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seonghrtz · 2 months

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𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 ✶ geto suguru

꒰ daylight ! ꒱ geto suguru, a powerful fairy who has had his wings taken from him, finds himself falling in love with the girl who has been cursed by his mother.

❛❛ if you're kind, you might discover something extraordinary you can do ❜❜

pairing. fairy!geto suguru x (aurora)fem!reader.

contents. maleficent universe, fluff, angst, childhood friends to lovers, forbidden love (?), he fell first he fell harder, royal!au, slight age gap (geto is 4 y.o older than reader), mentions of death, maleficent is geto's mom, ooc geto.

amy's note. hi sweetie, this is amy!!! i was so excited to write this one in particular. i love geto so much, and i think he deserves more, but since we are talking about him, it will obviously have a little angst, but with lots of cute and happy moments. i think geto is the one who best fits the whole aesthetic of maleficent, and here we are!!! i hope you enjoy it and have a good read <3

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

𝕺𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄, there was a vast enchanted forest called the Moors. This forest existed a long time ago, even before humans settled within its borders, and it was home to countless magical creatures who lived free. Creatures that humans had never dreamed could exist. They all had their uniqueness and strangeness, and even though they were from different species, they lived in harmony with each other ⸻ something that sometimes even members of the same species could not do. The Moors were neither a kingdom nor a dynasty. Hierarchy was unknown among its inhabitants, everyone was equal (even with their differences). However, the forest had its guardians, the fairies. Fairies, specifically forest fairies, were powerful beings who served as protectors of the forests. They were responsible for keeping the Pillar of Harmony intact and protecting the forest from those with evil and malicious intentions.

When the first humans established their kingdom near the edge of the forest, the relationship between them and the inhabitants of the Moors was one of the best ⸻ which seemed surprising. Curiosity ran through both worlds, which were close but different in many ways. However, as the years went by, this friendly relationship seemed to become more unstable and fragile.

Until the fateful day when Moors lost his guardian to human greed.

Stefan, the young prince of the human kingdom, had greed and selfishness in his heart when he tried to dream that one day he could control the Moors as well as his own kingdom. But things didn't go according to plan and it backfired.

On a frosty dawn, Stefan and a few guards set out on a mission to capture the wings of the Moors' guardian fairy, imprison her, and finally take over the forest. Not as discreet as they should have been, they entered the forest before dawn, armed and determined. Things began to go wrong when, instead of capturing the guardian fairy, they first captured her four-year-old son, Geto Suguru.

The little fairy boy, who was absent-mindedly wandering through the forest, watching the day creatures rest while the night creatures went on with their lives, didn't notice the humans approaching with their evil intentions, and the next thing he knew, he was grabbed by the arms. The boy whimpered and cried, trying desperately to free himself from the arms that were twice his size and stronger than his frail frame. Geto let out an agonizing scream as he felt the metal chains wrapped around the beginning of his wings. The pain and burning made the boy choke on his screams and tears, which mingled into a painful sound.

Once Stefan had gained the wings of the helpless child, he pursued his ambition to gain the wings of the Guardian of the Moors. Geto was thrown to the side, writhing in pain and crying for his lost wings. The pain seemed unbearable. Not just the physical pain, but the pain of knowing that he could no longer fly, that he would never touch the sky again. His freedom in the sky, where no one could reach him, had been taken from him when he was still a helpless child.

"My son..." Geto heard his mother's voice and her footsteps approaching his slumped body. "My dear son... what have they done to you?"

"There you are, Guardian of the Moors." Stefan spat out the words with contempt.

"Young Prince Stefan of the realm of men..." the fairy said, trying to control her anger, "Give my son back his wings!”

"If you give me yours, I might think about returning his... if I don't take them for myself in the future."

"You will regret this moment." The woman's hand closed tightly on her staff.

"And why would I regret it? You're a freak!"

"Your wife is pregnant with a beautiful baby girl who is about to be born, and in a few months, if not weeks, you will take over your human kingdom... it would be a shame to have something as precious as your daughter taken away from you."

"How do you know that, you witch?!" the man shouted angrily.

"Listen, everyone," the fairy said, drawing everyone's attention as a green spell emanated from her, "The princess will indeed grow up with grace and beauty and be loved by those who know her, but at sunset on her eighteenth birthday, she will stick her finger through the spindle of a spinning wheel and then fall into the deep sleep of death! A sleep from which she will never awaken unless awakened by a kiss of true love! And this curse will last forever, no power on earth can change it!"

"How dare you curse my daughter, barely born!" Stefan drew his sword from its sheath and positioned himself to attack the guardian.

"And how dare you rip my son's wings off and think you'd get away with it!"

Geto's eyes blurred with tears and an unbearable pain in his back as he watched his mother fight the future king. The little boy couldn't keep up with what was happening, his head was spinning and the only thing he could see was his mother's last breaths as she was caught off guard at a clear disadvantage in the unfair fight. As his mother fell to her knees, he felt the earth tremble and huge thorns grow larger along the edges of the Moors. Frightened, and not knowing what those giant thorns were, Stefan and his companions fled with Geto's wings, happy that they had killed the guardian of Moors and won her son's wings. Without enough strength, the boy crawled over to his mother's fallen body. He rocked the woman from side to side, trying to wake her, but his actions seemed to be in vain. His mother's heartbeat could no longer be heard. With a tightness in his chest, Geto lay down on his mother's lifeless body and cried himself unconscious.

Deep down, he wished this was all just a nightmare that would end the next day. And he would live happily ever after with his mother.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ✶

With the Wall of Thorns, Moors was protected from any threat from humans or any other creature that tried to take over the forest. Geto thought that time would make him forget that tragic night in his life, but he couldn't have been more wrong. But time only helped him develop a dislike for humans and their arrogance and greed. Time helped Geto work hard to train his powers and learn to live without his wings. Even at the age of eight, he had incredible abilities that might have taken longer to learn.

The sun was rising in the east, and while the nocturnal creatures went to their shelters, the daytime creatures awoke to the sun's rays and began their day. Little Suguru, eight years old, followed the forest path to a lake he always went to in the morning. Ever since he was a baby, his mother had taken him to the pond to pick some of the plants that grew around the edge of the pond. It was a little routine that kept his mother's memory alive.

Geto just didn't expect to be followed that morning.

"Who's there?" The boy turned when he heard the hurried footsteps, but there was no one there. He returned to his destination, but the footsteps followed him again, "Whoever it is, I don't want to play!" A low chuckle echoed through the room, causing Geto to roll his eyes. With an idea in his head, he started on his way again. When the one following him was least expecting it, Suguru quickly turned around to see a little girl half his age fall to the ground, startled by the boy's sudden movement, "What do you think you're doing following me?" Geto crossed his arms in front of him, but all he got in return was a giggle.

Geto watched the little girl sitting on the ground. She didn't seem to belong to any of the species that sheltered in the Moors. She resembled Geto physically, but she didn't have wings or a pair of horns.

"Why do you have horns?" the little girl asked with a smile. She stood up, slapped her hand on her baby blue dress, brushed the dirt off it, and stared at the boy in front of her.

"Because I'm a fairy." Geto rolled his eyes and returned to his morning chores, "Now leave me alone!"

"My fairy aunts don't have horns!" The little girl followed Geto with light footsteps.

"That means we are a different kind of fairy."

"Wow! There's more than one kind of fairy?" the little girl smiled, "I'd like to be a fairy!"

"And why would you like to be a fairy?" asked Geto curiously.

"Because you have magic powers! And some fairies can fly too!" she said, her eyes shining, "I can't do anything interesting or unique, even though my fairy aunts keep telling me I'm a princess, whatever that means, I don't have anything extraordinary about me..."

"If you're kind, you might discover something extraordinary you can do."

"Can I... can I touch your horns?" The little girl asked.

"Um, just once!" Geto leaned down a bit so that the little one could touch his horns.

Geto thought that this little interaction would end right there, and that he would never see this little girl again in the vast forest. He just didn't expect her to come down to the lake with him every morning to talk about anything and everything.

Her presence could fill the boy's loneliness.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ✶

When that little girl told him there was nothing extraordinary about her, Geto was absolutely sure it was a lie. And he seemed to prove it with every passing year. And the passing years never scared Geto, but perhaps his feelings were the only things that could scare him.

Within a few months, the presence of the little human at his side had become commonplace. It was difficult to spend any time apart. They had become inseparable best friends. They were always running around in the forest, playing with each other and with the other creatures that lived there. And from time to time, the girl even helped Geto practice controlling his magic. They shared stories and secrets.

And there was only one secret that he had never shared with her...

Every day, Geto Suguru fell more and more in love with that gentle, delicate human being.

Geto didn't know when he fell in love, for him there was no right moment, he just fell in love. And maybe his feelings were the biggest problem. They couldn't be together, not when they were from different species, or when she was the child his own mother had cursed before she died ⸻ a fact that wasn't hard to discover. The young fairy would have to suppress his feelings and accept that they could never be together in this universe. However, Geto decided to enjoy every minute of his friendship with the human who had stolen his heart until her eighteenth birthday, when she would return to her home ⸻ the human kingdom.

"It's a very nice gift, I'm sure she'll like it," said Dival, the shape-shifter who had been rescued by Geto's mother and had since become the advisor and right hand of the Guardians of the Moors ⸻ and who had also advised Geto in his training.

"It's just a souvenir..." Geto sighed, looking at the amethyst necklace he had made.

"You should tell her your romantic feelings for her..." Dival watched the quick movements of the boy's chest.

"I can't do that, Dival"

"Why not?"

"First of all, she is a princess. Just as I have my responsibilities as the guardian of the Moors, she has hers as the future ruler of the human kingdom. Besides, we're different species. You know how humans treat anything that is different by their standards. Not to mention that we're just friends, that's how she sees me and will always see me..."

"And all this keeps you from being happy in love?" Dival crossed his arms.

"These things aren't as easy as they seem..." Geto sighed softly, "Especially when your feelings aren't reciprocated.

"You should definitely get rid of this idea of unrequited love. She likes you! You can see how she looks at you and how she treats you!"

"It is not like that! She's just kind to me, like she is to all beings. I don't get any special treatment." Geto clutched the amethyst necklace in his hand, afraid of losing it, and left for the young princess' house. "See you soon, Dival!"

"How stubborn he is!" Dival muttered to himself as he watched Geto's figure disappear between the thick-stemmed trees in this part of the forest.

The conversation he'd had with Dival a few minutes ago replayed in his mind: could she possibly reciprocate his romantic feelings?

The answer seemed to be right in front of him…

Geto stopped walking quickly when he noticed the young princess singing a love song while dancing with another human. Perhaps Suguru had to worry about how this tall, white-haired, blue-eyed young man had managed to get past his mother's wall of thorns. But the dreamy smile on the young woman's face made his heart squeeze with pain and fear. The fairy looked away and decided that it would be best to wait until the princess left for her kingdom to deliver her gift ⸻ if only he had the courage.

The young fairy made his way to the lake he used to go to with his mother, which had become one of his meeting places with the young princess, and sat on a rock by the shore, watching the crystal clear water and the aquatic creatures that lived there. Geto didn't know how long he stayed there, pondering feelings that should never have blossomed.

"Sugu!" The princess's voice snapped Geto out of his deep thoughts, and the boy turned back, murmuring her name.

"What are you doing here?" Suguru asked, she should have been on her way to the castle by now.

"You didn't think I would leave without saying goodbye, did you?" The girl smiled and sat down next to the boy.

"I thought you'd be more excited to see where you came from and to see your parents again."

"Yes, I'm excited... But then I remember that I'm leaving all this behind and I get scared..." she sighed.

"You can come back, you know." Geto turned to the princess.

"But the thing is, sometimes I don't know if I really want to go! It's a completely different world, even though it's right next door. And I don't want to leave you..." she looked up at the clear blue sky, it would be a while before it darkened. "Could you come with me?"

"You know what they did to my wings and my mother, I don't think I'll be welcome there." Geto sighed deeply. A few years ago he had told her the fateful story of the day King Stefan invaded the Moors, but he hadn't told her that it was his father who had orchestrated the attack and torn off his wings.

"I know, I just don't want to be away from you."

"Come to me whenever you want, I'll be here waiting for you." Geto gently held the princess' hand and placed the stone from the necklace in her palm. The young woman smiled gently and hugged Suguru until he gasped for breath, drawing a laugh from her.

And Geto, deep in his heart, hoped that she would come back as soon as possible.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ✶

Geto put his hand to his forehead and took a deep breath. He was sitting on a kind of throne made of twisted logs and thorns, the place he usually used for one of his duties as Guardian. The sky was dark and the stars were not visible, and Geto found himself clinging more and more to the mere memories that floated through his mind.

"Geto! Geto!" Dival's desperate voice came from afar in his raven form, flying as fast as he could.

"What now, Dival?" Geto watched as the crow turned into a human in front of him.

"They're invading the Moors!"

"WHAT?!" Suguru quickly got up from his seat, eyes wide with disbelief at the news.

"Your mother's curse somehow came true and King Stefan was furious, he sent troops to attack the Moors, but apparently the wall is keeping them out, but I'm afraid that won't last long."

"The sleep curse has come true..." Geto sighed" Suguru looked at a random spot on the ground, his face blank, "She will sleep forever..."

"Can you wake her?" Dival asked.

"I've tried over the years, when I found out she was the princess my mother cursed, it didn't work."

"Can't you try now that the curse has come true?"

"I could try..." Geto looked at Dival, who seemed to be hiding something, but revealed it by looking for ways to wake the princess. "First we have to get there, then I'll think about waking her."

"You'll have to get past the king's troops first."

"That's the least of the problems, Dival," Geto smiled sideways.

And indeed, the troops of the human army were no match for Geto Suguru's power. With a flick of his finger, the fairy immobilized the soldiers, sending them into a deep sleep until he could reverse the spell. Determined, he made his way to the castle, using his magic to clear the way and avoid any unpleasant and unnecessary conflicts.

"King Stefan..." His voice rang out from the throne room, drawing the king's attention.

"You!" the king said in a voice of disgust.

"Well, I think you know that we have some unresolved issues in the past that make me hold on with all my might so as not to crush that tiny little brain of yours. However, due to the current circumstances, I'd like you to listen to my somewhat irrefutable proposal." Geto's hands closed on the staff that had once belonged to his mother.

"What do you want?"

"Wow, that was pretty quick to convince you..." a sideways smile appeared on Suguru's lips, "If you, noble king, withdraw your troops from the Moor's border of your own free will and never come near my forest again, perhaps I can wake your beloved and sweet daughter."

"Can you wake her?" the king's voice came out choked. In addition to his ego, his daughter's life was at stake.

"Only on my terms!" Suguru lied.

"I promise, I promise to leave your forest alone, just save my daughter!"

"I hope you keep your promise or the consequences will be unimaginable." Geto's voice was firm, "Take me to the princess."

The king, still unsure of his decision, ordered one of his guards to take Geto to where the princess rested in her deep sleep. As the fairy entered the huge, luxurious room, he encountered a figure he didn't like very much. The white-haired boy turned towards Suguru, his hands clenching the wooden staff. Geto's purple eyes met the crystal blue of the stranger he had caught dancing with the princess in the forest not long ago.

"Black hair and a pair of horns? You must be the guardian of the Moors," the blue-eyed boy said.

"Get out of here," Geto said, controlling his tone.

"Wow, the princess said you were kind, I don't see much of that kindness," the boy smiled sideways and crossed his arms in front of him. "I bet your kiss would wake her up..." he muttered to himself, getting ready to leave the room.

"What did you say?" Geto looked at the stranger suspiciously.

"Nothing." The boy smiled. "If you'll excuse me, I have some diplomatic business to attend to with the king."

After the boy left, Geto made his way to the princess's bed, where she slept peacefully. This was not a new sight; they had already fallen asleep by the lake they visited every day ⸻ it seemed like yesterday that Geto was studying the princess's features, memorizing all her curves and smallest details under the starry sky. But unlike the last time they had slept in each other's company, when the first rays of sunlight had awakened him and the princess had cracked a broad smile and wished Suguru a good morning, she wouldn't wake up now, not if the spell wasn't broken. Geto sighed, he had been quietly trying to remove the spell from his mother ever since he had discovered that she was the Princess, Stefan's daughter, but nothing was strong enough to break it. And even now, after years of training and trying to control his power, nothing woke her.

"I'm sorry..." Geto's voice came out lower than usual, "I'm sorry I couldn't save you! It's my fault that I was so weak that none of my attempts to free you from this curse worked. I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you needed and be who you wanted, I'm not worthy of having you by my side, not when the only thing that prevails in my heart is hatred. You're too good for this world, too good for me. I wish I could do anything to have you by my side... just once." With a trembling hand, Geto reached for the icy cheek of the sleeping princess and slowly moved closer, touching his lips lightly to hers. He whispered another apology and turned, ready to flee the castle and fortify the wall around Moors, knowing that the king would not let his lies go unchallenged.

"Sugu...?" The weak, sleepy voice of the princess made the fairy stop walking quickly and turn towards the young woman. "You came to see me?"

"I just wanted to see if you arrived safely."

"I just fell asleep..." She sat down on the bed and smiled, "Couldn't you stay a little longer, I want to show you the castle... please."

"Then let's go..." Geto relented.

"Come on, I want you to see everything here!" She smiled openly and hugged Suguru tightly before wrapping her right arm around the fairy's left and leading him through the castle corridors to the throne room where Stefan was.

When they arrived at the scene, the king looked in surprise at his daughter, who was well and awake, and observed the intertwined arms with disgust.

"Arrest him!" the king shouted to the guards, who attacked Suguru, knocking his staff from his hand and binding him to his arm with steel chains, causing the fairy to scream in agony. The princess looked up in horror and saw Geto being carried away, writhing in pain. She tried to save him from the guards, but was stopped by other guards at the king's behest.

"What are you doing?" she looked at the king with watery eyes, "Let him go, please! He hasn't done anything! Please leave him alone!"

"Don't worry, child, I'm just saving our kingdom from this freak!"

"Freak?!" the young woman looked at her parents in disbelief, "He's a living being, just like us! He's never done anything wrong, no evil! Geto Suguru is the kindest person I know, please let him go!"

"HIS MOTHER CURSED YOU, DO YOU THINK I'LL FORGIVE HIS KIND FOR THAT?!"

"How can you blame him when you are the real culprit?"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?"

"My fairy aunts told me that you stole Geto's wings and killed his mother in an attempt to take over the Moors." Tears streamed down the young woman's face, "How could you dare to do such a cruel thing, he was just a child!"

"WHAT DOES IT MATTER? THEY TOOK YOU AWAY FROM ME!"

"And you took away his mother! Forever!" The princess wiped her tears with her hands and released the guards. "Because of their selfish desires, the Moors are afraid of humans, afraid of losing their families and their freedom, they are not hideous monsters, they have feelings too. And I can't stay in a place and with people who feel entitled to destroy the lives of everything that is different from them!"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ✶

The princess ran frantically through the castle corridors as she fled from the guards. After arguing with her father, she soon fled the place, determined to find Geto and free him from prison so they could return to Moors. Looking for a place to lose the guards, she entered a dark room and waited for the guards to pass by. When the sound of footsteps quickly faded, she breathed a sigh of relief; now she would have one less problem to worry about when she found Suguru. However, something piqued her interest when she noticed something in the middle of the room. It looked like a cupboard covered with a long, thick, dusty cloth. She approached the object and, without thinking twice, pulled the cloth down, revealing what it was.

The huge glass box allowed her to see inside, and the young woman couldn't hide her surprise when she realized that she was standing in front of Suguru's wings, which had been stolen by her father.

‘They are beautiful...' the young woman thought, staring in wonder at the pair of wings in front of her. However, she quickly snapped out of her trance when she heard footsteps in the hallway. She took a deep breath, picked up the wings, wrapped them in the cloth, and carefully ran to the catacombs where the cells were.

Noticing that no one was in the catacombs, the princess left her wings in a hidden corner and, on tiptoe, picked up the key hanging on the wall near the exit and went to the cell where Geto was.

"Sugu...?" She whispered, searching the darkness for the fairy. When she heard the boy call her name, she let out a relieved sigh and opened the cell, approaching the fairy in the corner, who was writhing in pain, her wrists aching from the handcuffs. Gently, the princess removed the handcuffs and asked him to wait for her while she fetched something. She walked quickly, picking up Geto's wings where she had left them, but the wings seemed to move on their own with each step she took as she approached him. When the wings slipped from her hands and met their true owner, the princess was even more amazed to see Geto with his majestic wings.

"As much as I'd like to admire you longer, I'm afraid we have to leave as soon as possible before they come looking for me here!"

"Why are we running away?"

"I may have had a fight with my father..."

"You did what?" Geto asked incredulously.

"I had a fight with my father after you were taken away, I can't let my father treat you like that."

"You shouldn't have fought with him... not for me. You just came back home, you found your family again..."

"Why don't you let me save you just this once?" the young woman took Geto's hands in her own, "When I arrived here, I must admit I was excited by the idea of a new world, new places to explore and new people to meet, but at no time did I feel like I belonged here, not like I did in Moors. So please, take me home with you..."

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Geto asked, trying to hide his happiness at what he had just heard from the princess.

"I am absolutely sure."

"Then let's go home!"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ✶

The princess clung to Geto as tightly as she could while the fairy flew through the sky as if there was no tomorrow. Over the years, Suguru had resigned himself to never experiencing that feeling of freedom again, but apparently he was wrong. Having his wings again seemed like a dream, and to his happiness, it was a dream come true.

When they arrived in Moors, the princess asked Dival to deliver a letter to the king, saying that she had run away and would return to the forest and live there, where she had always felt at home, but that she could occasionally visit the kingdom and spend time with her biological family if they wanted her around.

"Are you going to fly around all night?" The princess asked with a smile as she watched Geto approach her.

"Maybe, it feels too good to stop."

"Your wings... They are beautiful... may I touch them?"

With a feeling of déjà vu, Geto approached the princess and allowed her to gently run her hand over the black feathers of his wings.

"Thank you... for saving me and for loving me as much as I love you."

"Wha... what?"

"I like you, Suguru. I like you so much that sometimes I feel like my heart will explode if I stay by your side for too long... you're my everything. That's why I want to be selfish and have you by my side until the end of this world."

"Well, I think I'll be more than happy to stay by your side until you don't want me anymore." Geto approached the princess, placing one of his hands on her waist, pulling her closer to his body, while the other rested on her cheek, his thumb making a light circular caress of her skin. Slowly, Suguru brought his lips to hers and gave her a soft kiss, which was immediately returned by the princess. Even though he had dreamed of this moment for a long time, Geto didn't rush into the kiss, but enjoyed and savored every moment that their lips were together, as if they had all the time in the world.

"I love you more than you can imagine..." When they broke apart for lack of air, Geto rested his forehead on hers and smiled openly, it all seemed like a dream and if it turned out to be a dream, he didn't want to wake up ever again. The fairy's hands closed around the young woman's waist and he hugged her tightly, as if she could disappear from his arms at any moment.

"But I love you more." The princess said as she rested her cheek on Suguru's chest and listened to his heartbeat, which was slowing down.

"That's impossible, darling!" Geto smiled openly and kissed the princess's forehead, "But I'll let you believe it is."

352 notes · View notes

scourgebff · 4 months

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more from the hollycinder partners in crime au, their little family ( original concept/au idea by @the-owl-tree )! i imagine dovewing got cinderheart’s build with hollyleaf’s striking features while ivypool is leaning more towards hollyleaf’s tall stature but cinderheart’s recognizable markings.

holly’s disappearance into the tunnels after upending the entire normalcy of thunderclan had left quite a stir in her wake. ivy and dove grow up trying to make sense of and deal with her legacy in their own ways. cinder is in the middle, fiercely protecting her daughters’ youth from a world which wants to press the weight of everything on their shoulders far too readily while also struggling to figure out her own identity.

very detailed brainrot under the cut

it seemed like an ironic twist of fate in the eyes of lionblaze and jayfeather that dove was to take holly’s part in the prophecy, quickly sweeping her under their wing and closely guiding her paws. the lingering worry that she would stray from them and onto a dangerous path as holly had- doubly so since lion was made dove’s mentor. lion is fiercely protective of dove, seeing in her a bright potential and genuinely wants her to succeed. however it is quite clear to everyone that he’s projecting his sister onto her, for all her talent and resourcefulness going beyond the shadowy pelt and leading to heightened expectations. dove swallows down her discomfort at the pressure, wanting to make everyone proud and live up to their expectations, not only as warrior but as part of a prophecy so much larger than herself. one that she feels is partially to blame for driving her other parent away, as jay eventually reveals to her to full truth, leading to feelings of guilt she doesn’t even particularly understand. torn between stars and shadows, her paws wander over clan borders in search of an answer or escape for herself while discovering things she’d never expect.

meanwhile ivy feels like a spectator in her own life. listening in on near constant rumors and gossip about her family that she isn’t even included in, instigated by a cat she doesn’t even know. getting even further frustrated by just how passively helpless to remedy anything she is. while cinder treats the two girls completely equally, ivy isn’t blind to the practically palpable anticipation thunderclan holds towards dove. she’s a prodigy, with the undivided attention of both the clan’s healers and one if not the strongest warrior as a mentor, sent on journeys and given extra assignments as cats discuss how promising she is- yet also the level of suspicion cats hold towards her for being related to both a traitor, a healer, and a windclanner. ivy is of course of the exact same blood, yet she might as well not exist to anyone but dove and cinder bar a few extended family members. feeling isolated yet reluctant to try and burden her already troubled closest kin with insecurities she feels are ‘insignificant’, ivy meets hawkfrost who seems to not mind listening. in fact he says he relates to her, having a controversial family history himself. ivy asks for advice, ending up gaining confidence with his helpful suggestions and in turn drawing closer to the dark forest. she seems more well adjusted, yet in truth she’s merely getting better at lying and giving cats a spectacle to notice her by. while her social life improves, the unease in her grows as she’s gradually lured into working for the dark forest. ivy with new confidence and supposedly trustworthy new friends feels as if she can balance the danger despite rising escalation.

cinder, ivy, and dove remain extremely close. there is certainly friction between ivy and dove, however cinder is incredibly involved in their lives. refusing to let them lash out at each other and drift apart, she’s reminded all too painfully of her bitter last interaction with holly. she regrets how they ended, strangely enough considering how she didn’t regret dirtying her paws with blood to cover up holly’s sins. what she will not tolerate however is disrespect against her kits, growing estranged from her childhood friends jay and lion upon seeing how oddly they treat dove. it’s an uncomfortable situation, yet dove and ivy both are incredibly grateful to always have cinder in their corner. just for her they’ll set their reservations towards each other aside to form an at least temporarily stable truce. that being said, cinderheart being a reincarnation of cinderpelt actually has relevance to her character here that can be a whole other post on its own so i won’t go into it.

holly is more washed than a rack full of clean dishes icl. fleeing into the tunnels was a temporary solution, made at the peak of her mental crisis she initially tries to ignore how horrifically she treated so many cats. pushing it aside, and trying to restart herself. yet she can never forget cinder, even when she leaves the tunnels to become a wanderer cinder’s loyalty always sticks out so clearly. the kindness that holly had pushed and pushed and pushed until it broke and now here they were after that blow-out argument upon the gathering’s aftermath. a lot can be said for the time she’s out living as a rouge, but she eventually will have to come back and face her horrible past mistakes. unfortunately not before meeting a cat who might change everything for the worse- darktail C:

there’s some more i could mention because the cinderholly brainrot is infectious but i already rambled enough sorry TY IF U ACTUALLY READ THIS LOL UH </3 reward for making it down here is the fullbodies of these very normal not tortured individuals i consider them an equally normal amount

#warrior cats #wc #hollyleaf #cinderheart #dovewing #ivypool #hollycinder #hollyleaf x cinderheart #my art

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mercurygray · 5 months

Text

So I Hear You Liked...World War Two Dramas

What's that? You said you wanted a World War Two series where women actually speak to each other? Have I got a deal for you!

When Band of Brothers first came out, I did not have cable, but what I did have was a card at a library that owned seemingly every PBS drama ever broadcast. I know and love a lot of these shows, and I hope you do, too.

As we wait for Masters of the Air to join us, maybe you can fill some time with one of these!

Classic: These shows were made in the 70s and 80s and while the production values are not the same as something made more recently, they're all fun to watch.

Danger UXB - daily life in a bomb disposal unit.

Dad's Army - comedy show about the Home Guard.

Hogan's Heroes - situational comedy about life in a POW camp.

Piece of Cake - follows British pilots stationed in France as the Phony War begins.

Homefront Perspectives:

✨Housewife, 49 - Based on the wartime diary of Nella Last, who participated in the Mass Observation project. One of my favorites.

✨Foyle’s War - procedural crime drama following DCS Foyle and hsi team as he solves murders in wartime Britain. Another favorite.

Island at War - Wartime life on the Channel Islands during the German occupation

Land Girls - Follows the lives of a group of Land Girls working on an estate farm.

Bomb Girls - Follows the lives of a group of workers in a Toronto munitions factory.

Home Fires - Life in a small British town near an air base. Based on a book.

World On Fire - Follows the disparate lives of several people in several countries as the war begins.

✨All Creatures Great and Small - The life of Yorkshire Vet James Herriot, based on the book series of the same title. A favorite, both the 1970s original and the 2020 version.

A French Village - Daily life in a French village is upended as the Germans invade. Follows the same village through the entire war.

My Mother and Other Strangers - An Irish village deals with the introduction of an American Air Force base.

Colditz - life in one of the war's most infamous POW camps. Features Damian Lewis!!

Atlantic Crossing - the life of Crown Princess Marta of Norway as she tries to advocate for her country while living in the United States.

The Halycon - Life in a posh London hotel during the 1940s

Spies and Science:

X Company - Canadian drama about life overseas for spies

Resistance - French wartime drama about a woman in the French underground movement

Restless - Postwar drama about a woman who spied for the Russians in England during the war.

✨Manhattan - If you liked Oppenheimer, have I got a show for you!! Follows the lives of several scientists and their families as they move to Los Alamos. A favorite.

✨The Heavy Water War - Norwegian/British operations Grouse and Gunnerside to destroy German heavy water plant. A favorite.

The Twelfth Man - Norwegian sabotage operation gets shot down in occupied Norway.

✨Generation War - German experience of war from variety of perspectives. This show is excellent. Everyone should watch this.

✨SAS: Rogue Heroes - Follows the foundation of a parachute regiment in North Africa that would eventually become the basis for Britain's commando units. A favorite.

Postwar:

A Place to Call Home - very soapy Australian post-war drama about an upperclass family.

Our Wonder Years - Follows three sisters in post-war Germany as they attempt to confront the past.

Tannbach - Follows a family whose German town is split in two along the new East-West border.

The Defeated - Crime drama following a policeman trying to find his brother in post-war Berlin

Small Island- a Jamaican woman moves to London after the war and tries to adjust to a country that doesn't want her there

Call the Midwife - Social drama in the 1960s addressing the health and lives of the post-war poor of London.

#band of brothers #so i hear you liked #i'm gonna rec it #masters of the air

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fatehbaz · 4 months

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what does your username mean?

Cat ghost.

As child. Would go to library, to look at books about creatures, with a pen and notepad. Or sit before a television watching "nature" documentary stuff, with a pen and notepad. Was fixated on habitats. The context. Did not like to isolate an individual creature from the wider ecological community. This led to interest in geography, distribution range maps. Was aware that, in popular perception, some creatures were strongly associated with a particular place. "Lion is an African animal. Tiger is an Asian animal." Allegedly. And other stereotypes (many of them, I would later come to learn, due to chauvinism, exoticism, Orientalism, colonialism, etc.). Came across a kind of large textbook on wild cats. Saw the historical distribution maps. Only a few centuries ago, tigers were in Anatolia, the Caucasus, near the shores of the Black Sea. Was intrigued. From the middle of the twentieth century onward, the lion and cheetah were so closely associated with Africa, where like over 99% of their range was located. And yet. There remains a small remnant population of nearly-extinct Asiatic lions far away within India''s borders. And there remains a small remnant population of nearly-extinct Asiatic cheetahs within Iran's borders. And all that space, in between, where both cats were now extinct. Only 100 years ago, tiger, lion, leopard, and cheetah all lived generally near each other, still, in eastern Anatolia, near Mesopotamia, etc. And now, only a few dozen wild native cheetah remain on the entire continent of Asia.

"Cheetah". The word for this cat is from South Asia. Through Hindi, from Sanskrit.

"What happened?" I read on. Cheetahs were present within the national borders of what is now India, along with tigers, lions, and leopards. By the 1500s, there was a tradition in South Asia, where some in the Mughal aristocracy enjoyed using cheetahs as companions in sport hunting. The cats would be captured in the wild, and then trained, and then brought along on royal hunts. The cat was the star athlete, goaded into chasing down prey, for the entertainment of the hunting party. There are elaborate paintings, commissioned by Mughal courts and some now displayed in collections of European museums, depicting trained cheetah hunts. It has since been popularly said that Akbar was particularly fond of cheetahs. (Akbar the Great was the "emperor" who is credited often for consolidating Mughal state power across India, solidifying regional power by building administrative systems/structures in India ["forging an empire out of fiefdoms"] that would later eventually be manipulated and overtaken by the British Empire. According to some tellings of the historical narrative.)

Accurate or not, it was said that at any one time, Akbar possessed one thousand cheetahs. A vast royal menagerie. The names of several of the most celebrated cheetahs are still known. In some stories, when he was still young, Akbar was presented with a gift. His very first cheetah: Fatehbaz.

This disturbed me. A child, reading this book, I was upset by the idea of such a vast menagerie of wild animals. Large wild animals, with great need for food, space, enrichment. I was upset by the exploitation of captive wild animals as displays of aristocratic wealth, not just in the Mughal state(s), but also those menageires and exhibitions elsewhere, both earlier and later in time: the royal hunts of Assyrian kings, the Roman arenas, Charlemagne's elephants, European circuses.

So, as a child, I imagined that Fatehbaz resisted the captivity. Like in a daydream, a fantasy. I imagined a royal menagerie breaking free from restraint. I imagined elephants and rhinos and tigers and lions and leopards and jackals and crocodiles. I imagined the beasts attacking an emperor's court. But there are now less than one hundred cheetahs which survive in the wild in Asia. And when Mughal statecraft gave way to European statecraft, when Britain moved into South Asia, the bounty hunting specifically targeted big cats. And, meanwhile, the cats were confronted indirectly with habitat destruction, commodity crop monocultures, industrial-scale resource extraction. So I came to imagine the ghosts of cats. The ghost of a cheetah like Fatehbaz on the Indus plain. The ghost of a jaguar in the Sonoran desert. The ghost of a lion on the Mediterranean coast. The ghost of a tiger on the Amu Darya shore beyond Bukhara, where even the Aral Sea itself has vanished.

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bonefall · 2 months

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For Riverstar’s Heir, do you have any idea where you want to land themeatically? Because from my reading of the possible themeatic directions, with the whole story being about this crisis of politics and succession, it feels like the character who “should” become the next leader of RiverClan narratively should be the Most ruthless/aggressive/willing to resort to dishonorable methods of dealing with rivals (reinforcing RiverClan’s entry into/building up of the early Clans’ emerging systems of battle society)

The alternative “most interesting” option I can imagine would be one that is least likely/least aggressive/some otherwise sort of underdog candidate (maybe not even technically “legal” depending on what qualifications there are for heirship?), but I’m not sure exactly what themes that would play into, other than maybe how the pursuit of power can change someone?

That said, your themeatic instincts are strong enough that I can see you having a strong idea for a “middle-of-the-pack” candidate winning out over the others just as much, so— I am genuinely curious what your thoughts are for where you Want this crisis of succession to end, narratively, even if you don’t have an exact cat picked yet.

Good ask because I'd not been clear about the theme yet, I think. What Riverstar's Heir is trying to get at, at the heart of the issue, is that this is a bloodbath caused by naiive optimism and greed.

The commandments to establish borders and prevent killing are nice, but not enough. You can't just have a society on good will, not when POWER is up for grabs in the scramble. It's about collapse, and how innocent, well-meaning people get caught up in the devastation. Not JUST the troublemakers.

Riverstar was an EXCELLENT king, beloved and wise, but if you don't prepare a proper successor, everything you worked hard to build might crumble to ruin.

Something unique is lost in this shuffle. It's no longer the River Kingdom, and the Wind Coalition also becomes WindClan at this point. For better, and for worse, they both lose a bit of what made them special. Redscar's choice at the end also solidifies the early political power of Clerics, which is eventually broken many generations later with Larkwing's Strike.

So, fragment time,

At LEAST three "heirs" end up getting killed.

So, because these ones are gonna die, I have Three Heir "Slots" that I'm committed to and just need to fill;

The Eldest, Riverstar's oldest living biological child.

The Chosen, Riverstar's adopted heir, a rather meek prince easily pressured into backing off his rightful claim. This one is likely going to be the BB! version of Mossfire.

The Firstblood, directly descended from Riverstar's FIRSTborn child. This one is likely going to be the BB! version of Jumpfoot.

I also have two tentative slots.

The Accomplished... who is a blood relative of Riverstar, but more of a "puppet" for WindCo. Someone they're intentionally propping up hoping for power.

The Diplomat, from WindClan, who is a lot like WindCo's puppet but this one is more subtle about it. Poetic. Happy to purr and remind the world of the wonderful, deep ties that had existed between King Riverstar and Thunderstar.

And, LASTLY, there's The Deputy. The most qualified choice, who served Riverstar, but was no relative.

It feels right that the Deputy is the one who is chosen in the end... hm.

Anyway

After a smaller conflict near the start of the story, either The Eldest or The Firstblood seems to be the favorite to win... but decides to wait for the morning to set out for the Moonstone and take their lives.

In this time period, without selecting a successor, this heir is assassinated.

In fact it might be VERY fun if this heir, being so much like King Riverstar himself, decided to throw a pre-emptive celebration.

Meat! Merriment! MURDER!!!

Having them go out via poison would be a fun way to send a character off.

This is going to be why the "DEPUTY BEFORE MOONHIGH" rule is established, but it's also what kicks off the bloodier parts of the plot.

Thinking about it... a cleric and/or the deputy should probably tell this heir, "Hey, buddy, you should really get going" and they're ignored.

With Eldest Heir gone, the small conflict from earlier becomes an LARGE conflict.

And, like they did back in DOTC, families start to rally together. Especially Eldest's offspring, who think they're just as entitled to the Throne as The Firstblood/Jumpfoot

King Riverstar used to encourage cats to enter the River Kingdom freely. The borders were essentially open, and everyone was allowed in, as long as they were willing to cross the river.

(maybe I'll even have him pull down the tree from Riverstar's Home intentionally, happy to accept other cats into his Kingdom. Then he defends it from Skystar, specifically, but refuses to destroy what he built.)

This had allowed River Kingdom to grow large and powerful, but it also meant everyone in River Kingdom had connections to the other Clans.

Which meant there were cats supporting OTHER bids to the Throne, like the one from WindCo and the one from ThunderClan.

Smelling a way to grab power, Duststar supports his favorite heir, and Whitestar of ThunderClan also begins to stick his nose in.

Each Heir tries to run the River Kingdom, and things start to get hostile. If there's more than just the three heirs, even more of them start to get openly attacked, chased out, killed, until there's only The Chosen and The Firstblood left.

Somewhere around here, River Kingdom is invaded. Probably by the leader of SkyClan at the time, claiming that they don't even NEED an heir to take what these cats clearly don't deserve.

And that's when the internal conflict becomes a FULL-BLOWN WAR between four Clans.

In those days, the camp was at Sunningrocks, right in the middle of the river.

ThunderClan jumps in to help its "Ally" against SkyClan, just like historical precedent, but they have NO IDEA who they're fighting against, because the whole Kingdom is divided. It's not as simple as it was in DOTC anymore.

WindCo came to support its favorite heir, but its cats don't obey Duststar's orders when it comes down to fighting their own friends and family, meaning they're functionally fighting EVERYONE and losing a TON of cats

SkyClan is getting pummeled because EVERY group is pissed at them as well as each other, getting a painful awakening that they are NOT being run by Skystar the War God anymore and they're no longer the biggest, baddest bananas in the bunch

(shadowclan is watching all of this and eating popcorn. moisturized. in their lane. unbothered.)

The climax here, between The Chosen and The Firstblood, is a battle that matches the chapter from COTC. They launch at each other, in a battle to the death.

The first Sunningrocks Battle.

They both wear "crowns" on their head, one custom made for Mossfire's short-furred head, and traditional, braided into Jumpfoot's long, lush fur.

As they claw, bite, and tumble, they plunge into the river.

Fighting and hissing, they try to pull apart to rise up for air-- and can't.

They're STUCK

The crowns became tangled in their skirmish, and neither one can work with the other to bring them both to shore, against the current.

Both heirs, the last with a proper claim to the throne, drown together in the river.

At the end of the bloodbath, the tone is very somber. The rules were meant to prevent The First Battle from ever happening again... but The Second Battle had just taken place.

The body count wasn't AS high as the First Battle, but it was still a bloody loss. Every Clan lost warriors. Even ShadowClan, who hadn't even been IN the conflict, checked its ranks to find that powerful warriors had run off to go fight with their Kin.

Now they could be buried with them, too.

And now, there was no proper heir. If any descendants were still kicking around, they were refusing to take a throne that so many cats had died for. Jumpfoot and Mossfire never emerged from the River, their bodies, and their legendary crowns, were never found.

At first I'd been considering Redscar being swapped to become a RiverClan Cleric, but now I'm thinking it actually makes sense he's still from ShadowClan. ShadowClan was the ONLY neutral group-- it's reasonable for the clans to turn and request their partiality.

So, Redscar peruses the options, having followed the situation from afar.

His choice, in the end, was The Deputy. The most experienced advisor who knew Riverstar, and probably tried to stay at his adopted daughter's side as well. The closest thing they'd had to a leader all along.

(Thought: Maybe this character will be the POV. Make it like a bit of a fake-out title, you THINK Riverstar's heir is Mossfire. But it's actually been this one all along.)

He creates his famous false sign, and from there, the five groups discussed how they could prevent this from ever happening again.

They create the Law of the Deputy, commanding that ALL Clans have a single Deputy who will inherit the Clan after the leader passes away, ending dynasties in WindCo and River Kingdom and centralizing power in the other 3.

With the massive losses that WindCo and River Kingdom experienced, they also restructure, forced to accept a lot of help from ThunderClan and ShadowClan.

The borders began to close up, leading to the sentiment that would lead to Commandment 4, the Law of Loyalty, in just one more generation.

#better bones au #BB!DOTC #Riverstar's Heir #I feel like I need to add in more 'human' moments #But it's also a very broad overview type thing #Having the Deputy be the POV will help immensely I think once I get into the details #Since she'll be thinking about how to keep the Kingdom together. How to feed people. How badly it's all crumbling #And how distracting the violence all is #But this is a broader draft of the major politics when the REAL meat of this story is in the minutia.#(Ottoman Empire ass drama in the background) ``no time for that goku. its fall. the salmon r coming.``#Unsure if this is Flowerstem or Maplewhisker....#The Eldest would make sense as Mothpelt #Again: COTC my beloved

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mixelation · 1 month

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oh my god stop posting about minato

👀👀👀

fine here’s whatever else i have of asynchronicity

Minato grimaced as he climbed out of the tub. So. Tori did not care about him killing people and maybe was… into that…? But she did physically flee from him at the idea of talking about their feelings.

He probably should have expected that. Oh well. They could work on it.

Tori had left an extremely ugly sweater on the floor by the sink, but she’d also at some point pulled a couple yukata and towels and left them on the sink counter. The yukata were both a little too small on him, but he pulled one on anyway. He could go home and grab something in less than a minute, but he also liked Tori doing things for him.

His joints all felt sore as he walked. The main area of the house had an open kitchen and living area, he found Tori cutting up potatoes. They’d all sprouted, and she was frowning to herself as she cut around the sprouts. The way she held her knife was remarkably civilian, and Minato paused to watch her for a few moments.

She blushed when she realized he was watching her, and then in true Tori fashion, started babbling about different ways potatoes could poison you.

Cute, Minato thought, and then went and collapsed on the couch. He fell into a light sleep almost immediately, listening to Tori chop away.

He woke again to Tori offering him a bowl of soup.

“I’m not a great cook,” she warned him, and then offered up a thing of chili flakes. “I usually try to cover up my sins.”

The soup was a truly random assembly of things, but Minato didn’t mind. Tori had been working with whatever was on hand, and chakra exhaustion was treated with rest and nutritionally dense foods. Potatoes and tinned tuna weren’t something he’d normally mix, but they were both good for the occasion. He turned down the chili flakes; he didn’t really like spicy things anyway.

Plus, Tori had cooked for him. For him!

“I have some NSAIDs if you want them,” Tori said after a while. “Sorry I didn’t think to offer them earlier.”

“I think I’m okay,” Minato said after a few moments of consideration. Pain like this was a reminder not to push himself.

“What’s the plan next?” Tori asked.

Minato mulled this over. He did not have orders for what to do next, because he’d dropped the dead Iwa commander off at his current assigned camp, very briefly said he’d confirmed the whole camp was dead, including twenty-six additional Iwa-nin he found in the surrounding area, and then just left.

In hindsight, he should have realized he’d done something really major. He hadn’t technically disobeyed orders, but also he’d done a bunch of things and killed a lot of people without orders and then immediately disappeared into the ether. That was probably technically abandoning his post or something.

“I should… go talk to Konoha base camp,” he said slowly.

“Uh huh,” Tori said, and then looked like she was fighting back a laugh. “Do you think they know?”

“Uh, well…”

Minato briefly went over what had happened the previous night, for context. He was currently assigned to a Konoha base camp near the Grass border. He was surveying ahead of a team from Konoha proper that had been sent up to negotiate with Iwa for prisoner release. He’d then run into the prisoners and escorted them back to base. Upon questioning, it had become blatantly obvious to Minato that Tori had been with them, and that she’d been left behind.

“So I just left without an explanation,” he said. “I didn’t really think about it. I was hoping you were just in the woods somewhere, and I’d be back in an hour.”

Tori, sitting cross legged on the couch next to him, shifted uncomfortably. Her gaze fell to the now empty soup bowl in her lap.

“But you weren’t,” he said, “so I went to get you.”

“I…” Tori started, running a finger around the rim of the bowl. “I like… that… you came for me.”

Her face was red. She squirmed uncomfortably. This was Tori telling him something very difficult and emotionally vulnerable, something she’d never say to another human being. He wanted to pull her into another kiss and promise her he would make a world world where she’d never be abandoned again.

That might be too intense, though. Instead he set his bowl aside, and then gently lifted hers out of her hands to also set aside.

“Thank you,” she said, clearly not talking about the soup bowl. “I was… really happy.”

Minato reached forward, running his hand through her hair. It was still damp, just now starting to curl up again, and it smelled pretty. He thought about how good her hands in his hair had felt. He wanted her to feel good too.

She let him pull her into his arms and rested her cheek against his chest while he reclined.

“So will you get in trouble?” she asked, the slightest hint of worry in her voice.

“I have no idea,” he answered, fiddling with her hair. “Probably.”

“You’re awful blaisé about it,” Tori observed, skeptical.

“I did report in last night and say I killed everyone,” Minato said. “The commander seemed shocked, but not angry.”

Tori sat up slightly, frowning at him. “You were gone for like ten minutes, tops. Did you even give him time to react?”

“Not really,” Minato admitted. “But I go off alone all the time and never get more than a slap on the wrist. The worst they’ll do is fine me. I’m too valuable to demote or put on probation.”

“You are worse than I thought you were,” Tori said, tone affectionate, and she pressed her face against him again.

“It’s not like they’ll be mad the Iwa camp is gone,” Minato defended. “Just… surprised.”

Tori let out a short, ironic laugh.

“Probably they’ve already sent someone to investigate,” Minato guessed. “Unless they didn’t believe me. I didn’t realize how insane my report that I’d killed everyone was at the time.”

Tori laughed again.

Minato still wasn’t sure how he felt. At the time, he’d just wanted to make sure the girl he liked was safe, and given he’d had no idea where she was, there was no way to guarantee that while enemies were still alive in the camp.

Probably he would have backed off if he’d found her. But she’d been in the commander’s tent, which was the most well-guarded place. It’d been the last place he’d gone.

A thousand people was a lot, though. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever seen that many ninja gathered at once outside of Konoha. Did he care…?

No, they’d been in his way, threatening someone special to him. He didn’t feel an ounce of guilt.

“They’ll want to talk to me for a long time either way,” Minato predicted. He held up a lock of Tori’s hair and then watched the strains slip through his fingers.

“Come with me?” he asked. When Tori didn’t reply for a while, he traced a line down her spine. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone touch you.”

That got her. Tori shifted on him, her hand balling into a fist in his yukata. He felt a smug smirk spread across his face. So this is what got her off…?

“I can think of some things Konoha-nin could do without touching me,” Tori said eventually.

Minato traced a line back up her spine.

“True,” he agreed. “But can they do those things faster than I could stop them?”

Tori hummed happily.

Minato would not kill or seriously injure a fellow Konoha-nin. But certainly he could intervene in any number of ways.

“We could get a healer to look at you,” he said.

“What, you don’t want me with a cool face scar?” Tori replied, but then immediately admitted she’d like that.

“We can go after I take another nap,” Minato decided. Afterall, what difference would it make if he fucked around for another few hours?

xXx

Everyone at the base camp was severely freaked out. For some reason, this surprised Minato.

“Yo!” he greeted the chunin at mission check-in with a friendly wave. The woman, who’d run multiple missions with Minato, looked up at him with evident fear. She stuttered while she checked him in.

“And, um, w-who’s this?” she asked, waving nervously at Tori. She would not meet Minato’s eyes.

“That’s… Tori,” Minato said lamely. “She’s… well, the commander will know who she is.”

Tori was a known player to Konoha. He did not think most random ninja would know about her, but he hadn’t been keeping the amount of time he spent with her a secret, and he’d actively mooned over her to both Jiraiya and Kushina. It was… it was known. If you’d read Minato’s file, you knew about her.

#asynchronicity #minato killing 1000 ninja to save Konoha ninja: cool. Fine. A hero #Minato doing it seemingly at random/for a rando: what the FUCK

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espion7971 · 2 months

Text

SeaWing tribe sheet!

seawings my beloved. i didnt do anything too crazy with them but they deserve to be a bit over-the-top. (also, lmk if anyone is interested in a size comparison chart and/or an evolutionary tree for the tribes because i might do those if people would like it)

Physical Appearance + Traits:

-SeaWings are almost entirely aquatic dragons. They can live and breathe out of water, but vastly prefer their ocean habitat, and too much time out of water can dry and dull their scales.

-They have short legs with wide, webbed talons which they use to propel through the water. They also have long, thick and powerful tails. SeaWings cannot be called comparatively large or small due to these unique proportions.

-Not unlike MudWings, SeaWings can fly, but aren’t skilled at it. Their wings have adapted to be used essentially as large fins to steer accurately through the water, and are not as effective for flight. They sometimes can leap from the water and catch air like flying fish, but they struggle to get fully off the ground; their wings are better suited for passive gliding.

-The pale marks that cover their bodies can be used to create bioluminescent light, so efficiently that SeaWings can turn individual lights on and off at will, and even control the dimness. They use these marks in flashing patterns to communicate underwater, in a language called Aquatic. Phrases in Aquatic are often less about individual words assigned to specific combinations - though that can be applied to some - but more about the overall visual expression. (For example, in the right context, random and scattered twinkling refers to stars, or the night sky.) Aquatic, like much of SeaWing culture, is loose, expressive and artistic.

-Large and airy frills run along their bodies, connecting at the tail. These bolden their appearance and make some swimming patterns almost mesmerizing.

-Colors, like many SeaWing traits, vary greatly, but blues and greens are most common. Grays, purples and even pinks also appear on occasion.

-Due to the vastness of the oceans, there are multiple variants of the typical SeaWing. Living outside the sea kingdom, near the coral reefs bordering the mud kingdom and rainforest on the east side of Pyrrhia, are the fittingly-named Coral SeaWings, which are brightly-colored with rougher and rockier scales (and even minor color-changing abilities). Another group, with sightings so rare as to be unconfirmed beyond urban legend, is the Deep SeaWings; almost nothing is known about these besides a dark and spiny appearance with vivid bioluminescent markings.

-Gills allow underwater breathing; small lungs allow above-water breathing, but not as strongly or reliably. SeaWings also have a few adaptations that allow them to withstand pressure changes.

Life Cycle:

-SeaWings are laid in clutches of anywhere between 6 and 12. It’s these large groups that will make up their friends and peers for the first few years of their lives. SeaWing parents are present for the incubation and hatching of the eggs, and they are fiercely protective parents when the dragonets are very young, but most dragonets begin to be more independent after that.

-While the sibling clutches aren’t as close as MudWing troops, they do tend to be quite interdependent and prefer each other’s company. Once they get a bit older, though, they often branch off and find friends and romantic partners outside this group.

-SeaWings are monogamous and mate for life. It isn’t uncommon for the first dragon they show interest in to be the one they stay with. Both parents are considered equally responsible for dragonets if they have them.

-Because they’re hatched underwater, dragonets don’t learn to speak aloud, walk on land or fly until they’re several years old; some never do in detail, instead living underwater without contact with other tribes for their entire lives.

Culture and Society:

-SeaWing society is structured and organized around the royal family, who have great cultural influence and wealth. The Deep Palace alone holds about 40% of the SeaWing population, and it is by no means a small tribe.

-Arts are a huge cultural mark of the Sea Kingdom - no other tribe, aside from the NightWings, has such expansive literature, and SeaWing sculpting and jewelry-making is famous across Pyrrhia. Before the war, in fact, one of the main exports of the Sea Kingdom came from art exhibits - festivals held on near-shore islands, where dragons from all different tribes would come, to enjoy the scenery as well as look at and/or buy various displays of SeaWing art.

-This is one of the most social and closely-bonded tribes; with talons mainly made for mobility, dull horns, and no breath weapon, SeaWings depend on each other for safety, and their society is close-knit. Social norm intricacies, politeness in language, and subtly complex ranks and boundaries are all cultural things that dragons simply adapt to by being around it.

-The SeaWing education system is one of the most successful and robust, with every dragonet attending a school for at least two years. If they choose, there are also more specific career paths they can take if there’s an area they’d like to specialize in. They are taught extensively in literature and history, basic hunting and self-defense, and basic land language and skills, such as how to walk and fly.

-Even more than other dragons, they take great care to keep their scales and frills shiny and healthy. In-depth cleaning methods are abundant, to keep barnacles and parasites off of them, and SeaWings in general are seen as much more attractive when they’re polished and unscratched. As they get older and move less, it may become harder to keep barnacles and algae off, but some SeaWings accept this and allow themselves to take on a “stones in a tide pool” look as a clear indication of age. SeaWings also enjoy jewelry, particularly made up of pearls and precious stones on strings; gold and silver don’t work as well underwater.

-They are resourceful and use a wide variety of tools; the fact that they have few natural defenses has led to a greater use of weapons than most other tribes, for example.

Diet: Facultative carnivorous (mostly meat). Fish, shellfish and crustaceans make up the vast majority of their diet, but their meals can also include a few types of seaweed, seagrass and other aquatic plants. In the palace, large hunting groups provide food for the entire population, but SeaWings who live outside of it usually provide food for themselves.

#wings of fire #wof art #wof headcanons #seawings #my posts

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sepicriting · 5 months

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I was wondering if you had any nsfw headcanons about the twins? *cough cough* varis specifically

yandere twins part two

―for you, they're willing to give chase.

directory: part one here. contents: yandere male x gender-neutral reader. yandere female x gender-neutral reader. only references to darling are 'you' and 'darling'. drugging mentions. nsfw headcanons midway. implied dubcon.

notes: i saw this as an opportunity to insert the second part of the introduction, eat well!

ageless blogs and those below the age of seventeen, dni.

With the people around you leaving slowly but surely, you could only become closer to Vitalina and Varis. Your friendships with others would slowly fade to nothing, and the past few months you'd spend with the twins would have you absolutely spoiled. Any remnants of guilt would dissipate as you grew accustomed to their spending habits when it came to you. And while you could admit that their favor for you was sometimes bordering on unhealthy, you couldn't bring yourself to speak up. It's not like they were hurting anyone, right? And they're always doing what they have to so it's not like they were destroying their own lives either.

Oh, if only you knew.

How they outwardly expressed their love for you was nowhere near as tame as they behaved themselves with you. You'd never know how many ugly words Lina uttered about other people, how many lives she's ruined so you could stay by their side. You'd never know how many bodies, dead or alive, went into the back of Varis's car. The times of Lina slipping drugs into countless drinks, or the times Varis's knives sank deep into many flesh.

Any line that could be crossed, at least one of the two has walked over for you. It's all for you.

You wouldn't know you're holding hands with ones who have killed before, nor would you realize the lips coming to press kisses on your hands are the ones that drove someone mad. But that's not something you should know, they love that you're able to enjoy your time with them. They're just waiting for the right moment to tell you how deeply they adore you, that's all.

And when they decide that it is time, they'll be expecting a positive response from you. They've done their very best endearing themselves to you, spending quality time, giving gifts, doing you acts of service, so can you please let them into your heart?

Of course, they'll give you time to think about it! Just think very carefully.

The moment they realize that you're comfortable and secure in your shared dynamics, they'll be more attentive to your reactions whenever they initiate intimate times.

They would stay as detached from each other as possible throughout sex, as they aren't into incest, but they'd work together so you'll feel heaven.

Your first time will be with both of them of course. They'll make sure you'll be pampered and spoiled by ensuring you'd just be lying down. Just stay good for them and they'll take care of the rest.

For as much touching as Varis enjoys doing, Lina will always be the one to initiate if you don't, with innocent kisses turning heated the longer you let her lips on yours.

She'd tug on your clothes and start begging if she could please start touching you? Though Varis would cut in before you could answer so he could have a taste of your mouth.

And where Lina's desperation lies, Varis's greed reigns. His kisses will never be anything short of intense if he's the one who initiates them, always ensuring that you'll be gasping for air by the time he pulls away. And in that duration, Lina would have already made quick work of your clothes and you'd be half-naked.

She'd take a moment to appreciate your nipples, circling them before she'd gently press down, leaving kitten licks and kisses all around before she'd move downwards.

And Varis wouldn't pass up any opportunity to mark your neck after he kisses you dizzy, leaving a trail of dark hickeys while he begins to palm you through your underwear. Trailing your arousal, yet never quite adding the pressure you want. It's only when Lina reaches your lower half that he'll relent, moving out of the way to let her unveil you as if you were her favorite present.

Every time that she sees your arousal, she'll always stop to stare. Who wouldn't? You're everything she'll ever want and more, and she'll always be eager to please if it means you'll let her see these parts of you she adores. She'll make sure to slowly rub you, kissing your inner thighs before she descends her head to feast on your hole as if she were starving, diving her tongue in without caring, listening to your noises as her wetness begins to pool.

Varis will take his sweet time teasing your upper half while Lina occupies your bottom half, palming his cock too with one hand while he watches you moan when he nips your chest and leaves lovebites everywhere.

The instant you cum for them, Lina will make sure she gets every last drop, lapping you clean before she pulls away to sit beside you and press kisses to your face, all the while Varis would take his spot between your legs.

He'd tug his pants off, letting them fall to the floor, and kick them off before leaning forward to tower over you. He wanted to be the one to finish you off, hushedly whispering for you to relax before kissing your collarbone and then pushing himself in.

To say that his length was long would be an understatement, he was stretching you out and he hasn't even bottomed out. He'd kiss your forehead in an attempt to ease you as he sunk further in, but the relieved smile he would give you would leave you feeling butterflies in your stomach.

And he'd wait a moment so you to get used to him, not minding how Lina would reach and turn your face to her for another kiss.

But once she pulls away, Varis would be done waiting, and he'd be pulling out to thrust into you in one go, groaning against your throat and biting softly. It felt good to hear your cries and the soft noises that escaped your lips, your volume increasing with every fervent movement of his hips.

With every grunt Varis gives, every kiss Lina steals, you'd inevitably come undone first. The feeling of being held tightly and surrounded with warmth makes your orgasm almost worth it. Almost. But there's still time for Varis and Lina, for their release too.

You'd watch them, realizing that Lina had been knuckle-deep into herself all this time, nearing her climax from just watching, and Varis's fingers were beginning to dig painfully into your thighs as his thrusts slowed down, compensating for how deep and good it felt, sending you into a state of overstimulation.

You were theirs now, nothing could take you from them and Varis was going to make sure to rail that fact into you. That way, should you ever come to question their devotion, you'd at least never doubt the intimacy they give.

And the moment they near their end, their breathing would grow ragged until they each reached their peak. Lina would immediately snuggle to your left, eyes glazed over from the afterglow of pleasure, while Varis took to your right, a quiet smugness in his eyes as he silently admired you.

Even through the emotions you felt at that very moment, you would receive a loving kiss from both sides, just as you deserve.

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cosmereplay · 7 months

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I'm thinking about Lirin again

"Unless it's a long con of some sort," Lirin said, his eyes narrowing. Rlain hummed to Reconciliation. "I'm surprised to hear of your suspicion. Kaladin said you always saw the the best in people." "My son doesn't know me nearly as well as he presumes," Lirin said. RoW, Chapter 79 Open Wound

Ok so this really got me thinking that Lirin has not shared a major part of his history with Kaladin.

What we know: he was trained in medicine but not in Kharbranth, and his specialty is surgery.

We don't have a date for Lirin's birth but we do for Hesina, which is around 1133. That makes her 13 years younger than Dalinar, who was born around 1120. I'm going to assume that Lirin is closer to Hesina's age.

The Unification War began in 1139, which meant both Hesina and Lirin grew up with news of war across Alethkar and the would-be king intending to rule it. By 1145, when Hesina would've been around 12, Gavilar was crowned King of Alethkar.

In 1150, when Hesina was 17, she married Lirin. One year later, Dalinar began his military campaign against Herdaz. Assuming that they settled in Hearthstone after they got married, that puts them both very close to the fighting.

Hearthstone is very close to the Herdazian border, so Sadeas soldiers probably would've joined with the Kholin army to fight. It was a border war, and Lirin might've lived near the border.

Anyway, my guess is that Lirin previously served as a field surgeon or medic in Sadeas' army during the Herdazian border war. Where other soldiers would've been fighting for honour, Lirin might've joined to save his home.

That was prime Blackthorn days, too. I wonder if Lirin ever saw him fight, or if he ever tried to stitch up the people Dalinar had crushed in his wake. No wonder Lirin doesn't salute him, even after he's king.

There's a lot of speculation here, but at the very least it might point us in a fun direction or make a good fanfic for someone.

(thanks again to Jofwu for his incredible Stormlight Archive Timeline, which I refer to on a regular basis)

#lirin stormblessed #stormlight archive #theorizing and speculating #rhythm of war #row spoilers #oathbringer #oathbringer spoilers

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eeriefeelingsat3amuwu · 8 months

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In my Kagehina feels, so y’all are getting my headcanons

-they got together in their first year after Kageyama’s second crowning

-this happened in the most Kagehina way possible, where they were walking home together and Kageyama just says ‘I think I want to date you, dumbass’

-Hinata says ‘think I wanna date you too, asshole’ and that’s it, they’re dating now

-sure, the conversation following the confession is a bit more emotionaly charged and Kageyama thanks Hinata for the support, but there’s no more mention to the nature of their relationship

-they continue on in their relationship up to their third year

-no one notices

-this is because nothing changed. Sure, they are physicaly close, but they basicaly fell asleep on each others’ shoulders before this, it’s not like them holding hands is weird

-they don’t really enjoy kissing, because it’s just weird to do so

-until they find out about the horizontal tango in their third year

-this kinda expands their horizons, but they still dislike kissing in public without any followup, because they’re very competetive in everything, including bedroom activities

-Yamaguchi, Yachi and Tsukishima kinda think something is going on, but they’re never sure and it’s driving them insane

-anyone can ask ‘Hinata, is Kageyama your partner?’ And the answer will be ‘yes’ but the answer has been yes for three years now goddamit and surely the two of them couldn’t have been together for THAT long, right????

-their touches border platonic and romantic, but they never really cared about the distinctions, so who even KNOWS

-they spend a shitton of time together, but that’s NORMAL, stil

-chaos in the gc. Their senpais get in on this and it’s a whole bet going on

-Brazil time. Why should they ‘take a break’? Nah, they’re fine, long distance is no problem for either of them as long as they get to talk to each other weekly

-Oh sure, they miss the physical aspects of their relationship, but the way they feel about each other hasn’t changed at all and they both know Hinata is doing this for the both of them

-that being said, when Hinata gets back from Brazil, Kageyama is the one to go pick him up and then doesn’t show up at practice for two days straight because they keep each other ‘occupied’

-they both also cry when they meet at the airport. The only lucky thing is that this was at two in the morning on a Tuesday and Hinata was nowhere near as popular as after his MSBY debut, otherwise Kageyama would’ve probably been followed by at least three journalists and their ‘Welcome home’ kiss would’ve ended up plastered on every single sports magazíne cover the next morning

-as soon as they settle into their new routine, the ‘when will they get together/are they together yet’ game starts on a bigger scale, now including their V-League teammates

-Kageyama comes to practice bruised up? The bruises look natural and could be from a number of other activities he regularly does

-Hinata has scratches on his arms? It’s a well known fact that he’s very fond of cats and has been seen petting a stray one just the day before

-both of them drop out of practice on the same day and are seen together? Turns out Hinata’s sister came to visit and she just LOVES Tobio, really, how could you deny the Hinata smile™️ anything?

-they call each other by their first names? Oh, they’ve known each other for AGES

-they share an apartment sometimes? Tokyo is EXPENSIVE and Tobio lives so close to the Adlers gym, why waste an opportunity to play volleyball together?

-funny thing is that they’re not even the ones comming up with the excuses, it’s just the two sides of the bet arguing over the possibility of their win

-and along comes Japan national team

-they win their first gold together

-and kiss on the olympic court

-afterwards, both of them look so giddy and shocked that EVERYONE assumes they must’ve just gotten together. And really, that has always been the more popular assumption, because the two of them can be DENSE

-read a really funny fic where Kageyama was doing a press conference and he was asked who his favourite spiker he ever played with was and instead of saying someone from his current team, he just said Hinata (they do this constantly)

-so it’s not that big of a surprise. Money is payed out to the assumed winners, there’s a general sense of great ease and everyone congratulates the two of them

-they seem confused about the congratulations, but then again, it has been a very emotional day for the both of them

-well, there’s an afterparty for the national team

-Kageyama and Hinata sit next to each other on one of the couches and the team is huddled around them and everyone is just having a good time

-and then Hinata turns to Kageyama and says ‘Hey, let’s just get married after the games end’

-the party grows quiet

-Kageyama’s response? ‘Oh, sure, works with me’

-you could hear a pin drop

-and the two of them just try to continue on with the conversation that the question interupted

-then Bokuto, bless his heart, and Ushijima, no social awareness extraordinare, congratulate them on their engagement, to which Kagehina smile and thank them and then try to pull them into the conversation

-Atsumu is the one to speak up next

-‘um. Shouyo-kun, I don’t want to be mean or anything. But uh. Don’t you think it would be better to wait with the engagement a bit? I mean, I know you two have known each other for years and all, but then again, you just got together. Wouldn’t it be better to think this through a bit more?’

-…

-Hinata and Kageyama look at each other

-wide eyes, they mouth Atsumu’s sentence back to each other

-then Hinata bursts out into laughter and burries his face in Kageyama’s shirt

-Kageyama snorts and gets redder than the Japan jersey

-everyone else is confused as fuck, that is until Hinata manages to get his breath back

-‘We’ve- uh, hah, we have been together since the first year of highschool, ‘Tsumu- Tobio- To- Tobio. Fuck- we never fucking told anyone’s have we?’ more laughter

-this time it’s Kageyama who loses it and hides his face in Hinata’s shoulder

-‘No, no we did not-‘

-que everyone else losing their shit

-that night causes more chaos in the V-League comunity than anything else in the past decade in the least

-next morning, after a LOT of phonecalls, a post appears on all of Ninja Shouyo’s social media accounts, with only a ‘We’re here’ and a photo of Kagehina, with their olympic jerseys on and showing off their gold medals

-and under all of these, the first comment is always from the underused, almost empty accounts of one Kageyama Tobio, stating ‘can’t wait to marry you’

#eerie’s feelings #fanfiction #kagehina #haikyuu time skip #haikyuu #kageyama tobio #hinata shoyo #hinata shouyou #msby black jackal #haikyuu msby #schweiden adlers #haikyuu adlers #secret relationship #sorta #relationship reveal #engagement #oblivious #haikyuu headcanons #will write this one day

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samwisethewitch · 9 months

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Friendly reminder to witches and pagans who want to incorporate ancestral beliefs into their practice: be mindful that a lot of modern nations and their current dominant culture are relatively new, and even the concept of a national identity is very, very modern. Modern borders may not necessarily reflect the world your ancestors lived in.

For example: immigration documents record my great-great-great grandparents immigrating from Germany in the 1870s. But my ancestors weren't German -- they were Bavarian. They were both born in the country of Bavaria and fled to the USA after the unification of the German Reich (no, not that one). They wouldn't have spoken German as a first language -- they would have spoken Bavarian. And if I wanted to incorporate their culture into my practice, I would need to narrow my search to Bavarian folk practices. Other regional practices from other parts of modern Germany wouldn't have been relevant to my ancestors.

There's a similar situation with another great-great-great grandfather, who immigrated in the 1850s iirc. He was from Lombardy, near Milan, and was fleeing the unification of the Kingdom of Italy. He probably very much did not identify as Italian.

And on the other side of my family we have a Northern English line we've been able to trace back to the 1100s, and those ancestors from the Middle Ages probably identified as Northumbrian rather than as English. My "Scottish" ancestry probably actually comes from that same line, because Northumbria was a border state between England and Scotland.

Modern resources like Ancestry.com and other genealogy sites will use modern country names and borders, which can sometimes give us false understandings of where our ancestors actually came from. This is why it's important to do your own research and fact-check outside the ancestry documents.

#and of course ancestral links arent required for pagan practice #but if you want to #this is my advice #ancestor work #ancestor worship #ancestors #ancestry #genealogy #history #european history #mine #witch #pagan #witchblr #paganism #paganblr

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the-lonelybarricade · 4 months

Text

We Bleed the Same - An ACOTAR retelling

The forest was a labyrinth of snow and ice... The beginning to a story we know, unfolded a little bit differently.

HO, HO, HOHMYGOD, plot twists upon plot twists! This is dedicated to my @acotargiftexchange giftee turned anon I've been secretly in love with for... years??? For @belabellissima I really hope you enjoy this, and I'm hoping my mastermind plan to seduce you worked now that we've both unveiled our secret identities

Read on AO3

The forest was a labyrinth of snow and ice.

Feyre had been monitoring the parameters of the thicket for the better part of an hour, but with the angle of the sun lowering past the horizon and the gusting wind blowing the tracks of any potential quarry, her vantage point in the crook of a tree branch had turned useless. Not that there was much quarry to begin with. For years, the hunters have been saying that the animals were pulling back, going deeper into the woods than most humans were willing to pursue. Even today, Feyre had ventured further than she usually risked.

She’d woken that morning to the sounds of her sisters’ growling stomachs, and she couldn’t bear meeting the hollow stare in Elain’s once bright eyes to tell her that they would spend another day without eating. Desperation had dragged her closer to the Wall than any human should dare—not just because of the faeries who lurked on the other side of the invisible barrier, but because she was now edging into wolf territory. The town hunters had warned her that they were on the prowl again in numbers. But Feyre reasoned that if the wolves hung near, it surely meant there was nearby prey to keep them fed. Unless wolf prey was the very thing she was becoming, delivering herself at their feet as she eased off the tree and stretched her stiff limbs with a restrained groan.

The icy snow crunched under her fraying boots. What little snowfall had melted already seeped through the worn leather, dampening her thin socks, but like many things, Feyre had long become numb to the cold. She wiped her ungloved fingers over her eyes, brushing away the flakes clinging to her lashes. In the woods, there wasn’t time to be cold or hungry. Even as exhaustion gnawed at her, she shoved it away, focusing on her surroundings, on the task ahead. That was all she could do, all she’d been able to do for years: focus on surviving the week, the day, the hour ahead.

Only a few hours of daylight remained. Given how deep Feyre had ventured, if she didn’t leave soon, she would have to navigate her way home in the dark. And while she might have been foolish enough to stray closer to the Wall, even she understood there was no chance of besting a wolf in the dark. Or, gods-forbid, one of the faeries that lived in the Northern parts of their land.

Whispers were becoming commonplace on market days—tales of strange folk spotted in the area, tall and eerie and deadly. Traveling peddlers had begun sharing accounts of distant border towns, left in splinters and cindered bones. In the eight years Feyre’s family had lived in the village, they’d never witnessed such an attack. But if a faerie did decide to soothe its immortal boredom by playing with one of the townsfolk, it would need to cross through these very woods to fulfill that whim, and Feyre would be the first to cross its path. Even so, she couldn’t go home. Not yet.

After a few minutes of careful searching, Feyre crouched in a cluster of snow-heavy brambles. Through the thorns, she had a half-decent view of a clearing and the small brook flowing through it. A few holes in the ice suggested it was still frequently used. Hopefully, something would come by. Hopefully.

Her family wouldn’t last another week without food. She wore that knowledge in the weight of the quiver looped over her back. Each of the arrows was a reminder that if she failed, if she missed or came home empty-handed, then Nesta or Elain or their injured father might not survive the winter. And she would break the promise she made to her mother all those years ago.

Feyre sighed through her nose and eased into a more comfortable position, calming her breathing as she strained to listen to the forest over the wind. The snow fell and fell, dancing and curling like sparkling spindrifts, the white fresh and clean against the brown and gray of the world. Once, it had been second nature to savor the contrast of new grass against the dark, tilled soil; once, she’d dreamed and breathed and thought in color and light and shape.

Feyre couldn’t remember the last time she’d done it—bothered to notice anything lovely or interesting. Stolen hours in a decrepit barn with Isaac Hale didn’t count; those times were hungry and empty and sometimes cruel, but never lovely. She went into the barn to forget, to lose herself for a few hours in the feeling of another living, breathing being. To remind herself that something existed beyond the perpetual numb.

But it never mattered how long she stayed in that barn. The cold always seeped back, and Feyre was no longer convinced it wasn’t a part of her. How else could she be crouched in the center of the lethal winter and find herself struck by its beauty? The snow fell lazily now, in big, fat clumps that gathered along every nook and bump of the trees. Mesmerizing—the lethal, gentle beauty of the snow. She should hate it, but maybe that would feel too close to hating herself.

The howling wind eased into a soft sigh. Soon, she’d have to return to the muddy, frozen roads of the village, to the cramped heat of the decrepit cottage where her sisters waited for their next meal. Some small, fragmented part of her recoiled at the thought of returning.

Then, a pair of bushes rustled across the clearing.

Drawing her bow was a matter of instinct. Feyre peered through the thorns, and her breath caught. Less than thirty paces away stood a small doe, not yet too scrawny from winter but desperate enough to wrench bark from a tree in the clearing. A deer like that could feed her family for a week or more. Feyre’s mouth watered.

Quiet as the wind hissing through dead leaves, she took aim. The doe continued tearing off strips of bark, chewing slowly, utterly unaware that her death waited yards away.

Feyre was already contemplating how she could dry half the meat, and they could immediately eat the rest—stews, pies … the skin could be sold or perhaps turned into clothing for one of them. Feyre needed new boots, but Elain needed a new cloak, and Nesta was prone to crave anything someone else possessed.

Her fingers trembled. So much food—such salvation. She took a steadying breath, double-checking her aim.

But there was a pair of golden eyes shining from the adjacent brush.

Feyre stilled.

The forest was silent. She hadn’t realized how unsettling the quiet had grown until the wind died, and the snow paused, and even the trees seemed to hold their breath, a riveted audience as the wolf inched closer from the brush.

He was enormous. The village hunters had said as much about the wolves that prowled in the northern territory, had spoken of animals large as ponies with an unrivaled stealth. She’d assumed their stories were embellished. No animal that massive could be so quiet.

Now, she witnessed it stalk forward, unheard, unspotted by the doe. His gaze was set on her, a sentience behind those glowing eyes that caused her mouth to dry. Her lips began shaping a wordless prayer to a nameless god, begging mercy from whatever divine power might be watching this clearing.

The voice that whispered to her was innate. He looked like a wolf, moved like a wolf. Yet she knew no animal of the mortal realm could possess such stillness, such intelligence. But a faerie could. Was it paranoia, her fears becoming unbridled and taking hold? Or was that voice in her mind the work of some primal, long-forgotten instinct remaining from the days when her people were kept as slaves?

Fae, the voice whispered. Not a wolf, a faerie.

She found herself reaching over her shoulder for her heaviest and longest arrow. An arrow carved from mountain ash, armed with an iron head. She’d purchased it from a traveling peddler during a summer when she’d had enough spare copper for extra luxuries. If legend were true, the ash wood could deal a mortal wound to the otherwise invulnerable fae.

The only proof humans had of the ash’s effectiveness was its sheer rarity. The High Fae had supposedly burned all the trees long ago. So few remained, most of them small and sickly and hidden by the nobility within high-walled groves.

For three years, the ash arrow had sat unused in her quiver while Feyre deliberated whether the overpriced wood had been a waste of money. Now she drew it, praying that the rumors were true, that she wasn’t staking her life on fiction.

Faerie or not, there would be no outrunning him. She could let him kill the doe and sneak away while he was distracted, but then she would be returning to her family empty-handed. This was winter, where ruthlessness was all she could afford.

And if it was indeed a faerie’s heart pounding under that fur, then good riddance. Good riddance, after all their kind had done to humans. If she let him live, then she risked him creeping into the village to butcher and maim and torment.

She would be glad to end him.

Yes, that instinctual voice agreed. The fae are dangerous. The fae are merciless. End him now and save your village from slaughter.

A prickling sensation along her back struck Feyre with a new fear—that he wasn’t alone. But she couldn’t hazard a glance over her shoulder to be sure, not without taking her eyes off the wolf. Feyre gripped her bow and drew the string back, training the arrow on his powerful, silver body. She had only one ash arrow, which meant she couldn’t afford to miss.

The wolf sank onto his haunches, preparing to strike. There was no time to second guess. He shot from the brush in a flash of gray and white and black, yellow fangs gleaming as they wrapped around the doe’s neck.

Feyre fired the ash arrow.

She swore the ground shuddered as the arrow found its mark in his side. He barked in pain, releasing the doe as his blood sprayed onto the snow—so ruby bright, not any different than her own. He whirled towards her, those yellow eyes wide, hackles raised. His growl reverberated in the empty pit of her stomach as she surged to her feet, snow crunching beneath her, another arrow drawn.

The wolf merely stared, his maw stained with blood, the ash arrow protruding so vulgarly from his side. The snow began falling again, and he looked at her with the sort of awareness that made her fire a second arrow. Just in case—just in case that intelligence was of the immortal, wicked sort.

He didn’t try to dodge the arrow as it went clean through his wide yellow eye.

Only once he collapsed to the ground, legs twitching, did Feyre notch another arrow and turn towards the thicket at her back. Her eyes anchored on the point of the arrowhead as she swept her aim blindly between the trees for any sign of that looming presence she’d sensed.

There was only slow-drifting snow, skeletal trees, and the soft whine of the dying wolf.

Alone, that residual intuition told her. Safe.

Feyre eased the arrow off the bow before turning to face the carnage. Her hands shook at the sight of the blood gushing from the wounds she’d given him, staining the snow crimson. He pawed at the ground, his breathing already slowing. The snow swirled around them, merciless as the arrow through his eye, almost to the goose fletching. She stared at him until that coat of charcoal and obsidian and ivory ceased rising and falling.

A wolf, she told herself. Only a wolf, despite his size.

Still, she couldn’t shake the creeping sensation of being watched as she crouched beside both animals. If nothing else, it encouraged her to work quickly. She couldn’t carry both animals back to the village—even the doe alone would be a struggle. But it was a shame to leave the wolf. His pelt would fetch decent coin or at least make for a nice cloak to fight off the winter chill.

Though it wasted precious minutes—minutes during which any predator could smell the fresh blood, if there wasn’t already one circling—Feyre skinned him and cleaned her arrow as best she could.

When she was finished, she wrapped the bloody side of the pelt around the doe’s death wound before hoisting the deer across her shoulders. Grunting against the weight, Feyre grasped the legs of the deer and spared a final glance over her shoulder, past the steaming carcass of the wolf to the forest beyond. Wind whistled against the hollow branches, obscuring any sound of nearby creatures.

And though nothing emerged from the trees on the other side of the clearing, she swore something in the vacant space stared back. Curious. Patient.

Feyre swallowed before sparing one last glance at the bloodied snow. Maybe she was unsettled by the gore, by how little remorse she felt for the dead thing. Grief was too heavy to hold with a doe around her shoulders and several miles separating Feyre from her cottage. Maybe she told herself something was watching so it could bear that burden in her place.

And maybe a creature so capable of mourning would be equally capable of forgiveness, so that when Death inevitably arrived on her doorstep—be it days or months or years—maybe the eyes that fell at her back would mourn for her, too.

The trampled snow coating the road into the village was speckled with brown and black mud from passing carts and horses. Elain and Nesta did their best to dodge the particularly disgusting parts as the three of them trekked their way along it.

Feyre was aware that her sisters had only decided to accompany her because she’d be selling the hides today. It was market day, which meant that the meager square in the center of town would be full of whatever vendors had braved the brisk morning. The snow had cleared some in the night, leaving Feyre hopeful that traveling peddlers had gambled the journey. She found they usually offered her a better price than the local merchants.

From a block away, the scent of hot food wafted towards them—spices that tugged on the edge of her memory, beckoning. Elain let out a low moan behind her, and Feyre’s mouth watered. Spices, salts, and sugars were rare commodities for most of the villagers. It had been a long while since Feyre and her sisters had eaten anything besides bread and game meat.

She fought the temptation to stare too long at the food vendors as they strode into the busy market square. Spring was still a long way off, and the forest had been particularly unforgiving this year. They needed to be smart with any excess coin, even if the scent of fresh tarts drifted towards her from the doors of the passing bakery. They were luxuries of a time before.

“I’ll meet you here in an hour,” Feyre said to her sisters, not giving them a chance to respond before she slipped away into the crowd.

Feyre took her time to assess her options. There were her usual buyers: the weathered cobbler and the sharp-eyed clothier who came to the market from a nearby town. She could feel the eyes of the cobbler and clothier on her, sense their feigned disinterest as they took in the satchel she bore.

Fine. She slid her eyes past them dismissively, searching the crowd for unfamiliar faces, someone who might be inclined to buy a wolf hide. Like the tall, raven-haired man sitting on the lip of the broken square fountain, without any cart or stall, but looking like he was holding court nonetheless.

It was hard to place him at first. He was handsome, ungodly so, and smiling to himself like he knew it. She might have pinned him as a lord’s son for the swaggering arrogance that radiated from him, but the clothes were off. He bore well-made leathers and a fur cloak. Not the finery of a lord, but from his full cheeks and glowing skin, he didn’t strike her as someone scraping for his next meal, either. He turned, and the pommel of the sword strapped across his back answered her question. A mercenary.

It wasn’t his sword that stilled her approach, though its silver scabbard was polished with enough care that it reflected light even with the overcast sky. It was his eyes, turning to meet hers. Such an interesting color—not quite blue, but a deeper shade, almost violet, and like his sword they were brighter than seemed possible in the bleak winter. They twinkled with amusement as he beheld her.

Feyre’s mood immediately soured. She didn’t have the patience for condescension today. She might have turned around, but he’d already seen her, and the coin purse strapped to his weapons belt looked heavy enough that she decided to stay. Mercenaries were well-paid in this territory.

“Well met,” he said, nodding his head in a gesture of greeting as equally foreign as the lilt to his voice.

She pegged him as anywhere between twenty-five to thirty years of age. His sensual, swaggering grace spoke of youth. But there was a hardened edge to him, one that said he’d been in this trade long enough to expertly wield the sword at his back, and to adequately punish anyone who made an inconvenience of themselves.

Feyre didn’t want to linger and find herself on the opposite end of that sword, especially before knowing if he was interested in buying from her. She sucked in a breath to offer her pitch and found herself blurting, “Where do you hail from?”

His brows raised. She suppressed an exhale of relief that it was intrigue sparking in his eyes, and not disapproval for wasting his time. “That depends.” Feyre couldn’t draw her attention away from his violet stare, even as it flitted over her shoulder, making a quick assessment of the passing villagers trying their best not to gawk. “Will my answer impact your willingness to do business with me?”

She supposed that meant others in the village had turned him away already. A surprise, given his exceptional beauty, but she supposed that amounted to little in the face of prejudice. Feyre knew well enough that a person’s circumstances didn’t define them, and that the judgment cast by the village was harsh on its best days. With the added rumors of neighboring villages being ransacked, she could imagine the wariness they might pay a stranger with a sword. Even a beautiful one.

“No,” Feyre said. “I’m just curious. I’ve never seen you here before.”

I would have noticed you, she thought.

In part because he was massive, even sitting down. A mark of the trade, she supposed. No one would hire a mercenary who looked like her—gangly from hunger and drowning in her layers. Unlike her withering figure, he was broad and well-muscled. Strong. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt that way.

As he contemplated her response, his gaze snagged on her arm and his smile faltered. “Are you a painter?”

The question caught her so off guard that she bristled, her weight shifting onto her back foot in case she needed to cut and run. The mercenary laughed, softly, and nodded at the fleck of paint on the sleeve of her tunic. Paint that had to have been there from three summers ago, damning evidence that this tunic was old and rarely washed.

She swallowed, apprehensive at his observation. Why it was relevant to someone like him. “I like to paint,” she said, because she wouldn’t go as far to call herself a painter. Her skills were rudimentary, at best. “Does it matter?”

An odd look crossed his face, as though he was retreating to some distant memory. Then he offered another of those arrogant smiles and mimicked, “No, I’m just curious.”

Fair enough. One personal question in exchange for another.

“I hail from Illyria,” he said. At her blank look, he added, “A tribe of people nestled in the steppes of a far-away mountain range.”

On the continent, she filled in. There was nothing like that here, at least not on this side of the Wall. When the land was divided all those centuries ago, the faeries had allocated a slim strip of plains and woodlands to the humans. Anything so majestic as a mountain range was left to the fae above the Wall, but at least these lands were hospitable without magic.

“No wonder the winter doesn’t phase you,” she said, gesturing to his cheeks and nose, which lacked the rosy flush that was surely painted on her own. “This weather must feel mild in comparison.”

“It’s been many years since I’ve returned to the Illyrian Mountains,” he said. He kept his voice light, but Feyre sensed they were treading towards unwelcome territory. “And the conditions in these lands have been harsh, but they may be letting up soon.”

Feyre frowned, glancing toward the sky. “You think so?”

There were at least two months remaining before winter yielded to spring. But perhaps wherever he came from, the weather changed sooner.

When she glanced back at the mercenary, he was staring at her, a smile playing on his full lips. “Things look promising from where I’m sitting.” Was he… flirting with her? Feyre must have spent too long debating it, because the mercenary drew her out of the thought by nodding at her satchel. “What business does a pretty thing like you have with a mercenary like me?”

It was absurd to feel flattered by his words. Feyre couldn’t remember the last time someone had bothered to pay her that sort of compliment. Certainly not Issac, who was inclined not to speak a word during those moments she found herself undressed beneath him. That was perfectly fine with Feyre. She preferred silence over a lie.

She fought to hide her scowl, but from his laugh, she thought it was unsuccessful. Pushing aside her rising ire, she said, “I have a wolf pelt and a doe hide for sale. I thought you might be interested in purchasing them.”

He ran those remarkable eyes down her again. Feyre coaxed herself to remain steady, to lift her chin as he crooned, “Does that make you a huntress or a thief?”

It was difficult to determine which would be more impressive to him. Feyre held his stare as she answered, “I hunted them myself. I swear it.”

He would not understand what it meant to her, that vow. After their world had been cleaved by the fae, humans had deserted their religions and holidays. In Faerie, they relied on magic to bind a person to their word, but they had no such tools here, no Cauldron or Mother or any other deities to swear upon. Here, a person was only as good as their word. To Feyre, and to many of the villagers, a vow was sacred. But if he fashioned her a thief, he may not consider her word as bond.

“A huntress then,” he purred. His attention fixed on her satchel. “Let me see.”

Feyre pulled out the carefully folded hides. “I was only after the doe, to feed my family. But the wolf got to her first. And I made sure I was the one who left the clearing alive.”

The mercenary gave a low whistle as he examined the hides with an expert eye, running his hands over and under. She expected to be met with incredulity, but she marked awe in his voice as he praised, “Impressive kill, little huntress. You must be a good shot.”

“If I weren’t, I’d be dead.”

That truth sobered him. Sobered them both. He assessed her for a long moment, then lifted his gaze over her shoulder, where Nesta and Elain were doing their best to eavesdrop without being spotted.

He pursed his lips. “I’ll take them,” he said, before naming a price that would have sent her staggering if she didn’t keep a tight grip on her composure. He was grossly overpaying.

Feyre leveled her shoulders. “I don’t need your pity.”

“No,” he agreed, eyes darkening. “But you need to stay out of those woods, and I know you won’t keep out of them if your family is starving.” The question must have been plain on her face. He pitched his voice lower. “I think you know that this wasn’t any ordinary wolf. It won’t take long for its kind to come sniffing, and you may end up leading them right to those sisters of yours.”

She refused to glance over her shoulder and offer merit to the fear he was trying to churn in her gut. He wanted her to look at her sisters and see their slight figures, so fragile and defenseless against a creature like the one she’d encountered yesterday morning. Her stomach roiled despite her efforts. “Are you trying to scare me so that I hand the coin right back to hire your protection?”

The mercenary chuckled, but it lacked any warmth. “My services have already been bought by a local lord. I’m just trying to warn you, from one hunter to another. You go back into those woods, and you’ll be courting your death.”

She wasn’t brave enough to ask if he was speaking from experience, if he’d once been hunted by the fae after killing their kin. If she was smart, she’d heed his words and use his coin to get her family on a boat headed south, somewhere far away from the Wall. But would they believe her, would they be willing to go?

“Think on it,” he said, as if she wasn’t already. She held perfectly still as he reached into his heavy cloak to withdraw his coin pouch. She let him count, her mind far away while she plotted their different options of escape, including the scenarios where she had to drag her sisters kicking and screaming from their beds. It was preferable to a vengeful faerie doing the same.

Maybe it was for the better. The land left for the humans in this realm had always been an afterthought, and the governing queens had never paid much attention to this small colony of villages. She’d heard things were better on the continent, the land warmer and more fertile. Elain could garden, and Feyre could learn to make paints from the petals. It was a nice thought, a comfort against the more dangerous one—if she didn’t convince her sisters to leave, a faerie might come seeking revenge for the one she felled.

Feyre’s awareness was jolted back into the cold market square by the press of metal against her palm. She blinked, and violet eyes filled her vision, creased in feint amusement.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

The weight of the coins felt heavy. She knew if she glanced at her sisters, she’d find them drawing closer, sensing the transaction was over. What would he do with her name if she gave it to him? She couldn’t imagine anything good could come of it.

“Tell me yours first,” She countered.

That errant smile grew. And she understood why he had chosen to become a mercenary. Feyre only hunted in the woods out of necessity. If tomorrow she discovered she would never need to raise her bow against another breathing creature, she would feel relieved. But from the way his eyes sparked, fascinated at this new game afoot, she knew that he was the kind of man who hunted for thrill. That this information, basic and inconsequential as it may be to the rest of the world, had become his new quarry.

He raised a hand, offering it into the space between them.

“Rhys,” he said.

Wind played at his raven hair, swiping pieces across his forehead. Feyre stared at his outstretched hand. Broad and flecked with the odd scar, his hands were more elegant than she’d expect of a mercenary. They wouldn’t have looked out of place against the ivory keys of a pianoforte or gripping fine cutlery at a Lord’s dining table. Maybe that was the danger of him—the charming smile and the clever eyes. Perhaps his foes saw a pretty face and underestimated what he could do with that sword. Maybe the poor mercenary was one littered with scars, whereas Rhys walked away from his battles unscathed.

“No family name?” she pressed.

“They’re not needed in my trade.” Rhys leaned forward, flexing his fingers in invitation. “And you, little huntress? What name might I inquire after to ensure you’re still alive in a week’s time?”

Rhys. She had no way of verifying if that was his true name. Maybe he changed it every place he went, never assuming the same identity, never leaving a trail. If a faerie found him one day and demanded to know where that wolf pelt had come from, what would stop Rhys from revealing her name? Especially if it could spare his own life.

He wouldn’t ask if he didn’t think it would be useful to him one day. She wouldn’t delude herself by buying into his purred words and bedroom eyes. Feyre took a step back, steadying herself.

“There’s only one huntress in this village,” she said. “They’ll know who you mean.”

The mercenary lowered his hand, slipping it casually into his pocket. “I told you mine.” Velvet as the melted chocolate being sold by the cup two stalls away, Rhys leaned closer and whispered, “That makes our debt uneven, love. I may seek payment for it one day.”

A shiver crept down her spine, though she couldn’t determine if it was from the threat of the words or the sultry promise in his voice. Feyre curled her hand around the strap of her satchel, fingers tightening over the worn leather like she didn’t trust he wouldn’t try to snatch it from her. “I have to go,” she said, her tongue feeling thick. From the cold, she reasoned.

He waved a hand over her shoulder, smirking at whatever caught his eye. “I wish you luck, then.”

Feyre turned, expecting to find that Nesta finally summoned the courage to yank her away. But the mercenary’s lazy smile wasn’t directed towards Nesta and Elain, ducked conspicuously behind the clothier’s wagon. It was aimed across the square. Where, leaning against a building, arms crossed over his chest, Isaac Hale watched their interaction through raised brows.

More of that wicked amusement spread over Rhys’s face. “Friend of yours?”

Friend was both an understatement and too generous of a word. They’d vaguely known each other since Feyre’s family had moved to the village, and one afternoon they wound up walking down the main road together. Their conversation had been inane and perhaps a bit awkward, but a week later, she’d pulled him into a decrepit barn. He’d been her first and only lover in the two years since.

Their trysts were erratic and haphazard; sometimes they’d meet every night for a week, others they’d go a month without seeing each other. If recollection served, it had been almost six weeks since that last frantic shedding of clothes and shared breaths. He has grown lean since the last time she saw him, his brown hair a bit shaggier.

There was no love between them. There never had been. But the last time she’d seen him, Isaac told her he’d soon be married. A piece of her heart had sunk at the news, and she’d avoided seeing him since. Now, she weighed the apprehension in her chest against the reprieve of company, that bit of selfishness that made their bleak and wretched lives more bearable.

Feyre blew out a breath, watching Issac incline his head in a familiar gesture and amble off down the street—out of town and to the ancient barn, where he would be waiting if she decided to join him.

“Yeah,” Feyre said. “A friend.”

If he believed her answer, he didn’t press. She didn’t imagine her pathetic love life would be of much interest to someone like him. There was no room for wives and children in his lifestyle. Perhaps the occasional love affair, though he likely didn’t stay in the same place for very long. Maybe that was why there was understanding in the way he nodded. Like he, too, needed the occasional warm body to remind himself that there was life outside of the daily horrors.

“Just try to stay out of trouble.” His eyes gleamed in a way that suggested staying out of trouble meant staying far, far away from him.

She didn’t get a chance to respond before a slender hand clamped onto Feyre’s forearm, dragging her away. Elain waited beside the clothier’s wagon, shivering despite her cloak as she watched Nesta pull Feyre away from the mercenary.

“Mercenaries are dangerous,” Nesta hissed, fingers digging into Feyre’s arm. Even Elain’s face had gone pale and tight. “Don’t go near them again.”

“He was fine,” Feyre said, yanking herself free. “Generous, even.”

“They’re brutes, and will take any copper they can get, even if it’s by force.”

The silver coins in her pocket said otherwise. Feyre glanced at Rhys, still sitting on the fountain. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She glanced away, feeling her cheeks warm, knowing she’d made it obvious they were talking about him.

She shoved a hand in her pocket, suddenly desperate to escape this market and those piercing violet eyes. She pushed a twenty-mark copper towards Elain, not bothering to look at either of them as she said, “I’ll see you at home.”

They didn’t protest. Feyre thought it was miraculous how swiftly a mercenary’s business became acceptable if it meant a new pair of boots, but she held back the sharp words on her tongue. Her sisters wandered off, already whispering about what they should buy.

Like an arrow trained at her back, she could feel the mercenary’s gaze tracking her as she wove through the market stalls, not even bothering with subtlety in those rare moments when she gathered the courage to glance over her shoulder. He merely grinned at her, shameless.

She intentionally left down the same street as Isaac, just so Rhys might assume she was on her way to meet the farmboy. And think twice about following her. When she reached the ancient barn, she paused. Isaac would be waiting to undress her on the other side of the splintered and peeling wood. She could already feel the hot breath on her spine, the hay straws biting into her palm, her knees. Maybe it was better to see him in case Rhys didn’t think twice about following her. And maybe because she could feel a pit in her chest yawning open, and she thought Isaac’s strong, work-roughened hands might be able to hold it closed for just a little longer.

Just enough to feel warm again, for an afternoon. Before she returned to the cottage and remembered that she killed a faerie yesterday. And might very well have put a price on her head—on her family’s head—because of it.

He’s married, a small, rational voice reminded her. Maybe it’s time to move on.

Besides, the last thing she wanted was to get him killed.

Feyre walked past the barn. She ought to feel proud of her dignity, but it didn’t soothe the pit in her chest, a tempest of ice and darkness that slowly seeped out with every step along the frozen path back to the cottage. No amount of stuffing her fingers into her armpits could banish the cold. It was here, it was her.

She sighed, watching the breath expel in a cloud of frosty air. There had always been an undercurrent of darkness that drew her and Isaac to each other, but now she wondered if she was too frozen, too hollow, even for him.

And as she walked, she found herself thinking about Rhys, unflinching at the bite of winter. And how, for that short time she’d been drenched in the heat of his gaze, his eyes the first vibrant color she’d seen since winter had overtaken the village, she’d forgotten what it was to be cold.

Hours later, after another dinner of venison, Feyre’s family gathered around the fire for the quiet hour before bed. She watched the flames flicker in the fireplace, absently bathing in the precious heat before she and her sisters would retreat into the bedroom, where they’d huddle together for warmth beneath threadbare blankets.

Nesta and Elain whispered and laughed together about some encounter they’d had with a handsome apprentice in the marketplace. There was the odd lull in laughter, in which Nesta would slide her eyes to Feyre as if daring her to make some comment about Tomas Mandray, a woodcutter’s second son who would allegedly be proposing to her any day now. They’d fought about it the day prior, but it felt like centuries ago.

All evening, she’d been trying to summon the courage to admit to her family where that wolf’s pelt had truly come from. What it had come from. She wasn’t certain how they would react or if they would even take the warning of the mercenary seriously. Father might. He’d once traded one of his wood carvings for the wards etched around their cottage’s threshold, supposedly meant to protect their home against faerie harm. It was one of the few things he’d bothered to do for them. If the fae scared him enough that he’d barter with a charlatan for those useless engravings, maybe the threat would be enough to rattle him into action again.

Except he was dozing in his chair, his cane laid across his gnarled knee. And she suspected she would get nowhere with her sisters without his aid. He had no sway with Nesta, but Elain would listen to him. And wherever Elain went, Nesta would follow.

Tomorrow, then. She would speak privately with her father and worry about convincing her sisters later.

Tomorrow was a nice idea.

But then a roar cleaved through the still night. The cottage door burst into splinters. And her sisters screamed as snow flooded into the room, flurrying around the enormous, growling shape that appeared in the doorway.

#💝 anon it's really you????#THE PLOT TWIST OF THE CENTURY #acotar gift exchange #feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre #We Bleed the Same

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actual-bill-potts · 11 months

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Quellë 2, F.A. 465

A Letter from the King of Nargothrond to the Lord of Doriath

To Elu Thingol, Lord of Doriath:

Greetings from the King of Nargothrond! I hope that all remains well in Doriath, and that the recent skirmishes along your eastern border have not claimed many lives.

I write to you now on behalf of one whom I love. His name is Beren, son of that Barahir by whose valor my life was preserved not ten years past, in the Battle of Sudden Flame. I believe you have recently met him, the child of one who was dear to me and is now lost beyond recall.

He came to me recently in some distress. He says that he has given his heart to Lúthien your daughter, and she to him, and that they wish to be wed. He tells me also that you have forbidden it, unless he brings to you a Silmaril in his hand.

Allow me first to apologize for any breach of etiquette or other impoliteness which he may have displayed in your court. Recall that the lives of Men are short, leaving them often without much time to learn the finer points of our traditions; recall also that this Man has been long away from any kingdom, having fought valiantly against our common Enemy. Beren’s heart is good, and his thoughts are all of kindness and compassion; if he has offended you in such a way, it was assuredly unintentional, and I am prepared to take full responsibility.

Second, may I ask: is it true that you have set him this terrible bride-price? I trust Beren’s word implicitly, but he was doubtless in great distress during his initial audience with you, and it is possible he may have misunderstood your meaning. If so, please write to me at once, and I will clear his mind of any doubt.

If he understood you aright, I beg you to reconsider. I know it must have been shocking for a mortal to appear in your court, and I can well understand your anger at what you must have seen as great impertinence. But I also know you to be lordly and wise, and if you are quick to anger you are also generous with forgiveness. Please, rescind this decree. Beren’s Oath to you hangs heavy about his shoulders. I would not have him go alone to terrible Thangorodrim. If your answer is no, then let it be no; do not give him false hope.

But finally, my family in blood and law both, I ask this of you: is there aught I can do to change your mind? Beren has neither father nor mother living, but he is my own heart’s-son, and I am willing to stand for him in whatever manner you may require. If it is craft-work that you desire, I will give as a bride-price near anything you ask - indeed, if you wish it, I will give the Nauglamír itself to you, passed on in joy and friendship as it was given to me. I know how dear Lúthien is to your heart, and that you would not make such a decision lightly.

Beren is mortal, and his passing will doubtless bring her great grief, and all his wisdom and the flame of his spirit cannot compare to your bright daughter’s. Yet he is kind and brave, gentle and good - and if Lúthien has given her heart to him in truth, then there is grief awaiting her no matter what path she takes. Please allow her this brief joy, which will yet be bright for all its shortness.

I hope you will forgive my forwardness in writing about a matter which must be tender still, and about a subject so very dear to you; but I hope you will receive this letter in the spirit of friendship and love in which it is intended.

With all goodwill,

Finrod, King of Nargothrond, of the House of Olu

Quellë 2, F.A. 465

A Letter from the King of Nargothrond to Galadriel, a Lady in Melian’s Court

Sister -

This letter will be brief, for I have already slaved away half the night over a letter to our grandfather’s brother, and I have many meetings with counsellors ere I can rest. But my heart is heavy and I am full of foreboding; and even when you are not here I find it a comfort to unburden my mind to you on the page. Most excellent Galadriel!

Young Beren arrived to Nargothrond today - I recall telling you his name, when he was born, but do not know if you have met him. He is the son of Barahir (whose name you certainly recall!) and he is in great distress. It seems that he has fallen in love with Lúthien, and she with him, and Elwë has set a brideprice of a Silmaril. I have written to him, asking him to reconsider his words (which must have been rash - surely he was not serious!).

Ah, another pin has dropped from the clock, and I must away. Time is rushing through my hands. Artanis, there is a shadow on my heart. Celegorm and Curufin will be deeply angered when they hear the news, and already they have more influence among the court than I would like. I hate to think so ill of them (they have been staunch allies for so long - and Celebrimbor is of an age with Finduilas, and makes her smile!), but there is already so much fear in Nargothrond: the Necromancer sent it rushing ahead of him when Tol Sirion fell. I do not wish anyone to think that Doriath is our enemy. We are not beset! We have friends all around. I must keep reminding myself.

Please write soon. News from Doriath would be a comfort!

Ingoldo

Quellë 8, F.A. 465

A Letter from the Lord of Doriath to the King of Nargothrond

Finrod:

You ask for what you do not - cannot - understand. My daughter is more dear to me than any necklace, no matter how fine; to offer gems or gold is a grave insult. Even a Silmaril could not outshine her presence.

I was entirely serious in my proclamation to Beren. If my daughter wishes to marry a mortal, he must be great among Men, mighty enough to face Morgoth in the manner of the Queen Melian. I will not allow my daughter to be without protection.

If Beren is not strong enough for this task, let him remain in Nargothrond, an it please you! There you may lavish upon him all the fine works of your hands, if you prefer to waste them on a mortal - but in truth even the thought of him dwelling in the caves of my gift disgusts me. He has cut my daughter to the heart, and she grieves for what she cannot - must not! - have.

Consider the matter closed, and do not test my patience so again. This is a time of deep trial for our family.

Sincerely,

Elu Thingol

Quellë 12, F.A. 467

A Letter from the King of Nargothrond to Galadriel, a Lady in Melian’s Court

Dear Galadriel,

You will doubtless laugh when you read this, but I confess I found myself a little worried when I received a letter from Elwë and no accompanying missive from you. I know you are terribly busy with Melian and her attendants, and that you travel often - doubtless you have not even seen my letter, and are doing unspeakable things with Celeborn somewhere in the wilds of Doriath. (Do NOT tell me about them!)

Well, at least now I have a spare moment to myself, and can sit down to tell you all that has happened. My other letter was quite vague, I know (most unlike me, you will say, I am sure! Where is Ingoldo, who seldom uses one word when ten or twelve would do! There, I have teased myself for you, and now you need not do it), and I shall remedy this fault now.

I assume that you were not in the court of Doriath the day Beren came (I am sure I would have heard from you if you had been!), so I will set down the events as I understand them. Perhaps this will settle my whirling mind. I cannot truly take in what has happened.

Barahir is slain, and his wife Emeldir gone; but his son Beren survived, and after making quite a name for himself as the sole defender of Dorthonion, after a time he made his way to Doriath. He will not tell me how (and to be honest I fear to guess!), but there in the woods he met our cousin, and his heart flew forth to meet hers, and hers to his.

They were happy for awhile; then Thingol discovered them and grew quite angry. He demanded what I mentioned in the last letter (a Silmaril for a brideprice: just in case the missive has been lost!) and cast Beren out of Doriath. Beren, not knowing where else to turn, came to Nargothrond - and I am so glad he did, for my heart bleeds to see a son of the People of Bëor so deeply hurt. He has been alone for so long, he says, and wished for death ere Lúthien came. I wish

I am getting off the track. It gladdens my heart to see Beren unharmed - I cannot tell you how it gladdens me! - but his arrival has brought with it tumult - and I am already stretched in so many directions! Beren is quite determined to assault Thangorodrim - alone, if he must - and I convinced him to wait and allow me to treat with Elwë, but I awake every morning afraid that he has gone in the night.

To tell the truth, if anyone could succeed, it will be Beren Barahir’s son. You have heard of his prowess against Morgoth; all have. And sometimes there is a look on his eyes - such a look! As if the hand of Vairë herself was on his shoulder, and the face of Námo turned away from him! There are fell deeds coming, and I can only hope they will be ours and not our Enemy’s.

But that is not the only trouble. Celegorm and Curufin have heard of Beren’s quest. I know not how, for I have spoken of it only with Beren himself, and that seldom - but nonetheless they know of it. Curufin claims that he was on his way to speak with me when he heard the Silmaril mentioned, and perforce must listen, and decided not to interrupt us. I do not wish to disbelieve him; but Sister, the air in Nargothrond has grown dark. (I wish you were here! You are so steadfast and so practical that the shadows in my mind flee before you. I do not know yet if this shadow is in my mind only.)

It has occurred to me - though reluctantly - that the Eldar who serve Curufin and Celegorm could overset Nargothrond quite easily. The greater part of our force is gone. We lost so many to the Sudden Flame I should not have sought our brothers so rashly, perhaps and more to Tol Sirion (now Tol-in-Gaurhoth! A terrible name!). Gladly I welcomed our cousins when they came with many in their vanguard; but they stand so often apart now, and more and more of my people come to me with complaints. The Fëanorian soldiers are rude, I am told; they often fail to show up for their assigned rotations; they mock us for taking shelter so far south (this last, I find a little ironic, at least).

But each time, I tell them I will speak to the Fëanorian lords, and each time I do, and Celegorm sighs and shakes his head and Curufin looks angry and tells me he will do his best, and I cannot fault them for it. It is hard to lead, particularly in such times. The fates of Maglor and Caranthir are not yet known, and little Celebrimbor was badly injured in the flight from Himlad and has only just recovered. No wonder they are short-tempered. Perhaps I am too unkind. (Doubtless you would tell me I am too kind, and ought to have thrown them out to land where they may; but you did not see them when they arrived!)

And there, I have lost the thread again. But I am too tired to cross much out and start over, so you will simply have to read an overabundance of words (and there, you do not need to mock me, I have done it twice already for you! Truly it is like having you here).

I was telling you that our cousins know of Beren’s quest. Curufin came to speak to me the other night. He was quite angry. He asked when I planned to tell him news that was of such import to his family; I replied that I was aware of how grievous the insult was, but that Thingol was greatly wroth, and that I am even now asking him to retract his words. Curufin merely snorted at that and walked away. (He has quite an inelegant snort for such a shapely nose, have you noticed? Of course you have.)

Well - that is all the news. Please write soon, and tell me all the news from Doriath! I hope you are well.

All my love,

Ingoldo

Quellë 12, F.A. 467

A Letter from the King of Nargothrond to the Lord of Doriath

To Elu Thingol, Lord of Doriath:

Greetings! I hope you will forgive the shakiness of my hand; many matters have required my attention the past days. I hope you will also, as you have done many times before, forgive my presumption in writing back.

I wish to apologize for any insult taken when I offered a brideprice on Beren’s behalf. As you know, I love Lúthien well, and have known her for many years: please believe me when I say that her friendship and happiness is worth far more to me, as well, than any gem could ever be. I merely meant to advocate for a very dear friend.

Ever you have been lordly and gracious in your dealings with Men: with the people of Bëor, with the House of Hador, most of all to the Haladin. I ask you to be so once again. Please, if only for the sake of solidarity against our common Enemy, retract the demand you have made of Beren. Invoking a Silmaril will only enrage allies that we - that I - cannot afford to lose, whatever your opinion of them otherwise.

I know that you want your daughter to be well-protected. Could Beren not come to dwell in Doriath? Or, if you wish it, both could come to dwell here in Nargothrond until Beren’s brief span of life is finished. They would dwell in peace and happiness, and I would protect your daughter with my life.

Yours ever in friendship,

Finrod, King of Nargothrond, of the House of Olu

Quellë 20, F.A. 465

A Letter from the Lord of Doriath to the King of Nargothrond

Finrod:

My daughter weeps now in her great house in a tree, where her love for a mortal has forced her to reside. She seeks always to escape this safe haven and chase after your Beren. She seeks to follow him into the arms of Death!

I cannot allow it. I have loved my daughter for longer than you have been alive. You know Lúthien’s bright spirit; until now I had not doubted your love for your cousin! Now I wonder that your loyalty towards those who murdered your mother’s kin looms larger in your mind than thoughts of my only daughter.

I say this with no little regret: I will not open any further missives from you until the mortal who has so grieved my daughter is gone from the world. Letters to your sister, of course, will be delivered. I will not deprive you of your kin as you seek to deprive me of mine.

Sincerely,

Elu Thingol

Quellë 24, F.A. 465

A Letter from the King of Nargothrond to Galadriel, a Lady in Melian’s Court

Dear Galadriel,

I am afraid.

There, I have said it! And you may (I hope!) laugh at me later for it. Since I last wrote, Curufin no longer smiles at me at all, and Celegorm often brushes by me without a word. They can see the hand of the Weaver upon Beren, and in return I can see their Oath coiling about them. And my own Oath drives me, and not my word of honor only, but the love I bear for Beren, and all his forefathers! You know of whom I speak.

Artanis, little sister, I write this in haste, for I will soon go before my people and ask their aid in assaulting Angband itself. If I do not, Beren will go on his own; I could not keep from him Thingol’s refusal and since then he has been afire to be gone. If you were here perhaps I could find Despite the multitude of names I have been given, I find I have very little wisdom at need. I know it is unwise, and foolish, and that I am almost certainly leaving you, my dearest little sister (I can practically hear you telling me, “I am your only sister!” so let me assure you that you are dearest as well as only - and little) with another loss, and if you never forgive me it will be quite merited. But I cannot let him go alone. I cannot. Please understand

I did try (for I know you will ask). I tried to tell him that he should give her up, learn to live without her. But I saw in his eyes the same look I once saw in Aikanáro’s, of bright fervent hope, and I could not bear to see it turn to despair. Already we will lose Aikanáro to the Halls. Beren will not have even that peace in the end.

Sister, you know already, I can see your mind churning. Yes, Curufin and Celegorm will not allow this to stand, they outnumber us by far, yes, I know, even if I keep my life I will lose my kingdom

No, I cannot pretend. You know what I saw, long ago, here in the place I love. I will not be returning. I hope it does not hurt too much

Galadriel - Artanis - Nerwen - little sister, I love you. Think not of me with bitterness.

I must go. I love you.

Ingoldo

Quellë 26, F.A. 465

A Letter from the Lady Galadriel of Doriath to the King of Nargothrond (unopened by him)

Ingoldo,

I am sorry I have not written in so long. Doubtless when I arrive home tomorrow there will be quite the stack of letters awaiting my attention! Celeborn and I have been traveling away from Menegroth, visiting the Hills of the Birds. We chanced upon a messenger just now and so I am seizing the chance to write a quick note to you, that you may not worry - for I am sure it will take me some time to respond to the many long missives you see fit to send to me in lieu of visiting.

I hope all is well in Nargothrond, and that our wretched cousins are not causing you any trouble, and that you have not worn out too many pens admonishing me to write back more quickly. This trip has been delightful in every respect (don’t make that face, brother) and has made me think perhaps we ought to chance a trip to your kingdom soon. The roads, I hear, are much better than they were now that things have settled a bit. And in truth I am restless, and I miss you.

There, now you cannot say I never show affection.

All my love,

Galadriel

#silm fic #epistolary #my writing #finrod #galadriel #beren #thingol #luthien #leithian #leithian brainrot strikes again

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