#land of the silver birch

[dionysianivy]

𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐧

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

What is Samhain?

Samhain, celebrated from October 31st to November 1st in the Northern Hemisphere and from April 30th to May 1st in the Southern Hemisphere, is a sacred time when the veil between worlds is at its thinnest. During this festival, the boundaries between realms dissolve, allowing the unseen to come forward. It’s a time to honor our ancestors and offer them hospitality as we transition into the darker half of the year. While it marks the end of the old year, Samhain also heralds the beginning of a new one, reminding us that death is always followed by rebirth, making this festival a powerful moment of transformation.

It is pronounced "Sow-en," which means "summer's end" and aligns with Halloween in the Northern Hemisphere. Samhain marks the time when the Earth enters a period of rest, the days shorten, and winter begins its slow arrival. During this time, the air becomes crisper, the nights grow longer, and the warmth of summer fades, symbolizing the end of one cycle and the start of another.

Samhain holds deep significance as it is a time to remember and honor those we have lost. The thinning of the veil allows for a stronger connection with ancestors, spirits, and otherworldly beings. While it’s a time to venerate these spirits and fair folk, who are particularly active during this liminal period, it’s also essential to protect oneself from any harmful entities that may cross through.

A key aspect of Samhain is honoring and respecting the dead. One simple yet meaningful tradition is to set an extra place at the table for any spirit or ancestor, offering them a meal. Many witches also visit cemeteries to pay respects, not only to their own ancestors but also to those forgotten by time, ensuring no spirit is left without recognition.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

Morrigan x Dagda and Samhain

According to legend, the Irish deities the Dagda and the Morrigan consummate their relationship today to ensure the fertility of land, people, and animals for the year to come. The Dagda, “the good god,” is the tribal father god; the Morrigan, “the phantom queen,” is often described as a “battle goddess,” although that only hints at her powers. She begins the Great Rite in the form of an old hag but is rejuvenated by the union, regaining her youth and beauty. On the eve of Samhain, the Dagda, god of strength and fertility, meets the Morrigan, goddess of war and fate, at the River Unius. As he prepares for battle against the Fomorians, ancient enemies of the Tuatha Dé Danann, he encounters the Morrigan bathing in the river. They make love, a symbolic act representing the union of the land (the Morrigan) with its protector (the Dagda). In return, the Morrigan promises to aid the Tuatha Dé Danann, using her powers of prophecy and battle to help them secure victory. Her role as a goddess of fate is essential, shaping the outcome of the war and the future of the land.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

Magic Correspondences:

Planets: Pluto, Saturn

Season: Autumn

Element: Water

Time of Day: Midnight

Tarot: The Death, The Devil, The Magician

Colors: Black, Orange, Gold, Silver, Red, Yellow, Purple

Herbs: Rosemary, Mugwort, Sage, Patchouli, Frankincense, Calendula, Garlic, Bay, Apple Leaf

Fruits: Pomegranate, Apple, Pear, Grapes, Hazelnuts

Vegetables: Pumpkin, Squash, Carrot, Potato, Turnip

Runes: Eihwaz, Jera, Othala

Crystals: Obsidian, Onyx, Carnelian, Cat’s Eye, Labradorite, Smokey Quartz, Black Tourmaline, Granite, Amber

Trees: Birch, Rowan, Hawthorn

Goddesses: Hecate, Banba, Cerridwen, Macha, Badb, Persephone, Cailleach Bheur, Kali, Bastet, Nephthys, Durga, Arianrhod, Baba Yaga

Gods: Hades, Loki, The Dagda, Cernunnos, Osiris, Anubis, Belenus, Arawn

Dragon: Grael

Flowers: Yarrow, Hawthorn, Marigold, Chrysanthemum, Blackthorn

Animals: Spider, Owl, Bat, Cat, Wolf, Dog, Rat, Snake, Raven, Cow

Magical powers: Transformation, Death, Life Cycles, Honoring the Dead, New Beginnings, Spirit Communication, Witchcraft, Faery Magick, Mirror Spells, Reincarnation, Astral Projection, Balance, Wisdom

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

Activities to do:

👻 Honor your ancestors

👻 Connect with your loved ones that have passed away. Give them offerings, talk to them, and remember the happy moments

👻 Watch your favorite spooky movies

👻 Clean your altar (if you have one)

👻 Carve a pumpkin with symbols of what you want to attract (heart = love, water drops = healing)

👻 Talk with spirits through tarot cards, runes, or a pendulum

👻 Connect with your magick and your craft

👻 Honor and connect with your deities, leave them some offerings as it's an important celebration for everyone

👻 Light candles around your house

👻 Write wishes and place them on your jack-o'-lanterns

👻 Eat Samhain food or any food that makes you feel close to this sabbat

👻 Do guided meditations

👻 Make a special recipe and add some intentions

👻 Do some spells! October, especially Samhain, is the most magickal time!

👻 Leave some milk outside for Cat Síth!

👻 Honor the dead and respect life :D

👻 Write your wishes on bay leaves and burn them

👻 Honor the forgotten dead, those who don't have anyone to remember them, and light a candle for them

👻 Cleanse yourself and your house

👻 If you feel comfortable, visit a cemetery

👻 Eat lots of candy

👻 Light a Bonfire

👻 Eat apples (you can also use them as offerings)

👻 Take a walk in nature and appreciate the beauty of autumn

👻 Wear colors associated with Samhain, especially black

👻 Do candle magick

👻 Collect autumn leaves and place them in your house

👻 Use pumpkin seeds for spells—they're great for prosperity, abundance, or even love

👻 Put up photos of your loved ones who have passed, leave them food, and light candles

👻 Place figurines around your home with cats, crows, pumpkins or other Samhain symbols

👻 Throw a Samhain/Halloween feast with the people you love

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

Food and drinks:

Meat – pork, especially (it’s completely okay if you don’t want to consume it), pumpkin – anything with pumpkin like pumpkin pie, seeds, bread, soup, corn – sweetcorn, popcorn, cornbread, apples – apple cake, apple pie, apple juice, apple cider, spiced wine, cider, mulled wine, honey, potatoes, roasted vegetables, stew, biscuits, salads made with veggies from your garden, recipes loved by your ancestors, pomegranates, squash

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁

useful sources: Wicca: A Modern Guide To Witchcraft & Magick; Encyclopedia of Witchcraft: The Complete A-Z for the Entire Magical World by Judika Illes

gifs credit: Pinterest

Tip Jar🕸🎃

[esoteric-chaos]

Spring Equinox Masterpost- Spoonie Witch Friendly

Art Credit: Anastasia Catris

The Spring Equinox, also called the Vernal Equinox or Ostara, is usually celebrated between the 21st of March in the Northern Hemisphere (In the Southern Hemisphere around September 20th or 21st)

In 2024, Ostara and the Spring Equinox land in the Northern Hemisphere on Monday, March 19th.

The Spring Equinox celebrates the arrival of spring. Celebrating balance, growth, and new beginnings as Winter has finally ended.

Spring Equinox Correspondances

Colours

Light Green

Lavender

Sunny Yellow

Light Blue

Pastel Pink

White

Herbal

Lemongrass

Daffodils

Tulips

Violets

Apple Tree

Cherry Blossom

Primrose

Birch tree

Hyacinths

Dandelion

Garlic

Ash tree

Jasmine

Edibles

Honey

Salad greens

Spring veggies

Fresh berries

Mead

Herbs

Eggs

Seeds

Bread

Edible flowers

Quiches

Custards

Maple

Animals

Hares

Baby Chicks

Snakes

Robins

Bees

Butterflies

Phoenix

Ram

Crystals

Fluorite

Moonstone

Silver

Aquamarine

Clear Quartz

Amazonite

Symbols

Bonfires

Flowers

Rabbits

Eggs

Seeds

Baskets

Flowering or Tree Buds

Lambs

Birds

Spiritual meanings

Purification

Cleansing (removal of stagnant energy)

Growth

Transition

Motivation

Balance

Birth

Good fortune

Kindness

Joy

Fertility

Scents

Coconut

Citrus

Floral scents (rose, lilac, jasmine, etc)

Herbal scents (rosemary, basil, mint, etc)

Gods / Goddesses / Spirits

Eostre –  (Anglo-Saxon)

Aphrodite - (Greek)

Gaia - (Celtic)

Gaea - (Greek)

Venus - (Roman)

Athena - (Greek)

Aurora - (Roman)

Eos - (Greek)

Isis – (Egyptian)

Freya - (Norse) 

Persephone - (greek)

Cybele - (Roman)

The Green Man - (Celtic)

Odin – (Norse) 

Osiris – (Egyptian)

Pan – (Greek)

Thoth – (Egyptian)

Adonis – (Greek)

Apollon –  (Greek)

Apollo - (Roman)

Need some suggestions to celebrate? I've got you covered.

High energy celebrations and ritual

Deep cleaning of the hearth and home

Nature hikes

Visiting farmers markets

Making preserves

Create a fae garden

Create a seasonal altar

Abundance/Prosperity ritual

New beginnings ritual

Low energy celebrations 

Wear pastels

Create flower crowns

Light a candle with scent correspondence

No spoon celebrations 

Opening a window

Journaling Prompts

Keeping hydrated

Drink floral tea

Rest

How you celebrate the holiday does not matter. You can choose to do any activity that feels right. These are only suggestions and remember that you're enough no matter what.

Also please note some stuff is UPG. A great book is Year of the Witch by Temperance Alden for honouring the celebrations and if you wanted to work more seasonally. It's not Wiccan-based and has plenty of resources for every witch.

Feel free to post how you celebrate in the comments or reblogs!

Want to see more of my posts? Check out my Wheel of the Year Masterpost or my Main Masterpost.

[justblades]

⌕ SUCK HIM DRY, 18+

⟢ CHARACTER : jing yuan x afab! reader WC : 1.7k

⟢ WARNINGS : EXPLICIT, MDNI. dubcon, succubus! reader, hypnosis

⟢ SUMMARY : a succubus preys on a luofu general — a battle of wits, who will outsmart the other given that both parties should not be underestimated? perhaps only time can answer.

the mara-struck, the ambrosial arbor— the legends drift to outsiders once they set foot on the xianzhou luofu. almost everything is possible in this setting, it was natural for devils who feed on sins to exist along with these species, and so you descend into the ship undercover, looking for a particular victim.

your interest was piqued by a distinct foxian lady whose ears are tall and in tan color, especially the notable, fluffy tail wagging just behind her. she has a little wooden table set in front of her and atop the birch surface are multiple pictures of a silver long haired male, smile as cunning yet blithe at the same time. the most notable feature however is the angel mark just below his left eye, followed by his long onyx lashes framing his aureate irises.

from the clothing he dons, it was clear-cut he's someone of a high ranking. you were not to be underestimated now that you're running low on your fill, so you opted for unconventional methods: by buying intel about the person and immediately found almost everything the luofu general does. a small price to pay for your deprivation.

apparently his name is jing yuan. it rolls off your long tongue smoothly. his charisma, his aura and his name: he's a perfect target. your adrenaline levels spike as you envision what you'll do to him once you lay your hands on the male, dozen scenarios flashing from one to another.

at present with a remarkable entrance, you finally emerge out from the shadows and make an appearance for your victim. although jing yuan's eyes are heavy lidded as he was a second apart from completely dozing off, he manages to brandish his weapon in an instant, hoisting it at your figure. the indolence he displayed from earlier immediately dissipates into thin air, his masculine voice cuts through the thick ice of tension lingering in the vicinity.

"you finally showed yourself. i've been waiting since earlier." it was just 10 words but he exceeds your expectations. never have your presence been sensed by anybody as that is one of your skills, to be able to conceal yourself and your true identity. jing yuan isn't to be taken too lightly, it appears. but no matter how he was able to anticipate your arrival, he still fell prey on your yearning hands.

he suddenly grunts in struggle as his limbs get pinned down on the sculpted, hazel chair before him. jing yuan loses control of his own body and you continue to stride towards him, a lecherous smile carved on your lips. "general jing yuan . . you're quite an attractive man." you whisper as you lean closer to his face, your hot breath ghosts a caress on the very shell of his ear.

the general was addled at first, trying his best to discern what kind of creature you really are. "you look confused, i'll grant you the privilege of knowing what i am." your words were honeyed as your eyes lock a wary gaze with his golden hues. "i'm just a demon who feeds on people . . the sin of lust particularly, and i'm here to claim your life once i successfully do so."

forcing a kiss on his sultry lips, your fingers grab a hold of his chin, making sure to deepen further your tongue in— making you feel more tantalized than before. jing yuan's brows furrow, continuing to struggle to break free from the curse you laid upon him. quickly breaking the seal of the kiss, you couldn't help but chuckle, "you taste so delicious general! i wonder if it's the same down here."

jing yuan glances at where your other clawed hand trails, his vision landing on his erection, all exposed from how you swiftly ripped his pants open. slowly gliding your digits against his prominent veins of a reddish tan mixed of violet shades, you merit yourself with the general's grunts of arousal as he closes his eyes shut.

he grinds his teeth, "i've heard of such creatures but i never would've imagined they were true." he struggles to speak eloquently like he always does now that he's under your teasing touch. suddenly, a warm feeling envelops his twitching length, only to realize you were sucking his girthy cock. "does it feel good, general?" you query, bobbing your head up and down while making a vacuum like suction as you suck all of him in, your tongue fiddling his dick's folds.

the silver haired throws his head back in defeat, unable to budge a movement as he was stuck in a sitting position. with a succubus pleasuring him, he couldn't deny it was a wonderful sensation. he eventually lets his guttural moans come undone and follow suit one after another, sounding into your ears like awards or prizes for doing your job well. amidst of this, he starts to think of a way to free himself from these invisible restraints but you heeded no mind and continue to indulge yourself in carnal desire.

however as you didn't underestimate jing yuan, the same could be said for you. after all, you meticulously planned to draw away everyone's attention in jing yuan's office just so you can prey on him. time flashes by rather quick and liquids of release sprawl into the hidden depths of your throat as you also toy with your sloppy cunt, growing eager to lap all of him even more.

"one out of three. once you cum thrice, it's a bye bye." the sentence cut off jing yuan's rowdy train of thoughts, but as he was powerless before such specie, you were able to insert his dick in, straddling his thigh, facing the male. he flinches as your tight walls coil around his shape, the head of his dick meeting with your cervix, " . . you're big!" you exclaim, your eyes widening into two full moons, shock coursing through your veins.

resting your hands on his broad shoulders, you begin to bounce on him, raising your ass and push your hips down on his thick, heating dick. your eyes never left jing yuan's, and you swear you could feel how much he's been thinking in spite of the low mewls he lets out— "yes, just keep looking at me like that!" taunting the general even more, his piercing, brazen stare sharpens, almost penetrating right through your soul.

"oh, general . ." you call out to him as you moan his name, "general jing yuan . . xianzhou luofu is such a pretty place!" naughty, squelching noises reverberate inside the vast space, accompanied by you and jing yuan's bit back moans of satisfaction. now locking your hands around his neck and fingers ruffling his long, luscious, ashy strands, you give him another open mouthed kiss, one that is much more gentler than the other, eyes closed to engage with the sensation.

noticing the littlest details of a person's body language, gifted to every succubus or incubus birthed into this universe, you could sense how his dick throbs, signaling for his release soon. the corners of your lips lift, displaying a smug smile once you pick up your speed and add more force on your movements, shaking your hips slowly to earn more sounds from the male's mouth.

"i— i'm—" jing yuan groans and the second round of his climax dawns, filling your velvet walls with his muddy white seed to the point that a good amount seeps into your womb. you feel your body lighten and improve in condition, "i wasn't wrong in choosing you at all. even your cum tastes refreshing— i can also make you do this."

the general's body moves by itself as he bends you over the table this time with one push, your face slapping against the varnished surface. his hand tightly clasped on your shoulder blades, you wiggle your pelvis so his head meets with your lips— and prods through your fluttering folds once more. he heaves deep breaths, more waves of pleasure crashing on him, even though it was against his will, he couldn't deny that he feels good from it.

your head spins as his thrusts were far more powerful than you expected. you didn't take into account how raw power works in these instances but it made the experience hundred times better— you were starting to lose your mind as he fills you with his cock, beads of his satisfaction trickling down past your thighs.

"what a naughty general!" you remark with absolute mockery, "is this what you fantasize about while you keep the luofu's peace, jing yuan?" snickering at the end of your sentence, you were surprised to hear him respond. "yes, and it seems like you're a perfect fit." you were taken aback by his reply.

he proceeds to flip your body around, carrying your figure with his mere two arms. he rises from his position and guides your legs to lock around his waist, his cock reaching deeper than before and rubbing on the other parts of your walls. "what— no! how could y—" jing yuan cuts off your protest with a passionate kiss, you could feel his lips tug into a smirk.

"where's your playful nature now?" jing yuan's words exude of irony and sarcasm: having enjoyment at how confusion washes over your facial features. "i'm not an ordinary being either - i'm afraid to say you only set yourself up for failure." the cocky aura from your stature ceases, jaw falling agape and your lustful eyes' gleam die down.

he speeds up his thrusts, intruding your tight cunt with an unrealistic speed. despite of worry gnawing at your perturbed mind, you couldn't stifle the mewls slipping from your lips. "it only took me . . a while to overcome your binds." the general clarifies and with one last stroke, more strings of milky like substance spring out from his cock, painting your walls white.

as soon as he fills you up, he lets go of your body, making a loud thud sound. you were left there unable to move, even more perplexed as to why. even though it didn't hurt you one bit, your mind was just occupied at just how powerful the general is. he exits your peripheral vision for a while, only to come back with new clothing donned as if the ones you ripped earlier weren't busted at all.

the seat of divine foresight's gates swing open, revealing numerous cloud knights in preparation for combat.

"be careful bringing her to the cell, this one's dangerous. i shall pay a visit later."

my masterlist !

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Ian McDonald's "The Wilding"

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Ian McDonald is one of those absurdly brilliant novelists that just leave me wondering the actual fuck he manages it. How does he cover so much ground, think up so many compelling characters, find so many gracenotes, conjure up so many complicated emotions?

McDonald burst on the scene in the late 1980s, with the 1988 novel Desolation Road and then his 1989 Out On Blue Six, a slick, stylized cyberpunk-meets-Orwell tale that overflowed with beautiful prose, technomysticism, and sly jokes that hid sneaky truths that hid even more sly jokes:

https://memex.craphound.com/2014/01/20/out-on-blue-six-ian-mcdonalds-brilliant-novel-is-back/

By my count, McDonald has now published twenty books – mostly novels, but a couple short story collections (and the most amazingly demented, Tom-Waits-inflected teddybear murder comic imaginable, 1994's Kling Klang Klatch):

https://irishcomics.fandom.com/wiki/Kling_Klang_Klatch

McDonald's work is truly globespanning. While he's made his mark on the Martian soil, and overtaken the moon with the Luna trilogy (his definitive rebuttal to Heinlein's Moon Is a Harsh Mistress) he is widely adored and much-awarded for the glittering, futuristic versions of Brazil (Brasyl), Tanzania (the Chaga series), and India (River of Gods).

Indeed, McDonald's imagination has roamed so far over the Earth and the solar system that it's possible to overlook his fantastic reimaginings of Ireland, the land where he was raised. There's his Philip K Dick Award-winning 1991 novel King of Morning, Queen of Day, a swirling, mythopoeic novel of Celtic mysticism:

https://www.baen.com/king-of-morning-queen-of-day.html

And then there's 1992's Hearts, Hands and Voices, which is lowkey one of the best novels I have ever, ever read – a scorching science fictional allegory for The Troubles, but with the gnarliest biotech weirdness you can possibly imagine:

https://archive.org/details/heartshandsvoice0000ianm/mode/2up

McDonald's books cover so much goddamned ground, but one feature they all share is a prose styling wherein every sentence is at least 20% poetry, a fraction that somehow, impossibly, rises to as much as 150% in certain especially shiny passages.

Like this passage, which opens The Wilding, McDonald's new horror novel that marks his first return to Ireland since 1992:

Autumn lay on the great bog in silvers and tans, late purples and duns.

The sun rose above the tall ash saplings and feral sycamore. It called the birds into full voice. Stabbing shrills, tumbles of notes, the flutes of dove-call, frantic ticking hisses, song upon song. In hedgerows and copses, among the pale foliage of the birches, in the weave of deep willow and the bramble fastnesses, each bird called and was heard. In this season the peatland held the day's warmth through the night and on the bright, clear mornings rivers of mist formed, filling the subtle hollow places in the exposed cuttings, the bogs and fields. High sun would dispel it but at this hour half of Lough Carrow lay mist-bound. Each blade of grass hung heavy with dew, the clumps of sedges were already browning, the bracken curling and crisping.

A pair of horns lifted above the willow scrub and out-grown ash hedges of the Wilding. Polished tips caught the low sun and kindled as bright and keen as spears.

https://www.gollancz.co.uk/titles/ian-mcdonald/the-wilding/9781399611503/

Oof.

I would drop everything to read Ian McDonald's grocery lists but after that opening, I wasn't going to put this one down, and I didn't, reading the whole thing on yesterday's flight home from my gigs in Atlanta this week.

The Wilding is (I'm pretty sure?) McDonald's first horror novel, and it's fucking terrifying. It's set in a rural Irish peat bog that has been acquired by a conservation authority that is rewilding it after a century of industrial peat mining that stripped it back nearly to the bedrock. This rewilding process has been greatly accelerated by the covid lockdowns, which reduced the human footprint in the conservation area to nearly zero.

The story's protagonist is Lisa, a hard-case Dubliner who came to the bog to do community service after a career as a crime syndicate driver for hire, a woman who never met a car she couldn't boost and pilot in or out of any tight situation. After years in the bog, she's ready to start a new life, studying Yeats at university, indulging a late-discovered love of poetry that has as much to do with her redemption as her years in the wild.

Lisa's last duty before she leaves the bog and goes home to Dublin is leading a school group on a wild campout in one of the bog's deep clearings. It's a routine assignment, and while it's not her favorite duty, it's also not a serious hardship.

But as the group hikes out to the campsite, one of her fellow guides is killed, without warning, by a mysterious beast that moves so quickly they can barely make out its monstrous form. Thus begins a tense, mysterious, spooky as hell story of survival in a haunted woods, written in the kind of poesy that has defined McDonald's career, and which – when deployed in service of terror – has the power to raise literal goosebumps.

There's a lot of fantasy that deals with Celtic mythology, including McDonald's own King of Morning, Queen of Day, but the vibe of that stuff tends to the heroic and romantic – sure, there's the odd banshee, but in the main, it's mischievous wee people, pookas, and leprechauns. More fey than fear.

But Irish mythology in its raw form is terrifying. The monsters of Irish storytelling are grotesque, mean, remorseless, and come in every shape and size. Some authors have done well by going back to the bestiary for the deep cuts. When I was a kid, I must have read John Coyne's Hobgoblin fifty times (mostly because it was about D&D, which I was obsessed with). I haven't read this one since I was about 12, and I have no idea if it'd hold up today, but it left me with a deep appreciation of the spooky multifariousness of monsters who dwell in Ireland's bogs:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hobgoblin_(novel)

The Wilding is a suspense novel, which means there's no way to really sum up the plot without spoiling a lot of the affect, but suffice to say that McDonald brings large swathes of deep Irish lore to the surface, and it had me reading as fast as I could and wanting to put the book down and hide.

What a writer McDonald is! The fact that this is the same guy who wrote last year's stunning secret-history/solarpunk/uncategorizable wonder that was Hopeland beggars belief:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/30/electromancy/#the-grace

Read you some Ian McDonald novels, is what I'm trying to say. This one is only available in the UK, if that's not where you are, consider mail-ordering it. Looks like they've got stock at Forbidden Planet for £19 plus £18 shipping to the US. Worth every penny:

https://forbiddenplanet.com/424306-the-wilding-hardcover/

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/25/bogman/#erin-go-aaaaaaargh

[greenwitchcrafts]

January 2024 Witch guide

Full Moon: January 25th

New moon: January 11th

Sabbats: None

January Wolf Moon

Known as: Bear Moon, Chaste Moon, Cold Moon, Disting Moon, Goose Moon, Moon of Little Winter,  Moon of Strong Cold, Quiet Moon, Snow Moon, Stay at Home Moon, Sun Has Not Strength to Thaw Moon & When Snow Blows Like Spirits In The Wind Moon

Element: Air

Zodiac: Capricorn & Aquarius

Nature spirits: Brownies & Gnomes

Deities: Freya, Hera, Innana & Saraswati

Animals: Coyote & fox

Birds: Blue Jay & pheasant

Trees: Birch & Hazel

Herbs: Cones, holy thistle &marjoram

Flowers: Crocus & Snowdrop

Scents: Mimosa & musk

Stones: Chrysoprase, garnet, hematite, moonstone, onyx & jet

Colors: Black, blue-violet, grey, silver & white

Energy: Adventurous, ambitious, awareness, beauty, beginning & conceiving; business, career, conserving energy, energy below the surface, organization, political matters, potential, protection, recognition, reputation, reversing spells & spirituality

The name for the January full Moon is believed to have originated from Celtic and Old English roots, which European settlers then brought to the New World.

At one point, gray wolves were among the most widespread land mammals on our planet. According to the Wolf Conversation Center, gray wolves “inhabited most of the available land in the Northern Hemisphere.” Habitat destruction and persecution by humans have reduced their range by about a third worldwide and 90 percent in the lower 48 states.

The wolf’s adaptable nature to survive in a wide range of habitats and ability to prey on the largest mammals living in those regions made it widespread. Basically, if there are enough deer, moose, elk, caribou, bison, and musk ox, wolves can survive. Predation of domestic animals caused friction with European settlers and early Americans who aggressively hunted the wolves.

Werewolf myths can be found in ancient Greek and Roman societies, throughout European history and among some Native American tribes. In modern storytelling the transformation from man to wolf has been closely tied to the full Moon in films like “The Wolf Man” and “American Werewolf In London.”

Howl at the Moon means to waste energy pursuing something unattainable. It’s shorthand for doing something crazy. However, howling is hardly a waste of energy among wolf packs. And they aren’t howling at the Moon. The Moon just happens to be shining during times when wolves most often howl.

A wolf’s howl can be heard miles away. The vocalization helps wolves locate separated members and even communicate between packs marking their territories. One study recorded spontaneous howls and responses happen most often between 11 p.m. and 6 a.m.

The cry of wolves doesn’t play into the Sioux name for the January full Moon, which is known as “The Time When Wolves Run Together.” Wolves do plenty of running to defend territory that can stretch hundreds of square miles to find enough prey to support the pack.

Other Celebrations

• Hogmanay | January 1st: is the Scots word for the last day of the old year and is synonymous with the celebration of the New Year in the Scottish manner. It is normally followed by further celebration on the morning of New Year's Day (1 January) and, in some cases, 2 January—a Scottish bank holiday. In a few contexts, the word Hogmanay is used more loosely to describe the entire period consisting of the last few days of the old year and the first few days of the new year. For instance, not all events held under the banner of Edinburgh's Hogmanay take place on 31 December.

The origins of Hogmanay are unclear, but it may be derived from Norse and Gaelic observances of the winter solstice. Customs vary throughout Scotland and usually include gift-giving and visiting the homes of friends and neighbours, with particular attention given to the first-foot, the first guest of the new year.

• Compitalia/ Feast of Lades | January 3-5: was an annual festival in honor of the Lares Compitales, household deities of the crossroads, to whom sacrifices were offered at the places where two or more ways met.

Dionysius said that Servius Tullius founded the festival, which he describes as it was celebrated in his time. Dionysius relates that the sacrifices consisted of honey-cakes (Ancient Greek: πέλανοι) presented by the inhabitants of each house; and that the people who assisted as ministering servants at the festival were not free men, but slaves, because the Lares took pleasure in the service of slaves. He further adds that the Compitalia were celebrated a few days after the Saturnalia with great splendor, and that the slaves on this occasion had full liberty to do as they pleased.

During the celebration of the festival, each family placed the statue of the underworld goddess Mania at the door of their house. They also hung up at their doors figures of wool representing men and women, accompanying them with humble requests that the Lares and Mania would be contented with those figures, and spare the people of the house

Sources:

Farmersalmanac.com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Llewellyn's 2023 magical almanac: practical magic for everyday living

Wikipedia

Encyclopedia Britannica

[pandorasworkshop]

🐇Welcome to Wonderland- Pick a Card

Who from Alice in wonderland do you embody? And what's something good about you.

Pandorasworkshop

Pile 1 Pile 2 Pile 3

Pile 1

Cards: the muses, the trout and lilly of the valley, the hare, three of cups and the sun

Character: white rabbit, door mouse, the march hare

Reading: You know how to have fun but I feel as if there is a little bit of social anxiety. May be a bit sleepy and have a pure heart. You genuinely mean well for your friends and are a go with the flow type of person. Creative talents and self expression is important to you. You are a good learner and work hard you should slow down sometimes when you feel stressed. I feel like you may be pretty like a bunny. With the sun card people view you as honest and bright. You may have a bit of a sweet tooth or have a signature drink you always drink. With the hare card I feel like you are a messenger and may warn people about things they need to know. You are smart and know how to get yourself out of a sticky situation. Rewrite any doubts about yourself.

Signs: 113, white rabbits or any rabbits for that matter, the feeling you have been forgetting something, card games, tweed fabric, academic style, vampire movies, peonies and white roses, the chess cookies that are square.

Pile 2

Cards: the storyteller, the sailor, coyote and datura, the moth and eucalyptus, the fool and six of cups

Character: Cheshire cat, the caterpillar, and Alice

Reading: You are a great storyteller and may get into a bit of mischief. You have a lot of wisdom that comes from living life and feel like people don't give you enough credit for that. You may be a little bit of a rebel but you know how to throw a party and get into fun. You may smoke or drink and if you don't you may be an avid tea drinker. You always know something before others do and have keen sixth sense and great observations skills. You may be neurodivergent or think a little differently about life than others. You have a child-like sense of humor and find things to laugh at. Joyous to be around. You are always down for something new and consistency may be a problem for you. You like to experiment in your tastes whether it's style, food and anything in between. You like to go to new places and experience life for all the nice things it has. You are curious about life and like to learn new things. Maybe school wasn't for you.

Signs: 444, blue butterfly, cats, fur coats, swords, beautiful crystals, responsibilities, feeling bored, caviar or any other types of fancy fish, silver jewelry, mushrooms.

Pile 3

Cards: the tailor, the herald, the horse and blue bells, beaver and birch, king of cups, queen of wands, ten of wands

Characters: mad hatter and queen of hearts

Reading: You are a hard worker and leader. Both of these characters lead. You may feel burnt out and need to rest. You are a person of many talents and skills. You are humble about yourself and may be a bit of a queen bee unknowingly. You have great fashion sense and are responsible. You may have struggled with depression. You are a survivor and have a lot of strength in you. Many people would say you feel like home and you are good at comforting your friends. No one knows what your next move is and you keep people on your toes. You'll always land on your feet like a cat. People feel safe around you and you have a lot of advice to share. I feel like you need to rest. You deserve a proper vacation or spa day. Whatever will make you happiest. Remember you come first.

Signs: 1111, red wine, apples, learning to accept help, those warm knitted blankets, satin, the color red, community, dahlias, the game Alice madness returns, violin and piano, spirited away.

[batmanlovesnirvana]

𝟎𝟎 | 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧.

masterlist

pairing : Bruce Wayne x fem!oc

words : 704

A/N : I just realized I never posted the prologue of this fic here, so here it is! It's short, but I hope you enjoy it.

THE WIND whispered through the ancient birch trees, their silver leaves trembling under the moon's cold light.

Somewhere in the distance, the low hum of the river echoed through the quiet night, its waters winding through time, carrying with them the weight of forgotten secrets. 

The past lingered here, as if the very air held the memories of things long buried, waiting for the right moment to surface.

In the heart of the wilderness stood a grand estate, its towering walls once the symbol of an empire that stretched far and wide. Now, it was a ghost of its former self, cloaked in ivy and shadow, its halls echoing with the footsteps of those who were no longer there. 

In one room, untouched by time, stood a portrait—an image of a family whose eyes seemed to follow you, their painted smiles belying the tragedy that had struck them down. It was said that their bloodline was cursed, marked by betrayal and loss, a curse that had seeped into the bones of the world itself.

But far beyond this place, through distant lands and war-torn fields, another story of sorrow lingered in the wind. A whisper of old wounds, of faces long forgotten, whose cries for justice were swallowed by time. The ghosts of the fallen—of families ripped apart, of innocent lives extinguished too soon—clung to the air, their presence felt but never seen. Their grief resonated with that of the cursed bloodline, intertwining across the centuries, as if the weight of such loss could never truly fade, no matter how deep it was buried.

Whispers of these tragedies drifted from one generation to the next, growing darker with each retelling. It was not simply the weight of power that had crushed them, but something far older, something deeper. Some said it began with a promise made in the dead of winter, others claimed it was vengeance for a forgotten sin. What was certain, however, was that those who bore the name were destined to suffer, doomed to live in the shadow of their ancestors' fate.

Maryam had always felt it—an invisible tether pulling her toward the unknown, a weight she couldn't name. She never believed in the stories whispered in her childhood, tales of a doomed family and their cursed legacy. But the dreams told her otherwise.

They came in relentless waves, visions of a life not her own: a young girl with haunted eyes, a family caught in peril, the sharp crack of gunfire splitting the air. Then, the flash of knives—a brutal end, their souls wrenched from the world in violence. Faces blurred, voices turned to echoes, but the feeling of impending doom was always the same, lingering in the silence after she awoke. 

And within those nightmares, there were others—shadowy figures, silent witnesses to another tragedy, a pain that felt strangely familiar, as though their suffering mirrored her own.

In every dream, the shadows reached for her, pulling her into their depths, as if the past itself was clawing its way through the veil of time, demanding to be remembered.

She didn't know why the dreams haunted her, or why the image of that forgotten family seemed so familiar, as if she had known them once—long before her own life had begun. But as the days passed, the weight of it pressed heavier on her, drawing her closer to a truth she could no longer ignore. There was a secret buried in the past, tangled in the history of a once-great lineage, and somehow, she was tied to it.

The answers lay in the ruins of a forgotten dynasty, in the echoes of a curse that refused to be silenced. 

Maryam didn't yet understand her place in the unraveling, but she would soon learn that the past had a way of catching up to those who tried to escape it.

And in the stillness of the night, as the wind carried the murmurs of the forgotten, she felt it—the weight of something timeless stirring, drawing nearer, as if the very air hummed with fate's unyielding thread. 

Some destinies, she would learn, are woven too deep to be unraveled, etched in shadow and blood.

Chapter one | echoes of the past

[the-nettle-knight]

Prince Caspian rewatch notes:

-Caspian has a sun on his chemise and Ray like embroidery, which I feel like is a parallel to Peter and a symbol of Caspian's destiny to take on Peter's mantle

- Also a possible reference to Aslan, perhaps it's Dr Cornelius' influence or a suggestion that there might be more part Narnian (or Archen) servants in Miraz's castle

-Caspian's naivety about Miraz's intentions may have been more believable if Ben Barnes wasn't in his mid 20s

-When Trumpkin first sees Caspian he's very obviously got a rubber knife

-Susan is reading a copy of the Picture Post that was published on December 9th 1939 featuring a photo of a girl in the Land Army, so as this was probably 1941 this is an old issue

-This definitely shows her practical and logical nature and might suggest that her role as Queen in Narnia may have focused on the practical elements of farming, land management, supplying their armies etc

- There are at least four schools shown in the Underground scene, St Finbars, Hendon House, a boy's school with a red uniform and a possibly mixed sex school with a grey uniform

-St Finbars' crest is a varient on the Tudor Rose - a lot of the Narnian leather belts/straps have rose motifs

-Hendon house has a cross with three stars over it, which also feels very Narnian and looks quite knightly

-Cair Paravel's ruins look to be in pretty good shape for being 1000s of years old. In our world, when a castle is abandoned, people tend to repurpose the stones and timbers. However, due to the Telmarines' superstition they probably left it completely alone

-There's a big wild rose bush covering the ruins, adding to the rose motif

-Susan is the only one who's throne is partially intact, and she's the only one who survives the series

-On the Telmarine Lord's thrones there is a sigil of their mask-helmet over a horizontal spear with a a personalised image beneath. Miraz has tentacles wrapping around shields, probably a nod to their piratical origins

-Lucy's dress sleeves look like an odd length, as if they were 3/4 length sleeves on a taller person

-Peter Dinklige's accent has definitely improved by the time GoT comes round

- The fact that Cornelius is a doctor suggests that there is a university somewhere in the wider Narnian world to award such a title

-I really like the fact that Edmund and Susan basically have their heads right next to each other

-The trees that move first for Lucy are silver birches. They're one of the last trees to loose their leaves in the winter and they start to bud relatively early

[sailtomarina]

Be safe

cw: car seat smut

Five years they’d been together and he still didn’t trust Muggle cars—‘death metal’, he called them. He hadn’t been amused in the slightest when she showed him that was actually an entire genre of music.

He was even less amused when she blasted it on full volume the next time she cleaned the house.

But Hermione had grown up in the Muggle world, took her test and drove in the summers away from school. She inherited her dad’s 1967 Aston Martin DB6 when they decided to stay in Australia and sell everything they’d left behind. She stared at it when she first threw open the garage doors, taking in the silver birch, buffed to a high shine.

Her first drive alone, she’d cried.

Her second drive, she’d convinced Draco to sit in the passenger seat.

Her third drive, he’d scowled at her with his arms crossed from the safety of their driveway.

“Be safe. That thing is dangerous.”

“It’s no more dangerous than your Nimbus.”

Grey eyes narrowed in disbelief, and he huffed before stepping back even further. Still, he didn’t turn away. He watched her pull out and continued watching until she’d turned the corner.

Hermione drove the car every chance she could get, which wasn’t that often due to England’s short summers and even less clear days. Every single time she hopped in the driver’s seat and backed out, he called, “be safe,” and, every time, she answered, “always.”

The idea came to her after listening to an old mixtape.

“I don’t see why I need to sit in here when we aren’t even going anywhere,” he muttered, his long legs struggling to get comfortable in the cramped space. “What was it you wanted to show me?”

“This.”

She’d worn a flippable skirt for just this occasion, plopping down atop him with the flexibility of a woman who’d never stopped her daily yoga over the past decade.

“Wha—”

She froze him with a quick immobulus, taking the opportunity to settle her knees on either side of him more comfortably. It really was a wonderful thing that she was as bendy as she was, especially given the way he filled the seat.

His eyes flitted over her face, and she knew were she to let him go now, he’d let out a furious string of expletives. As it was, he couldn’t do a bloody thing.

She tugged on his belt and popped open the top button, humming a little song all the while. A whine spilled out of his still lip from deep in his throat and she paused to look up at him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

His eyes flashed at the leer she’d picked up from him. He really didn’t have anyone else to blame.

In no time at all, she’d slipped her hand in and pulled his cock out, swollen and leaking, and she couldn’t help but swipe her thumb across the top to gather up the essence of Draco and lift it to her lips in a naughty suck, holding eye contact with him the entire time. Then, she shifted up so she could reach under to pull the gusset of her knickers to the side as she murmured a quick lubrication charm.

She released her spell on him.

“You,” he snarled, one hand immediately landing on her hip, the other placing himself at her entrance. He pulled down as his hips thrust up, and she was filled with the delicious length of him, thick and deep and hitting all the right places.

“Ah!” she cried out, throwing her head back and feeling her long curls cascading down her back. She rode him hard, meeting his fierce pace with her own.

It wasn’t long before the windows fogged up and she had a nagging thought in the back of her mind of a police officer knocking on the glass to tell them off like a couple of horny teenagers without anywhere else to go. They had an entire home filled with surfaces to defile, and here she was wanting to christen the car she’d grown up loving. She’d bet a million galleons that her parents had done the same in this very seat, and nearly cackled at the filthiness of overriding their invisible stains with her own.

“You are such a fucking brat,” he finally got out, his breath heavy. “You know I hate this thing—”

“What better way to get over it?” she said hotly against his lips, clenching her inner walls as tightly as she could and watching him go nearly crossed eyed at the stranglehold.

He was close, his speed going erratic and his fingers tightening on her hips in the way it always did when she found bruises afterward. She wore them with pride, smirking into the mirror as she placed her own fingertips atop them.

He could just finish ahead of her in revenge, but Draco wouldn’t ever be so selfish no matter how much she pissed him off. He splayed one hand against her lower back to keep pressing her downward. The other squeezed between them to rub circles around her just there. He shifted slightly, amazing, really, in the bucket seat, and then he was hammering against a part of her that now had her rolling back her eyes and grunting with each thrust.

She exploded with a scream that might have alerted authorities to their impropriety were they actually in the vicinity. As it was, only the neighbor’s cat startled, sprinting across the yard away from the shaking car. Draco followed her immediately after, groaning long as he pulsed inside of her, his head dropping into her chest.

“You witch.”

“Well, obviously.”

“You do realize that now you owe me a ride on my broomstick?”

“Isn’t that what we just did?”

“Ha-ha.”

But ride his broomstick, she did, and if he preceded their airborne coupling with a barrel roll or two, who was she to complain?

WC 992

Twitter prompt from DramionePrompts

Cross-posted on Tumblr and (eventually) AO3

Happy, happy Thanksgiving to me! I wrote this while hanging out with my parents as they watched a horrible little tv series I couldn’t be arsed to watch. Quality family time, you know? Also, the Aston Martin was swapped in for an Alfa Romeo last minute, sorry for any fans of the prior.

[polutrope]

King of beech and oak and elm

From the archive (Feb 2022)

A pair of tawny nightingales flitted between birch trunks hewn from rock, singing one to the other. The globes of fireflies hanging from the likeness of a great oak deepened the shadows in the curves of the relief. Passing his thumb through the chiselled clefts, Elu followed their lines to a white rose. The translucent wings of a butterfly rose from its centre, glowing orange in the warm light of the lanterns.

They lay on a green sward gazing up at the fires of Elbereth. 

“Ada,” Lúthien said, her child’s voice already full of song, “what is that one named?”

“Thorondûn,” Elu replied, tracing the constellation's lines through the air, “the Eagle of the West.”

“Why do the Eagles come from the West?” she asked.

“They are servants of Aran Einior, the Elder King, and they bring tidings to him of what passes in the Hither Lands.” 

“Do you think that he watches us?”

“I am sure that he does,” Elu said, though he could not be sure. 

“And that one?” Lúthien pointed, shuffling closer to rest her little head against his chest.

“That is Gwilwileth, the butterfly, that Elbereth set in the sky to give light to the Edhil at their awakening.”

“And you were born there, Ada?” 

“Yes, my dear, I began there.” He passed his hand over the silk of her hair, dark as the sky above them. Though he knew the power of her mother slept within her even now, he feared for the tiny body nestled between his arm and torso. He drew her closer to him and pressed his lips against her forehead. 

There was no light within the circles of Arda that could compare with her. 

Elu traced the lines of a blossom of niphredil , which had bloomed beneath her feet even before she could walk. Laced with the enchantments of his queen, the pale rock turned a bright white and the flower spread its petals at his touch. 

She whirled through the forest of elms, their trunks tall and straight, trailing a silvery shawl behind her. The cloth was woven with spells of awakening and each tree she passed hastened its growth and put forth new leaves before their eyes. 

The way his minstrel watched her as he played set an unbidden chill on Elu’s heart. There were many who looked at her that way, woman as she now was, and with each worshipful glance in her direction his jealousy grew another thorn. She could not always be his. (No, she had never been his to possess, Melian reminded him, her thought appearing in his mind. But at least she will always be , he replied, and his wife was silent.)

A lean rabbit hid among the ferns, a frightened eye staring out from the wall. Hidden in the branches of an oak, a silver owl watched, wings flexing at the joints, prepared to swoop silently down on its prey. The cycle of life and death, the nutrients of the earth passing from one life to the next–such was the strange fate of Ivann’s creatures.

“You cannot choose her path for her.” Melian rested a gentle hand on his cheek. “Did you not come upon me once, in a wood, and did you not put love before all else?”

“That is not the same!” Elu spun away from her, gripping his temples between finger and thumb. “I forsook all else for a love that would be everlasting, and for a purpose: to bring our child into this world, the most beautiful of any that has ever been or will be. All that I have done has been to ensure her safety and her bliss.”

“Then, my dear, allow her to have that bliss. Allow her to love.” There was a low hum of Music in her voice.

Elu drew in a laboured breath. He had not been able to unsee the image since Daeron brought him word of the intruder: grasping hands at his daughter’s waist, her beauty wrapped in a dark cloud, swelling around her until nothing of her light remained. Nothing of her remained.

He turned to his wife, locking onto the bright points of her eyes. “I will not. Not at such a cost.” (Eru, forgive me.)

Melian’s features hardened and the thin veil of her skin flickered. “Then you bring even greater suffering on us all.”

Crouching to the floor, he ran his fingertips over textured mosses, the stone soft and feathery. The fronds of giant ferns arced over the polished surface of a pond like a canopy; beneath, a pale turtle rested on a rock, his neck outstretched. The crowns of the beeches and branching oaks carved above were reflected in the stony water, obscuring the dark depths beneath. 

"You would confine me!" his daughter cried, her face dimmed by sorrow and twisted in anger. "Adar, please, I am not yours to cage." She knelt before him where he sat, stooped in his chair, guilt rising in his throat, fear coiling around his chest, and took his clasped hands between hers. “If you want me to stay, send riders out to call him back. This is needless,” she pleaded.

“Lúthien…” He opened his hands to hold hers. “You will forget this. You will forget him. This is not–” your fate, he wanted to say, but faltered.

“They will appoint it beautifully for you.” he offered, an empty reassurance. “It is not a cage, my love, it is only for–” your protection, he thought but did not say.

She dropped his hands and stood tall and cold above him. “It is a cage.” She glided silently out of the room. He did not go, and she did not come to him, when she left to ascend the ladder to the crown of Hírilorn.

Rising, Elu brushed his fingers over the pearl-wrought wings of moths and their feathered antennae that searched out the smooth bark of a birch. A shadow cast against the wall seemed to send one into flight, darting towards the lantern and disappearing in its light. 

The forest was so quiet when he awoke that morning. Not a pleasant, peaceful quiet; a deathly quiet, a silence that thickened the air. 

“She is gone,” the guard told him, shame painted in lines down his face. 

He should have rebuked him, as a king would, but said only, “... how?” 

“She wove a spell, she escaped in darkness.” 

Spells inherited not from him, but from her mother; spells woven about his Kingdom, without which there would be no Kingdom; spells that had bound him to Ennor. 

“My King? Shall we go after her?” The guard’s voice rippled over his ears. Was it anger he felt pinching at his lungs, tightening the flesh around his bones? For all that he had given, for his sacrifices, for all his love–

“Yes,” he replied, even as he felt her slipping away.

His hand came upon the soft, speckled belly of a thrush perched in the branches of a leafy hawthorn. Another bird pecked at its clustered berries. Elu imagined he heard–or perhaps he did hear–the chatter and trill of its call. Distant but clear came a song in answer.

They returned as heroes and his heart swelled with pride. 

“Thank you,” Lúthien said, “for your love.”

He did not deserve her thanks. He did not deserve that jewel that burned now in the belly of the wolf. There was no light within the circles of Arda that could compare with her.

Nonetheless he had taken Beren’s promised price, meagre as it was. 

Opals buried seamlessly in the stone, the backs of beetles scurrying across a fallen branch, drew his eyes. He dared not touch them for fear his hands would tarnish their brilliance. 

When she returned from death–no, not death, not yet–she looked as hale and lovely as she had the day she was born. 

“Ada… you have grown old.”

Elu turned to hide his face from her, ashamed of his grief. 

She wrapped her arms about him and the dry frost that numbed his touch was turned to spring's dew upon his cheeks. 

“I have chosen my love,” she said, “for Beren.”

He withdrew to look upon her and his own pale grey eyes, bright with joy, looked back at him. “At what cost?” 

“Not a cost–a gift. To pass beyond the circles of Arda.”

Elu rested his palms against the cold stone and bowed his head. He wept. These great halls, this beauty, his Kingdom–what had it all been for?

Drawing himself away, he failed to note the empty space where his hand had been, where once a thrush had perched. 

[outofangband]

Named Woods of Beleriand

I’m in the process now of updating my geographic resources to make sure all information is accurate and as extensive as possible! Here is my Masterlist: Flora and Fauna of Arda 

Please feel free to request any aspects of geography to go over! I’ll do non Beleriand locations too!

Christopher Tolkien’s Map of Beleriand can be found here Most locations mentioned can be found on it and the general regions can be found for those left out

Map Notes:  Núath was not mentioned in the published Silmarillion and is not on Christopher’s map of Beleriand and the Lands to the North. It is however in the map in the back of The Children of Húrin.  Alternately, while Nan Tathren DOES appear on Christopher’s map, it is not in the map in the Narn. 

Arthórien: the easternmost forest that made up Doriath.

Brethil (”silver birch”, later called Sarch nia Chîn Húrin or the Grave of the Children of Húrin) was a forest in Western Beleriand, bordered by the river Sirion on the East and one of its larger tributaries, Taeglin along the West.  It was considered part of the kingdom of Doriath however was not part of the Girdle of Melian and was later inhabited by descendants of the House of Haleth.  Silver birches were the most common tree though I write a bit more about canonical flora as well as my own speculation here!

It has the dubious distinction of being the death site of Túrin, Niënor (though she was not buried there) and Morwen as well as the location where Húrin Thalion was imprisoned (again) and tried.* When Beleriand fell beneath the waves after the War of Wrath, the grave site of Túrin and Morwen remained partially above the water and was called Tol Morwen. 

Nan Emloth (”Valley of star dusk”) was an Eastern Beleriand forest east of Doriath and near the river Celon, a tributary to the river Aros, itself a tributary to Sirion. It was somewhat North of Estolad. The trees here grew tallest of all of Beleriand and there was little to no sunlight. It was home to Eöl, originally from Doriath. It was also in Nan Emloth that Melian met Thingol and the two fell into an enchantment lasting years. 

Nan Tathren, the Valley of willows, was in middle Beleriand, between East and West where the river Narog met the Sirion, north of the Mouths of Sirion and South of the Gates of Sirion. In the Book of Lost Tales, it was said that the flowered meadows of Nan Tathren was where all butterflies came into the world and though this was likely later struck from canon, it’s possible it remained as a story and butterflies were still abundant here. 

Neldoreth is a forest of beech trees, part of Northern Doriath and contained within Melian’s Girdle. It was here that Lúthien was born and later imprisoned to prevent her from rescuing Beren. It was bordered by the River Esgalduin on the South and and River Mindeb on the West, both tributaries to Sirion. The tallest beech tree in the forest was Hírilorn and it was here that Lúthien was imprisoned. 

Nimbrethil was a forest of birches in the realm of Arvernien on the Northern shores of the Bay of Balar. Wood from these trees were used to construct Vingilot, the ship of Eärendil. The forest was South of the river Narog and West of Sirion. 

Nivrim was a forest of mostly oak trees and was the only part of Doriath contained within Melian’s Girdle that fell West of the River Sirion. It was North of the Twilight Meres. There was a guarded bridge that was built over Sirion, near where it met with its tributary Esgalduin, that connected it with the rest of Doriath.  

Region is within Melian’s Girdle in Southern Doriath. It was populated mostly by holly trees and was where the kingdom of Menengroth was built. It was bordered by Aros on the South and Esgalduin to the North. 

Taur-im-Duinath, the Forest between rivers, was a forest that lay between the rivers Sirion and Gelion. Gelion was the greatest of the seven rivers of Ossiriand and the only one that ran North to South. It was South of the Andram and East of the Bay of Balar. It was described as dark and gloomy and uninhabited save but for small, transient groups of Avari. 

Taur-en-Faroth was a series of wooded hills in Western Beleriand west of the river Narog. They were part of the kingdom of Nargothrond. 

Taur-nu-Fuin, Forest of Dread was the Southern part of Dorthonion after it fell under the rule of Morgoth after Dagor Bragollach.  As I mentioned in my post about it, there are vivid descriptions in The Silmarillion, The Children of Húrin, and The Lays of Beleriand that name species that dwelt there. 

The woods of Núath was a small forest South of the Ered Wethrin where the river Ginglith, a tributary to Narog, began.

[calaroseeey]

Dancing in Fields of Sage Blossoms: Chapter One

Adar x Galadriel. Rated T+. 3130 words. Chapter 1 / ?

Chapter One: An Unexpected Semblance

≻───── ※※※ ─────≺

Light fell through the canopy of trees above. Adar stood among the towering birch and holly just beyond the fallen city. Autumn had come swiftly and the forest displayed the fullness of color. Wind blew gently in these parts, and the sun shined warm.

On his unblemished hand, the ring glittered like polished gold overlaid with silver light. She was more beautiful when the sunshine touched her, yet it appeared to him that she possessed a light in and of herself, not unlike the light of the Lady Alatáriel.

The ring had given him more power than he hoped for, but above all, a sudden wisdom which had come bright as the break of dawn.

≻───── ※※※ ─────≺

Second Age, 1156

The Southlands

Galadriel’s white horse ran through the dense forest. The rider she sought after led an orc attack on a nearby Southland village, and tried to flee on horseback during battle.

She calculated him to be an emissary of the Dark Lord. She did not know if she was chasing an orc or a sorcerer or even a mortal man. Truthfully, she did not care what he was, only that he could lead her to his master.

Orcs had ravaged the southern countryside for years now. Local word told that the orcs were under this nameless commander, from whose army wrought death and toil. For why else would he seek to reclaim the land of Mordor, if not for for Dark Lord?

The dark-clad rider effortlessly outmaneuvered her, gracing over fallen trees and dried brush. The forest seemed to darken the deeper they went westward, down and over hills and across small streams. She bent closer to her horse and sped faster over ground, and soon she was right behind him. Metal armor clanged against itself on his brown horse, decorated intricately in red and black.

Halbrand, her companion as of late, approached riding from the north-west, intercepting them. There was not enough time for the commander to change his course as Halbrand quickly advanced.

She could not hear her companion mutter in Black Speech, nor did she notice how unnaturally swift his movement was for a mortal man. She did however, see him hold out a pike and trip the commander’s horse, sending him crashing into the dry ground.

Galadriel watched from a near distance as the commander, his face still in the dry pine layered ground, attempted half-wittingly to crawl forward for his sword which had fallen. Halbrand approached and without warning drove his pike into the commander’s outstretching hand. He muttered a single cry, but did not try to fight. He resigned his head onto the ground. Halbrand kicked him over on his back.

“You remember me?” Halbrand spoke low, as if withholding great anger. The commander took several moments.

“No.” He said at last.

Halbrand continued to stare at him, and nodded slightly. He stepped on his arm as he pulled up his pike out from his hand. He moved his foot to his chest and went to strike him.

A sudden panic seized Galadriel.

“Stop!” She set foot off her horse. “We need him alive! I need him alive.”

“You don’t know what he did.” Halbrand spoke hoarsely, keeping the tip of the blade against his throat.

“Did I cause someone you love pain?” The commander spoke low and coarse, as if speaking at all caused difficulty, yet his voice held a vague familiarity. “A woman, perhaps? Or a child?”

Halbrand fought against tears and couldn’t hold the pike steady.

“Halbrand.” She ordered. “Put it down. One cannot satisfy thirst by drinking seawater.”

He met her gaze. After a moment of hesitation, the pike dropped to his side. The commander still laid on the ground.

She began to approach Halbrand and their captive. Dried brush and fallen branches littered the ground and crunched under her step. The commander managed to sit up, bracing himself against the ground, with his back turned to her. Halbrand kept his pike at the ready.

She walked around him. His head was bowed and long dark hair fell around his face. Then he raised his head, and the face of her husband stared up at her.

Her eyes did not deceive her. The centuries that passed seemed like a moment’s leave. Intrinsically she expected him to greet her as he always had, and give her an explanation that would make sense to her heart in spite of appearances. She fought against her will to reach for him and take him into her embrace.

Then a cold truth settled into her heart, spreading to joint and marrow. His face was scarred and deathly pale like the moon. Yet his eyes were the same blue clear and bright as the sea. She searched for any hint of recognition in them, but found none.

“Would you care to explain to me why you are here?” She asked, at last. He did not respond. She could not read anything from his face, his gaze was distant and cold. Not just time stood between them.

“Galadriel,” Halbrand spoke quietly, “There are orcs in this forest. We must move. Let us move your interrogation into the village.”

Halbrand raised him up and shackled his hands behind him, the one still dripping with dark blood. Questions flooded her mind faster than she could respond.

“I will take him.” Halbrand began tying a rope from his horse to the shackles before Galadriel could protest.

She wanted to order him to be gentle, but thought better of it. The ride back to the village was quick, though her mind was whirling and restless. Halbrand led the captive inside an unused barn, threw him down and chained him to a wooden beam. Remnants of hay lined the wooden floor. Sun slivered through the broken beams of the arched ceiling.

“Leave us.” She ordered. Halbrand swiftly walked past her, not bothering to look at her. Now they were alone. She gained the strength to walk up to where he was chained. He was sitting against the beam, his head bowed.

“Now,” she began, “will you tell me, why you are here?”

He said nothing.

“You have survived.” 

“Survived what?” His voice was coarse and worn.

“Morgoth.” She stood still, analyzing him. “Why do you command the orcs?”

“I command them as you command your soldiers.” He answered, still refusing to meet her eyes.

“I have heard stories of elves taken by Morgoth. Tortured, twisted. I hardly believed such rumors to be true, that some had bent to his will. That soldiers sent out to fight against the darkness would join it.” She turned to look out the broken barn doors. “I beg you give me evidence against such claims.”

He looked on in silence.

“Why have you forsaken yourself?” She searched his face for some semblance of understanding. “You have dishonored your name and your house.”

“My name is Adar.”

“Adar? You lie. What is your name?”

“It is what I am called.”

“From whom? Your orc army?” She laid her hand on the hilt of her dagger at her waist. “Tell me why you command the orcs.”

“Uruk. They are called Uruk. They are beings made of the secret fire, the same as you. Each one has a name, a heart-“

“A heart created by Morgoth.”

“Each is worthy of the breath of life, and just as worthy of a home.”

“Perhaps we should bring our prisoners into the sunlight.” She walked closer, tightening her grip on her dagger. “Why has Sauron given you charge over these orcs?”

“The value of my existence is to provide for them. There is no life for me apart from that.” Adar stared at the ground, and his eyes were still distant. “I do not serve the one you call Sauron, my lady. After Morgoth’s defeat, he devoted himself to healing Middle-earth, bringing its ruined lands together in perfect order. He sought to craft a power not of the flesh, but over flesh. But something was missing. Still he persisted, no matter how much blood spilt in his pursuit. For my part, I sacrificed enough of my children for his aspirations. I split him open. I killed Sauron.”

“I do not believe you.”

“Soon this land will be ours. Then you will understand.”

“No,” she knelt down before him. “There will be no understanding. And there will be no mercy. Do not force me to drive my blade into your poisoned heart.”

“It would seem I am not the only elf alive who has been transformed by darkness. Perhaps your search for Morgoth’s successor should have ended in your own mirror.”

She drew her dagger and knelt over him, gently pushing the blade against his neck and turning his face to hers. Now, he met her eyes. He was still, and hadn’t even flinched at her approach. Memories of being this close to him came rushing to the front of her mind.

Still his eyes were empty. She wondered if some creature of darkness had found itself in his discarded body, eating away his mind and heart.

“Don’t you remember?” Her voice rose barely above a whisper.

“Galadriel.” Halbrand warned, approaching them. She did not alter her position. Nor did Adar respond in any way. Her heart strained to close the distance even still. She quickly extinguished the thought.

“You betray yourself.” She whispered in his ear, close enough to almost graze his skin. Her blade pressed into his skin enough to draw blood, then she retreated and stood a few feet back. The blood slowly dripped down his neck, yet he kept his hands resigned against his bent knees.

She turned away from him, holding in tears, nauseated and dizzy. Then she took one last look at him as he met her eyes. Still, there was nothing, as if the waters had frozen over. Sheathing her dagger, she walked out of the barn.

Evening had come. Fog was settling over the fields of crops. Halbrand found Galadriel sitting on broken-off part of a fallen tree, near the edge of the forest. The waning sunshine drifted through the trees, bathing the forest in a misty haze. She was staring at her unsheathed dagger, turning it over in her hand, dark blood now dried on the blade. He sat beside her.

“Thank you,” she said, “for pulling me back.”

“You pulled me back first.”

As dusk set, they were welcomed into a villager’s house to stay. They sat quietly on the ground, each left to their own thoughts. Images of the elf she once knew chained in the barn kept replaying over and over again in her mind, while her reason fought against itself to know how all this came to be.

“What happened?” She looked at Halbrand. Already weary from their travels, the question took too much of her strength.

He was silent. The golden orange hue of the of the heath-fire danced off his profile.

“What did he do to you?” She laid her hand on his shoulder, desperate for answers. “You can tell me.”

Halbrand took a sharp inhale before turning to her. “Galadriel, sometimes there are wounds too great to be spoken of.”

His response hurt more than if he had just told her. Now she was left to imagine. “Whatever it is he did to you,” she offered, “and whatever it was you did, be free of it.”

“I never believed I could be,” he gazed into the fire, ��until today. Fighting at your side, I felt- if I could just hold onto that feeling, keep me with it always, bind it to my very being, then I…”

“I felt it too.” 

Halbrand looked over at her, the light of the fire illuminating him among the dark room. She stood and went into the kitchen, and took out her dagger to pour some water on the blade before scraping off the blood with a cloth. She recalled earlier in their journey when they rode horseback together across open plane, the cool summer breeze whipping her hair, the sun bathing the lands in evening light. It was the closest she’d felt to flying. Now, her whole being and body was weighed and twisted with grief. She returned to where Halbrand was sitting still around the heath, though she felt no warmth from it. For the first time in centuries, she spoke of Celeborn. She told him of the war, and when he was lost.

“I thought him dead for the longest time,” she told Halbrand.

“And now?”

“I’m not sure anymore.”

She wondered if he could see through her. Looking back, perhaps he did.

Day had come again. Upon Galadriel’s order, the Númenorean men killed the several orcs they had taken prisoner. The men dragged the bodies into an area beside the meadows which was barren and without any brush to burn them. Smoke rose up into the summer sky and the burnt smell tinged the formerly fragrant meadow air.

Halbrand had taken to speaking with young men of Númenor who had come as aid, and offered his assistance with ordinary dealings to help recuperate the soldiers and villagers. There was a feast to celebrate their victory and the death of their aggressors. Still Adar was chained in the barn. Númenorean guards stood post outside. Nobody brought him food nor drink. They did, however, routinely check if he was still alive, as he had taken to laying on the ground in silence. One guard told that he had seen the prisoner crying quietly.

Halbrand had advised the Númenorean commander against announcing his kingship over these lands. She did as he asked, though not without question from Galadriel.

She had kept herself to providing advice and training for the soldiers; yet had not once stepped back into the barn, unable to bring herself to face him again. She suffered his death once. And now, she found out that he had not truly died but lived on in a state worse than death; his body lived on, while his memory was lost and his heart poisoned. She rehearsed many questions and ways to talk to him, but never gathered enough strength to confront him.

Days passed, yet the Southlands were not won. Soon more orcs were were sent to attempt a rescue for their commander, and many neighboring villages were pillaged. They were outnumbered beyond count. And the burning mountain Orodruin once again bled fire and smoke. Many died in the flame, and a great deal more died afterwards in the ash-covered land and by the hands of orcs.

Galadriel had watched, before leaving with the rest of her company, as fire encapsulated the village and the place where Adar was held. A thought sprung forth from her heart, to run into the flame and save him. Instead, she turned on her horse and fled.

If there be hope for him, the Valar would preserve his life. Thus she abandoned him to fate. She left the Southlands to Eregion, where she dwelt with her cousin Celebrimbor. Halbrand was welcomed there. It was beyond her why he abandoned his lands soon after Mordor had been reclaimed by darkness. Now more than ever did the Southlands need their king. Halbrand told her he was yet unfit for kingship and had much to learn. So she had sent him to Lindon to be trained in the ways of Elven fighting, but not after long he decided to return to Eregion and take up apprenticeship under Celebrimbor.

Galadriel’s search for her husband ended once she met Adar. She withdrew parties still searching for survivors within his troops. Mostly, she feared what would be discovered. If her husband’s fate was as terrible as it is, she dared not consider what happened to the rest of the soldiers. Fear dwelt in those gaps of knowledge.

Galadriel remained in Eregion. Though she spent greater time of days and years pouring over histories and legends, she did not loose sight of her enemy. More than ever was she determined to put an end to Sauron and all that remained of the echo of Morgoth.

Seasons came and went. The records in the great library and its histories had run dry. There was no king of the Southlands. When she went to confront Halbrand, she had found he had already departed from Eregion.

She sent armed search parties out to find him. They searched for years, scouring elven lands and beyond. No trace could be found of him. After twenty years she abandoned her search of the southlander.

She caught rumors that the nameless commander become known as the Lord of the Orcs. Darkness spread across the Southlands, into the villages and forests beyond Mordor. Yet there was no word of Sauron, nor of any other commander of orcs in Middle-earth.

Elrond would pry her. She would remain silent. And soon the passage of time made her secret too great to reveal now. The memory of her husband among the Elves was honorable. She couldn’t bring herself to shatter their perception of him, and therefore her. Especially after years of keeping such knowledge to herself.

The pain of Adar’s return sowed seeds of sorrow; while the furrows were tended to by grief in the desolation of her heart.

“Why did you return rather than pass over Sea?” Celebrimbor asked her once, in his forge at Ost-in-Edhil.

“Angrod is gone, and Aegnor is gone, and Felagund is no more, nor is the one I once called my beloved. Of Finarfin’s children I am the last. But my heart is still proud. What wrong did the golden house of Finarfin do that I should ask the pardon of the Valar, or be content with an isle in the sea? Here I am mightier. There is much work to be done yet in Middle-earth.”

She departed Eregion and dwelt in Lothlórien, where she was welcomed by King Amroth. Sadness imbed itself so deep in her soul that she was indistinguishable from the tragedies she’d endured. Yet, she let not her years be wasted. Her life brimmed with the promise of meaning, the dawn-light of possibility. Years were spent in employ of the High-King, as well as dealing with matters of the Galadhrim elves of Lothlórien. Still, she sent out soldiers every few years to look for signs of the Dark Lord, though she did not clarify the intentions of their mission.

The ever flowing passage of time kept on. The seeds, watered by tears, soon sprung forth an ache which spread from heart to bone. She had not known darkness before coming to Middle Earth. Now, her naivety and softness had grown cold.

As the world resigns itself to a blue-grey once the shadows of dusk sweep over, so her heart had resigned itself to sorrow.

[joideka]

La Douleur Exquise (Fairy!Dream Sans x Moth!Fairy Reader)

la douleur exquise - exquisite pain

The day and night are just as separated as their lords, Dream and Nightmare.

But your heart yearns for the sunn, even as the moon pulls back at it and tries to keep you safe.

As long as no one gets burned, it should be fine to just look.

Right?

(Mild angst, unrequited/forbidden love, a hint of Nightmare Sans/Reader)

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

The soft glow of the moon brought a calm serenity to the deep glades of the forest, moss hanging in an elegant weave down branches and trunks of the birch and oak trees. 

Smells of old forest, rotting wood, mushrooms, the faint floral hint of hidden bluebells and wild strawberries breaking through on faint breeze.  

Tonight was a special night.  

The fairy rings of mushrooms had grown the night before, dew fresh on their caps, forming a multilayered wall of security around the deep glens of the woods.  

Fall was coming, the time of preparation for winter, but a time to celebrate the colors and their change.  

For those, at least, of the day and summer.  

Elegant fae with butterfly wings of gold, silver, every imaginable color, decorated in mesmerizing colors of flower and tree.  

Delicate maiden fae dressed in daisies, snowdrops, and lilies. Wiser matrons dressed in layered rose gowns. The young daring men darting to and fro in dashing armor of oak and birch bark armor, and the stately lords in fir and yew armor.  

The glade was filled with the soft lights of fireflies, and fairy candles lit all around. Soft young grass surrounded the large rock that the gathering was centered around. The rock was black in color, sharp and jagged, flat on the top, carved in ancient runes.  

A small throne of oak twig had been placed on its peak; citrine stone woven into the thin fibers.  

The throne for the lord of the day, the lord of the-

A gust of wind shook the branch you were resting on, your eyes widening as you squeaked in fear, wings trying to steady yourself, rapidly flapping your wings.  

Despite your efforts, it wasn’t enough. You dropped to the ground, landing outside the glade, rustling among the dead leaves as your antenna twitched, the fluffy strands indicating what you were.  

Not invited, for one.  

This gala was exclusively for those with butterfly wings, beautiful and large wings. The ones who loved the day and were loved by it.  

Not for those of the evening and dusk, those who burrowed in the ground, were able to bear the cold winter, cherished the dark.  

Tonight was the migration festival, a time to celebrate before the butterfly fairies went south to weather the winter. And your kingdom, your people, were not invited.  

They never were, but it would be nice if, for once, those of the night were invited.  

Your wings fluttered, as you tried to evaluate the best place to once again look upon the festivities.  

You were a tiger moth, or at least, had the wings and the antenna of one. The nape and collar of your chest and back to your shoulders was soft white fuzz, with black patches on the back part. Your wings branched from the middle of your shoulders, the upper a checkered black and white, crisp and clean. Your lower wings held a gradient from orange to yellow, with black spots. On the inner of your arms and legs, red blotches of color with black emblems spiraled to your feet and hands. The white fuzz was dusted around the base of your antenna, soft black feathery things. It was also prominent along your calves and lower arms.  

Soft paper bark made up a soft halter top, and a blue morning glory made your skirt.  

You were sneaking, of course, trying to catch a glimpse of the festivities.  

Of course, your king had tried to stop you, but then again, he was a firm believer in learning through painful mistake. Such as what had happened to him, long ago.  

Nightmare was kinder than his name implied, and he ruled over the dark abyss of the moth kingdom fairly, more so than he said his frivolous brother did.  

His own wings were impressive, dusky purple and black perfectly complimenting his dark gray bone. The streaks of black along his bones made him impressive, purple eye lights fierce and stern in those deep sockets.  

He was waiting for you, back among the shadows.  

You had expressed your desire to see, just once, the beauty of a butterfly festival. He had begrudgingly led you here (after you had begged and begged him). You were lucky he was your good friend.  

So, here you were. Peering into a world you would never belong in.  

Music serenaded those within, as couples came together to dance a song of life, love, long travels and the well earned rest at the end of it.  

But that’s not who you wanted to see.  

Ah! There. 

The quick flutter of true golden wings, shimmering in the light due to their unique opaqueness. Blue and black specks like dust on his wings, the sweep of pale bone into a hard set, the seriousness of the prince of light and day shining as he settled into his throne, wings spread.  

Dream.  

Draped in silk of golden spider thread, his presence caused awe among those gathered, admiring yet fearful glances thrown his way. His bones were pristine, white, not a mar or fleck upon them. His own eye lights, a deep teal like a shining gem deep in a river, scorched the surroundings, searching.  

Any one fairy would be honored to be asked to dance with him, but instead, he sat coldly on his throne.  

You often wondered if he was waiting for someone to approach him, or waiting till one caught his eye. Not that you think anyone would. They were too dim in his presence. 

You sighed in adoration, pupils shrinking to properly adjust to the light. He was so bright, almost too much so, yet you couldn’t tear your eyes from that wonderful visage. 

The first time you had seen him had been your first journey into the canopy, to explore what was beyond the roots and shady underbrush you had long familiarized yourself with. Your antenna twitched with every rogue gust of wind, every trill of a bird from afar.

But it had been so worth it to see the blue sky beneath green dappled leaves, to peer at the fluffy white things in the sky (Nightmare had called them clouds), and to wonder at the great landscape all around.

The snap of a twig; the pale eyes of a shrike seeing you.

A butcher bird.

While your colors blared danger to those who dared to try and eat you, it still dove. Your panicked yelp echoed as you dove as well, spinning among the branches and trying to shake off your pursuer. For several harrowing minutes you tried your best to weave and dodge, its claws nearly grasping you several times. In a panic, you crashed roughly into a nightshade bush, burrowing into the depths of its shade, vines pulling at your wings.

Its ugly cry alerted you to its hunt as it circled, then twisted midair. Claws extended for you, its eyes fixed on you, exposed even among a plant of the night.

You shrank back, arms raising to futilely cover your face.

A burst of golden light, teal eye lights blazing in fury darted by to sink a spear into the shrike's wing, the bird shrieking and wheeling off. Its pained squawks echoed for quite a time.

He had hovered there, those wings of his keeping high and aloft, defending you.

You had wanted to step out, to thank him... when a crowd of fairies came to croon and congratulate him on his hunt, how extraordinary he was. Realization gripped your heart that he may have just been showing off, not knowing he had saved a lowly moth from death.

Regardless, you had pledged yourself a vow of gratitude to the lord of the day, the lord of warmth and sun.

The flap of wings startled you, the alert of a patrol to catch any wandering fae other than those invited. You knew the punishment that came with trespassing, even among fae, and there was no chance that you would be charming enough to get yourself out of serious punishment. And Nightmare wouldn’t step in either, you knew.  

It was his demand as a king, to be just and fair.  

You buried yourself into the dead leaves, the jagged cut of your own wings helping you blend in.  

The patrol passed without taking notice.  

A deep sigh left you. It was time to go.

You clambered over leaves and twigs, going outside the fairy circles to Nightmare's side, his eye lights soft with understanding. His own wing closed around you to keep you close, the dusky scales of his wing shielding you.

Your heart often wondered if you would ever be able to repay the debt you felt you owed Dream.

Or at least, to speak to him and thank him.

Nightmare grasped your hand in his, a comforting squeeze as the two of you descended in the depths of his realm.

Unknowing that teal eye lights had been tracking you all this time.

[keicordelle]

Fluffvember Day 30 : Happily Ever After - Estinien

Later, I would remember the smell of lilies and the shine of the sun through the stained-glass windows more than the crowds of people or the fumbled dance numbers. It would be the tolling of the bell high overhead that remained, rather than the delicate strains of violins as I waited, fidgeting with the cuffs of my unfamiliar jacket. It would be the taste of the food, and the feel of his hand in mine, and the sound of that word ringing in my ears as I leaned in to kiss him: husbands. But now...

My breath escaped me in a rush as he rounded that corner, the rising strains of the music soaring in time with the racing of my heart. I had not the words to describe how beautiful he looked, dressed in the finest blue silk - the same silk I had brought for him from Thavnair - and with joy shining from every line of his body. One look at him, and all my worries and nervousness just melted away. How could I ever be frightened of committing myself to him, of announcing to the world that he was mine? He had been for years - the sole commander of my heart, my body, and my soul. This was naught but a formality, a celebration of our love before the eyes of our loved ones and the gods, and he was right: nothing else mattered today than the two of us, and the sentiment that filled my very being when I looked upon him.

His eyes landed on me and he smiled, the most brilliant expression I'd ever seen grace his angelic face, and my heart clutched in my chest, silver rising to line my eyes without my even noticing. My answering smile was nothing compared to his beauty, but it didn't seem to matter to him; his eyes crinkled in that adorable way they did, tears rising to match my own as he drew nearer. It was all I could do to hold still, to not run to him and take him into my arms and kiss him until he was as breathless as I was, but somehow I held my place as he traversed eternity to stand at my side.

And then, between one too-quick beat of my heart and the next, he was there, his hand in mine and squeezing tight, and there were words in my ears that I wouldn't remember, and vows exchanged that I would, and the slide of cool metal over my third finger. And before I had even quite registered that it was happening, it was over, Aymeric's lips on mine tasting of tea and birch syrup as our friends cheered, that word still ringing through my ears. Husbands. He was my husband. Forever and always, eternally bonded. And despite all my fears and worries, I found the title suited me.

And, as we turned to face whatever the future had in store for us, his hand in mine and love singing though my veins, I couldn't have been happier.

[Masterlist] | [Ao3]

[reflections-of-mobius]

WARNING. THIS THREAD FEATURES HEAVY THEMES.

[@familylightfox | From here!]

"...well...that hurt..." Bless groaned, rubbing at his head as he sat up. The destruction from his fall wasn't anywhere near as severe- he'd had the presence of mind to dig his hands into the metallic ground, resulting in a loud, angry screech as metal was abruptly ripped up yard-by-yard. It had awoken several mobians in the currently-sleeping city, and yet not one dared leave their shiny hotels and ironclad homes.

Moonlight and floating streetlamps served as illumination, alongside blaring holographic signs detailing the upcoming World Grand Prix. Bless glanced around, emerald hues searching the carnage for any sign of his supposed attacker... Only to pause as he realized there was a strange glow coming from below. He glanced down, eyebrows furrowing as he noticed a circle of green light- pulsing in time to his heartbeat. It wouldn't be quite so strange if it didn't seem to originate from under his fur.

"Crap..." He breathed in. The male stood, emerald hues flicking about. Most of the street was undamaged- the only sign of destruction were the holes he'd torn into the ground, alongside the massive dent where he'd finally come to a stop... By hitting a building. He didn't recall doing that- he barely recalled the hit of the object itself, before he'd been sent tumbling!

Bless' eyes finally landed on several items scattered nearby- his emergency ring, his phone, and a small bit of birch wood he was going to carve in his free time... Now broken solidly in two. He snatched his phone- just barely dodging a bullet as it fired off.

"Wh-?" He may have been slower in his werehog form, but the mobian was no less swift as emerald hues dilated, snapping upwards. Slick, silver-and-white frames hovered overhead, gunmetal gray barrels leveled in his direction. A strange light in his chest, and now robots that had guns trained on him..

He had an idea what was going on. He had to find Node- he had to warn Volt and Harmony. His world wasn't safe right now.

"Return the Ark of The Cosmos."

"The Ark of the what?" Ark of The Cosmos?... "What's that?" The machines... Merely floated, their engines thrumming.

"Return the Ark of The Cosmos. You have ten seconds to comply."

[]

At least he'd be safe. That was the one thought that kept Node from screaming, even as they'd fallen to the ground, clutching their own arms tight as panic wracked their mind.

"Stop, stop stopstopstop...!" Node's bitten claws dug into their fur. Unlike Bless, they'd had no emergency ring on their person- and they'd taken damage as a result. Their clothes were cut up on their back from crashing through so many trees, bruises littering their arms- but that wasn't what made them afraid.

No, their mind was running entirely on autopilot. Their plea rang through the forest, echoing up the road of destruction their body had cut earlier in the night. They were too deep to think, just trying blearily to focus on their own arms around their body. They had to get up-- they had to find out- what was going on--

Stopstopstopstopstop-

That maelstrom in their head screamed otherwise. Their hands were pressing into their arms, trying to find reality. They were searching for a grounding wire- anything to keep them rooted. They were here. They were alive. Bless had to be alive- he had to be- Volt and Harmony would get him out-

He'sgoingtodiethey'regoingtodie-

[mollywog]

Setting prompts: #045 💜

Setting Prompts

045.   a mysterious trail found in the woods .

This is actually perfect for the first part of my Brigadoon AU! (A musical about a mysterious village that only appears for one day every 100 years)

“How about that one?” Peeta gestures flippantly to a tree as they pass.

“Another yellow birch, asshole. Give me a challenge.”

This doesn’t deter him, “I thought birches were white?” He fights back a smile at the disgusted look his friend tosses his way.

“White birches are white,” Johanna says in a saccharine tone, “yellow birches are yellow, and you’re not going to believe this, but silver birches are silver!”

He’s no longer fighting the laughter. She’s too easy to rile.

“Don’t fuck with me Mellark,” Johanna says, finally cracking a smile.

She’d been at his apartment yesterday when he’d gotten home from work, informing him he had ten minutes to pack his bag; they were going camping. She did that sometimes, usually after a breakup, the shorter the notice, the worse the split.

The Mountains were Johanna’s refuge. She’d grown up in backwoods Appalachia and took pride in knowing every trail, plant, and animal residing on her side of the mountain.

Peeta, on the other hand, had only ever lived in the city, but these trips worked for both; Johanna needed the familiarity of the woods and Peeta the wonder.

They’re hiking in companionable silence when something flies overhead, its shadow crossing their path. Peeta spots the source first: an unfamiliar bird; large and black with speckled wings. It lands on a branch a dozen feet away and cocks its head, eyeing them curiously.

“I’ve got one for you, what the hell is that?”

Johanna squints, shielding her eyes from the spattered sunlight peeking through treetops, and frowns.

Silence stretches as they both stare at the bird, the bird staring back disconcertingly. Peeta opens his mouth to speak, but Johanna shushes him. “That’s a Mockingjay,” Johanna whispers.

“A mockingbird?”

“No, a mockingjay,” she hisses. “I used to read about them as a kid. They’re supposed to be good luck…or sometimes a bad omens, no one really agrees. But they should be extinct, If they were ever even real in the first place. They’re Appalachian folklore.”

“Bullshit,” Peeta says before releasing a laugh. This was classic Johanna, playing on his naïveté when it came to the wild, but she’s gone too far now; he won’t be falling for her Mothman antics. His laughter dies with a grunt as Johanna’s elbow connects with his stomach.

The bird, watching on, rights its head, opens its beak, and trills back his laughter as if it were music in exact tones and pacing.

The forest falls silent.

“Whoa,” Peeta looks from the bird to Johanna, eyes wide as saucers, then back to the bird.

There’s a moment of stunned silence before all hell breaks loose.

The bird turns its head towards an imperceivable call off in the distance and with a single whistle, it alights from the branch.

Johanna moves first, Peeta falling in step behind in silent agreement to follow the bird. Their pursuit soon sends them off the well trodden trail, crashing through foliage until the Mockingjay leads them to a laurel-lined path, just wide enough for them to pass single file, as if the bushes had politely retracted branches and roots just for their purpose. No sooner are they on even ground, than their view is obstructed by a settling fog, thickening with every step. A buzzing crescendos as they press on, following glimpses of tail feathers through the stifling haze and just when the fog’s at its thickest, there’s a light at the end of the laurels, and the buzzing ceases with a pop, the sound replaced with a woman’s voice mid song.

They emerge to a clearing at the base of a hill. The Mockingjay lands on a branch nearby, but Peeta only spares it a passing glance, because that’s when he sees her.