#northern information movement

[vague-humanoid]

Channel 12 News has reported that, despite the colossal damage caused by the Israeli army in Gaza, “the latest information paints a worrying picture.”

“It is estimated that about 3,000 new fighters have been recruited into the movement, equipped with weapons and ammunition … This development raises great concern among security officials in Israel, as it indicates Hamas’ ability to recover, despite the severe damage it suffered at the beginning of the war,” the Hebrew news outlet cited security officials as saying.

Last month, a joint study by the Critical Threats Project (CTP) and the Institute for the Study of War (ISW) revealed that, after 10 months of war, the Israeli army managed to defeat only three out of a reported 24 battalions of Hamas’ Qassam Brigades.

“As of 1 July, only three of these 24 battalions were combat ineffective, meaning they were destroyed by the Israeli military,” CNN reported on 5 August, citing the study.

“If the Hamas battalions were largely destroyed [as Israel claims], Israeli forces wouldn’t still be fighting,” retired US Army Colonel Peter Mansoor told CNN. 

Former Israeli army ombudsman Yitzhak Brik said in late June that the numbers of Palestinian fighters the army claimed to have killed are false and that Israeli forces are taking severe losses while rarely coming face to face with them.

[sicutpuella]

Midnight Rain | Jacaerys x OC x Cregan

Chapter One.

Summary: Betrothed since childhood, Lady Aelyria Velaryon and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon journey to Winterfell under Queen Rhaenyra's orders; however, upon meeting Lord Cregan Stark, Aelyria finds herself torn between her duty to Jacaerys and an unexpected desire for the Northern lord. Now, she must choose between love, honor, and duty at a critical crossroads.

Series Masterlist [Previous Chapter, Next Chapter]

When Cregan was informed via raven that Prince Jacaerys, along with his betrothed, Lady Aelyria, was to visit the North for diplomatic affairs, he readied his castle with great care. He spent hours ensuring there was more than enough food for the feast that night; the day was consumed by his fussing.

As evening approached, word came that the Prince and his bride-to-be had arrived. He descended to the castle yard, where the entourage awaited.

"Prince Jacaerys," he said, "welcome to the North. I hope your journey went well."

Cregan first took in the prince’s appearance—tall, with sharp and refined features, brown curly hair neatly styled, and a strong nose. There was an unspoken elegance about him, a stark contrast to Cregan’s simple yet rugged looks.

Then he saw her—Aelyria. Her back was turned to him, long silver hair in a few braids. She was momentarily distracted by the children waving at her; they gawked as if she were a fairy from a tale.

When he saw Aelyria, his eyes widened; her beauty and the elegant way she carried herself took him by surprise. She seemed like a vision, a goddess incarnate, too perfect to be true. Her silver hair, cascading down in intricate braids, shimmered in the Northern sunlight; each strand catching the light like spun moonbeams. Her eyes, a vivid brown, held an allure that was both mesmerizing and intimidating. The children around her gawked as if she were a fairy from their tales, and Cregan could hardly blame them!

He had never seen anyone like her before—so unattainable, so ethereal. She was a true Valyrian beauty, embodying ethereal essence of her houses in every elegant movement. He felt his heart quicken, a sense of awe and reverence overtaking him. This was no mere woman or mortal, rather; she was a living legend, a dream made flesh.

He took a moment to look at her before speaking, his mind a little clouded.

"My Lady," he said finally, his voice low and hoarse.

Unknown to him, she too marveled at him. There he was, broad shoulders cloaked in a fur coat; the simple attire did nothing to hide his powerful frame. His longsword loomed behind his back, a silent testament to his strength. His brows were furrowed, as if analyzing her, his rugged looks captivating despite the absence of a beard. His eyes were a piercing gray, like the stormy skies of the North.

Aelyria felt her heart stop; he looked so... so masculine. The raw power he exuded, the sheer presence he commanded—every inch of him screamed strength and resilience. She was utterly smitten, drawn to him in a way she had never experienced before. This was a man forged by the harsh northern winds, tempered by the cold, and she found herself undeniably entranced by him.

Cregan's heart began to beat faster once more; an unfamiliar feeling stirred within him. He couldn't help but admire her beauty—her slender figure, the silver braid, the soft features on her round face, the way she smiled at the children…

He was taken aback by his own reaction. He had seen many beautiful women before, but none had affected him like this. Perhaps it was her Valyrian blood that made her so mesmerizing, or the way she radiated an aura of kindness and grace.

"You are more beautiful than I imagined," he said, his voice low.

"Oh… she truly is." Jacaerys interrupted his thoughts, walking closer to Aelyria, his hands intertwined with hers.

Cregan's eyes flickered to their hands, a pang of jealousy stirring within him. He knew she was betrothed to the prince, but it didn't stop him from feeling a sharp jealousy at seeing them so close.

He forced a smile, though it felt cold. "Indeed, my Prince. You are a lucky man."

"Truly." Jacaerys' hands gripped hers.

"Good afternoon, my Lord." Her voice, like honey; she bowed gracefully.

Cregan couldn't help the way his heart skipped a beat when she spoke. Her voice, soft and sweet as honey, mesmerized him. His gaze lingered on her, taking in every detail.

He bowed back, a bit awkwardly, feeling out of his depth. "Good evening, my Lady. I hope your journey here was pleasant."

"It was… My Prince and I enjoyed the sights."

Cregan felt a pang again; his eyes darted to their intertwined hands once more.

"I am glad to hear that," he said, his voice coming out a little gruff. "We have prepared a feast tonight in your honor. I hope you will both enjoy it."

"You are far too kind, my lord," Jacaerys spoke.

Cregan forced a smile. "It is the least we can do, my Prince. You are our honored guest, after all."

His eyes flicked to Aelyria again, taking in her soft curves and delicate features. He could see why Jacaerys was so besotted with her.

Lord Cregan gave them a tour of the place, hoping Aelyria would not be too bored. She seemed to enjoy it—or was she merely being polite? Why was he overthinking it?

The tension lingered. As much as he tried to ignore it, Cregan could feel it every time he looked at them together; how easily Jacaerys' hand found her waist; the way they shared brief moments of laughter…

Cregan subtly shook his head, as if to banish all those unseemly thoughts of the lady.

She is to be wed, Cregan! Pull yourself together.

Yet, despite his attempts, Cregan found himself unable to keep his mind from wandering back to the lady. He tried to focus on the conversation, to ignore the way her eyes seemed to shine in the light of the corridor; the way her laughter filled the air; and the way her hand fit perfectly in Jacaerys’.

He found himself lost in a confusing mix of guilt and longing, his mind at war with his heart. He tried to remind himself constantly that she was betrothed—to his guest of honor, no less…

Cregan’s hands were slightly nervous upon shaving his growing beard. He wanted to maintain some semblance of youth, even though the Lady and the Prince were close to his age—or perhaps it was an effort to look presentable in front of the Lady? He shook his head as his hands continued to shave. He ensured his guests of honor had time to prepare and rest before the dinner.

“Fuck.” He inhaled sharply; he cut himself, just a tad bit.

His fingers rubbed the cut, feeling a pang of frustration at his own clumsiness.

He looked at himself in the mirror, taking in his appearance. He was handsome, strong—a true Northman. That was how he had always thought of himself. Yet now, as he stood there in the mirror, he couldn't help but feel a pang of self-doubt. He had never felt this way before, never before had he cared so much about how he looked.

“Damn it…” he muttered to himself.

He was first in the dining hall, ensuring all was well for tonight’s dinner. His guests were of royal, Valyrian blood, after all.

The dining hall was meticulously prepared for the occasion. The tables were set with the finest china and silverware. Fresh blooms adorned the tables, filling the air with a pleasant fragrance. The food was a feast fit for royalty, each dish a testament to the North's bounty and hospitality.

As Cregan waited, his thoughts kept drifting towards her. The Lady Aelyria, with her silver hair and brown eyes. He couldn't shake off the memory of her soft laugh and her sweet scent.

The door was slowly filling in with his bannermen, his guests, his squires. The doors to the dining hall opened, and the room slowly filled with the sounds of hushed conversations and the clinking of silverware.

His bannermen were in attendance, their proud, stern figures a stark contrast to the lavish setting. They took their seats, whispering amongst themselves, their eyes discreetly flickering towards the door. Cregan stood near the head of the table, his eyes darting to the entrance, waiting for the arrival of the Valyrians.

Then— The door opened. All eyes turned towards the door as it opened. Cregan's heart skipped a beat.

There she was, just as beautiful as before, but now she was dressed in a gown that seemed to accentuate her feminine curves. She looked like Valyrian royalty; her silvery hair cascaded over her shoulder in waves; her eyes sparkled with a soft light.

Cregan watched as she walked towards the head of the table, accompanied by the prince. Jacaerys was a gentleman—a true, well-mannered royal. Aelyria and Jacaerys politely greeted everyone in attendance. As Aelyria and Jacaerys greeted each person in attendance, Cregan found his gaze drawn to her. He watched as she smiled politely, her voice soft and pleasant as she spoke to each guest.

Her elegance was undeniable; every movement she made seemed graceful and poised. He felt a pang as he saw the prince’s hand on her waist, pulling out her chair like a true chivalrous prince. Cregan clenched his jaw.

“Good evening, my lord… my, the dinner is truly magnificent,” she smiled, the reds in her dress bringing out her eyes.

“Good evening, my lady,” he managed to say, his voice a bit hoarse. He was aware of the other men in the room, some of them stealing glances her way as well.

“Lord Stark,” Jacaerys greeted, his voice smooth and courteous. “Thank you for your generous hospitality. The feast looks splendid.”

Cregan inclined his head, acknowledging the prince’s words. “It is our honor to host you, Prince Jacaerys. I trust your chambers were comfortable?”

“They were,” Jacaerys replied with a smile. “We rested well. Your keep is as warm and welcoming as it is grand.”

Cregan nodded, satisfied. “I’m glad to hear that. Please, take your seats.” The three of them settled at the head of the table.

“Aelyria here enjoys fish,” Jacaerys mentioned, pointing out the plate of fish to Aelyria.

Cregan’s eyes followed his gesture to the plate of fish. For a brief moment, his mind wandered to the idea of personally catching and preparing a fresh fish for Aelyria. But he quickly pushed the thought away, realizing how ridiculous it was.

“Ah, fish…” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “We have the finest salmon from the streams of the North. I hope it is to your liking, Lady Aelyria.”

“We rarely get good salmon in Dragonstone, so this is truly wonderful for me.” She smiled, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she looked at the salmon.

Cregan felt a pang of pride at her words; he couldn’t help but feel pleased that he could offer something new and special to her.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his voice a little gruff. “We Northerners take pride in our fish, especially salmon. It is a staple in our diet, especially during the winter.”

“Then, Aely, I suppose you should vacation here during winter,” Jacaerys smiled at her.

Cregan's mind briefly imagined Aelyria visiting Winterfell during winter—dressed in furs, cheeks flushed from the cold, laughter in her eyes. He quickly pushed away the thought, feeling guilty that he was indulging in such fantasies.

“Yes, the North is quite a sight during winter,” he said, forcing a smile. “But the cold is not for the faint-hearted.”

“I have a dragon… it can make me a pyre,” she jested.

Cregan chuckled, surprised by her jest. The sound of her laugh echoed in his ears, making him want to hear it again.

“Ah, I suppose that is true,” he said, his smile widening. “With a dragon to keep you warm, the North wouldn’t seem so cold after all.”

The dinner was splendid. Cregan enjoyed it—but he enjoyed looking at her sweet smile even more. He enjoyed Jacaerys’ company as well; the prince was quite intelligent and dignified despite being young. He truly was made to be a prince.

Throughout the dinner, Cregan found his gaze drawn to Aelyria again and again. He hung on every word she spoke, every time she laughed, every gesture she made. He conversed with Jacaerys as well, finding the prince to be a good conversationalist. Despite his young age, Jacaerys was intelligent, charming—a true prince. Cregan couldn’t deny that he was a good match for Aelyria.

Despite his best efforts to enjoy the dinner and the company, Cregan found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything but Aelyria. The sound of her laughter, the way she smiled at Jacaerys—it all filled his mind, making it hard for him to focus on anything else. He couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as he watched them. They looked so perfect together, a true match, a future couple destined for greatness. The thought sent a pang of pain through his chest.

Cregan and Jacaerys quickly found a comfortable understanding, their banter flowing easily as they sipped their mead.

"You Northerners certainly know how to brew a fine drink," Jacaerys commented, raising his mug in a toast.

Cregan chuckled, raising his own. "Aye, we have to. The cold makes a man appreciate a good, strong drink."

They exchanged stories, Cregan sharing tales of the harsh Northern winters and the battles fought against the Wildlings; Jacaerys spoke of the courtly intrigues of King's Landing and the fierce loyalty of the people of Dragonstone. The prince's laughter was infectious, his wit sharp and easygoing, making Cregan feel more at ease than he had in years. As the evening wore on and the mead continued to flow, Cregan found himself growing more unguarded. He was drinking a little more than he should; the alcohol made him feel a bit loose and unguarded.

"What is it like living on Dragonstone?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of slur.

“Salty,” Aelyria spoke first. “If you stand still enough, you’ll taste the salt on your tongue.” She added, her tone light and playful.

Cregan chuckled at her answer, imagining Aelyria standing still, tasting the salt in the air.

"Ah, so it's quite the salty place then," he said, his eyes studying her face. "I imagine the castle must be built to withstand such conditions… after all, the Targaryens have called it home for centuries."

Jacaerys shared more about Dragonstone, painting a picture of a strong, proud, and ancient castle. As he spoke, Cregan listened intently, his eyes flickering between Jacaerys and Aelyria.

“You should visit one day,” Aelyria spoke softly.

Cregan's heart thudded at her words. Her soft, sweet voice was like a caress, making it even harder for him to think straight.

"Visit Dragonstone?" he repeated, his voice rough. "I… I would love to, my lady."

The thought of seeing her in her home, seeing her on her own turf, stirred something in him. It was a dangerous idea.

Unknown to Cregan, Jacaerys’ hand squeezed hers tighter.

“Tell us more about the North,” Aelyria continued, her eyes following him.

Cregan felt his heart race at the sound of her voice, her eyes fixed on him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

"The North," he started, his voice still a little shaky. "It's vast, unforgiving, and beautiful. We have endless forests, snowy mountains, and icefields. It's the coldest region in Westeros, but the Northmen are hardy folk. We thrive in the cold—it's in our blood."

"Then there is the Wall," he said, his voice growing softer. "A colossal structure of ice that spans the length of the continent. It's the first line of defense against the Wildlings and the terrors from beyond it. The Night's Watch, an ancient order sworn to defend the realm from those threats. It's a formidable place—cold and harsh, just like the North itself."

“Terrors?” Jacaerys nearly chuckled.

Cregan gave Jacaerys a wry smile, realizing that tales of White Walkers might sound like a strange concept to a man from the South.

"Yes, terrors. Creatures from beyond the Wall, creatures of ice and cold. They are called the White Walkers, or the Others. They are said to bring with them the cold and the dark—a darkness that can last for years."

He paused, his eyes flickering to Aelyria's face, hoping she wouldn’t belittle or laugh at him.

Aelyria’s lips pursed, clearly in a bit of thought.

“Oh, you humor me, my lord,” Jacaerys witted.

Cregan bristled at Jacaerys’ comment but held his tongue. He knew that the prince was jesting, that he didn't believe in the tales of the Others. Many in the south didn't, and Cregan couldn't blame them; it all sounded like legends and fairy tales.

But the thought of the prince dismissing it so lightly made him feel another pang of… something he couldn't quite name.

“Darling, if dragons exist… surely there might be something else?” Aelyria looked at Jacaerys, then at Cregan, seemingly agreeing with the lord’s tales.

Throughout the dinner, Cregan found his gaze drawn to Aelyria again and again. He hung on every word she spoke, every time she laughed, every gesture she made. The sound of her laughter, the way she smiled at Jacaerys—it all filled his mind, making it hard for him to focus on anything else.

Cregan felt a strange sort of relief at Aelyria's words. Her agreement made him feel a little less foolish, a little less like the northman whose tales were seen as barbaric and primitive. But another part of him bristled at the endearment she'd used for Jacaerys—"darling." He found himself gritting his teeth.

"You see, my lady understands," Cregan said, his voice betraying a tinge of irritation.

He watched as Jacaerys placed his hand on Aelyria's waist again; that casual, familiar gesture set his teeth on edge.

“But, let’s not hope such terrors become our priority,” she added.

Cregan nodded, his irritation slightly quelled by her words. "Indeed. We should not hope for such horrors to come to pass."

He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the strange mix of emotions swirling within him.

“I pray that they get lost by the snow somehow,” she chuckled.

Cregan couldn’t help but smile at her soft, musical laugh. It sent a little thrill through him; he found himself wanting to hear it again.

"Ah, perhaps the snow will confuse them. They’ll wander around in circles until they get so cold they’ll simply freeze to death."

"Or better yet, maybe they'll try to attack a polar bear and get their heads bitten off." He chuckled at his own joke, hoping to get another laugh out of her.

“Prince Jacaerys!” A bunch of young boys came upon him, eager to show the prince something.

“Well, the young need me,” Jacaerys chuckled, and left a kiss on her cheek, sighing as he stood up to face the young boys, “I’ll leave you to the company of Lord Stark.” Jacaerys smiled at Aelyria first, then waved them both farewell.

Cregan watched as Jacaerys left, his eyes narrowing slightly at the kiss Jacaerys left on her cheek. He found himself clenching his jaw again, his jealousy flaring. With Jacaerys gone, he turned his attention to Aelyria, a sense of nerves and desire stirring within him. He was alone with her, and he couldn’t deny the thrill that gave him.

"So… now it is just the two of us," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. He glanced around, seeing that the others around them were engrossed in their own conversations, paying them no mind.

“Oh yes…” she smiled; he could sense she was a bit nervous as she sipped some of the wine.

Cregan took note of her nervousness—the way her fingers fidgeted with the stem of her goblet, the way she avoided his gaze. Knowing that she too was feeling the same tension he was only heightened his own desire.

"Are you enjoying yourself, my lady?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.

“I have been enjoying myself,” she smiled. “Your people’s and your hospitality is lovely.”

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, his heart thudding in his chest as her smile made him feel a little breathless. He leaned a little closer, drawn to her like a magnet, wanting to be nearer.

"Is there… anything else you have been enjoying?" he asked, his voice a little gravelly.

“Ooh! The food, yes… the salmon was delightful—I think I may have overeaten.” She smiled.

Cregan chuckled, amused by her description. "You enjoyed the salmon, did you?" he repeated. He found himself enjoying just listening to her talk; her voice was so pleasant to listen to. He reached out to refill her goblet, his fingers brushing against hers for a moment.

He liked hearing her talk… about anything.

“Oh… and the pig too,” she smiled, continuing.

Cregan took a sip from his own goblet, his eyes never leaving her face. Her smile was enchanting, her cheeks slightly flushed from the wine and the heat of the fire.

"The pig, of course," he echoed, his voice lower.

He wanted to touch her, to reach out and pull her closer to him, to feel the heat of her skin against his fingers. But he held back, not wanting to be too forward.

"You seem to have enjoyed quite a bit of our food," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

He took another sip of his wine, watching her over the rim of his goblet.

"I suppose that's a good thing, it means you're not… unsatisfied with our hospitality."

“Oh, you are all so kind… the customs and attitudes are definitely different from the south— but it’s not a negative one. But rather, better,” she said with a diplomatic tone.

Cregan raised an eyebrow at her comment. Better, she said.

"Better, you say?" he repeated, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He found himself amused by her diplomatic tone, but also strangely pleased to hear that she preferred the North to the South.

“I suppose, I’ve been used to the courtly manners of acting kind upfront while being a monster behind you,” she chuckled candidly.

Cregan nodded, understanding her point perfectly. He had never much cared for the politics and scheming that were so common in the South. He preferred honesty and directness, things that were valued in the North.

"We don’t have much use for fake pleasantries in the North,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “We say what we mean and mean what we say."

“There’s always a hint of fakery and dishonesty down south.”

Cregan chuckled, her words making him feel even more comfortable in his own skin.

"Sounds exhausting, having to put on a false facade all the time," he said, his eyes tracing the line of her jaw, admiring her profile in the firelight.

“Oh, and you cannot— I repeat cannot make a mistake. Even a spelling writing in your parchments will surely have everyone questioning your intelligence,” she chuckled.

Cregan chuckled along with her, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Question your intelligence over a spelling mistake?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “We’ve got more important things to worry about in the North, like not freezing to death."

He leaned in a little closer, his voice lowering again.

"We don’t sweat the small things here, it’s not worth the effort."

“I suppose… perhaps the pampered life has over sensitized us…”

Cregan chuckled again, his eyes glinting with humor and something else. He liked her more and more, the more they talked.

"That’s what it is. You Southerners are too soft, too used to living a pampered life," he teased. "You’d never survive a northern winter."

“I have a dragon. I think I’ll manage Lord Stark.” She smiled.

Cregan chuckled again, enjoying her clever response.

"Ah, yes. Your dragon," he said, his eyes roaming over her face, taking in her every feature.

He found himself wondering what it would be like to ride a dragon, to feel the wind through his hair as he soared through the sky. But he pushed the thought aside, focusing on her.

"Yes, a dragon would keep you warm, I suppose. But you’d still have to eat northern food… and drink northern ale."

“I’d love to eat northern salmon all day… everyday… the ale? I cannot say positively about it, I get drunk rather fast.”

Cregan laughed heartily at her admission, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"You get drunk fast, eh?” he said, a bemused smile on his lips. "You might want to be careful then, our ale is strong enough to knock a grown man off his feet."

“When I turned 15… my granduncle Corlys gave me dornish wine… he had to carry me 4 flights upstairs because I passed out!” She laughed.

Cregan couldn’t help but laugh along with her, picturing the image she painted.

"Dornish wine, eh? No wonder you passed out," he said, his tone light and teasing. "That stuff is strong, but even I wouldn’t give it to a girl who’s just turned 15."

“Oh and I vomited on a few maidens…”

Cregan’s eyes widened in surprise, a burst of laughter leaving his lips.

"You vomited on your handmaidens?" he repeated, still chuckling. "Ah, that must have been quite the scene."

“Oh Granduncle Corlys still won’t let me forget… even Jacaerys who was one of the poor audience of my drunkenness.”

Cregan chuckled, imagining the look on Jacaerys’ face.

"Poor Jacaerys, having to witness your drunken escapade," he said, his tone playful. "I can only imagine what his reaction must have been."

“How about you my lord? How are you when you’re drunk?” She smiled.

Cregan chuckled, his eyes meeting hers.

"Me? I can hold my liquor well enough, if I do say so myself," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

He paused for a moment, studying her face again, feeling that familiar stirring in his chest.

"But sometimes... when I've had a few too many ales, I tend to get a bit... bold."

“Hmm? Like… how? I know some men who tend to start a fight.”

Cregan chuckled, shaking his head.

"Oh no, I’m not a brawler. I’m just... more honest when I’m drunk," he said. "I say things I wouldn’t normally say, I act on my impulses more."

He paused, his eyes roaming over her face, his gaze lingering on her lips.

"I might... say things I wouldn’t normally say to a lady I'm interested in," he added, his voice lowering.

“Ooh… pray tell… which lady here has caught your eye?” She could tell she enjoys gossiping.

Cregan smirked, enjoying the playful lilt in her voice.

"Ah, well, there is one lady..." he said, playing along.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if he was sharing a secret with her.

"She is beautiful, intelligent, and kind. She has eyes as deep and dark as the night sky, and a smile that could rival the stars themselves."

“My lord, I believe you are… drunk!”

Cregan chuckled at her response.

"Perhaps I am, my lady," he said, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.

He took a sip of his ale, his eyes roaming over her face.

"But I am still perfectly aware of my thoughts and feelings," he added, his gaze growing a little more intense, more heated.

“Please do not vomit all over my dress, the silk came from Essos.” She sighed dramatically.

Cregan laughed, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Oh, I’m not that far gone, I assure you," he said, lifting his ale-filled goblet in a toast.

He paused, his gaze moving from her eyes, down to her dress, drinking in the soft material, the way it hugged her curves.

"Wouldn’t dare ruin such a lovely dress with my vomit."

He took a moment to collect himself, his eyes moving back up to her face.

"Besides, it would be a shame to ruin something so... beautiful," he said, his voice lowering again, a hint of huskiness in his tone.

"Red and black..." he repeated, his eyes roaming over the dress again.

He was even more aware of how closely it fit her frame, how the color brought out her eyes.

"It suits you," he said, his voice lower than usual. "You look... stunning."

“Oh… thank you, my lord.”

Cregan felt a pang of desire shoot through him as she thanked him in that sweet, polite tone. He took a mouthful of ale, trying to calm himself, but his eyes kept straying to her, taking in every little detail of her face, the way her silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, the fullness of her cheeks. He found himself wanting to say something more, something bold, something that would express exactly how he was feeling in that moment.

He had never felt this way before, this intense, almost overwhelming desire for someone. He was a northern lord, after all, used to living in the cold, unforgiving North.

And yet here he was, sitting next to a southerner girl, a dragon rider of fire, blood and the sea, whose eyes could disarm him with a single look.

He took another large gulp of ale, trying to steady himself, but he could still feel the heat radiating off his skin, the way his pulse drummed in his ears.

“Jace is taking a bit too—“

“You look incredibly beautiful,” he interrupted.

“Huh… oh?… oh.”

Cregan chuckled at her flustered response, his eyes flicking over her face again, taking in her cheeks slowly turning pink.

“Did I surprise you, Aely?” he teased, a smirk on his lips.

“I did not expect you to be so… bold.”

Cregan chuckled again, the sound low and rumbling in his chest.

"You have no idea how bold I can be," he said, leaning in a little closer.

He was taking a risk, he knew, but he was feeling a little tipsy, a little more confident than usual. The ale and the heat in his veins had given him a certain... recklessness. He loved looking at her perfect face. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her face, the perfect shape of her cheeks, the rosy color on her lips. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to feel the softness of her skin under his fingers.

He took another sip of ale, trying to calm himself, but the heat in his veins was only growing stronger.

“Is there something on my face?” Cregan thinks he might have stared a little too long.

Cregan chuckled, a hint of sheepishness in his expression.

"No, nothing on your face," he said, shaking his head. "I was just admiring your beauty."

He let his eyes roam over her face again, taking in every little detail, the curve of her lips, the flutter of her eyelashes. He knew he should stop staring, but he just couldn't help it. He couldn't get enough of her. He sees the way her expression changes.

Cregan raised an eyebrow at her reaction, sensing a subtle change in her expression. Was he being too much? Was he making her uncomfortable? He leaned back a little, giving her some space, but his gaze was still fixed on her face.

"Is everything okay, Lady?" he asked, his voice low.

“I’m fine…” she spoke, he noticed a little tinge of anxiety.

Cregan furrowed his brow, sensing the hint of anxiety in her voice. He knew he needed to be careful, to tread lightly. He set his ale goblet on the tabletop, giving her his full attention.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his tone softer now. "You look a little... uneasy."

But he couldn’t be bothered. He didn’t care that she was betrothed. The thought of her being betrothed didn't sit well with him. He knew he was a northern Lord, and she was a southern dragon lady. It was completely improper for him to have these feelings for her.

But the ale had made him bold, and the desire that was coursing through his veins made it difficult to care about propriety. He wanted her. He tried to push the thought away, but it kept resurfacing, like a wave breaking against the shore.

“Gods, I wanna kiss you right now.” He blurts, his words slightly slurred.

Cregan's eyes widened as the words left his lips before he could stop himself. He had not intended to say that out loud, but the ale had loosened his tongue, and the desire that had been building within him was too strong to ignore.

He studied her face again, seeing the surprise and the hesitation in her eyes. It was not a polite thing to say, certainly not to a betrothed girl. But he couldn't take the words back, and a part of him didn't even want to. Her eyebrows furrowed, her mouth dropped.

“My lord… you are… so drunk!” She nervously laughs, and her body faces away from him.

Cregan chuckled at her reaction, the slight slur in his voice more apparent now.

"Aye, I may be a bit drunk," he conceded, his eyes roaming over her face, not quite able to look away.

He noticed her body turning away from him, and it sent a pang of disappointment through him. He had overstepped, and now she was pulling away. He reached for his ale again, taking a long gulp to soothe the dryness in his throat and the nerves in his body.

"But... " he said, his voice low and a little rough. "I meant what I said."

The ale had made him reckless, and he was past caring about propriety or what was right. All he could think about was the way her lips would feel against his, the way her body would feel in his arms.

“I should go look for Jace…”

Something in him flared at the mention of Jace’s name, a pang of jealousy. He didn’t want her to go looking for the other man. He wanted her to stay with him, to keep talking to him. He reached out, his hand darting out to grasp her arm, gently but firmly.

"No, wait…" he said, his voice low, his grip tightening, preventing her from leaving.

Cregan's hand was still gripping her arm, holding her in place. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin material of her dress, and it only served to intensify his desire. He leaned in closer to her, his face just inches away from hers. His ale-soaked breath fanned over her face as he spoke.

"Stay with me a little longer," he said, his voice a soft, commanding whisper. Cregan's heart thudded in his chest as she sat back down. The knowledge that she was staying, that she wasn't leaving to find Jace, made his pulse race. He released her arm, but kept his gaze fixed on her face, his eyes roaming over her features like he was trying to commit them to memory. The ale had made him bolder, more confident, but it had also heightened his desire for her. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to take her in his arms, to kiss her senseless.

“Just for a few minutes… I want to know if Jace is alright.”

Cregan's eyes narrowed a bit at the mention of Jace again, but he tried to push the annoyance aside.

"Aye, a few minutes," he said, his voice a little gruff.

He took another long swig of ale, trying to calm his racing heart and his restless hands. He wanted to touch her, to pull her closer, but he knew he had to restrain himself. For now. She remained silent, self-conscious as Cregan drunkenly looked at her. Cregan's gaze lingered on her face, his eyes tracing the curves of her jawline, the slope of her cheeks. He was drunk, and the ale had made him completely forget about propriety and what was appropriate. He had never wanted anyone so badly in his life.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his words a bit slurred. "Can't take my eyes off you."

His hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, his fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. The skin was soft, as soft as he had imagined. He wanted to touch more, to explore every inch of her body. But he knew he couldn't, not yet. He needed to maintain some semblance of control, no matter how difficult it was with the ale coursing through his veins.

“Thank you, my lord… perhaps you can keep your hands to yourself?” she smiled as she pulled away.

Cregan's hand froze in mid-air, hovering a few inches from her face. He felt a pang of disappointment as she pulled away, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he had overstepped.

"Aye," he muttered, dropping his hand back down to his lap. "Forgive me, Lady. I’m afraid the ale has made me a bit… forward."

“It’s fine…” she sighed.

Cregan took another gulp of ale, trying to steady himself. He had come on too strong, too fast. He should have known better, but the alcohol and the desire he felt for her had clouded his judgment. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow exhale.

"I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable," he said, his voice sounding a bit more clear now. "I just… I can’t stop thinking about…"

He trailed off, his eyes roaming over her face again.

“Please don’t be inappropriate again…but it’s alright... just not again.”

Cregan nodded, realizing that he was once again overstepping his bounds. The ale was still coursing through his veins, making it difficult to think clearly, but he tried to rein in his impulses.

"Aye, I understand," he said, his eyes downcast. "I’m sorry for being so forward."

He took another sip of ale, trying to control his trembling hands. He wanted to reach out and touch her again, to feel her skin under his fingers, but he knew he should keep his distance.

“I must remind you that I am to be wed to the prince…” she spoke.

Cregan's expression darkened at the mention of her betrothal to Jace. He had nearly forgotten about that for a blissful minute. He clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his tankard. He knew he had no claim on her, no right to harbor feelings for her.

"Aye, I’m aware," he said, his voice gruff. "But that doesn't stop me from wanting you."

Cregan realized his slip too late. His words had been more honest than he had intended, and he saw the look of surprise in her eyes. He stared down at his hands, his fingers trembling slightly. It was all so damn frustrating. He wanted her so badly, but he knew he could never have her.

"It's not fair," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Then, the doors opened, revealing a rather happy-looking Jacaerys.

“My loooove,” he sang out, clearly tipsy enough to miss the tension.

Cregan's heart sank as Jace burst into the room, looking all too cheerful. The sight of him only served to fuel the fire of his jealousy.

He watched as Jace sauntered over to her, his arm wrapping around her waist possessively. Cregan clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists as he fought the urge to punch the other man in the face.

He noticed how immediately relaxed Aelyria looked…

“My dear. How’d it go?” She smiled again, the tension from her face disappearing slightly.

Cregan watched as Aelyria leaned into Jace's embrace, her body relaxing against his. He could see the affection in her eyes as she looked at him, and it made his heart twist with jealousy. He took a long gulp of ale, trying to calm his racing heart and his growing anger. But it was difficult to ignore the pang of jealousy that stabbed through him every time he looked at them together.

"It went well," Jace replied, his voice a little slurred from the ale. "Everything is all sorted out."

He tightened his arm around Aelyria, pulling her closer to him. Cregan couldn't help but notice the possessiveness in the gesture, and it only fueled his jealousy more.

Cregan's grip on his ale tankard tightened as he listened to their playful banter. He could feel his jealousy growing stronger with every word. He wanted to be the one she was laughing with, the one she was leaning into.

“Did the kids make you drunk?” She giggled.

Jace chuckled. "A little bit," he admitted, his voice still slightly slurred. "They were relentless in their drinking games. I had no choice but to join in."

Cregan's grip on his ale tankard tightened as he listened to their playful banter. He could feel his jealousy growing stronger with every word. He wanted to be the one she was laughing with, the one she was leaning into.

“Come… we should go upstairs.”

"Aye, good idea," Jace agreed, his arm still securely around her waist.

Cregan watched as the pair prepared to leave the room, his heart sinking lower with each passing moment. He knew he had no claim on her, but it didn't make the pain of watching her leave with Jace any less painful.

"Wait," Cregan blurted out, the word leaving his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Oh yes— my lord, me and Jacaerys will be going upstairs now?” She spoke.

Cregan's eyes flicked between Aelyria and Jace, seeing the possessive way the other man held onto her. It only fueled the jealousy that burned within him.

"Aye," he muttered, his voice low. "Go on then."

He couldn't bring himself to protest further, knowing it would be pointless. He watched as they turned to leave, his heart heavy with unfulfilled desire.

“We’ll see you tomorrow?”

Cregan forced a tight smile onto his face, trying to hide his jealousy and hurt.

"Aye," he replied, his voice gruff. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He watched as they left the room, his eyes following them until the door closed behind them. He was alone now, with only his jealousy and unrequited feelings to keep him company.

He could only imagine what the two will be doing tonight… and he gripped his tankard so hard the wood chipped at his nails.

Cregan's mind began to race with images of Jace and Aelyria together, in each other's arms, in a tangled web of limbs and desire. The thought only made the jealousy and anger burn hotter in his chest. He took another long swig of ale, trying to drown out the images and the unwanted thoughts in his mind. But even the strong ale couldn't completely erase the pain and longing in his heart.

He threw the tankard across the room. The tankard hit the wall with a loud thud, sending splinters of wood and droplets of ale flying everywhere. Cregan sat there, breathing heavily, his body tense with anger and frustration. He clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms.

The sound of the shattering tankard echoed through the room, Cregan runs a hand through his hair… “fuck.”

All photos sourced through Pinterest, dividers made by @cafekitsune

Previous Chapter, Series Masterlist, Next Chapter (coming soon!)

Taglist (reply and @ to be added!): @nsr-15 @beebeechaos @bbygrlxaden

[cherryheairt]

Is it too early to say that I expect Cregan and the princess to have a tender and passionate romance? I just like how Cregan, being from the north, has 0 expectations of what a princess should be like. He's always tender and sweet with Daenys and she doesn't know what to do with that because she was used to boys ignoring her and girls making fun of her for all the bullying Aegon and Alicent sponsored.

You're absolutely right! a lil drabble of my thoughts from Cregan's pov >

When he was summonded to the great hall to welcome a princess, Cregan had expected a spoilt and demanding young princess who would make a hundred demands and threaten his home with her dragon. Instead, he was met with a girl who barely met his eye and seemed guilty to even step foot in his hall.

Reluctantly, he gave her a place to stay and supped with her. At dinner, they found some common ground that he remained cautious to. Sending his men to the south to fight or Queen Rhaenyra was not something he had prepared for. His oath to the Queen meant he had to offer something to the princess, but Cregan wished to guage all angles first. He invited the Princess to come with him to the wall, to show her that the North couldn't spare as many men as the crown wished, even though they had the best intentions.

That night, while Cregan sat in his solar and overlooked his bannermen's numbers, he was startled by a terror-filled scream. The only guest in his hall being the Princess, Cregan rushed with Ice to defend her. Instead of finding a burglar, he found the girl sitting alone in her bed. She looked a lot smaller without her riding leathers and hair done up in extravagant braids. She looked like a normal girl, scared by any shadow that moved in the room after hearing a particularly thrilling campfire tale.

Her chest heaved, and wet streaks ran down her face. Only a nightmare, he decided. He sheathed Ice slowly, stepped closer to the distressed lady, "Princess? I heard a scream." He asked gently, all movements and tones muted. The realm heard rumors of the Princess Daenys being haunted by her own dreams and mind, even in the North.

Most young and gossiping northerners called her mad, glad that she was not heir in place of her younger brother Jacaerys.

The elder bunch of the North knew better. The Dragon Dreamer, they called the girl. Praying occasionally for their Princess under the watchful eye of the weirwood tree, they knew how fickle magic of the old age was.

Cregan found himself agreeing with the ladder. He had seen what lie beyond the Wall and knew not to take magic or prophecies so lightly. Even the Starks had their own magic in their blood, sometimes skipping entire generations. Wargs, they were called, able to see through bonded animal's eyes. Sara, Cregan's bastard sister, was not blessed with this, nor was his deceased younger brother. Cregan was the only warg of his generation to be born, learning of his when he first met Dusk.

The Princess stilled in bed, "you must have heard my dragon. Sometimes a dragon's song can sound quite human, the commonfolk often complain."

Cregan eyed her carefully, nodding. A reasonable lie, he knew. The Princess must protect herself from further rumors, even from the Warden. She didn't trust anyone, it seemed. Rightfully so, he did not trust her yet either.

"I see. The maids will be informed of us. Can I get you anything, tea perhaps?" He asked Daenys gently. A soothing camomile always helped him from his stress.

Her face hardened as she stood from bed, only in her shift and slippers. "I will be back," is all that she allowed him. She brushed past Cregan quickly, after he averted his eyes politely.

"Princess?" Where was she going? The dining hall was the other direction, as were the kitchens. Was the Princess heading outside in her state?

She was sure to freeze if she did, not wearing any protective clothing or bringing a torch. Cregan ran his options around in his head, biting the inside of his cheek stressfully. He had to get her, right? Even if the Princess ordered against it, her safety was surely more important than her order.

He sighed before following her path, the cold trail of footprints in the snow leading to her dragon. "Princess, you must come inside." He called, keeping a distance from the white beast. It eyes him suspiciously with the same eyes that looked tearfully up at him minutes ago. Did all Targaryens look like their dragons?

After several calls with no luck, Cregan tried his luck with the beast. It may kill him for his approach, but the Queen would do much worse if her daughter never returned from the North.

After settling himself under the dragoness' wing, Cregan found the warmth surprisingly comfortable.

"One eye...one wing..." The entranced mutter came from the Princess. Cregan settled his furs around her shivering shoulders before he sat around her, holding her close. He waited with her all night.

🗡

Cregan was pleasantly surprised when Daenys accepted his proposal to go with him to the Wall. All expectations of what a Princess would be like once again thrown from his mind. She jested with him quietly, letting her displeasure of not being able to ride her dragon instead of a horse playfully known.

For two weeks, it would be his sole duty to take care of Daenys. Cregan took his oaths seriously. He would protect the Princess with his life.

🗡

I always try to include little subleties from Cregan. I think he notices every little thing that Daenys does, adjusting himself for her comfort without even thinking of it.

Breaking eye contact at the first meet after seeing her anxious, not watching her eat because he notices it makes her uncomfortable, giving her his coat at his own expense, etc.

I love subtly in romance, especially with someone like Cregan, who is a hardened northerner through and through. I just adore soft 'hard' characters. Next chap will def spotlight his contrast behavior with others vs Daenys to show the difference.

[maslows-pyramid-scheme]

Actually bathrooms shouldn't be gendered at all that's half the problem.

In communities that lack access to single-sex bathrooms, you witness an increase in the rate of sexual violence, physical health issues like incontinence, and mental health issues like PTSD. If women's health and safety aren't a problem to you, then by all means continue insisting that there's no need to provide them, but you should know these issues disproportionately affect poor women, disabled women, young women, and women from ethnically, linguistically, and racially diverse backgrounds (e.g. bathrooms in northern India are particularly unsafe for women).

I'll leave you with a quote from a book I read recently - Invisible Women, by Caroline Criado Perez:

According to the UN, one in three women lack access to safe toilets, and WaterAid reports that girls and women collectively spend 97 billion hours a year finding a safe space to relieve themselves [which affects their productivity, as women are more likely to be engaged in the informal economy, and their safety]. Local governments that fail to provide public toilets may believe that they are cutting costs, but a 2015 Yale study suggests that this is a false economy. [They linked] the ‘risk of sexual assault to the number of sanitation facilities and the time a woman must spend walking to a toilet, and calculated the tangible costs (lost earnings, medical, court, and prison expenses) and intangible costs (pain and suffering, risk of homicide) [against] the cost of installing and maintaining public toilets … [they found public toilets could save one town $5 million better off, which is a conservative estimate, as it doesn’t include the various health benefits saved from women having more regular and more private bowel movements (e.g. chronic constipation, cholera)]. Health problems arising from a lack of public sanitary provision are not restricted to low-income countries. Canadian and British studies have revealed that referrals for urinary-tract infection, problems with distended bladders, and a range of other uro-gynaeloogical problems have increased proportionately to [toilet inaccessibility]. Urban planning that fails to account for women’s risk of being sexually assaulted is a clear violation of women’s equal right to public spaces – and inadequate sanitary provision is only one of the many ways planners exclude women with this kind of gender-insensitive design. ... For women who try to escape from war and disaster, the gender-neutral nightmare often continues in the refugee camps of the world … [although] international guidelines state that toilets in refugee camps should be sex-segregated, marked, and lockable, [sic] these requirements are often not enforced [and] research by the Women’s Refugee Commission has found that women and girls in accommodation centres in Germany and Sweden are vulnerable to rape, assault, and other violence…

[mage-of-mip]

Half-Foots and Ainu Culture in Dungeon Meshi

It sometimes feels like I might be grasping at straws with this, but I do feel like it's not completely unfounded. Please note, I am a white woman living in the USA, I am by no means an expert on Japanese culture in general, much less a marginalized subculture. I have simply made limited attempts to educate myself out of genuine interest born from exposure to media about Ainu characters and culture. I am always hoping to learn more.

I think it's fairly obvious that many parallels can be drawn between Ryoko Kui's Half-Foot race, and more than one ethnicity or subculture in real life. Romani, Irish, and Jewish stereotypes come to mind immediately.

But I think there's another one that may be explored less in the text, and much harder to catch by a western reader, but nonetheless could be intended by Kui, or perhaps was at one point. That of the Ainu people of Hokkaido, Japan.

There's not a lot of translated information about the Ainu online, so please bear with my limited knowledge. In short, the Ainu are the indigenous people of Northern Japan. For generations, their way of life has been taken from them and they were forced to assimilate to the wider Japanese culture. There are not many who still fully practice the cultural heritage in this day, but there are movements to bring the Ainu culture back.

In Delicious in Dungeon, there are two instances that reference the Ainu, both relating to Chilchuck. This could, of course, be a coincidence, especially if there are more references that I missed. It may be flimsy, but it still feels significant that this is the case, and that Half-Foots are or were meant to be an allusion to the Ainu.

This is the first instance. A significant panel in the context of the story. To my knowledge, this is the only specifically Ainu dish that's referenced in the text. On it's own, its just an interesting factoid, and the same dark humor that's being used for all the other character deaths in this fight against Thistle.

This is the second instance. From the supplemental material rather than the main story, Chilchuck is discussing what Half-Foots are called across the languages. The one that caught my eye here is the one in the top corner. Korpokkur.

The Korpokkur are a race of small people in Ainu folklore, their name meaning "those who live under the butterbur leaves".

Again, in a vacuum, this could just be a Japanese person using a Japanese word [Edit: Correction; An Ainu word] in her manga. But I think it's interesting that the two instances of Ainu culture being referenced have to do with Chilchuck and Half-Foots as a whole. It could warrant a deeper read-through looking for other references, perhaps by someone more educated than myself.

I think this could have some interesting implications in the wider worldbuilding. Perhaps the Half-Foots have faced similar cultural erasure and assimilation attempts, which is why a lot of their customs and clothing are just "Tallman but smaller", and why other races regularly mistake them for the children of tallmen, despite having pretty noticeable differences in how they look other than just their height(their disproportionately large ears, for example).

This idea might be a tad more indulgent, but I also like the idea that Half-Foot children don't receive a permanent name until they are toddlers. At one point, in Ainu culture(this may not be practiced today, I could not find information on that), the Ainu would give their children "vulgar" placeholder names until they started forming personalities, as a ward against evil spirits. Perhaps the same is done for Half-Foot children, and their two part names are selected when they are a little older.

Again, these are just the observations of an outsider looking in, please feel free to correct any mistakes I may have made! And if I'm completely off-base or have said something offensive, I apologize and will delete or amend the post as necessary.

[reginamillls]

I'm... stuck, on a differnt fic that I'm writing for a friend, so I'm putting up this drabble to like shake the cobweb

so idk here some buddietommy vampire/witch/werewolf au

***

Eddie comes up to the unassuming cabin, set deep in the woods, and thinks, not for the first time, that what he is doing is possibly the craziest thing he's ever done.

And that was saying a lot in his life.

The reward though? That was what was pushing Eddie to travel hundreds of miles from home with very limited information.

The money was good, almost too good to be true, but Eddie needed it.

He had found the advertisement on a curse breaking forum that he often took to when he needed some quick cash. Hundreds of comments had said that it was a skam, that no one could be foolish enough to believe it.

Some even said it was a hunter's trap.

Eddie could understand the skepticism, he himself felt it as well, how could you not? But the more he thought of it, the more something was just pulling him to the post, to the people asking for help.

Eddie has always had good instincts.

When he reached out via email and hadn't heard anything for a month, and just when Eddie was starting to believe that the whole thing was a hoax, he recieved an email.

It was a simple email. It had coordinates and a reciept for a round trip plane ticket to northern California.

There was no more information, and Eddie probably thinks that they were protecting themselves.

He pulls up the truck, parking it on the rough driveway. The cabin wasn't very large, maybe three rooms total, but it looked well taken care of. The forest around them was thick, the shadows vast throughout, but Eddie couldn't help but admire it's beauty.

Magic hummed through the woods around him and he could feel it dance along his skin, inviting him in.

There's movement near the porch, and Eddie stills, waiting to see who he was dealing with.

Or what.

A man comes out, tall with bright blue eyes and a birthmark kissed on his brow. He looks strong, like he could take Eddie down in a fight, and there was an air of power that sat around his shoulders.

The magic around him was old, and it moved slowly, as if slowed down by time.

Vampire.

Eddie has met them before, had even served with some in the Army, but Vampires had a tendancy to stick around with their own kind.

He braces himself, but the man surprised Eddie by smiling. There's relief clear on his face as he bounds down the stair case towards Eddie, his movements arent rushed or predatory, but instead welcoming.

"You came!" Closer Eddie can see the beinings of the man's pointed canines and feel how old the magic is around his skin. He's old, but not the oldest vampire Eddie has ever met. "I was afriad that maybe you would think this was a skam."

"Thirty thousand dollars feels like a skam," Eddie says, his voice incredulous. "Almost all of the comments was calling you out, some even said you were a hunter."

The vampire winces.

"I didn't want to give too much away," He confesses and despite the light tone of his voice, Eddie can see the hint of desperation in his eyes. "A lot of witches won't help a vampire."

"They have their reasons," Eddie agrees. He watches the vampire for a moment, the air around him is old, but he was frozen in time at the same age Eddie is now. He looks youthful, and the part of Eddie that has kept him alive for so long tells him that depite being a vampire, the man isn't a danger to him in this moment.

"I won't deny that," The man conceeds and he dips his head. "Even coming out here to see if you can do anything to break this curse is something more than I could hope for. I'll give you money for that, I promise."

"You paid for first class tickets," Eddie says. The experience had been surreal but Eddie had enjoyed it. "The least I could do is give you more information on the curse."

His brows furrow as he looks at the vampire and his magic reaches out and curls around... nothing.

"You aren't cursed," Eddie says, confused. The vampire nods his head.

"Yeah ah- my husband is," The vampire explains and his hand goes to his chest, bringing attention to the chain with two gold rings that Eddie had missed earlier.

"Where is he?" Eddie asks, looking around. He doesn't sense anyone else, but he couldn't be sure with vampires. There were stories of some that could completely hide themselves from magic, a cautionary tale for witches.

"He comes and goes," The vampire says. "I can't really- he doesn't listen very well anymore," He says and there is pain in his voice as he says it. "But he always comes back to me, eventually."

The vampire huffs then, and when he looks at Eddie he has the welcoming smile from before. "I feel silly, not knowing your name," He holds out his hand for Eddie then before offering his name. "Evan Buckley," He introduces. "People call me Buck."

"Eddie," He says, giving no last name. He's surprised that Buck had given his fully, there was power in a name, especially with witches.

Buck must actually trust Eddie.

"Well,Eddie, why don't I show you in," Buck says. "If you need to do any spells to feel safe, you're more than welcomed to." He says, and Eddie guesses Buck can feel the enchanted charms in his satchel.

The charm around his neck is the strongest though, blessed by his coven and carries the love of his son.

Even if Buck had wanted to attack him, Eddie could hold his own.

"I made up the guest room," Buck says. "And I went grocery shopping. I wasn't sure what to get-" He laughs nervously as he leads Eddie inside and Eddie just blinks at first. He's never been in a vampire's home before.

He never imagined it would be warm like this.

There's a mattress on the ground in front of the big fireplace, covered in blankets. A small couch sits next to it. There's a TV that looks like it's at least twenty years old and shelves filled with books and movies, all in VHS tapes or DVDs.

The kitchen is homey looking, big enough to actually work around with but nothing modern. Eddie knows some vampires still eat even if they don't need to, he wonders if Buck is one of them.

Buck shows Eddie to his room. It's small, but the bed looks clean and comfortable and he sets down his bags and follows Buck back out.

"I know your husband isn't here," Eddie starts. "But I wan't to know what we are dealing with." He says and Buck nods his head. They sit at the small breakfast nook and Buck gives Eddie a bottle of water that he accepts.

"How old is the curse?" Eddie asks, its the first thing he learned about breaking curses. You need to understand the power of the curse and the age of it. Curses festered like a wound, the older it was, the harder it was to get rid of.

"Twenty four years, eight months, 11 days," Buck says and Eddie's eyes widen and Buck's smile is self depricating. If the curse was this old, he had to know how impossible this might be.

"Buck-" Eddie starts, and stops. He's struggling for words, this is something that could be too big for him.

"I know-" Buck sighs, and Eddie can see how this has weighed on him, how even if his body hasn't aged, his soul has. "I'll tell you anything you want. Whatever you need you can have."

"I can't promise you anything," Eddie has to clarify, he wouldn't feel right if he didn't.

"Its still more hope then we've had in a few years now," Buck smiles saddly. "I appreciate your honesty. We've had a lot of false leads. They've taken our things and run, but at the end of the day, that doesn't matter to me. Wealth isn't an issue."

"Where is your husband?" Eddie asks and Buck looks outside the window, searching for something. Whatever he sees makes him smile though and Buck stands and gestures for Eddie to follow him. They go to the back porch where Eddie can really see the great vastness of the forest around them.

"He probably heard you coming up the road," Buck explains. "Stay on the porch though just in case. Some days are good and I know he's there, but if he's not-"

Eddie nods, understanding that there's some danger here.

There's movement in the trees, something big and Eddie doesn't know what to expect but there's a few spells at the tip of his fingers, ready to protect himself.

"Hey beautiful-" Buck says softly and the shadow comes closer, and it parts the foliage as it does.

It's a wolf.

Eddie was not expecting a werewolf.

As the wolf steps closer, Eddie takes a step back. It's massive, with dark fur and blue eyes. His head bowed is easily at Eddie's shoulder and he can feel the magic coming off of him.

The curse is twisted in it, an ugly feeling that is intertwined deeply with the werewolf's own magic. It's dark and ugly, angry. Whoever cursed him was angry.

"Tommy?" Buck asks, and Eddie can see that's hes bracing for himself for something, and Eddie thinks back on some of Buck's previous comments, sees the two rings around Buck's neck-

The whole picture is coming together.

It's a bleak one.

Tommy stops, and he sniffs at the air, looking every bit the apex predator that he is. The forest around them was completely silent, and Eddie held his own breath.

Tommy steps forward and touches his nose to Buck's outstretch hand.

"Hey you," Buck says and he sounds so happy as he pulls Tommy's head into a hug, scracthing behind his ear and kissing his snout. "You came just at the right time. We have a guest."

Tommy woofs softly, pushing Buck away with his nose to get a look at Eddie.

"He's my Tommy," Buck says to Eddie, and gestures him to step forward. "Tommy, this is Eddie, he's going to try and help us."

Eddie holds out his hand like Buck did earlier, palm up, and Tommy lays his large snout in his hand. Looking in his eyes, Eddie sees a lot of pain and worry there, but he also sees a little bit of hope, the same that he can see in Buck's.

"You're stuck like this, aren't you?" Eddie guesses and Tommy slowly blinks his eyes while Buck pets at his neck.

"For almost twenty-five five years now," Buck says, voice thick and Tommy turns from Eddie and pushes his head into Buck's shoulder, and whines saddly.

"At first I got to have him again on the full moons," Buck says. "We had some hope, traveling around the world, trying to find anyone who could break the curse, but then the last few years, he hasn't been able to change back."

"I'm loosing him," Tears fall from Buck's eyes. "I don't know how much we have until he's gone completely."

Eddie understood then, that he was their last hope.

[cappulcino]

Seven Days Til Fall (Part 5)

Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3 – Part 4 – Part 5 – Part 6 – Part 7

Read on AO3 (you do need to be logged in, though)

Words: 5,533

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader

Summary: You're an angel sent on a divine mission to retrieve a powerful relic that has been stolen from Heaven. The orders are clear: gain an audience with the Devil, make deals with them if necessary, anything to return that object to the Silver City. But Hell is not quite what you expected, and neither is Lucifer.

Trigger warnings: None in this chapter.

You felt like the worst angel that had ever walked the luminous roads of the Silver City since the War. Your purity, gone in smoke like Squatterbloat had warned you it would in Hell; your light, dimming and slowly giving way to the darkness like Michael had feared; and your faith, far from unwavering after the conversation you had had with Lucifer and what you had found in the Library last night.

Doubt had done more than just plant its seeds inside your heart –it had taken root, sprouted, and turned your mind into a fertile soil for thoughts and questions you weren't supposed to have to grow.

After what happened with Gabriel last night, you had stayed in the Library, desperately trying to distract yourself from these thoughts and questions and to refocus on your mission, which you felt the need to see through as fast as possible so you could find your way back to God's Light and into the Archangels' good graces.

But the problem since yesterday was that, no matter how hard you tried, your thoughts always returned to Lucifer and their Fall somehow. Yet, you had refused to give up and had stayed in the Library in search of something –anything– useful to locate the Cup of Eternal Grace. Night had thus quickly stretched into morning, and you had missed matins, only to tell yourself it was for a good cause, that you could keep searching and go to the next Mass, and… miss lauds as well.

You were, decidedly, the worst angel of all Heaven.

Still, it seemed you hadn't spent all this time at the Library for nothing. The ancient scrolls and dusty volumes you had browsed there did contain some scattered references to the Obsidian Bazaar and the Shadows. The latter were said to be most active during moments of transition –at dawn, noon, and dusk. While twilight was most ideal, it seemed their presence could still be felt during other times of day, provided one knew what to look for.

Finding the Bazaar required not only knowledge of the Shadows’ movements but also a token of permission, usually given by one of the higher demons. But you still had Lucifer and their authorisation to come and go anywhere you wanted, you thought, so you didn't worry about this too much.

There was only so much old texts could tell you, though. You still needed more specific information about the demon responsible for holding the Cup, and that meant turning to someone who might actually know who it was. It was time to see Arakiel.

When you entered the Observatory, the vast space resonated with a gentle hum, and the glow of Divine Light shone through crystalline orbs, all focused on the world below. Arakiel stood in the middle of the room, their soft gaze fixed on Earth –some part of the Northern Hemisphere, you recognised–, an almost dreamy smile on their lips.

Arakiel was not like most Archangels –not like most angels, really. They were sweeter, more patient and more understanding than the others, rarely acted in the usual hypocritical angelic way, and their take on things was more nuanced. You often wondered if this was what Earth did to angels who had spent too much time there. Arakiel certainly had; they had almost gone native in a way and, more often than not, didn't even let their wings out when returning to the Silver City.

"Look!" the Archangel said in a whisper full of awe, frantically gesturing for you to get closer. "Just two days until the autumn equinox!"

You approached and looked down. Sure the colours were pretty and the humans seemed happy, but you couldn't help but think about the earthquake in which little Jeremiah had died yesterday, the political conflicts that had been reported in Africa, or the genocide in Palestine, and made a face. How could anyone have such a jolly attitude about Earth –or at least humanity? Evidently, things had gone quite awry on that planet. You preferred Saturn.

"Did you know that in some human languages, they call autumn the 'fall'?" Arakiel asked after a while. "Mostly it's North Americans, I believe. But there are also similar expressions in the Finnic languages, Danish, Croatian, Macedonian, uh… Polish as well. Oh, and Hindi, Malay, and–"

"How fascinating."

You had to cut the lecture short. Arakiel tended to get very passionate about mortal stuff, and there had been over eight thousand languages since God had destroyed Babel. You couldn't keep up and nor did you have time for it.

"Why are You telling me this, Your Grace?"

Arakiel blinked, clearly startled by your interruption, but their smile didn't falter. Instead, they chuckled softly, as if amused by your impatience.

"Oh, no reason, I suppose. I just find it awfully poetic. It makes me hope that they know that everything that is lost can be found, that those who fall are meant to rise again, and that those who died shall live once more, like Christ. It is how the Almighty intended it, an endless cycle of life."

"I see," you said slowly for lack of a better reply. The Archangel Arakiel was too dear to you to ruin their views with your newly formed opinion on the matter of falling.

"Funny story, I met Our Lord's son. A very kind and gay man, always smiling and–" This time, Arakiel stopped themself. "But you're not here to hear about my earthly tales, are you?"

"Well, not this one. I have come to you to ask about the Cup of Eternal Grace."

Arakiel's expression sobered, their light-heartedness fading as they turned to face you fully. 

"Ah. Yes, of course. The Cup." They tapped their chin thoughtfully. "The humans who had it were part of a cult, a branch of a group that calls itself 'The Family'. They traded it off in a bargain they barely understood."

"For what?"

"An amulet of protection –so they said."

"To which demon?" you pressed, eager to move on.

"Well, it's hard to say for sure. Demons can be tricky, they don't always present themselves as they are. But they told me this one looked like a woman and had two heads."

"Do You trust those humans?"

"Do you have one single better lead?"

You didn't, and so you would be going back to Hell with that one information and many prayers.

This time when you arrived in Hell, Mazikeen was waiting for you right behind the Gate of Damnation, her arms crossed and her gaze unwelcoming. You sighed heavily at her sight.

"What is it now, Mazikeen?"

"You will not be seeing the Morningstar today."

"No, you already tried that once on me," you said trying to dodge her. "I shall ask the ruler of Hell myself."

Mazikeen snatched your arm then, crushing it mercilessly in her hand.

"Not this time. Their orders were explicit, they do not wish to see you."

"Why?"

"Personal reasons."

You yanked your arm free from Mazikeen's grip and muttered a "Fine", hurt and disappointment hitting you harder than expected. Why would Lucifer suddenly refuse to see you so categorically? Was this about the kiss –or rather, your refusal of it? Lucifer had seemed quite vulnerable, yes, but you refused to believe they would let it affect them so much. Or were they really that resentful?

"The Lightbringer told me to get you to the Obsidian Bazaar. We have had demons tracking the Shadows for you since twilight. We might not effectively catch them until the next main solar event but–"

"Noon, yes. I know. The Silver City's Library possesses quite the extensive literature on Hell, believe it or not, and I have done some research."

"Ha!" Mazikeen scoffed. "You think your lot knows more about our own realm than we do? The Shadows have changed a lot since those were written."

"Either way," you said, trying to ignore her mockery, "I need you to take me to a demon first. The Archangel Arakiel has interrogated the humans who traded with Hell. Now, I am fairly certain that the Cup is no longer in that demon's possession, but I thought I might ask them who they sold it to at the Bazaar. It could save us some time."

Mazikeen's face still bore a smug expression as she thought you were too naive for your own good, but she decided to indulge you.

"And which demon is it?"

"I… have no idea," you confessed. "I only know they traded with a Christian cult and presented themself as a woman with two heads."

"Yes, because a demon with multiple faces and who likes to present feminine to seduce mortals sure narrows it down." She sighed, then revealed her best guess. "That would most probably be Enepsigos. An angelic artefact that can give visions sounds like the kind of object she would want to have."

"Good. Then take me to her."

Hours later, you had finally made it to the Obsidian Bazaar, but not without trouble. Enepsigos had been less than cordial, spitting insults in your direction before Mazikeen's blade at her throat and a reminder of what her sovereign had commanded a few days ago forced a little more cooperation.

She had given up the name of another demon who, in turn, had given you the name of another. By the time you finally found out which merchant demon to turn to at the Bazaar, you had already discovered five intermediaries who had all wanted the chalice for a different purpose.

Every little conversation and negotiation had taken more time than necessary, and going from one place to another had taken even longer considering that Mazikeen couldn't fly –and neither of you wanted you to carry her. You had almost missed the transition at noon because of that, but at least now you had something concrete.

At last, a merchant at the Obsidian Bazaar had offered what seemed like a breakthrough, claiming to have sold the Cup to Lahash. He was certain that Lahash was the final link in the chain, but when you asked Mazikeen to take you to him, she outright laughed at you.

She had already been snickering all morning, throwing out comments and cutting remarks that, in a way, reminded you of how certain Archangels –especially Gabriel– talked to you. You hated it of course but, being so close to your goal, you had decided not to make a big deal out of her relentless derision, attributing it to her fiendishness.

But that one throaty laugh was the last straw; you couldn't ignore it any longer.

"Why are you laughing?"

Mazikeen shook her head, her grin widening.

"I just enjoy watching you play Angel Detective."

"This is not a game, Mazikeen."

"Oh, it is for me. In fact, I believe it is for most of us here." She shifted her weight on one leg and brought her hands to her hips, still smiling. "But I am feeling generous today, and since I have spent enough time with you already, let me give my favourite feathery sleuth a hint and put an end to both our sufferings."

You doubted she had anything relevant to say, but you straightened your back and wings, ready to listen.

"Go on."

"Lahash does not have your chalice."

"Oh, for goodness' sake."

"He has not had it for a while now."

"But the merchant told us–"

"He told us everything he knew, there was no lie on his part. Lahash did have the Cup and now no longer has it."

"How would you know?"

"Because I witnessed the Morningstar snatching it from his hands myself."

Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach as the revelation hit you like one of God's thunders. 

Lucifer had the Cup. All this time, while you had been running in circles around Hell, chasing ghosts, they had it in their possession. How… petty of them. Had you interrogated Lahash, he would have most probably never denounced his ruler, and you would have sooner found one particular grain of sand on Earth than the chalice.

As you tried to think of anything in Lucifer's behaviour that should have made you realise what was going on, you felt a wave of betrayal surge through you, sharper than anything you had ever known. Had everything they had done and said only been a way to distract you from your mission? Or were they trying to compensate for this low blow somehow? This was the Devil, anything was possible.

"What?" Mazikeen's smirk was insufferable as if she was savouring your frustration. "Are you going to cry? Do angels cry Holy Water, I wonder?"

Mazikeen was going too far and you were in so much pain that any remnant of angelic restraint left your soul that instant, and you decided that the best defence against her was attack.

"You think this is amusing, don't you? You are running errands for a coward who cannot even face me. What does that make you?" You took an ominous step closer. "You are just like your mother, Mazikeen –born to serve a greater being and always messing with the wrong people. And one day… you will be replaced and forgotten."

Mazikeen's smirk immediately faltered, her pride pricked, and she drew her sword in a swift movement to direct the tip of its blade at your throat.

"Careful, angel."

"Go ahead," you said softly, not even caring about your fate at that point. "I'm sure that would speed the process."

Mazikeen stood still, her sword still grazing your skin and her eyes never leaving yours. And then, slowly, she lowered and sheathed it, knowing that her life would be on the line if she made an attempt on yours.

"Mmh. Evidently, Lucifer cares just enough," you mused aloud, although you were now convinced it wasn't personal, that you just mattered as a pawn in the Devil's game. "Right. Show me the way out. I need to have a word with them."

"I told you the Morningstar does not wish to see you."

"Let me rephrase this: I will have a word with your master. Get me out of here."

There was a flicker of hesitation in Mazikeen's expression, but she quickly gave up, not wanting to spend any more time around you anyway, and led you out of the Obsidian Bazaar.

You had been flying over Hell for what seemed like an eternity in search of Lucifer whom you had been assured was not at the Palace. Your wings were frankly starting to tire and tears were prickling your eyes.

You felt betrayed. Correction, you had been betrayed, this was no mere impression. What you truly felt like was lost and alone. In less than a week, you had distanced yourself from Heaven, your whole kind and what they preached after finding out that you maybe had put your faith in the wrong people. Today you realised you had actually done that twice. Who was there left to believe? What side was there left to be on? You were on your own side now apparently, alone and stupid.

Starting to lose your patience, you turned off after the ruins of the Necromanteion to follow the Acheron, and there, sitting on the bank, you finally found Lucifer. They felt your presence, of course, and looked up at you before slowly gazing back down at the river. You saw them move as you descended, and it looked like they were wiping their face. But you were exhausted, your vision had got slightly blurry with the tears you had shed, so you couldn't be too sure.

"Lightbringer," you called out as you landed a few yards away and took quick strides to meet them. "We need to talk."

"So Mazikeen betrayed Us," they muttered, not even bothering to stand up.

"Yes. Betrayal. Hell's speciality, it seems."

With their back still turned to you, you noticed Lucifer lowering their head and their wings slumping a bit. Their refusal to look at you made you seethe.

"Get up and face me like a proper monarch."

Slowly, Lucifer shifted on their knees before rising in one fluid motion. When they then turned around at an even slower pace, you not only noticed that their stance was entirely devoid of confidence for the first time since you met, but you also realised that their eyes were red, as if they had been crying.

The sight hurt you more than you wanted to admit to yourself, but you had already your own pain to deal with –a pain Lucifer had caused– and you didn't want to let their supposed affliction torment you. For all you knew, this could very well be the result of sitting by the Acheron for too long.

"I thought You didn't lie."

"And indeed, We have not lied to you."

"No?" You almost snorted out of pure nervousness. "How long have You had the Cup?" Your question was only met with Lucifer's silence and pinched lips, so you insisted, "Am I not clear today? How long, Lightbringer?"

"A day and two nights." You could swear there was shame in Lucifer's quiet confession.

"You have kept it from me all this time and You call that not lying? You promised to cooperate."

"We promised to help you, yes. But the task was always your own. Our role was merely to guide you."

"So what? You intentionally left bread crumbs everywhere and You were simply going to wait for me to follow them back to You?"

"Yes."

"You serpent…"

The disdain in your voice made Lucifer flinch. You could have hardly found a worse insult to throw at them had you tried, but it was the hurt talking and the regret would only kick in later.

"Where is the Cup now?" 

"In Our quarters."

"Good. Let us go then. I am taking that chalice back to the Silver City. Right now."

You unfurled your wings, ready to take flight again when Lucifer's voice stopped you.

"We're afraid that will not be possible."

"Why not?"

Lucifer took a deep breath and clasped their hands in front of them to regain some of their usual composure.

"The Cup has been deconsecrated and cursed. You cannot have it in such a condition, We need to restore it to its heavenly glory, and it may take some time."

This time, you couldn't help a short snicker. "I think You have had enough time. Besides, Your Majesty will forgive me if I doubt They still have it in Them to perform that kind of miracle. Your brother, however, will manage, I'm certain."

Your words cut deep, but the Morningstar tried their best not to let it show.

"If We return the chalice as it is, We will have broken Our contract."

"The contract? Oh, that takes the biscuit. I read that contract too, I'll have You know, and I distinctly remember the full clause. 'The Signatories agree that upon successful retrieval, the chalice shall be returned to the custody of the Divine Council without alteration, corruption, or delay.' Was the 'delay' part not clear?"

"The fact remains that We need more time. There is no point in handing you the Cup if it is altered. It is too great of a risk."

"The only risk I see, Lightbringer, is for You to be denied access to the Silver City. So You best hope that the Divine Council never learns about what You did."

Lucifer clenched their jaw, offended and somewhat annoyed by your incessant barbs. Still, they chose to ignore them.

"We meant for you. We will not take the risk of putting such a vile artefact into your pretty angelic hands, nor do We wish for you to be accused of having failed in your mission. You have not."

"Do not pretend You care about me," you snapped. "Did it ever occur to You that I was running a race against time or that my position in the Orders was in jeopardy?" Lucifer's eyes widened, revealing their lack of awareness. "Of course not. Because You only care about Yourself. I mean, was any of what You told me, of what happened yesterday real? Any of it?"

"We–"

"Don't bother. I am not sure that I want to know. God, to think that I almost k–"

You cut yourself off, incapable of finishing that sentence, especially not after your very first blasphemy. Instead, you looked up at the orange sky then down at the ground, anywhere that was not Lucifer's reddened eyes.

"I am going home," you said after a while, making sure to use that particular word to refer to Heaven. "But I will be back before dusk to retrieve the Cup. That is all the time You get."

"You are welcome to stay here while We–"

"Absolutely not."

You turned around, fully intent on leaving, and lifted yourself off the ground with a few decisive flaps.

"You were right," Lucifer blurted out, hurrying closer to stand right beneath you, their eyes welling up as they raked over your body and immaculate wings.

"About what?" you asked, facing them once more but not bothering to land.

"It is lonely. Ruling Hell, dealing with all the pain that reigns here. But with you… We kept the Cup against Our better judgement because when you are here, life in Hell does not seem so lonely any more."

You blinked, and when you spoke again, your voice had slightly mellowed.

"So You had me come back every day because You need… company?"

"We suppose, yes."

Lucifer seemed so sincere and vulnerable, but the turmoil raging inside you didn't allow you to calm down enough to reply politely.

"I am not Your pet. There is Mazikeen for that. Good, faithful Mazikeen."

"But it is not Mazikeen We want! Is it so wrong that We wanted to keep you close?"

"You did not keep me close, Lightbringer, You kept me shackled to Hell! But no more. I will be back for the Cup, but after that…"

You let your voice trail off, incapable of finishing that thought. Deep down, even if you wouldn't admit it, you didn't want to have to say your final goodbyes. Because leaving Hell forever meant being on your own forever, feeling lonelier than you already did, and you were well aware that you were not as strong as the ruler of Hell to handle that loneliness.

Right now, you had to go. And so you left.

"Back so soon? We can only assume you gathered us here to share some good news."

"Or some terrible ones."

You had summoned the Divine Council as soon as you had arrived in the Silver City and you were now standing at the foot of a large pulpit from which the five Archangels –Gabriel and Uriel, who had just spoken, Michael, whose eyes were narrowing at you, and Azrael and Raphael– were looking down at you.

"Actually," you said with a bright smile that felt a bit forced, "it is good news. I found the Cup of Eternal Grace."

"Yet we see no Cup before us," Azrael commented, their voice sharp.

"Where is it?" Gabriel asked in his usual condescending tone.

"I, uh…" Your palms were sweaty and you wiped them on your robes. "I, unfortunately, had to leave it with the Lightbringer so that they could undo the spells that have been cast on it."

Michael was the one to speak then, his voice low and dangerous.

"So, you found the Cup… and left it in Hell when I specifically ordered you to bring it back quickly. Now the chalice is in my sibling's possession. What game are you playing exactly?"

It wasn't a question, more like an accusation. You opened your mouth to explain, but Raphael's cold laugh cut you off.

"How convenient for Lucifer."

"Indeed," Uriel added, their tone sharp. "We send you to retrieve the Cup, and instead, you come back with excuses."

"I shall bring it back before the end of the day, I promise," you insisted, trying to control the tremor in your voice. "But it needs to be restored first. The Morningstar said–"

"Lucifer says a lot of things," Gabriel interjected. "And you seem to be listening too much."

You flinched at those words and swallowed hard, your mind racing. You realised Gabriel had probably told his peers about what had happened last night in the forbidden section of the Library, and, suddenly, it became pretty evident that if you failed to bring the Cup back tonight, the consequences would be dire.

But weren't the Archangels supposed to be pleased? You had found the Cup, that was the most important thing –the promise that you would soon bring it back to the Silver City and succeed in your mission. Yet, instead of praising you, the Council was once again criticising you.

After feeling betrayed by Lucifer, you were feeling betrayed by your own kind, left wondering which side was truly the better one. Or rather, which one was the lesser evil. Because if this was the Light, you were beginning to wonder what darkness really looked like.

Michael stood up and leaned forward, hovering over you. And, at that moment, you felt more scared of him than you had been of his sibling on your first day in Hell.

"You will go back to Hell this instant. I do not want to see your face again until the Cup of Eternal Grace is in your hands and back in holy territory. Is that understood?"

You shivered and lowered your wings in submission.

"Yes, Your Grace. I will be back before–"

"GO!"

When you found them again, Lucifer was sitting behind their desk, the Cup before them, gleaming in a faint, otherworldly light. Their wings shifted slightly as they looked up from their work, their brows furrowed in confusion.

"We thought you did not want to stay."

"I did not," you muttered, stepping into the room but keeping your distance. "To be frank, I almost stopped by Earth to wait there until You were done, but I fear the Divine Council might be keeping a close watch on me now, so I had no choice."

"Why?" When you didn't answer but instead looked away, Lucifer immediately understood. "It is Our fault, is it not?"

Tears started to prickle your eyes, you fought them as hard as you could.

"I should not be so surprised," you said. "The Devil, causing pain, leaving torment in their wake… It was to be expected. But I am still disappointed. And hurt."

"Our sincere apologies…"

You nodded, signalling you had heard them, but you weren't sure whether you wanted to accept their apology. Either way, you didn't know what to say, so you walked to a nearby cushioned bench and sat there.

Lucifer didn't add anything at first, their attention drifting back to the Cup. Silence stretched between you for over ten minutes as they worked, after which they spoke again, their voice now even quieter.

"Are you not going to say anything?"

"I do not want to talk to You, Lucifer" you replied, your voice cracking a bit as you gave up on etiquette to call the monarch by their first name only. "I have lost my restraint and my patience, and I am too hurt to be kind for now."

"We understand."

You missed it because you were still avoiding their gaze, but Lucifer smiled ever so slightly despite their own ache, as they realised you didn't hate them enough to want to be mean to them. But the smile quickly vanished and they turned their focus back to the chalice.

Two hours had almost passed when they finally stood up and approached you.

"Take it," they said as they handed you the Cup, their tone almost empty. "It is done."

You stood up as well, your fingers brushing against Lucifer's as you took the artefact. For a very brief moment, you felt the warmth of their touch, but it vanished as quickly as it had come.

"There is still time before dusk. Do you… Do you perhaps wish to have supper with Us one last time?"

Both the hurt you felt and your reason told you to say no, but your heart soared, trying to convince you to say yes. Truth was, as much as you hated what Lucifer had done to you, as much as you blamed the Lightbringer for your pain, you didn't really want to part on bad terms and you rather dreaded going back to Heaven. And so you hesitated.

"I cannot stay," you eventually decided, knowing the risk was too great. "I am fairly certain the Divine Council already believes I have been buying You time. I need to go and give them the Cup. And after that, I do not wish to hear about it ever again."

Pinching their lips, Lucifer nodded. They looked so sad, so vulnerable. Could it be that they felt guilty? Part of you wished they did, but you didn't have time to dwell on that. You had to go.

There was one last thing you felt the need to say, however.

"I would have lied for You, You know. In fact, I already did in more ways than one." Lucifer's eyes widened a bit and you saw it, the hope. "For some inexplicable reason, I even find it easy to hide and twist the truth for You. Because You opened my eyes to so many things and I blindly put my faith in You. But You betrayed it and have made me feel stupid. And so that doesn't make You any different from Your brother and his clique."

With that said, you turned to leave but before you could cross the threshold, you heard Lucifer's voice behind you, quivering and pleading.

"Will you forgive Us?"

It wasn't just a question –it was a cry, a desperate, fragile thing that echoed through the room and pierced your heart. Your throat tightened, your wings tensed, and for a moment, you considered turning back. But the hurt inside you was too great, too raw, and when you finally spoke, your voice was distant and almost cold.

"Peace be upon You, Lucifer Morningstar."

You didn't wait for a response. With the Cup clutched in your hand, you straightened your wings and left, certain you would never see the ruler of Hell ever again.

As you flew through the Silver City, your movements shy but quick, you received many looks and comments to congratulate you on the success of your mission. You ignored them or merely answered with a fleeting smile, and found your way to Michael's office.

You cleared your throat and held out the Cup as you entered, relieved to hand over that wretched chalice.

"I have brought the Cup, Your Grace. As promised."

It seemed Michael had been waiting for you. His back turned and his hands clasped behind him, he was staring out across the clouds.

Then he turned slowly, his eyes narrowing as they landed on the Cup. He stepped forward, taking it from you without a word. His gaze flickered over the artefact before he gave you a slight nod, though his face remained unreadable.

"You may leave now," he said, waving you off.

"Uh… But… Your Grace, the other day You told me–"

"Yes, yes. The Council shall discuss your case."

You blinked. No praise. No recognition. The promise of a promotion seemed further away than ever, and you wondered if it had ever been real to begin with. Your wings drooped slightly as you turned to go.

Just as your hand reached for the door, Michael's voice stopped you.

"Oh, before you leave."

"Yes?"

"You have not told us this morning. When exactly did you find the Cup, and where?"

You gulped audibly as the question made you question where your loyalties truly lied and whom you wanted to put your faith in –if there was anyone or anything left to put your faith in.

You stood in silence for a second that felt like a lifetime and when you replied to the Archangel, your voice was miraculously steady, though your heart felt anything but.

"I found it today, not long after noon. But like I said, I had to leave it in Your sibling's care so that they could restore it and ensure it would be returned without alteration, as per the contract that bound them to You."

Michael watched you closely, his gaze piercing, but then offered the tiniest smile.

"Very well. You may go, you are no longer needed. And you have my blessing to miss Mass –you need rest more than anything."

You furrowed your eyebrows finding the offer somewhat strange, and the formulation rather ambiguous, but you smiled and nodded, then turned once more to exit Michael's office.

You stepped through the threshold, and before you could take a single breath of relief, a sharp pain hit the back of your head. Your vision blurred as your knees gave out and you collapsed to the ground.

And there was evening, and there was morning –the fifth day.

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Forty: Mortal's Touch

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Masterlist

WARNING: CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF TORTURE.

“We are going to try a different approach, little mouse,” Allerick’s rough voice reaches your ears. You can barely hear him over your own heartbeat hammering away in your skull as if it resides there.

A fistful of your hair is yanked upwards and your limbs scramble to meet the movement. Your mangled ankle screams in agony. The bones aren’t healing right.

Unceremoniously, you’re dragged to the middle of the cell. Allerick’s hold on your hair is the only thing that’s really keeping you standing. The muscles in your legs are no longer strong enough to keep you upright on their own.

“Skye, bind her hands to the ceiling. I have an idea.”

Up until about three hours ago, all the torture that you were being put through was at Seungmin’s command. It was your typical torture methods: punches, whips, waterboarding, choking, everything under the sun. 

Three days of non-stop torture have plummetted your mind into a headspace you’re not sure if you’ll ever come out of. All you know is pain and suffering anymore. 

Just like Seungmin had begged you, you had come up with tiny, fake pieces of information to tell to them, acting as if it’s real. But it was nothing even remotely useful.

When Allerick had grilled you on the whereabouts of camps on Miroh’s northern border, you had told him the name of one farm nowhere near any of Miroh’s forces. 

It was the only thing your mind could come up with in its pain-swallowed haze. You’re not even sure if it’s the name of a real farm.

What did you call it again? Oak…? Oak Frost…? Gods, you hope they don’t ask you to repeat it again. Did Allerick even believe you when you had said it the first time?

Seungmin walks towards you with a large bundle of rope in his hands.

Both of the men were sweating and disheveled from the hours upon hours of interrogation they’ve been putting you and Hyunjin through. The top buttons of Seungmin’s tunic are undone and his shirt is untucked from his trousers.

Sweat has his hair sticking to his forehead which he keeps pushing off his face, only for it to come down and stick to his skin once more. 

He grabs your wrists and ties you to a hook hanging from the ceiling. Your entire body feels like it somehow weighs a thousand pounds despite your emaciated state. Not that you would be able to stand on your ankle anyway. When Allerick releases your body and they both stand back, your head falls forward and the binds are the only thing keeping you up now.

Your shoulders already feel sore. The rope digs into your wrists. Your bare feet barely touch the ground.

It feels like you’re no more than a prized pig hanging in the back of a butcher shop. 

Allerick walks over towards Hyunjin, his hand reaches out and he yanks him up by the shirt collar and throws him into a wooden chair about five feet away from your hanging body.

“I have come to a realization,” he says, moving around Hyunjin’s body and bringing his wrists behind the chair and binding them. “Obviously, the two of you are much stronger than we anticipated.”

The mage is just as broken as you are. 

Truthfully, you don’t know how either of you are still alive. You also don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse that you’re not dead yet. 

Hyunjin looks up and meets your eyes with his. His skin is gaunt and looks paper thin, his pupils seem to be permanently dilated. His chest moves slowly as his lungs try to take in oxygen.

The two of you just stare at one another.

He’s your only comfort in this pocket dimension of the Void. 

Yes, Seungmin is here; and he slips you food and water when no one is looking, he comes down to your cell in the wee hours of the morning to treat your wounds in ways that no one will notice.

But only Hyunjin knows what you’re going through. So, when your eyes meet, wordless conversations take place each time. Silent support is conveyed just through weak blinks.

“But everyone has a weak spot,” Allerick growls. He slowly walks over to the cell door, wiping the sweat off of his brow. He leans forward and murmurs something to the guard on the other side of the bars before turning back towards you.

Under normal circumstances, you probably would have been able to hear what he said, but not anymore. Now, everything sounds like someone has their hands over your sensitive ears. There’s always a faint ringing in them as well, slowly driving you mad.

“I believe I figured something out.” Suddenly, Allerick’s voice is even deeper, even more evil sounding. You didn’t even know it was possible for him to become scarier than he is at this moment. 

Seungmin moves just as slowly, standing behind you. He’s so close, you can feel his hot exhales on your clammy skin. When you try to swallow, it feels like sandpaper and an involuntary whimper comes from your lips.

A large hand winds through your hair and roughly yanks your head backwards. An even louder whine of pain comes out of your mouth. At the same time, cold metal presses against your neck. You don’t even need to see it to know it’s a dagger.

At the same time, you hear Hyunjin suck in a large gasp of air through his teeth. 

Allerick’s voice comes from directly next to your ear. “See that?” he rasps. His hot breath fans over your cheek and you want to recoil, but your muscles won't listen. “I know not why I did not see this sooner.”

Seungmin shifts from his spot next to you, moving around to stand more in front of you.

The gears of your mind try to spin, but the cogs wont lock. What is he talking about? What weak spot? You’re sure you don’t have one. At least, not one that you’ve made known. 

Behind you, the cell door opens and Allerick clicks his tongue once. His hand in your hair tightens more and more, causing you to wince and hiss. 

“Watch the mage,” Allerick instructs Seungmin.

After he says that, he presses the dagger into the skin of your neck more and more. The pressure gets greater and greater until you feel it pierce your skin and blood trickles down your throat.

Weakly, you whine in pain and try to squirm away from him, but to no avail.

It’s a sharp, searing pain. No matter how many wounds they inflict on your body, they all hurt so badly. There has been no getting used to the sensations, everything just hurts. Your body feels so achy everywhere, it just amplifies the agony.

Gasps fill the air as you try to recoil.

Hyunjin’s voice breaks through the haze. “Stop.. stop !” he croaks. His voice is so different from what you remember. In your memories it’s melodic and smooth, like he’s somehow talking in script. But now, his voice is no more than a boot scraping over cobblestone. 

A dark chuckle hits your ear.

The dagger is taken away from your neck and you let out a shaky breath. The blood drips down your skin, down past the collar of your tunic and smears onto your bruised skin.

“Our little mouse may not have a weakness. But the mage does.”

Seungmin shifts in the corner of your eye. 

The heat from Allerick’s body disappears for a moment and he walks around behind you. His boots thud dully on the stone floor. 

“I heard something interesting, little mouse,” he starts. “About two months ago, you had a run in with a few of our scouts just over the border into Miroh’s territory, no? You and the Court Diplomat.”

He’s talking about the incident with you and Jisung.

A dull ache rips through your leg at the memory of being stabbed and poisoned. Flashes of Felix drawing the poison out of your body flick through your mind like phantoms. The burning pain that tore through your veins was one of the worst pains you’ve ever experienced. 

The rogue stays silent, watching your face carefully and then looking over at Allerick, waiting to hear him speak. 

“When other scouts found the bodies, they noticed a particular dagger on the ground. An Erban dagger. We thought nothing of it.” Closer and closer, he steps towards you. “Then, an inside source says that Jarl Bang’s Mercenary suffered a near death injury. A stab to the thigh with a poison dagger. Now, even a fool can put those pieces together.”

A moment of silence rings through the cell. Condensation drips from the ceiling down into a puddle. 

Allerick steps forward into your field of view. His hand reaches out and grabs your chin with a shockingly gentle grasp. Still, you flinch away from him. 

He sucks his teeth and guides your eyes to meet his.

Oh, those eyes. Those beautiful eyes. They used to hold so much love and compassion. They used to glint in the sunlight when he sparred with you on those warm June afternoons. Whenever your stance would slip and the weight of the sword would carry you in a circle, his hearty laughter used to make you giggle with him.

“I taught you better than to leave weapons around, poisoned or not,” he scolds you. His tone is so soft, it’s just like you remember. “How could you be so foolish, little mouse? A simple stab wound? You know better.”

A memory flashes through your mind. The day that he taught you how to parry. The two of you were outside the entire day. 

That same day, the baker was testing a new recipe that he just couldn’t perfect. He gave you and Allerick all of his attempts. Countless dozens of sweetbreads were eaten that day.

From all the sugar, you both stayed in the yard until the moon was high in the sky.

“I taught you better than to let your guard down like that.”

You’ve shed so many tears in the last few weeks. Tears of sorrow, pain, exhaustion, anguish.

But the ones welling up in your eyes right now? They’re tears of heartbreak.

Allerick pauses for a moment, his eyes scanning over yours, watching as your tear ducts fill. Something flashes across his face for a moment, something completely unreadable. His nose twitches and his eyes seem to shake.

His grip on your chin falters for a moment and then he takes a step to the side, clearing his throat thickly. 

“How did that wound feel, little mouse?” he whispers. “Burned, aye?”

Weakly, you nod, using every ounce of strength you have to keep your head up.

Allerick nods in agreement, circling around your body. “There is one thing about Elves that is just so… obnoxious . One thing that bothers me more than the rest. Do you know what that is, Skye?”

“Nay,” Seungmin responds immediately. “What?”

There’s a flash of movement and you feel a quick, paper-cut like pain slice at your cheek. A hiss of breath sucks through your teeth and you flinch away from it. A hand grabs your chin, fingers pressing into your cheeks.

“Watch,” Allerick grumbles.

After a few seconds, the pain is gone.

“Look how fast the dagger ears heal.” His voice is low. “It is not fair. Now is it?”

“Nay,” Seungmin repeats.

Allerick releases your face and walks around behind you. “Erbus noticed this problem long ago. It was not until recently that we came up with a… solution .” He chuckles. “I have heard my men refer to it by a few different names. ‘The Equalizer’, 'Ralios’ Remedy’, ‘Void Toxin’...”

Seungmin sucks in a quiet breath. Hyunjin’s eyes widen. Both of them are looking behind you. Fear courses through your body and makes your heart skip a beat.

The poison. The poison!

“My favorite by far has been ‘Mortal’s Touch’.” Allerick walks slowly behind you until he comes around, standing right in front of you, blocking your view of Hyunjin. His gaze travels all over your face in a way that makes your skin crawl.

“Because that is what it does, little mouse. It makes you just like us. Just like us mortals. You know, the ones your entire kind like to look down upon?”

Allerick holds up a small bottle, the tincture is completely black. A sharp shiver runs down your spine just looking at the vile liquid. Even in your exhausted state, you recoil; your body moves away from it, driven by pure fear and the phantom memory of the pain it put you through.

“Our alchemists really outdid themselves with this, I have to say. In small amounts it only stunts an Elf’s healing abilities. But in larger doses, like the one you received, little mouse, it is absolutely lethal.” He snickers and then, after a moment, lets out a sigh. “I have heard the burning pain is insurmountable.” 

A small, terrified whine comes from your body as you continue to hold your body away from the little bottle. You look like a caged animal with the way you’re shrinking away from it. 

“Would you like to know who we tried it on first?” Allerick looks at you, then turns to Hyunjin, then back to you again. “Bang sent a messenger with his measly declaration of war.”

Your heart drops through the floor.

That poor little boy. He was so broken and bruised that not even Felix could fix him. That.. That ooze that was coming from his wounds. The poison that drove Felix mad… It was Mortal’s Touch.

Again, you feel another crack spider web in your heart thinking about that young Elf. 

“How ironic that you were the second victim.” An evil snicker comes from his lips.

The air in the room feels so hot despite it being the dead of winter. A few days ago, you thought that the cold was going to be the death of you. Now, sweat drips down your back and drenches your tunic, making it stick to your body.

“It is such a shame, you know.” Allerick’s free hand comes up and cups your cheek. You desperately try to move out of his grasp, your eyes wide and your body trembling. “To have survived this poison, you must be so much stronger than I thought…”

His look turns wistful, like he’s remembering old times. “I had hope when I heard you were the one we captured, little mouse. I had thought that maybe… just maybe I could convince you to come back to Erbus, come back home and join us. How wonderful would it have been to have you by my side again…”

After shaking his head, he continues. “It would have been like old times… I would have taught you all the new techniques they taught me in the Jarl’s guard. We could have taken on the world together…”

His eyes darken as his chin dips and he bares his teeth. Suddenly, his grip gets tighter and tighter, his fingers digging into the delicate skin on your cheek. “Now imagine how I felt when I learned the truth about you. It made me sick to my stomach to learn that my little mouse is nothing but a filthy, rotten, vile little creature.” With each word, his voice gets louder and his nails begin to dig into your skin.

Hissing, your neck cranes away from his hand but it's to no avail, his grip is too tight.

“You were perfect, Y/N. Absolutely perfect, you rotten thing! You wasted my time… my resources… my gold. All for naught on a fucking Elf. ”

His words hurt more than his grasp.

More tears prick at your eyes. It’s like a knife is being continuously plunged through your chest. 

“Do you know how many days I gave you my meals instead of eating them myself? I sacrificed my own health for a disgusting little creature. Your kind truly is nothing but scum.”

He takes another step closer to you. “I wanted to come back. I desperately wanted to come back to recruit you, Y/N, I did. But I guess Ralios was looking over me since he made sure I did not return to that dank little village.”

“Allerick…” you croak out with a sniffle.

His hand reels back and just as quickly as it left, a sharp punch is thrown right into your jaw. Your head snaps to the side as pain blossoms across your skull.

If you let out a cry, you don’t hear it over the cracking of your own heart. 

“Do not say my name,” he mutters darkly. “Do not ever let it grace past your lips again.”

The tears fall down your cheeks and a sob wracks your chest. Allerick laughs.

“Cry all you want, little mouse. It does not erase who you are or what you stole from me,” he growls and throws another punch directly into your gut. It’s a miracle your stomach doesn’t empty onto the floor. “I could have taken any one of the street urchins under my wing, but I chose you! You rotten fucking liar!” 

Another punch to the face and this time you’re sure you let out a wail.

You’re not even sure what hurts more, hearing him finally let out the words you knew he was thinking or the punches that he’s landing on your already brittle and broken body. 

“I treated you like you were my daughter! My sister! My little protege!”

This isn’t even torture. There’s no question for you to answer to make this attack stop.

“Nothing but a criminal! Scum! Trying to blend in with society! Trying to mask who you are!”

If it wasn’t for the ropes, you would be a heap on the floor. But they’re painfully keeping you upright to receive every single one of his blows.

His knuckles are red.

Whose blood is it? Yours or his?

What does it matter?

His fist pulls back and before he can swing again, another hand stops it. 

“Enough!” Seungmin roars, shoving Allerick away from you. “This is not helping anyone!”

Allerick’s expression shifts dramatically, going from rage to surprise, then back to plain, evil malcontent. He clears his throat and wipes his hand off on his already ruined tunic.

He then shoves off Seungmin and grabs a dagger from his belt, popping open the tincture while keeping his eyes on you.

Sobs continuously tear through your chest. They’re deep, coming from some hidden, locked away part of your soul. When your head hangs down, the tears no longer flow down your cheeks, they fall right off your face and onto the floor.

There was always some hope in the back of your mind that you would run into Allerick again one day. In your imagination, it was always at a tavern.

You would be sitting at the bar with a mug of ale, perhaps chatting with a companion or another patron when you would feel a warm hand clasp your shoulder. Then, when you turned your head, you would be greeted with a brilliant smile and a–

“Little mouse,” Allerick growls, bringing you back to reality. “I think it is time we finally got some answers.”

His fingers move to put a few drops of Mortal’s Touch on his dagger.

Whimpers and whines of fear and panic come tumbling from your lips. “N-No…” you cry desperately pulling on the ropes around your wrists. “No, please!”

It’s like you can feel the burning in your leg once more. Suddenly, you’re back in Miroh on the dining table, all of your limbs held down to the wood while you scream for mercy. 

“No!” you cry as Allerick steps forward towards you. “No, no, no! Get away from me!” Your legs scramble for purchase on the floor, but you can barely find a grip. Every ounce of weight you put on your ankle makes the bone feel like it’s breaking all over again.

Behind him, Seungmin’s eyes widen and all the color drains from his face. 

In all the time that you’ve been in this cell, never once have you begged for mercy. Never once have you so much as pleaded for them to leave you alone. To stop.

But the very sight of this poison has you turning into a little girl crying out for her mother. 

His entire body shifts for a second and he has to take a step backwards to catch himself. Your begging and pleading is affecting him more than he should let on.

“No! No! Please!” you wail. Your voice doesn’t even sound like you, you’re so broken. “M-Mercy!”

“We are well past mercy now, rat.” Allerick goes around behind you and grabs a fistful of your tunic, pulling it up to reveal your emaciated abdomen. He brings the dagger around you and holds it against your stomach. “Besides–”

The blade is so cold it feels like it’s burning into your skin.

“My questions are not for you, anymore. They are for the mage.”

Hyunjin’s eyes, which have not left your face, widen even more. You watch the panic settle into his features and he weakly tugs against his binds in the chair. 

Oh . It’s come to this.

“Your fellow Elf here is going to tell us where your northern camp is or else–” His sentence ends with him turning the blade and holding the sharp edge against your skin. You let out a startled yelp.

“No! No! No, please! Please! By the S-Six!”

Hyunjin’s mouth drops open and he shakes his head. “N-No.. I… I…”

“No? Very well.” 

Without waiting another second, Allerick cuts a wound across your abdomen, right below your belly button.

The pain is instant. 

It’s searing, burning, excruciating. It shoots right down your legs.

The veins in your neck pop out as you scream at the top of your lungs. The sheer volume makes your own ears hurt. It echoes down the halls of the prison and shakes some of the dust off the stones. 

“Y/N!” Hyunjin calls out with a sob. His body folds in half as he leans forward as much as his binds will allow him. 

It’s like fire is injected into your veins. It’s just as fucking horrible as you remember. It hurts just as bad as every memory of that day. 

“Stop! Stop!” Hyunjin pleads. Tears begin streaming down his face as his own veins pop out of his neck from straining against the ropes. 

“Let us try again, mage! Where is the northern camp?!” Allerick screams over your wails, moving the dagger down right under the first wound which is oozing blood.

Instead of answering, Hyunjin only lets out a loud cry of anguish. Allerick doesn’t wait again, he slashes right across your body once more. 

This scream is just as loud as the first once, if not louder. They sound the same as they did that night when you thought you were going to shatter all the windows in Miroh’s Keep. Except this time you don’t have Chan’s hand running through your hair, whispering that everything is going to be okay.

After a few seconds, another gash is ripped into your skin just above the first one.

This time, you don’t have Jisung and Seungmin holding down your legs while yelling out comforting words as the poison was removed from your body. 

It feels like your vocal chords are going to collapse after the next wound is inflicted. The poison infected blood flows down your stomach and leaks into the other wounds, ripping them open over and over again every second. 

This time, there’s no Minho holding down your wrists and gazing at you with more concern than you’ve ever seen on his face. 

Bile rises in your throat after the next wound and you throw your head forward just in time for it to flow onto the floor at your feet. The word ‘pain’ doesn’t even feel like enough to describe what you’re feeling.

This time, you don’t have Felix– lovely, sweet, adoring Felix, working harder than he has in his life to make sure that you survive. No one is here in this godless cell.

Are you even screaming anymore? All your brain knows is pain, pain, pain.

Your vision goes from blurry, to white, to black, to clear over and over again while you scream to the high heavens. 

Every soul in Olera must hear you at this rate. 

“ Where is the camp, mage?! ” Allerick screams at Hyunjin who lets out his own cry of anger, frustration, and mental anguish.

Another gash is slashed across your stomach and you swear that you feel a snap in your throat. The taste of iron floods your mouth and your screams no longer carry the same volume. 

Your wrists feel as though they’re on fire from the ropes digging into them. 

In a split moment, you manage to capture a glimpse of Seungmin who seems to have slumped against the wall, leaning all his weight on one arm as he looks down at the floor. The other hand is covering his ear.

Make it stop, please! Make it stop! Make this end!

Why can’t you just die already?

“ HOLLYPOND FARM! ” Hyunjin’s voice is raw, stripped bare of any emotions other than anguish. You’ve never heard anything like it in your life. 

The dagger does not cut you again. 

Instead, it cuts the ropes that you hung from.

Your body collapses to the ground like no more than a sack of dirt. You never thought you’d see the day where you’d be relieved to have your head crack against stone.

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

You’re already crying before you wake up.

There is no combination of words you can put together that accurately describe the agony you feel. 

If you were to be tied and roasted over a spitfire, you’re sure it would hurt less than this.

Your body is trembling and cries are tearing your horribly sore throat. 

And despite all the woe, there’s a warmth wrapped around you. Instead of cold cobblestone, your back seems to be pressed against something soft and equally as shaky as you are.

It’s not until hands very gently run down your arms that you realize you’re laying against another body.

“Ne minuial tôl lû… Ir tirich er-'îl gelair awarthannen…” Hyunjin’s trembling voice whispers in your ear. His exhales fan over your ear. “Ir in-elenath gwennin… I 'îl thinna, i amar ú-dhartha…”

It’s been so long since you’ve heard Old Elvish. The language was almost dead at this point. Most Elves didn’t even speak it anymore. You only recognize it since your dad knew a bit.

He would sing Elvish lullabies to you when nightmares plagued your dreams.

On the edge of the bed, he would sit there and comb his fingers through your hair while the low timbre of his voice would soothe any fear in your mind. 

Much like Hyunjin is doing now. Somehow, hearing the language sends a calming wave over your broken body.

“Am man darthon a linnon… Nu galad hen fireb?” He sniffles and huffs. He’s crying. Against your back, you can feel just how much he’s quivering. 

The palms of his hands begin to warm up, a tingling sensation running over your skin. It’s not unpleasant, not at all. Especially not when all you’ve known for the past weeks is anguish.

“Eirien vi elenyr. Enni e bain. Brethil nui mellyrn…”

Very slowly, his hands move up your arms and then down, hovering over your chest and abdomen.

Your wounds begin to heat up. Not in the same burning way they’ve felt, something entirely different. Like drinking warm tea to soothe a sore throat. 

Oh.

He’s healing you…

“Enni e bain. Gwilwileth or alph. Enni e bain. Tinnu aphada Chelluin. Enni e bain.” 

His voice sounds so gorgeous when he speaks Elvish, even moreso than when he speaks normally. You didn’t think it was possible for him to sound even more melodic than he already does.

After a moment, you realize how much that burning is beginning to fade.

“I laiss e-mallorn ernediaid. El-lass dithen, el-lass fíreb.” He’s beginning to sound weaker and weaker. His voice is getting quieter in your ear.

It’s probably taking an insurmountable amount of energy to heal you right now. 

“Gâr chinnen. Ir dannatha?”

You’re no longer crying. Your breathing is beginning to even out. It doesn’t feel like you’re about to die every single time you take a breath.

At your sides, your hands twitch and a sigh of relief leaves your lips. Hyunjin seems to have heard it by the way his own breathing hitches. 

“I-'îl gelair fîr… Si e gwanna Menel,” he chokes out. The warmth from his hands flickers.

“Hyunjin,” you murmur. Your throat hurts so bad. ‘Hoarse’ isn’t even a proper way to describe what your voice sounds like. While screaming, you must have torn a vocal chord or something.

The mage shushes you gently, cooing in your ear as the warmth from his healing flickers to a stop like a dying campfire. 

“Si gwannathon i amar… Garel lass vi cammen…”

Your body relaxes.

It feels like nothing short of a miracle. 

When was the last time you felt anything remotely like this?

Life outside of these stone walls seem like nothing but a fake memory. Did you ever have a life outside of Fort Mire’s dungeon? It certainly doesn’t feel like it. 

“I have you, mercenary,” Hyunjin whispers in your ear. Shakily, he wraps his arms around you, holding you as close as possible to his chest. “They… They did not even tie us up… it has come to this. They know we are too weak…”

He must know you’re awake but unable to talk. You can’t even open your eyes, you can only listen.

There’s a long moment of silence as he gathers his strength to continue speaking. After healing you, you’re surprised he even has the wherewithal to wrap his arms around you, nevertheless speak to you in such a gentle, soothing tone.

“I know you are only here because you saved me, Y/N,” he chokes out. Another tiny sob is stifled. “You stayed by my side that day. Instead of retreating, you chose to stay with me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest for a moment. 

“Foolish little girl, you are…” his thumb rubs against your skin gently. “You got yourself into this mess because of me…”

So badly you want to open your eyes, you want to tell him he’s wrong, that you don’t regret your decision even for a moment. But you just can’t.

“I do not even know if I would do the same, if I am being truthful with you, mercenary. You are much stronger than I am… much more courageous…”

Hyunjin hums, the sound comes out a bit garbled from his soft cries. 

“You truly are one of a kind, Y/N. You are a gift to Miroh, to the court… to me .”

He hugs you tighter against his chest. Gently, he turns his head and rests his cheek on the crown of your head. Every exhale puffs into your hair. 

“I know it is more than selfish… By the Six, it might be downright evil… but I am… so beyond grateful that you are down here with me, Y/N. There is no way I would be able to survive this without you.”

You hum painfully, your fingers itch to reach up and lock with his lithe ones, but they only twitch once more.

“Save your energy, mercenary,” he says in a soft, condescending tone. “I… I know not what is in store for us tomorrow.”

He hesitates.

“I gave up Hollypond Farm,” he whispers simply. You know. 

Again, he falters. “And I would do it again to never hear you scream like that ever again.” When he says this, his voice sounds so haunted . Your heart aches in your chest for him. “In fact, I would do absolutely anything to never hear it again. I would even give up my own life for it. And I am certain that Seungmin feels the same.”

Seungmin. Poor, poor Seungmin. He’s going through his own version of torture, isn’t he?

Sure, you and Hyunjin are the ones receiving the physical torture, but the mental toll alone is immeasurable. 

Hyunjin doesn’t speak for a long while. In fact, he stays silent for so long, you think he might have finally fallen asleep.

But then.

“‘Love’ does not feel like a strong enough word to describe how I feel,” he murmurs.

This time, you’re sure that your heart does a backflip. Why can’t your body just cooperate and move?

“But I do love you, Y/N.”

At your sides, your fingers flex and the only movement you can manage to muster is turning your wrists and grabbing at the fabric of his pants with a weak grip.

Another puff of air fans out over your hair as Hyunjin chuckles weakly.

“We will make it through this, mercenary. I swear to you on everything I own, we will survive this.”

Your brain starts feeling fuzzier and fuzzier, Hyunjin’s voice seems to be acting like a lullaby. You still feel a bit floaty from before. 

Sleep slowly begins to draw you into her embrace; more and more your body melts backwards into Hyunjin’s and his arms tighten around you.

“Rest now, Y/N,” he says to you, just like that night in his tent when he put you to sleep for the first time in what felt like eons.

History repeats itself as you drift off.

But not before murmuring back.

“I love you too.”

[mariacallous]

Israeli journalist Barak Ravid drew gasps this month when he told the Jewish Federations of North America’s General Assembly, “We are much closer to Israeli settlements being built in Gaza than hostages coming home from Gaza.” This is hardly news to anyone paying attention to Israeli governmental policy, but it introduced an unwanted chill into a conference that aimed to focus on “Jewish unity” and unspecified “support for Israel.”

Like other American Jews with strong connections to Israel, and dozens of friends and family members there, I have spent many a sleepless night worrying about the fate of the country, and furiously WhatsApping loved ones there to check on their safety. We may want to believe that Israeli leaders are trying to do what is best for their country and its residents. When we see news of yet another teenage soldier killed in Gaza or Lebanon, we want to believe that their sacrifice is not in vain but is making Israel safer.

But this is not a moment for surprise or for more rousing shows of vague “support for Israel.” It is a moment for anyone who cares about the future of the country and the people who live there to sound the alarm and wake each other up.

The settler movement has achieved a full takeover of the Israeli government, and they make no secret of their intentions: to resettle Gaza and officially annex the West Bank. Israeli leadership views the election of Donald Trump as clearing the path for this goal. Israel’s Finance Minister Betzalel Smotrich said as much explicitly earlier this month. This past Sukkot, Likud members of Knesset took part in a conference on resettling Gaza held in a closed military zone meters from the strip, with the IDF protecting participants while pushing back hostage families who had come to protest.

High level Israeli officials have testified that Netanyahu has entirely abandoned the hostages and torpedoed any attempt to free them. Instead, he is continuing the war to advance his political survival and to allow for the reoccupation and resettlement of Gaza. One of his high level aides has been arrested on suspicion of passing information to a German newspaper, allegedly at the  prime minister’s behest, in order to sway public opinion against a hostage deal. Even former Defense Minister Yoav Gallant, fired apparently for supporting such a deal, has said publicly that there is no reason for the war to continue and that Israel is on its way to military occupation of Gaza.

There is increasing evidence that the army is implementing the “Generals’ Plan,” which aims to displace all 300,000-400,000 residents of Northern Gaza by preventing any humanitarian assistance from entering, bombarding the territory, preventing residents from returning and re-establishing an Israeli military occupation, followed inevitably by resettlement.

Meanwhile, Gaza itself has become a humanitarian disaster. More than 40,000 Palestinians have been killed — yes, including militants and terrorists, but also including thousands of children and entire families. The U.N. estimates that women and children make up 70% of those killed. Large-scale hunger and disease will likely only grow worse if and when Israel implements its recently passed laws that would prevent UNRWA,  the main U.N. agency serving Palestinians, from operating there. In the West Bank, settlers carry out near daily violence against Palestinian villagers and farmers, with near complete impunity, often with the protection or assistance of the army.

The news that the International Criminal Court has issued arrest warrants for Netanyahu and Gallant (along with Hamas’s Mohammed Deif, who is likely dead) engendered the expected cheers from the global left and defensive outrage from the Jewish and Israeli establishment. But for anyone who cares about Israel’s future, these arrest warrants should be cause for deep sadness and alarm. It is a tragic moment when the prime minister of the Jewish state has sunk so low — and brought the country so low — that he can credibly be accused of war crimes, while simultaneously torpedoing any internal inquiry that could have staved off the ICC warrants.

In early 2023, it seemed like the electoral ascendency of Israeli extremist parties, combined with the mass anti-government protests that rocked Israel, might shock mainstream American Jewry out of their usual uncritical support. A September 2023 protest against Netanyahu’s speech to the United Nations drew thousands of Israeli expats and American Jews, including prominent rabbis and communal leaders. Even some legacy Jewish organizations, not accustomed to criticizing Israel, registered their disapproval of the attempted judicial overhaul.

The horrific massacres of Oct. 7 moved many American Jews back into the more familiar narrative of “Israel under attack.” The shocking willingness of some pro-Palestine activists to justify or deny Hamas’s atrocities and to dehumanize Israelis, coupled with a rise in violence against Jews and Jewish institutions, channeled communal energy into fighting antisemitism. And the real threat from Iran, including direct missile attacks as well as more than a year of rocket fire from Hezbollah before this week’s truce, has generated existential fear for Israel.

Mourning and fear must not distract us from the reality that the biggest existential threat to Israel, and indeed to Judaism itself, is coming from Israel’s governing coalition. Israel is not an object of worship or vehicle for Jewish identity. It is a real country with an increasingly authoritarian government committed to perpetual war and settlement. This is both a moral travesty and a danger to the state and to Judaism.

More than 50 years ago, the religious Israeli philosopher Yeshayahu Leibowitz warned, “A calf doesn’t necessarily need to be golden; it can also be a people, a land, or a state.” Jews wearing kippahs and tzitzit who ransack Palestinian villages, sometimes even violating the basic laws of Shabbat to do so, who recite Shema while burning down a mosque, or who build a sukkah in a Palestinian village or in the middle of Gaza, have replaced worship of God with worship of power and sovereignty. They would happily destroy the actual state of Israel in order to achieve their dangerous vision of Jewish control over the entire biblical land of Israel, no matter the human or political cost.

Three decades ago, Prime Minister Netanyahu famously accused the left of “forgetting what it means to be a Jew.” But it is Netanyahu and his allies who have forgotten the basic foundations of Judaism. These include pidyon shevuyim — redeeming captives — considered one of the most important commandments, and the most basic commitment of a Jewish state, not to abandon its own people.

Some American Jews believe that we have no right to comment on matters of Israeli security, or that any criticism of Israel fuels antisemitism. And yet, too much of the American Jewish community gives a pass to organizations that have supported Netanyahu’s drive toward autocracy and settlements, and even refused the pleas of hostage families to call for a deal that will end the war in Gaza and bring their loved ones home. American Jews must not stand by as Israel descends into authoritarianism and messianism which are doing irreversible, generational damage. Supporting Israel can no longer mean sporting flag pins, attending “unity” rallies, or trying to shut down any speech critical of Israel.

Rather, support for Israel and its people must mean standing with the Israelis desperately working to save their country from fanaticism, never-ending war and the settler agenda. Painful though it certainly is, supporting Israel today requires setting aside our disbelief that Israeli leaders could act with total disregard for the wellbeing of Israelis, let alone Palestinians. It means no longer giving Netanyahu and his ministers the endless benefit of the doubt.

American Jews can begin by sending our charitable dollars to the brave Israeli civil society organizations rather than to groups that explicitly or implicitly promote settlement and anti-democratic legislation. It means putting pressure on both the Netanyahu government and the U.S. administrations — outgoing and incoming — to end the war. We can demand that the U.S. follow its own laws and require Israel to adhere to the same guidelines for military aid that other countries do, including ensuring transparency in how aid is used. This includes enforcing the deadline for increasing the flow of humanitarian aid into Gaza.

Such measures are not an abdication of the security of Israelis, but rather a means of pressuring Netanyahu to end the war and bring home the hostages, allowing Israel to move toward internal investigations and new elections. And we can insist that our communal organizations stop burying their heads in the sand and instead push back on the Israeli government’s dangerous agenda.

It’s time for American Jews to take a strong moral stance for human life and human rights. This would be the truest expression of support for Israel and Israelis, as well as Torah and Judaism.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

By Olivia Reingold

Here are just three individuals highlighted in the report.

Mohammad Hannoun, a 62-year-old Jordan native who the report describes as “the epicenter of Italian actors operating or sympathizing with Hamas,” has sent at least $4 million to the terrorist group over the past decade via the Charity Association of Solidarity with the Palestinian People. The U.S. Treasury Department recently said the Italy-based organization, which Hannoun founded in 1994, “ostensibly raises funds for humanitarian purposes, but in reality helps bankroll Hamas’s military wing.” Just three days after October 7 of last year, Hannoun told an Italian journalist that Hamas’s invasion of Israel was “self-defense.” Hannoun, who lives in the northern Italian city of Genoa, has helped promote anti-Israel rallies throughout the Mediterranean country on his Facebook page, often posting about what he calls a “Nazi Zionist genocide in Palestine.”

Majed Al-Zeer, who has been co-designated as a Hamas operative by the U.S. and Israel, is “the mastermind of the Hamas-affiliated activity” in the UK and Germany, according to the report. In 1996, Al-Zeer, a 62-year-old British-Jordanian citizen, founded the Palestinian Return Centre, which lobbies British Parliament and holds a special status at the UN that allows its members to attend meetings and “mobilize support for the Palestinian cause in the UK and overseas.” In 2010, Israel declared the Palestinian Return Centre an “unlawful association,” stating that “it is part of the Hamas movement.” Even though German authorities have identified the Palestinian Return Centre as a likely front for Hamas activity, Al-Zeer continues to live and organize anti-Israel rallies in Berlin, where he moved from the UK in 2014.

Amin Abou Rashed, who Dutch authorities arrested last year for allegedly sending about $6 million to Hamas, has a pattern of “hiding behind politics” and “alleged humanitarian efforts” to “promote Hamas’s ideology” through purported charities like the now-defunct Al-Aqsa Foundation. According to the report, Rashed gained asylum to the Netherlands in 1992, and has been pictured with now-deceased Hamas leader Ismail Haniyeh and other officials for the terrorist group. 

The report identifies five European countries where Hamas is most active outside of Gaza: the UK, Germany, Italy, the Netherlands, and Belgium. (via European Leadership Network)

The European Leadership Network was able to link these charities and individuals to Hamas through publicly available information such as social media posts and nonprofit registration filings. Mark Sachs, a U.S.-based director of the European Leadership Network, told me “most of the world has absolutely no idea what is taking place right beneath their noses.” 

“It is essential that we in the West start to wake up to how deeply embedded this infrastructure is and how sophisticated Hamas is in taking advantage of the West,” Sachs said.

U.S. regulators have estimated that since early 2024, Hamas has received as much as $10 million a month from these fraudulent groups, most of which are located in Europe, according to the U.S. Treasury Department. 

“Hamas has exploited the suffering in Gaza to solicit funds through sham and front charities that falsely claim to help civilians in Gaza,” the U.S. Treasury Department said last week. “Hamas considers Europe to be a key source of fundraising and has maintained representation across the continent for many years in part to raise funds through sham charities.”

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

There was an independent terrorist attack in the Gush Etzion region today, 2 Palestinian terrorists fired at Israeli soldiers, didn't manage to injure anyone, and one of them was eliminated.

Barak Ayalon, a man in his 40's and his mother Mira, in her 70's, were murdered today, while the father, also in his 70's, was moderately injured due to Hezbollah shooting anti-tank missiles from Lebanon at a home in Kfar Yuval, a community in northern Israel.

This follows another incident that took place during the night, in the area of Har Dov (where I was stationed when I was doing my mandatory IDF service), 4 Hezbollah terrorists used the heavy rains, infiltrated Israel, fired at soldiers, injured 5 of them, and ended up being eliminated.

I think this is so important to understand that the IDF truly does its best not to harm civilians. Here's a compilation of moments when air strikes were aborted, when civilians were identified in the vicinity of the intended targets:

Today, the entire country of Israel is observing 100 days since Oct 7.

100 days since the start of this war that is costing so many lives every single day, and more than anything, 100 days since innocent civilians in Israel were attacked, abused, tortured and kidnapped to Gaza, where 136 continue to suffer in captivity. There is a 24 hour protest, many companies and organizations are striking today for 100 minutes, and in a Tel Aviv square that was re-named after the hostages, there is a model of a Hamas terror tunnel, that people can walk into, and stay in there for 100 seconds, to get an idea of how suffocating it is. When the model was opened, the families of the hostages visited it, and shared some of their thoughts on the walls.

On Oct 23, a Hamas rocket hit a kibbutz called Yad Mordechai, named after Mordechai Anilevich, the commander of Eyal, one of the two Jewish underground movements, which fought in the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. The kibbutz is home to a Holocaust museum, one of the first in the world, and Hamas' rocket hit the gallery that recreates the command bunker of Mordechai Anilevich (you might be able to recognize the red bricks used in most of the Warsaw Ghetto):

As the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors, IDK if I can explain how this image is chilling to the bones.

This is Nassrin Yossef.

She and her husband Yiad are Druze, and originally from northern Israel. They fell in love with the people of a community called Yated in the south, and move there. On Oct 7, despite a broken leg, Yiad joins the community's emergency squad (which stopped some of the terrorists). Nassrin stays with their kids, and faces the terrorists who get to their house, which happens to be the closest to the border fence. She speaks to the terrorists in Arabic, and starts "interrogating" them, getting information about how many have infiltrated Yated, and where they are. She finds out some are hiding in the greenhouse found very close to her home. She passes the info on to the security forces, who take out 20 terrorists. The phone of one of these men rang, and Nassrin replied, said she's helping to hide the terrorists, so it's okay to share any info with her. She found out from the man on the line that there's a breach in the fence they're gonna enter through, and she translated everything for the Israeli officer. She said the way the man on the phone ended the call was, "Allah willing, we'll occupy Israel by tonight." The next day, Nassrin found out that while her actions and her husband's saved many in their community, the terrorists murdered two of her friends at the community of Kerem Shalom, and a Jewish neighbor and friend named Ido. "He was like a brother to me, his family like my family." Nassrin says she broke at that point. Yiad drove them out, and she recounts that the road was full of burned and shot cars with bodies still inside. She also says that, as scary as it is, Yated is their home and they'll return to it as soon as they can. Heroes.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 📸 Scenes of massive destruction and carnage everywhere following an Israeli occupation forces (IOF) firebelt that destroyed an entire residential block in the Beit Lahiya Project, in the northern Gaza Strip today, killing and wounding large numbers of Palestinian civilians, with children among the casualties. ]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

DAY 227: ISRAELI OCCUPATION INTENSIFIES ATTACKS ON THE GAZA, MASS SLAUGHTERS OVER 100 CIVILIANS IN A DAY WHILE ICC TO ISSUE ARREST WARRANTS FOR NETANYAHU AND SINWAR

On 227th day of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 10 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 106 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, while another 176 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

It should be noted that as a result of the constant Israeli bombardment of Gaza's healthcare system, infrastructure, residential and commercial buildings, local paramedic and civil defense crews are unable to recover countless hundreds, even thousands of victims who remain trapped under the rubble, or who's bodies remain strewn across the streets of Gaza.

This leaves the official death toll vastly undercounted, as Gaza's healthcare officials are unable to accurately tally those killed and maimed in this genocide, which must be kept in mind when considering the scale of the mass murder.

Speaking in an interview with CNN, the prosecutor for the International Criminal Court (ICC) at the Hague, Karim Khan, said he was requesting the Judges of the ICC to issue arrest warrants against Israeli occupation Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, along with Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar.

The ICC prosecutor said he was also seeking an arrest warrant for occupation Defense Minister Yoav Gallant, as well as two other top Hamas leaders, Mohammed Diab Ibrahim al-Masri, leader of the military-wing of Hamas, the Al-Qassam Brigades, and Ismail Haniyeh, Hamas' political leader.

A panel of judges from the ICC will now consider Khan's request for the warrants, which include charges of "Extermination, murder, taking of hostages, rape and sexual assault in detention."

The arrest warrants would mark the first time a close American ally has been targeted by the Court.

As the ICC looks to indict the Israeli Prime Minister and the leader of Hamas, Yahya Sinwar, the Americans are working to track Sinwar, looking to give the Netanyahu regime a "total victory" so it can end the war in Gaza.

According to US officials who spoke with the Middle East Eye under the condition of anonymity, the US has expanded efforts to track the Hamas leader, whom the Biden administration believe is still hiding inside Hamas' expansive tunnel network under the Gaza Strip, but are also exploring the possibility that Sinwar has fled to Egypt, or even Lebanon or Syria.

According to the report, the Biden administration remains about one month behind the movements of Sinwar, who's last known location was within the Gaza Strip.

When asked what this means, practically, the anonymous official said "One month means you aren't even close to real-time information."

The MEE says tracking Sinwar has taken on a new urgency in the US Intelligence community because the Biden administration believes that tracking down Sinwar's location (likely for an assassination attempt) would help pressure the Israeli occupation authorities to end the war by declaring victory over Hamas.

In an interview with CNN last week, President Biden told reporters "I said to Bibi (Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu), 'Don't make the same mistake we made in America. We wanted to get bin Laden. We'll help you get Sinwar'."

In other news, Ireland intends to become the next country to recognize a State of Palestine. That's according to a speech delivered by Irish Prime Minister, Simon Harris commemorating the victims of the Great Irish Famine of 1845-1852.

It should be noted that Ireland would become the eighth member of the European Union to recognize Palestinian Statehood, alongside the nations of Poland, Bulgaria, the Czech Republic, Romania, Hungary, Slovakia, Sweden and the Southern administration of Cyprus.

Meanwhile, the Israeli occupation ramped-up its bombing and shelling of the Gaza Strip overnight, continuing and intensifying its genocide of the Palestinian population of the enclave.

Israeli military operations expanded in the city of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip, over the weekend, pushing more than 800'000 displaced Palestinians out of the city, according to the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian Refugees, also known as UNRWA.

In an announcement by UNRWA on Monday, the Humanitarian aid agency said that Israeli ground operations in the Rafah area had forced over 810'000 Palestinians out of the city, most of whom had already been displaced from their homes elsewhere in Gaza due to the occupation's seemingly endless 8-months-long blockade and bombardment.

For the 14th consecutive day, the Israeli authorities continued to keep the Rafah and Karm Abu Salem border crossings near the border with Egypt closed, continuing the policy of starvation and torture, while medical and humanitarian aid trucks continue to be blocked from entering the Gaza Strip.

Nearby, Israeli Merkava tanks were seen advancing towards the Salah al-Din Gate, south of Rafah, and into the Brazil neighborhood near the border with Egypt.

The occupation military was also seen pummeling residential homes in the Al-Salam neighborhood, east of Rafah, while additional tanks and armored vehicles were stationed in the vicinity of the Martyr Abu Youssef Al-Najjar Hospital.

In one Israeli raid, occupation fighter jets bombarded a residential home belonging to the Khafaja family, in the Tal al-Sultan neighborhood, west of Rafah, resulting in the deaths of at least three Palestinians, including the Deputy Director of the Tal al-Sultan Police, Ayman Hamdan Khafaja.

Another 8 civilians who were wounded in the assault were taken to the Kuwait Specialized Hospital in central Rafah.

Violent Israeli airstrikes also hammered neighborhoods east of the Khan Yunis governate as well.

In another horrific war crime, warplanes belonging to the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) bombed a residential home belonging to the Hassan family in the Nuseirat Refugee Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, killing an astounding 31 civilians and wounding many others.

The occupation army also killed the Deputy Director of Investigations in Deir al-Balah, in central Gaza, along with an assistant.

Israeli warplanes further bombarded the area near the Al-Qastal Towers, east of Deir al-Balah, while another raid targeted a residential neighborhood east of the Bureij Camp, also in central Gaza.

Meanwhile, IOF air, missile and drone strikes, along with intense artillery shelling, hammered the Jabalia area, in the northern Gaza Strip, for the second consecutive week, further displacing large numbers of civilians.

Occupation soldiers, stationed along the Netzarim Corridor, an infrastructure built by the Israeli occupation amidst the ongoing war to divide the Gaza Strip into its northern and southern constituent halves, fired shells into the eastern areas of the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City, while Zionist fighter jets launched at least two raids on the same neighborhood.

Israeli aircraft also bombed in the vicinity of the Sheikh Zakaria Mosque in the Al-Daraj neighborhood, in central Gaza City, after which, the bodies of three martyrs were taken to the Baptist Hospital in the city.

Similarly, occupation warplanes bombed a civilian residence in the Al-Sabra neighborhood, south of Gaza City, while three civilians were killed following an airstrike on the Al-Attar family home in the Abu Iskander area of the Sheikh Radwan neighborhood, north of Gaza City.

The Israeli occupation army went on to bomb neighborhoods east of the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City, while occupation Apache helicopters opened fire on the Jabalia Refugee Camp, in the north of Gaza.

Meanwhile, Israeli fighter jets bombed a residential apartment belonging to the Labad family in Beit Lahiya, in the northern Gaza Strip, slaughtering 6 Palestinian civilians.

Another Israeli raid bombarded the Abraj al-Qastal area, east of Deir al-Balah, in the central Gaza Strip, and also destroyed a civilian residence east of the Bureij Refugee Camp.

In Gaza's south, Israeli artillery shelling pummeled the outskirts of the town of Al-Qarara, north of Khan Yunis, while occupation gunboats fired shells and machine guns towards the coast of Rafah.

Israeli air raids went on to target various areas of Khan Yunis, Nuseirat Beach, and the Al-Zawayda Beach area.

As a result of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the death toll among the local population has risen to exceed 35'562 Palestinians killed, including at least 15'000 children and over 10'000 women, while another 79'652 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

May 20th, 2024.

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@WorkerSolidarityNews

[welcome-to-green-hills]

Do you think that we’ll explore the town of Green Hills, Montana in the series and Sonic 3? Like slice of life stuff or more history? I don’t think that there’s a whole lot to the town other than it being described as a “dinky backwater town.”

Hi Honey! ❤️✨

Believe it or not, the town of Green Hills is very fruitful in its foundation! It may not feel like it, but there’s definitely a rich history of when the town was established. (Whew! Now y’all get to see how big of a nerd I am. That’s either a really good thing or a bad thing). I’ll hyperlink all of my sources/claims to specific information so y’all can review it at a later date. Hopefully, this add a bit more detail than what the Sonic Wikis have for the films.

Down below are bullet points and photos of Green Hills, Montana:

Green Hills was founded in the early 1800's by a group of explorers surveying and mapping that state of Montana. The rugged explorers took nearly 30 years in making a complete map of the state and claiming the area as home. Green Hills is located in the middle of the state and known to have fascinating geological features. The town was called "Green Hills" due to the unique shades of green found in its flora. Essentially, the town was founded by chance because it took so long to survey between 1806 to 1835.

One of the town's founders, Morgan McConnell, specifically wanted to build a town in the heart of Montana because of the area's geological feature--checkered patterns. Morgan McConnell was credited for charting nearly a quarter of the state, including the town, and coined as as THE explorer of Montana. His favorite location to sit and work at was the Devil's Pinkie (the ledge that Sonic stands at in the first and second film). Unexpectedly, McConnell fell off of the Devil's Pinkie and died. According to town legend, McConnell's name echoed through the valley ranges for hours after he died. It's unknown if these are still heard in the area today.

Between 1870 and 1883, the town of Green Hills became one of the firsts settled areas along the Northern Pacific Railway. The transcontinental railroad system stretched from the State of Minnesota, the Pacific Northwest, and along the main line opening at the Great Lakes. A town plaque describes Green Hills as a "golden spike" by former USA president Ulysses S. Grant and viewed as an important hub. The town is credited as a supply depot, as well as known for bringing in large immigration populations. The railroad system is still a crucial necessity of the town today.

The first settlers of Green Hills, Montana didn't start making their migration to the area until the 1860s. The settlers were faced with hardships of the land, lack of infrastructure, and brutal winters. Families were known to mingle together in small dwellings and form small communities. Polygamous families were common until Christian morality arrived to the area in later years (Welcome-to-Green-Hills, 2021).

Main Street features the town's first general store, a feed and gardening supply store, and post office.

Green Hills, Montana takes pride in country hospitality. The warmer months have communal events such as hoedowns, harvests and festivals, fishing derbies, farmers markets, and horseback riding events. The business district features Dr. Maddie Wachowski's veterinary clinic, antique shops, a brewery (AKA, the Beer Gardens), a stationary shop, a butcher's shop, and the Mean Bean Coffee Shop (the slogan: "drink mean"). (Tails Channel, 2021).

The Green Hills Community Theater is a town gem. It was established in 1905 and has been known to put on spectacular and successful productions for over 100 years.

The Green Hills Bulletin (the local newspaper) says that they've been the hot spot for a classic car show for the past twenty years, have a "Dog of the Week" section, a local artist guild that does mosaics for the town, recently had a worker's strike on repairing the railroad system in town, and are in the middle of a movement for accessibility laws for disabled residents.

In the first movie's novel, Green Hills is known for its massive Blueberry festivals in the fall. This is an event that's welcome to all of the farmers in the state and neighboring states. Tom is known to actively take part of the festival.

In the 1900's, the town saw an influx of United States veterans occupy the area. It's seen as a "retirement community" to those not actively serving.

The town as a population of nearly 2,000 residents, as implied by the "Welcome to Green Hills" sign at the speed trap.

There's definitely more that the town has to offer in terms of history. When I have the chance, I'll give this post some more attention and add to it. Until then, enjoy some historical facts about our Dinky Backwater Town!

[catdotjpeg]

Hamas agreed to the terms of a ceasefire proposal set forth by Qatar and Egypt about an hour ago (around 16:43 GMT); we are still waiting to hear a response from israel. Regardless of the responses, we must continue to struggle for a truly liberated Palestine.

A leading Hamas source tells Al Jazeera that the group has informed Egyptian and Qatari mediators of its agreement with a ceasefire proposal.

-- "Hamas leader informs mediators of ceasefire acceptance" by Maziar Motamedi and Usaid Siddiqui for Al Jazeera, 6 May 2024 16:43 GMT

“The mujahid brother Ismail Haniyeh, the head of the Hamas movement’s political bureau, had a phone call with the Qatari Prime Minister, Sheikh Mohammed bin Abdul Rahman Al Thani, and with the Egyptian Minister of Intelligence, Abbas Kamel, and informed them of the Hamas movement’s approval of their proposal regarding the ceasefire agreement.”

-- "Hamas statement on ceasefire in full," 16:51 GMT

A Hamas official has said that the “ball [is] now in Israel’s court”, and that’s where this proposed ceasefire now stands, with no response yet from the Israeli government. Israel had emphasised in recent days that it was not on the same page as Hamas with regards to the deal, and instead made clear that it planned to invade Rafah, in southern Gaza. And as Palestinians spontaneously celebrate on the streets of Gaza, everything now rests on what Israel’s response will be.

-- "No response yet from Israel," 17:04 GMT

Displaced Palestinians are ecstatic after hearing that Hamas has agreed to a deal for a ceasefire, especially after fearing an imminent ground offensive on Rafah. “We hope Allah will facilitate this and we can return to our homes,” a man from Gaza City in the northern part of the enclave told Al Jazeera’s Tareq Abu Azzoum in Rafah. “All praise be to Allah that they didn’t invade Rafah,” a Palestinian boy said. “We would like to thank all those who stood by our side and stood by Gaza.” “We want a political solution, not just a military solution,” another Palestinian said. “For that, we must struggle to have independence from the Israeli occupation and to stop the aggression in both Gaza and the West Bank.” “We want to see the international community stop Israel’s escalation on the Gaza Strip,” he continued. “We want to go back to our houses. Our families are very sad, but this evening after this announcement ,we see the majority of our people happy.”

-- "Cheering Palestinians react to news of ceasefire agreement," 17:10 GMT

An unnamed Israeli official quoted by the Reuters news agency says Hamas has approved a “softened” Egyptian proposal that is not acceptable to Israel. The official added that the proposal included “far-reaching” conclusions that Israel will not support. Israeli media outlets are also reporting that the Israeli government has not accepted the deal. We remind our readers that we do not yet have the specifics of the deal that Hamas has agreed to.

-- "Israeli official indicates rejection of ceasefire proposal: Report," 17:12 GMT

Sources have told Al Jazeera that the Egyptian-Qatari proposal Hamas has agreed to would include three phases, with each lasting 42 days. A truce would begin in the first phase, along with an Israeli withdrawal from the Netzarim corridor that Israel uses to divide northern and southern Gaza. A second phase would include the approval of a permanent cessation of military and hostile operations, and the complete withdrawal of Israeli forces from Gaza. The proposal also includes a provision approving an end to the blockade of Gaza in the third phase.

-- "Ceasefire proposal includes three phases, including permanent ceasefire," 17:45 GMT

Israel’s far-right national security minister, Itamar Ben-Gvir, has responded to Hamas’s agreement to a truce proposal. He says the group is playing “games” that have only “one answer, an immediate order to occupy Rafah!” “Increasing military pressure, and continuing the complete defeat of Hamas, until its complete defeat,” he added in a social media post. Ben-Gvir has been among the members of the Israeli government urging Netanyahu to continue fighting in Gaza until Hamas is defeated.

-- "Continue on with ‘complete defeat’ of Hamas: Israeli minister," 17:55 GMT

[krindor]

Jewish Life Pre-Diaspora: Jewelry

In my previous post in this series, I looked at something ephemeral and best seen in art; women’s hairstyles [x] and came up a bit short. While I’ll get to men’s hairstyles later I wanted to do something a little easier first, and so am doing a topic archaeology is the best tool at answering: What did indigenous Israelite and Judean people wear as jewelry?

Amir Golani has written the literal book on the subject, and so I’d recommend for further information and techniques you should read his book Jewelry from the Iron Age II Levant or his article Revealed by their jewelry: Ethnic identity of Israelites during the Iron Age in the southern Levant, but I’ll provide a summary and some images here.

Since in his writings on the topic Golani found the Israelites and Judahites (the members of the two Israelite Kingdoms in Canaan in the Iron Age) to be similar in ornamentation trends and groups them together, I’ll be doing the same here under the umbrella term Israelites.

(looooong post beneath the cut. you have been warned.)

Part 1: Distinctly Israelite Jewelry

While trade and the movement of craftspeople led to the dispersion of different styles of jewelry around the Mediterranean, we can see trends that indicate certain pieces of ornamentation are distinctive to Israelite culture.

Three types of pendants, usually made of bone or ivory but sometimes of terracotta or stone, follow the history of the Israelite kingdoms to a surprising degree: originating around the 10th century BCE and disappearing in the 8th Century BCE in the North, and the 7th to 6th centuries BCE in the South (matching the beginnings of the diasporas of Israel and Judah, respectively).

1.1 Club Pendants

These pendants are typically 4-9 cm long shaped pieces with rounded ends and a slightly conical shape. They have been found as far north as the Lebanese Coast and as far south as the northern Negev Desert, though most examples come from the historic borders of the Israelite Kingdoms. Some were plain, but many have bands, latticework, or ring-and-dot ‘eyes’ incised into them.

Similar pendants are found in Ephesus (in Asia Minor) and various sites on the Greek Mainland, but these all date to after the 8th century BCE, are truncated at the top rather than rounded, and only have the horizontal bands as decorations and may have arrived with Phoenician traders (as they had been found in the Phoenician city of Byblos in modern day Lebanon).

1.2 Plaque Pendants

These plaques were made of bone and usually had a stringing hole at one end, or with a tab to be attached to a string. Unlike the club pendants, they have more than a single shape; they can be rectangular or oval, circular or teardrops, and are incised with ring-and-dots, lines, and chevrons.

These have a much smaller range than the club-pendants, with most only being found in the territory of the Judean Kingdom. Two were found at Meggido in Israel’s territory, and one at the site of Hama in Syria.

It was at one point theorized that these served as calendars, since some examples have three rows of ten uniform ring-and-dots, the presence of examples with other, non-calendrical numbers (such as 17) indicates that this could not have been their only use.

1.3 Mallet Pendants

The most restricted of the Israelite pendants, both in morphology and in chronology, these pendants are made of two pieces of bone or ivory; a cylindrical head often decorated with ring-and-dot incisions, and a thin shaft pierced at one end for suspension that was inserted into the head at the other end.

These pendants appear in the 10th Century BCE, but disappear in the 8th Century, despite being found in both Israel and Judah.

The hammer form of these pendants, as well as their strict morphology, has led some to theorize that they were used to identify the wearer, though it is unknown if that identity would be to a profession, religion, or some other faction. Similar looking pendants are found in Sardinia in the 12th-10th centuries BCE, as well as Etruscan Italy and Greece in the 9th – 7th Centuries BCE, but those are made of cast bronze and are a single piece. There, however, we know from context that they were probably linked to the wearer’s profession. Whether this bears true for their Israelite counterparts is still unclear.

Part 2: Inherited Canaanite Traditions

While the bone pendants appear to be an aesthetic choice that evolved along with the Israelite identity, as a part of the Canaanite cultural tradition, Israelites also continued to create and wear adapted forms of Canaanite jewelry. Several styles of metallic jewelry that Canaanites also wore, and do not have aesthetic designs credited to the Phoenicians to the north, may be concluded to be the work of local craftspeople in the Israelite kingdoms.

2.1 Crescent Pendants

These are flat crescent-shaped pendants typically made of copper alloys, silver, or gold, though bone examples have been found. They are either strung through a hollow tab at the center of the pendant, connected to a string via two perforations in the crescent itself, or possibly directly sewn into clothing by those same perforations.

These pendants first appear in the area in the Middle Bronze Age (18th - 16th centuries BCE) and appear in archaeological contexts through the Iron Age II, with designs getting simpler over time.

What they represent is debated. Most intuitive to most people reading this would probably be the crescent moon, which was a widely used symbol in the Ancient Near East, either as a symbol of fertility or of redemption and regeneration. The moon cult has been extant in the region for a long time at this point (Jericho, one of the oldest cities in the world, is named after the local moon god Yarikh, who is also the source of the Hebrew word for The Moon, Yareakh).

Other hypotheses include bulls horns or boars tusks, the later of which were used in the area to ward the evil eye away from horses through the Ottoman Period in the Levant. This is further supported by one of the specimen from the Middle Bronze Age in Megiddo is apparently too large to be worn comfortably by a human, and lines up nicely with a story from the biblical story of Gidon taking crescents as spoils of war from Midianite camels in the book of Judges.

2.2 Rings

2.2.1 Finger Rings

Finger rings with bezels (a wider portion used for mounting or displaying an object or image) are by no means a Israelite invention; the style they imitated comes from Egyptian scarab rings, named for their scarab-shaped bezels, which first appeared around 2000 BCE. However, types were worn by Israelites, and their innovations on the style are of interest.

(Egyptian scarabs and scarab rings, via Wikimedia Commons)

The first style Israelites used, all dating to the 7th and 6th centuries BCE, widens and flattens the metal of the ring at its terminal ends, which can support a scarab or other bezel. The rings are made of silver or gold and flattened ends are decorated with flowers, palmettes, or other forms of decorative flora.

The bezel may be made of gold, silver, faience (ancient glass) or may be absent entirely (though it's possible the bezel was simply lost to the sands of time). Unfortunately, such rings are rare (and some of them are poorly documented), so a more robust typology is difficult.

The second form more closely resembles a traditional Egyptian scarab; a round body to the ring with a flattened area at the tips of the terminal ends to support a bezel that may be swiveled on its axis to show off all sides of the piece (this was very important with scarabs, as the bezel was shaped to resemble like a beetle and the flat bottom bore a seal or inscription). The key difference is the material of the scarabs: where the Egyptian scarab is faience or stone, the Israelite 'scaraboid' is made of metal, and the carved scarab is nonexistent.

These are extremely rare and only appear in the record at the end of the Iron Age II (right before the diaspora) and in the Persian period following, so they may have been a relatively short-lived phenomenon - at the same time similar non-metallic, non-ring seals and scarabs are relatively common.

2.2.2 Large Rings

A form of large ring (that is large enough to fit on a limb rather than a finger) that only appears in Israelite contexts has a catch to secure it in place, using a diamond-shaped end and a U-shaped end with upturned ends. Only four of these have been found, all made of a copper alloy, and all from the latter half of the Iron Age II (8th-7th centuries BCE)

This wearing of metal bracelets and anklets appears to be a holdover from Canaanite traditions, where we see depictions of goddesses wearing such items. That, their rarity, and idea that the innovation here is functional rather than aesthetic, are why I believe is why Golani doesn't consider this as a uniquely 'Israelite' jewelry form.

It should be noted here that these are not the only large rings found in the Israelite kingdoms, and evidence from graves indicate that both men and women wore single, solid metal arm-bands as jewelry. Women may have also worn multiple, simple, large rings as bangles as depicted in figurines (which to my chagrin told me nothing about hair, but I digress). This may be a local innovation by Southern Canaanites and Israelites, as the Phoenicians to the north are not depicted this way. Bangles were made of many materials; copper alloys, silver, gold, iron, and even shell.

(More common styles of large rings found in the Israelite kingdoms alongside the rare locking one above)

2.3 Earrings

The styles of earring Israelites used were innovations on earlier Canaanite styles, and were so numerous I'll just be showing archetypal forms and the uniquely Israelite ones, otherwise I might as well rewrite the whole book.

2.3.1 'Lunate Earrings'

These earrings are solid metal (usually silver or copper, but any nice metal works) with a crescent body, a bent and tapered hoop that is narrower than the body, and ends that usually meet at one side.

(Simple Lunate Earrings, found throughout the Ancient Near East)

The most common Israelite version of this earring, and indicative of the Iron Age II (our time period of interest), widens the lunate and rounds out the whole earring for a more robust, heavy design, often with a small rise in the center of the body

Towards the end of the Iron Age II, the hoop elongates and decorations such as wire wrapping or soldered hoops and globules appear on the lunate, and are made of exclusively expensive metals such as silver and gold.

A unique final example comes from the city of Lachish in the Shephelah of Judah from the 8th century BCE (Iron Age II). 'At least a dozen' lunate earrings were found in a corroded mass in a burial cave. at least one of these depicted the head and torso of a woman, but the corrosion of the pieces precluded further analysis.

2.3.2 Lunates with Fixed Attachments

A more ornamental variation on the lunate where the body has an attachment joined to it. The archetypal form of the attachment is that of a hollow ball, tear, or pear, and is further decorated with wiring or soldered globules. Much more detailed than the basic lunates, these seem to typically be made of nicer metals such as silver and gold.

These evolved from much simpler tear and globule attachments worn by Canaanites as early as the Middle Bronze Age.

There is an variant of these solid globule attachments that is common in the 8th - 7th centuries BCE with a ring of globules supporting a center orb, that I think is neat, but is kind of an evolutionary offshoot of the more ornate attachments.

Towards the end of the Iron Age II, elaborate attachments begin to appear, including clusters, rows, and pyramids (or even rows of pyramids!) of globules, as well as fans and the elaborate hollow examples above.

It should be noted that these more ornate forms of earrings are rare in Israelite society, the simple lunates and solid globule attatchment lunates were by far the most common forms of ear ornamentation.

Part 3: Conclusion

When looking at the more common pieces of jewelry among Israelites, bone pendants and copper alloy metal rings and earrings in relatively simple forms seem to be the most common items, despite the wealth of the kingdoms attested to by Assyrian records of what they looted during their invasions.

Additionally depictions of Israelites generally show them without jewelry (but that may be due to them being depicted by conquerors who took their jewelry, rather than by Israelites themselves).

So what's with this apparent aesthetic of austerity? According to Amir Golani, the Israelite kingdoms may not have been poor, but the Israelite Identity as separate from Canaanites possibly started as a rejection of the Canaanite City State culture of the Late Bronze Age, and a general distaste of luxury goods may have persisted through the development of the ethnicity to a more spartan aesthetic overall (this is not just seen in jewelry, Israelite pottery is basically earlier Canaanite forms, just undecorated, with some exceptions).

If you made it this far, congratulations! I hope this was as interesting to read as it was to look into, and thank you for your time.

[bonefall]

Clanmew Masterpost

Clanmew is a constructed language made for Warrior Cats that I, @bonefall, run with my buddy @troutfur! I make the vocab and he does the grammar. I hope that this post will become a good, central place to keep links to everything we've done so far.

CURRENT VERSION: 1.0 LAST UPDATE: 6/3/2023

Clanmew is an OSV-order language, made with the sounds cats make in mind. "Base Clanmew" is built around the Clan Culture updates of the Better Bones AU, which means it is made with the ecology of southwestern Northern England in mind and only contains words for plants and animals found there. It also has phrases for cooking and crafting.

(specific regions modeled: Lancashire, Chester, Manchester, Merseyside, Clwydd is modeled for river biomes specifically)

You are free to use it for your own projects! We encourage you to consider how this language would evolve in your Clan's history, and add or remove words to make a dialect that reflects the culture's feelings and needs.

THE BASICS:

Everything you need to know for basic structure is in CLANMEW 101. Start here.

We have a constantly updating LEXICON of all the words we have made so far.

Have you made a dialect? Let me know and I can link you here so others can see what you're doing with it!

Below the cut:

In-universe information; How Clanmew evolved linguistically

"Expansion Pack" posts where I discuss etymology

Pronunciation stuff (until I make that IPA chart I keep promising)

Working translations; Names, parables, OC submissions

Dialect submissions (These are manned by other people!)

Historical Trivia

The linguistic evolution of Clanmew from Old Tribemew and Parkmew

Animals are named for the sounds they make.

How pronouns for objects change based on how the speaker feels about it.

More, using human examples

there is a secret post about cursing but you have to find that on your own ;)

Through Time Travel Shenanigans, Hollyleaf's name evolves into the word "Scourge"

The Clanmew Play-by-Play of that

The word for Everything

How hard is it for speakers of the other in-universe languages to pick up Clanmew?

On nicknames!

Squirrelpaw and Crowfoot discover corn

The names of the three ideologies... also thistles.

The Invalid Five

Expansion Packs

Colors

Directions, way-finding

Spirituality terms

Rocks

Beetles

Follow up: some plant parts

Patch (pattern) vs Patch (plants)

Den, camp, territory, construction

The two violets

Shapes of flowers

Volume

Generic terms

Rollypollies and centipedes

Insults

Rain... because this is England

The Clan Clock; time terms

The four seasons

Clerics and Common Herbs

Roses

Water movement

BIRDS AND BATS

Finches

Texture

Dogs

Mint

Parts of fur

Forest terms

Foxes, parts of a forest

Cuckoo bird

DEER

Shade and understorey

Cedar

Waterside words

Pronunciation Stuff

Closest thing to an IPA chart I currently have

My process for coming up with words based on vibes

I was asked for more behind-the-scenes stuff so here you go?

How I hold my mouth when I speak

Trout Tips

How would Clan cats pronounce the Slavic TS, or the word pizza?

On the Double yy

Working translations

BB!Scourge's new warrior name, Iceheart, in Clanmew... and Nightheart!

Light, moon, wind, BB!Raggedstar's pre-honor title name

OC SUBMISSION: Flameshell, Fogwhisper, Willowsong

OC SUBMISSION: Lichennose, Mudthistle, Longpounce

OC SUBMISSION: Fallensky

PACK PACK KILL KILL

"I love you"

Baby talk

"What have I done?"

"Fool Tale"

How to Clanmew-ify a strange word

Dishonor Title for "Mudpuddle"

OC SUBMISSION: Riverrunner, multiple-word names, walking words

OC SUBMISSION: Firefang, Rabbitdash, Peachfeather, plus a bunch of words for weasel-like animals

Ivypool

The use of tense in names

PROPHECY SUBMISSION: "Dust and flame will combine to destroy home"

Skywatcher

OC SUBMISSION: The Caldwell Family

Foxheart

Runningnose

PROPHECY SUBMISSION: Six will come of every rank

OC SUBMISSION: Witherstrike

"I like this" and also parasitic worms

Prism, rainbow-color

OC SUBMISSION: Piebald Creature

Gayheart

Sneeze and Knockout

OC SUBMISSION: Penny-fitzgerald

OC SUBMISSION: Voidwhisper, Chalkwhistle

OC SUBMISSION: Poppyflare, Spikemane, Blizzardfang

OC SUBMISSION: Burning Hawk-fur

Mistyfoot

BRAMBLESTAR BUTCHERS THE BLOSSOMKIT NAMES

Dialect Submissions

Pfurr Clanmew (@troutfur)