that passed felt like an eternity.

Behind San, his dragon Stelle let out a deep, guttural growl, the sound vibrating through the tense atmosphere like a warning. Her massive wings flexed and her glowing eyes were fixed on the steel fortress ahead. Around them, other dragons shifted, their muscles tense, nostrils flaring as they sensed the looming danger just as keenly as their riders.

Seonghwa’s fingers twitched with impatience, his eyes darting between the hologram and the lab’s doors. He wanted to move, to charge in and tear the place apart if it meant finding you. But San, experienced and methodical, stood firm. Rushing in blind would only spell disaster. Seonghwa forced himself to stay still as San explained the plan.

He stood in front of the holographic display, eyes sharp with focus as he traced the layout of the lab. “The main entrance is a trap,” he said, his voice calm but commanding. 

“It’s heavily fortified, packed with security bots and sensors. If we go in that way, we’ll be flagged immediately.”

Before anyone could respond, Yunho jogged up, phone in hand. “This might help,” he called, catching their attention. He synced his phone to the hologram, and the lab’s structure shifted, expanding as new data merged with the layout.

"Here," Yunho began, gesturing to the updated hologram. “It’s not perfect, but this gives us a clearer idea of the structure from when I was inside during the tour.”

“I don’t know how deep the lab runs underground,” he continued, his voice tense with focus, “but I know they’ve been using this loading dock.” He pointed to a spot on the hologram where large transport crates were stacked. 

“They’ve been loading and unloading juvenile dragons through here.”

San studied the hologram closely, brow furrowed in concentration. “And you’re sure this dock is still operational? Any recent activity?”

Yunho’s gaze didn’t waver from the projection, memories of his recent investigation flashing in his mind. “Possibly,” he replied, calm but urgent. 

“When Y/N and I checked the site, there were clear signs. The cargo crates were still warm from dragon fire, and the claw marks on the containers were fresh. It’s the only active entry point we know for sure.”

San nodded, his mind quickly piecing together the next steps. “We’ll send the tactical team through the dock. They’ll neutralize any immediate threats, and once we get the all-clear, the rest of us move in.”

Around them, snipers took their positions on the rooftops, while soldiers fanned out, covering every angle of the perimeter.

“We need to be smart. Medical team, be on standby,” San added, shooting a glance toward the medics stationed near the dragons. The unspoken urgency lingered in the air as he turned back to the team. 

“Prepare for breach.”

˖

"Yeosang?" Wooyoung whispered harshly as he stepped closer to where his brother sat, eyes cast downward. He could see the faint bruises along Yeosang’s arms, subtle reminders of Eunji's cruelty. A surge of anger rose in his chest, his fists clenching involuntarily. It wasn’t fair.

Yeosang shifted slightly, his voice quiet, almost broken. “Nothing.”

That was always his answer. Nothing. As if the marks on his skin weren’t evidence enough. As if Wooyoung’s mother’s cutting words didn’t wound him just as deeply.

“You don’t have to lie to me. I know what mother said.”

Yeosang’s gaze finally lifted, meeting his brother’s. His eyes were dark, swirling with emotions Wooyoung couldn’t fully grasp—anger, hurt, and something else. Resignation, maybe.

“It doesn’t matter. No one’s ever going to see me like they see you.”

"That’s not true," Wooyoung snapped, frustration sharpening his tone. "You’re amazing at science! Smarter than me, even."

A bitter laugh escaped Yeosang as he shook his head. “No, I’m not. You know it. They know it. That’s why they took Hope away.”

Hope. The fledgling dragon Wooyoung’s mother had ordered her guards to dispose of. He could still see the desperation in Yeosang’s eyes, the way his hands trembled as he tried to piece the dragon back together, ignoring the futility of it all.

Wooyoung had found him in the dark corner of the stables, kneeling over the broken remains of Hope. His brother’s face had been streaked with dirt and tears, his delicate fingers working frantically to reconnect scales, muscles, limbs, anything he could. It was impossible, hopeless. But Yeosang kept going.

Without hesitation, Wooyoung grabbed his hand, gripping it tightly. "I don’t care what mother thinks. You’re my brother, and I’ll protect you. No matter what."

From that moment on, Wooyoung had kept that promise. He shielded Yeosang from his mother, took the blame for things Yeosang didn’t do, and faced the cruelty of the world head-on, even if it meant taking the hits himself. It was the least he could do for a brother who had never known the love he deserved.

Even now, even if it meant betraying the people he cared about. Wooyoung knew that Yeosang deserved to win for once.

Wooyoung stepped forward with slow, deliberate movements, his face shrouded in an eerie calm, but it was the gun in his hand that made your stomach drop. It was aimed squarely at you and Mingi, the cold metal gleaming ominously in the flickering light.

“Jung Wooyoung, what are you doing?” you asked, your voice shaky but defiant. Every step backward felt like the edge of a cliff, and you weren’t sure how much farther you could go.

“I can’t let you leave,” Wooyoung repeated, his voice eerily calm, yet every word dripped with finality. His fingers curled tighter around the weapon, and you couldn’t help but flinch at the sight of him like this—so distant, so far removed from the friend you once knew.

“Are you out of your mind?” Mingi's voice was calm, but the fury beneath was undeniable. “Move,” he demanded, low and firm, his eyes locked on Wooyoung.

But Wooyoung didn’t budge. His gaze flicked from you to Mingi, calculating, but it wasn’t the playful, mischievous look you once knew—it was cold, detached, as if the person in front of you wasn’t the same Wooyoung anymore.

“I can’t do that,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. 

You searched his face, desperately hoping to find a trace of the Wooyoung you once trusted, the one who made you laugh, who always had your back. But all you saw was a man who had made his choice—a man who was willing to do whatever it took, even if it meant betraying the people he cared about.

“Wooyoung,” you said, your voice trembling despite every effort to steady yourself. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I already told you,” he said quietly, “I can’t let you leave.”

Mingi tensed beside you, but he didn’t make a move. His gaze was locked on Wooyoung, his voice steady as he spoke. 

“You don’t want to do this, Wooyoung. Put the gun down.”

“You don’t get it,” Wooyoung snapped with frustration.

“You don’t get that Yeosang’s trying to level the playing field. He’s trying to make a better world for everyone—humans and dragons.”

“By playing god?” you cut in, your frustration rising with every word.

“He’s not fixing anything! He’s manipulating life, creating things that shouldn’t exist. This isn’t about equality or justice—it’s about power. It’s about Yeosang deciding who lives and who dies, who deserves freedom and who doesn’t.”

Wooyoung’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you saw the desperation in his eyes. “No,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

“You’d understand, Y/N. You, of all people, should get it. I’m talking about giving people who can’t fly a chance.”

You froze, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. For a moment, the anger burned away, replaced by something more painful, more personal. Memories of the fall, of being told you'd never race again, flashed through your mind. It wasn’t just your body that had been broken that day—it was your dream, your freedom.

“They told you that because of one accident, you couldn’t race anymore,” Wooyoung continued, his voice soft but insistent. “That’s the kind of world we’re living in. One mistake, and you’re grounded. Forever.”

His eyes softened with something that looked like hope, a hope you hadn’t seen in him for so long. 

“But Yeosang’s the only one brave enough to change that.”

Your chest tightened painfully, the weight of his words sinking in. Wooyoung wasn’t just defending Yeosang—he was defending the dream of a world where people like you wouldn’t be cast aside, where second chances were real. But even as you understood, you couldn’t let go of the truth.

“But at what cost?” you shot back, stepping forward despite the gun in his hand. 

“You think you can fix the world by tearing it apart? By playing god with lives that aren’t yours to control? That’s not salvation, Wooyoung. That’s destruction.”

Wooyoung’s expression flickered, doubt creeping into his features. The gun wavered in his hands, lowering slightly, but he didn’t drop it. 

“You don’t know what it’s like to watch someone break,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion.

“I watched him suffer, Y/N. Every day. My mother’s abuse, the ridicule, the way people looked at him like he didn’t belong. Yeosang doesn’t have anyone else. He’s always been alone.”

His voice cracked, and you could see the guilt in his eyes, the weight of years spent watching his brother spiral deeper into darkness. 

“This dragon... it’s all he has left,” Wooyoung continued, his voice steady, uncaring. “It’s his life’s work, his way to take back control from the people who’ve always had it. I can’t let you take that from him. Not after everything.”

“But this is wrong, Wooyoung! Yeosang isn’t trying to save anyone—he’s trying to control them. And if you go through with this, you’ll be just as lost as he is.”

Wooyoung’s face remained blank, no emotion surfacing in his expression. “Then I guess I’ll be lost too,” he said flatly, his eyes dull and detached. 

He didn’t care—not about the consequences, not about you, not even about what would happen next. He was fully committed, no matter the cost.

Your stomach dropped as you realized the truth: he wasn’t going to stop. He wasn’t hesitating. He would do whatever it took to protect Yeosang’s vision, even if it meant taking out you and Mingi.

Mingi’s voice was sharp with disbelief, though his body remained poised. “You’re really willing to kill us for this? For Yeosang’s delusions?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Wooyoung said simply, shrugging as if the idea didn’t bother him in the slightest. His finger twitched on the trigger, and your heart pounded in your chest as you stared into the face of someone who no longer cared.

In an instant, the corridor erupted into chaos.

Mingi lunged forward without warning, his hand shooting out to grab the gun just as Wooyoung fired. The deafening crack of the shot echoed violently in the confined space. 

Mingi tackled Wooyoung to the ground, their bodies crashing together with a brutal thud. The gun clattered across the floor, spinning out of reach, and you scrambled to move, your pulse racing as you struggled to process what had just happened.

“Y/N, get out of here!” Mingi shouted, as he pinned Wooyoung’s arm down, breathing heavily.

You ran, your feet pounding against the cold floor as you darted down the corridor. But as you fled, something flickered in the distance. A glint, subtle but unmistakable, caught your eye. You slowed, just for a heartbeat, scanning the shadows ahead. And then you saw it—a rifle’s scope, reflecting in the dim light.

“Aurora Military! Put your hands where we can see them!” The command rang out, sharp and commanding, freezing you in place. The tension in the air thickened, like a weight pressing down on your chest. Out of the darkness, soldiers materialized, their rifles trained on you with unyielding precision.

Your heart pounded in your ears, blood roaring through your veins. Mingi, battered and bruised from his confrontation with Wooyoung, slowly raised his hands. He cast you a glance—tired, but filled with relief. You could see it in his eyes, the silent understanding that the fight, for now, was over.

Despite the devastation in his eyes, Wooyoung complied, rising to his knees with a slow, deliberate motion, his hands raised in surrender. The defiance that once burned so fiercely within him was gone, leaving behind only a hollow shadow of the man you once knew. And yet, as he stared at you, something darker flickered in his gaze—something far more foreboding than the destruction surrounding you.

“You think this is over?” he asked quietly, his voice eerily calm in the face of defeat. 

The soldiers moved in, their steps precise and practiced, but the weight of Wooyoung’s words hung thick in the air, stopping you cold. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him—there was something in the way he held himself, the way his lips twitched with a bitter smile that left you paralyzed.

A deep sense of dread settled in your chest, growing heavier with each passing second. You exchanged a glance with Mingi, whose tension mirrored your own. He sensed it too—the feeling that something far worse was about to unfold.

“You think stopping me will change anything?” His voice lowered, almost a whisper now, yet it cut through the air like a blade. 

“You think you’ve won because I’m on my knees? Because Yeosang’s not here?”

He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with something terrifyingly close to pity. “You don’t understand, Y/N. This... this is only the beginning.”

Seonghwa paced back and forth, his eyes darting toward the entrance of the building every few seconds, anxiety thrumming his chest. The recon team had gone in what felt like hours ago, and still, there was no sign of you. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve, his heart racing with a mixture of fear and impatience.

He glanced at the soldiers standing nearby, but they offered no reassurance. The silence was unbearable, and every passing second without word from the team felt like an eternity. Seonghwa’s mind raced with worst-case scenarios, every possible outcome flashing before his eyes. What if they didn’t make it? What if you were still trapped inside? What if—

Suddenly, a commotion from the entrance caught his attention. Seonghwa’s heart leapt into his throat as the recon team emerged, and there—being guided by two soldiers and…Mingi—you appeared. Disheveled, bruised, and leaning on one of the soldiers for support, but alive.

Without thinking, Seonghwa sprinted toward you, the moment his eyes locked on you, everything else faded away. The fear, the waiting, the uncertainty—it all vanished in the face of sheer relief.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice breaking as he reached you. His arms enveloped you before you even had a chance to fully register his presence. He pulled you close, holding you tight as though you might disappear if he let go.

Your legs gave out beneath you, and you collapsed into Seonghwa’s waiting arms, heart racing but grateful to be alive. His grip was firm, grounding you in the chaos as your breath came in ragged gasps.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice soft with emotion. You could hear the relief as his hand gently cupped the back of your head, his touch a silent reassurance that you were here, alive.

As soon as Seonghwa’s arms wrapped around you, the overwhelming relief hit you like a wave, and you buried your face against his chest. The scent of him, familiar and comforting, grounded you after the chaos. 

“I’m okay,” you whispered, though your body told a different story. The adrenaline was fading, leaving only exhaustion and pain in its wake. A sharp pain throbbed in your side, reminding you that you weren’t out of danger yet.

“My neck, Seonghwa. My neck!” your voice faltered.

Seonghwa pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes scanning your face, searching for any sign of injury. His brows furrowed in concern, and without hesitation, he called out over his shoulder. 

“She needs medical attention, now!”

Your breaths were ragged, and the words spilled out of you in between gasps, desperate to make them understand. “Yeosang–ow,” you winced, instinctively raising a hand to touch your neck, where a sharp sting remained, “Implanted something in my neck." 

The pain shot through you again, but you fought through it, trying to get the words out faster.

“H-He’s planning to blow up the building,” you rasped, panic creeping into your voice. You could still picture Yeosang's cold, calculating gaze as he revealed his twisted plan. 

“He has a dragon he created,” you added breathlessly, your thoughts racing in terror.

Seonghwa’s grip tightened at the revelation, his usually calm, composed face flickered with something darker—anger, fear, or maybe both. The medic worked diligently beside you, but you barely noticed the bandages being wrapped or the sting of antiseptic on your wounds.

“He’s hiding the kids...Jinsik might be with them,” you gasped, your breath growing more shallow with each word.

"But Mingi has the coordinates. You have to save the kids."

Speaking felt like an uphill battle, each word feeling heavier than the last. You could feel yourself weakening, unsure if it was from the panic, the pain, or the weight of the revelation you had just shared. Time was running out.

The medic glanced up from your wounds, her hands still working quickly but efficiently. “We need to get you to the hospital,” she said, her tone firm. “Now.”

“But—” you began, a sharp pain shooting through your side, cutting your protest short. You winced, the world around you tilting slightly as the adrenaline started to fade, leaving nothing but exhaustion and agony in its wake.

The medic’s expression softened slightly, but her urgency remained. “You’ve got that implant, and it’s dangerous to keep it inside you any longer. We have to get it out.”

Seonghwa’s brow furrowed, his hand still gripping yours as he knelt beside you. “Listen to her,” he urged, his voice low, yet filled with concern. 

“We’ll take care of everything else, but you need to get that implant out, Y/N. Please.”

You wanted to argue, wanted to insist that you could still help, that the kids, Cirrus, your friends needed you—but the pain in your side was becoming unbearable, a white-hot burn that made it nearly impossible to think clearly. Seonghwa’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in reassurance.

The medic was still speaking, her voice a distant hum as Seonghwa held your hand tightly. But your focus had already drifted, drawn to the building in front of you. There was a certain ringing in your ears, an ominous buzz that filled the silence. Something was coming. 

You could feel it—a shift in the atmosphere, like the air had thickened, charged with an electric tension. A pulse of danger rippled through you, making the hairs on your arms stand on end.

The ground beneath you rumbled, a low vibration that grew stronger with each passing second. The dragons in the distance became restless, their uneasy cries cutting through the night air, as if they, too, could sense what was about to happen.

And then, without warning, a deafening roar shattered the silence.

The top of the building exploded in a violent eruption of dust and debris. Stone, metal, and glass shot out in all directions, a chaotic storm of destruction. The medic barely had time to react before she pulled you and Seonghwa into the back of the van, using the doors to shield your bodies from the shrapnel. The sound was overwhelming, a cacophony of crashing, roaring, and the sharp ping of debris against metal.

Your breath caught in your throat, your body tensing as the dust began to settle. When you opened your eyes again, you were met with a sight that made your blood run cold.

Yeosang burst out of the wreckage, his face streaked with dirt and determination and something almost manic in his eyes. But it wasn’t just Yeosang. Behind him, towering over the destruction, was the monstrous form of his hybrid creation. 

The creature was unlike anything you had ever seen. Its enormous body, a twisted amalgamation of decay and divinity, was both grotesque and hauntingly angelic. Its scales, ragged and peeling, glistened in the moonlight with an unnatural sheen like fragments of something long dead. The wings, vast and tattered, seemed like remnants of an ancient glory, now jagged and torn, as if carved by forces far beyond mortal comprehension.

It was alive—but only barely. Its body was a patchwork of sinew and rot, where flesh clung to bones that seemed far too fragile for its massive form. It's as if its very existence was a struggle between life and death.

Yet despite its grotesque appearance, there was something angelic about it, as if it had once been a creature of light now fallen from grace. Its form was a testament to both beauty and horror, an embodiment of forgotten power that stirred both awe and dread. It was as if death had touched it but hadn’t claimed it fully, leaving it suspended in a state of decayed glory.

Seonghwa tightened his embrace around you as the dragon let out another earth-shaking roar, its wings spreading wide as it loomed over the ruined building. Your heart pounded in your chest, fear and awe coursing through your veins.

From the distance, the shrill wailing of sirens grew louder. Wooyoung’s face was pressed against the window, his eyes locked onto the creature Yeosang had brought to life. Despite the chaos, despite the destruction, there was something in Wooyoung’s expression—a glint of pride, almost admiration, as he took in the sight of the dragon.

"What… what is that?" the arresting officer stammered, his voice shaking as he stared in horror at the creature before him.

Wooyoung’s gaze didn’t leave the creature, a small, grim smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His voice was quiet but filled with a certain reverence as he spoke. 

“Hope.”

The roar of engines filled the air as military-grade helicopters lifted off, their rotors chopping through the night sky, while armored vehicles rolled forward, crunching over the debris-strewn streets.

“All units, mobilize! Call for immediate backup—we need every available unit now!” San commanded as soldiers in tactical gear scrambled into position, their weapons gleaming under the harsh floodlights that bathed the battlefield. 

The streets erupted into action. Soldiers clad in high-tech combat gear moved swiftly, mounting their armored dragons—sleek, battle-ready beasts outfitted with tactical armor and advanced weaponry. The deafening roar of jet engines overhead mingled with the guttural growls of dragons as the troops prepared for war. 

Helicopters buzzed overhead, their searchlights cutting through the smoke and debris, while tanks rumbled across the broken streets, cannons aimed at the monstrous threat ahead.

“Focus on the wings!” San barked as he mounted Stelle, her massive wings unfurling with a powerful beat. His soldiers followed suit, rising into the air as their dragons launched skyward, forming an aerial assault team. 

Explosive rounds and streams of gunfire tore through the night, lighting up the sky with brilliant bursts of fire as the soldiers unleashed their arsenal on Yeosang's creation. But the monstrous dragon’s hide was tough, and seemed to grow more enraged with every assault. 

From the rear lines, military commanders coordinated drone strikes and called in air support. Fighter jets screamed overhead, releasing bombs designed to track the creature’s movement. The bombs detonated with pinpoint accuracy, sending plumes of fire and smoke into the air, but still, the dragon stood.

On the ground, chaos raged as Seonghwa crouched beside you, his expression taut with worry. The battlefield was a blur of movement—dragons roaring overhead, along with explosions of gunfire—but his focus was solely on you. Your breathing was shallow, pain radiating from the implant in your neck.

"They need to get that implant out of you. Your family is on the way to the hospital and they’ll meet you there. It’s going to be okay."

You could only nod, the pain making it hard to focus, but Seonghwa’s presence anchored you. Without a word, he leaned closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. His embrace lingered, as though he was pouring all his fears and unspoken desires into the silence between you: how much he wanted you to be safe, how terrified he was of losing you. 

You clung to him, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket, desperate and unwilling to let go. Even if only for a fleeting moment, you needed to hold onto his warmth. Your heart pounded in your chest, begging for time to stop—just for this, just for the chance to keep him close.

“I’ll see you soon,” he promised, as if he were saying it more for himself than for you. He stepped back, his gaze never leaving yours as the medic closed the doors of the van behind you.

As the van sped off, you caught one last glimpse of Seonghwa through the small window, his figure silhouetted against the backdrop of destruction. Dragons roared in the distance, their shadows flickering in the chaos. 

The pain in your neck pulsed with every heartbeat, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead gnawed at your thoughts. Yet the warmth of Seonghwa’s embrace lingered, and despite everything, it filled you with hope that, somehow, you both would make it through this.

<< xii | xiv >>

taglist: @chngbnwf, @sunnysidesins @litolmochi @syubseokie @park-simphwa @szakias @babymbbatinygirl @oddracha @maliamaiden @signingsongbird @passionandsuga @mitchii

[scottishaccentsareawesome]

No but that deleted scene from 7x09 of Hen and Karen giving Tommy the Shovel Talk is EVERYTHING to me

they're just like "Yes hi we are the Protective Lesbian Aunties and Queer Allies of this Fledgling Bi Man, do not hurt him or we will kill you and bury you in our herb garden"

[orionsd00dles]

Supernatural Vamp & Werewolf Varigo AU Headcannons (bc I'm bored) Part 1

Vampire Varian

Varian was born around the Medieval Era, though he never really got to meet his mother Ulla (a recently turned fledgling vampire) because she was killed by the leader of Donella's pack after he was born. Since Varian was born human, Ulla couldn't really be around him or Quirin anymore, out of fear of hurting them.

Varian was turned when he was around the age of 8-9 years old. And since I headcannon that he's transmasc I'd imagine that he'd wear dresses (and his mother's goggles) when he was a little girl who didn't really understand his sexual identity at first because most kids that age don't have much knowledge of that topic.

He'd still wear his mother's goggles even in the modern days. He's still an alchemist at heart.

He sees Rapunzel as a big sister and Eugene as an older brother.

He used to have a crush on Cassandra but then he changed his mind like: "No, never mind... I don't think I'm lesbian. She's not interested in me anyways :(" Then bam, 5 Years later and he runs into an annoying blonde guy named Hugo at some cafe or something!

Varian would probably be 19 years old in the modern era. (I don't know how Vampire years work with age.)

Since he lives in a big vampire coven with Raps and Eugene they're very overprotective of him.

Sunlight doesn't kill him. "That's just a dumb myth humans made up." -Varian

He is allergic to garlic though. His vampire stomach is sensitive to most human meals and edible herbs.

His skin is sensitive to silver.

Blood still makes him very squeamish despite it being the bane of his very existence.

He can purr in both bat and human form.

He has a pet raccoon named Ruddiger. It's a requirement for the vermin to exist in this au.

Varian wears a chest binder because y'know he's trans.

His fashion sense mostly consists of grungecore, basically flannels, ripped jeans, leather boots, hoodies, etc.

[this-is-ris]

Thank you for the tags everyone! Take a seat, or grab her hand for a journey into some Ris Lore Basics!

B A S I C S

-Name: Ris Dei-ijla -Nicknames: Haven (as called by her partner, Qara) Glasses (by a friend, named Fish) and Rissy (Dinky Dinky’s name for her) -Age: 55 -Nameday: 12th Sun of the 6th Umbral Moon -Race: Rava Viera -Gender: CIS Female -Orientation: Pansexual -Profession: Gleaner, Herbalist, Fledgling Apothecary

P H Y S I C A L    A S P E C T S

-Hair: Thick wavy blanket of dark brown hair, absolutely fluffy and soft. Always woven with fresh flowers and herbs. -Eyes: Bright jade, constant glow to them. Wears red-hued eye makeup around her outer and lower lids. -Skin: Tan, freckles all over from head to toe. -Tattoos/scars: None to speak of, will on occasion wear body paint reminiscent of her tribe.

F A M I L Y

-Parents: Ceres Dei-ijla (mother) -Siblings: many sisters (some known, some unknown) -Grandparents: Unknown/Deceased  -In-laws and Other: self adopted brother Bem Dei-jla. -Pets: Rabbit named Pancake

S K I L L S

Abilities:  -Channeling aether, for use with summoning or healing magicks. -Use of a guard stick/glaive -Use of tomes if practicing summoning magicks.  -Aethersight that can read one’s emotions/aura to an extent.  Hobbies: -Gardening/Foraging, Reading, Dancing, baking sweets and preparing medicines for her friends and loved ones.

T R A I T S

-Most Positive Trait: Selfless and willing to help just about anyone. -Most Negative Trait: Worrying too much for others’ safety and wellbeing where it may seem she loses sight/trust of them being able to handle themselves just fine.

L I K E S

-Colors: Purples, greens, blues -Smells: Jasmine, oud wood, vanilla, moss -Textures: soft delicate flower petals, dewy moss on tree bark, velvety tuft of fur, smooth leather cover of a well-loved notebook. -Drinks: Teas, botanical beverages, fruit juices

O T H E R   D E T A I L S

Smokes: Doesn’t go out of her way to, but has done some experimenting with special grasses she may come across.. Just for science. Drinks: Socially, with friends and at her favorite taverns when passing by the area Drugs: only drugs being of the medicinal variety she tests for herself (to check for side effects) aside from that, not recreationally unless we’re talking special grasses again..hehe Mount Issuance: a chocobo she was given a great deal on during her first time visiting the Shroud, named Lilah. Ris prefers traveling on foot, so oftentimes Lilah will just be her trail companion to share company with and be in charge of carrying their food and blankets. Been Arrested: No, but she has been (self) exiled! (:

This was super fun and I know I am a bit late so won't try and tag too many if I have seen one for you @justatheo @the-white-snake @prudentfolly @bemsbigboom (no pressure, but just in case~)

[everrainrp]

CLAN FOUNDINGS

Each Clans origins lie from somewhere else, and with them, each founder brought their individual ideals and values. This gave way to future traditions and religions, cultures built with one another, alliances and rivalries, the full gamut of newly birthed allegiances. Below, you will find information regarding each Clans founder and it's founding years, where the founders came from, and early challenges they faced.

Shoreshimmer Clan...

... was founded by a molly named Tuna, who had lived almost her entire life on board a ship as a ship cat. After a storm dashed the ship upon the rocks, Tuna was cast overboard into the raging ocean. Miraculously, she awoke on the shores of the temperate rain forest of the Pacific Northwest. Already superstitious and having spiritual beliefs in the ocean, Tuna took this as a sign that this is where the ocean and it's tides wanted her to be. As time went on, she gathered other cats, rogues and loners who sought purpose or a new home, and cats who end up washed ashore. Tuna was bold and stood with her head high always, in the face of adversity, while also understanding to respect what should be feared and revered. She built Shoreshimmer Clan with unity and balance in mind, proclaiming that like the shore, they will be able to weather any storm and remain. This did not come without its challenges in the Clans fledgling years, as Tuna had to learn to navigate dwelling on solid land rather than a ship, and the Clan had to face heavy storms that battered their early camps. Eventually they settled in higher up cliff caves carved out by weather and water long ago, where the waves could not reach and winds could not blow. They also had to contest with bears and wolves, though, overtime their relationship with the marine wolves became one of mutual indifference as cats were not a primary food source for the canines. Because they were the first Clan to officially found themselves and continued to be for a few years, Shoreshimmer did not have to contest with territory or borders until several years later. Tuna ultimately passed peacefully of old age. While Tuna did not instill the Tidebound Pact, she did leave behind the ideals and values that would be needed to forge this leadership model later on in Shoreshimmer Clans history.

Torrentfall Clan...

... was the next to be founded. Ripley, a loner who had spent the better part of their life as a wanderer, found solace in the waterfalls and rushing rivers of the riparian zone. They were calm and contemplative, and it was not long before cats were drawn to the prospect of someone strong enough to build a life among the white water rapids. Torrentfall Clan started as a loose colony, but soon the conclusion between them was the same: stand together, or be swept away. Much like Shoreshimmer, they valued unity and cooperation, but instead of having a free spirit that rose and fell with the tides, Torrentfall Clan found their strength in the tradition of adaptability. They needed to evolve with the rivers, but needed to maintain a rigid tradition to ensure that they never strayed too far from this ideal. Before long, Ripley and Tuna had met face to face along the banks of the estuary, a large river that ran through the area and emptied into the ocean, creating areas of brackish water and salt resistant prey and plants. Initially, the relationship between the two had started calm and civil, if not curious. They both revered the water but feared what it was capable of. It was not before long that cats within each group began getting into spats over the estuary, though, with Ripley's followers claiming that the beach dwelling group had the entire ocean to hunt and harvest herbs from, and Tuna's followers claiming that the mouth of the river met the ocean therefor they have just as much claim. Tuna and Ripley quelled these spats, which could be considered the first territory and boundary fights in the five Clans histories, and claimed the two groups could easily share the hunting and harvesting ground as it provided both Clans with unique herbs and prey that they wouldn't get otherwise from their respective water sources being salt and fresh water. After that, a quiet fell upon the two newly fledged groups as they formed and shaped themselves to their environments, aiming to master each of them. This tentative peace would not last, as Ripley passed of a respiratory infection two years into the groups founding, and their successor, Downpour, sought to make the estuary Torrentfall Clan’s territory and Torrentfall Clan’s territory alone. This shift marked the official beginning of the longstanding rivalry between the two Clans, and the eras of tentative peace that they would fall into like clockwork.

MISTSHROUD & THORNRUSH CLAN...

... were founded simultaneously several years after Torrentfall was founded. A large group of weary ex-Clan cats headed by Russetthorn and Shroudedcrawl found their way into the temperate rainforest from far off. Their previous Clan had become cruel and tyrannical, enforcing impossible tasks and rites on the apprentices and warriors. Their home was no longer a home, but rather a prison. Only the strongest were permitted to survive, and if you couldn't bear your own burdens, you would die or be killed. Having had enough, a large group fled into the night. Shroudedcrawl, who had valued secrecy and subtlety, disbanded from the group with their followers who shared their views. Russetthorn, who had valued bravery and honor, amicably split with the other half of the group with their own followers in tow. The two settled in the mist shrouded cloud forest, and dense underbrush of the rainforest respectively. The cloud forest held peace and serenity, and most of all, secrecy. It was a place that Shroudedcrawl and their followers could fade and disappear into. They would learn to have the upper hand and advantage, and would never be taken advantage of again. The dense undergrowth of the rainforest was full of brambles and vines, creating impenetrable thickets and barriers. It was a place Russetthorn and her followers could feel protected, all the while offering their protecting all the same, with Russetthorn vowing to never let her group become the same evil that they had fled from. Mistshroud was founded, though cats of Torrentfall and Shoreshimmer scarcely saw them, and Shroudedcrawl was content to keep it that way. Thornrush was founded simultaneously, and was much more present among the two previously founded Clans, going as far as stepping in during a territory spat while still getting their bearings. Since then, Mistshroud has remained veiled in secrecy and silence, knowing more about the Clans than they let on while letting no one know about them. Thornrush on the other hand, has been present in conflict since then, acting as a mediator between Clans who are warring and offering mutual aid to any Clan that goes through an intense period of hardship.

With them, the group that comprised Mistshroud and Thornrush brought Pawspeak and Paws Cant, two forms of languages founded back in their home Clan to speak in code while being observed and leave markings that signaled danger and so on. These two languages spread rapidly into Torrentfall and Shoreshimmer, with Thornrush being the primary teacher of this. They also introduced the prefix-suffix naming system and a more rigid hierarchy, which was adopted into the earlier founded Clans relatively quickly.

Mistshroud and Thornrush, due to their shared history, maintained a respectable alliance, though they drifted apart through the years due to their difference in values. This steady peace has remained between the two to the current day, a respectable nod to their Clans origins and shared history.

The First Gathering...

... took place a year after Mistshroud's and Thornrush's founding. Thornrush was the mediator of this, bringing together the groups and their leaders to discuss the area. Clearly there were tensions and rivalries, with Torrentfall and Shoreshimmer stubbornly butting heads, and Mistshroud acting venomously towards both as a means of protecting themselves, and Russetthorn wanted it to cease. She gathered each of the groups and asked them to meet at the abandoned lodge, where they could proclaim an area of peace and neutrality. It was here that Russetthorn mediated between Tuna (or rather, her successor, Riptide, as Tuna was elderly by this point), Downpour, and Shroudedcrawl. They each came to an agreeance on where lines should be drawn and how they could live among one another peacefully without stepping on each other's toes. This was formalized as a once a moon event as to keep the peace between each group by maintaining constant communication.

Skyreach Clan...

... was, surprisingly, founded by two Clan cats, one from Torrentfall and one from Mistshroud. With these two Clans, individuality and sense of group unity was necessary, and any outside source of newcomers or help would be pushed back. Mistshroud, to an isolationist degree, and Torrentfall to a stubborn degree. Cats that had joined along each might have found themselves stifled by these Clans tendencies down the line, which leads us to Roostertalon and Harestomp. The two had met at a Gathering and quickly became enamored with one another. Surely in the Clans earlier founding years, run ins and romances between the groups were much more common, but as the groups each drew into themselves and their own individual ideals and cultures, it slowly became a taboo to find love outside. Roostertalon of Mistshroud Clan was an adventurous molly with an explorers heart, with a habit of exploring far beyond the Clans territory lines. Harestomp of Torrentfall Clan was much more laid back and found the rigidity of her home Clan to be stifling, there was always room for clan growth but never room for personal growth. Like minded, they became quickly enamored and fell in love with one another. Knowing that their respective Clans would look down on them at best for their relationship, or outright disgrace them at worst, the two decided that if they were going to be looked down upon they would do so on their own terms. And in the night, the two fled to the peaks and sub-alpine meadows of the higher elevations, rising above Torrentfall's and Mistshroud's territory both. Their departure was not announced until an upcoming Gathering, where the duo appeared and proclaimed their new Clan, a Clan that would always seek the horizons and valued exploration, acceptance, and individuality above all. Skyreach Clan. Cats from other Clans who had found this appealing began asking questions, while this sparked an outcry, and future rivalry, from Torrentfall and Mistshroud both. Shoreshimmer Clan and Thornrush Clan each dipped their heads and welcomed the newly founded Clan, and took little offense to those that decided to leave to find themselves among the skies. Torrentfall Clan and Mistshroud Clan would not officially recognize Skyreach Clan as an official Clan until about a year later when the peak dwelling cats swept through Torrentfall's territory to help after a landslide collapsed their dens and parts of their territory, trapping many cats underneath. This marked the steady peace between Torrentfall and Skyreach, while Mistshroud still maintains a cold distance from Skyreach.

[alice-angel12x]

I wonder what NRC's reaction would be meeting life for the first time?

Let's set the scene:

Far away deep in the hidden celestial forest, lies a hidden grotto. In the center was a simple shack, and inside was the god of Origin, Life. In the shack, tools and instruments lay scattered across the ground. On many shelves were both finished and unfinished clay sculptures. Beings that were not given the flames of life just yet. Around a cauldron were many different potions, herbal editions, and a large assortment of plants. And at the sketch table sat life. Paper and blueprints were scattered around him, all with failed Ideas of new life. The God Life sat and stared blankly at the blank parchment. He was having the work creative block, and the only thing he could draw was love hearts around a doodle of the apple of his eye, Y/n Death.

"Where did you disappear to this time Y/n," Life sighed in loneliness.

Life held out his hand as his staff floated over to him. With a soft tap, the staff tilted so that the orb was right in front of him. A couple of Sugar gliders helped him as they brought assortments of herbs and potions. Life gathered the ingredients into his hands and crushed them together. With a gentle breath, Life blew the ingredients into the orb.

The liquid in the orb began rapidly changing color, and swirling in the orb. In the light, Life saw an image of a castle with many statues.

"Night...Raven...College?" Life asked.

------------------------------------------------------------------

(1 week later)

'' Well, this looks like the place,'' Life said as he stepped through the gate.

As he walked through he saw the statues of 7, each one he remember when they were just clay in his workshop. Though he was happy that they should so much talent, though he wished they used their talents differently.

As he walked toward the school, a bunch of Savanaclaw students stood in his way. They towered over them, as they took in this stranger's appearance. The lamb ears, Deer antlers, and tail, immediately identified him as an herbivore beastmen. Yet they have never seen one with hooved feet.

Life was unfazed by the intimidation attempt, and simply observed them till he finally spoke up.

"Excuse me gentlemen, but I am looking for a friend of mine. I think they attend this school?" Life asked politely.

"Did you hear him?" Student A mocked.

"Gentlemen, He thinks he's so fancy," Student B laughed.

Life just stared in surprised disappointment, just questioning what is up with these generations of Humans and Beastmen. The poor God thinking these boys were a lost cause decided to ask for help from someone else. Someone less, beastly.

"Well, I guess you don't have the answers I seek. I wish you a good day, young fledglings," Life bowed as he tried to walk around the delinquent boys.

But the delinquents didn't let him pass as they grabbed him by the antlers. The commotion got the attention of many of the other students.

"I bet you are an RSA spy," Student C spat.

"Yeah you and your posh classmates," Student A growled.

Life winced slightly but didn't cry out in pain even after the harsh tug. The accusation of this antlered person sparked a rivalry flame, as the students gathered around. Cheering for the students to bet up the "RSA" guy.

Life looked around with a disappointed glare. "Please let go of my Antler. Grabbing someone like this is incredibly rude," Life said calmly, but sternly.

Sadly this only annoyed the aggressive students, as one tried to through through a punch. But Life quickly yanked his head, pulling the boy holding his antlers off his feet. To slam the boy into his attacker. The third guy tried to guy Life from behind, but Life used the bottom of his staff and jabbed him hard in the stomach. When the boy clutched his tummy, life flipped his staff to use the hook to throw the boy in front of him.

The first boy tried his luck again, only for Life to kick him hard in the jewels with his powerful legs. The crowd cringed as they could feel the pain just by watching. Student B growled at Life baring his teeth, only for the being to return in kind. Showing just how much larger and sharper his carnivore teeth are.

Life grabbed the student by the collar of his shirt and effortlessly lifted the muscular boy off the ground.

"I wish to ask again. I am Looking for Y/n of Death," Life said gravely.

Suddenly Life dropped the boy as someone jumped down between them. When the dust cleared Life could see who this was.

"Life?" asked a familiar voice.

"H-hey, Y/n you know that...guy?" Ace asked.

"Yes, he is a good friend of mine. He is the very embodiment of life itself-" Y/n was suddenly cut off When they were pulled into a sudden bear hug.

"Death, it's so good to see you, I missed you so much," Life gushed as he rubbed his cheek against theirs.

Y/n didn't seem bothered, but Everyone was just having a huge cause of emotional whiplash.

[meirimerens]

Consider re: herb brides, because of the rituals and nature around ripping and tearing seams and fabric what if like “very nice” or formal ware was styled around clothing that CAN’T rip? Either very very thick and sturdy material OR like loophole designs…. Dresses and tunics woven out of like layers of cords draped over the body?

the whole of the herb brides' Things is that the uncovering of the body is the point, you have this line in p1 of a dancer saying "The body is sacred. The naked body is the most accurate image of the world." so the uncovering/the tearing/the ripping appears as like the point [one of the points] of the capital-d-Dance ("Why do you strip your sacred body naked?"/"Because I know the Dance and have the right to do so."). it's interesting thinking about material that Can't rip because it'd be like... a test of strength and of fortitude, almost. "how passionately are you willing to dance in order to make this un-rippable material, rip?" type of thing. in the same way they are forbidden from wearing shoes because the tippytapping of their steps/connection of their bare footsies to the earth is thought to be the one thing that brings the harvest i wonder what would be the #consensus on what they can wear. but also a sturdier/thicker material would make it harder for them to dance, and their whole point is that they dance, but referring to what i mentioned above maybe it's a test of sorts... it's kinda how i see the herb maidens [lore i made the fuck up] the many layers is a burden for them to prove they Can dance but they shed them during adulthood. many things to consider!

[clickerflight]

Clove: Epilogue

Author's Note: We are at the end. This is wild. I have a hard time finishing stories, and ages ago I started this and thought I would never finish it. But I came back to it and here we are. Here we are. If you have any questions about this story, anything more you want to know, please send me asks. I love everyone who read this, even if you didn't comment or reblog. Thank you.

Masterlist - Part 33

Content: Vampire whumpee, emotional angst, being immortal sucks sometimes, dead body/funeral

...............................................

The funeral took place on the perfect day. It was warm, but a pleasant breeze swept through the air, stirring everyone’s hair and clothing. The trees rustled warmly, as though telling everyone that it would be alright. 

And it would have to be. 

Margaret lay in the box in front of them, Josh leading the ceremony in her stead. He was officially the village’s witch, with his wife’s help. There were tears in his eyes as he recounted a tale of the old lady bashing his knuckles for putting herbs in the wrong place only to care for the scrape she caused herself. 

“She never really knew her own strength sometimes,” he sniffled. “Or maybe she did and she just didn’t care. She was a good witch, and I hope to fill her shoes one day in taking care of this village.”

Ephraim bowed his head where he sat on a front row next to Benny. Hyrum sat on his other side, his little Goldenrod, who just couldn’t sit still. One moment he’d lean on Ephraim, fidgeting with the old fashioned ruffle tie Ephraim wore, then he would sit up and pick at his crooked fingers, then he would bounce his legs wildly. 

The fourth time Ephraim had to pull Hyrum back up into his seat on the bench as he bent down to look at something in the grass (the church pews having been pulled out for the funeral since it was so nice outside) it hit him through his grief how much of a blessing Hyrum’s constant fidgeting was. 

He opened his eyes and looked at Margaret, lying peacefully in the box and remembered how still and deathly Hyrum himself had been. Ephraim had often wondered if he really was a werewolf, and now his boy, not so little as he’d started a new growth spurt, was acting like a true werewolf. Stir crazy in the sun. 

Benny, on the other hand, was as still as the stones that marked the small graveyard they sat beside. He had helped dig the hole his sister would be going into, dirt still crusted under his nails. He’d started growing his hair long again, and he was wearing something much more sensible, a long brown overcoat overtop a cream linen shirt and black trews. The muscles in his jaw tensed, and Ephraim knew that Benny was trying to convince himself that it wasn’t his fault that he missed so much time with Margie. Trying to convince himself that just getting this last year was a blessing. 

Ephraim knew that argument well. He would continue to lose friends and loved ones, even Hyrum one day, but he was used to that now. Benny would have to learn to come to terms with it as well. 

As Josh went to sit down, Ephraim stood. There was no order to the speeches and anyone could decide to talk if they chose. Ephraim wondered if Benny would. He doubted it, looking back at his fledgling.

Ephraim got up by the casket and looked down at Margie’s face, marveling at how much peace he saw there. How did Josh manage that? He’d always imagined she would look just as stern in death as she was in life. Josh had better not be messing about with dark magic. Again. The man was too curious for his own good. 

Ephraim shook his head and looked out across the crowd. Everyone in the village had come to pay respects, and everyone except for the children were willing to put up with the funeral all afternoon if there were so many speakers. 

In fact, he could see in their faces they were looking forward to Ephraim’s speech; he who knew the witch so well. 

He cleared his throat and said, “About a year and a half ago I attended another funeral. In the fae realm.”

He glanced at Halia and Kortops who sat leaning on one another, Josh and Anna sitting next to them with a child who looked like Dimitri when he was a baby in Anna’s arms. The young lad had finally passed away during the winter while Ephraim and Hyrum had been in the fae realms, and while he had been distressed to hear he had missed the child’s last few months, Halia and Kortops gave them another child to share between the four of them, and shaped by the love of his new human parents, he was growing up to look like Dimitri, if a bit stouter and taller, his eyes more wild and free. Kortops reached over to run a hand over his changeling’s head, Halia smiling as Anna cooed to the baby who was babbling happily. 

“That funeral,” Ephraim continued, “Was the most splendid thing I’d ever laid eyes upon. There was a procession, feasts, and even decorations and food made by magic. However, in all of it, I don’t think a single fae you picked out of the crowd would have been able to tell you the name of the fae who had died.”

There was silence, people almost leaning forward in their chairs. Ephraim barely talked about the fae realms and everyone was desperate to know more. 

“Here, however, I know every single one of you knew Margeret. Every one of you ate her food, had her medicine, knew how a scolding from her felt. Everyone here remembers and honors her memory, and that is more precious than any fae decoration, food, or procession.”

He stopped, feeling choked up before he said, “She was a wonderful woman her whole life. Fearless and true. She never feared what others thought about her and stood for what she knew. Some may call that stubborn, I call that being a good witch.”

Ephraim turned fully to the casket and laid an undying hand on Margaret’s peaceful brow. “Rest now, daughter of Death. Rest now and return. Know that we will miss you, but we will….. Most of us will join you. Beloved and wonderful life burn out and give over to the night. Rest and know we remember you.”

He bowed his head over the funeral rites of an ancient culture he could no longer remember fully before he headed back to his seat. 

There were no more speeches after that. Ephraim had learned to try and go when he felt everyone important had gone at funerals. People told him he had a gift with words, and that there was no possible way to follow him. 

He went back over to the pews and nodded to Hyrum who was making big puppy dog eyes at him. Hyruym jumped out of his seat and ran after the other wolf pups as Ephraim called out, “Try not to ruin your clothes!”

A laugh came from behind him and he turned to find Tory standing there, hand on her hip. “He’s a werepup, Ephraim. You’re wasting your time. Your fault for putting him in those clothes in the first place.”

“Oh?” Ephraim said, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t those your pups wearing funeral clothing?”

Tori looked over to the box where Margaret lay and sighed. “I wanted to show some respect to her, I guess. Ruined clothing seems the best way to go.”

Ephraim smiled warmly. He was glad to be getting along with Tory more these days. She had to take the brunt of protecting the village while he was gone, and it seemed she had a new understanding and respect for what he did. 

“I’ll keep an eye on the kids,” she said. “Looks like you still have more work to do.”

Ephraim glanced over his shoulder where she was looking to see Benny leaned forward, his head in his hands. 

“Yeah, looks like,” Ephraim said gruffly. 

He nodded to Tory before going and taking a seat beside Benny again. 

Benny didn’t move as Ephraim put a hand on his back. 

“I miss her, Ephraim… and I barely knew her,” Benny whispered. A sob escaped him and he pressed his face into his hands harder. 

Ephraim curled an arm over Benny and pulled him closer and tighter into his side. “I know…. I’m sorry, Benny. I really am.”

Benny trembled for a long moment. “And what if I never die?” he whispered, horrified. “I’ll never see her again.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say never. Life happens. I’ve seen plenty of vampires die, but we have been given this gift, this curse, to never know how long it will take to go with Lady Death and be welcomed home. It’s not easy, but there is still joy to be found in it.”

Benny was silent for a long time before he said, “I don’t want one of your sermons, Ephraim.”

“Okay,” Ephraim said placatingly. He ran a hand up and down Benny’s back as people started to help take pews back to the church, giving Ephraim and Benny space as the ones closest to the witch. 

They sat there, longer than mortals could stand but a short while for beings who lived as long as they did. They were the only ones left, their pew alone beside the graveyard. Maragret’s box had been closed, nailed shut and sprinkled with herbs and flower petals. Benny had shivered with every nail driven into the wood, and Ephraim crooned and chirped to him comfortingly the whole time. 

Ephraim didn’t worry about Hyrum. He had another child to take care of, and Tory would make sure Hyrum ate well. 

Sunset approached and Josh came back from attending to other duties, looking reverent and solemn. “It’s time. Lady Death waits.”

Benny sobbed again and Ephraim helped him up. 

After Benny recovered himself, he took one end of the casket, Ephraim taking the other, and they gently carried it to the hole, lowering it in. 

Ephraim began to fill the hole again, and, after a moment, Benny started to help, though he stopped halfway through to kneel by the hole, sobbing as Josh comforted him. 

Finally, the grave was filled and Ephraim, with dirt covered hands and sweat grimed face, helped Benny up. 

“Watch,” was all he whispered into Benny’s ears. 

Benny opened his eyes as Josh stood before the grave and gave the funeral rites of this culture. “Lady of Death and Skies, here lies a woman. Your beautiful daughter. Recognize her, and take her home. Let her know peace and happiness in the great expanse of your palace.”

Ephraim watched eagerly, and there, invisible to mortal eyes, a woman in dark purple silks and dark vails appeared. Her black wings swept the grass, her wide brimmed hat, like that of a fancy woman’s sun hat, was draped in vails that fell all the way to the ground around her. 

She looked up at the two of them. 

“Ephraim,” she intoned. 

Ephraim let go of Benny, bowing fully from the waist to Josh’s surprise. “My lady.”

She looked to Benny, giving him a soft smile. “She is safe with me,” she promised. 

She bent her knees, reaching down into the ground, coming back with something pale and glowing in her hand before she disappeared. 

“What…. Was that-?”

“The Lady Death,” Ephraim said softly. “This is the gift we have been given, Benny. We do not know when we will die, but we are not left without her comfort.”

“Lady Death? What? Did you see her?” Josh asked the two of them. 

Ephraim smiled at Josh. “A fraction of her, yes. Come on, Benny. There’s celebrating to be done. If you’re not drunk in the hour, slap me.”

The two of them made off into the village to take the edge off their sorrow with remembered joys of Margaret’s life and time well spent with friends. 

“Idiots, the both of them,” a wretched voice said, though as she spoke, the crackling quality faded. 

“Perhaps. But they are yours.”

“Yes,” Margaret said as she turned to walk with Lady Death to her palace. “That they are.”

THE END

Hey! Reminder that I have other stories you can check out, and I will be starting a new story soon since this one is finished. Again. Thank you for reading :D

Clove Taglist: @wolfeyedwitch @the-blind-one-speaks @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @inkkswhumpandstuff 

@honeycollectswhump @whump-blog-reblogs @pigeonwhumps @mj-or-say10 @percy-frayer 

@currentlyinthesprial @scoundrelwithboba @whumps-and-bumps @hellodecisionparalysis @scatteriskity

[doumekiss]

2023 Fanfic Recs

Dungeon Meshi

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A Year and a Day by Persiflager - M/M - Johnny/Gheorghe - 1800 words

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Ladyhawke

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Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

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[path-of-grass-and-leaves]

I went on one of those Buy Nothing groups and asked for small logs and branches. People were pretty excited for the free yard cleanup and I brought home so much wood!

I'm going to convert my current vegetable garden to a native pollinator garden and use some of these logs and branches to start a hugelkultur raised bed. There's a huge area of bare soil in the yard where we had one of those tiny Intex pools, which I'm rehoming. I just don't have enough space or privacy for a pool and last year one of our cardinal fledglings fell into it (and quickly escaped thanks to critter pool ramps), so it's a safety concern for the wildlife.

The bare patch of soil is going to be a big vegetable, flower, and herb garden, with the hugelkultur positioned in the center. I'm hoping all the decaying wood, leaf litter, compost, and grass clippings from the hugel will yeild a nice healthy layer of soil. Leftover logs will be used to grow mushrooms and some of the smaller branches will be piled in a corner for fireflies and overwintering insects.

I also bought some native seeds for the pollinator garden. Right now I've got Wild Strawberry, Early Goldenrod, Red Columbine, and Spotted Touch-Me-Not in the fridge for stratification.

I've got Purple Coneflower started in pots and a packet of Blue Flag Iris seeds, which I'll be planting this autumn. We also have some American Cranberrybush and Bloodroot seeds, but I won't be starting those yet since they have double dormancy requirements. We already have Bloodroot in the garden but I want to plant even more.

At some point I want to try my hand at building a tiny pond for vernal pools. We have a slug problem so I really want to encourage toads and salamanders. I'm not sure if I want to do something above ground with lots or ramps and hiding spots or something in-ground but very shallow, like 6"-8" maximum depth.

It's going to be a busy spring!

[crackinglamb]

7 snippets, 7 mutuals

Tagged by @theluckywizard, thank you! 💕

Tagging @lilbittymonster, @ir0n-angel, @mordinette, @fogsblue, @pikapeppa, @natsora and @the-desert-dancer. No pressure!

...I actually have almost the right number of WIP's to just use those, but I'll include some posted stuff too. And being super, super long, I'll put it all under a cut.

From WG, ch 63 (Solas/OFC, complete):

“Tell me something of your world, arasha.”

“My parents got divorced when I was ten. That means they permanently ended their marriage. I lived most of the time with my mom, but I spent summers at my dad's. He married again when I was thirteen. Jill, my stepmother, likes to garden.” She shifted away from him as she spoke, rinsing the soap from her back while he watched, listening intently. She took the soap back from him and turned him around, so she could return the favor.

“She planted herbs and vegetables that grew easily where we lived, peas, beans, tomatoes, that sort of thing. But she planted flowers too. I used to help her when I was younger, pulling weeds from the rose bed, trying not to get snagged on the thorns. In the evenings, we'd sit on the back deck and watch the wildlife in their yard. Sometimes there were hummingbirds that came and sipped from her bee balm. They're so tiny, no bigger than a butterfly. And they're quick and shy. You have to stay really quiet if you want to watch them. It always gave us a thrill to see them, especially late in the summer, when they were teaching their fledglings to fly.”

She cupped water in her hands to rinse away the soap and ignored the sting in her eyes. He was motionless under her touch, his head cocked, still listening. “My world is filled with technology, with busyness and noise and everyday chaos. To sit in the garden, perfectly still, to watch hummingbirds takes time and patience. A mindfulness to appreciate nature that isn't the least bit affected by the world around it.” She made a final pass of clean water over his back and then laid her palm against his skin, feeling him breathe. “I haven't seen any hummingbirds here.”

He turned in her arms and drew her close. She rested her head on his heartbeat and let him smooth back her curls, pressing the water out of them until they were springy. “We shall have to find them, you and I.”

From Junkyard Dogs, ch 14 (Hancock/F!SS, complete):

When the music was done, and settlers began drifting off one by one to seek their beds, Nora took his hand and walked with him to the quiet spot where they’d buried Nate. A simple small plinth marked it.

“There are no rituals left,” she said, grazing her fingers over the cut stone, “to mark the passing of those we’ve lost. No comfort in faith, no tokens of remembrance. In this new world, a cemetery is only a place you’ll likely find ferals. The meaning behind it has been lost.” He stood quietly by her side, wondering what she was getting at. “I didn’t want that for Nate. I don’t want that for myself.”

She faced him then, and he could see she’d been crying silently, the tears steaking down her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumb. She took his hand and pressed something small and warm into it. When he looked, he saw it was a ring of gold.

“Nora…”

“I want you to wear it, and I want you to understand what it symbolizes. It is the union of two people, who have agreed to commit themselves to each other.” She held up the hand bearing the ring’s twin. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, any more than I knew what was going to happen that day we stepped into the Vault. So much of my life has ended, or changed beyond recognition. But this idea, at least for me, has not. I once had a dream of spending my life with the man I loved, of raising a family with him, of living out our lives together in harmony and happiness. And it was stolen from me, by Kellogg, by the Institute. Nate is gone, but the dream is not.”

From The Turning Tide (Iron Bull/OFC, WIP):

Mira ducked into her tent to find Bull propped on his elbow on her bedroll, the journal where she’d taken all her notes spread across his hands. It was all in shorthand, of course, the same one she’d used for years working for Leliana. She wasn’t sure if he could read it. She was equally unsure about whether or not she wanted him to. It would make things easier for her as far as explaining what she’d seen, but the disadvantage was that he could send back a far more detailed report to his superiors than she thought she wanted him to have access to.

“How’d he take it?” Bull asked. She would think it was absently given his tone of voice, but she knew him. Half blind or not, he never missed a thing.

“Academically. I don’t think the whole weight of it has hit him yet,” she replied, plucking the journal from his hands as she sat down in the space between his arms. He took the tacit invitation and wrapped them around her. Solid, strong and real. She leaned back against his chest and he held her up. She closed the journal and waved it at him. “Let Sister Nightingale see it first, okay? Then I’ll give you something to report back to Par Vollen.”

“Hmm. How bad was it, Chestnut?”

“In your own words, it wasn’t pretty. And you were right, it wasn’t.”

“Was it a good death?”

“No.” She let her voice turn flat. Because there was no universe in which what happened to him was a good thing. “It was only the best you could make it.”

From Destiny Is Just In the Timing (Varric Tethras/Shae Cadash, WIP):

Hawke was still tacking up when she reached him. He smiled down at her. “You don’t have to see me off.”

“Yes, I do.”

His smile turned a little melancholy, as if he was remembering that morning too. The day he left Kirkwall and she stood in the snow to watch him go. “I suppose there’s a precedent set.”

“Yes.”

He finished packing his mount and knelt down to her. They embraced as tightly as they could bundled up as they were. Fereldan he might be, but even Hawke wore a coat in these mountains. When he stood again, it was with reluctance, the first he’d shown since announcing his intention to leave them. But the decision was made, and none of them could change it now. Weisshaupt was expecting him.

“I’ll see you again, Inquisitor. This isn’t goodbye.”

“I will hold you to that, Champion.” She watched him get into the saddle and made way for the scouts who would be going with him down the trail. Before they left, however, he turned to her a final time and she called up to him. “Write to Fenris. Living, not just surviving, remember? Promise me.”

“I promise.”

“Fair weather and open roads, Garrett.”

“And to you, Shae.”

From Right Beside You (Eric/Sookie, WIP):

“You don’t entirely trust me, but you’re not afraid,” he said. Again, it was an observation, not a question. “My house. My things. Yours.” He cocked his head at her. “Are you mine?”

“I’m not.”

“Would you like to be?”

She opened her mouth to give him an automatic ‘no’, but the phrasing made her pause. His tone was so genuine, so earnest. He was actually asking, as if her opinion mattered to him. As if he would respect her wishes, no matter what they were. He seemed to realize that this was something more serious than an offhand inquiry, and let her go. But he didn’t move away, and neither did she. He always loomed over her, he was so tall and broad. And he was accustomed to using his size to intimidate. In all their years of acquaintance, she’d never let it bother her, and that had always seemed to entertain him. So many people feared Eric Northman. She often wondered if that was part of her appeal to him. She had never been one of them.

From Not a Bad Life? (Nine/Rose, WIP):

“Hey, come sit with me. Wearin’ out the floor isn’t going to get us out of here any faster.”

He grumbled a bit, but then he sat behind her, pulling her into the meager shelter of his body heat. They shifted the leather around so it covered her front while he was at her back. His knees rose beside hers and he leaned against the wall. They had a pair of bunks on the other side and a tiny toilet behind a screen, and that was it for the night’s accommodations. She supposed it could be worse; they hadn’t been separated.

She nestled against his hearts, listening to the double thump. As always, it soothed her. “We’ve gotten out of worse scrapes than this.”

“I know. I just don’t like being forced to wait around.”

“You’re so impatient.” Superior Time Lord, indeed.

“Aye.”

She stifled a snicker at the Northern coming out so strongly. “Ya know, you could always try resonating the concrete.”

He huffed against her hair. “Never gonna live that down, am I?”

“Nope. Hey, want you to know something. I wouldn’t trade any of the danger we’ve faced. You know that right?”

“Why not?”

“Because in exchange for it, I got you. You’ve shown me all these things, shown me a better way to live. To be. I wouldn’t give it up for anything. You’ve changed my life.”

From All the Earth and Air series (Lark Cadash/M!Hawke; Lark/Solas, WIP):

Hawke was surrounded by everyone who could fit into the tavern, telling tales and drinking more than a few tankards, judging by the empty ones littering the table. She pushed her way through the crowd, bringing two more with her. He made room for her next to him, sitting sideways on the bench so she was bracketed by his knees even with a polite distance between them. She made sure he ate.

Later, when the tales were all told and the bard was playing soft music to lull the patrons into peacefully finding their beds, they found themselves in a dark corner, nursing one last tankard each.

“Does it come off?” she asked, indicating the stripe of red across his nose and cheeks with a pointed finger. He swiped his thumb over it, grimacing behind his hand for a moment before looking back to her with his typical insouciant expression.

“Are you trying to get under my armor, Lark?” he asked with a sloppy sideways grin and another gulp of his ale.

She smiled back, soft and small, like a private joke. “Bare skin is honest. I have enough masquerading going on around me.”

“And all of them either too in awe of the title or too terrified of your mark to let it fall?”

“Yes.”

He made an effort to sit up straighter, to even out the crookedness of his commiserating look. “I'd ask if you wanted to go to your place or mine, but...well...” He gestured around at the tavern, and the fortress at large. “It seems to all be yours, doesn't it?”

“Come with me,” she said, standing up with barely a wobble and offering her hand to him.

From Some Kind of Resolution, ch 1 (FemShep/Nihlus Kryik, complete):

“Isn't henna a type of ink?”

“Yes, it is. I'm surprised a turian would know that, no offense.”

He gestured at his face. “Call it something that stands out culturally, as a form of marking.”

She nodded, thinking about the N7 tattoo on her upper arm. “Okay, I get it. In my case, it's just short for Jehanne.”

He was giving her a thorough look now. “Jehanne. Would that be Jehanne Shepard?” he asked after a moment.

This is it, she thought. Once they recognize my name, it's all over.

“Yes,” she answered, wary.

“I thought you looked familiar. Commander,” he inclined his head briefly. “You showed remarkable courage and skill at the Blitz. It made you something of a celebrity, didn't it?”

She made a face, equal parts disparagement and accepting. “Yeah.”

“It can be hard to live with.”

“Oh, would you know about that?”

“Some. Turians don't place the same sort of entertainment value on our heroes. Doing one's duty should be enough of a reward. You humans love to gossip, though, and put people on pedestals, if that's the right expression.”

“Ah, yes. Meritocracy, right? And yeah, that's the right expression.”

“You're well informed on the Hierarchy.”

“Alliance,” she said with a shrug of one shoulder. “I've studied your race, its history and whatnot. Well, really, we've gotten a crash course on all the races. It's a bit mind boggling, I'll admit. But...fascinating.”

“Hmm, fascinating,” he echoed her, and his voice had distinctly dropped from polite to interested. She wondered what it would be like...

“You wanna stay here and exchange cultural differences or you wanna get out here and experience some?” she asked boldly. His gaze turned calculating, but he smiled just the same. Without another word he signaled for the check.

[serensama]

In Sacrifice, Glory: Chapter 4

As always, my thanks and love to @illneverrecover and @femme-moon <3 My sincerest thanks to the insanely talented @ashalle-art who created such a wonderful piece more than 2 years ago for this (yes, I have been meaning to write this story for 2 years, it's been a whole thing). I have another piece she made to accompany this, but will be posted in a later chapter.

Read on Ao3

If Elissa never saw the Hinterlands again, it would be too soon. 

Whilst she did love the time she got to spend with her fellow Inquisition members, the Hinterlands served as a reminder of how monumental the task before her was. It never ended. Whenever one problem was fixed, three more popped up- like some bureaucratic hydra. 

Upon meeting Mother Giselle and seeing the damage the fighting had done to both sides and everyone caught in between, Elissa could not help but do whatever she could to assist them. They wandered the expanse of the countryside to find randomly stored caches for much needed supplies, helped to hunt different types of game for their pelts and meat to provide for the Mother’s patients and the refugees the Inquisition had already claimed as temporary charges. 

Cassandra had tried to impress upon her that time was of the essence; that they should focus on acquiring Master Dennett’s horses so they could then travel to Val Royeaux and address the clerics congregating there like Mother Giselle advised. She was promptly shut down when Elissa had given her a hard, unmoving stare. “If we cannot spare a week to look after these people, to ensure they live well and are not forgotten, is there any point in fixing the sky?” 

The Seeker flushed and said no more on the matter.  

Still a part of her had wished she listened, if she had perhaps she would not have had to withstand the country for so long, endured all the trials that the cursed land threw at her. From the hostility between the Mages and Templars which spanned across every corner of the land and made each of their endeavours perilous, their team having to fight their way out of their crossfire every other day. To the many, many rifts that littered the sky in between Redcliffe and Haven. A damned dragon and her bastard offspring. Being allergic to a specific type of grass which popped up everywhere in the Hinterlands. And Bears. 

Bloody. Fucking. Bloody. Shit. Bears. Bloody. Bears. 

She had to believe that there was never a time in her life pre-Conclave that she thought she would be more afraid of bears and tall grass than a High Dragon. And truth be told she wasn’t actually so much afraid of the tall grass but more wary- after all for the first week of their journey she could barely see anything through her itchy eyes, and often risked giving away their location by her sneezes time and again. Thankfully the most foreboding party who happened upon them were heavily armoured Templar deserters who were not expecting a fledgling mage to electrocute them with her fifth consecutive sneeze. Varric had begged Solas to stop their nightly lessons after seeing that.

‘Come on Chuckles think of it, the Herald of Andraste punishing the non-believers with the wrath of her nose. The Chantry’s gonna love it!” 

Elissa had no idea what she would have done without Solas by her side. He taught her how to properly call upon her power and harness it into purposeful attacks, and whilst she was still certainly classified as a novice, she could now cast some very powerful spells. “Look Varric! I actually set that mage on fire... and on purpose!” 

“That a girl Stormy, now do you mind setting those other mages on fire, on purpose, too?” 

The apostate took every opportunity to teach her something, wasting no chance to impart some kind of wisdom to the young mage. When they had confirmed she was in fact allergic to a specific type of grass; he had taken her aside to teach her how to identify Spindleweed and Elfroot and then instructed her how to harvest and store the herbs to create a basic tincture to help fend off her symptoms. He spoke of other plants as he skilfully drew them in the dirt, Prophet's Laurel, Embrium and Arbor Blessing along with many more he promised to point out to her should their travels ever take them to the places where they grew. 

He even showed her things she would have never thought about, such as collecting sap from specific trees, boiling them down and adding some jam for a special sweet treat. Alternatively he told her she could add mint to the mixture to make a gummy type of candy that could keep quite well and help ward off hunger when eaten and also freshen one’s breath. Why the apostate hadn’t thought to market this idea to the masses she didn’t know, but she was grateful for something to nibble on as they travelled the long roads. 

After each battle he would quickly show her how she could adapt her stances to wield magic more effectively whilst she also fought with her staff, always pleasantly surprised at how quickly she took adding melee aspects into her casting- noting many classically educated mages preferred to stay far from the fight, and just wave their staff at the general vicinity of the enemy as they stood still. “Perhaps you too were an apostate, Da'len, the way you fight- you certainly were not a circle mage,” he had mentioned more than once during their journey.  

“Solas, considering how terrible I was before you started teaching me, I’m willing to believe I’ve had no training whatsoever. I am also willing to believe that I was such a shitty mage that no one in any Circle could teach me; so they just let me play in the corner with the leftover sticks they couldn’t use to make the circle’s staves, just hoping I’d accidentally stab myself.” 

“Oh that imagination of yours, I hope you never lose it Elissa.” 

It was not only Solas who took a strong interest in her tutelage during their time on the road. Cassandra had keenly watched them as the elf trained her in the arcane arts, the Seeker in her unable to sit still when so much magic could be felt in the air around her. As the days turned into weeks she could see the impressive amount of improvement the mage had accomplished; her once unsteady form and mana, now fixed and concentrated. 

The older woman promptly acknowledged her aptitude for physical combat and insisted that she also learn how to fight and defend herself should she run out of mana on the field. Elissa was thankful for the lessons but believed it was just a means for the Seeker to relieve herself of pent up tension from spending endless hours with Varric with no sight of escape, and no plausible alibi for ‘accidentally’ murdering him. Unlike Elissa’s training with Solas, melee came to her much more naturally. She was able to read Cassandra’s moves and understood her instructions more readily as if she was merely rehashing a lesson already learned, or rearranging something within her mind- instead of building everything up from scratch like she had to when it came to magic. 

“One would think you have been trained in combat before, Herald,” Cassandra said as she twisted her wrist, her long sword cutting the air beside her in figure eights. 

“Maybe I have,” Elissa replied, shrugging as her eyes continued to follow the sword’s path. “The only things I’ve managed to remember in the last two weeks, even with Solas helping me, is I have always loathed insects and the fact that I have eaten at the Spoiled Princess inn at the Lake Calenhad docks. I staunchly advise that no one ever eats there, or even in the near vicinity of it, ever again.” 

“Ahh not to worry Stormy, you got your old buddy Varric here to help figure things out,” the archer said from the sidelines, causing Cassandra to snort ungracefully. “Do not believe the little imp Herald,” she warned as she tried to feign a shield bash to catch Elissa off guard. “His offer for assistance is merely a mask, a ruse to get any information out of you so he can write it into his next novel.” 

“Whaaat? I am here only ever to serve the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste,” he bowed as he remained seated, earning him a raised middle finger from Elissa. “Look if I can help you and you can help me, isn’t that the very essence of teamwork? True collaboration?” he queried with what he hoped was a trustworthy expression. 

Cassandra managed to knock over her pupil and sat back down on a tree stump, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Elissa groaned and eased herself to her side as she lay limply on the ground, trying her best to not throw up one of her lungs. “So... true collaboration huh?” she quoted, one eyebrow raised at the dwarf. He asserted his agreement once more and Elissa stood up with her hand held out to him to shake on it. “So this means we split the profits equally then?” 

Varric chuckled and pulled his hand back, laughing harder when Cassandra pointed at him with a great resounding “AHA!”, Solas grinning as he looked between them all. 

“Ah shit Stormy, I am but a simple author-” “You are very well off you conniving little-” “...I am living between the royalties of my books at the moment you see, Herald...”  “Master Tethras, did you not say before we met Elissa in the valley that you owned the largest rooms in the best tavern in Kirkwall?” 

“-and with me being sequestered away in Ferelden, held against my will and unable to work-” “I wish you would leave already but you will not go until I find out where Hawke is-” “-in fact you told me you had ties within the Carta, the merchants guilds and even the nobility in the Free Marches. You offered me safe harbour with you if things turned sideways here for mages, particularly apostates-”

“The point is Stormy,” he ground out, casting sidelong glances at both Solas and Cassandra who were still talking amongst themselves, one sentence short from seemingly pulling out his personal ledgers and telling the entire Hinterlands his exact net worth down to the last copper. “I am here for you, story or no story. Are you happy now you animals?” he chided, with a large grin pulling at his mouth. 

And true to his word, Varric was not left behind by his comrades in his assistance to the newest addition to the Inquisition; he spent the days and nights trying to fill in the last few years that their mysterious new friend was missing. He was more than delighted to know that she had no idea about his escapades with Hawke and their Kirkwall crew, much to Cassandra’s chagrin. He spent countless hours detailing their adventures from the day he met the Hawke siblings up until his fateful encounter with the Seeker and Spymaster. 

“... And then Choir Boy made Hawke choose whether to end Blondie’s life, or risk the fury of the man on his way to reclaiming his throne...” Varric said sadly from across the fire one night, when Elissa had asked the fates of his friends back home. 

“Oh my goodness, did she do it?” Elissa asked, both hands cradling her chin as she listened to the dwarf, both Solas and Cassandra listening intently from their bedrolls. 

Varric smiled mirthlessly and looked into her eyes, unable to continue. The young woman gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, large eyes misting up with what he was silently implying. “No!” she breathed, shaking her head from side to side. “No, she couldn’t have! Anders was her friend from the very first! It would have been like... like killing you!”

“Yes but Stormy, his actions caused the deaths of so many people, murdered the Grand Cleric Elthina-” “But he had saved so many people and he was pushed right to the edge of reason! I could never condone his actions, but wouldn’t it have been better to have made him atone for his sins? Made him right his wrongs?” she asked, unable to fathom having to choose whether someone you loved lived or died. “Death is so final, with his gifts he could have done so much more good.” “I do not believe the Champion killed him either, Varric,” Cassandra said as she polished her breastplate, dark eyes focused on the storyteller. “By all accounts they could not find the Grey Warden’s body and some even said that he was seen sneaking aboard a ship... heading to Rivain.”

Varric shrugged and rubbed his hands together as he warmed himself against the fire, firmly avoiding his gaze from Cassandra, a self-satisfied grin playing across his stubbled face as he heard her scoff.  “I guess you will believe whatever it is you want to believe, Seeker. All I can tell you, is that was the day Marian Hawke’s heart broke for the last time- Anders was gone and she despised Sebastian for making her choose,” he replied before excusing himself and retiring for the evening. 

Elissa had quickly followed him to bed after she bid everyone a good night to think over the sorrowful tale of the Champion of Kirkwall. She faced such impossible odds, experienced such tragedy but still she had managed to hold everything together. It gave her a perverse sense of hope, if Hawke could do that with the limited resources her and her ragtag adopted family had- surely she and the Inquisition had to have similar odds. She was almost able to fall asleep when one final intrusive thought managed to wheedle itself into the forefront of her mind, if you had to kill one of your friends now to keep the peace... could you do it?

If she was lucky, the Breach would kill her before she had to make that choice. 

--- 

The wooden barricade around the settlement at Haven was a welcome sight to the four weary travellers. After almost a month and a half away, Elissa wanted nothing more than to kiss the guard who opened the gates to them and then run into the tavern and promise to bear the children of the first person who got her a slice of freshly baked bread with lashings of butter. She wondered if she was previously living like a nomad and if she actually enjoyed it- as it was she was ready to offer her soul just to be able to sleep in a bed and have baths without the threat of fish staring up at her lady bits at any given time. 

Her friends must have felt the same as their steps picked up as soon as they entered the encampment, only pausing briefly when they realised she had stopped to take a cutting of an Elfroot plant that she had hoped to practise with, earning her a proud smile from her elven tutor.  They all said their temporary farewells as they all spread out to settle back into their camp routine, all excited to take some time for themselves before the next journey was upon them. 

Elissa held the freshly cut plant in her hands as she took the path back to the main camp at a leisurely pace, enjoying the clean air only the mountains could offer, relieved to be completely free of the sputum inducing flora of her recent travels. She had passed the armoury and said hello to the smithy workers and was pleased to see the first lot of horses that Master Dennett must have sent ahead of him and the rest of the herd. She pet the closest one to her recognising it as the horse Master Dennett had kindly offered to give her during her time in the Hinterlands, but she found it embarrassing if she was the only one to be able to ride whilst her companions remained on foot. Elissa admired its rich chocolate coat, not aware that the sneaky thing had nipped at her newly acquired plant and had chewed on half of it. “You little sneak! You seemed so sweet and unassuming- you just wanted my elfroot! You absolute charlatan!” she chided her as softly tapped it on its muzzle with her finger before nuzzling it playfully. “Charlotte, that will be your name! To remind me of your sneaky ways!”

The stablehand chuckled at her and agreed with her assessment. He told Elissa that if one didn’t keep their wits about them around this mare, she would charm them and then steal the shirt off their back and think it a snack. Literally. Grinning as she tucked away the half eaten plant inside her pack, she gave the horse one last rub down before turning around towards the main camp entrance. 

Elissa hadn’t noticed it before, but the clang of swords on shields was far more boisterous than when she had left. She let her eyes drift over the army and even without taking a proper headcount, she could see a large increase in their numbers. All of them as green as the gash in the sky, but their good intentions were evident. She found herself instantly drawn to the sparring soldiers, a visceral need to be in the thick of it all with the people fighting on their side. Most of the men at arms jumped out of the way when they noticed her, doing their utmost to not hurt their Herald of Andraste with their clumsy movements. Elissa had spied Cassandra speaking to a Templar across the field but it was a flash of red from the corner of eye that caught her attention and urged most of the rational thoughts from her mind.

Oh Blessed be the Maker- had the Commander always been that handsome? She specifically remembered him being attractive the last time she saw him but had he always been that bloody gorgeous? She couldn’t remember any of her previous attachments prior to waking up in Haven, but she certainly hoped they all looked like him. Tall and strong with classically chiselled features, the wonderful spattering of stubble across his cheeks and jaw... good gracious she was probably drooling. Elissa mentally slapped herself for staring at him like he was a piece of meat for her to devour, it was positively shameful! She just chalked it up to her seeing him in a different setting. Normally she would be standing across from him at the map room table instead of the scene that played out before her today; him amidst a field of soldiers, exuding a different aura from what she was already accustomed to. He was always polite, reserved and measured and now that part of his character was juxtaposed beautifully against this other Cullen- a man who could easily be the decorated General for the King’s forces. She knew she would have followed him with the blind faith that he was leading her to victory. 

He had walked out further into the training yard with his head bent as he reviewed a missive and handed it back to a scout. He stopped beside one of the soldiers overlooking the training and was quick to point out where one young recruit wasn’t adhering to the exercise. 

“You there! There’s a shield in your hand, block with it. If this man were your enemy you’d be dead,” he barked out startling the man into doing what he was told. Cullen addressed the lieutenant to continue on the drills and to not let anyone take it easy on each other, no enemy would show them mercy and so they should be prepared accordingly, or why bother training them at all? It would be far more efficient just to shepherd them towards the enemy and let them be massacred. 

Elissa had not realised she was standing there just observing the Commander from just outside of his periphery and cursed herself, there was no way she hadn’t been seen ogling at the man and she just wished her mark would open up and swallow her whole. She could start to feel her heartbeat speed up at the thought of Varric or Solas hearing about this and teasing her mercilessly. She could envision it so clearly, the trek to Val Royeaux would be just them incessantly teasing her about her very one sided crush- no- attraction to their Commander. 

Regaining her senses she took a step backwards hoping to make a speedy retreat before the man realised she was staring at him, only to have him glance backwards in her direction, doing a double take at the sight of her. If she was truly Andraste’s blessed miracle child, perhaps Cullen would think she was merely coming toward him instead of retreating like the little coward she truly was. 

“Welcome back, apologies I didn’t realise that you and the team were already back from the Hinterlands,” he greeted her kindly. At the sight of his wonderful honey toned eyes focusing on her, she found she couldn’t speak. She had to scoff at Leliana. Her? Push boundaries? Flirt with some noble in a Chantry? The woman was mad. Cullen took her silence in stride and nodded towards the field of tents, more than doubled than when she had left. “We’ve received a number of recruits – locals from Haven and some pilgrims. None made quite the entrance you did,” he ribbed her gently, his soft smile pulling at the scar on his lip and somehow making him look even more dashing than before. It shouldn't have been allowed. Somewhere in Thedas, this was illegal, she just knew it. 

“At least I got everyone’s attention,” she replied with a little more sass than she had expected. “It seemed it worked, look at everyone here come to see the woman with the season’s most exclusive new fashion trend,” she joked, holding up her left hand with the mark peeking through the dark leather of her gloves. 

The Commander chuckled and shook his head, trying to preserve a stalwart demeanour around his recruits; the last thing he needed was for people to think he was some besotted school boy mooning over the woman who was on her way to being exalted as the second coming of Andraste (by the people- Maker not the Chantry, never the Chantry). 

No matter how lovely he thought she was. 

“And how about you Commander, how did you find yourself leading the Inquisition’s forces? Was it the Breach that called you here or was it another reason?” she queried, tilting her head to the side like a curious child, or perhaps like a woman tempting someone to notice the smooth expanse of her cheek and neck. 

“I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself. I was there during the mage uprising – I saw firsthand the devastation it caused. Cassandra sought a solution so when she offered me a position, I left the templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something far worse,” he shared as he let his head fall back to look up at the Breach. 

Elissa tried to picture him in between the warring factions, tried to reconcile the idea of him being at Kirkwall with Varric and Hawke, the three of them caught in between the brutal battle. She could only imagine how torn he must have felt during those days; did he continue to side with the Templars or protect the mages. It must have felt impossible then. She could only venture to think how he must have felt standing there with her against even greater odds. 

“You’re right, everything is a mess but... I do believe that this mark will help, it just has to,” she stressed, closing her left fist to enclose the glow within her grasp.  

“Provided that we can secure aid- but I’m confident we can especially with the reports that have been coming in from our camps in the Hinterlands. You’ve managed to accomplish quite a lot out there in a short time Herald,” he complimented her, genuinely impressed with what she was able to do and the lengths she went to to assist both the people and the Inquisition.  

“Oh you’re a sweet talker, perhaps we should send you out there instead of me, Commander,” she teased, her tone causing him to pause. No, that was just him hearing things, surely. He cleared his throat and tightened his arms around himself to get a physical grip on himself. Perhaps he’d been out in the cold for too long and his ears were playing tricks on him. 

“I would think me heading out there would cost us any potential aid, and possibly any we have previously secured.” “You’re selling yourself far too short, Commander,” Elissa reproved him, lightly knocking into him with her shoulder. He glanced down at her as he was gently pushed back and fought not to do the same back to her; she was only in light armour, he'd most likely push the mage into the snow and face admonishment for quite literally rough housing with the Herald of Andraste. 

“You’ve helped to build the Inquisition into what it is today, do not discount your efforts Ser.” 

Cullen puffed out his breath at the mention of Ser, it had been years since anyone had called him that. And many more since it was anything at all positive. 

“The Chantry lost control of both templars and mages,” he started, his mind focused on past failures, mostly his own. “And now? They argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot and our followers would be a part of that. There’s so much we can-” Cullen cut himself off, embarrassed that he was about to diatribe in front of the Herald. “Forgive me, you have just arrived and I doubt that you came here for a lecture.” 

Elissa self-consciously smoothed down her braid, suddenly very aware that she probably looked and smelled of the road, but she didn’t want him to think that he was burdening her by opening up to her.

“No but I’ve learned that I am quite the student, so if you do have one prepared I would love to hear it,” she returned with a noticeable breathiness that he definitely did not invent. He was left completely taken aback and could only stammer unintelligently and coughed into his hand. 

Meanwhile, Elissa wanted to die. 

She didn’t just push boundaries, she eradicated them entirely. 

Flirt with Teagan in the Chantry? She was thoroughly surprised Leliana didn't say she just jumped on the poor Bann and rode him into the ground right in front of the Revered Mother.

Cullen cleared his throat again unsure of how to respond or truly if he should respond; she was the Herald and he would never deem to think he’d be someone she would be interested in, even if she had meant it to sound that way. He saw a soldier approaching him with what looked like to be a large dispatch for him to review and thanked the Maker he had a reason to gracefully exit and not make himself look even more foolish.         

“There’s still a lot of work ahead and I will not keep you from getting some much needed rest before you’re duty bound to do more.” “Commander! Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines,” the soldier advised, passing the report to him before saluting to them both. “As I was saying,” Cullen retorted as he offered her a wry grin and held up the new mountain of work just given to him. He bowed ever so slightly and excused himself to leave Elissa watching after him, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. 

She looked back down at her hand and unfurled her fingers, the green seeping through once more and cursed under her breath. “Really, the one time I want you to kill me you just sit there and let me run my wanton mouth- what use are you?”

—

Cullen could feel her eyes follow him away and did his utmost not to turn around, petrified if he did he’d look back and turn a magnificent shade of scarlet. He was just grateful Rylen wasn’t there to give him the report in person otherwise his friend would be absolutely relentless. The idea of the Herald of Andraste potentially flirting- with him- was more than he could understand. It seemed much more likely that she was being nice and he was reading far too much into nothing.  

Still… he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he had seen that look on her face before, though he couldn’t understand how. He’d only seen her a handful of times before her departure for the Hinterlands and there was never any time that he had seen her blush like that or the way her eyes seemed completely focused on him as if he were the moon and the stars. Looking at him as if the moon and the stars were good enough to eat. 

The Commander signed off on another report when he caught one of the templars leaning over one of the new recruits, a young woman, pretty enough to catch more than one lad’s eye that was for sure. The templar leaned in closer and whispered something into the girl’s ear which had her giggle and slap him on the shoulder playfully. And just like that, he remembered where he had seen that look on the Herald of Andraste’s face before. 

On the second floor of the circle tower, at Kinloch Hold. 

The small group who had come to save them had decided to stay a couple of days to properly recoup and regroup after the fight with Uldred and the other abominations. Understandable and considering what they had done for them, the very least they could do. The First Enchanter and Knight Commander Greagoir had even cleaned up one of the nicer rooms to ensure their guests were comfortable during their stay.  

He was still so angry then, he could only remember how furious he was at her for potentially letting out such a threat to the world. So when he was completing his duties by patrolling the third floor and he came across a couple in the corner of the deserted hallway, he saw red. Was it blood magic at work again? Was it some sick ritual they were performing in the dead of the night to finish them off? 

No. It was just the Grey Wardens in a private moment, standing outside of their company’s communal rooms to have an intimate conversation. He had barely paid them any mind, too busy cursing at her to pay too much attention- and yet- 

As he walked up to them he knew that neither of them would even realise that he was there. Cullen could see that Alistair had his left arm propped up against the stone wall and leaned forward as far as he could without his armour crushing into hers.  His free hand held her jaw as his thumb stroked her cheek, gently moving her head from side to side as he closely examined her to ensure they didn’t miss any untreated wounds. The way she stared up at him and only him as if nothing else in the world could matter more than the man before her… her expression of adoration blended with her hunger for more… Maker’s breath. 

Could she really be the same Elissa? 

No. No, of course not. He was being ridiculous. He was just reading too much into nothing again. He had to be. 

Chapter 5

[littlegrrl7]

I was born with a broken heart.

It jumps feebly in my chest as I evaluate my next move. My half sister, Vasilisa, was always destined to be a queen. With her gleaming golden hair and summer-sky blue eyes, it’s no surprise she attracted the czar’s attention. She’s the only one in my life I would drop everything for, and now I’m up to my knees in trouble, trying to rescue her. Because gods know she won’t rescue her damned self. 

Shoving a soaked, bedraggled lock of dark hair out of my eyes, I stare bleakly into the pouring rain. Mud sucks at my boots, pulling like corpse hands in this vile weather. I stumble as the wet earth claims my boot, and my foot tugs free. Rough stones scrape my palms. Blood mixes with the thick muck, and I bite back a swear that would make any mother blush. Spitting, I try to clear the bitter taste from my mouth.

My weak heart flutters. Damn this illness. Out of habit, I reach into my pouch and put some herbs in my mouth to chew, hoping the irregular beat will ease. This isn’t one of my better days. 

The view of the distant mountains I was heading toward blended with the dark storm, and night fell too quickly to find shelter. Rumor has it Koschei makes his home in those rocky peaks. That villainous wizard took Vasilisa—stole her right from under her oafish husband’s nose—leaving me to find her in this foul weather. She’s the czarina. As a witch, I’m the most likely to track her successfully. 

Why the old codger steals a woman every few years is beyond me, but it’s been going on forever. Some man, usually a husband or lover, slays the wizard and rescues the woman, and a few years later, Koschei is alive and at his mischief again. As ancient as he must be, his twig and berries are probably as shriveled and dry as he is. 

Lightning cracks above as I unsuccessfully attempt to locate my sacrificed boot. A low growl hums in my ears, and at least three sets of glowing red eyes float into view through the sheets of rain. No no no… not now. Soaked woolen skirts tangle around my legs as I try to stand.

The largest of the wolves prowls forward, its daggerlike teeth shining white in the next lightning strike. “Little witch as skinny as a fledgling bird, you’ll barely make a snack.” His low growl ripples along my skin. Eyes like chips of ruby stare me down. Ominously, the thunder rumbles again as the rain eases.

I scramble backward. “Then let me pass. We have no quarrel with each other. I’m certainly not worth your time or effort. As bony as I am, I’d likely just get stuck in your teeth.”

“My quarrel is with all of your ilk.” The beast crowds me. His hot breath pierces my soaked clothing as his snarled muzzle grinds against my chest. 

Fast and shallow, my heart continues its irregular beat. My breaths feel cold and useless, and the edges of my vision tunnel. The wolf sets one massive paw on my thigh, sinking me deeper into the muck.

I turn away from his fetid musk. “Please, leave me be.”

“Things are not always as they appear. I smell the power on you, little witch. I’ll relish it as I crunch your bones and suck out the marrow.”

I thrust one hand into the earth. Come, dormant seeds. My other hand presses flat against the beast’s chest to hold it back. Maybe I can entangle him enough to buy myself time to run. The wolf’s eyes widen into bloody pools as the thick, thorny vines swell from the ground to wrap around his massive body. His snarls turn into screams as the swordlike thorns slice through his flesh.

I clamber to my feet and run blindly into the darkness. A howl rips through the night behind me, echoed by two more. Claws tear across my back before twisting thorns shoot past me, and a wolf yelps in pain.

My heart flutters then stops before speeding up in uneven jerks. A thick, cold lump settles in my throat. I’m not sure where to run. Blindly, I push past low-hanging branches and stumble over the uneven rocky turf. This is madness. I’m in no shape to outrun wolves. A sharp pain stabs my chest, traveling up my shoulder and into my neck. Gasping, I go another couple of steps. At a few muttered words, green vines weave in a wall behind me, sprouting thorns that drip a poisonous ichor. It has to be enough to stop them—I have nothing left. Thickness fills my lungs, and breathing becomes impossible. I lurch into a smooth tree.

No, it’s a door. A lightning strike reveals a highly polished wooden door decorated with an intricate brass design. I pound on it, and thunder mimics the noise. There’s got to be…

My heart squeezes and stutters, bringing stinging tears to my eyes. I can’t fail here. This isn’t where my quest ends. My knees hit the cobbled entryway as I pound on the solid wood again. In the distance, wolf song mixes with the roll of thunder. Sobs fall from my lips, and a sucking darkness pulls on me. I knock again, but I’m too weak to make much noise.

“What is the meaning of this?”

The door flies open, spilling me forward to where a tall, slim man stands. There’s something incredibly familiar about him. His long white hair hangs in a thick braid over one shoulder, and his skin is ghostly pale against the darkness. Brilliant-green eyes widen as he looks down upon me then beyond my crumpled form into the night.

“I claim the right of sanctuary in exchange for a witch’s boon.” I reach out and grasp his hand. “Do you accept my bargain?” Blood roars in my ears as stars dance across my blackening vision.

His sharp features pinch as he scowls at me in surprise. I must be delirious, because it’s the most devastatingly handsome expression I’ve ever seen on a man. Sculpted cheekbones frame expressive eyes and a pointed, smooth-shaven jaw. My heart skips then flutters again. I reach for my herb pouch, but it tumbles from my numb fingers. His eyes dart to the spilled herbs then back to me.

“I accept. Sanctuary given.” His hand closes over mine. A shimmer of emerald flashes, limning us as my magic seals the pact. Before I can thank him, the darkness of death closes its icy fingers around me, and my sickly heart stops. One last wry thought follows me to my doom. Well, that was the shortest bargain ever struck.

Read the rest of Inessa's tale in This Hollow Heart

Illustration commissioned from @madbrake